Long Excruciatingly Poems
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I'm in a dark place; there's no light or hope,
happiness is a fleeting moment in time.
I'm in pain, both physical and emotional,
there is no cure, no refuge, and no explanation;
only a daunting, depressive darkness.
I wear a practiced smile to camouflage my pain;
wrestling with my invisible demons.
Seeing others happy is paramount to torture,
for I've never been pain-free;
it's always been a part of my life,
and thoughts of suicide fester in my mind.
I've tried; God knows how hard I've tried,
but I can't deal with the pain; I just can't!
Life lost its appeal, levying a heavy toll
on my soul; death offers me relief.
Tears dribble down my face;
when I hear, "It can't be that bad."
It doesn't take courage to kill myself,
it takes courage not to.
In a flash, it could all be over;
no more pain, no more tears, no more me.
But I'm not a quitter!
And yet, no matter how strong I try to be,
this silent, invisible disease persists; it isn't in my head.
Yes! I've tried praying for a miracle!!!
I struggle with pain, mobility problems, and fatigue;
the fact is, autoimmune diseases, though rare,
are excruciatingly painful.
We watched a movie called "Nonperson", so sad
About a nobody from Nowheresville, so dumb
The show was so excruciatingly bad
Afterward, we drove through the local homeless slum
Then we waded through the coldest stream, so wet
And lay upon the greenest grass, so nice
Then Mary said - we better not forget
so we ran to the store and bought a bag of ice
This was a weekend, a real nonevent
We had a splendid time, that's the honest truth
We felt sorry for the people living in their tents
So we handed out doughnuts to slake their sweet tooth
Somewhere in the world there is much pain and strife
Who knows what will happen next in this thing called life
Pissed off to the maxinum...numb in the cranium and bleeding knuckles that I succumb to obsessively as I punch several walls...breaking me..my many suicidal attempts..shows that I’m a failure in success’s closet
Yes, you made me furious like hellfire of hatred-hoarded, halfhearted desire of utter ire
Right - you were making me mad as a flippin bee in his hive of arriving-undone-till-I-pass-out...nectar of negativity’s nostalgia drops unto the filthy floor of rocks and rubble instantly
Oh, goodness, no..I’m ironically a pyrophobe and a non-functioningandnon-focused schizo-effective freakazoid, traumatized PTSD-inflicted little boy, stuck and crawling inwardly into a man’s body, releasing tension out of his ribcage radiantly yet so painfully and excruciatingly bothersome like his echoes of moaning and groaning..I’m a freak of nature, so immature and mature all the same....I’m using benefitial and benevolent blessings intriguingly so....bravery and is bizarre to my ambivert...God blesses us unique humans, but soon we will be the same..maybe we can share similarities but...no... I’d rather be treading down the road to recovery sooner or later I’ll just make the time to be grateful and have high hopes that will never collide or hide away cowardly and awkwardly...I’m in everyone’s boundary now...fired up in rage...
Spring of 1971, happy laughter
Multi-colored flowers and happy faces
we drive painted vans our parents can afford
We pile in, meeting new friends, some potential lovers
Peppermint breath greet us in half beat valentine waves
Idealists abounded, we flash peace signs in the cosmos
Woodstock knocks around in our dendrite highways
We are determined to drowned out the Viet Nam War
Grayscale news is nightly sharing things that rock our world
We wear rounded rose-colored, or tiny squared off blue granny glasses,
Love beads and two-fingered peace signs resound in our brains
Our hearts are determined to remain child-like magical.
We concentrate on the goodness of strangers
We create our own ambiance we children of the night
Star lit beaches catch our mirthful dancing
Our laughter is excruciatingly loud!
A magical time with an illusion that Viet Nam cannot touch us
Until she does, drafting one son at a time - mostly poor boys
Farm kids and poor kids from Chicago or St. Louis.
Gallantry has not let them escape to Canada.
We dance harder, flinging ourselves into each other’s eyes
Falling in love with every one of the future slain, not seeing fodder.
Helping the disappointed drafted enjoy their last ten days
Giving them brilliant memories for when they are miserable
wetted down in swamps, expecting to die
Reminding them of normalcy before their trip to this unkind place.
Mama Cass and Karen Carpenter are joyfully singing their folk songs
None of us realizing how illusive happily-ever-after is.
Gratitude suffuses me today
at prospect to plumb the depths
of a fledgling friendship
(respecting fidelity to wife)
even one bound
within the parameters of cyberspace,
I feel courtesy your amazing grace
figuratively stitching omnipotent binding
with virtual satin and lace
proceeding cautiously to experience
belonging to human rat race.
Night and day, a thrashing
like an invisible whiptail
surge van hail,
doth swell me bosom
excruciatingly, doggedly blackmail
capriciously be-numbingly,
aggravatingly assail
mine conscience in
what paltry pale
capacity of this gamboling male,
I can "pay forward,"
whatever means shale
be moost apropos avail
to offset bewail
ling (internal psyche doth ale
hankering) against utter
lifetime (mine) peppered
with emotional, physical
and social destitution
bereft, viz fail
ling to maximize inspiration
reverberating as vibrant detail
lacking even justa minimum
desire to live
(visa vis no way
discover ring, nope nar even
"FAKE" king minuscule appeasement
of my body, mind,
and spirit triage during)
hell...shove (shelve) aside
such gloriously noble benighted role,
amidst upending folktale
re: King Arthur and His Knights
of the Round Table
futilely searching for holy grail,
where steadfast conviction
emboldens this heart and hale
spirited mindful,
sincere hard drive spurs
(neigh saying horse
sense of mine),
where ambition saddled
to air (dan sing) quailing,
yen propelling (yours truly),
with sincere humanitarian,
(i.e. blood driven)
philanthropic spiritual zeal,
I tried to unveil,
this reasonably rhyming thumbnail
sketch poetically versatile
within this spurious verse despite
any trials undermining travail
rather mine heart felt genuine
motive fueled by impetus
to contribute within e kale
logical, fizzy hollow gee, humanity,
with integrity, magnanimity,
and quality fervency,
while still adept, adroit,
agile, and alert,
(cuz America needs more lerts
to become great again)
ironically steel tougher than
nine inch rusty nails,
duh pleating ability dovetail
to bug (or wug) gee wholesale.
Adieu from Matthew Scott Harris
who tapped out this message
while holed up in his mancave
situated within Southeastern Pennsylvania.
Is there anything so excruciatingly exhausting
As to feel the need to look at everything
Through judgmental eyes
No background or context
Barely half the info
Yet so quick to jump to conclusions
Always quick to pass judgment
As if holding all the cards and criteria
Seeking perfection everywhere
How arrogant and pretentious
Like trying to wear God’s hat
I once said the worst thing
I could imagine was to see
Someone imprisoned for a crime
They did not commit
Am I so stupid to not realize
I am guilty everyday of doing
Exactly that in a million little ways
Over and over again
Of doing the worst crime I have imagined
That I am judging and sentencing
Without hearing all facts…
And even if I did hear all the facts
Who died and made me almighty judge?
And anyway…
What’s with this overwhelming urge
Needing to quickly evaluate and judge
Possibly born of some caveman instinct
To protect oneself from imminent dangers
If so, it’s way beyond that and outdated
Not only ineffective but destructive
Become much the enemy within
Blackening my heart with every cynical thought
Separating me from everything that surrounds
Isolating me empty of compassion or empathy
Whatever happened to a little bit of humility
And admitting that none of it concerns me
It is what it is good bad or indifferent
God just called
He wants his hat back
AP: 3rd place 2020
I no longer listen to certain songs that remind me of you
If I do my brain becomes like white grapes in a wine press
the juice seeping out of my eyes
leaving the pomace sloshing within my skull
fertilizing seeds of pernicious thoughts and feelings
that soon sprout into an invasive infestation
of intransigent vines winding their way
into every crack and crevice
taking root throughout my essence
excruciatingly painful to pull
only releasing their hold after extraordinary effort
It would be far easier to leave them be
They’re quite pretty actually but they would weaken
the mortar holding me together causing it to crumble
I don’t have the energy anymore
to rebuild myself brick by brick as I’ve done before
There is silence where once was the ever present
sound of singing, the plinking of pianos
the strumming of guitar strings, the beat of bass drums
all blending together into audible art
There is only the music within me
The steady metronome of my heart
Mute, no voice to roar
Blind, no eyes to scan
Silence streaking skies
What is TRUTH to man
Waters rage and flood
Fires ignite and burn
Hurricanes rip and tear
Yet humanity will not learn
Power lines down
Sewage in the streets
Without comfort
Where like minds meet
Bloody rituals riot
Babies on the block
Great shakings of sorrow
Makes flesh rock
Meaning is futile
Purpose is pompous, vain
Living in process
Makes the lucid, insane
Wondering about happenings
No step emerges from the void
Not depressed or hopeless
Just excruciatingly annoyed
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-05-2022
Savanna was on this earth eight years.
She stood up for her friends, danced ballet,
Jumped out of an airplane with her dad.
Her laugh was excruciatingly wonderful
Almost everyone who met her enjoyed something
She was an artist, a painter, a cartoonist, a story teller.
She left twenty-one first cousins to mourn her.
Cancer took her away from them two weeks before she turned nine.
We tell her stories at every family event, remembering the joy she brought us.
The only person who does not join in on these stories is Aunt Vee.
Aunt Vee was never married, does not like people, and despises Christmas.
We invite her, and she came begrudgingly, adding a bit of dour.
In ninety-two years, I do not think she had ever done one thing for anyone else.
I skipped her funeral, even though I was in town.
She was despicable to me, and to others.
My sister attended. There were three of them. One of them was the priest.
Between soft brush of breeze and shower spray of sunshine
Between bubbly blooms of bulbs to nectarine nibbles blast
Between chanting chirps of birds to orchestrated strums and thumps
Between the struggle of knowing less and knowing more
Between tricky tempestuous trial train to bottle breaking battle birth
Between these to selfless sacrifice, He painted all free out of His love
King of all kings yet born humble lain in a manger
King of all kings yet dressed in the simplest clothe
King of all kings yet regardless of who, He walk through
King of all kings yet questioned, mocked and scourged
King of all kings yet excruciatingly trampled down
King of all kings, darling of Heavens,they slain as a ransom to mankind's sin
Holy made known by His conception from a Virgin
Holy made known through His baptism of blood and fire
Holy made known with His miracles: water into wine;healing paralytic; raising the dead
Holy made known by His Living Words written in truth and spirit
Holy made known through the works of His disciples
Holy, Your Amazing grace, a warm womb of bearing embrace
Today and always, a call to Your name a rainbow blessing shout
Today and always, You are our silent invisible brother and friend
Today and always, Your example our primal everlasting guide to life
Today and always, You are our way, the truth and our glowing light
Today and always, You are our most faithful and gentle rescuer
Today and always, where will I be without you in my life?
(c) Olive Eloisa
11:22pm
September 29. 2014
***Inspired by:
Revelation 17:14
"These will wage war against the Lamb, and the Lamb will overcome them, because He is Lord of lords and King of kings, and those who are with Him are the called and chosen and faithful."
Sponsor Verlena S. Walker
Contest Name HOLY IS THE LAMB...
first. to God is the highest glory and honor.