Long Aphasia Poems
Long Aphasia Poems. Below are the most popular long Aphasia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aphasia poems by poem length and keyword.
I am being held hostage by a pressing force of incognizant, and I am impregnated in a world of spiraling storms of confusion.
Fragments of memories prods my mind. Sudden and swift memories of my failings and sins are but a measured minute of my life.
Why can't I remember slipping into this fog of incertitude, this doom pressing force of incognizant.
My heart grows numb against the days and nights that I spend in despondency.
Familiar faces shifts to peculiar and ill-boding images.
Solitude is a conundrum of emptiness. A bittersweet embrace.
My tongue is locked in an aphasia space.
My brain has forgotten its ability to command, and so my legs and arms have no will of its own.
I want to run away, run to a place that will strike a familiar note in my brain.
I hate being handled by strangers who pull at me and torture me with applications of abuse.
In a regular diurnal, my dignity is decomposing.
Despair is the song of my wretched soul.
I can not stop crying.
copyright Labyrinth of Life
A gold rush began ... the search for words
Twist - curl, tie a knot on the tongue :
- "Red lorry, yellow lorry, red lorry, yellow lorry"
- "Seth at Sainsbury’s sells thick socks"
- "If Stu chews shoes, Stu should choose the shoes he chews"
- "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream"
- "Fresh fried fish, Fish fresh fried, Fried fish fresh, Fish fried fresh "
I do not have aphasia, just a little callous too weird sounds
It's almost a little embarrassing,
ask me about cooking and mixology
The words are ambiguous, convoluted and irregardles
Usually I can say that I am not nonplussed
I bequeath these words to the reader
Slowly it began to dawn on me
this may have nothing to do with poetry at all
- It was a weird book I found
*Callous
*Mixology
*Irregardles
*Nonplussed
*Bequeath
30/09/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Mystery Word Find Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
3rd place in the contest
Tear drops roll down my cheeks.
Blessed with mirror-touch synaesthesia!
Claircognizant empaths - inflame my aphasia.
I know, I know - the die is cast!
Eh! Still words - pierce through my silent heart.
Leave me – leave me!
I need time to talk with my soul.
For no one knows – why!
Why emotions welled up so high?
How would you know - the reason behind my sigh!
And why such deep grief and frown?
And why the frozen sea melted down?
And the pain behind my collapsing castle!
How intense is my tussle!
Yeah! How would you know?
What I just lost was my holy grail!
All I need is solitude to sail!
Let me start without an apology
Because you, honey, need not be in apiculture
Every second you bee apiece apiary
As I fall for your rich honey droop apace
Take me to space if you must but never cause apathy
Because you dug in my heart with a never closing aperture
And when in your presence I fumble on words like one with aphasia
Darling the gospel you preach to me makes you an apotheosis of an apostle
Sometimes your therapy I take like you were an apothecary
Or maybe you are but again you make me aplomb
Knowing fully well you're the apostrophe
That omits my imperfections like an apparition
Let me make an appeal
Because if I don't all this might not be applicable
So I appreciate your every applause
As I apprehend
This love you shower me with a posteriori
The Accidental Poet
I have come to terms with language,
dyslexia jailed then freed me
a framed sky for instance,
or the open nature of oceans for instance,
one denies the other.
He had a brain injury
a perfectly constructed man
until the fatal blow of his Muse.
Now he speaks only in poetry,
a language unbounded.
Some thought him touched
by a language that had no beginning nor end.
The man spoke direct from the Fountain,
the Wellspring.
Out God poured,
out poured the bedeviled and the saintly,
the lost and found,
seers so blinded by love
they must vocalize each sound.
An idiom that passed all understanding
yet could be grasped on the wing
an ephemeral thing, a single Mayfly
in an endless array of May blossoming.
It was a beautiful seamless moving hem
of apperception, a cloth made whole.
It was beautiful even when it was ugly.
It was the poetry of words set free.
I wondered if my own trivial dyslexic mind
could ever hope to match his artistry
and knew it never would.
You would have to take out the brain
find that breach in its convolutions
through which God speaks.
I knew this, the way a child knows
the uncharted face of its birth mother,
yet I still try to drive a wildness
through a picket fence.
Old words won’t do anymore,
the scaffolding is too overworked, it won’t hold,
the used-up must go the way of all dead things,
to the soil
where roots know the birth-pains of green.
The man talks on, the therapists shrug,
try to force his tongue into neat, prepackaged boxes
but it will not fit,
he smiles as they wipe spit from his lips,
keeps explaining God to them
but they have no understanding of poetry;
they keep begging him too slow down
but he is way ahead of them
and always will be.
Memories of future events
Recollections of measures ahead
Reminiscence in fast forward
Aspirations leaping back
Projections of past reckoning
Icebergs frozen in conscience
Consciousness without borders
Recollective molten amnesia
Advanced reality looms precariously in forgone loops of oblivion
Renounced surrender pleads for reprieve in courageous defeat
A clairvoyant seeks to make sense of tea leaves still drowned
The backstage raven cusps darkened hope where none is left
Futuristic amnesia on the run is looking onto sunken imprints
Dragged feet are pegged to a ragged core of stuttering insanity
Wild wings roar raging on collision courses with roots’ firm recall
Yet the fool seeks wisdom if only for reruns of nascent madness
The black bird is caught in a trap of concerted voices in aphasia
A torn music sheet drifts down an abyss behind closed curtains
But the clouded clown’s mind refuses time's penultimate applause
Claps his bound feet and decides to enrol in imponderable cheers
21st February 2020
…obliterated night of the seven seasons
tickets and thickets and trains collide
into the cliché of licking tongues
wed to the bred moan of capitalism
(grinning gothic gremlin) smile of a nurse
before the coma saturates the elliptical
thought of the ghost mutes trepidation
(ride the crest of the adder’s riddle)
infested with scales of karma flaking
magic merging with the indifferent
Earth (and the sky implodes anxiety)
--a voice says crawl back to childhood—
innocence is an oblivious death-sentence
terminated without punctuation (again her)
approval is a mark of degeneration (descend
-ing) linked aphasia is the coded dance of night
…sour taste in the heart as the mouth spouts
…verbs of deeds painted like profanity
…I see her riding the obelisk of risk
…until the tendrils lie
shivered awake by mourning nothingness
thrown back within the iris of truth
drowning in the colors of reason…