Long Twitched Poems
Long Twitched Poems. Below are the most popular long Twitched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twitched poems by poem length and keyword.
The train station was mostly empty.
The wooden bench was hard and uncomfortable;
I had no place else to sleep.
A rolled up newspaper was the best pillow I could find.
An old, worn out lady and her teenage son
sat in the row of seats facing my bench.
He sat staring at me, while his muscles twitched,
his face contorted and grunt sounds emitted from his throat.
"Hi", he yells at me, causing echoes through the
cavernous, empty train station.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes for her ward,
"He's a bit touched."
"I'm touched," he loudly repeats.
"Yeah", I say, sitting up, "What does that mean?"
"Well," she starts to answer ...
"No," I interrupt, "I want him to tell me."
"I'm touched," he shouts again.
"What does that mean", I repeat,
"What does it mean to be touched,
and how can I be touched, because I would like that."
A smile lights up his face as it bobs, twists and shakes uncontrollably.
He turns his whole body towards his Mother,
looks at her with a quizzical look on his face,
then turns back towards me.
"You can't be touched," he blurts out,
"You are normal ...I am different ... I am touched."
"Are you sure," I ask, leaning closer to his smiling face.
"Because I think you have been told something that is wrong."
Now both he and his Mother look at me intently;
she instinctively grabs a hold of his hand, studying me very closely.
I am aware that my appearances clearly indicate I am a homeless man.
I have not shaved in weeks. I have not bathed in days.
I am wearing the same clothes I had on when I walked away from my home
and life six months ago.
"No," I continue, "Everyone else is different - you are normal."
"People only tell you you are different, because they are jealous,
they want to be like you, but they can't be.
You are the only normal person in the whole, entire world.
Everyone else is, a little touched." And, I wink at him.
He lights up, rocks back and forth, laughs and guffaws.
I get up; walk over to the two of them;
shake his trembling hand; and, kiss his mother on the cheek.
As I walk towards the exit, starting my journey back home,
I turn and see a policeman walking past the two strangers -
I barely hear the policeman say, "Good morning",
followed by the boy's loud, booming voice, gleefully shout,
"Hi, I am normal."
In an irrevocable warp speed instant,
my head collided into the likeness of drying tar,
absorbing each horrid layer of concrete.
That pitch-black, tacky substance covered my body,
so that I was trapped, sightless, into immobility.
With pounding pain, like a full force baseball bat swing
to the skull, like a head cold amplified myriad times,
my brain screamed for release
inside walls of perpetual pressure,
with nerve spasms massively extending
beyond the central blow.
The stench of blood-covered latex gloves
and hand sanitizer attempting to halt disease,
had me guessing that I was in a medical facility.
I could taste metal, as if I was becoming part machine,
conforming to constant monitor beeps.
Morphine drips slipped me into hallucinations,
or maybe just distressing dreams.
My opaque mind tingled for air, breath gasping
like an incessant snore, mouth slightly ajar.
I imagined drools somewhere, but felt no dampness.
Numbness soon overcame most pain,
setting me into a panic of possible lost limbs,
lost neck, lost head.
Dread of the unknown
cast me into a guarded sensation of
always falling, anticipating the jarring end.
Unable to scratch intermittent itches
or ask for assistance, I twitched inwardly,
trapped in a corridor of horrors,
with siren flashes passing through the darkness,
running for a door or window to open,
or if locked, to kick vigorously
through this mind prison.
There are no doors. There are no windows.
Only echoed pounding of
familiar voices floating
surrounded me.
I could smell my wife's Tea Rose perfume
upon approach, accompanied by
my three mostly grown daughters
with their authentic scent of home.
Some named friends and acquaintances
came at arbitrary times.
Some offered slurred words in somber tones.
Some were simply saturated in silence.
All were drenched with unspeakable grief.
Each loved one's screaming drop of saline
made me cry inside, but I doubt it seeped outwardly.
I longed to reach out to wipe away their liquid sorrow,
but my muscles were limp, each limb
like a redwood tree branch in stagnant air.
Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate was a very evil man,
He used to eat his dinner from a filthy frying pan,
And when he’s finished eating he’d play “catch me if you can”
With his desperado first-mate known as Dirty Deadeye Dan.
Now Dan was quite a ladies man, but also fond of booze,
In bars and streets and hotels he liked to drink and cruise,
He used to taunt old-Peg Leg Pete by dragging up old news,
Like Pete had only ever needed half a pair of shoes.
One day Pete had quite enough and things got pretty scary,
Confronting Dirty Deadeye Dan whose mood was always lairy,
A sudden hush fell on the room when Pete clumped in the bar
And Dan called out: “Hey, Peg-Leg, hop on over, have a jar.”
Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate clasped the pistol on his hip
And snarled at Dirty Deadeye Dan: “Enough of your damn lip.”
The floozy sat upon Dan’s lap was dumped onto the floor
And Dan rose to his feet and hissed: “You’d best limp out the door.”
Across the sawdust, blood-stained floor they faced each other down,
And you could hear a pin drop from the other side of town,
Eyes were locked and fingers twitched and seconds seemed like days
The tension burned unbearably and shimmered in the haze.
Both men drew their pistols and both men fired fast,
Flame spat from the barrels with the bullets roaring past,
But neither man could aim for squat and when their guns were done
They’d killed two people in the bar but they weren’t either one.
The barman Blind-man Billy Bragg and the floozy Scar-Faced Sue
Lay dead as dead as doornails, as doornails tend to do,
And through the pall of gun-smoke and the mist of rum and beer
Deadeye Dan called out to Pete: “We’d best get out of here.”
And so they did, they fled the bar, and vanished in the night,
Back to their ship, The Crippled Cock, and sailed on out of sight,
Never to return to shore, and never seen again,
The rumour is they sank and drowned just off the Spanish Main.
The moral of the story is that when you draw a gun,
Be prepared to end your days always on the run,
“Or in your case, always on the limp,” said Dirty Deadeye Dan
To Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate, that very evil man.
On a stone wall, by the solitary pavement,
Annoyed and angry, with daggers drawn at everyone,
I saw my neighbor sitting dejected and depressed.
Though known him for years, of late he has changed much.
His eyes had grown so cold, and his mind, so blank.
His vision, I felt was blurred by a hazy mist.
He was seen with his gaze fixed at the horizon far,
Like a block of stone, hardly noticing anyone, he sat.
From a distance, came a barking sound,
It was from his dog that followed its master’s trail.
Seeing a rodent, behind a wild bush
The dog was barking nonstop on and on
The mangy animal was once so loved,
Now left wantonly uncared and unattended.
With incessant bark it was disturbing the calm around.
This greatly irked the man, otherwise annoyed.
Instant was his response and rash, his action.
Picking up a stone and aiming at the dog,
He hurled the stone with all his might,
And sad! It hit hard on his target.
Oppressively hurt by the whizzing stone,
The dog twitched and yelled in pain.
Licking its wound, it ran round and round,
Along the concrete path, mad and wild.
At last, slowing down and turning its direction
Towards its master, it moved fast.
Petrified, on an impulse, he jumped down,
And fearing the worst, he closed his eyes.
But wagging its tail with a pleading look
It began licking its master’s hand.
The hand so rude that clutched the stone,
And had flung at it, causing it to bleed.
It was a gesture too deep for words,
That taught the man the lesson of love:
Love others with every broken piece
Even after someone breaks one's heart.
After years, it remains the best example
Of forgiveness, I have ever seen and assimilated.
It helps me forget all bitterness towards my enemies,
Teaching me the lesson not to curse but to bless them.
I feel it was a message sent down from Heaven,
The most powerful of all sermons so far delivered.
By forgiving our enemies, one can unload the baggage,
And save our wretched lives from serious wreckage!
A Man
Now that im older I catch myself reflecting on the things I do, my father use to do when he’s stressing; once he bit his lip and his eyes twitched,then you were in ****, I saw him shoot the phone out of my moms hand over some gossiping ****,sank a paint brush in his nephew head for asking to have sex in my bed. He shot my uncle in his ass, then brought his way out the bid. He couldn’t sleep at night, he had insomnia from his younger years in drama. He showed me how to be a man despite he use to hit on my momma. He was the only father I knew or wanted to know. I wasn’t even a seed that he planted but he nurtured to grow. He told me “Son it’s a thin line between a friend and a foe and never hold court in the streets if you really aint ready to blow”, “always put your family first; numero uno; cause when worse come to worse they gonna carry your casket, bare your burdens because Marcus only death is certain,” Maybe that’s why I hit the block so hard and always shot first, because I was scared to get scarred and Imma play the hand that they dealt me dad down to its last card. Why does it seem harder to bring forth life then it is to take it? But I got faith like the rappers Jada and Styles that im gonna make it! And I know that I got a temper but I got it from you I use to steal your cigarettes hoping that smoking would make me more like you. But the difference between a boy and a man is his morals and principals its not what you do but how its done that makes a difference. Like its not what you say but how its said that’ll make people listen. See a fulfilled life is when you die and the whole world know you missing. I know it hurt you to your heart that I spent so much of my life in prison, my mistakes, my faults, had nothing to do with you. You and my mom did more than your job; yall didn’t force me to rob. But the streets was my soul and it pump the block through my heart. But I guess destiny had a plan in the help of shaping a man and from Attica to Clinton chose to give destiny a helping hand……Here I am: A man!
OBSCURITY
I watched myself crash into the mud,
Through the obscurity I could see traces of who I was.
The reflection of the innocent punctual me,
Staring pathetically as my demons devoured me.
Those guilty eyes still craves for beautiful things.
My demons still knows how to care for it's desires.
I pondered aimless at the hands that held me subdued to do the unthinkable
I lay in the dust waiting to be blown away by the wind to a quiet place, where I can deal with the cruel compelling voices whispering and cheering against me.
With my mind, I wrote stories of victories yet to come.
Victories of me soaring away from my conflicting and divided being
To touch the moonlight that lay dormant anticipating my freedom.
I twitched my ear to the sweet whispers and humming of nature through the wild breeze, and the merriment of the trees, gave me something to dream for.
I sank deeper into the air
Was it in my thought?
Only time knows the history of how far I am determined to fight
While awaiting reality to set me bail from the unrealistic.
I stood, gazing deeply into the troubled and restless sea.
Although it was fierce and intimidating
But It was lonely and pitiful
Or was it my eyes of which it reflected?
My mind is exhausted and conflicted that somehow it fails to recognise fears of it's own.
I seem invisible yet the dangers recognise me.
I tore my skin, digging in to find clues that hid tactically, but still showed it's presence and existence
Why do I live a shadow when I can turn around and catch butterflies to add fancy?
My mind is happier, so i thought!
It can dwell on sweet memories of itself, while I turn to see ashes of burnt past that I wish were never born.
The heart, who knows can build it's own feelings and emotions but I, i am a slave that follows its compellation which I can neither obey or quit.
I can only add zest to my furrows and anger so I can supposedly call it a smile
While I sink speechlessly into the obscurity.
A blinding light shot down from an opening in the cloudy sky
From the gap, the heavens birthed a winged humanoid unlike any,
Which floated down to face the primates. made of a dark metal
Its immense webbed wings, sharp and shinily chrome,
Fluttered on the spot like a hummingbird’s, keeping the figure steady in the air.
On its head, where its brain should have been, there was
A sleeping unborn ape encased in a glass sphere
Filled with a transparent, thick fluid
The creature held the fire on both his open hands,
which now burned a furious blue and spun violently in a ball.
Beneath the ‘brain’, its mouth, filed with sharp teeth,
Twitched and croaked until it produced a growl.
“I am your messiah. Bow before me.”
The fetus writhed in his head.
The apes bowed in face of the demonic apostle.
The messiah declared, “I shall give you the blue light,
The treasure of your kind. In return I shall take your conscience,
But I promise you this: your eyes never again
Shall wait for the sight of their desires.”
The world had gone dark and everything in it began to crumble
The wild animals began tearing at each other's throats
As a blue moon came up over the horizon. Reality went to chaos as
Fires started and burned down entire forests. The machines were
Suddenly overloaded with energy, and tore free from the machinations of man.
Springing to life, they ravaged the land with fire and electricity,
Elements they were built to control. The landscape became a
Cluster of craters permeated with fires.
As the conscience trapped in the sky suffered and cried,
And as the messiah cackled dryly upon witnessing the Armageddon,
The glass in his head had opened, and the monkey inside
Suffocated from the smoky air. He willed it to.
Bow down to machine messiah.
I once had a rabbit named Hopper.
My father had bought him for me on my birthday.
He was small and all white except for little black spots
on his back. He was a happy little thing, always moving around,
Never once staying in the same place. He liked to hop all day,
hop all night, hop, hop, hop, until he couldn't stop.
Hopper was no ordinary rabbit, I was sure.
Other rabbits just sat there, proving to be a bore,
Whilst Hopper sprang about, sniffing the underwear
in my mother's drawers, biting the heads off of flowers in
Grandmother's garden, and trying, but failing miserably to
bite his own stubby tail, twirling and twirling around in circles.
I loved playing with Hopper. I loved him like he was my own brother.
Hopper and I were inseparable. I looked out for him and he looked
out for me. We had each others backs. We stuck together like glue.
We would stay together forever, I decided, 'till death do us part.
Until one day, I couldn't find him. I looked high, I looked low,
My parents and I searched everywhere we could think of, but
came up with nothing. I was getting really worried, but I willed
myself not to cry. My grandfather once told me that men did
not cry, no matter what happened, so I didn't, because I was
a man and I would find Hopper, I just knew I would.
And I was right. I did find Hopper.
He was lying in the middle of a street downtown, ripped open,
sliced clean down the middle so that I could see all of his insides.
A pool of blood surrounded his body. His left leg twitched for only a
slight moment before going completely still.
I wanted to cry, Oh God I did, but I was afraid of disgracing my grandfather
and the rest of my family. Because, as he told me, men do not cry, no matter
what happened. They stood tall and fierce against the violent wind.
And that's what I did: I stood tall, I stood fierce, despite the loss of my dear friend
I called Hopper.
Form:
Spring, the mischievous libertine,
Has twitched from the chrysalis of dull realities,
Sneaking, slyly, among norms and tasteless thoughts,
A live torch in the old auditoriums where science quivers with emotion.
With the gesture of a diva, she shatters windows of routine,
Performing a flamboyant escape from the "Notre-Dame de Sion" stronghold,
Letting her laughter fill the voids, in a gala recital,
Exuberantly, she unfurls her golden curls over the musty chapters.
The sign of a procession calls me to follow her,
And I plunge into the pursuit, a furrow-browed initiate,
To cajole her in the park's gazebos or along the edges of sidewalks,
Where shadows of the past still dance in minuet steps.
But I shiver and melt in this effervescent chase,
On the path of memory, her silhouette hides,
Slipping through the city's fabric, uncaught, shredding the call...
Perhaps she has transformed, donned new masks,
And our steps no longer caress the same pavement in the same symphony,
Our orbits are now from different galaxies,
And we dance separately in this stellar comedy.
On the somber walkways of the Athenaeum, to the horseless carriage of the hippodrome,
Spring has met no writer to sketch her entrance,
No one to greet her with the gravitas of a serenade - "welcome back!",
And, with her coquettish ways, perhaps she reflected herself in the shop windows of the city,
Realizing that she was the goddess of a round dream from which she's just awakened,
And reality has blown upon her the cold mirror of a fleeting epoch.
Spring, the eternal young charlatan, with lips of myth,
Do you wonder, dreamy and vain as you are,
If you've sealed your fate within the pages of an unwritten history,
And dissipated into the air, like a fantasy struggling for a moment of eternity?
In lightless pit of silent vale
Treading softly on broken shale
No noise I plead, no noise I beg
Lest I wake the beast with in my head
A shadow that slides from place to place
A ghostly shade without a face
Slipping through light, slipping though day
Embracing shadows where I may
In black on black the look of Cash
With foot prints that leave not a splash
Past community I softly tread
Lest they wake the beast with in my head
I stopped just once and there I fell
Through velvet pump into sweet hell
With golden bangs, with liquid fire
To fane the flames of velvet desire
In this sweet hell were pools of blue
A dancer’s beat that skipped and flew
Bright shining lights for all to see
But this woke the dread inside of me
Its rapid eyes no longer moved
It twitched is once still cloven hooves
Unlocking doors with a big red key
The once sleeping beast had broken free
Once sickly sweet now never more
A poisoned font with every flaw
The carpet pulled, no longer tread
With this beast free inside my head
Language spilled like jungle vines
Angry colours and poison spines
Thinking fractal though kaleidoscope
The angry beast gave me the rope
Now sweet hell swings in the breeze
Shattered dreams cut off at the knees
Auto torture, self effacing hate
Are favourite games when he’s awake
Killing this self yet one more time
I killed my friend, my intertwine
No more I scream, no more I beg
As I lock it away deep in my head
Now the lovers clinch and wrestling
The birds, the bees, the doves that sing
Are things of fear are things of dread
Lest they wake the beast with in my head
In lightless pit of silent vale
Treading softly on broken shale
No noise I make, no words are said
Lest I wake the beast with in my head