Best Vaguely Poems
I vaguely remember when you weren't
sick.
I try to wrack my mind to recall who
you once were.
I've always loved you with my whole
heart.
But to be honest, I really don't know
you, I do, but I don't.
You have been sick for so long; it hurts
that I can't make you well.
I've prayed that your sickness would
leave and never return.
When I was younger, I didn't understand
your illness because it wasn't physical.
Medication manages and controls your
symptoms, but you’re not well, you’re
still sick.
I wish I had the chance to really know
the real you.
I believe the real you is somewhere
locked inside your mind.
But your debilitating sickness has you
bound.
Nevertheless, I love you for who you are
now and the person you once were.
02/25/2021
Resubmitted 04/25/2021
Contest: Your Best Free Verse This Year So Far
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Warning: vaguely gross content... hmm, can something be ‘vaguely’ gross?
NO TOILETS IN THE SKY
To the tune of Ghost Riders In The Sky (loosely)
Santa’s doing tinkles as he travels on his way
Sprinkling golden showers ’cross the moonlit sky today
He has no private place to pee which fills him with dismay
For there’s no public toilets... in the Milky Way
Santa’s got his legs crossed cos he’s been out on the beer
His guts are throwing tantrums and he wishes home was near
He knows he’s gonna poo his pants that fact is fairly clear
For there’s no public toilets... in the upper atmosphere
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
Santa hits some turbulence and says a little prayer
He needs to poo and piddle but there’s nowhere private there
He’s sure he gonna throw up and become a vomit sprayer
For there’s no public toilets... in the ozone layer
Santa’s gonna poop himself, how will he show his face
Public humiliation, and permanent disgrace
He can’t hold on much longer, though he needs a private place
For there’s no public toilets... on the edge of space
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
Santa belched and burped and then his tummy grumbled loud
His fart was wet but silent, he was glad because he’s proud
Santa’s really trying not to throw up over crowds
For there’s no public toilets... high above the clouds
Santa’s doubled up, good job the reindeer know the way
He’s squirting out of every orifice a putrid spray
All kinds of hell are raining down on Earth this Christmas Day
For there’s no public toilets... in the Milky Way
He needs to go
He needs to pray
No toilets in the sky
No toilets in the sky
No toilets in the sky
I remember…
It was an awful oppressing day,
The clouds were dim and the air was frosty…
I couldn't stop myself, I ran to my room and died.
Tears were streaming down my face as Niagara falls in mid-summer.
As I looked into the mirror I could only see,
glistening scarlet eyes and a crooked smile staring straight at me.
Daring me, like a child's game, to face the knife behind my back
I closed my eyes and a masquerade of death appeared
I entered through the bloody mist and a wave of terror fell upon me.
A peaceful but tormenting rhythm began to play,
Its sinister sound stabbed each mask that twirled by
Some masks were devilish and ghostly others were scarred and damaged
But all were unique and held the beholders deepest fear
These masks were shields, hiding the eyes from disgust and failure
Making sure to safely conceal their most gruesome side
To no surprise, I was one of them, I was no different
I-wore a mask hiding the slicing pain that cut me from the inside out
I was a broken soul forced to play a game of life
And this everlasting impression of pain and terror devoured me
As I no longer heard the sound of music or could see the death destined masks dance by
The bloodthirsty mist slowly disappeared and the mask that once identified me as-- broken had vanished
I steadily awaken from what felt like an eternity of lifelessness
I found myself sprawled out on the floor in my room
I began to rise, like a zombie from its grave. One limb after another.
I noticed a sharp pain in my foot as I look down there were silver shards scattered around me
Terrified I glanced up and saw the cold-blooded knife stabbed into the mirror
I could no longer see my swollen eyes or warped smile
And the deep scars that were once full of pain and terror, began to heal
Finally, I was free from the awful game of life
and no world was left upon my shoulders
But to this day
I still fear that death is holding me in his tight godly grip
Never willing to go
If I am my truest, most pure and complete Self
when I feel happy, light hearted, and free,
when I feel depressed, heavy hearted, and stuck,
who am I?
If this is the end of a few years' stint of feeling real - of being real-ly alive...
What does that now make me?
If it can be this easy
to fall away from mySelf -
to lose mySelf,
how do I get back to Me?
If I'm not here,
where am I?..
How strongly do I believe
in my own existence,
if I don't believe
in only existing..?
That's all I'm barely doing right now..
I really don't want to be a dead-weight on the World.
I want to be a part of its buoyancy..
I see occasional glimmers of
Me on a good day,
twinkling like a hopeful star
through a brief gap in a grey night's cloud..
I don't know if that gives me hope
that I've not gone too far,
or makes me sadder that
I'm rarely around..
If it can be this easy to lose Me,
can I also be easily found?..
Vaguely the morning descends on my head's heavy boulder,
stabbing the night away, like a rude intruder, and
vaguely, I stare in the mirror at the stranger staring at me.
You were once a familiar face and we shall have friendly chat again,
whenever you feel lonely and depressed. Of the noise outside,
I have no clue, there's probably a preacher pretending we're civilized.
I would be late for work now if I had a job and worried about the next pay check.
Vaguely I remember the good old days, when we burnt half those checks in happy hours, and the handsome tips I left behind. Now I live on memory alone.
Vaguely I shake my head for a nod to life and being here now without despair.
I am vaguely aware of death lurking outside the window, counting my days ahead, like a patient highway patrol bored with inaction. Crap, move to the side and show me your double, need someone to talk straight, without an accent, a certified copy. And where is the damn matches to light this cigarette? I must do something meaningful with my life, without any delay, before it is too late, for what? Vaguely I ask myself, knowing time is not on my side, only under my feet, like a suffocating crocodile that once groped my jaw and then spitted me away as too tasteless.