Long Overwrought Poems
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Childhood Friends
When I was about nine or ten
I had a friend called John back then.
And in the winter deep with snow
On our toboggans we would go.
Then down the steep and slippery hill
We sped and screamed at the thrill.
Then Graham came and brought his steed
Speeding downhill at excessive speed.
And in our minds we were King Arthur’s men
And on a charge to victory then.
Waving swords of sticks of wood
We made great slaughter to preserve the good.
Until brave Sir Graham, an illustrious knight,
Hit a tree stump and caused great fright.
And so an ambulance had to come
And somebody ran to tell his mum.
His mum, the Lady Edith of high birth,
Came and showed but little mirth.
Sir John, who had with honour fought
Went home both tired and overwrought.
And with Merlin’s brew of ginger bear
Brave Sir Graham’s wounds did disappear.
And we hoped that on another day
There would be snow in which to play.
Barry Stebbings
10/19/2020
It's impossible to hum with your nose blocked
Don't try it you'll give yourself a hernia
About two hundred babies are born every minute
Guess there's not much doing in suburbia
Dust under your bed is your own dead skin
Unbelievable but that's what they say
There are more nerve cells in the human brain
Than there's stars in the Milky Way
The water you drink has already been drunk
By others, what a charming thought
Donkeys kill more people than plane crashes
That's not something I think of a lot
A million dollars in one hundred dollar bills
Weighs only about twenty-two pounds
A disposable diaper holds seven pounds of pee
That's too much information I've found
97% of money contains a trace of cocaine
Have you sniffed your dollar bills of late
The glue on Israeli stamps is certified kosher
This leaves me in an overwrought state
10 million bricks are in the Empire State Building
Masons surely had a heavy load
That's it for now but there'll be more to follow
Keep an eye out for them down the road
Chanda was in McDonalds, with single mother friends
The radio came on, said now welfare ends.
The ladies panicked, poured onto the street
How could they support kids, and make ends meet?
The Mercedes on the road crashed into the side
The driver had heard the radio, then began to cry.
She ran a fake day care, she sold food stamp cards
Now without income, life would get hard.
Shmuley was reading the Talmud in his house.
Then came in his overwrought spouse.
She said the welfare office had a sign on the door:
The new ruler of America had decreed, no handouts, no more.
No bailouts for bankers, forget farmers aid
Corporations got to make it with no subsidies paid
Pro-bono lawyers couldn't use lawfare the time:
No dubious causes on the taxpayer dime.
Then rioters came out, looking for stuff to burn
They'd never made an honest living, now they'd have to earn
And everyone else, hooked on some kind of handout,
Marched on Washington, to throw the President out.
The President appeared on TV, and appealed for calm
He said he had to do it; our currency was a time bomb.
The debt had reached three times G.N.P.
A worthless dollar in store, and poverty.
“Our debt has grown beyond what dollars can bear,
There's a limit to what the billionaires share.
The printing press runs, but the backstop grows thin:
If we don't stop spending, the dollar caves in.”
But the President was hanged, and a new one elected
Everyone could breathe easy now, welfare was protected.
Back to Talmud, back to McDonalds, back to the slums
But disaster just delayed, and the grim reaper comes.
The grim reaper comes....
Reflections in blue are swelling my eyes
As I stand alone where we shared goodbyes
A summer ago, an isle far away
Though cloudless on sky, a sorrowful day
Reflections in green still flower my thought
On thinking of you, I’m still overwrought
Remembering picnics, a tropical maze
Where wind songs caress in palm tree sways
Reflections in red are bursting my brain
As I let you go, must have been insane
How could I not follow and beg you to stay
A tearful farewell was all I could say
Reflections in white, the color of hope
My mind is ablaze, no longer to mope
This moment I’ll start, it can’t be too late
To find you again, let love be our fate
When reality confronts death,
a sadness envelops your soul.
And fear snatches away your breath,
for your life no longer feels whole.
Losing half your soul feels unfair,
facing a future filled with dread.
And yet, you're no longer a pair,
for love no longer shares your bed.
When your loss is too much to bear,
you look for peace inside a book.
But loneliness follows you there,
for faith can't replace what death took.
Fear fuels anxiety's climb,
taking emotions to extremes.
And crying for the umpteenth time,
tears wash away forever dreams.
You feel confused and overwrought,
crushed by the fickle hand of fate.
For emotionally distraught,
you're all alone, without your mate.
Argh resolution between
self and eldest
dear daughter more remote,
now then locating
a left handed monkey wrench,
cuz she feels this papa
did deliberate smote
her upside the head, knocking
Eden Liat stone cold
in an abysmal trench
thus, this dada doth fear a mill
stone shaped albatross
around thy neck aye will tote,
where rotting bird
doth emit fetid oppressive stench
gloomily decry death asper,
paternal progeny blighted love
epitaph finis fate wrote.
Methinks (nee knows) marital infidelity
steep dividend warrant wrought
chances greater finding needle in haystack
versus pointless thought
exercise regarding deus ex machina sought
forgiveness ex post facto, rethought,
yet miracle needed, viz
twill require against overwrought
progeny's psyche mor'n
solo requiem Te Deum never sung,
hence no guarantee
father as overthought
against embarkation entailing,
nor divine chorus baptizing can nought
assuage besotted dada's flesh, handwrought
hence fiery eternal damnation
no gunsmoke match e'en gunfought
by Jesse James, no penitence
bequeathed only dreadnought
visa vis admitting how affair
kneaded joyus kindling brought
philandering husband discovered
emotional refuge (against spousal
epithet strewn expletive language,
whence mistress besought
similar sexual satisfaction,
and subsequent fallout an afterthought.
retrospective reflection stills nothing
more serious then slap on the wrist
while engaged (~ January 2010) with
nothing sinful 'bout peccadillo tryst
understandable wife got sorely pissed
on the sly behaviour the missus
blindsided, hence over
looked and missed
and figurative wedge
cleft asunder nearly kissed
our marriage goodbye
extra-marital romp illicit,
though we nearly came to fist
sta cuffs, where salty crude name calling
in conjunction with execrable
derogatory cussing contribution complicit.
She will not change her mind, and she will not budge.
She is a nonconformist, who drinks beer, said my Uncle Mudge.
She is opinionated, vile, mean, and usually wrong.
It was the beginning of his “poor me” song.
She had left him at the alter when she found out he had cheated.
Saying she never wanted to see him again, her words unsweeted.
She stomped off mad, and she’s been mean as a bat caught in a fence.
He told me this, taking no guilt for his lack of common sense.
She is a rascal, a devil, a woman who cannot be rattled or taught.
He is being meaner now. He seems radical, ridiculous and overwrought.
She used to be my honey, but now she’s a woman of her own.
She is lanky and nasty, and her garden is way overgrown.
Un-nerved by formal sentencing assemblies,
Marks and Words, bound by conjunctive amenity.
The tried beliefs that short cuts speed words into action.
Made stuffy Old School feel out of fashion.
Punctuation board-slams her silver gavel;
“A shortened distance, yet far to travel.”
Marks are pushed into line to enter their plea.
Dash Dash Dash has trailing thoughts…
Comment remarks that it thinks too much.
Question Mark, curiously rotund and stout,
asks “What’s this meeting all about?”.
Proud Period, acquainted with the strident rituals of formality,
Quickly departs, leaving a daunting spot of terse finality.
Comma’s game of pause and snag,
grammatically adheres to one of tag.
Overwrought Exclamation Mark, nervously blurts:
“Unruly disorder can make matters worse!”.
Semi colon maintaining proper pauses,
Stays anchored between compelling clauses.
Colon fearful of growling barks,
snuggles closer to Quotation Marks.
Apostrophe’s like for word possession,
worries over changing word obsession
Oh, Oh! Oh? Oh…
These are shameful attempts to monopolize,
Even with trite words, of unassuming size.
.
Punctuation thinks her identity’s impaired
Might she be confused with the shrew, Grammar?
She calls to order a capitol thought.
sliding up to Exclamation Mark, shouts “’STOP!’
The object of this meeting,
Is not subject to self- beating.
No presence is here to criticize, or chastises,
nor harmonize.
If getting through is what stays true.
Will be understood by some , but always to you.”.
When you paint yourself into a corner,
You have got to be insane
It's no use to blame others
When you are the one to blame
Standing in the corner.
Completely trapped and alone
Who's fault is this,
Your's Mister, Your's and Your's alone
I wonder what you are thinking,
It deserves some serious thought,
Does the position you have placed yourself,
Make you overwrought.
I doubt it, Mister,
You think you are superior,
Viewing others living in the world,
Braindead and inferior.
You have told too many lies,
That many have believed
The whole world is horrified,
Of the people you have deceived,
Stuck in a corner,
Trying to think of a way out,
Not this time, Mister
No matter how much you
Scream and shout
Since time out of mind, out of thought,
a molecule of mankind (like I)
is held hostage by the garrote
of just being, and wonders why
the universe has it overwrought,
but too woebegone to ramify.
As my fragile frame and presence
of mind contract and then explode,
aspects of self lose existence
(like schizophrenic à la mode):
and therefore no longer make sense,
whilst suffering a manic episode.
Because of my mad disorder,
these lines reflect a troubled rhyme
(and an unbalanced word order);
still, so long as I feel sublime,
there won't be need (by court order)
for me to do more Bedlam time.