Long Lunatic Poems
Long Lunatic Poems. Below are the most popular long Lunatic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lunatic poems by poem length and keyword.
As I sit
Under the lunatic light of the full moon
Of the blood-red lights of the moon
Full of wild passions
The lustful beast stirs again
And starts running and running
Howling at the moon
Riding into the new dawn
On a demented Harley Davis cycle
With two naked babes on his back
Riding into the sun
90 miles per second
At the speed of thought
He disappears into the lunatic light
Of the full moon
And I wake up
Alone in my bed
Saying, man, that was quite a night
I better not go there again
The wild beast
Laughs
He has heard that before
And I join
The beast
In howling at the Moon
Tropical shores rarely see explosions by their waters
Being places of tranquility, peace and love
Captain sank his ship between two islands
Paradise opened up a hole on the horizon
A condition, a catastrophe brought on
By the lunatic in charge of pirate lives
Canon aimed down on center deck and fired
Floor board’s splintered
The boat went down just like a rock
Crew knew too well their leaders mental state
More than an argh could save the day
Mutiny was out of the question
Boat was gone, down and wet
Their mad man ordered them to dance on water
To drink rum and shave their faces clean
Pirates are preoccupied however
Not with orders to be obeyed
Such absurdities will have to wait
When swimming from the sharks afraid
Beneath the pretty tropic waves
Dedicated to My Darling Sister, My Punky
Love for my sis makes me like her own Bolshevik
so though I would rather swallow a stranger's lipstick,
I babysat her ground-dweller - her dog - named Limerick.
Once - outside while his wiz-biz defied arithmetic,
I noticed he had one gross fully plump black tick.
All that was nearby were pliers and a yardstick.
When he suddenly rolled over, my reaction was slick -
I grabbed up the pliers and I surely grabbed quick
before thoughts of bloody surgery made me sick.
Limerick was still while I pinched at my gross vic.
I pulled but that slimy tic bugger was too slick.
Over and over, I failed at click, pull and then flick.
When limerick cried out and gave me a tender lick
I called for my husband to join our happy picnic.
He examined Limerick who whined long and thick
then laughed, Honey, he said, you funny lunatic -
You have been pulling at a mole, poor dog has no tick
I wander through the corridors of my mind,
a labyrinth of echoes and whispers,
Where each heartbeat is a drummer of destiny,
and each breath a sigh of the cosmos.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet—all are bound by the threads of imagination,
A tapestry of madness, love, and creation,
each thread, an untold story.
The lunatic, lost in his own abyss,
sees devils where none dare tread,
His mind a vast inferno, a prison of phantoms and fears,
Where every shadow is a specter, every whisper, a scream,
A world where reality bends and breaks,
shattering into shards of despair.
The lover, consumed by the flames of passion,
sees beauty in the most improbable places,
Helen's grace in the brow of Egypt,
his heart a cauldron of desire and ardor,
His soul dances on the edge of reason,
a waltz of ecstasy and sorrow,
Where every glance is a promise,
every touch, a whisper of eternity.
And then, the poet, with eyes that see beyond the veil,
Glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
in a frenzy of creation,
His pen a wand that conjures worlds from the void,
giving form to the formless,
Turning airy nothing into shapes,
dreams into reality, shadows into light.
In this enchanted twilight, I feel the pulse of their existence,
A rhythm that resonates with the deepest parts of my soul,
As imagination breathes life into the unknown,
crafting stories from the ether,
Each word, a spell, each verse,
a thread in the infinite tapestry of time.
The moon, a silent witness to my musings,
casts its silver gaze upon the world,
Turning night into a canvas of dreams,
a stage for the dance of shadows.
And in its light, I see the reflections of the lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Their lives intertwined in the delicate web of my thoughts,
Each one a mirror, reflecting the facets of my own existence.
In the end, we are all lunatics, lovers, and poets,
Lost in the labyrinth of our minds,
where imagination reigns supreme,
Each moment a spark of madness,
each heartbeat, a note of love,
each breath, a whisper of poetry.
And as we journey through the realms of our own creation,
We leave behind a legacy of dreams and desires, a testament to the magic within us,
A poem that sings through the ages, a melody that never fades.
As days go, this has not been one of the best
But after giving myself a good talking to
I've realized not all days are created equal
It's the lunatic fringe that are wreaking havoc
Ask anyone on the street and I'm certain
99.9% are peace loving folks who just want
To be left alone to live a happy and peaceful life
But these degenerate sub humans
Insist on carrying out these cowardly barbaric acts
Randomly attacking totally innocent people!
However, by reacting irrationally, we run the risk
Of becoming as radical and evil as these lunatics
Calmer heads MUST prevail
Hopefully these barbaric acts will one day cease
They MUST cease in the name of all that is good!
Am I dreaming out loud?
© Jack Ellison 2015
"If that isn't love
The ocean is dry
There's no star in the sky
And the sparrow can't fly
If that isn't love
Then heaven's a myth
There's no feeling like this
If that isn't love"
-Dottie Rambo
How can this screeching ache persist deep in my bowels? Like he's continuing to rip my heart to shreds everyday. The promises we whispered were sacred vows given on holy ground.
The words of which were woven into a shroud binding our two flesh bodies into one. He broke free somehow, but never freed me.
I'm pulled along in his wake, screaming. He never looks back to watch the skin flayed from my bones as he drags me on and on and on.
I relive the memories of our first kiss, the absolute shock of it and our bodies catching fire. That look in his eyes that could never lie. He loved me. I know he did! Didn't he?
If that wasn't love looking at me
then I've never seen the moon at night,
nor watched the rain pour down from the sky.
If that wasn't love,
I've never heard bird song in spring
nor smelled the savory scent of roses.
If that wasn't love then I know nothing.
It's all a fantasy,
a nightmare,
a Lunatic dream.
I need to hate him, I need to not care. Time is supposed to heal me but each day the wounds only fester, my nails ripped and broken from trying to stop him pulling me along forever.
I look through blurry eyes at the furrows disappearing over the horizon, my mouth full of dust and ashes.
This pain will last forever,
I'll never be free.
I'll never stop loving him
though he stopped loving me.
Siege warfare (trumpeting)
average joe biden his time
linkedin with aberrant behavior
transpires within me mind,
(not just today December 5th, 2020,
but everyday/365)
warrants depleting stockpile arsenal
constituting exhausting mental health
uprooting deep seated repellent pesky
daunting lost cause.
Overruled by irrational thoughts,
I feebly muster a lame duck
half quacked comeback
(think home team cheering at pep rally)
against analogous figurative agents provocateur
said nemesis bore down hard
upon sense and sense abilities
mine psyche undergoing
blistering, hectoring withering, et cetera
courtesy ghost of Emily Brontë
mailer daemons flitting to and fro,
hither and yon within wuthering heights.
Another necessity Emma gin)
awoke prided prejudice
to confront head on
beastie boy foo fighting (Irish,
no matter genealogy regarding
yours truly Eastern European)
mine talking head housing
private insane asylum.
Incomprehensible thought processes
chronically spin out of control
dictate mandate NOT to wash hair
until at least one week passage of time,
(an arbitrarily chosen number
i.e. seven days convenient block)
even if appearance looks unkempt, slovenly
grungy, et cetera as nirvana seeking guy.
Thus, I readily admit self held hostage,
whereby loopy thought provoking patterns
hopelessly, grimly, futilely find me surrendering
NEVER eradicating down battened ramparts
neurotic, lunatic approved, idiotic
mind mental chattering
babbling jabbering gibberish
housing concocted village people
dead set against shampooing oily locks.
Quite a tussle (think metaphorical hair pulling)
ensues within me scrambled noggin,
whereby pathetic psychotic pummeling
win knows scrimmage
scoring touchdown amidst
teaming muted brouhaha
allowing, enabling, and providing
harmlessly insane nettlesome
pesky skewed notions
ridiculous leeway to predominate
until yours truly USDA
qualified, hashtagged, certified...
as grateful dead among human league.
Broken Antenna
Relationships can be forced into as humans,
Poking, demanding or attacking in violence;
Subliminally gesturing to the light, lumens,
The ego pursues dominance in avoidance.
It is as if a broken antenna with a honed screen,
Of snowdrops, black and white jumping dots,
Flickering, denotes a vast, voidal gulf of lean
Towards, away from, the human space n’ watts.
This or that, god requests - chases our choices,
Decisions, possibilities, appropriations and lusts;
No consistent personality of tuned note juices,
The identity, in assaying a brush, liaison or scuffs.
Existing, a stiff, distant being said sits nobly aloof,
As if dumbing the fondly human, once perambulating;
The ancient man-god grasped immortality’s roof -
The backdrop of ascendence into the everlasting.
Roman emperors claimed a posthumous good life,
Immortality from a head to a god, Augustus to God;
Heroes famed for terrifying war victories of strife,
Were seen voluptuously in luscious heaven’s trod.
His language was mundane, overt, gossiped, feel,
Real, hitting no heights of conceptualisation’s raise,
So the Romans battered his sprawling crowd real,
Striving its sound to plunge into disarray to graze.
This or that, we could believe or not, relaxing fair,
Reject, fan the ancient man-god as God, or lunatic,
Myth, truth, liar, a mistake, fake, god, Lord or blare,
We can hint, glimpse, look, give all to prod osmatic.
A broken antenna sits happily o’er the human space,
Drawing the unspeaking pulse of life of sedate form;
This and that, he takes either form to mildly ace,
This or that thoughtful, magnanimous, tender norm.
Ninja Spider
Spying a spider on my wall
your not staying there - no never at all
with rolled up paper intent to squish
I tip toe over quietly shoosh shoosh shish
Approaching the spider grew it much bigger
I was ready to strike but spider was quicker
it moved and turned I swear to confront me
making me squeal - felt such a ninny
Did I imagine or was right did I see?
the spider raise up four legs at me
like boxers ready to start a new round
spider poised to knock me to ground
Surprised I step back bewildered and stunned
rubbing eyes blurry, to see two not just the one
Shaking my head and puff out my chest
lets see who is going to win this big test
Paper slams down, the blighter did jump
flying toward me and what felt like a thump
I scream like a sissy my arms thrash away
look down on the floor there it did lay
I raise my foot high ready to stamp
spider fast spinning, powers its amps
eight legs coiled to spring an attack
frantically moving - I'm out of here Jack!
Glanced in the mirror made my head spin
the spider was now on one of my chins
arms wildly thrashing in lunatic style
slapping my face for a short while
Eyes down, eyes up, eyes side to side
little ninja had decided to hide
then suddenly from out of the blue
came down its string web swinging it moves
Ninja with eight legs was kicking at me
hitting my nose brought me down on my knees
I swear I heard it scream eee - aarrr- eee
but then again that might of been me
Web spun round me tighter than Scrooge
spider won with all his ninja moves
ok, you win, you can live here with me
ninja spider and beaten, little old me.
04.09.20
The thunder so loud scared Ginny , she tripped on the last step ,fell on the porch spilling her
berries
Another flash of lighting and in that split second “Mom” became a very dark and Evil “MA’AM”
The Ebony Crop came out of the bow and with a force I’d never seen Ma’am use, across
Ginny’s thighs
“YOU little *****, I slave all morning making breakfast , I take you out to meet mother
nature; pick berries
And this is the thanks I get I want all of YOU to empty your buckets Right here on the porch
Right NOW”
Billy was first and then went to help Ginny; Billy YOU need help I said The Crop hit me right
in the mouth
I spit teeth and blood all over Alice’s blouse; his name is William and then a sight none of us
had ever seen
Ma’am hit Billy in the back of the head he fell on the floor and didn’t move Bobby tried to
grab the Crop
She split his face from forehead to chin. “Now dance, Dance on those berries; stomp them
into the porch
Screaming, crying, blood , tears flying: a lunatic waving a blood coated riding crop in victory.
Billy got up
“get over here William and start jumping on the berries, your not crying , there’s no babies in
this house”
“HA HA HA HEH HEH I am the Queen, the ruler“---it didn’t seem possible but Ma’am’s eyes
went black
“George Francis get your ass over here; ”Ma’am” open your hand OPEN IT Berries! YOU little
Bastard
Lightning lit up the yard for the fatal blow right in the throat blood spew from his mouth and
from his neck
“Awice Awice wook down the dwive way Dawwy’s coming home Bobby, Jim .and Joe tackled
MA”AM
I couldn’t talk vewy well George, George “ Harry my real Mommy is right over there Calling
me Home
Good-bye see you at my new house, tell everyone I Love them even MA’am.