Sane Poems

Mirage of Sanity

I never said I was sane. I didn’t claim perfection no, I lean more towards distain. Compare, internalize, never share. Crazy, imperfect thoughts run everywhere but never straight. They don’t play the sane part long enough to call fun, so I can enjoy a day without feeling emotionally imprisoned. Sanity is not a noun that

Three of us are Sane

Gram saw the comicality of the situation
She never put on airs or lived above her station
The rest of them took themselves too seriously
Enormous eye-rolling was done by Harry and me

Gram smiled at our ability to see through the bull
She thought the rest of them had far to go
They were dissecting the new neighbor’s every word
Most

Nobody is Sane

A warped 
zone
twisted &
unworthy of 
  grasping--
impossible to
  escape.

No reward
No love
No answers.

Frantic fingers
 scrape at the escape hatch
yearning to push the
EJECT button
  (clinging to hope
for transmigration).

A glimpse into
  dying
a flood of
 deadly lies.

No winners 
 here 
or there--
 only
degenerating brains
 in a neo-Roman Empire 
where any-THING goes
& NO-body knows
  

a sane 2-4-2 mixed flow

today, 
thinking time
   flowing…
  no peace,
children dying
    in war…
    victims,
all those dying
    in vain…
   iced war,
cold melting life
     flowing…        
    love left,
the war took her
  

Thinking about Aladdin Sane

paving the way for our grasp
of the inevitable future
a lad insane or
androgynous 
being true to oneself
we are mere husks 
of emotional ineptitude 
like the celestial tides
they ebb and flow
only checked 
by other’s opinions:
‘Cowboys don’t cry’
an injustice to nature
being in touch with your inner psyche
is a sign 
of emotional security
far more valuable than
intellectual IQ
which some sadly

Spirit and sponsor sane sexagenarian scribe and his spouse to a Utopian country

Spirit and sponsor sane sexagenarian scribe (and his spouse) to a Utopian country

He seeks (in tandem with the missus) 
legal asylum in Canada...
New Brunswick, Newfoundland, 
Nova Scotia, et cetera,
or any other socially 
progressive European country,
and seriously ponders said scheme
to exit (stage door left) living social 
within these United States,
when four score 
plus days and seven

The Clash Of Sane And Bane

Beyond the hills, the storm,
oh, yellow queens they quake;
poor Autumn aspens feel
old weight of weakened leaves
the hostile winds will steal.

Beyond the hills the storm
it brews, like coffee black.
A bitter sky will fall
—dainty saintly sunlight 
a martyr for the squall…

Beyond the hills the storm,
My dreams in strobe-light flash.
Engage in shadow dance
the clash of sane and bane;
a

Gullible vs Sane

the gullible are too many, the sane too few ~ what will voters do

barbs being thrown, tit for tat, red states, blue states ~ I've had enough of that

tired of all the political rants ~ they bite each other like red ants

Small sips sound sane

Best bitters; black bar beer,
Brewed brown but ~
bottled blue.

Drunk dirty; delays drag,
During dark ~
dreadful days.

Though taken through tough times,
Thoughts turn to ~
tingling taste.

Confusing consciousness,
Clear conscience ~
clouded case.

Still sip slow, sounds so sane,
Same songs sung ~
safety strong.

Brains behave beautifully
Breeding bright ~
better behaviors.

As you say

You owe no one no detail
The deeds you did were your tale
Oh! The lovely  long rain showers
Whose outcome is today’s flowers
Colour of it not so white nor red
Signifies whatsoever you fed
Holy was all that you said
The rich attention that you paid
Made them all wise and sane
But  it’s they who chose the lane
Mighty is

I'm still sane

I'm trying my hardest to portray 
That through all this sadness I'm still sane
But my mind is racing, I can't break free
Will someone please rescue me

I'm sick of feeling the way I do 
But the past is making me feel so blue
What can I do to make things better
Maybe I'll start by writing a letter

mundane

rising from bed in the morning
seeking shelter when it's storming
idly whiling stray hours away
dreaming there will be better days
fabricating a self-image
with a more prominent linage
doodling on back of a letter
shunning life as a go-getter

paying of various taxes
wielding rhetorical axes
stopping by the grocery store
dealing with muscles which are sore
waiting in the queue at the bank
musing why

Write

"I am a writer. Therefore. I am not sane." - Edgar Allan Poe 

We all go a little mad sometimes 
... In the middle of the night, 
Our minds raving words and rhymes
Hands compelled to write and write

In the middle of the night ...
Wide awake with a troubled brain,
Hands compelled to write and write 
Soothes

Sane

To learn to pray,
I stay awake on my way. 
I need my space,
So no one can interfere;
Between me and my Lord. 
Well! I know my Lord;
Never judged my mind;
That never stops being weird. 
It's late! And...
My eyes... refuse to recline,
Keep looking around my senses,
Perhaps! Reveal something.
Yet, I don't know what this thing is.
O! Lord! Help

Sane Again

I've remembered how to be,
And recognized it though,
Before I did not dare to see,
That it had not been quite so.

It was I, and I was it,
And me, in neither lie,
Confused I stood to ever sit,
As essence, rather'd die.

Broken boy, battle lost,
Tell-tale acrimony,
Bitter breath, idle cost,
Ancient ceremony.

Until a hero outside met,
That inside I had hidden,
Unknown to

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