Best Lost The Plot Poems
I’d love to say that ‘Crusher’ Webb is one good mate of mine,
but old ‘Crusher’s’ temperamental and can act more like a swine,
and it don’t take much to set him off; that’s when we all show fear,
so we don’t know how to take him, ‘specially when he’s on the beer.
I’ve been there when he’s lost the plot and really gone to town,
and it’s taken more or less four blokes to try and hold him down,
when the trigger’s been so trivial, that most would put aside,
but not old ‘Crusher’, he goes mad, so the berth he’s given’s wide.
I hate to think how many nights that ‘Crusher’s’ spent in gaol,
from throttling blokes and busting pubs when he fell off the rail,
but the fear we have means nothing for he’s just part of our life,
so what must Deb be going through - his darling homely wife.
She’s just the nicest person, so it’s a bit like chalk and cheese,
the schizophrenic husband and his wife, who looks ill at ease.
It must be a living nightmare when old ‘Crusher’s’ at his best,
storming ‘round the family home with dirty water on his chest.
Thank God they don’t have children for this brute to terrorize.
It’s bad enough when he’s around to see the terror in our eyes,
but it was on a brief occasion when I spoke to Deb alone,
that I was shocked with what she said in quite a sombre tone.
Deb’s voice shivered lowly “These days I must be so alert,
that I don’t become child bearing” and my answer is quite pert,
“But didn’t ‘Crusher’ have the ‘snip’, so no ‘hiccup’ would apply?”
and Deb replied, “Oh yes he did, and that’s exactly why”.
From ~ LARGE ~ to ~ small ~
K~Konstantin had travelled the world in unbeknown searching~g
A~Ariadne lost the plot and her thread a modern Sisyphus on the run~n
R~Raised in mathematical precision he questioned logic and Pi~i
M~Meandered streams of his mind with no delta or source without fill~l
A~Archimedes had drowned in the bathtub and produced wanton spill~l
C~Cartesian logic and Newton merely kindled heated debate full of lava~a
A~Acropolis Bergen Belsen Cairo Constantinople Calcutta a firm cul-de-sac~c
L~‘Leave cause and effect behind for a while on its quest for mens sana’~a
L~‘Life happens when you follow the flow squared circles teach no realm’~m
I ~In sight of the Ganges loin cloth in hand near naked emerges a star~r
N~Nirvana does not fall from the tree but intentions and actions feed Karma~a
G~‘Go resolve not hurt sentient beings and the world will be a little less sick’~k
27th April 2018
Ive danced with the devil a thousand times,
disowned my family and commited crimes,
lost relationships and lived on the street,
and still i would not accept defeat.
Ive created so many different personalitys,
adapted my life to so many reality's,
Ive fort,lied,stole and blagged,
picked butts off the floor when ive had no fags,
and still i would not accept defeat.
Ive trusted and lost,lost and trusted,
been in a house when its been busted,
begged money in the street from total strangers,
put myself in life into all sorts of dangers,
and still i would not accept defeat.
pretended to be someone im not,
taken drugs and lost the plot,
anything in life, just to fit in,
lived a life of every day sin,
and still i would not accept defeat.
ive pushed anyone who cared away,
women who loved me i would play,
selfish,malipuative,unpreadictable and devious,
self pitying,scared,depressed and mischevious,
and still i would not accept defeat.
A driven desire in search of happiness,
self sabotaged,lazy,scandalous, and shabbyness,
drank every drink there is to drink,
depths of despair i had to sink
and still i would not accept defeat.
With his arm held closely by his side,
President Putin took a ride,
On his steed, so big and strong
Who thought this man could do no wrong,
It is regrettable to say
Only a horse could feel this way.
Putin is a manipulator,
A narcissist and a dictator.
Putin was on the run
Being President was no longer fun.
On a golf course far away,
Where Donal Trump and cronies play,
Mr Trump thought he played golf the best
But was never put to the test,
Because the Don was drunk with Power
All his fickle friends would cower,
They all bowed down to him
This situation proved to be grim,
He and golfers all gossip a lot,
About private matters that they should not.
Wouldn't it be fun,
Some peace at last for everyone,
If Trump was playing on the course,
And Putin passed by on his horse
Shouting out to his buddy,
Donnie, come away with me.
As things for Trump were getting hot,
And some thought he had lost the plot
It looked like a good idea
For Trump to run away from here.
So without further ado,
No goodbye or toodle-oo
Putin, with an almighty tug
Heaved Trump the big fat lug
On to his faithful horse
And without a whiff of remorse
The two rode away
And have never been seen since that glorious day!
I’d been flat out writing poetry for nigh on near a week,
and I felt it’s time to try and clear me head,
so I put the dog upon the leash to walk down near the creek,
where I can feel a touch of nature here instead.
I sat down on a park bench and then let the dog run free,
and watched him scamper up and down the grass,
then I gave a subtle grin when he christened every tree,
as a pair of aging fellows walked on pass.
We gave our curt ‘hello’s before the pair of them sat down,
beside me on a bench to take a rest,
they said that they were living at a centre close to town,
for the invalid and aged they both confessed.
Now their names are Jack and Horry, and neither has a car,
their constitution is to walk here every day,
I asked them where they came from, and how old they are,
Jack was quick to cut in with his say.
Jack mentioned that he’s eighty-three but sprightly no he’s not,
he’s got arthritis, aching back; a touch of gout,
he finds it hard to sleep at night, and he feels he’s lost the plot,
Horry mentioned Jack is buggered without doubt.
So I turned and faced old Horry who is wincing just a mite
and asked him how he’s feeling just by chance,
Horry drawled, “I feel just like a baby”, so I added, “That’s all right” …
“Yep, I have no hair or teeth - and I just wet me pants”.
she had lost the plot long before in an insane labyrinth of her mind
trapped in the rat race of high speed and the volume on full blast
incarcerated shackled and straight jacketed thumb screws and all
contorting denial delusion and psychedelic support to no valid avail
and the wall of her self-imposed prison was barbed with wire of pain
the maze of synaptic connections discharged commands of unreason
torturous wheels of cognition failed to balance fierce contradictions
twisting and hurting she succumbed to a myriad of fake solutions
turning the tourniquet tight to receive the message of brown sugar
winding serpentine paths misconstrued from temptation and promise
and still the garden remained a wasteland of intemperate indignation
she had fallen off the wagon so many times that the engine had stalled
sinews lay bare under a sinuous array of purulent scars and punctures
a tattered puzzle of perplexed bewilderment awaiting the ultimate shot
the heroine submerged in near namesake poison in face of the needle
as the epitaph neared completion and the funeral cortege proceeded
she prayed and surrendered to a white knuckling ride of withdrawal
dragons danced with cold turkeys on her tomb stone but they refused
to relinquish hope for affronted vultures puked at sight of her ghost and
she recalls near death experiences and abstinence as a miraculous gift
25th June 2020
When mirrors crack they shatter all illusions as rainbow’s end quick fixes lie in tatters on the floor.
A plot for every dream and every dreamer engraved with stirring mottos bound to fade.
For those who lost the plot a final resting ground,
while soul survivors live to bear the scars of unplanned residue.
I thought that I would buy myself a chocolate Easter Egg
And keep it till the light of Easter morn.
I kept it in the 'fridge but temptation drew me in
To taste it long before the Easter dawn.
Strong-minded and severe, I resisted everyday
Remembering the dark luscious flavour
Protected by a covering of shiny golden foil,
My mouth kept watering as I could savour
Such a treat waiting patiently for me till Easter Day,
A sign of new life but I lost the plot!
On Saturday, after a dreadful week, I grabbed the egg,
Tore off the golden foil and scoffed the lot.
A day in my life
I thought to help the wife
I got the vacuum out
A little run about
I plugged it in the wall
Odd, no sound at all
It must have blown a fuse
So I undid all the screws
I changed the fuse with new
When they blow that's what you do
Then I plugged the thing back in
Odd, still nothing, no din
I made a cup of tea
The thought occurred to me
Was the fuse that I thought new
A useless dead fuse too
I scratched my head and thought
Has some fluff and stuff got caught
And blocked up all the tube
Which may have blown the fuse
I was in a flux
So I got my toolbox
First I undid this
Then I undid that
And by the time I undid more
I had a pile of scrap
Now I was in a flap
As I tried to build it back
But I knew I lost the plot
Cos the pile was such a lot
When I knew I could not win
I launched it in the bin
So I went round to the store
Cos my vacuum was no more
And invested in one new
Took it home just like you do
But by the time I did unpack
I had another heap of crap
Cardboard and all that
So I burned it round the back
I plugged my new vacuum in
Odd, still no distinctive din
I was most bemused
I thought a new one can't be fused
So I changed the fuse in new
Then thought I will vacuum , like you do
Odd, not a peep
From my new electric sweep
I thought there's something funny here
Something strange and *****
The room was not its norm
It had no bubbly warm
Then I looked at my aquarium
The fish they did not swim
No lights or bubbling glow
That keep them on the go
I switched the light shade on
No light there just was none
Then I tried the chandelier
No lights from that either
I sat down with a grin
It was hard to take it in
I reflected on the day
The one that cost me pay
I had dismantled something good
For no reason that I should
Then threw it in the bin
And then invested in another
When the first one had no bother
I felt so ashamed but I had myself to blame
I thought, Scott you are a nut
Scott you are a smut
Did you not realise
There has been a power cut
Outside
I like to think myself basically honest
And lean more towards good than bad.
I can still count the times I have totally lost the plot.
Though I don't care to say how often swearing lets me down.
I know I have work to do there.
I count myself a good neighbour
And keep any friends I make.
I say good day to those who pass me in the street.
And I am nearly always keen to help out if asked.
My ears make good sounding boards
And People come to me for advice.
So my conscience I deem clear in all areas except one.
There is something really wicked about me you should know.
My sense of humour is hard to keep under control.
Even though it may seem wrong I am not prepared
To change it in any way.
It's delightfully delicious and often mischievous ways I embrace every day.
How could I even consider giving it the flick,
When it produces a smile such as that from you every time I let it have
It's wicked way.
And it would not be fair to those who shake their belly every time
I give it free reign to tell a joke.
I hope you will make an exception and give me dispensation
To continue being ever so slightly wicked in this way.
I kidnapped the poor Easter bunny -
His chocolate eggs are very yummy
But I lost the plot
And ate the whole lot
I've terrible pains in my tummy
HAPPY EASTER SOUPERS!!!
3/30/18
(This poem does not conform to some countries only to those that do)
It seems we have become a civilized lot
With bewildering laws to protect everyone,
Although having taken away common sense
To historics in society, we’ve lost the plot.
When in these days where wrong is put to right
With an insincere tear and one solitary word,
And social care for everyone and those monsters
Whom with evil intent take a life or more and skite.
The law an A*s when truth proven beyond doubt
Thanks to the intervention of modern forensics,
Only for loopholes to make the lawyers rich
Easier than water rushing down the spout.
The worst scenario for those that delve in death
A life sentence of fifteen to twenty-five years,
Many to fake remorse and forgiveness
Create pity on social media with every breath.
Early release on parole another lawyer’s feat
The interns leave refreshed and in better shape,
Than those without sin they’ll likely pass by
Asleep under stark conditions upon the street.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
You say I'm a little crazy
And I heartily agree….
But this you must be sure of
Crazy's not confined to me!
We are ALL a little crazy
In all minds, a monster or two
A little bit of insanity
Grows and thrives inside of YOU!
The fears that lurk in the shadows
The voiceless terrors of day
The psychosis that lingers
That whispers, "You're not OK!"
Yes, I'm a little crazy
My mind’s lost in the abyss
I'm sure that I’ve seen you there
In that crazy land of bliss!
Yes, I need a happy pill
To get me through my day
At least I know my "crazy"
Is being kept at bay!
Yes, I'm a little crazy
I have a troubled mind
But don't you dare go and tell me
That I'm just one of a kind!
I know that you have issues
For you're human; are you not?
So don't pretend you're "normal"!
At times, YOU have lost the plot.
Yes, I'm a little crazy
Just look at me and sneer
But me thinks your brand of "crazy"
Is the one to really fear!!!!!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Tony
A friend phoned me one evening spilling out despair
his life was such a burden he wanted to end it there,
we discussed the consequences for he knew I’d seen a lot
of the souls who travelled that way when they too had lost the plot.
Though we talked for hours and hours I could hear it in his voice
that his life was nearly over as he felt he had no choice,
in despair I told him everything I’d met along the way
about souls who’d been abandoned and still lost until this day.
There was no way I could help him for his problems were too great,
he decided that to cure them was to be his final fate.
His wife found him two weeks later hanging, strangled by his tie,
and forever I‘ll be asking... did he really have to die?
Now this man was loved by colleagues but he had a troubled life
caused by comfort in a bottle and the stress of family life.
There is nothing that I told him that could even let him see
that the hell that he would enter would not let his soul be free.
Now when I think of Tony I wish him nought but well
and I hope that he has managed to release himself from hell
for he was a friend and colleague that I failed to help that day
even though I’d tried to warn him of the price he’d have to pay.
Ivor G Davies
I met her the other day
At a friends house par-tay
She danced gracefully
Me, geriatrically
I liked the way she looked
Like bait, I was hooked!
When she left, I got plastered
Woke up like a useless bastard
Realizing I’d forgotten
What her name was - I’m so rotten!
I hardly know her from my soap
But wishful thinkers - we have hope.
I pondered her for hours
While disarranging flowers
A petal at a time
As I sang that senseless rhyme:
She loves me, she loves me not
She loves me, she lets me rot
Before I lost the plot
I thought she was called… Peggy?
It wouldn’t matter to me
If her name was Half Past Three
Even though it doesn’t rhyme
With a petal at a time
The whisper of it rings
A bell for he who sings:
She loves me, she loves me not
She loves me, she lets me rot
What her name was - I forgot
Maybe it was… Jenny?
That social app on my mobile
Led me to her public profile
I touched her likeness, held my breast
Then sent off a ‘friend request’.
Tears of joy joined petal mess
The silly lass clicked on ‘Yes’.
She loves me, she loves me not
She loves me, she lets me rot
I may smoke too much pot
But you know she’s not… Kenny!
Oh my god, it’s not funny
I pocket dialed her from the dunny
Left a message most unfit
Told her to delete it!
The last petal I plucked
Told me… I sucked!
She lets me rot, she loves me not
She listened to my bowl shot!
She’s right to let me rot you know
Her proper name is Penny!
Penny, Penny, Penny, Penny…
She’s right to let me rot you know
Her proper name is Penny!