Long Derangement Poems
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What is time?
But a rotation of the planets,
A love gone to the wind,
Or a setting of the sun?
Sometimes we can’t tell the day,
But by the bottle we drink.
Or the books I read,
…Plato, Steinbeck, and old Walts leaves.
What is art?
But a set of statements,
An aesthetic feeling,
Or a theory on communication?
And other times I sit in the wind,
Nostalgic story’s swim in the chaos of thoughts.
A world of energy measured by mass,
To the speed of light,
…Have you ever seen God?
Or a rope strung to the choking of seeds?
Submission,
Submission,
A world I don’t want to keep.
Do you know what it is to hurt?
Love burnt to a gravitational hole,
Failure that sticks like a parasite
…to the bone.
Loss of light,
Loss of touch,
Loss of comprehension,
It hurts so much.
Here we dwell where time has no meaning,
A court of the gods,
With a promised feast
Consumed by gluttonous dogs.
Out in the hills we roam,
Lost like infantile, mad children.
To a hunt of tragedy,
Is the mistake of Cephalus.
Can you feel the cold chill,
The rains of pain?
The wind is our home,
And a soft mad echo
Speaks to us,
…what is it saying?
What does it mean,
To be?
Standing one with nature,
Crouched by a river,
Can we interpret the drones
Of a suburban family?
They speak of regulation,
And hold a working class hero
As the sweets of moderation.
Doesn’t the road of excess
Lead us to the palace of wisdom,
And can’t we say truth
Is but of a relative nature?
But behold,
I believe in a long
Derangement of the senses
To
Obtain
The
Unknown.
Though, What is life?
Art, poetry, a figment of the imagination.
The skeptic concludes
To a weak will.
The artist spins a love
Of
Degradation.
The contemplative
Reaches the of height of formation.
The meaning,
What is reason for the meaning?
A will, a thought, a spinning of a thread,
Or,
The fabrics of dread.
Two paths, one entity,
A system from a creed of deities.
Can you speak when I say,
“Reckless abandonment,
Deranged lonely nights,
Failed plains inside the mind.
So useless to try,
The common misperceptions of what’s right,
And the twinkle of tears gone by,
…Welcome to life.”
Form:
You are the dusk that masquerades as first light.
In the stillness of descending twilight,
your spellbinder's expectorant
opens the passageways of the feeble,
weevles like a gloworm
in dark fertile soil.
Whispers of memories that never were,
in a soft lament,
in a lofty raimant.
I am lost in the shadows of yesterday's song,
longing for a love that once belonged.
In risky fantasy,
I play your suspect invitation,
as a night thief with an accordion,
iron lung.
Too powerfully drawn am I,
unable to resist your decisions-
Wringing me dry.
Shift of weightlessness density,
snap-twang, propensity-thick and numb.
If I had just one last guess,
I am the cotton and you are the laudanum.
Why am I the salivary gland and the gum.
The wavering field of rye that a beast
tramples on.
Invisible chains they bind my words,
like a palsy stricken tongue,
grasping my chords with ghastly cords,
poetic enslavement,
thoughtfully borne divided by
my pasts sum.
Rosehips- tea soaked gingerly-
your spell lingers on SOS morose telepathy
morse code, telegraphed, telegaphed
to see your confident smile mockingly know,
peering into the eyes before expected wind-up
and mesmerizing blow.
Your fluiro-essences spores inliquidity,
wetness of morganite,
juices leeched,
leaving me in my parasitic derangement,
unable and unwilling to fight-
familiar arrangement.
Your jaded facet to sparkle
as a trophy against the light.
That which you neon flash to be.
From, for, to, too spun,
I am a sugar crop to make into candy
that you drool upon the lips,
as I drink you in
electroponic abomination splice of caine
and Hawaiian Punched Drunkenness.
Hey Kool aid, break through my walls
and offer your solution.
Stain my lips.
A fermented wavelength I will become,
dialing your frequency,
of restless dream,
silence of my soul's dark night,
moonlight beamer ride of twists and turns.
Some people never learn,
me being that one,
you being my classroom distraction
passing notes of gossiped ink of juicy gossamer,
till you are commanded to "release
this dumb- one, who knows not of lessons,
of touching what burns".
What Trump Wants: according to John Kelly- Retired Four-star General Trump’s former Chief of staff
—Unchecked power
—Praise of Hitler
—Dictator for a day
—Complete command over our Military
—"Stupid people, our General’s aren’t even General’s”-Daddy Don
—Military against the people
—a new Constitution
Look yonder y’all
to a mighty military
which will answer to me
I’m your fearless leader
in perpetuity
No need to put much emphasis on likability
Despite my personality, I’m in command
It’s an end to all wars, just don’t mind the
chaos I caused while in charge
Some will starve, like those in Gaza
No one that matters,
No bleeding hearts
in my penthouse plaza, I luxuriate here
Jauntily goosestepping
My soldiers march alongside me in lockstep
They do as I say
Pay no heed to the constitution
I did it my way
What you want is fearlessness
Ignore my derangement, put it aside!
Policy is more important, deport everyone
There’s no place to hide
Policy not feelings, policy not emotions!
Not a sentient human being.
by I Am Anaya
My Dear Leader
I have no emotion, I have no feeling
Sentimentality and compassion are weak
So stifle such mush when you speak!
Vermon sneak in, a toxic flood
Poisoning our pure untainted blood!
We shall seek and destroy the enemy within
In lockstep we'll wipe out their sin!
by RG
Coming back from a college class, feeling tired
I crawl on top on my bed for a midday nap and slip into a blissful sleep. Aroused from slumber, my bed shaking violently and turning , I expect to see a human, recognizable and known to me. Familiar and welcome.
There is no one.
Checking to see I am awake
Checking to see if I am alone.
Checking my mental state to find derangement.
Nothing .
Dismissed,
I start to slip into the slumber and it shakes again. I am hyper alert
Wide awake. I ask myself Is it really shaking
Yes.
My eyes open and I go to rebuke what this is and it enters without warning-
In through the top of my head following a path leading to where my soul resides, it screams at me in foreign tongue.
Computerized, synthesized, screeching and vile.
The voice drips with evil, hate and threatens to touch the core of my human essence.
I am in danger of replacement.
I am being hijacked for this body
My soul runs from this entity and screams for our maker to witness this violation, to raise His sword at this reptile, to help me fight the unseen.
It is forced back out through the top of my head and I lay there sweating, panting, contorted. Violated.Impure.
Tainted and broken, I feel terrorized.
At my next sleep, I am awakened to find I cannot move my body- only my eyes and I hear that voice laughing at me. Mocking me. Reminding me he is there, stalking me and waiting for me to drop my guard.
The worst part of it all friends....
This story is true.
6 seconds. Changed me for eternity.
Take heed. This really happens to people.
They call this a " walk-in". Soul interchange.
Where a human soul is replaced with a demon.
So yes, they walk amongst us.
When you wonder how people can do some of what they do-
Now you know- because they aren't people.
05/06/2021 sponsor- Funom Makana
Drogman*, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Drogman by T. Wignesan
My mother, illustrious in the kingdoms of the Orient
Is seated surrounded by water
The water forms a belt around her, a boat.
This’s the threshold of infancy
The step which leads into the past
Is filled up by the sea.
You’re accoutred as a very old princess
In dire age-old poverty
A sack tied to the small of your back
An ashen camisole.
The odour of the humus in autumn
Tames me into accepting your disappearance.
Your face is the wind that blows on me
Another wind blows past the back of my eyes.
Since you are now eternally
Impenetrable and black
Impenetrable and black.
Even with stars twinkling from time to time
The way out was impossible.
Now that you are dead some twenty years
I understand that my dreams
Speak in your voice.
My premonitions indicate to what extent I loved you
I who was ashamed
Of your derangement.
Heavy are the tears of love flowing in me
Huge and tenderly
And it’s like a change in the seasons
The change in reason
All that was atrocious and absurd to me
Makes some sense to me now.
Mother, you wished that your son
Became a drogman in the kingdoms of the Orient
In order to be able to explain your plight.
Today as a sleeper I return
To the brink of an infancy
Which is my death
Perhaps I assume this truth.
My dreams form the crest of your discourse
Their coherence is their ocean
Your shadow, lonely seagull and savage
Is my spirit
• Don’t quite know what this word means, unless its etymological origins are to be found in the Arabic « tarjuman », meaning « translator ».
(Tu, O.C. t. II, p. 531)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
A piece of me, forged from molten memories..
of patchwork stability
Changes of scenery....haggard, humble backdrops
Questionable casts of characters...
Scripts written in off-color obscenity and derangement
An old soul removed from a separate caste resided
within the constructs of this dramatization
Beyond the tangible crystallization...was an awareness
...an inexplicable aptitude removed from this environment
Manifesting without much notice, slipping back through the cracks.
Potential never surfacing as we braced for the Life we're dealt
That corner conscienceness ever aware of this conundrum
Small child never understanding a bitter undercurrent
...had no grasp on the inner cursing of a bad hand.
Every dampening disappointment...
left residual resentment for squandered possibility
Every predetermined scenario
left residual resentment for a roadmap doomed to failure
These children born to constrictive conditions...
Blessed with Intangibles that transcend
Enabling them to conquer a meager existence
Set back only by the world they're brought into
Abusive and spiteful...determined to Anchor
Wanting of nothing but casting invisible ceilings
leaving a legacy of limitation...
Stubbornly they obsess on trapping their offspring
Never let them cast ceilings.....confining you to a dim room
Modern Concentration Stamps For Query
Heights of subtly decide the best points for invention
Delights of brevity decide the next poetic composition
Insights of entropy reside and then collide in patient comprehension
Conspicuous engagements of the outspoken looking for transparent attention
Ridiculous derangement of the broken ones that should have been all about prevention
Ambiguous retainment of the disguise which illuminates the apprehension
Promiscuous enragement that results in confined detention
I’m bereft aloof alone unkempt and broken at the knees
Contempt for those who have it all and still are hard to please
Cement the groves of the dead to mourn as the wind flows thru the trees
Circumvent the throes of dread that form as I long to be set free
Abdication of the crown for a superficial reason
Fabrication that’s renowned that quantifies as spiritual treason
Aberration of profound modern lies that define the season
Condemnation of the resounding cries that refine the notion of partisan
Holocausts and starvation not resigned to history anymore
Concentration camps a modern feature as we watch them knock upon deaths door
Instigation of disenfranchised people that have no place but to remain poor
Obfuscation of the unbelievable that demand we stand for more
The End Elizabeth Moroz Copyright
A story having origins in Greek Mythology
dealt with a mortal woman having curiosity.
To avenge Prometheus for his wrongful theft of fire,
the gods sent a strange box for Pandora to acquire.
The box displayed instructions not to open it at all;
but she ignored the words, and it led to mankind’s downfall!
Burgeoning nuclear arsenals of many nations
present a myriad of possible situations.
If used impetuously by belligerent factions,
terrible scenarios would result from their actions.
Wantonly deployed without the use of circumspection,
employment of weapons out of mutual aggression,
it would propel us into serious retrogression.
The chain reaction begins with just one detonation.
Consequences would result in global devastation.
A serious setback for modern civilization!
Chaos will permeate our worldwide living arrangement;
everything we know in insurmountable derangement.
By suppressing nearly every amenity for all,
our society would appear being ephemeral.
Seeing the aftermath would be overwhelming for me;
ubiquitous destruction following a World War Three.
I would be thinking to myself while viewing the huge loss:
Did our Great Lord and Savior die for nothing on the cross?
Be careful not to open another “Pandora’s Box“.
Because the weapons of World War four will be sticks and rocks.
As the blow of hard times profoundly strikes,
ever so strongly my private space in disarray,
I build a boundless wall seemingly impenetrable,
never to be invaded in the sanctum of the inner woods
for the soul to be preserved in aberrant insulation.
I become an insane prisoner of my making,
held captive behind the fragile walls of volatile psyche.
I find you disappear like mist away from my garden,
takng the fragrance of flowers I love to see bloom.
I'm caught in the dichotomy web of derangement,
whether to break the wall or stay secluded in the cage.
When the time comes to travel to the twilight hotizon,
the instinct of self-preservation dwindles in debris.
The wall collapses with the senile sense of frenzy,
I see the last sunray drizzle through the wood's canopy
from the seraphic sky where my soul flies like a bird.
I embark on the inward flight with illumined insight,
the marooned mind gains the wise vision of the truth,
gets guided by the sacred signposts on the pathway
for the karmic journey to the ultimate destination.
I lift the sunken hopes to the acme of divine madness,
the horizon of soul gleams with the spiritual light,
kindles within the beacon of enlightened consciousness,
as my perceptive being imbibes the heavenly essence.
In between the smooth black stones
and the long verdant grasses
I play
as I dance ever so lightly amongst
the wooded green
and
as I glaze upwards to the endless sky
trees wave at me
with a kind of spectral awareness
that puts my soul at peace
knowing my aloneness has nothing to do
with loneliness
All around I see large creatures leaving
slimy trails in their wake
eating their way through the wiry jungle
and over there
quickly they move together
as they lift their food source to take back home
to their queen in her quest for constant reproduction
I find the world outside of myself a dizzying derangement
filled with moments happening at the speed of light
flashes
that threaten overwhelm me with
the feeling that life
is sucking me dry
Some call me the elfin one
my wings a gossimer fabric to display the riot of colour
I use to camolflage me when I quake
and am quietly unsure....
Some also call me the elusive one
and the tales are renoun
as they weave themselves between the heather and the ivy
I call myself a Pixie
as my laughter can be heard from hill to dale
and as the lovely night falls so deep
you can see the
blinking
of the phosphorous dust that surrounds my flight.