Long Manic Poems
Long Manic Poems. Below are the most popular long Manic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Manic poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s 2am and I am awake
Feel like I slept a whole day
Rolling red rivers of sleep escape
I am a poet who needs sleep I say
For a winged white word traces brain
As a blue bird tangled in my mane
To sleep right now would be a shame
Boogie down dancing muse do your thang
They say my dad use to cat nap
His creativity was crazy cool not zapped
Seems when I want to I teal tap
Into the creative gene pool with a snap
My doctor gave me a Cpap and
I hate it like I hate meat in a can
She gave me a green goal 4 hours
But sleepless nights are a super power.
I can hear music in a single word or phrase
If I choose it can write a purple song today
I write about lavender love not so much hate
I write about life, tender times, fuchsia faith
I am not manic so don’t go there
No need to panic just be aware
That some of us have creativity in excess
Because when others sleep I write my best
This struggle I have is from within
In my darkest moments I fight to grin
Because I am aware that stigma is true
Mental illness is cruel a burden to you
It’s like a disease that handcuffs minds
Depression confession lost in teal time
It’s like being stuck in tan quicksand
A slow sink in a nightmare with no chance
Looking from the inside I feel trapped
The enemy is me and energy is zapped
Why can’t I be nicer to the child inside
I tell her the truth she regurgitates lies
Lies like we don’t need the peach pill
We can pray it away use diet and will
In a manic panic we can run on treadmill
Frantically romantic we love never kill
I can never escape my cherry challenge
Shame it brings that I have an imbalance
The harder I try the more I seem to sink
Slow sink is worse than a quick ending
I can wake up from this neon nightmare
There is no cure but I am able to share
If I keep hope afloat I can learn to thrive
Slowly sink becomes a way to survive
Orange is my utmost best color, my best friend, my girl.
She laughs from the rooftop, and she makes me mouth curl.
She glitters and she shines, her happy feelings for me.
Today I may take out my paints and paint an orange tree.
Most of my women cartoon paintings are ginger heads.
They come into my mind before I get out of bed.
I look around the bedroom and I laugh and I sing.
My many red-haired paintings, it makes my mind truly zing.
I have a paisley orange shirt and an orange evening gown.
Some people want my autograph, and mob me in town.
I do not dare wear either of them on my shiniest day.
I would be so manic, the mental police would cart me away.
I wish you knew who I truly am…I’m but broken dams…
I don’t want to be that call at 2 AM
The crowd of a hundred people…like long lost lambs…
I want to be exactly like them…them…
They say I’m autistic and artistic
But, I am being imaginative and realistic
Is this fiction or reality? It’s so epic
That I haven’t a clue if I’m a perfect pic
A perfect pick for this role
My soul is breaking as a whole
I’m sorry I’ve let you down
With an upside down frown
I don’t want to be that call at 2 AM
No, not at all, ma’am…I wish you’d understand
I won’t allow it to make me fall as I am
Slowly but surely arising from the sinking sand
I constantly wish and pray for your lovely safety’s sake
As I am comforted by my lonesome, lamentable lake
I languish and I have mere anguish today
I wish you could feel my ache and dismay
I don’t want to call you at 2 AM
And bother you with my bittersweet emotions
I wish you’d accept me for who I am
These emotions crash into me like oceans
Maybe I am dyslexic
Maybe I am autistic
Maybe I am schizophrenic
Maybe I am bipolar and manic
But, I am not severe depression
I am not high anxiety’s suppression
I am not an anxious boy anymore
I am not a sorrowful boy, forlorn, torn and sore to the core
I will call you up at 2 AM
Someday, someday, someday
I will show who I truly am
With or without this…fickle dismay
Generous of heart, the morning his light,
with a spirit of passion he shares his wisdom.
He muses his manic state with courage - profound - Awen
Glowing, he sparkles, eyes twinkle,
timid - unsure, rich in a maelstrom of ideas,
and silent contemplation - Awen
Cloaked yet exposed, open and free,
protecting his inner soul as he imparts his knowledge,
distracting through equation - Awen
Numeric of mind, instrumentally in tune - a converging compass mainly longitude.
The lateral advances of his discourse,
become a passionate concept - an interlude - Awen
The warmth and softness, as the lines string together,
pausing to reflect, he searches the precise -
as he hunts for accuracy - the consistent flow - Awen
Seeks clarity - yet remains confused, the touch is calming, encouraging fluidity of speech,
he's curious to watch as the physical ignites his soul,
the contact eliciting the passion at hand - a conundrum - Awen
A library in context, you are , my friend
Bipolar Bubble
At a recent family gathering
Friends and family ask cheerfully
How are you feeling today?
Not too bad…my mouth says
I put a smile on my face
As I simply walk away
They don’t know I didn’t sleep last night
As well as the four nights before
When I am manic I can’t sleep at night
When depressed I sleep all day
I live in a bipolar bubble of life
Too high then so low
Takes a toll on me
Don’t know which way it will go
I don’t always get my way
I suffer thru another day
This is bipolar my life every day
If I told them just a part of what goes on
They would be startled by my reply
They can’t process the pain I am in
I’m crying in the hall way
Someone walks by
Wanting to comfort me
Don’t cry it will get better...
I’m not crying I say
Those are not tears you see
It’s my brain fluid leaking out of my eyes
What more could I say?
There is no one left
The last one i thought cared
Cared not at all
Tossed my heart off the cliff
Oh how they enjoy my fall
Into depressions deep oblivion
Taking away my will to live again
What the mind contemplates
When caught in the downward spiral
And the manic disease within goes viral
Shall i answer deaths call
After all its what they expect
From this considered train wreck
So i give the coin a final spin
It stands on end, i just cant win
Its a choice they say
Heaven or hell, theres a price to pay
So I must not delay
For too much thinking just gets in the way
Now the blood trickles out from the wrists gaping wound
Im drifting off
To sleep forever soon
No goodbyes left to write
I wont be missed
And thats alright
I dont want tears to shed for me
Just let me go
To be finally free.
I take my final bow
As the curtain falls
My last act of self induced kindness
Good bye to all
If you had to pick...what’s your kind of comic
Do you find you pine for slick ironic
Or get behind a line that’s quick..sardonic
Opined by design.. aligned to resigned laconic
Unkind with the mic..sick at taking the mick
Defined by sly dry wry alcoholic hyperbolic frolic
Or less refined grind.. moronic the comedic tonic
Swoon at boons of the goons or cynics picnics going manic
Ready as lampoons buffoons with an unsteady heady histrionic
Idiosyncratic…emphatic witticisms..feeling victims reeling.. erratic panic
Keen lyrical hysterical mean criticisms scene stealing whims.. talismanic
What about who croons your tunes …go slow..metronomic
Choose the muse & fuse of rhythm & blues.. free flow tectonic
More giddy Philly Delfonic than tidy Taffy Stereophonic
Or raw roaring baselines scoring plus eleven ..soaring supersonic
Soul or rock & roll heaven.. acolyte delight.. bright totemic
Atrocious Metal in ferocious fine fettle...furiously demonic
Bespoke notes of sublime folk strokes always curiously bucolic
Pizzazz…elite razzmattaz of jazz.. seriously neat hedonic
Classical..technical feat regalia…deliriously sweet symphonic
Dance hall & reggae.. calypso beat.. all imperiously euphoric
Quadrophenia paraphernalia or more quadrophonic
Wurlitzer chutzpah delightfully or frightfully electronic
Tip top non stop hip hop drops like Dre’s the Chronic
Don’t do generic…when you could do mesmeric
Wiggles or giggles.. this is a witty ditty polemic
To big up shindigs..grins at gigs..sins at jigs…guffaws & encores..stratospheric tunes & comic buffoons..scores on the doors...simply iconic!
Grandpa the Master Magician
Grandpa was old and creaked
like a well-worn floorboard
but he always carried a smile with him
which generally won the day or the situation.
He had just spent time with his two grandchildren
which had added fun to his morning’s recipe.
They saw Grandpa as this master magician
capable of producing an egg from either nostril
..…. boiled or not.
An eggcellent start to any day!!
Later, on an icicle of an afternoon
and confronted by a presumptuous wind
which blew him around street corners;
he found himself happily chasing his youth.
Newspaper and chocolate treat acquired
he set off for the finishing line of home.
He noted that the traffic lights were changing to red!
So, although not at the proper crossing, his GPS
i.e. Grandpa’s Priority Selector
was saying…GO! GO! GO!
However so was a fast-approaching Fiat 500!
Grandpa felt validated by time and experience so..
he sailed forth but time and his knees didn’t agree.
His legs instead of speeding up, started slowing down
which was the exact opposite of the flying Fiat,
driven ruthlessly by a manic-panicked driver
who exaggerated a swerve around Grandpa
with arms orchestrating her extremely annoyed thoughts.
Grandpa tottered on oblivious to the orchestrations.
He felt composed being lean, leathery and learned
as opposed to the driver’s ill-fed, ill-bred, ill-mannered approach.
However Grandpa, the master magician, wasn’t to be thwarted
so as his feet touched pavement, his hand touched cap,
then his winning smile and a flicked wave of politeness.
The driver just continued with her orchestration of
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in C Minor
while mouthing, “Is your brain on holiday!”
However life was to offer Granpa a final judgement
for as the traffic lights winked from red to green
our driver was still in a boil of botheration until…
a honk of reprimand from behind grabbed her attention.
Frustrated she tried to floor the accelerator pedal
but only succeeded in stalling the engine.
The horn hoots and toots began queuing up
until the Fiat 500 burnt rubber and swivel-hipped away.
Grandpa’s face showed not a flicker of amusement
but he allowed his bones to enjoy the moment -
particularly the funny one!
Then the wind giggled up, clapped him on the back
and then kindly blew him gently home!
I feel so freaking, God-like good;
I feel My chest-expanding heart
and the mad frenzy in My blood,
which tear My mind and soul apart!
These urgent voices in My head
reverberate and echo loud
memories and regrets now dead
and buried in a forsaken shroud;
they scream at Me, "You're the Devil!"
They prophesy the Anti-Christ,
and accuse Me of all the evil
since mankind first became enticed.
I refuse their shrill, satanic call;
and find in the Apocalypse
that God's avenging Angel of all
is Me who is the world's eclipse.
"Not Anti-Christ!" I now reply.
"Not Devil!" I begin to shriek,
"for the Lamb of the world am I,
the Lord's Messiah for the meek!"
Sinners will know their final hour;
they will drown in their anguished cries
when I at last will know My power,
and expose all their wicked lies!
In this soft, padded cell of white
they watch and look at Me with dread;
they view Me as a monstrous blight,
and starve Me with unleavened bread.
How long is My imprisonment?
I cannot guess, divine, or tell;
but from the look of that filament,
they can keep Me for quite a spell;
"Dear God! I hate these lousy drugs,"
I howl, "that they shoot in My ass!"
They hold Me down those stupid thugs,
injecting Thorazine so fast!
They fail to grasp the true reasons
why I'm here: I wish they could see
that I can forgive their treasons,
if they would just believe in Me?
Once free again I'll be reborn,
lifted up in divine Image;
I'll end man's need for drugs and p*rn;
and prepare them for God's Marriage.
So hear My law and injunction,
the lost will burn without release
once they all know My dominion:
only then will My Rapture cease!