Best Unreason Poems
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
Beneath a bright-sapphired-sky
I crush and cry
Not cuddling to my unreason
Away I've swept my bean and sigh
That Death must see no greater season...
I cry- Today,
just for a dying-butterfly!
Unreason
- by Bob Atkinson
"... ode to those
who teach creative
writing at the
college level,
yet have not the
talent nor
understanding
required
to produce something
worthwhile ..."
to listen graciously
then turn away
feeling for the
first time
wonder at his
sayings
carries burdens
newly minted
for my life on lumpy
pavement
simply put this
wreck of words
drives not my lucid
statements
in fear of simple
castings made
those so hard to
correctly gage
find difficulty in
believing
what should or
shouldn't stand
feed me what to this
date
has not been allowed
percolation
to equate justice
circumcised
against wispy
thoughts berated
metaphors mixed
until complete
that nonsense we all
believe in
can only drive us
deeply down
a path toward firm
unreason
Free
I stand here free
wondering if I truly am
always wrong in my thought
when it’s not as you taught
I stand here free
wondering why in speech
When I make as I please
The powers, I displease
Monger of terror, or infidel
must I in whatever you will
procure faith with unreason;
to my mind, commit treason?
Should I continue to subsist
unfettered, by your dictates
yet, equal to you by figment;
forever guilty by my pigment?
I stand here unrestrained
yet, wondering about shackles:
why the physical was abolished;
The mental, never demolished
I stand here wielding power
Power to break your every chain;
In dearth, still dream big dreams
fed infinitely by my inner streams
Originally Written on 13/10/2018
for "I stand here" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish.
Rewritten on 29/10/2018
The pounds gained after the Christmas season
Give you a powerful smashing reason
To stick in a great diet
Causing to feel disquiet
That ends in losing weight with unreason
For Limerick Contest
Sponsored by Jan Allison
First Place
12-22-2015
Golden leaves upon the pear trees
No fruit to ripen though
Spring's frost killed it all in the bud
Always hope for next year's to grow
The air is damp and cool again
Charcoal gray clouds move in
There's a tet-a-tee between fall
And winter to begin
We never know about the seasons
It's unsure just like life
Which can zap us with unreason
Or blessings flow without strife
Gb2 's a radio show, it airs in Sydney...But there's more to know.'
Ben Fordam has been speaking out, on the covid dictates
Roundabout on where the science meets the facts
Whether it's all altruistic.? Or do some just act?
Also acts that block, that rile and shock; that lay down demands
That cost a lot..' Much production is de-railed; Aussie
Dreams now are ships with tattered sails, I hear that Ben is
Triple vaxed.. ) an early advocate, was his shout not so lax.'
Yet now he'll listen to anti-views ' To me that rings like
Dinkum news.' He' on facebook; and also twitter He's
A sounding board; and I'd reckon, a real heavy hitter.'
I haven't met the man as yet.' But I like the idea that
He's listening, and talking.' that's the part I really get.!
Go for it Ben,.' I will also here give mention to another
Australian heveyweight journalist Andrew Bolt a legend
In his time and this field, who has been questioning things
And even resigned, from the official endorsed media he
Was involved in, If I get time I will do him in a piece also '
A Rant – The Quiet Hypocrisy
it seeps in through gradual osmosis
and soon is ingrained in pliant minds
it mutates and thrives in tunnels of vision
and then is fused into the fiber of unreason
the quiet hypocrisy that drips of the tongues
spouting broken words of unfathomable callousness
the mutilated reeking carcass of cynicism
obscured by the veneer of polished discourse
stinks of inaction and of insipid rationalization
the probing and prodding and splintering of each thought
curdles the shallow layer of feeling
interring the basic simple and only humanity
that is gleefully ripped into isolated fragments
the quiet hypocrisy of battles fought and of causes embraced
is plain to see in the faces of the earnest
as they cling onto their bitter loathsome prejudices
whilst buying redemption under a placard of well-meaning
the quiet hypocrisy of these selective battles waged under the flimsy pretense of caring
stinks to the highest heaven promised in mantras and duas and prayers and chants
as the spectacle of the apartheid within the mind is worn on each tailored sleeve
the choosing of these battles in the name of faith and clung onto simply because of a common creed
is a pathetic spectacle of segregated thought
buried under the folds of righteous bluster
so before you jump on that bandwagon of indignation because 'your' people are in pain
take a look at the hidden fascism that simmers just below your holier-than-thou sudden spurt of heartfelt rage
for the quiet hypocrisy that is unknowingly imbibed
is apparent for all to behold
for when the 'other' endure the injustice carried out in 'your' peoples' name
you stand mute and silently complicit for your indignation simply melts away
as the quiet hypocrisy that is firmly rooted in you
exults in pious pretences while 'your' own continue to hate, rape, pillage and slay
it saddens me that so much vitriol drips off my pen in such effervescent times
but I cringe as each moment another quiet hypocrite rants about the despotism of the 'other'
while smiling complacently and smugly and soaking in the quiet hypocrisy of remaining mute about 'my' peoples' own crimes
Poets are the first class citizens of the country,
They are the interpreters of the future through
The eyes of the gods that call them into service.
They are well respected and feared in the society;
Their words can endanger or even kill you.
Poets are not talkative like a lay man in the society.
Quietness is their friend, silence their golden spoon.
They are awake thinking while you sleep yourself out
You can't see them dressed to be addressed by the thugs in the society but, they are the eyes that people see through.
They are authoritative in nature, commanding millions to their imaginative eyes and mouths.
Poets are performances, artist, directors, creators,
Motivators, and doctors; doctors of love lines
Which breaks the walls of the heart's ribs.
You can't get poets in any act of controversy;
Unreason chicken soup that does not uplift the soul,
Like the musicians who goes about naked and stupid.
Poets are calm like the rabbit, beautiful like the roses.
Their words, many hurry to listen to and learn from.
They have no licence but they can drive without been
Arrested by those law enforcement agency.
They have no breast but they can breast feed a baby with words that are rare to find by mothers.
Poets are loving, imaginers, curators and educators.
Orancle they are; made to be in the midst of men!
gods they are; correcting the wrong of the society!
Who has seen a poet and did not turn to have another look of the gorgeous angel that just passed him.
Poets are legislatures and their pens, are the judiciary.
Poets are witches flying with their spirits so high.
You can see them here and there penetrating men' souls.
Love them the way they are if you love your life,
Dine with them and make your life perfect to behold.
Poets are lovable, eloquent and dream driving people.
(C) john chizoba vincent
Time Sequence (5 seconds to start - 2 minutes to complete)
There’s a time sequence that sweeps you away
Where are you going? No, when are you going
Is the question
That begs to be answered
This marking of the seconds
Is a tick tocking clocking
Of opportunity slipping
Sideways into tomorrow
Can you see it?
It’s the voice of unreason
Can you hear it?
It’s the image of a lost adventurer
Putting his oar to the water
Gone in the rise and fall of the waves
Lost in the tides of the sea
What comes tomorrow?
Who will answer me?
Written For Matt Caliri's "Write Now" Challenge" -
He believed in inconsistency, with the claim that he believed in me...
I held onto every word as I watched the the ashes of my heart scatter into rain and I
stopped, stuttered and shut.down., the key to everywhere ripping through my palms as I
realized
everywhere
bit.
Hope lay immortal inside my smile, the rainbow of dreams slipped through my teeth, he slid
down my colors with arms that entwined around my calves, I screamed his name with the
earthquake of secrets and he bruised possession into my skin, but I knew he was already
inside, I knew he had planted years of unreason into the separation of my soul, I knew he
stood right
in between
me.
Too many narcissistic dreams, mirrors grinned at us from every angle, I shut doors in the
faces that frowned, I felt I must be dreaming but the kicks inside my stomach woke me up
and, here, I knew the hold of sanity existed throughout the idea of being needed as the
edge of tears fell down with the thought that maybe I wouldn't be wanted as time...
destructed herself.
I allowed him to choke me, I fell apart in the intimidation of strength, but I knew we'd
be beautiful as our smiles stared life from the pages of picture books, I knew the corners
would turn up from eager fingerprints that would shame our past, and seasons change~
don't they?~
so why shouldn't we?
Two hours too soon and I had to admit through painted eyes that once I was wrong, twice
I'd been a fool, three times I swore I'd leave...
but promises broke and fell into ashes as hope arrested me into believing we could
inconsistently shock the world if the world took the time to cry for us...
if children held onto the dishonesty of fairy tales...
and I forgot to lift my feet...
when my secrets gathered themselves into a kiss that colored his shoulders and left us bare
on
Thursday.
What happened?
First the trustful child
the age of reason
one last grip on innocence
why is god so hard to hold...
what happened between the time?
I felt the onset of becoming another being
caught in some adult trap...I knew
the minute I joined this human race
a pall of unreason would enter.
Oh heaven… Cease to exist there!
And fall on them: the abbot of unreason!
They play mortal games on immortal themes
with faint afflation they desecrate
years old medium of tenets divine.
The hands that rose for blessing
lay in the dust and the legs that led
people onto the path of amity
were without mass and stood on no path
the lotus-wide ears grew for people’s misery
to build a heaven of comfort for them.
The heart that did no harm to any humans:
he professed neither God-ism nor atheism
no one must have an ism to fight on
the holy body was desecrated beyond excuse.
Oh heaven… Cease to exist there!
And fall on them: the abbot of unreason!
They’d done this to many temples and mosques
and brought no sense but lacerating hearts.
Should they meet their end in a place unknown?
and vanish into a dark forest and no one mourns.
Oh heaven…Cease to exist there!
And fall on them: the abbot of unreason!
A lonely night
Staring in the wall
Of eternity
A phone call
A glance
A second chance
Is out of sight
But not groovy
In the scenes
Of a movie
Blanked out
Black sleep
Rehearsal
For death
(a calm, breathless coffin)
a porch swings
a window blares
heat
sweat sires unreason
and a season of visions
dripping colors
Absinthe abstained
Schizophrenia unchained
(birds fly teeth grit)
a cool song plays on
revelation in a second
a dove flies echoes
The Transparency of Selves.
Transparently unseen,
lonely souls walking on,
slipping between raindrops,
curling between folds of reality,
twisting in dreary, worn-out skins.
Moulting, peeling off, discarding,
worn-down corpses edging towards,
whistling crowds of leering stares,
wasted on insipid momentary sighs,
where collective consciences lay mute.
Opaque words flounder, seeking, begging,
wooden excuses swept up in dusty screams,
bellowing unspoken profanities in solitude,
sweltering amongst boneless patriarchs,
where impotence teeters on the brink of reason.
Rivers of unreason roll on, ceaselessly,
watering the sordid thoughts and empty voices,
filtering out warmth and empathy, drilling,
deeper into a callousness that embraces,
coddles, nourishing nothing but putrid decay.