Long In the head Poems
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The Play Bill for the Godspeed Opera House fell from my sweaty palm to the floor. 9/08/01. I’m still alive; it’s a miracle. Pushing my bifocals back, I frown. I can’t remember anything after arriving at 11pm.? A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the buzz; bend over to look for it, when I’m tackled from the wing. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I’m down.What did you do? You bastard,he bawls; looking toward the old theater house’s stage. He grabs the phone, retrieving the last message— Fred get to the opera house by midnight or you’re both dead.
the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck
Seems I’m alive and after midnight too. I had a moment’s relief. My arm’s wrenched to my back. The pain’s hard to ignore. I feel cold metal; he shackles me. There’s a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall fixing the cuffs to the door pull. The theater hall is empty except for the two of us. Through an open door, he charges.We’re back here guys. It’s clear.That moment alone was all I had. The SWAT team arrived. Smells like the dead in here Marco’s where the body?“Ask him why don’t yah. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya. Two of the gorillas toss me out on the porch for a closer look under the moth ladden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head—a woman screams.
I've been depressed lately and that's not really how I do things.
I try to be happy I try to be brave I try to be dependent.
hears what I really am,
I'm depressed/ sad, weak, unreliable.
I try to appear strong but all I am is broken.
I smile through the hard times because I wasn't tough it was okay to cry I thought you had to be strong so I masked everything for so long and its finally came out.
I feel like a baby when I'm almost 18 I don't feel validated and that's fine right?
I'm not okay and I'm learning slowly that's okay.
but I'm not okay and I want it to go away all the pain I hide under my smile I want it all to disappear....
is that's so bad to wish something could no longer be part of you I want my emotions gone then I wouldn't have the problems I have now.
I just feel pain all the time I don't really want to die but it sounds like the best option sometimes, I've asked to be put with a professional experience to help me but I just got pushed to the side.
I've got mommy and daddy problem I'm messed up in the head and just don't understand why anyone would care about me.
He was asleep on his stomach.
His snoring could wake the dead.
She glared at his sleeping back
wanting to push him out of bed.
She covered her ears with a pillow
trying to block out the sound.
An evil thought ran though her head,
"There were no witnesses around".
She crept out to the kitchen
She could have stomped ... he wouldn't hear.
With the largest butcher knife
she returned to her husband dear..
Right between his shoulder blades,
one thrust ... he snored no more.
She gathered the blankets around him
to keep the blood off the white shag floor.
Then the snoring started again.
She let out a startled scream
and sat bolt upright in her bed.
It had all been just a dream.
He was asleep on his stomach.
His snoring could wake the dead.
She stared at his sleeping back
and wanted to punch him in the head.
10/07/2012
I see an aging Panagiota with the soul of a youth.
Untouched by hatred~yet despised for, as she's always telling the truth.
Utterly, unwilling to be a crowd pleaser.
She has grown to know the hollow emptiness of being a groupie-gratifier.
A big Heart to her, counts more than the brilliance in any word play in the head.
She loves poetry of Shakespeare that throngs here consider quite dead.
She knows the arrogant here who knock at her heart's door, oh my so loud?
And evaporate quickly,as insignificant raindrops after a storm followed by a golden-bright cloud!
She knows the hopelessness of playing life's little victim.
With the onset of great pain, hardship and lonelines,she blossoms, right as rain.
Threatened by males here to "change her poetry style or else,"
These macho nobodies have lit her soul afire, nothing more ignorant delights to ainspires her.
She knows quite well the legion of names of the BEST who ignore her.
She really doesn't care, she realizes she is, indeed, first and forever,God's poetic daughter.
You won't find thousands of one-line poems from her.
She wants her poetry to make your velvety-heart positively beat loudly and almost purr.
This is the self in the mirror, I have found at Poetry Soup.
No big arm of trophies nor winner am I, just an ordinary woman, with her quill in glory, acknowledging God in the sky.
To God be the Glory. Thank you, close friends and ones yet to come....
All my love~
Panagiota Romios
February 5, 2020
7:00am PST
POTD. February 7, 2020
Survivor guilt, is it in the head?
It feels like its you that should be dead
Alas my friend this isn't so
This feeling needs to get up and go
For it will bring you to your knees
No one can hear you shout please
Go away survivor guilt
The life they need should be rebuilt
I know you are a demon in the brain
Bringing people all this pain
Lack of sleep is what you deprive
Let them move on with thier lives
Survivors are what they have become
Your nothing but banging of a steel drum
Leave thier soles to be content
Happiness is what is meant
So good bye guilt and sorrow
A new life begins tomorrow
Yes I know they've lost good people
But they'll meet again at the steeple
He smelled funny but she did not know
What it was until she lived with it
First they get funny, sometimes hysterical
Then something snaps
The first time it happened she did not understand
He began hitting her in the head with his hands.
Not playfully, not like a love thing.
She told him to stop.
Turned and saw his eyes. He had turned into a monster.
The eyes did not care; she knew she was in trouble.
The second, third, fourth, fifth and sixteenth times were worse.
It took more alcohol to get him to his happy stage.
More alcohol, more beatings. The last three times he had used a hammer.
Her children were begging her to press charges; they were grown now.
She could not do it. He always cried. Said he loved her. He was her baby.
She went to the morgue that last time.
I always had this sense of pity for those thinking of ending their lives,
Those unemployed, struggling youths & those who left this world before their wives.
I always thought it is an act of bravery to hold those blades and knives.
Their hands, once strong, now tremble with fear,
As they grasp the blade, or the pills draw near,
Did they needed someone to hear?
Their hearts, once full of hope, now heavy with pain,
Their minds, a maze of darkness, with no escape to gain.
Those bruises and words may had left a deep strain,
I always wondered what makes someone thinks to hang them?
When they knew the world would condemn,
Still how one could even think of ending such a valuable gem?
Who expects their life to be shamble?
Okay, life is bitter to handle,
But what's the respect of a frame and a lit candle?
Why sleep forever with those pills?
Those to jump from heights and hills,
Just to free themselves of loans and bills?
Why blades on wrists?
When everyone's life is containing some mist,
Why not faiths and sacred thread on wrists?
Why they want themselves to be dead?
Pain? "It's all in the head"
Why to feel sorrow for what someone had said?
When you can die happily at an old age on your deathbed.
- Agastya Bahuguna
my twin despises animals
I collect anything alive
she will not eat a tomato
I have some kind of tomato at every meal
She is an advocate of a political party I abhor
you would have to give me a lobotomy to vote for her candidate
my twin loves to cook and clean
I would rather hit myself in the head with a brick than clean
My twin has my laugh, my face, we are identical
We have the same hazel eyes, the same stubborn hair
I have her sense of humor, we both have joy
We get along in a special happy twin way
We love each other despite our differences
My favorite colors are yellow and orange
She has a house full of browns and grays
I have black lights, and fluorescent colors throughout my abode
We agree on bees
We want honeybees to survive
She had a bee house in her yard.
I saved a bee’s life last week; we are safe if we talk about bees.
Some guys many skills have mastered,
I blush when I try to tell little lies
and shaking I reveal my fakeness;
quite a few girls have slapped me hard.
Cindy went on vacation heading South,
she warned me priming up her mouth,
" Don't mess around with my girlfriend,
don't touch her! " I kept quite and grinned.
I refused to listen and promise I wouldn't;
her look expressed a plausible doubt,
I was a playboy in search of a hideaway
and while she was gone, I could surely play.
And fun I had through those two weeks,
Chrissy, the girl with pink and yellow hair,
asked me for a date, I couldn't refuse her
we headed down to the nearest beach to kiss.
Other nights we went to the movies,
we stuffed our mouths with buttery popcorn
and laughed hard spilling our drinks;
cheating on Cindy never induced guilt or scorn.
The time came for me to be slapped hard in the head
for being such a naughty boy, a liar without guilt
who cheated with her best friend to start a conflict
and ready to face embarrassment, I seemed not afraid.
One July evening when Chrissy and I were kissing
on the velvety sofa, I heard crackling noises coming
from the kitchen, heavy footsteps started approaching...
" Who is that? I hollered while my fret was increasing.
" It's me, pretty boy! I am back! You will regret this a lot!"
her shrilling voice was a rumbling thunder incurring fright,
" We are watching, " Friends "! I made up a silly excuse,
" You kissed Chrissy! You promised me you wouldn't have cheated! "
" Blame her, she tempted me! " I couldn't resist her! " I exclaimed.
" Silly boy, enough of your games...you have much to lose! "
" Ah, shameless liar, get out my sight! " And dashing towards me
she slapped me in the head making me feel her hard blow, " Come Chrissy,
she's going crazy! If she thought I was untrustworthy, why did she
she go on vacation? To test me? " I condemned her action with asperity.
Written on 7/3/2016
This is a beautiful place that is dry and sunny.
It’s an historical region dating back to antiquity.
We are on the Mediterranean island of Sicily.
It is the very southernmost tip of Italy.
Two men who wanted to see my father dead,
met their own demise with shots in the head.
Each body lay in a restaurant devoid of a soul.
I was the one who played the murderer’s role.
As a war ended here, another began back home.
Clandestinely, I was brought here to roam.
My father’s enemies would like to see me dead.
Because of this, there is a large bounty on my head.
I am hiding near a small village called Corleone.
This is the birthplace of my ancestral family.
My bodyguards and I walk through the country.
As far as their loyalty, there is room for doubt.
For a high enough price, they can sell me out.
The sight of a beauty started a fire burning.
For this maiden, there is now a strong yearning.
This chance encounter has begun a new game.
I want her now that I know Apollonia is her name.
Based on the novel "The Godfather" by the late Mario Puzo