Long My psyche Poems
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Birds On A Bucket: Picture of Art
Birds of a bucket
That's what I thought about
I was having morning coffee
As the thought of birds came around.
The idea came first preserved in my mind
It came with such a pleasure, indeed.
I was pretty amazed too: you see;
These birds of thought of mine; to be!
Conceived: first by a thought;
Then came they, out to the paper.
The pencil just lying there
Ready to twirl and swirl corners, dare.
The capture: preserved in my psyche;
It needs an image, something to anchor on, behind.
And on this piece of paper: they were born
Life to those birds of thought; came to adorn.
As for the artist;' he sits and looks on
For another "picture of art;" to form.
I slipped through the side gate
Into Paradise, the sun shone
And my Shadow Side slipped
on a golden cobblestone
'What are we doing here
My Shadow asked
I've spent our life planning
Our home in Hell'
'Why won't you cooperate
You know you hate me
Did you get religion
It won't work, you hate priests
'Because you kissed the
Golden Ass Goddess
Doesn't make you a saint
It makes you a sex pervert!'
'Shadow, get behind me
I said, or stay buried in
my psyche with my corpse!
Foul Thing, begone thee!'
'O that's cute,' said Shadow
Wrack me with cheap names
You dead slab of graveyard meat
But you can't make me sane.
'Maybe that Sacred Lollypop
Told you Now Is All, and
This Is IT, and Have A Ball,
But I'm calling it to a halt
'I have issues you see
And it's you, not me,
And though I hid in the dark cell of your soul
I wanted to flee, be free'
I took a razor and cut Shadow free
Sailing off like a balloon on the wind
Reaching for altitude in the pearl gray sea
Where he expanded and popped, emptily
Paradise is quiet now that I'm alone
My Shadow Side bag of Sins is gone
But I miss him on the golden cobblestones
I turn around fast to catch him
Just behind me, there! where?
Just back there, where I can't see
I turn and turn but he's not there
Just a razor scar left inside me
A rainy autumn day
when memories come calling,
ushered in like the gently
perused pages of
a Victorian novel,
read with a cup of steaming cocoa
are the scented leaves
of my life story.
Beside a lavender scented lake,
I sat one summer,
breathing in the sights and sounds
of Mother Nature’s breast;
Each plop, plop of a fish leaping,
imprinted its' elation upon my psyche.
Blooming roses in my garden,
scents of tranquility
birthed in splendor
filling my mind with memories
of childhood and my loving grandmother.
How many of those did I press
between the pages
of Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden?
Scented leaves sleeping now
upon my bookshelves.
Each leaf on a tree or flower
tells its’ own story.
Each leaf of a favorite book
turns, as do the autumn leaves
in their quest for renewal;
each chapter in life’s book,
a new beginning;
ah, breathe the fresh scent
of rebirth!
11-13-19
SCENTED LEAVES Poetry Contest
Kim Rodrigues
to have and have not
is reason lent to logic
and reality left to disspare
to my heart oh, not where?
the place of peace not there
then where can the weary traverse
where the dreams are not night mares
loud noises not explosions
loud voices not fights
and darkness a place to sleep
rather than a place to hide
who is it that insist
on our depravity
whilst we are not in captivity
fleeced of menial freedoms
by a monsoon of unjust laws
furious my psyche can deduce
that i am not wanted here
in the midst of all the false advertisement
one country can give
about how much blood was
spilled to make them free
do we dare to think
that this excludes me
have not i been knitted into
the matrix of this thing
called freedom
have my dreams deceived me
about the land of the free
are not rights given in duplicity
and these ideals; do they not
come from God
to have and have not
the rights of men
and the peace there in
belonging to every citizen
Form:
Paranoia
The man that stood next to me
Wore shades
Hidden eyes shielded by the taint
That makes light fade
Invaded space and feelings feint
His blatant eyeless stare
Sears through
With eyes removed to elsewhere
I withdrew
Silent whispering gazes that talk
Inwardly
I watch him vaguely like a hawk
Awkwardly
His mouth is moving with intent
About me
His speech comprises malcontent
Perverts my mind
He’s talking on his mobile phone
I’m being maligned
He moves away, I’m not alone
The talking lips
Proceed to drone upon my shoulder
Losing my grip
And disembodied eyes to make me shudder
He’s here
With shades and talking phone, to gaze
Upon my fear
And in my psyche, eyes and mouth that craze
There’s no escape
From entwined paranoia
And life insane
Paranoia
The man that stood next to me
Wore shades
Hidden eyes shielded by the taint
That makes light fade
Invaded space and feelings feint
His blatant eyeless stare
Sears through
With eyes removed to elsewhere
I withdrew
Silent whispering gazes that talk
Inwardly
I watch him vaguely like a hawk
Awkwardly
His mouth is moving with intent
About me
His speech comprises malcontent
Perverts my mind
He’s talking on his mobile phone
I’m being maligned
He moves away, I’m not alone
The talking lips
Proceed to drone upon my shoulder
Losing my grip
And disembodied eyes to make me shudder
He’s here
With shades and talking phone, to gaze
Upon my fear
And in my psyche, eyes and mouth that craze
There’s no escape
From entwined paranoia
And life insane
Tram has, recently, become my favorite travel mode,
At the young and old, whom I come across, I smile gently;
Each, in their world, like flies and bees, and beasts has their own code,
Women, gossip, listening to the other intently...!
As the news is often negative and pessimistic,
I glance through the cartoon corner of the morning gazette;
I carry with me poems and writings optimistic,
With all these, in equilibrium, my psyche gets set...!
The police, herein, is a person, matter-of-factly,
The man in his fifties, like an artist, enjoys the scenes,
The young girl, therein, seems to dream a day-dream abstractly,
This tram, for me, is, no doubt, a pleasant traveling means...!
Though little I talk, vibes within and around me, are grand,
These are enough, for today's stresses and strains to withstand...!
picture 3. You are one of the passengers
I don’t answer
intensely personal questions people ask
for these shreds to pieces what is truly me
the pieces are of no use to them though.
The effort seems to be out of veiled envy,
incisive curiosity or even to subtly insult.
I am forced to uncover and introspect
ask myself why I am under their prying lens.
My life’s energy dissipates reorganizing
the dislodged pieces in place once again.
I don’t react
when caustic comments people make
on the manner I behave odd to them
or on the way I do or don’t do things
for them on asking or even for myself
for these are innate traits I am born with
discarding or changing which for their sake
or walk on their footsteps they set would be
to dispense with a vital part of my psyche
and to exist as a void entity of no identity.
I don’t demonstrate
the feeling of appreciation articulately enough
if people do something good to me sometimes
for that action appears an expression overdone
deceptively laden with fake display of gratitude
which in essence hides the tacit expectation
that the good done is what is deserved and due.
When for this trait people criticize my sensitivity
a part of my mind inherently obliged though
is tortured to premature and painful demise
I can’t endure for I don’t deserve the treatment
and aims to maim a part of my bruised persona
I can’t rejuvenate for it does no longer respond.
People tell me, I have gone or going mad.
I tell them, yes, if self-preservation is madness.
That’s why I am alive still
as a mad man at my will.
I tell myself, so let it be.
August 1, 2017.
the face on show reveals an issue
I see you looking I see I pissed you
pick your choosing which insult to use
insight you're amusing I see through you
think you've found my insecurity
stand assuredly sure of me
but you're not in my shoes
I can horribly horror thee
tear torsos from talk shoo
you speak your body language alludes
letting loose clues I can flip and abuse
same time I elude your bullet bully
I fight I sully til your pants soil
cus I'm a King accepting toil
scope on your weakness locked in to spoil
crack your shell cook you a la Royal
I've been bullied singled out and embarrassed
the bar's set high
I've learnt I've no one but I
I've been made look stupid
isolated and cry
my red face my fear dread pointed at
nasty things said
tested dyslexic selected
autism bipolar personality disorder
never test positive but not normal
left handed right armed club foot
stood up straight when hit in the gut
I aint a stereotype cliche or a label buster
stapled my head up by a knuckle duster
pain what pain I love it I lust
been lonely with no friend they rushed
I was unknowing to friendship never mend
still I've got balls to drive you around bends
yeah devil level upheaval I'm lethal
the illegal drug and a piercing needle
I can see through your eyes ears and cheek dimples
you assume I'm vacant minded simple
hampered with anger ample angles I can't handle
but you're like all the other people
leap frog forth and fall in to my hole of evil
my psyche unlocks the locked inside
oh I see inside I sight you sly
you picked on a puppet now to gut you of pride
you wanna go blow high and low
with a child of psychology psycho
possibly to test positive probably
you a side act cut from the show
my head weird inside it be it be beyond thee
I learnt young applied acquired skills easy
but think I'm denied a focus capability
can take me down and see the end of me
and with that they laugh and you mentally bleed
you mistook my fools field you can't fall what killed
mind games mate I've majestic ill
you don't even know what happened
I come back again til it end, friend.
It's difficult, but please try to understand,
my behaviour is something I cannot command.
At first I'll be serene like a sweet daydream,
but then unstable and intensely extreme.
Enter at your own risk, but be aware,
loving me can turn into a nightmare.
I'm like a grenade, don't pull my trigger,
I'll explode your mind with raging rigor.
My infatuation is like poetic idealisation,
but feeling unloved leads to devaluation.
The first hint of believing you're quitting,
will result in my psyche automatically splitting.
When I begin to feel like I'm not good enough,
I'll try to push you away and call your bluff.
You may label my actions as pathetic dumbness,
but this is me feeling empty with numbness,
so I make no apologies for the ghosting silence,
when my demons set restrictions like sly tyrants.
I try to block out regular paranoid suspicions,
so don't think I'm petty when setting conditions,
but with abandonment issues, I struggle to trust.
Please be sensitive as being patient is a must.
Be warned, my moods are regularly inconsistent.
My double standards may make you feel distant.
I need constant reassurance that you are only mine,
because insecurities make my sanity decline.
I don't want you to suffer like lovers who came before.
When I want to leave, don't let me run out of the door.
I just want to be loved with all my flaws accepted,
instead of being rejected, lonely and neglected.
Treat me gently and my self doubt will settle,
love me sincerely and I'll bloom like a precious petal.
Silent One
28 September 2021
You know me I am never grouchy she said.
Is her neck on straight? Is she right in her head.
I cannot stand people who stomp and grump.
Just a second. Here comes that creep with the dowager’s hump.
I cannot stand her; she is evil, the anti-christ she relays.
I hate to complain, but she simply ain’t very nice many days.
I stay on the phone line, for I am desperate for a friend.
Her grouchiness and complaining never does end.
She doesn’t like her neighbor, he is a mean guy.
She cannot abide her mother-in-law, so why even try?
Whining commences, and I am trying to hang up.
She never notices, that I have eaten my hat and my cup.
She causes me anguish, I feel stressed and annoyed.
She is yelling about a guy she dated once named big Lloyd.
I hate pessimists she tells me, I have to stay away from this guy.
The next week when I start to dial her, my psyche asks “why?”