Long Bi polar Poems
Long Bi polar Poems. Below are the most popular long Bi polar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bi polar poems by poem length and keyword.
Outside the window of the 747 was a glimpse of heaven’s skies
And yet there was something more, something with green eyes
It is a hawk! I yelled to my seatmate, look, a hawk! I was amused.
He tried to see it, but got irritated, angry and final confused.
Being an empath, I often see what others cannot envision.
She was there all right, still at the window, clearly in my vision.
However, he could not see her or her partner who was coming up.
I tried to ignore this hawk, drinking my tea, with a bit of a sup.
The hawk was not easily dismissed. She wrapped on the glass pane.
She blinked her eyes, and gave me the stare of a cat in the rain.
What did she want? I had no idea, but I was clearly amazed.
She held on tightly, as if she was bi-polar or crazed.
The hawk coming up from behind her was also a sight.
He had a level black head, and he came with all might.
I tried to warn her, but she was not easy to scare.
She held on tightly to the window, as if she did not care.
The male hawk gave a noise, a squawk like croak.
She gave me a wink, and blinked her eyes at the bloke.
They flew away, but I have never forgotten
How beautiful they were, in this sweet sky of cotton.
It had been a long night, an hour drive just to be with my sister. One must stay in touch with family; it’s the right thing to do. I don't even know what movie we saw. Here she was again in all her glory whining, and whimpering, about her conditions. Confined space is the wrong place to be with someone bi-polar. Sometimes, I think the family should mark her eruptions on a calendar, maybe there’s a pattern? She was hungry; her blood sugar was low; hurry, get her home!
“Geez Sis, if my life depended on carrying peanuts, I'd make damn sure I had them with me!” I my replied.
the sleet fell
through the headlight beams:
fog inside
“You bleeping self-centered witch!” Her reply.
And on and on, enumerating all my faults at the top of her lungs. Her face was darting back and forth across the stick shift like a viper. The weather was so bad, and her screaming so loud; I almost drove us up a telephone pole. The back road to her house was serpentine through a pinewood, and over narrow, slick, bridges. Well, about fifteen minutes into my dissection, I burst a gut.
“You need to have some control. Your diet is horrible. I wish you could see yourself eating. Your plate might as well be a trough.” There now I’ve gone and done it, I thought to myself. The little devil in me was all smiles. When we pulled into the driveway; she leapt out.
the car door
slams rattling the glass:
eyes wet as rain glass
It only felt good for a moment. It was true; she did deserve the comment. She’d felt free to butcher me, but, it was wrong to try to hurt her. The momentary release, which felt so good, has given us months of anguish.
Published in Dead Snakes Magazine Winter 2014
Melodic music
depths me
in deep thought…
and as it is
with such thoughts
about our creator
what we think
and hope for
can’t be divorced
from place and time
in history
culture and ourstory…
Our reality here
is not of heaven
but of this
bi-polar earth
and our freedom
and liberation
must be sought
in this reality…
Check it out…
heaven is beyond time
and earth-bound stories
but as earthly beings
we are fixed here
in definite time
stories and culture
and we can not divorce
ourselves from such realities…
Just think about it…
our liberation has never
been nor should ever
be a mere fusing
of concepts
rather our liberation is
and has always been
a strategized perceived
process…
So just go and sit down
on the dock of time
and don’t worry
about a thing
for everything
is going to be
alright
for we are recipients
of an almighty healing
amazing grace
and it has our backs
in life’s “Trane-like” race…
Happy like buttered popcorn at a matinee
They see they feel they leach from me.
Have become the seasoning
Have become the salt
Deprive your self not
Fill your bowl with the drool of me
Hair raising sensation of a twisting rag
Bile rising
Ah please rub, discharge the overload
Smell the ozone
CRACK!
Deflate, the me
Red balloon strung
Hobbled horse
Towered origami edged crane, broken wing
misery mine, yours, ink seep on a white page.
Trance dancer edging toward the blue of my purple prose.
Violet coming of the id to coconut oil fakings.
Happy, ahhhhhhhh, exalted, crucified, repeat.
*Inspired BY Bi-Polar Bear by Connor Jordan
Who am I? I wonder,
All out victory,
or embarrassing blunder,
Bi polar maybe,
The right hand throws and fights,
The left hand mostly writes,
Bi-lateral with ADHD,
You judge that on a stereotype,
You don’t think you do?
Tell me something other than,
I’m a hyperactive stupid type?
As you can see I’m happy confronting,
turn hostile when alphas start fronting,
I’ll take physical pain over mental,
But the ADHD makes me respond quick, with wit,
I use it to prevent the hit for hit,
almost always works except for a few pricks,
fist to the face in those rare cases,
only hit em when they’re standing,
hitting when they’re out on the floor is for disgraces,
pull em up and knock em down once more
so they know where their place is.
I played football, rugby and cricket,
that’s foot to ball football not soccer, sucker,
but I played in goal so it was ball to hand,
the face or even ball to balls football,
and then a few minutes rolling around on the floor
screaming "oh my gawd, hoor",
I’ve got a sense of humour,
it’s better than other humans humour
in that it makes me laugh
and theirs only makes them laugh,
and yes I’m daft,
how else do you have a laugh?
I’m from Bath and I voted BREXIT,
(remainers are now heading for the exit),
or stay with prejudice, I’m not racist,
except to my own race who don’t get pissed,
if you think I am for voting leave you’re a bigot,
and now I am too what an idiot,
but truth be told,
why vote for a political system when no one can get their head around it?
I didn’t vote the EU in but I voted it out,
how did it get in if no one voted?,
corrupt no doubt.
This is all tongue in cheek,
how else would you speak?
and I’ll leave you with this, I know I’m silly,
but when girls see me they say to each other,
"have you seen his big willy".
Bi-polar bear’s crafty and mean
So snooty she acts like a queen
She’s cold and aloof
Of that I have proof
And was last seen on the latrine
Bi-polar bear peed on the ice
Bright yellow ice didn’t look nice
To cover her tracks
She grabbed her ice axe
Her chopping was not quite precise
Bi-polar bear made a huge hole
And into the hole she did roll
A male saboteur
Did not rescue her
He battered her head with a pole!
Bi-polar bear could not be found
It’s thought that Bi- polar bear drowned
I’d love to raise a huge glass
To whoever kicked her ass
Sadly he did not hang around
NOT for Contest
Follow up to a poem written with Lin Lane in May 2017
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/bi_polar_bear_collaboration_with_lin_lane_901528
11-07-17
I remember…
The long rocky finger I lived on that stretched
out from the mainland in the Bay of Fundy and
the soggy little white house covered in ocean brine
that did its best to shelter us from the great bi-polar Atlantic Ocean
that would on some days roar and thrash and throw itself against
our rocky foundation, splintering itself into endless liquid shards
that would climb high into the sky, then fall on my up-turned face,
drenching me into a state of near hypothermia.
There I would stand, squinting through burning eyes,
unable to pull myself away from that wrath, when suddenly -
the sun would disappear from the sky, causing the air temperature
to plummet, leaving me shaking like a leaf as the Great roaring Atlantic
fell silent and laid itself down as flat as a sheet of glass as that massive
grey monster approached.
Off in the distance, I would hear a buoy-bell timidly ringing in a feeble attempt to warn me of the impending danger that was quietly devouring the mainland, our little house, and the Great Atlantic, as the FOG came silently creeping in.
From sunup to sundown
it was indeed a weird day;
it seemed as if the sun rose
wearing dimming shades
and as if the wind had been
blown off course or locked out.
The bold-green leaf trees, hedges,
shrubs, and lawn grasses just stood
there motionless as if they were
aping their canvassed or woven cloth/
plastic counterparts that year-round
highlighted the locations of graves.
In the dimness of it all, even shadows
had a time with their shading reflections;
and the bi-polar tempt had fun teasing
t-shirts and sweatshirts with a strange
“lukeness” that was neither hot nor cold
nor warm or cool. A special Virginia trait!
The scary-like graveyard silence
of this weird lingering day was
pinged periodically by echoes of
hidden birds in trees and sometimes
the echoes of ducks in a distant pond;
it seemed as if no other sound had
the echoing energy to pierce the silence.
As this taunting tired day slowly faded
into the coming darkness of night, suddenly
I realized that nothing had happened to me
Throughout this weird incomprehensive
lingering day, and that my heart was beating
with a shooing rhythm of allegorical awareness.
This day of the week too had been one
that the Lord had made with his undying love
and had blessed me to be perpendicular in it;
thus, it became apparent to me that I need
to rejoice and be glad to be a part of another
day of God’s imaging shared beauties of life.
In gratitude, I now share this day with you
that like me, you too may understand that
although it may seem at times that God does
not give us what it is we want, he has never
failed to give us the things we’ve had needs for.
Funeral of a street boy from Lawrence Kansas.
Handsome lad, bi-polar, twenty-six and a half.
Dressed like a bobsled team with fake heads some days.
His mother refused to renew his motorcycle license.
This led to his death.
He feared the police would ticket him
Worse yet, confiscate his motorcycle
Because the license was expired.
There was a police chase.
His mother is the blonde headed lady wailing in grief.
Street boy’s friends speak a bit about him.
Take turns, and sometimes interrupt each other.
Some talk more about themselves than him.
Some mention his mother’s refusal to renew his license.
Others talk about being honorary members of his bobsled team.
A bobsled team in Lawrence, Kansas. A sad funeral of misfits.
A hat is passed to collect money to help his mother bury him.
There is enough to renew that license now.
" Ye clouds that far above me float and pause,
whose pathless march no mortal can control!"
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 - 1834) France: An Ode-
Oh, how lovely Samuel, who was born near Devon,
the son of a vicar and school headmaster.
He was a vicarious reader as a child in particular
works of fantasy . . .
and as an adult, he was a poet, literary critic and philosopher.
He married a woman he did not love, and soon detested her,
resulting in marital woes, sadness and nightmares,
causing crippling bouts of depression and anxiety,
soon bi-polar and in time an opium addict.
Many of his poems reflect the deep anguish and struggle,
and in time became alienated from his family and friends.
The last eighteen years of his life in solitude under doctors care-
Yet this man wrote the most heartfelt and beautiful poems.
__________________________
December 15, 2016
Poetry/Verse/A Brief Bio
Copyright Protected, ID 16-858-391-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.