Long Crazy as a loon Poems
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Sometimes I think sleeping
is entirely overrated,
especially when thoughts come creeping
into me unabated.
From whence they arrive
I'm often surprised and void of explanation,
other than the atmosphere
and strange affiliation.
With whom these letters think I am
some sympathetic host,
as if I'm nothing but their bloody ride
to take them coast to coast.
How dare they arrive inside of me
with no invite from my brain,
they just jump in from where and when
another dimension, place, or plane.
(And yes, I know it sounds insane)
I know it sounds ridiculous
as if I'm crazy as a loon,
but I swear sometimes I think these lines
comes straight down from the moon.
So go ahead, call me a “lunar-tic”
Or don’t hesitate to call me weird,
but letters and words fall free from the sky
landing right between my ears.
Dave Crandall is a fella who is always in tune.
Don't believe it when they say he's crazy as a loon.
He's a vegetarian, so you might not relate
to the curious items that you find on his plate.
He loves to solve mind-bending math puzzles just for fun,
and whether you like it or not, he'll surely ask you one.
He's got the sense of a blow-up animal balloon.
His favorite thing to watch is a Betty Boop cartoon.
He likes black and white movies from nineteen thirty-nine,
and folk songs from sixty-two, like "kisses, sweeter than wine."
While these anomalies, you might not think are so great,
I think you will agree, he should gain a little weight.
Every Sunday after church
Old great-aunt Dora
Full bloodied Cherokee,
In her finest dress and fedora,
Drove her pink Cadillac
To the San Joaquin River.
She would stop in the same place
And sat on an old stump,
Under a camphor tree,
By the riverbank,
And would cast her fishing pool,
Drinking her moonshine liquor.
Old widow lady of ninety-two;
My dear mother-in-law
Lives by herself
With nothing else to do.
She sits in her chair
Next to the window
And stare out for hours
With dreams of her past.
She carries a small chrome plated,
Stud nose 22, pistol
With white pearl grips
In her purse.
Don't get in her way,
At the grocery store,
She will ram her cart
Into yours and say,
"Sorry I didn't see you."
Then there’s my sister.
“She’s crazy as a Loon;
Howls at the moon,”
My husband would say.
Her long-distance relationships
All in her mind.
Her husband
Doesn’t seem to mind,
But watches over her shoulder
When she cooks,
To make sure
Everything she uses
Is clean before he eats.
Their two daughters
Walked the same path.
Live in a world
Of hallucinations
And delusions,
In denial
Of their illness
Of schizophrenia.
11/19/2020
Six Relatives Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
You sat and looked at me as if,
I had lost my mind.
You told me I was crazy,
That I was unrefined.
The kind of life I offered
That you could not accept.
I think there’s just a few lines
That I may have overstepped.
You said I had a screw loose
That I was fruity as a bat.
You called me crazy as a loon
Delirious and erratic.
Deranged, demented, dingy daft.
Bonkers, crazed and cracked
Unbalanced, unglued, unhinged unzipped
Kooky, mad and whacked.
You said I was a lunatic
Psycho and berserk
Out of my freakin mind
A screwy, batty, jerk
You called me a screwball
A flaky no good fink
And I said babe tell me
What you really think.
"Loving and losing:
Different only by one letter and a million degrees of pain."
~ Jessica Katoff ~
With each rising sun and waning moon
I envisioned the dark eclipse of our ruin.
"You're crazy as a loon, he said. "It's delirium."
I did not pretend his caustic words held truth
To burnished stars I grieved, forlorn for love
Melancholy blue, I knew I had to turn away
I mourned, heart bereaved in solemn reverie,
as if interred in a crypt of egregious umbra
I longed for an awakening, from shadow to light
for someone to mediate a semblance of sanity
but into the sullen pitch of night, I quietly ebbed
There was nothing left of our love to consecrate
Bound by chains of despair and indigent of faith
I became obtuse to reality; I had given up on me
but with wounds etched across my delicate heart
I freed myself from apogee and rose above sorrow
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
September 9, 2019
Eight Word Challenge
John D. Hamilton
Challenge was to use the following words:
OBTUSE INDIGENT EGREGIOUS DELIRIUM
DELICATE CONSECRATE MEDIATE AWAKENING
Sweet Sixteen
by Franklin Price
1/1/2016
Sweet sixteen is finally here
and sixteen minutes in
If I waited to write longer
Would be too sleepy to begin
It's eight sixteen I went to bed
At the ending of verse one
Watching the bright ball drop
Was tiring but fun
My wife said if you stay up
You're as crazy as a loon
You can finish in the morning
If you awaken before noon
As you see it's not near noon yet
And I really must confess
Did not mean to write about myself
But New Year's greetings to address
Happy New Year to you
To your friends and family
Hope this year is awesome
Hope it's the best that it can be
May your road in life be paved and smooth
May peace and love abound
And at the end of sweet sixteen
May we all still be around
Pertaining to people of particular properties
who ignoring inherent danger
within minutes of first meeting
insist on telling every stranger
their personal preferences
and why they persist is beyond my ken
it never occurred to me to do the same in the past
however and in the hope my name it won't sully
the following admission is my first and last
altho' merely an instance of happenstance
as perceived I am as one with an arrow
conceived born and bred
in the bones to the marrow
I may be crazy as a loon
mad as a hatter
nuttty as a fruitcake
pick the one you prefer it doesn't matter
for at the end of the day I am who I am
in every way and all it engenders
and except in the face of a lady's love
this upstanding gentleman never surrenders
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
Goodness me, fiddle dee dee and la de dah
Mary turned into a black sheep, baa baa baa
That naughty little lamb
Has contrived a big scam
She's gone too far astray and has lost her way
Mary's been tinkering on an old fiddle
But she can't play worth a piddle or diddle
She's as crazy as a loon
Mind and fiddle outta tune
Even the cow can unravel this riddle
I heard about the guy, name of Jack Horner
Who hangs around the lamp post on the corner
Mary does his bidding
It's true. I'm not kidding
She didn't listen when I tried to warn her
What'd you plant in your garden, Mary Mary?
I heard smokin' it will make you quite merry
The feds have grown wise
To her innocent disguise
My goodness! She's become very contrary!
Mean ol' Mary dressed up as Little Bo Peep
To bully and mock the flock of grazing sheep
She is shamefully cruel
I'd meet her in a duel
To put an end to that mean-spirited creep
Last weekend she frightened Little Miss Muffet
Who was eating a light lunch on her tuffet
Munching her whey and curd
When Mary dropped a turd
Then ran off, telling Miss Muffet to stuff it!
What a fussy hellcat Mary has become
Her lies have people describing her as 'scum'
She's bonkers in the head
Obviously ill bred
and if you believe a word she says, you're dumb
Evil is a person who chases blind mice
But by now we all know Mary is not nice
She screamed at them, "Now run!"
Then shot 'em with her gun
One day that ghastly creature will pay the price
The Big Bad Wolf's a hero in Mary's thinking
Cuz he's dreadful to others without blinking
He was mean to two pigs
when he blew down their digs
Mary's just as horribly cruel, I'm thinking
Like Humpty Dumpty, who once sat on a wall
Mary's wicked ways will lead to her downfall
A powder keg's been lit
It will hurt quite a bit
But she's a bad egg who always starts a brawl
If it seems absurd
that a cuckoo bird
is as crazy as a loon,
but you hear the talk
he’s around a clock
all morning, night, and noon,
then it should not astound
that he’s a little wound,
and sounds a kooky tune.
When a pachyderm
gets the urge to squirm
does it wrinkle up his skin?
If he dunks a skunk
with his long gray trunk
would you say he stinks again?
Can he use his nose
like a big long hose
to wash away his sin?
If the sky turns gray
on a rainy day,
does he just blend right in?
The world is oh so deep.
It keeps me from my sleep -
like, why do we count sheep?
If a rooster yells,
is he on egg shells
when he tiptoes ‘round the hen?
And can you confirm
that a mattress firm
is on hard times again?
It’s matters such as these
that bring me to my knees;
I need some answer, please!
----------
for the Be Creative Poetry Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper
written on 11/1/22