Paroxysm Poems | Examples

Folderol Gallimaufry

At the risk of coming off turgid
I offer this tale esoteric
Hoping it’s not found insipid
Nor causes one to be apoplectic
But rather received with alacrity
Without the need for paroxysm
My word there’ll be no chicanery
And avoidance of anachronism
Far from being sesquipedalian
Nor need for any razzmatazz
The tale of the slubberdegullion
Who thought himself full with pizzazz
Though being so supercilious
His affect stirred only dudgeon
Any good was so very fugacious
From this untoward tatterdemalion
Yet still he persisted a mumpsimus
If you will, and worse a panjandrum
So aggravating and rumbustious
Redeeming qualities not a modicum
An unquestioned snollygoster
Given to being quite vagary
An ill-reputed hugger-mugger
And a voice of such cacophony
But I see that you are insouciant
And consider my warning malarkey
Since you wish to be recalcitrant
My apologies for being persnickety
I end my tale of the rapscallion
Without further ado or rigmarole
Avoiding becoming ultracrepidarian
I have met my supererogatory parole

Blue Rose

I wonder, Little Eddie, hypnotized,
can it be true you felt no pain at all?
Ten years of age, a figure formed too small,
and that poor Roadster, a gift you so prized…

How could your brother have so despised
your car? to pop its tires,—and on the wall—
smash it, scratch it, do everything to maul
that toy.—Is it true, you weren’t agonized? 

Though Harry promised hypnotism,?he quickly realized, putting you in trances,
that he could trash you—as he had your car.
and soon, he stuck mom’s hat pin way too far.—
To cover up his tracks, he took his chances—
his lie: epileptic paroxysm.


(to Peter Straub)

The Moment of Truth

seraphs, in eager anticipation,
collectively hold their breath
           for the m o m e n t of truth... 
shy young love, they root for
at last, their virgin k i s s;
            a paroxysm of cheers erupt.

The Rapture Of Barbed Wire

Lay me down in a field of barbed wire,
I’ll fulfill your noxious fantasy;
It is mine too; 

Let the messenger speak,
The broken arrows on your letter 
I assure you were received;

Now lay me down;
Pierce me the way you want to;
Let the scratches bleed me;

Mingling with our scarlet telepathy
desire marries us by blood oath;
Forever miscible;

Let your latent paroxysm indulge,
I assure you it’s rough healing;
Meant to rupture false rapture;

Lay me not onto petals
but barbed wire, this is noxious;
Your message is my fantasy too.

Ecstasy Paroxysm

I forgot 
Far away from the sun's prying rays 
Shadowed reflection. 
Weave a starlight web. 
It shines at the atomic level. 
With an apocalyptic unit. 
Label, explore eternal fate. 
Scattered electrons and protons. 
Connected with the fairy fire spirit. 

Our true humanistic art. 
Have the same flow.  
Cosmological poetry from infinity 
It's frustrating.  
Not all are sitting. 
Near the hearth. 
Mumbles and gestures. 
Observing the light trail

 Well then. 
 Some are decreasing. 
 Deep thought of syntax! 
 It happened suddenly. 
 You know they are stars
 Obsolete.

Written: June 27, 2022

Velvet Drops

A buzzing cacophony
A paroxysm of colors
An unending well
A fly zooming about in circles
Thoughts swarmed by twirls and whirls
Still my mouth yearns another
A velvet drop to soothe
No one left to bother
Stole another bottle
Still my mouth yearns another
Running these tips across my shoulder
Sending shivers of excitement
Tilt the point down the flesh
Tear and let it run amok
I shriek not in horror
As I drown in all the flavor
Yet something is chasing me
Something I don't understand
As I gulped once again
It comes crashing at my head
Something sharp is tearing me
Hurry and fix me
Pass me the sew
As I ran the needle all the cotton won't hold
A broken teddy bear is left hanging
As I am thrown away
I've come to think again
I shouldn't wish for much
I shouldn't have done that
I should've known better
Heh, what does anyone know?
I only wanted to be whole

Outburst

 Her anguish blasted...
It was a 
Wild paroxysm!

The tempest ends...
Relief quickly follows. Exhausted. Calm.
Now, she sleeps.


Written 17th October 2021
For the Lune (mixed pair) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula

Broken Wing

Broken Wing



                     Poignant letter torn by the force of a hand in anger
                  Accuses and it wounds unfounded fraudulent emotions

                Shadow in fragments crying with neither sound nor motion
                Yearn to extinguish the paroxysm of enmity and retribution

                    Love mend broken wing then gently soar to overpower
                      A harbinger of ravaging heartaches and misfortunes







                                           Penned: 07/12/2016
                                                        5:20 a.m.
                                                        West palm Beach
                                                        Florida USA

The Insatiable White Creatures

Beneath the cold glare of the desolate night,
They came, greedy and insatiable white creatures,
Cloaked in prim pretense,
Every curve of their features seemed to express a fine arrogant acrimony and harsh truculence.

Expectation darkened into anxiety,
A thousand unutterable fears bore irresistible despotism over our thoughts,
Men, ladies and children collapsed into a dreary and hysterical depression,
Leaving us drowned in the deep reticence of the colonial sea.

As arbitrary as a cyclone and as killing as a pestilence,
With a sweet voice caroling like a gold-caged nightingale,
They looted our abundant resources,
And abolished many of our African customs and traditions.

They enslaved us!
Underdeveloped us!
And reduced us to nothing.

Gleams of sunlight, bewildered like ourselves, struggled, surprised, through the mist and disappeared,
Half choked by a rising paroxysm of rage,
The hollow ring of their fundamental  nothingness were defined,
With the blood in our eyes, matchets, bows and arrows and diplomacy,
Then the fight and chase began!

Thirty Something

The first was a wee bird 
How clear the glass 
Its thud was loudly heard 
Rendered it to the earthen grass…
The second was the pig, squealing 
Yielding its life in a blood-letting, crass 
Still heard inside, the porky-pealing…

Swollen turtle mommy was to shed 
Ocean tears before her eggs boiled - unappealing 
Mealy-mouthed slurping of yolk-sloppy dread 
Even now, such distaste, recoils… 
The chicken heads chopped-dead 
Headless guillotine shudders, roil  
In an abrupt death paroxysm 
Next, after panic-eyed goats, humans
Gunning for the body-soul schism…

(1/8/2020 Inspired by the contest: how death has affected you
Regal 2001 Commodore 2960; DMS)

Blind Reaction

Paroxysm of the pupil
   Blind eye opens to dawn
Brightness quadruples
   Crimson-tangerine brawn


11/29/2019
Hit me with an Epi-Pen Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy

Love, Indifference

Love
Ardent, boundless
Caring, empowering, promising,
Paroxysm, veridicality, Anhedonia, ephemeral 
Trivializing, evading, weakening,
Tristful, lorn
Indifference

Metaphorical Daggers

Paroxysm of pain inflicts this pen,
tears cry poetic allusion.
When petal hearts are misunderstood,
life is full of confusion.

Distasteful thoughts set camp in my mind,
an unwelcome intrusion.
Virgin pages innocent in white,
yearn to wear this mind's effusion.

Too many deep unanswered questions,
lead to a false conclusion.
When judgement lacks honest intellect,
darkness defeats diffusion.

Sun is cautious to cast my shadow,
intolerant in inclusion.
Forever immersed in freezing rain,
victim to their collusion.

When metaphorical daggers scar,
they say it's an illusion.
Melancholic lacerations scream,
ignored by deaf delusion.

I'm bleeding, but you ignore this blood,
it's too late for a transfusion.
Silently sad soul seeks solitude,
far from sound in seclusion.

Silent One
Simple Musings
1 February 2018

18 Brumaire

(On November 9, 1799 Napoleon Buonaparte
launched his coup d'etat in Paris.  It made
him a dictator, and corrupted him beyond
salvation.  18 Brumaire was the date of the
coup, by the revolutionary calendar in use
at the time.)

As climbing greasy poles habitually goes, 
this wasn't (one must say) exactly polished. 
To be roughed-up – but by politicos! 
Can't blame them: no-one likes to be abolished 
(especially not these ego-bloated shysters!) 
What else? Oh, in a paroxysm of rage, 
in distant climes, eccentric Kapellmeisters 
were gouging (scoring?) through a music page. 

For all his smiling talk of ease and glee 
(tomorrow), his eloquent implorings, 
unfailingly, this moment always comes. 
The pipes are always drowned by the drums. 
and that sleek sloop named self-regard so sleazily 
slips free of all that nurtured it – its moorings.

Wings of the Morning

Wings of the Morning

Departure on my mind, earth to fallaway,
I see the moving light pass into history
and know that now does not just happen,
I may plunge into the heights, 
create an act of will 
and take the morning with me on the flight.

Away Away and lust companion just enough;
it is the brightness of the day
to make smooth edges rough and sharp
to clear away the fuzz of reticence; 
you'll never understand.
Gleefully I go.  There is no time for me
to take the intellect along; freedom
will afford a price like that, and
certainly with pain.  It always does.

It is the morning that projects the light
and focuses upon the remnant that
the evening spared--the little dream
of prophecy at rest, erupting in
a world of paroxysm, fair delight
and death upon a moment no one knew.

It is for us,
from wings just like that.
       ~

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