Long Bedlam Poems
Long Bedlam Poems. Below are the most popular long Bedlam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bedlam poems by poem length and keyword.
Inside The Mysterious Enigmatic Fragmentary...
Mortal Mind Of Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,
this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time
emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train
while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie
tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and
leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century
tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly
analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,
worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor
revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven
soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath
to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy
of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
Since time out of mind, out of thought,
a molecule of mankind (like I)
is held hostage by the garrote
of just being, and wonders why
the universe has it overwrought,
but too woebegone to ramify.
As my fragile frame and presence
of mind contract and then explode,
aspects of self lose existence
(like schizophrenic à la mode):
and therefore no longer make sense,
whilst suffering a manic episode.
Because of my mad disorder,
these lines reflect a troubled rhyme
(and an unbalanced word order);
still, so long as I feel sublime,
there won't be need (by court order)
for me to do more Bedlam time.
Oh most noblest of all our four legged friends
so fierce, wild and free come aboard, and be welcome
There's a place up in the bows where she their cubs attends
when the pair spot the hens the Arc turns into bedlam
Feathers flying everywhere as they scatter squawking
then Noah speaks. All are safe on my Ark live in peace
Then they all got chatting, soon put things right chuckling
think of it, the various minds, all full of caprice
Each with their own thoughts of how things should be done
The Ark, no wonder it ran aground, who's to blame?
The Hens, the hyenas? it sure was not the engine
blame it on the monkeys with their games they had no shame
for Noah's Ark contest
*Image of Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
AUDIO version for the vision impaired.
Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
Go, young man,
and conciliate cravings,
menacing palls the cherished
realm. Shelves are left barren
for frantic looks, as aisles
reload a virtuous plunge of
cobwebbed books, decaying
prints accolades of vice barren
save one issue ...
record stamped BUNKER.
Youths immersed
in causality and confidence,
protest keeps step as discord
spreads outward.
Mein Kampf now theirs,
whimsical misfits and loose
ends, melee erupts as age and
gender are trivial.
Young Romanis heed,
while zeal enlivens heels
as a body passes by,
in lieu of a gurney --
a wheelbarrow suffices.
Cadaverous festers,
for the emboldened few,
dare pierce opacity,
glimmers flit defiant palls,
as capricious spells
law books are easily tainted,
usurpers once blind,
struggles timorously
in their judicial robes.
If e'er survivors
from off the streets,
perchance a hearing,
they'll hear an echoing
in the silent courtroom,
'tis the calm ere the
storm, calamity on
trial, as justice for the
dead is made more dead
than death itself.
50s long gone bigotry kept
Santayana periods of disorder
a bedlam of societies rise
aphoristically said,
"Those who cannot remember
the past,
is condemned to repeat it".
~~a floor lies hope, shift ends, dustpan waits a couple more years.
2022 July 29
*1st Place*
Dr. Mikhail Tyaglyy
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2022 July 31
How do we justify…how do we cope…how do we keep going every day
into a world that is full of turmoil…a world in bedlam…filled with dismay?
When I think love is losing its never-ending battle with hate…
when I begin to wonder in my heart and in my mind…if…it is too late…
I return to three little words…which encourage me more and more
three words even hatred, bigotry and prejudice find it difficult to ignore.
As words of hate are so readily accepted, easily picked up…and hurled…
I remember how the words ‘I LOVE YOU’ have the power to change the world
Think about it:
“Hello, I LOVE YOU at the the moment of our birth…
are the first words we hear once our eyes have opened on this Earth.
“Goodbye, I LOVE YOU…we hear how these words rhyme
whispered in our ear…before we close our eyes for one last time.
Which makes me wonder…
If I LOVE YOU are the first and last words we hear…
How many I LOVE YOUS in our lifetime have we amassed….
How many I LOVE YOUS fill those moments between the first one and the last?
Yes, it fills my heart with joy
every time I look around and think this world is in a terrible state…
to remember the first and the last words we ever hear…
are words or LOVE…
not hate.
Menace intends to mow
Ruthless slices stem renegades
Remnants flap erratic,
Resilience remains unafraid
Virtuous dispose overgrown
Scorn of manicurist imbalanced
Courage operates alone
Realisation spurred by challenge
City's mesh messiness
Accepts intended bedlam mosaic change
Faceted shadow corners glint
Light slides, vertical snake rearrange
Cult harbingers cut opposers
Whip and snip straight edges
Goaded by nurtured clones
Rebel dispels lectures
Scope stacks psyches intermingled
Hand clasp members hope
Allegiance tucks members beneath wing
Anonymous chase, utopia
2nd August 2020
Any Form, Any Topic
Brian Strand, sponsor
The chaos in my heart,
The turbulence within my chamber,
A sea in tempestuous rage,
A sudden, rapid turning of the pages of a book,
An uproar gnawing at my mind—
Tranquil, I still seek to find.
I walk into the embrace of the day,
I walk into the loveliness of its morning light,
Desiring its warmth and beauty,
Hoping to look through its lens,
Longing to soar in the colours of its grace.
The chaos within me finds its way through,
The tumult escapes from its chamber,
I’m fighting to regain control.
The chaos in my heart is a recalcitrant child;
It refuses to be pacified.
It’s an age-old adventure,
An endless path filled with mysteries,
A wonderland of enigma.
Seeking the light hasn’t yet made a difference,
Searching the depths hasn’t quenched its flames;
It’s a monster glaring at my window.
I once told a sage that I feel like Paul in the Bible—
A thorn in his flesh,
Darkness in his soul,
An agent of Satan buffeting him.
He sought the Lord for deliverance,
But three times brought no difference—
Only a word of truth and consolation.
He said I didn’t understand what Paul meant,
But I believe I do;
Won’t the vessel know its contents?
Won’t the bearer recognize the weight of the load?
As much as I long for the strength of the Lord,
I desire the tranquillity of a river.
April 21, 2025.
When you sort decades of electric cables from that box hidden away
It reminds of disentangling neurons haphazardly fired at random
It’s a beautiful day and you’re in it among sea saw and hammer
Hundreds of screws in the tool box and all you want is a single unbent nail
Somewhere hidden under plucky wall plugs and skewed rusty hinges
If life gives you lemons a power drill defeats convention
Nuts bananas and bolts mislaid in the fridge with washers and powder
Reveal the essence of an organized mind squished in the blender
Bedlam chaos fragmentation or glorious harmony
Synapses jumping like fleas on the mindful grey patched neuronal carpet
Heavily worn by August the Clown because a well led life is a circus
Knowledge pushed into action potentially in a meaningful way
Buttons in the haberdashery basket cased in creativity’s mad insanity
Knotted threads from life-long preservation of patchwork and passion
Enmeshed a few screws yet again and a bubble gum wrapper
And that hammer once more testing reflexes deflected patella and callus
A pendulum for more esoteric days and a Tarot card next to the cross
Saved for a rainy day of prayer and the coronation of dreams
After decade long quest a screw is still a screw whether loosened or nailed
The sander of unfinished living grinds on to an egg timer’s analogue fashion
And who an earth would prefer finding a rivet to crafting a poem
One possible morale of the story is that hardware plies softly myriads of magic
That in the wider scheme of things there are enough contraptions in the case
And once they start giggling and straying Pandora is happy
17th April 2019
When night markets begin to come alive;
Kaleidoscope of light glitters the street
As sundries pile, welcoming a throng’s dive
Where voices shrill to haggle for fine treat:
And cacophony rasps like a foghorn
When perpetual hysteria rises
Through bargains from outfits , gems, to sweet corn
In spiraled race, women bark off prices.
While chaotic noise drums twisted chatter
Taxis, large vans honk … causing wild bedlam
Along with merchants who join guests’ tattler
On an evening of riotous wham!
Above red lanterns , metro guards scurry,
Pursuing crooks in frays through lanes, hollow …
Yet, this apocalypse does not worry
Most buyers chasing for wares they follow.
John Hamilton’s Eight Word Challenge-4
9/24/2017
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.
Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.
Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn'
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.