Long Psychotic Poems
Long Psychotic Poems. Below are the most popular long Psychotic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Psychotic poems by poem length and keyword.
I look backwards I look forward
I look all around
I look left and right
chaos is all to be found
someone at this second is murdered
someone at this second is raped
just watching the news
makes me want to pray
you cant park your car on the street anymore
you can't go out at night
you can't walk down the road anymore
alone in broad daylight
this world should be moving forwards
and not backwards anymore
people need to be more nice
and bring more love and less war
how hard is it to pay excuse me
rubbing shoulders'walking by?
being nice is so easy to do
people need to give it a try
the government saying
what we can or can not do
America used to be free
but that is no longer true
a child rapist is charged again
then he was set free
while ppl sit in jail for unpaid fines
that sounds backwards to me
punishing everyone with guns
because of one person's psychotic act
...it's not the gun it's the person
everyone with common sense knows that
registered sex offenders as our neighbors- man what a relief
the law says they've paid their dues
but that's just what they want to believe
people being shot all around
because the color of their face
I believe everyone should be loved
no matter what the race
people all over struggling
not enough money for bills to be paid
I think this country is going under
too many changes to be made
oil spills, chemical factories
and the ocean is filled with trash
at this rate 50 years from now
this world will be ash
it takes so much energy to hate
I wish everyone could see
life would go more smoothly
if you do unselfish deeds
when you see someone struggling
offer a hand to help
if the tables were turned
wouldn't you want that for yourself?
there are many things you can't change
but try hard at the things you can
you have a special place in this world
you are part of a bigger plan
part of the plan to take our lives back
part of the plan to do what's right
part of the plan to walk safely
down the street in the day or night
I was taught to hold on to love
and I should never hate
together everyone could turn this around
it is never too late
it's time to take one step forward
and no longer take any back
this country, this world, our children's' future is at stake
and that is a fact
"Human mind knows no constraints. Without spending time or money, one can make an odyssey into the outer space and even into other planets. What is needed is the fuel of imagination." - By Poet
Outside, the night was gathering strength
How swift our lightning Sputnik,
Out running the speed of sound and light
Shot into space with a violent jerk, leaving us psychotic.
At a distance were luminous spheres
Suspended like glowing lanterns
Comets and meteors in hyper space
Seemed more like diffused patterns
An asteroid came whizzing towards us.
I closed my eyes in dreadful shock,
Fearing a terrible head on collision.
Thank God! It deviated from our track!
I looked at my friend seated beside
Obviously not here, lost in thought!
Looking down, I saw Mother Earth
A luminous ball, not bigger than a sapphire dot
Oh! How quickly we landed on Mars
It is so different from what I had learnt
Neither a barren belt of sterile terrain
Nor a rugged stretch of craters burnt
But a heavenly place so cool and serene
Full of scintillating scenes and ravishing sights
We, the emissaries from a far away land
Were warmly received by a team of alien sprites
The weight of the world suddenly lifted from us
We bounced up and down almost floating in the air
Found ourselves in a gorgeous garden
With springing fountains and blossoms fair
Trees were laden with dazzling gems
Lagoons and lakes of liquid silver
Vast expanse of tawny vistas
Plains waving with luxuriant verdure
What fun…! Hmm…over there,
Nothing like those seen on planet Earth
A herd of animals so strange and rare
Grazing on red grass in a canyon of great width
Our restless eyes scanning all around,
We accelerated our pace in rising delight.
As we were eager to explore every bit of ground,
We moved forward with enthusiastic gait.
Sudden was the sound I heard behind
And saw my mother standing near
Puzzled and confused as I looked around
In my ears her voice fell ringing clear-
“You lazy one, know this is exam time”
Rough and curt was her angry tirade.
“Again you can’t play a dumb mime”
Her words made my afternoon reverie suddenly fade
I saw my open book sneering at me
And my uncovered syllabus, a vast sea
Dear Poetic War
I'm here to inform you to change your name to (War Shoe.)
Warlock doesn't even fit you!
I have many ways to insult you.
I have to play nice, can't you see all them evil eyes!
Poetic Warshoe the only talent you poses is the word LOCK!
No need to try and crush what you can not see
All you are is another loser who can't let me be.
You silly jail bird, you sound more like a game of Monopoly
Its my turn and I hold your ticket to get out of jail for free.
Don't worry Warlock, Board Walk is owned by me.
Washing your couplets down with a cup of tea.
I laughed so hard your words almost made me pee.
Warshoe, why are you jumping on me like a little flea?
The only stinger you have belongs to a bumble bee.
Poetic thug you are messing with the wrong killer bee
Sorry I told you I share my fate with Nate!
Go grab some more help from your psychotic mate.
Raid I will spray on your strategies you poetic bug.
You have no class to be a Warlock.
The only thing you master is being a poetic thug.
Go back to playing dominoes, cards, and chess.
Your poetry smells like potpourri.
My demons will hit you with an epic battle of success.
Hunting me is the way you want to waste commissary.
I will enslave you to worship the grounds my feet caress
Challenging me will be the best thing you've had in 5 years.
First I will send you this letter with a small request.
Look down first before you think you pushed me over the cliff.
I own the crown causing massive damage to your quest.
You will never dominate my battlegrounds, I will end you in a swiff.
Your sword will be conquered in my arena, bringing you down to a rest.
I will make you suffer begging for mercy and forgiveness.
For trying to step up to the best.
Warshoe you already failed my test.
In this game you will never beat me at my own contest.
Your heart I won't eat I will feed that to my guest.
Warshoe its time to rip you out of the shadows where you hide.
I will LOCK you in my WAR of hell.
Shackling you in a fetal position as we collide.
Your fear will spread for everyone to smell.
I will end your poetry with no pride.
I will post venom in your abyss through out your cell.
A poison so rough now bend over and open wide.
Warshoe by the time this is over you will bail.
And I P.D. will still have you under my spell......
by;P.D.
MY OLD BOSSES FUNERAL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Went to the funeral of my old boss
After several speakers I was at a loss
Who was this person they were eulogizing
Kind words and praise was so surprising
I knew him well for many, many years
Despised by family and also his peers
He was a tough boss that never praised
The toil of his workers, most thought him crazed
One speaker after another had bountiful praise
They must be mistaken or in a mental daze
Like I said I knew him well
Being around him was a living hell
His ex wife had nothing to say
His two daughters couldn’t make it today
His son sent a card but forgot to sign
It said” hi mom” are you having a good time?
I had an eerie feeling throughout the service
These lauding comments were making me nervous
I had to make sure I was in the right place
Walked up to the casket and stared at his face
I had to touch him to see if he’s cold
Lipstick and rouge made him look old
Underneath the makeup he was turning gray
Get him underground don’t wait another day
Sure enough the old codger was dead
But I couldn’t believe the plaudits said
He was a bitter psychotic misanthrope
He was cheap a bigot a total mope
He was intolerant abusive and never approved
To belittle and disarm was his every move
The praising went on like a marathon
It sounded as if they’re sorry he’s gone
It must be that he had more than one side
They’re talking about Dr. Jekyll I knew Mr. Hyde
BOSS’S FUNERAL (2)
Later I learned what the praise was all about
He left a fortune for his rep to dole out
Total discretion for his rep to give away
To anyone that had something real to say
Everyone here and others previously chosen
To say a few words about the recently frozen
They all praised and offered exaltations
Expecting a big payoff for their commendations
But when the will was officially opened
Not a thing awarded to those who had spoken
Instead everything was willed to his son
Cause he was best to continue his fathers run
Of all of my kin and friends it was easy to see
My son is a son of a ***** just like me
So he gets my wealth and also my genes
He’ll succeed using unscrupulous schemes
When its his time to turn from ecru to gray
He can expose the hypocrites as I did today
There once was a little girl who played in walk in closets
She'd shut the door to the world outside because her mom
was neurotic and psychotic
And her step dad was a raging alcoholic
This tiny space was her safe haven for her imagination
to fly metaphorically
See her mom would talk nonsense her brain couldn't
comprehend
And her step dad was drunk and would speak sideways
in tounges
He would get violent and mean to the little girls mom and
that was so scary
Also her mom would go on a warpath for the smallest of infractions
And grab a wire handled flyswatter and swat this poor little girl
til she was black and blue all over
Oh yeah. And her mom was religious and would take the little girl
to church with long sleeves on and tights to hide all the whelts on the
little girls arms and legs
One time in the bathroom at church the little girl was on the potty and
her auntie walked in and saw all the mayhem on the little girls body
And exclaimed Oh My
But nothing was done and the little girl had to go back home to play
in her walk in closets all by herself again
So by this time for this little girl the damage was already done
She found out real young that no one cared anyway
That she was worthless and unloved so escaping in closets was
her only way to freedom with her imagination
Then time passed and this little girl grew up still feeling worthless
and unloved and no one cared anyway
And that's when the psychopaths started their feeding frenzy on her
They picked up on her pain and played their sickest of games
They knew she hid in her imagination and wove stunning tales of
how they loved her. Fantastic and unbelievable fantasies
And her imagination would fly metaphorically
Until the last psychopath she had a relationship with wanted to
destroy the art behind her imagination
That's the day this little girl who used to play in closets
woke up and said to herself
That's all I have left of me is my artistry and no one is going to
take that away from the little girl inside of me
So she opened the door of this little girls closet
Stepped inside and grabbed that little girl and they walked out of that
tiny space together
with the promise of brighter and freer days on the horizon
Not looking back. Not even glancing
Each step upon those attic stairs took me closer
to mesmerizing clouds of sandalwood and jasmine
that lingered in the musty air of a dark, foreboding room
that certainly held more than just my secrets.
Candles burned unevenly on wax-encrusted wicks.
The ashtrays placed strategically,
no need to empty one.
A picture frame and loose photos lay beneath the dust.
My altar held all of this and became a witness
to the destruction of my soul.
And, on those stairs, in between my room and the attic,
I swear, my honor slipped away.
The power of a soul to regenerate itself offers us
a second chance with which we're faced with
brand new choices in the same cold world.
And time gives us the luxury of being able to forget
and continue on carrying invisible scars that only
rarely get noticed, but do serve as a cruel reminder.
The front stoop was always good for thinking.
Reflecting on the static between the trees in the woods behind the house.
I never meant to cause such distemperedness.
A deranged condition, I couldn't see that I caused.
All the while, those ghosts fed off of me.
The turbulence got worse around a time of
white-covered rooftops and a high gas bill.
The psychotic shrieks of the cat in a corner of the bathroom
confirmed that it was evil I was facing.
And so I tipped the bottle and feigned a smile.
Because I knew I lost my honor long before that day.
A trip to the church, then a stop at the hospital
impacted the perceptions held by the eyes looking on.
Behold! What they see matches an idea of what should be
and suddenly they hand you your honor back.
All this time I've lived without honor and
according to them, I've earned it's return.
Lift the dark heavy storm clouds and
slide down the rainbow that awaits.
Their masks have smiles I emulate
and together we sit and wait.
The day has now come and those eyes are
once again, keen to what they see that shouldn't be.
A realization has not yet hit,
that the honor I was granted was based on the same
abhorrent dishonor that has come to light today.
Why should I be concerned with this honor,
when it's they who decide when to give it and take it away?
Now I find my own honor
completely outside of them everyday.
(prelude)
the buzzing of the evening insects
presage evil !
here are black wolves ! here are ghosts and fiends
and here are blackest of demons !
and black be the murk tonight with devils !
be forewarned ! and be accursed...
you, who set eye on these
perilous passages and venomous verses :
you have no idea
how dark, complex,
cynical and hopeless
this all can get
I
Twilight has its way, come Night :
come, cloudings of bloodsucking bat !
come, sleep to the toddlers and calm to the dogs at guard;
come respite to the dwellers of the parks and the streets
come, peace below these stars :
the paperboy delivers his papers,
the planet spins its distance,
the cat kills its rats
and the rapist has his victims :
the youngster drugs himself to death
first thing out of rehab
and the girl is sold by the person
she thought she could trust the most
Tranq abusers hide and disappear
like roaches at the break of morning
into the ruins and cellars and destitute housings
scarabs hiss the songs of pestilence and dirty needle :
wailing banshees of despondency
psychotic on the corner of a street
screaming their anguish to the lot of the world :
unprocessed traumas left to die on the bottom of the needle ocean
an unwanted nuisance child
born from a night of desperation
is abandoned by a crack-fiend mother
rotten to her spiritual core :
tragic, suffered, broken, yes - but guilty :
God may have mercy on this demon but i can not !
and such are the realities
of the absolute form of existentialism
whose principles govern this world and its human enterprise...
impossible moral equations
float in the Night's aether
as all moral philosophies come to die
at this graveyard of God :
unfathomable narcotic abyss...
no hope escapes
the black hole
no light escapes
the intravenous event horizon
gloomy visions of destitute social ruin
greet the traveler beyond the threshold :
be forewarned ! traverse at your own peril
you have no idea
how dark, complex,
cynical and hopeless
this all can get...
In air of awe,
...I write the pain of my heart,
each beat of tumult,
each throb of incite,
...which merges with my tears
in release of woe.
A cry of tragedy unheard,
...the final words of a dying bird
with clipped wings
called sanity.
For far off people, never met,
I have wept,
...enough tears to fill a desert,
a trillion tears a scattered
as ink on paper,
by my pen.
I co-mingle my tears,
our tears join hands in the river
...as the time's stream grows thinner
their tears and mine,
become the ink
...and our pain becomes paper,
hereafter.
What fool sees war as sanity?
Murder as rationality,
children's tears become a game.
A sadist's game.
What fool made up these reasons?
humanity's treasons,
...against their own,
where profit is life
and life is for sale.
A sadist's game.
Where the innocent are killed,
...the field of dreams without remorse
where the psychotic mind becomes reality
...and there is no sanity in which to hide.
We go with the tide,
we go with the moon,
the sands of the desert
are like the hourglass,
manifest
...and red sand replenishes
the white,
in endless cycles
-where justice ceases
...and the pain shall never heal.
Yet there is still,
my tears,
my heart,
the throbbing pain
...in which I feel
as someone's pain
...attacks me from afar.
I run to my desk,
...my pen is leaking ink
as if stabbed maliciously,
...I grab it and the pain increases,
someone shot me,
someone stabbed me,
ripped out my eyes,
my ears,
my heart.
My fingernails are missing,
my lungs are coughing blood,
someone killed mother,
...but who?
The pain attacks me,
it rips at me
...and I have no choice
but to write it all.
Reality is two dimensional,
a stack of realities that burst;
...and information,
emotions,
the history
...and lives of life
in general,
leak through the cracks,
for those sensitive enough
to feel them
...and inherit them.
Yet those tears shouldn't be,
...the river of time a flowing.
The paper thin reality,
in which we live,
which rips so easily
without slowing.
Those tears flow into Nature,
...and Nature's heart will break.
Because it's children are cannibals...
...and life is a sadist's game.
Form:
"My college try at 'You're in a Horror film "
something has taken over his spirit
I do think I'll be his next ...
The land line rings , I answer Hello ? a response with crackling voice.
" Do you remember me , I am an old friend ? "
Who is this ? I respond noticing the rain falling hard ..
a sketchy voice response..
I am here , can't you see me?
"is this a sick Joke ? as I grab a knife for protection"
I'm calling the police ! This is Harassment !
" The police are here ' ....'in a psychotic response
The lights go out , the lightning from the storm has
hit a tree, I am scarred now, looking for all candles to light my way
A loud Knock ! Again a knock , I slam the phone down , fearfully
lock the door fast, yet trembling. It's as if someone is breathing
a cold breath with a long finger nail running down my back ..
Knock Knock again , I look out the peep hole, it is the police !
Opening the door , The Policeman says " We are checking to see
if you are Ok ? You need to let me in and stand behind me "
The policeman calls for backup to Elm Street .
" Someone said they saw a tall man with a mask and knife enter
your basement , The storm has blown out the electricity, lines are down "
Grabbing the cordless, I respond " someone just called , scarring me! "
That is not possible , these lines have been down for hours , the person
driving by called prescient on a cell.
I try to get a line and the phone is dead ....
The policeman is searching the home with a flashlight .
As he goes into the Kitchen I see a large knife in his Back shirt ,
Now he is laughing ..the phone rings ..
'you're in a Horror movie contest '
This poem was too long to submit without premium membership, so I have submitted it in two parts, but it is meant to be read together.
Part one....
They say he is clearly psychotic, if knowing that was even a possibility.
The visible signs are all present, his behavior is a dead give away.
"Normal" people don't act this way, they act like everybody else.
When did being different, become the diagnosis of being clinically insane?
Their image of "normal" is repeatedly drilled into our heads.
Through the direction of our leaders, our education, multi-media.
The television and cinema screen their greatest tools for propaganda.
A man and his lovely wife, with their two point five children,
A duplex in the suburbs, undistinguished from any of the others.
a neatly trimmed lawn, a few hedges, a two car garage for their one vehicle.
A couple truly in love, rarely do they argue, with great sexual chemistry.
Working constantly through the better part of their lifetimes
making enough money to pay their bills, and splurge once a week.
their companies CEO, the bill collectors, and the government's tax brackets,
all work together in unison, to ensure that they are never more than comfortable.
At the age of sixty-five, they have a small nest egg saved up together.
Only now, well into their "golden years," are they allowed to live as they choose.
Their biggest motivation and desire, is simply to survive for another year.
When they die, their children discover they have no money in their accounts.
It always is a shock, revealing your parents have died completely broke.
Ideal examples of the perfect "American Marriage," left penniless in their grave.
Luckily for the children, they had purchased a small life insurance policy.
The payout almost exactly enough to cover the burial costs and funeral.
Even experiencing this unsettling revelation at their parents expense,
These same children are pre-destined, doomed, to follow suit.
Brain washed into believing that their outcome will somehow be better.
They spent less, saved up more, purchased a better insurance policy.
Unaware their parents shared these exact thoughts, forty years prior.