Best Overreaction Poems
Miss Muffet was a girl of thirteen, filled with youth's beauty and charm;
And a love of vibrant life zealous, like eager, vivid thunder of blue alarm.
She was a fine student, pert and popular; like the primrose popularity;
Or stars appearing at the designated hour, sparkling like crystal clarity.
Mary Muffet lived in a small town, with loving parents and her siblings,
Who sympathized with her fear of spiders; like colorful, fall misgivings.
Friends flanked their white picket fence, in fall days of glamour, striking;
And wove fanciful tales with flourish, like flowering genesis, so enticing!
Far off family ofttimes visited Fernglen, with its farms, rich with future;
For fishing and other rollicking fun, staying on 'til varicolored, fall rumor.
They lived in the house of quaint beauty, like charming red, berry sun;
Fondly gazing on pearly moon twice daily, the ritual begun on day one.
Songs sunrise to sunset serenaded, on dappled, silent, Sowerby Street;
But, a scorching summer bled scarlet roses, at the red butterfly retreat.
Near neighbors stayed on a first name basis, in unending, plum seasons;
Of days and nights of green nature; like teal surf, which never weakens.
Summer's glory was in the tiny details, like prayer plants, giving praise;
When sun face orchids, wore sunny smiles, in colored fields of noon haze.
And jade baby toes plants were crawling, through hours of soon history;
In honey days of bicolored hibiscus, filled with heady scents of mystery.
Mary attended a church celebration one day, along with her whole family;
And food was served indoors and out, as pink robin sang of gold, happily.
Mary had such fun playing games! There was much laughter and talking.
Then Mary had a craving for cheese, so like shadows, inside went walking.
Once inside, 'Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey;
There came a big spider, who sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away.'
As Mary screamed and ran, causing a rumpus, she drew a lot of attention;
But, was suddenly embarrassed by her overreaction, like fall's suspension.
Little Miss Muffet was thence more mature, a natural result of getting older,
And fear of spiders was left behind, like summer blossoming, grown bolder.
Jack 177 26 Jun 2025
A room in my head called emotion
Controlled by various means
A thermometer reacting to the room temperature of others
The cold shoulder of silent indifference
Could turn the blood in my veins, to frozen streams
Other times, blood starts to boil with internal rage
The mercury of overreaction, starts to rise
The volatile instability, damages perception
I work hard on a solution for my personal climate control
I do, have a choice
Reactive thermometer or self-regulating thermostat
Someone else’s winter can be my thawing spring
Heated summer anger, can be a pleasant autumn day
That room in my head, needs comfortable stability
Self-awareness becomes the barometer of my emotions
And Like that.
I had this overwhelming urge.
I don't know what came over me.
I asked God is this the route I should take.
This habit of association.
To weed out what may seem to be selfish.
Time is of the essence.
This illusion of what is definite or what may not be.
Certainly this proclamation arrived out of nowhere.
Again I asked.
Notating my lack of patience.
I found the choir of mind without direction.
They stood and hummed.
Some in que.
Others were all over the place.
Without a podium or overreaction to the problem.
Amen, acknowledging your grace.
This aura highlighting sudden fixation.
I sought guidence.
Leaving the trail Whince I came.
I felt pain in my rib.
A spiritual curriculum decided by what's missing.
Again I asked.
More left to the imagination
A reiteration of urge.
The potency of silence.
Engaged by a look.
I understood what the choir was saying
Love Harbour
The plug was pulled when you parted away
from what we intended. That hope of our day
As water ran out, and our love-boat assailed
by overreaction. Our hope was de-railed
I had to be vigilant as I made a way
to an alternate time-spent; A moment to pray
Well managed the low-tide, you swam, and I sailed
Some water reserved ‘cause the onset has failed
The rain of the Father replenish the loss
A time thought ‘twas missing, was counting the cost
Our love-boat, by now, we are ready to bail
With God in the harbour - Preparing to sail
Form:
The geese.
Again.
Interrupt my day;
which had been
-Interrupted
(All day.)
by my wand’ring mind.
It hithers and thithers.
As the boyish body
ages, the brain withers.
Each day a protest;
silent but for the creaks and groans
(some audible),
against the Grand Dissolution
when my organized bits
are no longer suspended in
solution
and I settle out of the mix
and all is clear once more.
My pigments, my dyes
have their peace of rest:
have their piece of rest -
have their peace in rest -
have the rest of peace -
have their rest in peace -
My wishes, my tries,
Upon the canvas, the clay, the stitchery of
Life, upon my fingers uncleaned -
Everything dies...such is the witchery of
Life.
Where was I?
Oh, yes.
The geese.
Again.
I name this unseen one,
overloft at end of day,
Clarion.
These pages say that a clarion
is a call to action.
I’ve had my part, I’ve had my day.
Action has had its traction, in its day.
Not today. This, no overreaction,
I am over reaction. This be my response,
instead.
I take this goose to be a call.
To inaction.
No, not inaction.
To rest.
To the
Presence.
Before the
Absence.
May 4th
On this day the war
Had finally come to our door
The decision-making was poor
Because the night before had been fiery
But it was an overreaction to call out the national corps
This rashness would lead to the death of four
That would rock a nation and a movement to its core
And only increase a nation’s hatred for the man behind the oaken door
Because these students were not do anything more
Than exercising the right that had been given almost two centuries before
May 4th will be forever know as the day bullets were fired in America’s war
Form:
A grinning salesman at the door,
She slammed it in his face and swore.
For Susan's Overreaction
Rolling Stones-Mick Jagger
Cool with his swagger
Had an overreaction
From no satisfaction
Celebrity Or Famous Person Clerihew Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tania Kitchin
3-22-2019
The other day I read a Facebook post,
where they asked this silly question again.
Find a word that starts with the letter O,
but that word must end with the letter N.
Of course, I know it’s just my opinion,
and taken from my own observation.
That it would not take much of an optician,
to see this as open ostentation.
Now I feel I have an obligation,
to sit on the octagon ottoman,
Where I often eat an Oregon onion,
while petting my baby orangutan.
His name is Owen Odin Orion,
his occupation is just an oarsman,
But he has joined an organization,
to help an orphan find his origin.
He had a small organ operation,
with an option to open an obstruction.
They had to keep him on some oxygen,
while they blasted it to oblivion.
I wonder if I have an obsession,
for words that start with O and end in N.
My opposition says it’s an omen,
I say it’s an overreaction again.
imbalanced reaction
disproportionate overreaction
state of sudden fluctuations of
mood within a single encounter
left in a state of confusion
left in a state of despair
left in a state of distress
whenever the two selves
would happen to meet
creating conflict to lest
for weeks
a never ending cycle
of emotive overreaction
The Mad Years
Years ago my first wife had left me for another man
I was crazy by jealousy she in another man`s arms
intolerable.
A ghost walking through town in a haze of whisky
a meltdown caused by dishonest self-importance.
I didn`t see how pathetic I was trying to end myself
on the Altar of love, I wallowed in the victimhood.
The bank took the house my mother took me in told
me to grow up. Sleeping on a sofa and no privacy
sharpens the mind to be constructive like working for
living. Slowly I was able to forget and let go, my
overreaction was of hurt my self-esteem had taken
a beating; she left me. My sister had a summer cabin
by the sea in a fjord, she let me stay there dry as
a preacher- until feeling better. I did but got a phobia
could no leave, alone, yet safe from the world I could
think and stay here forever
I shrink handed me Valium held my hand as we walked
down the track to his car, it was white with red letters
I didn`t mind full of pills I was safe, now I think it sure
was tough growing up
Feeling so unwanted and having to keep myself guarded
Tired of being used and then discarded
Left all alone with my faith departed
Miserable, unhappy and broken hearted
Overreaction to everything that comes my way
I am just so tired of being tossed away
As if I am something left on the bottom of a shoe
Why can’t I get what all the others seem to?
Is there a reason I am left here abandoned and alone
Dismissed, disrespected, and forgotten by everyone
What have I done to deserve this kind of pain?
To be so ignored and discarded is worse than being slain
This is torture in the truest form and realest sense
It’s why I am always walking around so tense
And angry at the world for abandoning me
And not letting my voice be heard and for failing to see
That I am like the rest of you, I bleed just the same
Can’t you see the damage you have done? Have you no shame?
I am in agony and drowning in my own grief
Can you please help me or send some type of relief?
I guess this just proves what I have known all my life
I am the victim and the world is the culprit holding the knife
Just “Kiddin”
Miracle man
10/26/2024
Any story travels fast,
in a three dog town.
Moments from inception,
it will move crosstown.
Once a close group,
now fragmented friends.
Each waiting on the other,
to make amends.
It shouldn’t take much,
just issue a retraction.
For what began as a joke
got an overreaction.
The NBA was on strike,
Everyone is in the fight.
Racial injustice rages on,
It’s urgent for change to come.
Black man paralyzed with seven pops,
No actions are taken to make a stop.
White man gets the special treatment,
While black people are viewed a threat.
Majority of people say overreaction,
To a society issue that causes reactions.
A group of people are being scrutinized,
America hears black and thinks uncivilized.
America thinks it’s right to dehumanize,
I can’t comprehend the reason why.
America represents hope of a better life,
Ironically, they justify taking black lives.
Terror deep into that darkness scaring
Terror death shall bring out extremists
Death long I stood there provoking, declaring scaring
Terror I crave the terrorist, tearing
Terror you warned me about the sparer, not caring
Terror overreacting and overreaction with my militancy
I protest as I contest
I have dreamed of the elements
I crave the material, militant! Militants!
But in the fact that it was dripping
Still is whipping, still is whipping, whipping up destruction and terror
Much I marveled the material battlefield
The military melancholy mussing
Terror while I pondered, tearing and sealing just short of stealing
Terror deep into that darkness objecting
Terror death shall bring substances
“It’s that beating, “so I muttered
Terror picking up dead bodies that clutter
2/9/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©