How creeps the dark where life was brightly lit
when he who once mighty is idly damned -
to watch destroyed an energy and wit
makes concealed and sad a life long and grand.
Where the acquisitions of yesteryear
become a puzzle piece and not a whole,
where atrophy on each new day impair
the bravest heart! The old sense! The lost soul!
I have seen the inconsolable grace
and pride which inherit the living haze -
that robs all memory without a trace
kept more sedentary in mortal malaise.
When my time draws nigh I pray of the twain
that body and mind this soul still remain.
Written: April 2005
Pain that rips across my head
Like a bullet in the sky
Other problems are the cause
Answers to which belie
Clearly it’s not straightforward
As a multi-faceted mind plight
The road still being navigated
With no clear end in sight
What does it take, one wonders
To strip me from this shell
I must somehow battle endless angst
And fight my way out of this hell
The tendency to go insane
Is soothed by the sounds of drops of rain
Providing consolatory solace to
The prison in my brain
On an excursion of investigation
To a solution momentous
A dilemma once explored by Freud
My ‘non compos mentis’
Healing, a path
Will take much time
Dealing with each of the root causes
Obstacles, I’m yet to climb
Bearing little room for pauses
*Image of State Bar of Texas by Articles.
AUDIO: Tip; Right-click on volume then click on Loop of the drop-down menu for continuous play.
Appreciation Day
I have not yet formed my children to be,
none unique in school as to be at home,
but when worry finds me, it commonly
offers a non compos mentis syndrome.
Mainly, the boys and, remotely the girls.
We switched staff as guardian ad litem,
not verbatim, taxpayer's pigs on pearls
soliloquy, current sense farfetched 'em
boys will be boys scenario. Lord sweet,
Saviour, now the talk with the principal.
Blah, blah, got out to sources via tweet,
hence, amass based on moral principle,
they convoked pride of our alma mater.
Yea! Ah, OMGoodness, Superbus pater.
2022 January 28
*HMS; 10 syllables x 10 lines = 140 syllables
Keywords:
Non compos mentis; not sane or in one's right mind.
Guardian ad litem; ward of the State while in official capacity.
Alma mater; nourishing mother/the school, college, or university that one once attended.
Superbus pater; Proud father.
Anyone can make a man look namby-pamby
if they slander and obsess with non compos mentis,
take reputations down, you're as hard as Bambi,
even admitting you completely meant this
cus you were demented and empowered like a Nazi,
buzz off the authority acting nasty, trampy
making staff feel as strong as an ancient grampy
slander is an act as lame as can be you're a panzi
but as it slaps back a back hander with more power
and you no longer stand with authority or protection
cus you didn't predict that shield collapsing one hour
and forgot why you're stronger and not when it's gone
justify your lust for the crime after working out this rhyme
did I deserve it and you thought you should serve it
just stay silent and not even deny what I'm
suggesting you know you're guilty just admit it,
I know how to get in a mind and settle,
you got in mine and I went for suicide
but luck changed you made me invincible,
It must be your turn next to ride that ride.
There's no need for you to worry
No need for you to fret
I've been to see the doctor
And he says I'm not a threat
He says that I'm not dangerous
And I will be okay
And that the voices in my head
Will one day go away
If unhinged were bottle rockets
I might light up the night sky
I could snap at any moment
But I promise not to bite
Don't be nervous I'm not contagious
Though I'm not a betting man
My mind's just on hiatus
Out building castles in the sand
So you see there's no need to worry
Or call the authorities
But if non compos mentis came in Slurpees
I'm pretty sure my brain would freeze
Perhaps I see things differently
Than the normal side of town
Doesn't mean I'm pushing crazy
I'm just tugging on its hand
The Potato expanded to fit the Couch,
Bathing in the light of the God of Radiation,
A many hued attack on whatever senses remained.
Froth overflowing from his beer and his brain
Machinegun-like channels blasting and caressing
He sank back, understanding but not grasping
At all the dangers, all the time never to return.
Except in late night re-runs, in a double wasted memory.
The weather changed in a moment, but the temperature remained the same
As snow and mush bored into his ears, non-compos mentis
Horizontally composed, his sole exposed to the white idol...
His dreams and nightmares continuing endlessly, a god of his own creation,
And demise.
Plant Not your seeds in Poor
soil. Heinous and Quagmire
loves society. Yet,
you seclude yourselves from
your very own seed that
you have planted. But, Why?!
Non compos mentis
at the time?!... Were you
Callous?!... Or maybe
Myopic?!... Even
society that
claims to be so
Erudite has
no rejoinder.
Complicity
lurks within
the poor soil.
Be Chary
when you
Make your
S-E-E-D-S!
Pace, G.
INK-U-SCRIPT
06-15-2012
non compos mentis
my monologue,
non-believer will say, it was
insult of salt,
under the bark, white ants were climbing, boring into sap,
kneeling,
at war with yourself,
disinheriting the loud blood,
you want to thwart the murky ariel
to scour the black mass
at belly,
the dynasty ends in obscene hugs,
grievers want to be forgiven
for the sake of kneading truth
on merciless palms:
it kills the headache, the eyes, the vistas
of bleeding expansion
SATISH VERMA
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