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.
imagine if all your heroes,
all your idols, all your
“spiritual leaders,” who
have supposedly written books
(or had books written for them/
by them), whose “lives” have
been depicted as such by those
who never lived when they lived,
who never saw what these
people were supposed to look like,
who tell us that they themselves
never had even an iota of
ulterior motive
in the making of these characters---
imagine if the characters themselves
were all in a room today,
a room somewhere in the middle of
nowhere, surrounded by psychiatrists &
sociologists, psychologists & representatives
of every normative leadership franchise
(full of presidents of nations, CEO’s of
companies, heads of military, heads of
churches, temples, mosques, etc.)---
imagine that they actually let some of
us “common people” into the room as
well & then imagine if those in charge of
the gathering allowed these
supposed heroes & idols to speak.
one after another,
those who have been looked up to for
guidance, those who have been painted on
walls, formed into sculptures, those who
have been killed for, those who have
“inspired” whole nations to kill each
other, those who have been talked to
by the zillions on bended knees with
their eyes closed for century upon
century---they all spoke &
as they did,
those watching who hold power, those
who gear the cultural trends for our
puny existence & all of us “common
people” as well, began to
diagnose these individuals in accordance
with the parlance of our times, whereby soon,
these characters would be found to
have multiple personalities…they’d be manic-
depressive…they’d be schizophrenic…they’d
be writhing with all the imperfections,
chemical imbalances, phobias, flaws &
disorders that are used now to write off every
single aspect of human behavior that
extends even the slightest outside that perfect
little square (like a child coloring hard along
the lines in a coloring book…never venturing
outside them) &
most of all,
all these once followed would be found to be
nothing more than as wretched as the rest of
us---one could go further &
assume that no books would be written about
them, no books would be “written by them” &
in a few years, much less than how long
they presently have all been looked up to for
the ages,
all these followed would disappear &
yet,
without any of them, we would all still get on---
yes we would.
To be a polylepis tree you gotta know
You're a polylepis tree & this knowing
Cements by being a polylepis tree,
Knowing between diagrammatic cracks
Fork'd already info knowing during descent.
Mud run through alpine meadow. Rubberized
Crunch on ruddy paths, rucksacks looped,
Deltoids, silly sound serious bulge spine
Ached before leaning away to swallow,
Sepia bark holding his musculature;
Paparazzi march out crimped edges
Of fungi, sussed then left together.
Glottal ribbing. Skeumorph thread
Discs, spades, b-side timpani under eaves.
Copper sheaves, wine burning in cups
Thickening until dark brown oozes
At a lesser velocity, blown eardrum,
Given the climaxes of greater viscosity—
Green epiphytic ferns stitch airy
Misconceptions (soil, root), the drawing in,
& expulsion, the search for a golden
Arboreal rat. A tunnel-maker
Said to be densely populated in woods
Near-gone to potato farms, cattle,
The absent lecture, then, on survival plastic
Spool of thread glued to the back
Drawn in a thin white line, followed
For ur-experiment, hundreds of feet
Climb up the lateral limb, down, dug under
Grass, tunneled, then over miniature crick,
Through nodule floor-sponge, a wetland,
A watershed for a whole valley, to grass
Again, below, finding elaborate nests but
The rat escaped, the sinewy string left.
A choreography misses it, an instinct
Closest but dull, so a blind sight in high
Sun, a canopy growing at itself not up,
Sift, shrift, the want to lay down before
Night freezes the water inside the air.
A return at night to the espeletia, giants
Sunflowers shocked by moon, switch-backs,
Doing Zs, squared, cubed to the tenth clouds
Departing, something horribly there not
Constellation no not a galaxy those are
Not things let them not be where’s the
Name laying in the grass, alpine creekline
Eschatological curvature, mutter, murmur,
A yellowing light flung, the cold how they
Open little air, the screaming sleeve, there!
Of not-this this, in it, out it, here & away,
Something recalled, what a string, rat,
What ways you move, only that body,
No containers for the humans so the sea
Could get that travel-manic blue, sworn
To make another moon of it, another go,
Unfixable, in need of fixing, air adjust,
An alkalinity expectant, a Sulphur rain,
Chattering cargo setting fire to night.
The virile Knight gives evil eye to all
And champion to all who missed the call,
A long forgotten conflict ripped our soul
The virile Knight defends the final toll.
(In a hole
Where the bones
Of the bold
Smoulder cold)
A wisp of whimsy light ignites the breeze,
As fox-fire floats a grove of willow trees;
A devious diversion brief with peace
But conflicts of convergence will not cease.
(It has been said:
War is only over
For the dead and the dead
And the dead, dead, soldier)
Give glory to the glory of the dead,
In sacrificial life are heroes bred;
They find their strength above the maudlin din -
Aware of who they are by where they've been.
(Life can be confusing
For a Vet who lives it boozing
'Cause booze will lose its kick
And leave a troubled Vet quite sick)
Your faith in friends and God has disappeared
Still buried deep in jungle heat as feared;
And dreams of truth once dreamed in youth were vain -
Too vain a brain can make a brain insane.
(All young and strong
In Vietnam -
Till dead from the blood
that they bled
From worms deep inside
they were fed)
Your wife and children gone so long ago,
Her claim to fame became but shame's dull glow;
Her main cognitions slipped and stripped all gears -
Aladdin on a carpet-ride in tears.
(Full blown crazy
Was your Daisy
Quite the shady
Little lady)
Now sunshine splitter's split the light of dawn
To blind and euthanize the spermless pawn;
Our Knight complains about the awful strain,
The pawn is gone too long and dies inane.
(We pay each day
For check-mate fears
And turn away
From all the tears
That fall like rain
From children's pain)
The dead now share your bed inside your room
And you assume their AWOL from the tomb -
But truth confides they hide inside your bones
And soon you hear their rising manic tones.
(They died as we cried
And they think that we lied
That is why they now ride
On our bones deep inside:
"Alive! Alive! Alive!
Our souls in you do thrive")
The ghosts of comrades past do crowd my bed;
I retch from stench of fetid flesh long dead.
But dead now in my bed are heroes all:
Dead heroes in my bed who met the call.
(The casualties of war
When war be but a lie
Will wander evermore
For they will never die.)
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!
There are too many times when my eyes open and it’s still dark.
It’s useless to think that I’ll go back to sleep, and it’s no good at all to lay in bed and watch the passing parade of worries that comes marching down the Main Street of my mind. When I do that, the entertainment seems to take on its own life. The parade grows longer, more spectacular, with the noise of marching bands, my thoughts, growing louder. Clowns scurry ahead of the band leader, throwing red balls in the air. There are too many balls to count.
The best thing I can do for myself is to rise from my bed. But there are days when it seems too much to bear being home before the rest of the world rises. There’s just too much emptiness in my small house.
I leave, escaping to DD's, where I sit and sip my coffee over a newspaper. Sometimes there are others sitting waiting for the light to come, too–like the woman who gives an animated “Hello” to everyone she meets, staring too long into our eyes. She takes out her cell phone to call a friend about the rashes on her legs. Something is biting her during the night. Raj and the other DD workers snicker, and I am drawn to–but at the same time repelled by–her morbid troubles.
Sometimes, in the winter, it seems as if the time I spend in the dark before the light comes is endless. I don’t think it’s normal for darkness to last so long; it’s probably one of the punishments for eating the apple in Eden.
I much prefer the early light of June and July, when the morning allows the gentle unfolding of life around me. Somehow, when the sun is in the sky at 6:30 a.m., a passing gasoline truck rattling my windows does not sound so lonely. Nor do I mind the sun revealing the stains from spring rains on my windows … or the birds loudly announcing their presence in the trees. Their manic chirping awakens schoolchildren eagerly counting down the days til summer.
When the darkness is especially long, and I have already sought out the comfort of others who cannot sleep, I will sometimes return home and do what I am so reluctant to do — sit still. I take up my position in a special chair near a window that looks out onto the street. I close my eyes and listen to the heated rhythms that only my body can make. My breath … my ins and outs.
But I wonder; why is it so hard to be still? Especially in the dark before the light.
I
are you ready to play with words and games of the soul....to bring out the
labyrinth that is within the sacred soul??
w/U absolutely
I can start with chimes of alter mimes within my alter rhyme
ok
a shoot of expectation....uprooting congregation....my own ramification of self
altercation...the way I fan the flame
the utmost juxtapose...the beginning of our game
gimme a word,though even if absurd....and I'll reply in time
YES
gimme a subject, and I'll congregate...verbs and nouns to subjagate...places to
fill with mynd
Love
love entangled, be it obtuse...let's say it's a caboose....of a place we may contain
I'll seclude it to a space, where we can't replace...where there can't be an easy
refrain...
more
gimme more...and I'll abhore more words and junctures to place within...I'm
waiting on a whim...the space I'll call " to win"
one word is all I ask.. and we'll drink upon the flask...together on the clouds...a
placement of feelings, fragments...a war of truth and wills
heart
a heart can only beat itself....like lonely Irish elfs....misunderstanding value...of
which way to go.;...the non = ending ebb and flow...I want to understand where
these feelings come from...
are they derived from lonliness or boredom...in the back room or corridor...a
package of the heart...where do feelings start?:
adjudication and frustration is what I feel constantly....the placement of my
feelings a continual
mystery...
I love the way U write, have I told U that?
am I manic or just a substantial panic - meister....can I ever kick this system in
the ****...thats what I want to observe...
I'm more intense in person...and I don't mean to make tensions worsen...I only
wish to widen the width of this scythe...
I like the way U talk
that is why I keep talking to U
I am so mellow and quiet…
As calm as a midnight jet…
I need some sort of outlet…
Give me something more than this...regret
I did not mean to get upset...
I just wanted you to be feeling alright
Remember the day we first met?
It was a wondrous time in daylight
In a daze, I smile shyly at you tonight
I take flight after being in captivity for so long
I trek a mile just to be as high as a kite
In a phase, I frown away negativity all along
Oh, I give praise to the Lord Most High
The love I concealed inside, can't deny
I'm in a bipolar manic, but I still love You
I'm in a bipolar manic and the past, can't undo
I am so yellow and bright…
Like a sun-shining star tonight…
Show me the path that is right
I need your love to be fulfilled beyond...sight
I did not mean to get upset...
I just wanted you to be feeling alright
Remember the day we first met?
It was a wondrous time in daylight
In a daze, I smile shyly at you tonight
I take flight after being in captivity for so long
I trek a mile just to be as high as a kite
In a phase, I frown away negativity all along
Oh, I give praise to the Lord Most High
The love I concealed inside, can't deny
I'm in a bipolar manic, but I still love You
I'm in a bipolar manic and the past, can't undo
Saw what you've been through all along...
Lord, I still believe I have done You wrong...
Flawed from the start like an unfinished song...
Remaining numb in my loneliness, longing to...belong
I did not mean to get upset...
I just wanted you to be feeling alright
Remember the day we first met?
It was a wondrous time in daylight
In a daze, I smile shyly at you tonight
I take flight after being in captivity for so long
I trek a mile just to be as high as a kite
In a phase, I frown away negativity all along
Oh, I give praise to the Lord Most High
The love I concealed inside, can't deny
I'm in a bipolar manic, but I still love You
I'm in a bipolar manic and the past, can't undo
I'm in a bipolar manic…
Feeling like a maniac…
My muse is abusing me once more
But, I will endure to the deepest...core
Drunk by shots
Of shameful delight
I'm in a bipolar manic in a panic…
I'm morbidly a forlorning fanatic…
You accuse me with abtrusing thoughts,
Leave me feeling sore as my soul...rots
I try with my might,
But what for?
Musicianship
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
There’s an old village green where a marquee was seen
I don’t do ‘Bah humbug’, don’t want to be mean
A little fake snow ain’t a Christmassy scene
But the reindeer and Santa Claus might well have been
But two little kittens and one manic pup
Made those arrangements all go belly up
Nothing was planned, you should understand
It’s simply that sometimes things get out of hand
You see, Rum n Raisin snuck out through their flap
They ran to the green to give Santa a clap
Walnut, their young canine friend gave a yelp
Nipped out through the back door and followed to help
He got to the Green where a red nosed reindeer
Had cornered his friends and they cowered in fear
Walnut snuck up and said, “Get out of here,
Or maybe I’ll show you the meaning of fear.”
Raisin said, “Walnut, just look at his nose
It’s big and it’s red and just see how it glows
I’ve seen a reindeer with a nose just the same
He’s on Christmas cards… and Rudolph’s his name.”
The reindeer said, “Don’t come here giving me grief.”
But when Walnut grinned he clapped eyes on his teeth
Rudolph said, “I cannot handle much pain.”
Then flew to the skies and was not seen again
So when Santa came he was totally mad
“One of you did something totally bad.
I need a new reindeer this minute,” he said.
And then stuck two reindeer horns on Walnut’s head
Raisin cried, “He’s just a pooch, can’t you see?
He won’t bring your presents to John Doe or me
Not to the next town nor over the sea.”
And Santa said, “Tough, cos he made Rudolph flee.”
Rum advised Santa, “Today’s Christmas Eve,
And for all I know, your real name is Steve
Your Santa Claus suit is a little white lie
But I’d like to know how that reindeer could fly.”
Santa said, “This Christmas grotto is fake
But I am quite real, so please give me a break
Your Walnut must stand in to help pull my sleigh
But you have a choice: Do you come - do you stay?”
Walnut stood there in his new antlered head
He looked rather silly but, even so, said,
“You’ve got lots of reindeer and all of them fly
I can’t comprehend what you might want with I.”
Santa said, “Reindeer teams don’t fly by day
Rudolph’s bright, shiny nose would light the way
Walnut said, “You know no dog’s hooter glows?”
So Santa supplied him an L.E.D. nose.
“50 Words for Poe: dactyl”
When Terror Fell came
he had no complaints
the joint was jumping
it was do or dare
he offered Her his old pear
the porridge here was so glum
She closed the door
to the window of his cell
and sucked on Her plum
She was thinking, a dangerous thing in itself, indeed,
that next time peaches, not pears would be fun
She’d tighten his straight jacket some
fingers and toes to be free
She’d observe him for a while
there was the pressing issue
of The Others let loose on the run
joie de vivre, gone all bat**** wild
there was still the report to write
an extra dose of Laudanum prescribed
She’d blindfold him and buzz him electric
then instruct him to write poems didactic
delusions of grandeur
fingers and toes playing piano
with the other dementors to be denied
he was manic - full of too much ego and arrogant hurt pride
All in a day’s work
He was safe in his cell
or so he thought ...
counting numbers
the seconds tick by
he'd gladly wait
for Hell's Bride
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/mGYUV76Lhic
“In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.”
https://youtu.be/CoA4goulmMo
“Silver dust
lifted from the earth
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted.
O silver,
higher than my arms reach
you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf
no flower ever parted silver
from such rare silver;
O white pear
your flower-tufts,
thick on the branch,
bring summer and ripe fruits
in their purple hearts.”
(H.S. 1886 - 1961, The Pear Tree)
https://youtu.be/PgqHi5HkBRk
"before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass"
For the Lost, out of their cell still serving time in Hell.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51869/eurydice-56d22fe6d049d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d#tab-poems