Best Overload Poems
It was a sultry summer eve
When what did my nostrils breathe?
Methane with a touch of green grass
Permeating across the room
Look to the right and look to the left
I swear that weaner giggled with a smile...
As I threw her out the door.
What’s left of my mind
when I open my mouth
is the part I could never say.
What’s left of my mind
when you open yours
is a place I hope we can share
free of alone-ing despair.
What’s left of my soul
when you open my eyes
soars through our blue
and brown thrilled skies.
What’s left of your soul
when I'm lost in your eyes
hides a smile for our prayer
"Send us light,
send us light,
send us light."
What's left of my heart
when I open your tears
screams for relief
from my mad
and our bad
sad climate fears.
What’s left of your heart
when I open mine
is a gift I most need to hear.
What’s left of your soul
when I'm lost in your eyes
hides a smile for our prayer
"Send us light,
send us light,
send us light."
Dark silence I embrace
Dark silence slows the pace
Dark silence cuts my frustration down to size
Dark silence quiets the chase
Dark silence relaxes my face
Dark silence cools my eyes
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
We have politics, politics, politics, up to our necks.
They duke it out daily on Hannity and Glenn Beck.
Don’t forget Megyn Kelly that stirs the pot,
An unbiased media is evidently an afterthought.
Trump and Hillary are as different as night and day,
Both crying foul play with the way they are portrayed.
What will we talk about after the election in November?
All of this mud-slinging then we won’t even remember.
Darkness consumes me
Corrupted thoughts take over
Soul becomes hollow
Self castigation occurs
Tears of blood destroys all hope
Turn up the radio
jump start the chemicals
What did they say?
Well, you're not an animal
a definition of zero
Attacked by the genes
of a century of shame
Don't make me say it twice!
You're a believer
a pretty little deceiver
the aftermath of purgatory
when the story ends
you'll say it again
say it again!
Don't you tell me
This isn't what you wanted
so I guess you should have
cut it out!
Information overload
all the children screaming “go”!
Go!
All the one's you thought wouldn't know
Go!
Everything you belittled
Go!
Lover's just a title
Go!
Go!
Go!
Well you're not an animal
a definition of zero
attacked by your own reservoir
of shame
Go!
Pretty little deceiver
When were you a believer
In the countenance
that you sold?
Go!
All the children screamin'!
Go!
All the lovers cryin'!
Go!
Little deceiver
Go!
Definition overload!
On razor-edges, Chinese windchimes tinkle and peel,
eclectic charges skip, crackling and white,
from synapse to synapse.
Neck muscles then cord, piano wire strained,
arched spine, gruesome human bow, neither arrow nor target;
spittle-flecked lips morph shades of Arctic blue,
glacial, foaming soundproofed mantras against dead audilogy.
A hard rain teems, lancing descent on films of milk cataracts.
Strangely, somewhere, distant yet proximate,
heavenly choirs, wind their cranked harmonies
to souped-up, velociraptor, tension-pitched screams – so
fast, so sudden, they mostly time travel backwards.
Something, somewhere, treads aloft in this house,
traversing the rafters, the wooden beams, pale and
shrouded, not alive, yet not dead – maggot animated,
epileptic with psychic torment and beauteous birth.
And somewhere, the rat-palpable dark, crouches destiny –
bright with disease, emaciated, feral with such hunger.
Calculating the precise strikepoint moment, it
springs for the sweetest meat, tearing a portal
to all possible futures, dealing a random loaded deck
to the viscera of rabid chaos.
Thus played, the archangel cleansing purity
of deconstruction…
reconstruction…
yields forth creation’s harvest.
once again I drew a line
you stepped over every time
this time thick indelible ink
so much stronger than you think
not to wander to the past
there was none when I look back
you thought I would hang around
hovering ever in your background
I tried to make it perfectly clear
but you heard what you wanted to hear
thinking this is all about you
another time of making me blue
you are wrong, it's all about me
finely getting the things I need
not put last or a sideline query
all those things that made me weary
you go your way, I'll go mine
and yes each passage needs to rhyme
it's not a song, more of an ode
from a mind on overload
cut off
deprived
magnetized
sensitized
to crave
desire
ache
the longing
touching
caressing
skin tingling
reacting
sensations
heightened
devouring
sole passion
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Posted on May 21, 2022
Winter bought rights to long life ~ in command
of blizzards, ice storms, unusable roads.
Iced windshields, snowmen--whatever's on hand.
Heat overuse caused great melt overload.
Alas, Winter thawed--and found he'd been snowed.
~Snowed, in this sense, means overwhelmed with lies,
taken advantage of~
December 13, 2021
For Winter Quintain Contest
by Francine Roberts
lilac buds
burst on the scene
sense overwhelm
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
i’m tired of being nice
of smiling and shaking hands
and clapping people on the back
my patience is wearing thin
i’m sitting at the kitchen table
lightening a another cigarette
my second pack today
watching the moon
fall below the hedge
and the stars making promises
they can’t keep
the silence is not my friend
tick tock bloody clock
my head postulates
anayalis and critictise
all the mundane lies
nobody cares about
thinking really is a fools game
taking you down strange lanes
with no warning signs
to say turn back you have gone to far
everyday i see people who never ask how or why
who just exist to be happy and free
and live peacefully in the vaacum of their being
i wish tonight that is me
It's Friday again when the nagging boom
on my mind dissolves for a while
from the thievery of work's week--
a pulsing chest asks glaring red lights
to stop bossy voices which demand
an overload of chores beating timelines
from nine to five o'clock busyness, on and on--
I claim calmer hours licking dog day afternoon
with merry walks and sparks of amusement
as honored parts erase logic or reason
defending, denying the profanity
from investigative questions in
life's cubicle, downtown. My heart
is finally refreshed-- a balm's sanity
washing toxic mud from my flesh.
Contest :The Edge of Reason
24 Aug 2017
I think nothing of the insecure
mistruths that inhabit your sight.
Fermenting like aged peaches and rye placed
upon an invisible shelf.
To question oneself is to admit that nothing
can be known, is truth
in itself.
Long forgotten pasts hibernate in the mind
obscuring the view of our eyes,
pulsating, thriving to survive
their primitive habitat.
Overloading your image of reality
to contain their misconceptions,
once known truths.
All I want is red in bed
I don't think it's much to ask
red sheets, red hair, red hot love...
will my heart survive?
For "Red" contest sponsored by Francine Roberts.