Best Straitjacket Poems
Did you ever have the feeling there's a man in your can?
Or a ball down the hall with an eye to spy?
Sometimes I'm sure I have ants on a tour of my house without cure.
And sometimes I know there's a pup in my cup, yelling "Hey, what's up!"
And that white ram in the door jam well, he's on the lam.
That's the kind of paranoia I live with each day.
I admit I'm delusional in a big way!
Some visitors are quite friendly like the girl with a curl under my bed with Earle.
But Bower in the shower, well he sings for hours!
And the lady named Sadie why she is quite shady!
I like Randy. He always has candy.
But the man looking at me in the TV, him I wish I couldn't see.
All the brunettes in the cabinets, they love to dance about.
But that meanie named Bellini, him I could do without!
The cat in my hat I don't like at all.
And I get quite nervous when Saul runs down the hall.
The bears on the stairs taunt me without a sound.
And so do the others who like to hang around.
Like Bert, and Mert, and Kurt, and Gert who live inside my shirt.
I don't care if you don't believe it, find me my straitjacket. I'll never leave it!
*Based on the book, There's a Wocket in My Pocket
for Dr. Seuss Theme and Form contest (Joann Grisetti)
Seventh Place
Categories:
straitjacket, confusion, fantasy, funny, me,
Form:
Rhyme
I have a passion for the blue color
Dark blues like the deepest oceans
Or light ones as the brightest skies
Navy blues bring out the poet in me
And I meditate using a Lapis Lazuli
My protection spell is a teal circle of fire
And of course my wedding ring has a Sapphire
But that’s not all, mind you
I love my denim jeans of indigo blue
I just have to buy anything blue I see
From a peacock phone
To a cobalt TV
You can call me crazy
Or really eccentric
Since my car is a shiny blue electric
I still want to paint my hair
With all shades of blue
But I have to convince hubby first
To not put me in a straitjacket…
…UNLESS IT’S BLUE…
***
January 26, 2017
1st place in the Contest: The Color Blue
Sponsor: Janis Thompson
Categories:
straitjacket, color, funny,
Form:
Free verse
Revoking Doc's License #1
A word from the State Medical Board committee
The #1 injection will always be P.D.
Doc, I am considering to slam you out of pity
I do not mess with poets whose licenses come from Hello Kitty.
You overdose my patient RED, getting down to the nitty gritty.
At this time, your practice has been revoke
For coming after me as I wear my black cloak.
I got a grip on my scythe pressed against your throat.
Pees running down your legs leaving you all soak
Doc, I got your body full of Narcotics and Painkillers as a joke.
Dropping you like a lawsuit on the examination table with one smack.
Denying you morphine as your vasectomy goes wrong in this attack
I already drove you insane labeling you a quack.
Your hand I flushed in (TRANQUILIZER), slapping you with a black Jack.
Waking up without your gems blood all over your sack.
Restrain you in a straitjacket, throwing you in a padded room.
Covered in your own s*it as you were in your mother’s womb
Poet-ing like a disco biscuit on ecstasy, before I made you go SKAT-boom!
Engraving your Poetic Doctor Degree on the outside of your tomb.
With the words that speak, P.D. was the cause of your poetic doom.
by;P.D.
Categories:
straitjacket, slam
Form:
Free verse
Must our eyes even when we blind see
I closed my eyes but Zipporah D ‘Ead was aborting the Evil
Zipporah says Kevin Daddy closed her eyes not to see
And that mother sees but to her it’s no Evil
Remember my daughter all we have is nothing you have to see
Until it’s too late we must see no Evil
Must our ears even when we deaf Hear
I closed my ears but Mama Zipporah was screaming like she saw something Evil
Kevin Daddy says she is stupid she want supposed to hear
And that Zipporah my sister died of nature not Evil
Zipporah my saint pray for mother I need you to Hear
And don’t forget she did her best but too late she is not evil
Remember in this our world money buys ears they all can’t Hear
Until it’s too late we must hear no evil
Must our mouths even when we Dumb Speak
And closed his mouth but Kevin Daddy drunk in his straitjacket must be something Evil
Zipporah and her mother he says to him they speak
Another one they say cray like the world it’s Evil
Remember the voices in our heads shouldn’t Speak
Until it’s too late we must speak no Evil
CHECK VID ON https://youtu.be/uV3uoIK0C0Y
Categories:
straitjacket, abuse, africa, art, corruption,
Form:
ABC
Mocking Bird
Mocking Bird Mocking bird can't fly,
Mocking bird can't sing,
Mocking Bird is unable to walk.
She's not allowed to do anything.
Cold naked, all alone,
in dark dirty room that,
daddy calls her home.
Strapped in a straitjacket,
and chained to a chair,
hosed down and beaten every day,
never even allowed to cry.
not a word,
Her daddy wanted it that way.
Daddy called it love.
The last exit to hell in,
in the city of angels, a town they call L.A.
For twelve long years,
Her daddy kept her that way.
At night her daddy force feeds her slops
then chains her to her bed.
They found her when she turned thirteen
Labelled her the feral wild, child.
So she blames herself,
for her life that never was.
And She dreams in echoes of a life that might have been.
The experts and lawyers fought over her night and day,
At the last exit to hell
In the City of Angels, a town they call L.A
Mocking bird can’t sing,
Mocking bird can’t talk,
Mocking Bird cant even walk.
But she can only hop like a rabbit.
And She is now a free bird,
but she is still locked away,
At the last exit to hell in a town called L.A.
She dreams in echo's,
of a life that might have been,
And the mocking bird is now a Mocking Jay
Foe, she does not exist either way.
Even now She's locked in dark dirty room
that's black, blue and gray .
that The State of California calls her home.
Locked away in the City of Angels
A city they call L.A.
Echoes of a life that might have been.
Locked away in the City of Angels
A town called L.A.
Echoes of a life, that might have been.
that might have been,
In HELL a HELL they call L.A.
(c) London F. BuSS 2022 Coochie Road Australia.
Note. this is a true story, when she was discovered, she couldn't walk (she could hop like a rabbit). She was chained to a chair for 13 years. She couldn't feed herself; she couldn't cry, she couldn't talk (even now she cannot speak whole sentences. She is regarded as highly intelligent but State of California still has her locked away in hell.
Categories:
straitjacket, abuse, angst, anxiety, betrayal,
Form:
Free verse
Nowhere to go but vertigo
Going vertical on weary tippy toe
Tinker and thinker
Of time traveler gizmos
Warping
Escaping
Jumping ship on life saver worm holes
Colliding lips of psychos doing the calypso
Wearing colorful straitjacket calico
I see everything using eagle eye ego
Playing peekaboo peeking through
The peephole seeing the truth
Behind all the lying people
Who pretend to be sincere and humble
Anti-hero with a mouthful
of marihuana sour diesel
Sweet magnetic mouth massaging
Your modem mental muscle
No more simple fast food rhymes
Overdue on eating your complex
Edgar Allen flow vegetables
Lines like these are instant
Movie star action figure collectibles
Vintage
Classic
Top-notch like a shot of aged scotch
Shocking, leaving a tingling feeling
In your aging genitals
Categories:
straitjacket, art, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
The Webb’s my second Mommy and Daddy of the year ; It’s only June
Mr. Carver, the social worker rambles on as we pull into the driveway
My five year old eyes open wide as I see the giant mansion dotted with children
Ten new brothers and sisters, painfully shy, fear elevated to a joyful want of family
Sunday dinner, introductions: Mr. Webb a Fuller Brush salesman , meek and gentle
Mrs. Webb a stay at home Mom, a beautiful woman : with wicked sky blue eyes
Alice the oldest of us all, looked up to by her younger siblings ,the Rock of the kids
Virginia, frail , the twins Joe and Jim, rambunctious, Bobby, the loner, Millie,deaf
I would learn sign language. Rebecca, shy as me, William, Mom’s favorite. Dotty
The humorous one. George six month older than me, soon to be my closest brother
I slept well that night
Good morning, Harry I’m going to work I’ll be back Friday night, a chorus of Goodbyes
The nightmare begins : Harry you will call me Ma’am you snotty nosed little bastard
Alice, Joe, fill the bath tub this filthy little boy must be cleansed .Ma’am he’s only five
Don’t sass me ***** with a slap across the face Alice fell to the floor. The tub filled
The chlorine made my eyes water,tears rolled down my cheeks. Are YOU Crying?
If your going to live in this house YOU will be a man now scrub your genitals, did you
Hear me? Mom; several slaps to the head ,YOU WILL call me Ma’am, now scrub
With tears flooding my cheeks, Ma’am I don’t know what genitals are, the bleach burning
Ma’am beating me with a Fuller Brush scrub brush dry yourself, go upstairs get dressed
As I limped by the girl’s room I saw Millie, Ginny straped to their beds I started to help
Alice gently pulled me back : Don’t help them Harry Ma’am will beat you: but, but Why
The atrocities I saw that week scarred me for life Thank God, Mr. Webb came home early
Tuesday morning Ma’am in a straitjacket being put in a Police cruiser. All the children :
Heading to new Foster Homes : We kept in touch
Inspired by Deborah Guzzi”s Contest : Something wicked this way comes
Categories:
straitjacket, childhood, family, sadhumorous, me,
Form:
Free verse
Sonnet to puzzlement
And there I look, eager mind ready to offer a polite
Salutation; hopeful introduction to eventual
Happiness.
That first hello, shyly voiced, a certain questioning
In its intonation, the rising ending signalling hope.
I wonder why? Why is there this urge to approach,
And dance the eternal dance. Whence comes
This foolish optimism, that there is someone,
Somewhere, who like-minded fits the
Straitjacket of wit, physique and pheromones?
The Bard protests he will not to the marriage
Of true minds admit impediment; yet he does
Not offer the magic formula of finding one
Whom tempests do not sway.
Sonnet to incompleteness
Love is not love when fragmentation of the eternal
Triad is apparent on second, or third, inspection.
A pleasing face, trim bodied, with sharp mind,
Challenging thoughts and confronting conversation,
So exciting. But there is no spark, no panting
Desire to bed, or wed, to forget the mundane chores
Of life in order to be near, and touch, and inhale
The sweet fragrance of love.
Likewise, physical lust overwhelms; until chance
Remark reveals a capable mind, yet not resonant,
Not in tune with the vagaries of your thought.
Or, indeed, mind and pheromones work their magic,
Yet there is no urge to gaze on arabesque lips or
Admire that gentle curve, this almond eye.
Sonnet to Despair
And, let us suppose, that one comes who plays
On our three stringed lute of attraction;
Yet we do not pluck their strings and evoke
A pleasing duet of love. What then?
Are we doomed to live in some halfway
House of hope, a bystander to their life,
That they live out, oblivious to our nose
Against their window, wishful, a fading
Hope that their silence is to test our resolve,
Rather than proclaim a message of rejection.
The song that only we can hear has no echo,
No answering question, that once was voiced,
In subtle terms, without the courage to ask;
And thus we wait in hope.
Categories:
straitjacket, emotions,
Form:
Sonnet
They want me to dance
Always dance, never anything else
Dance
Always dance, their hopeful eyes
following my every move
Dance
But my music is mine
My moves are mine
Alone
Mine alone
I used to dance for myself
They saw me, wanted me to
Wanted me, all of me, devour me,
Dance
Dance
The world used to be mine
My world was of colour and moving
Moving colour, music and me
Dance
When I became their obsession
Possession
Objectify, Hunger, straitjacket
I lost it
Dance
I lost my dance
I lost myself
Became a blur, bore
Forgot worlds of wonder
Worlds of endless joy
I want no more, no more
I am of no one but me
If I dance
If I dance
It will be for me, for me alone
Alone
Of no one
But me
Dance
Categories:
straitjacket, beautiful, dance, sorrow, stress,
Form:
Free verse
It is the truth which
never was. After many
deaths I will come to you
to repeal my verses.
The festering earth was
making the rains green,
to suck the dry sands
thrown by the angry winds.
The soul upturns the body.
You will crawl in a tunnel
to come out for sedation
accepting the karma.
A non-acceptance of the
straitjacket. Let the anxiety
rise like a beast.
Satish Verma
Categories:
straitjacket, art,
Form:
ABC
If streams of my dreams should screech to a halt
Inside a smart heart gone stone cold
Enabling losses, mosses and tosses to unleash the thunderbolt
That with no iota of care clinches and pinches my gold
In addition to writing off prospects of recovery
From a bruising encounter I deem harsh
And if my heart should make the discovery
That scratches from a branch of love should smash
Points of view held dear and clear in my avatar
I’d beg to excuse fuses grown short
In contests driving a harsh bargain on a far flung star
Whose flight should crush every effort
I muster to master emotions swirling and whirling inside
My heart whose beats betray the certainty
That the future no longer cossets the pride sauntering astride
Past and present, hope and despair, humility and vanity
I should gladly fly my clout and doubt docket
Away from the business as usual model
To reinvent and reengineer my love rocket
And glide, ride and slide slowly but surely to the citadel
Where my sanity free of a stricture straitjacket
Should direct and resurrect immense possibilities
To recover the gold stolen from folds of the jacket
Stalking veneers and facades whose fragilities
Awaken the sleeping lions whose roar
Breaks the autonomy and monotony
Discernible from the unexpected uproar
My riposte raises in protest against gregarious gluttony.
Categories:
straitjacket, poems,
Form:
Free verse
The words are falling outside my window
Burying even the snow-covered paths.
The words will never end
Because you’ll never end.
You’re gone.
You’re mine.
Why should I discard your pretty torture?
Abandon the wild pain your calm eyes stab me with – no.
You can’t love him like I love him,
You can’t burn with a smile on your face.
The night is strong, and it threatens to engulf
And drown me slowly with the cool winter wind.
I’m learning ways of dying through the life you inflict,
The sweet, sweet, sweet stabs of life.
I can’t love you any more
But I think there’s still some more, a bit more I can love you.
So if these words hurt you, I’m sorry
Go be at peace with another, I’ll carry on somehow.
But just in case you want those pretty stabs too
I’ll show you how to feel.
And I’ll be tied up in a straitjacket while you watch me
Holding her hand and telling her how you loved her reflection.
Categories:
straitjacket, death, depression, funeral, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
there's a second ocean
sprawled like an accident,
a spill of plastic guts and chemical veins
choking what swims,
suffocating the tides
that once dreamed of moonlight and salt.
we did this.
with our coffee cups and straws,
our six-pack rings,
our shiny wrappers crumpled
and forgotten.
a monument to convenience,
an altar to laziness,
floating like the unburied dead
on water too poisoned to sweep.
somewhere out there,
a bird swallows a cigarette lighter
and calls it food.
a turtle struggles in the straitjacket of progress.
and the ocean,
the god we ignored,
becomes our mirror,
ugly and infinite,
what kind of emotions do you feel when I call you out about that?
Categories:
straitjacket, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
BURKA
Being housed daily in a cage of cloth
Heavy and burdensome I yearn to be free
As a person in a straitjacket I scream
My yoke is colored black
It is hot inside my burka yet there are voices in my family
Unable to speak out to help me remove this abomination
but there would be a heavy price to pay to speak out
so nobody says anything but we are all screaming inside
We scream inside our skulls
So nobody will hear our lament
To keep our children safe
Even though we know they are in bondage
The little boys and girls of our Afghan family
are kept ignorant of the evil that surrounds us
soon enough they will find out
and come to know our culture’s plight
We have gotten used to it having no recourse
We teach our girls how to put it on
To look as good as they can
Because appearances are important
But that is a western thing not Afghan
Right now with the failure of the United States military
We were left holding the bag
As the old American says
It was our one chance to escape the coming oppression
but we were left at the airport
chancing an ungodly approaching aftermath
All Afghans dread the coming of the night
But time will tell
We will be here probably in blood
Cursing the darkness
And dreaming what it could have been
If we Afghans had only stood our ground.
Categories:
straitjacket, abuse, angst, freedom, women,
Form:
Free verse
Despite our own struggles inner and outer, visible and invisible
Let’s go on, loving, caring, making a difference
In our families, communities and cities where feasible
Whether in reference to their struggles or during a conference
To eat caviar, drink champagne or discuss how to mitigate
The plight of the voiceless, the choiceless, the hapless
On whom fate has heaped hunger and thirst at their gate
Where perennial Hell seems a ceaseless
Straitjacket from which they can’t wriggle free
Whether to sleep, weep, creep or keep the faith
We enjoin them to cherish underneath a mango tree
That can no longer bear fruit in the wake of water dearth
Brought about by human insensitivity, polluting the air and water bodies
That propel water cycles and green plant processes including photosynthesis
To enable life and food webs to proceed apace despite polluted water eddies
From which emerge horrors and terrors whose synthesis
Spews disaster
Spells gloom
Slays happiness and bliss faster
And on obdurate humankind bestows doom with no maneuver in her revenge room
Unless we come through offering to heal our broken world
Working beyond the normal call of duty to feed the hungry
Accommodating the swirled and hurled
Whether we’re happy, moody or angry
Endeavouring to do the least but delivering the best shot
Effacing our needs to plant hope seeds
Loving in a consistent manner, blowing neither cold nor hot
So that in the end every aching heart receives a dose of love feeds.
Categories:
straitjacket, poems,
Form:
Free verse