Best Mental Strain Poems
Sleep I can’t feign. I hear the falling rain
tapping a refrain on the window pane.
My throbbing pain recedes and I obtain
relief from the migraine which had free reign
like a freight train, a cause for mental strain.
Drat the champagne! Don’t blame the quiche Lorraine.
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Contest: Rhymers Delight Internal Monorhyme
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placed 2nd
© 7th January 2017
For All Things There Is A Purpose
Written: by Miracle man
12-16-2019
My morning quiet time, always conduces creativity,
This endeavor precludes, each day’s passivity.
Lingering health issues, continue to constrain,
Being unable to do much, causes me mental strain..
But my life wasn’t spared to just sit and whine,
My days stacked together are a huge ball of twine.
I was left for a purpose that only God is seeing,
And some days I’ve questioned my reason for being.
During a 45 day period of time I had,
Severe Spinal Stenosis surgery November 15, 2016
Open heart surgery on December 27, 2016
Sudden Cardiac Arrest on January 1, 2017
Doctors had “put out the fire and called the dogs,” Yet here I am!
What a testimony to God’s greatness
to those who witnessed this chapter of my life.
Tom
(in reference to Lamar "L-Boogie" Featherston)
Constantly, does it leave on My mind,
a mental strain
Everytime, I think of how you died,
in vain
Upon leaving your mark here, a
hard to get out stain
It's funny, for I never knew you
were in pain
Yet, outside My window, down
came the Rain
How it hurts, that I'll NEVER,
see you, Again
Since Adam’s fall the human race
has been stuck in a hostile space.
The evil forces wage a war,
God’s pure image they seek to tar.
This war is fought within our hearts,
with thoughts that wound like whizzing darts.
The fiend’s ghoulish goal is mind control,
to lure, entrap, and then destroy souls.
From whence spring wars which waste young lives,
that scar men’s souls and widow wives?
When reason dies and passion reigns
then wars are born in human brains.
Wars rage in the rejected soul
deprived of love and left unwhole.
The winds of war that within rage,
wise, winsome words cannot assuage.
For reasons that are not too clear,
some in their bodies feel real *****.
Men in women’s bodies feel trapped,
and women in men’s try to adapt.
The war inside is very intense,
and the mental strain is immense.
Many fall prey to false beliefs
while some experience real relief.
These inner wars drive some to drink.
Others are pushed over the brink.
Many find help that makes them whole,
and brings real peace into their soul.
So, if you’re caught up in a war,
don’t let it define who you are.
You cannot trust the way you feel,
to reveal what is truly real.
The ones who pander to your pain
are not the ones who seek your gain.
Let not the war your self-worth steal,
but seek solutions that will heal.
Every day, every where,
Lives are lost it’s never fair.
You don’t know the numbers,
Most haven’t felt the pain,
Death is no doubt the all time mental strain.
Whether it’s a dog, cat, family member, or friend,
Most don’t know for sure when their life will end.
Elementary school were the hardest years,
I ended 5th grade with 5 times the tears.
Death shouldn’t be joyful, it shouldn’t be funny,
When a friend dies, my day is anything but sunny.
When a family member or friend dies my heart starts to sink,
What were the last words I said, I start to think.
As I take a walk down memory lane,
I start feeling all the emotional pain.
You may ask why I’m writing a poem about death,
For all I know this could be my last breath.
Honour through labour is the ultimate goal
Achievement’s prefect sending an alert at every pause
Regulating inactivity to give idleness no chance
Demand is great and the stake is high
Whether through the hands and sweat of the skin
Or through mental strain and thorough thinking
Regular stress is the propeller to its engine, but
Keep the ball rolling in a controlled speed
In the long run, the effect will begin to show
Narrow is the gap left, success is no more far
Goals and targets met, fulfillment the new crown
ONE LINE
I’m remembering a class I taught at
Bohank Business School,
Poetry 101 –
The grading papers chore,
The mental anguish,
God. what a bore!
It seems that President Swink fancied himself
gifted
In the writing of verse
And as I’d been published –
Had a name of sorts, you see -
He’d upgrade Bohanks image -
Poetry 101 fell to me
This journeyman’s folly
Was considered a snap,
A way to fill out the transcript
Least amount of pain.
Nebulous text,
No mental strain
Imagine the skill of my students,
Among them not a three-point
Most were, like, car wash wash-outs or
“Welcome to Walmart, sir “
“Like fries with that?”
Minds a desperate blur
“Write an original poem”
I had instructed after weeks of
Stuffing the 30 with Longfellow, Auden
“Make it short,
No clichés, hates or
X-rated dates”
There was this one stud – Alex Smart –
I real wise guy was he,
Ass should have been an added last name
He would yawn
Ask dumb questions yawn
When I’d illuminate
He’d yawn add on
I’d graded 30, near given up for the night
Next in stack was Smart’s poem,
A ballad “Love’s Delight”
The first two stanzas were ho hum
I thought of his yawn angered
Night’s drudgery definitely done!
Then one line with…a…a just-fit word
Hit my mind like a soft beam of light
And I sought to recapture the title
Yes! “Love’s Delight”
Smart’s poem a delight
Just one line had made my night
Reflection, relaxation around the bend
Long work week careening to dead end
Hard work's gratuities in rear view portend
A brief sabbatical our inflated value to pretend
Week's rat race with slower pace will amend
All unnecessary pursuits from mind rend
With less tedious chores gladly contend
Forced hand, mental strain not extend
Only pent-up energy limbs will expend
Trivial pursuits, television deserved dividend
A new book, movie, that mind's eye did recommend
A new restaurant our acquiring tastes to commend
Friends, family to hearth's door hungrily descend
Grilled burgers, hot dogs to nominal appetites append
Haute cuisine, to our genteel friends a stipend
At day's end, on creaky, front porch swing addled bodies suspend
With Nature's slower rhythms, contented minds blend
At midnight a stiff tonic still lingering cares to fend
Staggering to bed senses too dulled life to comprehend
Into deep, requiting sleep, missed week's. hours addend
Alarm clock slumbers on and rested bodies wake at ten
To a frothy cappuccino morn's hangover to promptly mend
Drowning in the depths of despair
Their waves of guilt and impotence
Thundering through his brain
The roar drowning out
The anguished pleas
Of family and friends.
Trapped within the unscalable heights
Of torment
Walls rendered impenetrable
By his tortured deafness
His mind thrashed
For a way of escape.
Born of the gilded generation
This doomed Icarian youth
Lured by the amber flame of a vitreous sun
And beaten down by mental strain
Listened for the approaching whistle
And stepped lightly into the void.
The windscreen thump
The driver's startled and pallid face
The screech of brakes
The acrid stench of scorching flesh
And the line at a standstill.
Once the wreckage was cleared
Left behind were the wounds
Lightly to crust over
But beneath, the ever gaping wound
That will never heal.
Just graze the surface
And the pain and questions
Come flooding back.
Expectations can be met
But in order to endure
It takes a lot of inner strength
And profound indulgence that's for sure.
Don't give adversity the slightest chance
Don't surrender to defeat
You have to be committed
To any challenge you might meet.
Always strive for excellence
Be the best that you can be
Always put your best foot forward
It'll work - just wait and see.
Don't let failure be an option
Seek only goals you can attain
That relieves the useless pressure
And a world of mental strain.
If you follow these suggestions
And make yourself believe
Then meeting expectations
Should be a goal you can achieve.
When you are shaken to your core
and old man grief knocks at your door.
Life feels as if a storm passed through,
and left you feeling numb and blue.
Whether caused by a loss of job
or one who was a dear heartthrob,
or loved ones who are laid to rest,
Grief is a never-welcomed guest.
Grief may come when we least expect,
and in our soul his tent erect.
How long he stays depends on you,
dealing with him could bless you too.
Frequently we are given the time,
to prepare for the painful climb
out of the hole, our losses leave,
thus causing our souls to grieve.
Failure to grieve compounds the pain,
Increases stress and mental strain.
Eventually, your brain will snap,
making you flip and blow your cap.
Please do not be afraid of grief.
Ask God to strengthen your belief.
Let Him walk with you through the pain.
In the end, you will reap great gain.
The next time grief knocks at your door,
think of it as a common chore.
If you work through it to the end
your wounded heart your God will mend.
A woman digs inside the trash to find some food to
eat, it's obvious her day to day is lived amongst the
streets,
her clothes are nothing more than tattered rags; I
truly see, that people point and stare at her, she
could be you or me.
Imagine if you lost your job and bills aint gettin paid,
dynamics of this life do change when scrill aint gettin
made,
the hole can be so deep for some to not care much
at all, they'd kneel in urine puddles in the stairway up
the hall.
To feed the need for capital they'd play with bat and
balls, a person's pride sinks lower from the higher
that they fall,
and on the way to impact they may bounce and
smack a wall, this country has a safety net but still
can't catch em all.
It could be you or me asleep and snoring by the
train, with body dripping water from that pouring kind
of rain,
the race and gender differs, the results are all the
same, that's living; life's a gamble, win or lose it's all
a game.
Degrees that separate us aren't high like summer
heat, they're more like dead of winter snow, the
sidewalk underneath,
time differs though in essence it depends on who
you meet, some folk take years to lose it all, for
others, just 2 weeks.
We all should count our blessings though it's hard to
do with strife, it always could be worse, no food to
eat or shining light,
your bedroom suddenly becomes an alleyway at
night, your table's now a garbage can of sustanant
delight,
and God forbid there're children out here living off the
land, you know the mental strain is tough when living
hand to hand,
or hand to mouth, it's all about how quick things turn
around, the damage 3rd degree if life decides to
burn you down.
A woman digs in trash and finds an imitation stole,
she cares not what it's made of during winter days of
cold,
her faith in God so solid that she'll bravely see it
through, before you laugh at her just think, that could
be me or you.
We all feel pain!
But what is pain that is not physical but seen
in blackened faces, tortured minds,
glistening eyes that surely mean -
pain … emotional - heart wrenching, disbelieving,
coming from the aftermath to accompany the grieving,
where time - eternal time, decries to halt the mental strain,
though cannot steal the call to mind - but ease the awful pain.
And pain is real -
each time a call for help echoes through the open door,
where the unknown is imagined - is there tragedy or not?
Therefore the pain returns - for it’s been felt before.
There is concern with every siren that alerts the road ahead.
Do I know them? Are they mates? Are they alive or dead?
So there is pain no matter who - police, fire or the ambulance,
for the victim - the wretched victim - could be a friend by chance.
A woman digs
inside the trash to
find some food to
eat, it's obvious her
day to day is lived
amongst the streets,
her clothes are
nothing more than
tattered rags; I truly
see, that people
point and stare at
her, she could be
you or me.
Imagine if you lost
your job and bills
aint gettin paid,
dynamics of this life
do change when
scrill aint gettin
made,
the hole can be so
deep for some to
not care much at
all, they'd kneel in
urine puddles in the
stairway up the hall.
To feed the need for
capital they'd play
with bat and balls, a
person's pride sinks
lower from the
higher that they fall,
and on the way to
impact they may
bounce and smack
a wall, this country
has a safety net but
still can't catch em
all.
It could be you or
me asleep and
snoring by the train,
with body dripping
water from that
pouring kind of rain,
the race and gender
differs, the results
are all the same,
that's living; life's a
gamble, win or lose
it's all a game.
Degrees that
separate us aren't
high like summer
heat, they're more
like dead of winter
snow, the sidewalk
underneath,
time differs though
in essence it
depends on who
you meet, some
folk take years to
lose it all, for
others, just 2
weeks.
We all should count
our blessings
though it's hard to
do with strife, it
always could be
worse, no food to
eat or shining light,
your bedroom
suddenly becomes
an alleyway at
night, your table's
now a garbage can
of sustanant delight,
and God forbid
there're children out
here living off the
land, you know the
mental strain is
tough when living
hand to hand,
or hand to mouth,
it's all about how
quick things turn
around, the damage
3rd degree if life
decides to burn you
down.
A woman digs in
trash and finds an
imitation stole, she
cares not what it's
made of during
winter days of cold,
her faith in God so
solid that she'll
bravely see it
through, before you
laugh at her just
think, that could be
me or you.
Six ticks enough for me
Sort shelter at the home for less
Broken dreams of hearts desires
Resided in the home of less
Mental strain an back pain
The price to enter the
Home of rest
Moaning an groaning a common theme
For those in the house of best
Tall stories an throaty laughs
Lift the spirit of those condemned
To the house of jest
But it doesn’t replace
The family home
Children an lifelong friends
God bless
The home
Less