Long Demented Poems
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Tongues stall kind words to say -
planes with wheels on a waterway-
A relentless chase of light bulbs above wondering
minds and breaking the switch everytime
it's caught. In something.
Mercy, grief, fires within
choke on smoke forsaking
hallucinations that geraniums are my favorite
blooming within the weeds of a diary
where trust breeds like bacteria and scales
on fish skin are just as beautiful and preservable
as any composition.
Where humiliation and pride collide over whom
I should assist by comparing whose bones are
grayer and graver underneath their hole of self
destruction labeled with misfits. Figuring out thoughts
more fragmented than a stained glass puzzle paralyzed
in the pencil shavings of a rough draft by drunken angels
who usually sculpt the outcome of nightmares.
So many rags my body has constructed to soak up
the outpuring of suffering that they dug up with years of
cemented, pulled back, brittle fingernails and forearms
covered in filthy apologies that don't even hug me,
but accuse me of self absorption.
And misdirection, lying naked, like a dehydrated compass,
wanting nothing more than guidance by an optional savior
whose footprints are undefined to conceal the number
of followers he refines through choice of circumstance.
Still, I pray. For them. Perception has me demented.
Angrily unmovable. Impenetrable in the range of sanity.
A brown-nosed sorcerer, picked to pieces for parts needed
for an insecurity blanket to shield a reflection of madness
or jealousy or a seamstress to help them put it back together.
Although my darkest reasons for anything are just as genuine
as the shadow of a dying leaf barely gripping for it's life
on the limb of an oak tree.
The scars upon my soul have yet to develop a conscious
communication of their own.
I apologize when I do not speak.
Sometimes I believe solitude is more forgiving.
Lift me higher than the clouds
I’m shoved into dark shrouds
We blend like coffee and Boba
I haven’t seen any flaw
In you…in you…deep in you
I’m missing my other shoe
We woke up in each other’s embrace
I still have mercy and His grace
It all happened at 3 AM
It all happened at 3 AM
I wear you
I smell you
I snuggle you
I taste you
What else d’you expect?
I crawl on you like an insect
What else d’you expect?
I dream of you
I suckle you
I think of you
I stick to you
My eyes are weeping
Deepening in my ruins
My mouth is dripping
Thrown away in a billion bins
I find myself inspired when you are around
You are brilliant…sky from ground…
If I were yours, I’d be happy as hell
If I were yours, I’d get outta my shell
Listenin’ to iheartradio on fleek
Actin’ like a drunk, foolish geek
And this all happens 3 AM
And this all happens 3 AM
What’s wrong with me?
Laughing out loud at 3 AM
Drunk off of happiness
Drunk off of joyfulness
Free like a sun-shining sea
Let me go because I’m a seagull in the sky
Because…I can’t go on with you – a burden I can’t deny
I used to love someone like you
I used to love someone like you
I can’t recall now
Somehow,
You made me sink in my daydream all over again
I deserve paradise
Making love to you in ecstasy
I roll the dainty dice
Vogueish design got me wondering:
What if I was famous and rich?
You’re my trend and you got me pondering:
Why do I feel like a wrecked game glitch?
Demolishing destruction in a minute’s time
Constructive chit-chatter is what I need
I need a friend by my side…I’m an almost rhyme
I have humility at least, not your greed
Why all this writing at 3 AM?
Because I’m that awesome, who gives?
Why can’t it be at 3 PM?
Because it wouldn’t be as effective…
You tell me you like root beer float
Whatever floats your demented boat
I’ll be wearing my 1980’s, fuzzy coat
Sorry, honey, I don’t vote…I don’t vote
At 3 AM…at 3 AM…
But, I do vote for poetry at 3 PM
What if cup cakes?
Would eat humans!
What would the world be like?
What if dogs drove cars
And cats and mouse drunk from the same jar...
What if the moon were really cheese?
What, just what would it mean?
Mice and Rats now would be Lunar Astronauts,
And what about mosquitoes
Working in hospitals
Rallying and working for blood drives and banks?
This brings me all the way back
To what if cup cakes, could eat human beings
just what flavor would you be....Yuk!!!
LAUGH
Out
Loud
ha, ha, ha...
signed
Daunte Demented One
1/24/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
FLESHLY MAN TORMENTED HURT JESUS DIED FOR YOU AND ME AND THIS---
The problem with man is he’s self-centered;
Grief ridden fleshly being tormented;
Oh! And how can one be so misentered;
Ever divides his mind demented;
Coping spirit receiving sad feelings;
Off and on religious deity screams;
Oh! And how can one be so freewheeling;
Ever divides his mind disesteems;
Oh! And I love the thought of Christ in us;
Holy Spirit parades in my soul being;
Being tormented fleshly ridden puss;
Dominant music passes my own being;
Deity religious screams on and off;
Is this why Jesus had died on the cross?
12/18/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018
Joy dances in even to the bereft
She cracks my frown with a tango
Then she leaves my house swept
Joy is a hummingbird trapped indoors
Her iridescence lights up all my grime
Usher her out before I’m enamored
But, happiness is like fish overstayed
His cloying perfume overpowered
He is a rhino to her phoenix raised
Sometimes joy is an elephant
Hiding under a tablecloth snickering
She exits invisibly like an ant
Sometimes she’s Mary Poppins waltzing
Scrubbing a spot that I cannot dirty
Sprinkling a spoon full of sugar on salt
A lifetime of joy waltzing in wears me out
Then happiness retires to a piece of furniture
I’ll give her a ticket to dance and not pout
Someday when I am old and feeble
Too tired of laying ashes down
I’ll let joy lift my frown with needles
I’ll let her cat sit on my lap untamed
When I’m too demented to sully joy
I’ll let joy feast upon my remains
Till then I’ll leave the door ajar
** Luke 12:36
"Be like men who are waiting for their master when he returns from the wedding feast, so that they may immediately open the door to him when he comes and knocks."
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse *****sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
Over here in an Emotional plebiscite;
Knowing it's do or die
Sparked by emotional suicide
These feelings linger like a pesticide,
While I'm trying to go overdrive.
Finally asking myself why!?
Why?
Why does this feel like emphatic repetition,
Being manipulated by my perceptive premonitions,...
Is this fate..
Or is it just intuition
Oh curse these feelings of judgemental superstition!
How I wish for cognitive bliss;
To escape from my eternal cage of undue stress.
And elope with my loving mistress or rather a damsel in distress.
What is my definition of happiness?
What am I to be? Elated or saddened by trivial destinies pursued.
It is said that those that live in the past remain unamused;
But I refuse to listen!
Am I wrong for reliving moments from my past to feel contented;
or am I just another demented Soul.
Haunted by my unconscious consciousness;
Justifying my 'skeletons in the closet ' as assimilated heirlooms..
"Oh God! someone pass me a broom!"
As I sweep my past from my conscious and fumigate my overflowing closet,
may these feelings of promiscuous intentions and cognitive dissonance be purged from my unwilling conscious!
Copyright © Emmanuel Nyeko! Year Posted 2019
Delete Fear and Dance
(Ode to Joy)
Many fear-mongers met at Marseilles!
To make sure all nations shook in dismay.
They used Covid for their piece de resistance display.
Schools, shops, towns all closed down.
A bunch of morons masked us, like idiot clowns.
We fools bought it all, and so now everyone frowns!
Sane people knew the score, they were not buying it anymore.
Tyrants were jailed behind doors, when people thankfully knew the score.
Grandparents are not left alone to rot.
We had enough of Fauci, masks, vaccines and elected snots.
People lived normally as before.
Masks became an international joke.
Just like those life killers from Marseilles~ top idiot pokes!
They even used Covid to ruin one national election?
But truth overcame, that mucked up idiotic, demented selection!
The Land of Dominion shall never be in the land of the free.
Health, happiness, hope was their pleasure and ultimate, joyful, destiny!
11/29/202O
2:45 am
Lumbar ladies stroll by as the night sedans plunder the ho-dad hostels.
Looking to find nothing except another dozing cigarette beyond the cadenzas.
Another hot afternoon in suburbia with the repeated barkings of a distant dog.
Billy boy in his red asphalt-eating machine turns the dial to San Bernardino.
There is cool music bobbing in the hot accepting winds, south of Dragons Head.
In smoggy Corona, the dizzy Volkswagens travel in circles like demented dogs.
Billy boy guns the engine as he and the Mexican chick cruise in a ’67 beetle.
They pass the Chuck Wagon, as Slim Harpo melts the sun with Little Liza Jane.
Traffic signals, and the elderberry trees, pretend to dance to the muted cadences.
The hot afternoon winds play their own love-games as Billy boy comes to a stop.
Brown-eyed señorita with long hair flowing tells Billy boy to turn up the sound.
‘Music is life,’ she says, as the red asphalt-eating machine turns left at 6th Street.
Lumbar ladies stroll by now as the night sedans receive the night’s embrace.
At City Park, Billy and his latin lady sleep soundly in the cottonwood darkness.
Unhinged lunatic Howling at the Moon
On a moonlit late night
I sat in a bar
Drinking drams of demented, fermented dream dew
Just an unhinged lunatic
Dreaming of howling at the full moon
Watching the world walk by
Looking at all the fine-looking babes
Walking by the street
Thinking wild, erotic thoughts
Of endless wild libertine passions
When into the bar
Walked the most beautiful women
In the Universe
So wild, so free
So wonderfully alive
I did not know what to do
As this vision of delight
Sauntered through the bar
In skin-tight leather pants
Looked so fine
That my eyeballs hurt
Finally, I had to say something
I gathered up my manly courage
I walked up to her
She looked at me
Instantly bewitched my soul
With a devilish grin
I lost all reason
And became a raving lunatic
Unhinged lunatic
Howling at the moon
Foaming at the mouth
A wild, free werewolf
Howling at the lunatic light
Of the full Moon