Long Demented Poems
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> Walking into that bar
>
> That nefarious den of
> iniquity and evilness
>
> Twenty drinks too sober
> The scent of bad craziness
>
> Hung in the air
> Like an over ripe mango
> Desperately seeking to have
> sex
> With wild, dressed up bananas
> Running around with the Orange Man
> Down the Street
> The Moon looks out on the mad
> scene
> Sniffs the air
>
> Saying, "Man, this is
> bad craziness"
>
> And runs away to join her
> lover the Sun
>
> In an orgy of drunken
> forgetfulness
> The Planet Mars, not amused
> Chases after the maiden Venus
> Under the cold, calculating
> glances of the Planet Pluto
> The Moon and the Sun
>
> Rent a room in the Hotel
> Venus
>
> Across from the Jupiter All
> Night Diner
> Cosmic **** kickers
>
> Out for a night of Earth
> bashing
> The Earth trembles, shaken
> Moans with passion
> And I awake
>
> Saying, that was bad
> craziness
> Out there on the edge
>
> Between the inner me and the
> outer Zone
> I went on down the road
>
> And met a lady
>
> A outlaw lady on the far side
> Money, power, passion
> Rolled up in a bundle
>
> Electric chemistry
> Fills my head
>
> Zapping my brain
> Into demented muscles
> Paranoid, pulsating images
> Scream out
>
> With mad passion
> And demented noises
> The night turns ugly fast
>
> And very, very weird
>
> Weirdness in the air
> Scent of bad craziness
> The moon
> Is freaked out
>
> The Sun falls asleep in the
> gutter
>
> And I say to myself
>
> I'm just another cosmic Guy
> On the loose, on the edge,
> On the wild side of things
>
> Watching the show,
> Unfold,
> I wonder, is this all
> A drunken bum show?
>
> Who is the star, who is she
>
> The maiden up there in the
> bar
> Black, leather jackets
>
> On stage naked visions of
> nightly lust
> Dancing with an attitude that
> could kill
> An elephant in heat
>
> And the Moon
>
> Continues to dance across the
> evening sky
>
> Satisfied, allows mankind to
> sleep it off
\ Yet another night in the City
> of demented Angels
>
> Finally rest as the sun comes
> up
>
> The masks come back on
>
> And I walk down the road
>
> Putting everything back into
> the box
> Until the next night
>
> Of bad craziness
> Lets the wild beast within
> Escape its leash.
>
> Bad Craziness rising yet
> again
To the authorities, your hands may be clean...yet to those who matter most...to those
looking up at you now with welled up eyes, your hands drip reddish black with my
blood...the children catch a glimpse of your sly victor's smile...quickly you hide it
behind a newly saddened facade, feigned and fabricated. The price of your happiness pales
in comparison to it's cost, woman...you just don't know it yet...
In this life and the next, I shall be your dark shadow...I shall haunt you without mercy.
Though you won't see me, I will be there. I will be the cold breath on the back of your
neck...the sense of impending doom that pushes down on you. When you hear a noise in a
dark room, it will be me, crouching in the corner with claws out, watching you in your
trepidation, whispering your vile name...I will be the chill crawling down your wretched
spine...the catch in your throat when you can't breathe and I breathe anew...
I will be all of these things for you, Rita...this is the least I can do to repay you.
Tell the children what you will about their father...the painful truth will be reflected
back to you every time you look into their confused, mournful eyes...when they stare off
and you try to catch their tears, oblivious to the waves of sorrow inside. Your victory
will become the wolf disrobed of the sheep's clothing. I will be the puppeteer of your
remorseful conscience, as it wraps it's hands around your gargoyle throat and ever so
slowly, takes your life.
Though my thoughts became my fantasies, I never had your murderous resolve. Tell everyone,
tell the children that you never wanted to keep them from me, that I could come by
anytime, like you always said after months of painfully endured reality...no one will ever
believe you. Everyone knows, Rita...especially the children. Pray for my words to unetch
themselves from the forefront of your demented mind...still I will dangle them in the
background. Our beautiful children, your little pawns, your poker chips with a
pulse...will come to truly know their mother.
So enjoy your foul, pyhrric victory...these six feet of cold earth matter not...the grasp
I have on you now is surpassed only by my reach, and like an unwelcome guest at your door,
I will be the puppeteer of your painfully reflective conscience...I will haunt you forever
in the darkness.
Form:
Like a tumbleweed aimlessly blowing in the wind
across infinitely open and wide prairie home companion land
(which wasteland famously epitomized by T.S. Elliot)
a barren vista ravages metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping along accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst the pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with pinions describe bing
a demonic dragon filled dungeon
damp, dark, demented domains –
a veritable no man’s land
impossible to escape no matter how fast I -
as a foo fighter flee
from the fearful, fierce-some phantasmagoric forms
figments of my imagination seemingly real
tangible as bone and flesh
who haunt sacred crowded house of slumber
transmogrify me into a loathsome madman
ranting raving senseless gibberish and sic gobbledygook
perceived as metaphysically n philosophically insane
as soundgarden syllabification
from one womanly World Wide Web wayfarer
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress who waves a magic wand
to produce supreme sentences
weaves tantalizing terrific tweed topographic tundra’s
that this admirer of her artful and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts me to accompany my mindscape
as a thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping o'er rolling stones
of silly rhymes without wing less reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight to maintain
that sure footed stance of solitude
whose only entities happened
to constitute trappings of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude shattered
and a heart rent asunder
twin tower ring inferno imp perils of loss that provide
an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive acute Ape man
touched to the quick with a bit of angel dust
aware that this agonized and angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with the confines of cyberspace!
‘can’t change your family but you are free to choose your friends’
Michael’s brother is demented and only remembers the distant past
his parents are long dead they died in a car crash at illegitimate speed
every now and then he visits their graves and leaves a Match Box car
instead of flowers and lights a joint for Peace just to annoy them a bit
illegal traffic is one of the burdens of modern society and transport
luckily for him he fathered three children who don’t know what hit them
when he is diagnosed with cancer but they promise to look after him
a fortunate story of love and the transmission of generational kindness
life’s hardships are relative and sometimes a concept of irrational thought
now it stands him in good stead to have followed a path of emotions
Michael has chosen his own relative friends at free will and he
cherishes them all in equal proportions and knows how to relate
the Liberty to decide when to give and when to receive
undeterred by strict norms and unauthorized obligations
a notion of Justice derived from virtues and a moral law
from within along fairness equity rectitude without fail
Honesty in all his endeavours as much as the very truth
to be spoken when silence and falsification where easier
unmistakeable Charity in the face of a self-righteous world
requesting nothing in return because he is privileged by birth
Communication in deeds and in words without anger or venom
because once acted or spoken it is difficult to retract a position
most of all he is only too well aware that Perspectives are contingent
as well as embedded in context but that he can craft from his own Self
he Reads Writes Feels Reasons and Stakes his claim at times Surrenders
connects what seems to be relative but does not change on his last journey
Michael’s brother does not suffer from the loss of engaging with his relatives
his parents died a pain free death at the crossroad of the reaper’s stark scythe
and his children will tell his story outlook and attitude to relatives and death
he is a blessed man and he keeps a small vial of morphine for when time calls
his compassionate wife who by law is not a relative will help with the plunger
02 November 2020
(for: them who are ever there!)
these branches and roots
that cord to the grave ancients
should be free from man’s swords!
both oracle and priest held for days …
I
Your voice speaks in the silence of the night
To the deep still shady earth
That once held a great zest for our childhood
Here in the once thick wooded land
Where progenitors strewed their rustic huts
Yes! where, sang tho’ unseen those sonorous kin-spirits.
2
Ah! Happy and keen folks were the ancients, then;
But their sons? what a sad lot, now! even
Demented hearts aching from those drinks of dizzy times
Raw anguish, sorrow, painful hemlocks of death-lines,
The slow songs that tune softly to the mirthful graves
That still hold the ancestors like prisoners in the wild caves.
3
O! for your unravished wave of primal welcome,
That bade the sonorous weaver come
To make loud greeting of blue azure with song-fleet
O! for such uudecoded song that for the sagging flesh bear ointment
Secret balm from the rhyming unsteady palm leaves of the winds
That flute clearly to ancestors those eternal silent songs.
4
Known are those festal spirits of your night
From whom many lives readily spring forth:
Mused thru’ the voices of strong mortal compeers –
Priests, priestesses, praise-singers, warriors, dancers!
That with gusto, flounder across the space of time;
O, for those festal moments of flush! o, for the celestial clime!
5
You are the unseen bridge of the world,
Like Nturukpa, that elder amongst our ferry trees;
Your bark exhumes the bright colours of the past;
And carried thru’ the festal wings of your night
We desire to be mused to the ethereal clime;
Of uncurbed equanimity and euphoria of the divine.
6
I now know the anguish of these festal spirits
Who take refuge on the water-void banks
Of the topmost branches and leaves;
I now know the noise of their feasts in sacrifices:
Doleful sacrifices in the gods’ swollen foot!
Then adieu! adieu! from the cloyed humans in advent!
7
O farewell! with all your festal spirits,
Who coaxed to the night of sacrifices, priests,
Priestesses, dancers, praise-singers, warriors of the land;
Adieu! with these cold celebrations and coax-throated songs heard,
Thru’ the voice and echoes of rain’s thunder,
In the day of the panther and his noble twin, the hunter.
My head spins as the noise from the crash echoes in my head. I sit up in some kind of terminal with strange trains bound left and right for places I don’t understand.
One is gold and ornate but the trappings are fake with cracks that filagree in its façade the train reminds me of a serpent-like Leviathan.
The next is sliver and clean with white and sliver cravings blue accents and the train looks sleek streamlined like it's from the far-flung future. Bright lights gleam. Chrome.
Is that blood I see dripping from the golden cracks along the tracks. I feel the frost of the sliver train's exhaust. My head swims and lay my head back to let the world catch up.
The terminals lights are harsh here, harder than Fluorescence More brutal than incandescence the building I find myself in, is like no glass and armature skeletal structure I have to seen before. An architecture unknown in my life. On earth or anywhere. I feel the infernos of one and the chill of the other.
In this Terminal were these mechanical beasts are cradled. This terminus stretches into infinity. I see pail figures drifting up and down the platform faces all a blur like failed dreams I have dreamt once before. My eyes focus but the faces don’t, a little chill runs my spine.
I look around the depot, it is staggering. The architect must have been mad or on some mind devastating drugs.
I look to the right the building fades to a brilliant blue sky with regal clouds and a sun low on the horizon but never settings as occasional clouds pass before it shooting glorious rays of light my father call the visions of divinity. I think I see wing shapes fluttering like butterflies, but that can’t be? I rub my eyes nothing changes.
To the left, I look to see a dark horizon with thunderheads miles high of endlessly thunderstorms churning and crimson and violet lightning lancing the rim of a cityscape on fire. Dark industries tower and burn. A jagged broken land of fissures like rough-cut skin and bleeding lava, belching smoke. The worse nightmare of a demented god.
I stand lost in my own translation. I fell the screams of a car crash echoing, the rubber screeching, burning; in my head like a lingering bad dream. Fading in my inner mind's eye. I am forgetting the time. I must go. I feel I should go but I stand there for a while.
Violent as the gleaming blade
Of a vicious criminal crazed
Ferocious as the lion’s jaw
Lingering on an innocent calf
This wicked affliction forces
Its teeth into the harmless heart
Bites wildly into vulnerable flesh
With haste to destroy and devastate
End the life that it penetrates
With a hatred that is inhuman – merciless
Ruthless as the worst of the worst
Abolishing hope as it grows and grows
Breaking hearts and wills with its
Lack of empathy and sympathy
Luring dreams into the night, darkening
The promise of a happier day,
Filling minds with dread and depression
Anxiety that lingers even after
The moment has passed and time
Struggles to alleviate the pain
The widespread anguish of knowing
That this big malady holds all of tomorrow
Painting the thoughts in hues of doubt
Disillusionment and discouragement
Feelings clouded with silvery fog
Lingering on the emotions in shimmering
Waves of deathly black sorrow
Breathing fear through the spirit
And whispering in tones of weariness
Regret and mourning come to the heart
Even though some might tell you
There is hope.. a flicker of courage
The possibility of healing, recovering
From this demented beast with its claws
Of deathlike horror playing across
The light that reminds you life will be brighter
Sometime,… after the treatments
The drugs and cures that are meant to repair
First seem to destroy every awareness
That there will be a breath of fresh air
A new dawn – a second thought, the color
Of joy and promise and miracles prayed for
It is only a moment that comes and goes
A flicker of optimism amid the skeptical thoughts
When you realize only God knows the outcome
Of this feared disease, cancer… the ending
The sequel will reveal what only He sees
And I know, it is only God who can spread
Healing where the cancer cells have spread
Death and destruction… doubt that dissuades
Even the inkling of faith that will tell you
God’s love is still alive and well, sending you
Inspiration, hope and faith that can reveal the truth….
Cancer can kill the body but the spirit is still God’s
His love is the best treatment for this disease
The best remedy for any need
With God, all things are possible – just believe!
Cancer Ivy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
June 1, 2021
REDEMPTION BLUES
I
SLUMBER
I slithered through, I waded through
Its bitter pills I tasted,
I had its bitter feel at the tip of my tongue,
A taste I was never to forget for long.
Moments of tears
Moments of bitterness
Moments of sorrow
Moments of laughter
Moments of pain
Moments of sanity and insanity;
I saw them all.
II
Several times,
When I sit on the meadow
Gazing at the moon and the stars
And how they illuminated the earth,
I remembered the moments when I cried myself to frenzy,
Several moments I laughed senselessly, aimlessly and crazily
Like the demented man on the streets.
In my moments of insanity
I was torn between two worlds: Sanity and Insanity.
The world I belonged, I couldn’t define,
I was nowhere, just somewhere lost forever
In an uncanny web of uncertainty.
THE REAWAKENING
III
Sometimes, in my docile state,
I saw my friends ride the best of cars
Wear the best of clothes.
Eyes closed,
In my quiet moment,
In my state of bitter meditation
I remember a quote I once heard:
“Hope is what keeps you going when all hope is lost,
So never you lose hope on hope, hope will one day
Take you to the place of your dreams.”
Hope!
I never knew what it meant or how it felt,
But intuition told me that it must be something;
Something that affirms and cements ones faith in something.
IV
I could feel an overwhelming sweet feeling enveloping my entire body,
Then did I know I was on the right track.
Flipping through the pages of the Bible,
I saw the story of Jabez,
Born a child of sorrow, he cried, prayed to God
And got his redemption
V
Sullen, kneeling,
Arms outstretched to the Heavens
I called out the name of the Lord,
I never knew if He existed or not,
But I could feel His aura in my heart and around me.
Tears flooding my eyes,
Joyful feeling engulfs me,
And I could hear a voice from the Heavens and within me,
Telling me “don’t give up”
Only cowards give up the struggle in life.
You are a warrior, go out to the world and tell them it is not over,
You can do it again”.
Smiles all over my face,
I rise up, step out of the alcove.
Gazing into the skies, I could feel a warm cool breeze sweeping me all over.
I step out onto the streets,
My life brand new,
Life will never be the same again.
Tis a new day, a day full of hope and grace,
I had once lost faith in myself and in everything.
the Forgotten One
( an invitation to innocence )
There once was an angel
who walked upon the moon,
when east was east
and west was west.
Looking and looking
for the season of soon
through parks of dark
and gardens overgrown.
Looking and looking for
what she had always known
she would one day find
in the eyes of the mind
and the hearts of the wind -
the unsaddened words of the Forgotten One,
“Come in. Come in.
I have been waiting and waiting
and wanting and wanting
always and always
only you.”
“You can not bring
the thousand things,
the dust of the earth
and the rags of kings,
the broken songs
that no one sings of
the hundred gods and
their wanderings.
You can not bring
a shred of these
nor anything but the only thing
that breathes and breathes
through the seething leaves
that never rest
in the void and voyage of the branching trees
moving east and west
under the kind and blinded sun.
‘You are the one and only one in everyone.”
“Come out. Come out
wherever you are,
out of the hypnotic unceasing din
circling through earth’s first scar
on your journeying skin
from the demented dimension
that selects regrets and forgets
that, taken to the nth degree,
anything less
than love is a form
of insanity.”
A re-post of poem 939895 that mysteriously disappeared from PS...
The early morning darkness oozes melancholy whispers
as enraged storm clouds enfold me in a final deathly embrace.
She has come for me.
I can feel her breathy torment
breathe cold upon my beleaguered brow.
A cautious glimpse through my bedroom window
reveals the rage in her nictating blue eyes.
Frozen to my pillow I watch in terror.
Her minacious exhalations mesmerizing me.
Like a beautiful child giddily watching weightless seeds
float gently from blown Dandelions,
I watch transfixed,
as blinding fury strips leaves from trees,
breaking limbs like snapping bones.
The canopy twists in distorted grimaces
her demented smile mirrored in each pained contortion,
her wail echoed in the screams of trees.
They bend and turn and pull their roots from the soil
in vain attempts to escape her wrath.
She has come for me!
There is no escape.
A swirling dance of death and destruction,
bleeding droplets assail the glass.
A thousand tiny fingers tapping, scratching,
try to gain entrance into my final safe haven.
I can feel her drawing ever closer,
hovering above me,
sniggering,
her passion tempting me,
seducing me,
exulting in her conquest for she knows I can’t resist,
draining from me my heart,
my love,
my life.
Her cold dead fingers reach for me in my dream,
stealing my essences, draining my soul,
leaving nothing,
a dying husk of what once was an ebullient life, a caring man.
Then through the night a ray of brilliant light beams hope against darkness.
The angel appears.
Her words beckon me to fight against the demon,
the seductress, the succubus.
encouraging me,
caressing me,
With her agile wit and calm caring mind
she soothes me.
She comes for me,
and I await her eagerly.
Her laughter like the tinkle of sweet bells
vanquishes my night terror, waking me from my dream.
She comes for me,
and I melt longingly into her comforting willowy embrace
as the ravaging misery fights its final battle,
destroying all that it can.
With one last desperate breathe it screams curses into the night,
while my sweet angel strokes me with her words
and her beautiful blue eyes flash a brummagem smile.
09/15/2017