Temper temper
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Temper temper tantrum
Chaos and the clutter
Pulling hair and
Snarling bantum
Screaming mad shrew
Like in a stadium boo boo
Bloody Mary
Yelling red volcano
Suspend your eruption
Of push and snap
Stop your
Foul melody
All over again
Don't claim
What is not ..
Supreme you
Wanna be
Complain complain
Blame blame
You wanna play
A shameless game
Temper temper tantrum
Chaos and the clutter
Rest your daily nag
Or we lose all
Affection in the sanitarium
Reset and mellow be
Alluring, bright and cheery
You had it fair
Rant on rant
Will not bend
The anvil
And I am
Over splendid.
There once was a man nicknamed " Nutty "
It was down to the way he played Footie,
Each match he'd score ten
Again and again
Then he'd pop off for a pint and a butty.
Each family tree has its nuts.
Such ones are quirky, have guts!
But to them, no surprise!
Their mum rolls her eyes.
She lets out a sigh and tuts.
He went to a sanitarium.
He thought it was an aquarium.
" So, I'm nutty says you?
You haven't a clue!
I'm really a veterinarian. "
" You are nutty! " Says you to me.
Is this a complement? Am I funny?
But then you pretend
That it wouldn't offend
You ask, " What's the matter honey? "
Written 19th September 2021
For the " N " Contest - Sponsor : Constance La France
trimmed all my long hair
the hair i always dreamed about and wasn't there
somethings are never measured by the means of the brain
shoulders at ease while you're becoming insanely sane
everything in discipline like a track less train
round and round till you get to dizzy for direction
have to visit some imaginary ground for site inspection
the calling the invitation the temptation
take what i can before the mushroom ban
lunar migraine clouds for a carpet missing the chance of rain
she's behind the mountain knitting a velvet cloud
she likes her thunder loud
a mountain is either an obstacle or a spectacle
nature's intentions were never detectable
beyond the sanitarium in my cranium
she said if you're leaving seal them horizons behind you
had a love once five lunar minutes of ambience
there's a bird stalking me from infront of me
oh the pain is pure for sure too pure for the cure
close your eyes they're nothing but limitations
for it's an arcane surge
two oceans of emotions
a pack for the back
and a map to get lost and never back
climbing cliffs
in the back of my head I'm playing riffs
and iiiiii will roam like it's home
Tamer Hossam
DOCTOR STRANGE MASTER OF MYSTIC ARTS
BY JAMES EDWARD LEE
In the dead of night
Even in the day time
Their needs be a doctor for this doctor
A prime prize physician brilliant surgeon
But alas one day he was steered away
He was drunk not able to operate
The chief doctor led him away
His hands not steady but shaken
Could hold a scalpel
To embrace to get help
He accidentally drove his car off a cliff;
Nearly died, but they could save his HANDS
No longer could he perform
Operations
He once again to ashamed
Left the USA fled to Tibet
Got caught in a winter storm
Fell off a mountain
Landed in the sanitarium of
The Ancient One
A master of mystic arts
So along with Baron Mordo
Trained them both up in the good magic’s arts...
But Mordo was evil and bad
"BY THE FULL POWERS AT MY COMMAND, LET THE FLAMES OF
THE FALTINE BLAST THAT WHICH NOW THREATENS ME LIFT’
'VISHANTI, BE PRAISED! MY PREMEDITATION BE CORRECT
Which left the good Doctor Stephen Strange?
To become
DOCTOR STRANGE: MASTER OF MYSTIC ARTS
12/11/17
So Bright Stayed the Sun Horn Haiku
See some sanitarium
Where there has been her or him
When times became dim.
Was a sad state of affairs
For all of them no one cares
Each one sits and stares.
Have heaven as home above
Full of friend along with love
Which was so full of.
Would on earth they care or mind
If maybe mine left behind
This is truly kind.
Which I did for everyone
Happy with what I had done
So bright stayed the sun.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Sanitarium
S- sanction
A- apprehension
N- negitivism
I- insainity
T- tentitive
A- accenssion
R- redirective
I- immobilization
U- under seat
M- man handle
Doc Holliday Bites the Dust
By Elton Camp
Doc Holliday’s depicted as a vicious killer
But his actual life was much less of a thriller
Not in the West, but in Georgia he was born
By a classical education his life did adorn
Among the areas where knowledge he did seek
Were grammar, math, history, Latin and Greek
Highly intelligent and certainly nobody’s fool
At just age twenty, he finished dental school
In Atlanta he then began to practice dentistry
But found, of his mother’s TB, he wasn’t free
On medical advice Holliday moved to the west
As its climate made his chances of living best
But at his dental profession Doc couldn’t stay
Since his constant cough drove patients away
It then became at gambling he earned living
An undeserved name as a gunman also giving
As far as from the historical record we can see
The number of men he shot was actually three
At age thirty-six, Doc Holliday died in bed
Living at a tuberculosis sanitarium, it is said
I recently met my perfect woman.
We came together in a mental health sanitarium.
Both being certifiably crazy, it was a match made in heaven,
but today presently my perfect woman is gone.
After receiving mass doses of medication,
I realized that our relationship was but a delusion.
It turns out that my perfect woman was an hallucination.
I plan on discontinuing my medication
because I miss her dearly and want to see her again.
Such is the quandary of an obvious mad man.
She walked that fine line
each and every day,
as the demons deep inside her head
tried coming out to play.
She knew them for who they were
and the evil they could do;
She relied on prayer and medication
each day to pull her through.
Yet the voices, they persisted,
other personalities took control;
She no longer had the ability
to make them do what she was told.
That fine line was passed on the wrong side -
Her sanity paid the price;
The sanitarium is now the playground
to her demons who won’t play nice.
You knew by then there wasn't much left,
except wandering sterile halls--
amid blackened lungs;
Where time meant nothing--
fading into insipid yesterdays,
knitting needles complicating--
tomorrow's worried hands;
Age, flattened numbers--
held tightly against your heaving bosom,
as if engraved with loss's stone endearments.
Charred coughs loudly wheezed--
spitting hope upon white cloths,
yellowing expectation--
between porcelain veneered smiles.
But you walked, smiling anyway--
around gurneys with little slippered feet.
Blond hair capturing sunlight--
through slanted windows;
Waiting for those Sunday visits,
when youthful optimism raced up stairs,
where it was greeted with nothing--
but grown-up lies.
Did you know I hated you then?
For no comfort could be given--
amidst such blatant denials,
preparation never kissed any lips.
Now conversations interminably hang--
like unfinished tapestries;
Threads slipping through fingers--
leaving me grasping at each moment's meaning...
I found myself in a crayon box
And then upon a pair of socks
I was once the color of a geranium
And they put me in an sanitarium
But when the good things came about
I seemed to always be left out
There’s not much of me in the sea
And in a rainbow I’ll never be
They confuse me with fuchsia a lot
What an insult from that I got
I guess I’ll have to be content
To be on a shirt of some quirky gent
Sometimes I sit around and pout
When I end up on a toe with gout
But the truth of the matter is to be
That there aren’t that many shades of me
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