Best Loony Bin Poems
A man sinks his breath deep into a saxophone
He fills a smoky room with its tenor tone
All the clichés are here
From the femme fatale to the trodden tramp
The atmosphere borders on camp
Be you from a Manhattan high rise or a Brooklyn broken home
At the Café Noir the blue don’t drink alone
So take a seat in a booth or at the bar
By the depressed comedian or the fallen star
Everyone here is friends with the bartender
From the poorest soul to the biggest spender
He can be a wise old sage or a shoulder to cry on
He’s been known to spot a drink or two for those out of money for buyin
The band here does not set the mood
They simply play off the harmony of the room
Loaded .45's wise guy’s and private eyes
The words spoken here are cynical or lies
But can they really help their lugubrious prose?
After all the world is a mad house
When people come here
It’s not a bar they walk in
But a world they walk out
There are many treatments for those shell shocked by that outside loony bin
Namely whisky, scotch, bourbon or gin
The Café Noir can’t save you from your blues
But it can give you a glass to fall into when you lose
So come out of your home, blood soaked gutter or office
The band is on point and you can numb yourself to life’s problems; so pompous
At the Café Noir you will never drink alone
Here the blue will always have a home
Daily Poetry #71, April 9, 2017
Word: Onomatopoeia
With one whiff, I smell that it's undesirable,
And with a taste, it's completely rotten.
Cla-clang, cla-clang, the bell rings out again,
And I something I had said is forgotten.
Crack! Snap! What could have echoed this time?
Tell me what you think, for I can't see.
The scent of iron is weak, take another pill,
But I can't read the label, what could it be?
Clap! Clap! Another loony bin buddy laughs,
Their smile wide even when they cry.
Alone, alone, alone once again in solitary,
"You should feel better," what a blind lie.
Tap! Tap! A repeating beat of footsteps,
They echo down the hall here everyday.
The bell doesn't ring; where has she gone?
So soon, has she really gone away?
Pitter pat! I hear the next one stepping along,
Oh, I'm so envious, but I can't see their face.
The door shuts behind, leaving another day,
Like the Bell, that person is leaving this place.
Hahahahaha! The next one laughs out yet again,
Spilling such a sweet iron syrup everywhere.
Just the scent makes my mouth water for more,
The Batter purifies them without a single care.
Ching! Ching! The Judge makes his visit once again,
His slitted eyes peering through and searching around.
He smiles his toothy smile and purrs dangerously,
Knowing the Batter left him a treat on the ground.
Squeak! Squeak! Old metal makes a sound,
And it's cold as I peer through them like before.
Everything is clear, now that I can see,
So I laugh, "Lalalalala!" for I don't care anymore.
Snap! Snap! The Batter swings his bat once again,
The sweet iron syrup flows down from my head.
I laugh and laugh as the Judge scrutinizes me,
Smiling until I can't see, I remember what I said!
Running as fast as I can, I am
But I can't keep up with myself
Just like Speedy Gonzales
My mind has really gone south
Must be something I can take no doubt
To slow the damn process down
Might end up in the loony bin
Or the clown of my old home town
Could be something I ate methinks
Known to try different stuff
Saw our Golden enjoying some plants
Weeds and dandelion puffs
So think I'll give it a shot my friends
My libido will likely speed up
I'll feel like a twenty year old again
Run around with all the young pups
Running as fast as I can, I am
But I can't keep up with myself
Better slow down I ain't young no more
Must take care of my health
© Jack Ellison 2015
Need a cuddle, are you available?
Promise not to linger too long
Perhaps seven or possibly eight hours
Maybe till the break of dawn
Enough time to satisfy this craving
That lingers day and night
Soon gonna wind up in the loony bin
If I can't taste your sweet delights
Need a cuddle, are you available?
To take me to heaven's door
Promise not to overstay my welcome
Till eternity, not a moment more
Must've done something, don't know what
To deserve your tender love
Can't think of what it could have been
But you've given my heart a shove
Succumbed to your delicate beauty
Many many years ago
The flame's stayed alive for all this time
Still making this old heart glow
Need a cuddle, are you available?
Promise not to linger too long
Maybe an eternity plus ten lifetimes
An eternity filled with song
© Jack Ellison 2013
(continued from While Caesar watches for Brutus Part One)
Then you think of a face you love, those prayers begin
You try to crawl safely back in
The crowd disperse with taunts of " chicken"
You reach for the priest's hand, you begin to stand
But you slip on a pigeon's shhhhhh........
You awaken in a body cast from head to toe
Napoleon and Caesar are debating the earth's woe
Nurse Ratchet comes in and blows a pill down your spout
You've bought a one way ticket to loony bin, with no way out
The world is so mechanical
It's becoming so scientific
It is getting to be so-so difficult
Your eyes search for answers
Your lips mutter why
Then you glance and Napoleon walks by
He salutes you, his wounded comrade
And kisses your cheeks
You smile, Napoleon smiles
While Caesar watches for Brutus.
WROTE A BUJA...
A buja wrote a song
it rubbed the who in power
the wrong way...
to the slammer bujas..
committed himself
self imposed insanity....
Called his government plunderers
stealing from the poor mans pockets
the system turned on the heat....
and our young bujas -
declared himself mentally insane...
committing himself to the loony bin...
The young musician
gave them people good advice
...its hard to get a good advice,
while lacking in cash or scandals....
and scandal-ed he was
and advice we got...utawala
the Rule of the elites..
Lewis k Nyaga
Winter Wonderland, Winter Schmunderland
I've had it up to my ying yang
If I never see another snowflake in my life
My big bass drum I'd bang
Wonderland, Schmunderland, I've had enough
Don't know how I've made this far
Except for those few times in the loony bin
Still have my marbles, by gar
Well at least I think I still have my marbles
But sure wish I could feel my mouth
This Winter Schmunderland is really for the birds
Even they have sense to head south
Winter Wonderland, Winter Schmunderland
Who really needs all of this crap
I'd certainly be a very much happier camper
If I could wear a hat without flaps
© Jack Ellison 2014
Winter Wonderland, Winter Schmunderland
I've had it up to my ying yang
If I never see another snowflake in my life
My big base drum I'd bang
Wonderland, Schmunderland, I've had enough
Don't know how I've made this far
Except for those few times in the loony bin
Still have all my marbles, by gar
Well at least I think I still have my marbles
But sure wish I could feel my mouth
This Winter Wonderland is for the birds
Even they have sense to head south
Winter Wonderland, Winter Schmunderland
Who really needs all this crap
I'd certainly be a very much happier camper
If I could wear a hat without flaps
COMPARTMENTALIZATION
Friends, absolutely believe why
not in the “Loony Bin?
Compartmentalized my stresses,
so messes … not get in!
Compartments help me remember,
one illness at a time.
Must do cause, "nine" problems have, not
about to loose ... my mind!
Compartments, real life savers, now
one job at time, tackle.
Improved old age focus, glad
husband … didn't spackle.
Compartmentalize medications
if don't, embarrassed be.
Took water pills, before party,
oops … in “Depend’s” did pee.
Doc’s now compartmentalize, which
body part they'll inspect.
Last visit showed my sagging boobs,
examine ... was for my neck!
Crucial to compartmentalize, must
do each week heard some say.
Might put off till tomorrow, cause
tomorrows ... another day.
July 31, 2023
Contest: compartmentalization
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Trump In Loony Bin Horn Haiku
Trump commits each sin
He belongs in loony bin
Also thin is skin.
Jim Horn
Hearts in the way
Of what you couldn't see
Happy ever after
Or terror it could be
Running for the sunlight
When the moon holds on too tight
Its hard just to breath
And something isn't right
Why is love so broken
And found bleeding on the floor
Why are you split open
When you deserve much more?
Sue S. Side Almost Won Out As The Tomb Poem...
(alternately titled: a page taken from the play
book of Little Miss Muffet.)
"Oh...My...Argh..." "Somebody...
Please...ease...help...me...ee"..., and
then dead silence, this comprises,
the sole thread bare strand
i.e. plaintive desperate plea – recorded
by emergency 911 agent Brand
N. Burg-Harris, a close family member
of the deceased, who
(said relation) hand
dully appeared aghast, shell shocked,
white as a ghost,
et cetera damned
near roundly dismissed,
but extraordinarily grand
lee escorted to safety,
as some VIP, who
under a "normal," regular,
and/or typical case, would be
gingerly brushed aside land
ding in the loony bin, what with his
babbling like a lunatic understand
ably very little attention paid,
but the sheer immensity,
sans horror surpassed any
concoction hatched, analogous
to grotesque japaned
artwork by necessity didst demand,
an extremely over
active imagination, thus
no "FAKE" spiderbiter words
exist to expand
to embellish, fabricate,
and/or surpass,
a terrifying, nightmarish,
and hideous circumstance
in summary visa a vis dis
covering Goliath manned
doubles (mandibles - jaws of steel),
wherein barenaked remnants
of Matthew Scott Harris protruded,
which humongous mouthparts
of gigantic sized
Tarantula pierced poison
into dangling, flickr
ring, and twitching
scant visible remains
of renowned Arachnologist, academician
passionate serious
die hard "Spider Man."
Funny farm or loony bin?
Depends what kind of mood I’m in
Mad house increases my lunacy
I take my pills and watch tv
Fall asleep, don’t care if it is night or day
The attendants are glad, I am out of their way
This asylum increases my natural lunacy
Weird attendants seem worse off than me
SheGirl is tamping down her blanket, comfy cattitude.
Pat pat pat pat pat pat, I admire her stealthy attitude.
She has me firmly in my place now, glad I have my popcorn.
We watch The Horrible Bosses movie, both happy, none forlorn.
When we hear words like “hit” and “kill” I cover SheGirl’s ears.
My husband asks what I am doing, for he has no fears.
This emotionally delicate cat with a heart of gold understands this talk.
I know she does; she is a reincarnate of my aunt, and does her walk.
When we are alone I call her Marjorie, my aunt’s preferred name.
We play Monopoly, my reincarnated auntie’s favorite board game.
I don’t bother to share this information or her nickname with him.
He is on his own couch lying next to his hound dog, named Jim.
Jim reminds me of his father, but I keep my mouth wisely shut.
I do not want him to think I am ready for a crazy loony bin hut.
Just before we go to bed I hear him say “Jim, I am glad….
That you are here beside me, for you smell like my dad.”
Winter Wonderland Winter Schmunderland
I've had it up to my ying yang
If I never see another snowflake in my life
My big bass drum I'd bang
Wonderland, Schmunderland I've had enough
Don't know how I've made this far
Except for those few times in the loony bin
Still have my marbles, by gar
Well at least I think I still have my marbles
But sure wish I could feel my mouth
This Winter Schmunderland is really for the birds
Even they have sense to head south
Winter Wonderland Winter Schmunderland
Who really needs all of this crap
I'd certainly be a very much happier camper
If I could wear a hat without flaps