Long Wild eyed Poems
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A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
Too fast! It hurts!
It travels at lightspeed!
Ruins calm. More than I need!
Help me please!
This monster brings me to my knees!
Wild eyed. Animal's panic.
No reason. Life is just Titanic.
Too much to see, need, read.
Copious substance.
Im a glutton when I feed.
I would give anything to be basic!
I would give anything to erase it!
This twisted mind is my gift.
Still it warps my heart.
Tears it bit by bit.
I feel it as physical pain.
Shakey hand searching in vain.
Sanity sand in cerebral hourglass.
Answer me! How long will this last?!
Broken record of my life.
Deathmarch tune of it's fife.
Calls me from slumber often.
Hoping in time it will soften.
Harsh assault on my senses.
God hated me enough to give this sentence.
I'll see him someday.
I have a few things to say.
Why was this spell cast upon me!?
Too much for any brain to see!
My central motor runs too fast!
How long can the hardrive last?!
Sometimes I think of my creator.
A hand deserving a slap!
Made a creature crave love and calm.
You loaded him with a confusing psalm.
Pulled from the inside out.
To many directions to account.
Sleeplesly I suffer at night!
I weep!...enduring the blight.
Panic stricken I'm too full!
Why can't my life be more dull?!
Why can't the thoughts be culled?!
Everything is overly mulled!
I just want to rest and find respite.
I'm too tired to put up a fight.
Give me slumber, its not fair!
Show me, god, that you even care!
I feel wind scattered.
Its never really mattered.
I sullenly sit completely shattered.
This is my life's chatter.
Often this feeling makes me feel crazy!
Respect me the truth!
Why and for what did you design me!?
Answer me!
Where is the key!
You gave me this foreign map.
I can't read it!
My mind slips darkly,
And I dont even know how to bereave it.
So I stumble on.
Sanity taking hit after hit.
Either you're dead or you don't see.
Pretty lame product,
For such an exorbitant fee.
I guess it will run it's course.
My manic mind tortures
with extraordinary force.
You left me again, on my own!
...........Maybe you're not there.
............You never answer the phone!
Maybe, I speak to the air.
I guess we all live and die...
having existed...
.......quite alone.
-Angel Fatale-
Here I am
Stranded between this and your goodbye.
You,
Whose thatch is a-glow with fires of Beauty
That burns my heart,
unkempt and wild,
Sits atop a countenance borne of a thousand fantasies
Of angels and fairies and their adorable air,
That underneath the obvious purity
Lies some hidden childish naughtiness there.
And though there have been wonder
Like those seven shades that wipes the sky of its tears,
Or the earth blushing by the sun's appearance
At dusk or dawn, as a lady does when meeting her lover,
Or the sight of evening stars on a cloudless sky
Like jewels sparkling spread on velvet,
None has stalled a heart
As your entrance to a scene;
As if pulchritude was conjured from adjectives
To a breathing thing
To which nothing has been of equal since.
Yet here I am
Stranded between this and your goodbye.
Perhaps it has gone unnoticed
At every opportune time,
Irises have prayed to be blessed
To be reciprocated.
And Heavens be thanked! Heavens be thanked
When favor is given, that completes a day.
What more if engaged in a conversation
Nay, more, fortunate enough to be bestowed
With a couple of words
Such as a greeting, or a calling by name;
Then I would be lost as a child would be in a jungle.
Unnerved, devoid of the facility of expression,
Frozen as would be a dead tree in winter.
Yet here I am
Stranded between this and your goodbye.
For every moment that we stood before each other
Face to face, there dawns a discernment
By this day and age
A dozen or so faces have come and gone;
Faces that have caused the heart to prance wildly
To a rhythm unintentionally syncopated.
Faces that have shaped the perspective
Of the panorama of future days.
Faces that if they were modelling clay
And by some miracle were shaped to a single mold
The outcome stood before me, face to face;
Something I have never thought
Even in the wildest imagination possible.
Wild-eyed with wonder, a child witnessing the delicate
Subtlety of a magician's handicraft.
I only wish I could have told you of these.
(continued)
I do not know how men many we were
or how we went, what we saw on the way
nor do I know for what ungodly purport was ours
or what goaded us on into deeper uncharted territory
despite our tortured souls and aching bodies protesting to refrain .
I vaguely recollect through my befogged mind
some arcane words like Shoggoth and Mi- go and Dagon,
so much gibberish and blubbering babble of deranged minds
gone at once numb and addled with sights and sounds
forbidden to man in his wildest dreams and thoughts.
Through crenellated valleys grey misted in their troughs
and crests and covered with slime or ooze as from some
white-wormed denizens from unnamed and should-not-be-named
lairs in regions in deep damp grottoes of infernal charnel mounds
did I and my ill-fated team wander wild-eyed and unkempt.
Do not ask me what we saw when we reached our goal
for what my skulled orbs beheld or what my brain deciphered
I know nor remember not all semblance of sense and sensibilities
having fled with a volition not my own but driven by transfusions
of thought telepathically imposed from without from the miasma.
I know not whether to thank those who found me in the sorry state
that they did - a blathering caricature of the human form more ape,
nay, an ape has more intellect and dignity, than man- a creature more
fit to dwell in the mire and morass of a cess-pit than tread the same
hallowed soil or breathe the self-same vapors as civilized man.
It was far better still that the group of kindly souls, most rightfully,
had left me to my own contrivances and let me wander in my unknown
quest for unknown and mysterious things best known to myself once
but now lost to me forever.
I find myself in these padded and strait-jacketedand dreary halls of Arkham
standing at the edge of the precipice of an insurmountable mountain with
an abyss at the foot, both of interminable depth and dark as the devil's heart.
I have leaped from this vertiginous height perhaps a dozen times to end my misery
but having felt all the terror and thrill of finding absolution, I find myself here again,
and again.
"My mind was once the true survey,
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the greenness of the grass,
Did see its hopes as in a glass..."
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Windswept village,
Ancient 1836,
Tornado torn,
Blasted to bits.
Here is the steeple,
Here is the bell,
Here is the clergy,
Hurried to hell.
Perception: paragraphed.
Gracious gusts of air sliced through the saloon and side-swiped the sheriff, newly
desert bound. The blacksmith, now inclined to move, found his organs strewn
amongst a congregation of cacti. Somewhere in the busiest part of town, 3 iguanas
regained their birth-home.
Desert;
Impatient tumbleweed,
Sole-searing sand,
A band of train robbers,
A lonely locamotive.
The charcoal smeared engine breathed gun-smoke. 3 men, wild-eyed from birth,
filled burlap sacks with yellow shapes, shiny prisms, aurum, gold bars- money. They
were wearing greed, 50 pounds heavier in offensive sunshine. Miraculously, it took
them 20 seconds to escape to the southernmost point of Death-Valley. The robbery
and the escape were a success, but the men were dead: they were tornado-
transported.
Studescent schoolhouse,
Sleepy seminars:
Murderous math,
Luminous literature,
Romantic religion.
Guillotine glass,
Wind-wood,
Bothered Bonnets-
Homeless Heads,
Breeze bent bowler-
Motionless men.
"God is art, since we can't form him in marble, or smear him on canvas, we paint him
as the ocean, as cloud-air, both flora and fauna, and most importantly in our
selves". Dogma drags down drooping doors: dripping mouths, students torrid in
tantric trance, minds elsewhere. Bethany's brain is buried in the bestial sands:
Cyclicide.
Oh ancient town,
forever replicated,
no memoir shall remain,
of days undecimated.
1836,
is all but mixed,
in the minds eye,
where chaos is free,
and order bound,
to sight,smell,touch,
and sound.
well, there you go, sweetheart;
i have done it at last -
the unthinkable, the reckless, the bold
and possibly suicidal thing...
i have gritted my teeth and hurled myself out into the
void,
into all those endless miles of frigid soul-sucking vacuum
that stretch, echoing, fatal, between us;
i have broken all taboos, all our silent intense oaths -
i broached the subject of marriage.
oh yes, shudder in your shoes and recoil...
it lies before us in the ether,
that doomladen ritual of wedlock, of entwining souls,
that old ball and chain...i dangle it before you now,
like a baited lure, a mace with shining spikes
ready to be driven into your heart -
or mine
and in so doing, i have committed the bravest rashest act;
i have relinquished all my carefully hoarded power,
risked all, life and heart and soul,
for this kamikaze mission, this fairytale yearning...
i have placed my battered self esteem on the table
a crude bargaining chip,
and raised the stakes to their lofty teetering peak
and in so doing, i offer you my throat to cut,
my veins to slice,
my life to choke from me as you see fit
i have made myself both hunter and hunted,
doomed whichever way i turn -
and all for this;
a closely guarded longing, an image of you and i, a dream...
you in pristine white suit, tousled black hair tumbling over
masculine shoulders, standing at the altar;
that sacrificial place -
and there am i, beside you, shining and radiant,
an angel with luminous smile and turgid crimson heart, bursting
with so much fabulous dreamed-up love i can scarcely stand...
it is a beautiful snapshot, composed of mist and moonbeams,
of my own fervent imaginings
a fool's hope, certainly, but also a tenuous possibility...
and for this, i have risked all,
have danced myself a merry jig all the way to the edge of the grave -
and here i hover, white-lipped, wild-eyed,
in limbo between ecstasy and crippling goddamned despair;
with only one word from you to decide which way i tumble -
to decide how i will live...
or, bitterly,
Die.
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
I first noticed the black crow sitting on the lower branch of the old oak tree/ In front of
my house, ten yards out; it's eyes seemed to follow me/ No matter what I was doing, the
bird knew/ Calculated my every move/ Uncharacteristically flapping it's wings, that seemed
to let me know it disapproved/ Whether I was raking leaves or washing the car/ Those
sharp black eyes would not be far/
I thought it was a dream, or perhaps the clock radio/ I awoke in the night to a tapping,
rapping at my bedroom window/ Wiping sleep from my eyes/ I opened the curtain and
jumped back with a cry/ It was the black crow pecking on the glass like he wanted in/ And I
would have sworn I saw a grin!/ Maybe my eyes were tricked by the luminous moon light/
As I began to raise the window, it flew away into the chilly dark night, out of sight/ Uncertain,
I closed the curtain and crawled back into bed/ Deep troubling thoughts filled my head/
The next morning after eating toasted bread/ I found the black crow, dead!/ It was
laying next to my car/ So in a plastic bag I carried it/ To the back yard, I buried it/ By the
time I was finished I was running late./ I had this eerie feeling as I drove slowly past my iron
gate/ Something was amiss, not quite right/ I came to an intersection and stopped at the
light/
As I waited for the light to change/ I felt strange/ I saw death in my minds eye/ Then
the explosion of a tanker-truck lit up the morning sky/ Shielding my face, I let out a cry!/
And as my windshield shattered, the screams were amplified/ I found myself across the
middle console on my backside/ It seems the sounds of twisted metal never died/ I finally
managed to sit up, wild-eyed/
I stepped out and away from my car in a daze/ Several vehicles were ablaze/ I
wondered how could something like this happen so close to the holidays/ But I felt someone
had to die and this was deaths blow/ And then I looked up into the smoke filled sky and saw
a black crow!/
she listened to his whisper
he was so chipper
she listened to his whisper
their desires finally met
she only wanted to dip her feet wet
it was just so right
for that first night
just only her feet
getting royaly treated
he wasn't going anywhere
so he had all the time to spare
... this was love
two graying doves
the next time
it was a different rhyme
this time the water touched her knees
she began to panic and freeze
it was nothing to be alarmed
again he said, no foul no harm
he gave her ample space
free to be on her own terms, and pace
the next time
it was a totally different rhyme
water inched higher past her thighs
she began to scream and capsize
her eyes began to roll
as the water took it's toll
his romantic aroma
sent her off into a coma
it was nothing to be alarmed
again he said, no foul no harm
he let her graze
to her own leisure
he lead his deer
without any fear
as the water inched passed her naval
his horses came out of their stable
wild eyed and looking for oats
nudging it's way to her moat
it was nothing to be alarmed
again he said, no foul no harm
this time she let him graze
to his own leisure
then as his ... horses began to explore
she let out a loud roar
her less traveled pasture
so fully enraptured
feeling his mind boggling heat
her heart skipping a thousand beats
their minds singing a song
as both horse backed along
his reins on her train
her train on his mane
steadily on verse
to both's thundering cloudburst
the tale of dipping her feet
once so sweet
taking small steps
to higher water depths
her feet
lit the street
lit the spark in their day
to more replay
lit their candle
for all that love can handle
for in their engraved hearts
to death do they part
connie pachecho
1/2/17
A bird that dips and wavers
Over lone waters round,
Then with a cry that quavers
Is gone—a spectral sound.
— Cale Young Rice
Sopping wet, the organ floats,
flounders in one of several boats,
severed from the blue-green sea,
nevermore to scurry into the lee.
Hearty laughs, ebb and flow, on wind
oblivious to a malevolent whirlwind.
Cupid’s arrow, a bullseye contortion,
took from mate, a violent proportion.
The dawn had beat its forewarning,
hungry reds and yellows of morning.
His wild-eyed grin at heart’s wild pulse,
in his manhandle, a violent repulse.
Sin does course through shattered veins,
but in its course of port and starboard brains,
he doesn’t reflect upon the seagull’s call,
nor see the whirlpool snare mixed with gall.
The salty-scent of frangipani burns the hairs
inside his flaring nostrils. A curt whisper, dares
an invitation to Davy Jones locker, with sore siren
exhalation, the iceberg chill of Cale Young Rice.
Her bloody valentine feels the squeeze, not with
torn flesh, but a spectre’s hand with calamitous pith
inside his chamber walls ; sans lee. Sharks
circling, inhaling the scent of brute; wave arcs
all about this fanfare, with the strumpet’s reprisal.
All her shipmate’s innards fight for his survival.
In his case, Cupid’s arrows sting like a frozen sea.
The ghostly wisp enjoys the massage-latchkey,
slowly intensifying, as his loins had torn her apart.
She has a heart; she had a heart; boat’s sweetheart
of flowing ringlets, tossed to and fro, sinking
where she thought she’d found love, blinking
back an ocean of tumultuous tears, afraid, broken.
The sea accepted a plea bargain, with him as a token.
She’d live from ship to ship, shining with brilliance,
protecting, like a lighthouse - a harbor’s resilience.
Back on deck, he’s tossed overboard; Cupid decides.
Into seaweed of sharks, who prolong eating, he slides.