Long Stark raving mad Poems
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Creative Writing was my love,
a passion I thought highly of.
A freshman, I felt I could shove
one course in my school year.
Assignment 1 - simple indeed:
"Who broke your heart and made it bleed?"
I felt I nailed it; Prof agreed
(or so it would appear)...
I think I wrote convincingly -
"Winter is not my cup of tea,
it casts its bread upon the sea,
my saddest time of year.
I call a halt, enough's enough!
I clench my fist and call her bluff,
and frankly, speaking off the cuff
I wished summer were here.
"Dog days of summer make me smile
when, grinning like a crocodile,
my smiles are wider than the Nile -
Elysian Days with you.
With bated breath, I'd greet the moon
and croon you some soft summer tune
until that wretched day in June
when you dealt me a blow.
"My love, you had me on cloud nine,
now casting pearls before the swine,
you ran into his arms, not mine;
my baptism by fire.
You left me there sadder than sad;
there may be balm in Gilead,
but you left me stark, raving mad,
about to go haywire.
"To add insult to injury
you said I barked up the wrong tree
and so I sailed on glassy sea
I hope I'm not too vague,
or should I spell it out for you?
In light of your foul witch's brew
I should do as the Romans do:
avoid you like the plague!"
Thus it went on, emotions raw.
I hoped my prof would be in awe -
My last line was the coup de grace:
I know this, too, shall pass.
My gentle prof, he had his ways
of pointing out my bland clichés:
"You do enjoy a well-worn phrase!"
I learned a lot that class.
// Reminiscing on my patient Creative Writing professor indicating my over-reliance on tired phrases //
written 16 Aug 2020
The water-well
There is near the houses a deep well
you can´t stick a bucket on a rope, much ropes were needed.
They used to hire a man usually the village idiot
to spend his life hauling up buckets of water.
Villagers believed the water came from the Yanjing river in China.
A man who had gone to school disagreed; it is a deep
underground river, he said. For this, he was disliked.
One day he fell down the well, but since it was not
man made and smooth a big stone sticking out saved him
from falling all the way down.
Broke his leg in the fall, he did.
With a dangling leg he had to claw himself up, however
they gave him water to drink, his struggle made him thirsty.
When he got out, he spoke a strange language
the villagers, thought was Chines, it never struck them
he was stark raving mad.
Now, an electric pump was installed, they saw him limping
out of the village talking gibberish.
A poem~ For Alyssa
"Lost border collie...Jordan"
Dedicated to the beautiful children
lost in a Florida massacre!
We can't find Jordan anymore
He's lying under Alyssa's bed.
He does not know she is dead
A killer's bullet in her head.
The TV stations ..ratings mad,
Flash her picture.
Jordan's eyes grow sad
Her father is stark raving mad.
So, off to the cemetery they go
With balloons and flowers
And bleeding hearts... And...
Endless tears, sleepless nights
He cannot walk her down the aisle.
Nor will he see her children smile.
And those of us with progeny
Feel their pain with ultimate agony.
Panagiota Romios
The water well
There is near the houses a deep well
you can´t stick a bucket on a rope many ropes are needed.
They used to hire a man usually the village idiot
to spend his life hauling up buckets of water.
Villagers believed the water came from the Yanjing river
A man who had gone to school disagreed; it is a deep
underground river, he said. For this, he was disliked.
One day he fell down the well, but since it was not
manmade and smooth a big stone sticking out saved him
from falling all the way down.
Broke his leg in the fall, he did.
With a dangling leg he had to claw himself up, however
they gave him water to drink, his struggle made him thirsty.
When he got out, he spoke a strange language
the villagers, thought was Chines, it never struck them
he was stark raving mad.
Now, an electric pump was installed, they saw him limping
out of the village talking gibberish.
Summer Shimmers
In my rear vision
Its super hot
But i dare not stop
Here
On the ruddy Barkley
If i get out
This car
I will become instant
Yum cha
As its steaming
Ruddy hot
Here on the Barkley
Theres no picnic to be had
At the dusty rest stop
The furnace of hell
Blows across the plain
Here
On the ruddy Barkley
Stark raving mad
Ye have to be
To drive the
Ruddy Barkley
Come the wet
I hit the grid at the border
Doing 140
Out here on the
Ruddy Barkley
No cop at the shop
To slow me down
3 ways at one end
Mt Isa the other
Camooweal
Yeah nah
Pay 5 star for none
Not much choice
Out here on
The ruddy Barkley
The fuels getting low
But i aint
Pulling me foot
As i cant wait
To finish the
Ruddy Barkley
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa”
Farm country’s quite a place
Greener space and friendly smiles
My sheepdog likes to chase
Grazing flocks out here for miles
You know without sheep,
Don’t ya know I would be sad
Yeah without sheep,
I would go stark raving mad
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
And with a woolly friend, your life is never bad
They call me Miss BoPeep
I guess it’s sorta fair
Because my spoiled sheep
Get tender loving care
You know without sheep,
Don’t ya know I would be sad
Yeah without sheep,
I would go stark raving mad, ooh!
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
And with a woolly friend, your life is never bad
So you can spread the word
My stock stick waives with pride
Noisy faithful herds
Are always by my side
You know without sheep,
Don’t ya know I would be sad
Yeah without sheep,
I would go stark raving mad, ooh!
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
My sheep go “Baa, Baa, Baa”
And with a woolly friend, your life is never bad
With a woolly friend, your life is never bad
With a woolly friend, your life is never...
Bad!
"Baa, Baa, Baa"
"Baa, Baa, Baa, Baaaaaa"
Morality and self-fulfillment
attainable without belief in God
similarly yours truly
would figuratively crane
his credulity to ascertain Ichabod
mentioned in first Book of Samuel
as purported son of Phinehas,
I reject entire Biblical text,
and prefer to remain sacrilegious
eschewing faith no more,
(cuz doctrinaire versus
epistemological paradigm)
disagreeable, thus essentially
resigning yours truly
as token scapegoat gussied
up as heretical nimrod
metaphorically winkin blinkin
nonverbally giving nod
even if deaf mute blatherskite
reduced in one sentence as an odd
ditty, I spout gibberish
while travelling finite orbitz,
whereby one metrical foot
in front of thee other hide doth plod
me along tried and
true value schlemiel totally slipshod
thru and through,
though no po' tightwad!
Growing up amidst paternal
skeptical and cynical dad
in retrospect, I feel moral less glad
to avoid orthodox precepts
foisted when juiced a wee lad,
who peculiarly enough
resembled Alfred E. Neuman
if only yours truly
a figment of imagination,
rather than experiencing being sad
sack these days purposelessly
shuffling within ma rented pad
i.e. one bedroom apartment
listening to spouse more'n tad
annoying if oft times
knows exactly what childlike behavior
finds me getting stark raving mad.
Familiarity breeds contempt,
and the missus (unlike other gals)
unconditionally accepts her sir
vile counterpart (me) unkempt,
where neither of us
once upon a time dreamt
that each the other
would survive foreign attempt
to pledge troth (courtesy
justice of the peace
also known as
Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson of Lower Merion
nsync with fame of Kobe Bryant
Not much is known about the man named Anton Mogart.
His history is cloaked in darkness -
a darkness like his deeds.
He stole jewels and works of art.
Despite all this, his motives were not about his needs,
but more about a blackened heart.
Going by the name of the Midnight Man,
he lived with splendid wealth
until he met up with Moon Knight
and saw a great deterioration of his health.
Caught by Moon Knight as he stole a rare Monet,
he fell into the river, landing in a sewer
on that fateful day.
Hiding three days in that awful place,
he got deformed by sewage melting on his face!
He lost all that he had.
So then, stark raving mad,
he lived again in sewers
where trash became his treasure.
I suppose that hoarding stuff
was his greatest pleasure!
Not surprisingly, the Midnight Man
got cancer, but before
he met his death, he first tried to restore
the secrets of his trade to a son he’d never known.
He begged this son to still avoid crime.
So strange this was after all the things to his son he’d shown
In the end, the Midnight Man had his final fight.
He lost his life for that,
challenging Moon Knight!
Nov. 13, 2022
for Robert James Liguori's Moon Knight Friend Or Foe 2 Poetry Contest
I hope one day you suffer
I hope one day you burn
I hope one day you pay
For the love you have spurned
I hope you feel the torment
I hope you feel jagged thorn
I hope that you long to die
As in sackcloth black you mourn
I hope you feel less than dirt
I hope you twist with such pain
I hope betrayal drives you
Stark raving mad and insane
I hope one day you're haunted
I hope in terror you scream
I hope at nighttime you see
A nightmare in place of dream
I hope one day SOON you bleed
With a spear thrust in your side
Wounded for killing my love
Your soul not able to hide
Yes, it may be pure evil
It may be a heinous crime
But for my heart's rejection
I hope you get to do time
Yes, I hope that you suffer
I hope that you wail and weep
It will soothe my aching heart
That you didn’t want to keep
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I'm vexed not because of
Personal issues but because of the
Morbid, abstract canvas of life
I'm subjected to witness, where
Groups of so-called righteous men
Drop indiscriminate bombs
On fellow humans ripping
Homes and families apart
Shedding the blood of the innocent
Then simply labeling it
Collateral damage -
Collateral damage of War
Shelling babies... collateral
Damage of war!
Then pluck out thine eyes
With two bold fingers
For I cannot bear witness
To the dislodging of families
Fleeing wildly wherever
The cold wind blows
Crossing rough seas
None with the ability of
Jesus to walk on water
Nor faith to part it like Moses
Water ...swilling with red blood
And saline stinging tears
Mothers wailing bearing
The agony in suffering
Petrified twisted faces pressed
To their wet bosoms
Fathers gnashing teeth,
Raging, panting, feeling
Like a poltroon
Powerless. Gray skies depicts
No rainbow, no promise.
Strike me down
I refuse to bear witness
Beseeching before I meet my demise,
Obliterate borders, these
Man made borders
Us with our Jingoistic attitude
Jingoistic ... flag waving
Entitlement ... displaying
Utmost xenophobia
The mantra mocking
Go home, go home, go
Home - face your fate
On your homeland soil
Drenched and soaked in blood.
I shiver terrifically in my skin
What if it was me ... you
In those weathered skin
Under the moon and stars
Branded a refugee, worthless
Vulnerable, famished, weak
Motivated by hope to
Overcome barriers and borders
And when pruned fleshed
Feet imprint the coarse sand
There's no child in hand
Swallowed up by the gluttonous sea
Let hell's bells drone on
When dastardly Superpowers drop
Nasty bombs on the innocent
Butchering, maiming ... moribund
Then labeling it collateral damage
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I will go stark raving mad.
© 2015 Denise Morgan