Short Overactive Poems

drought
they say

severe 
they say

alarming
they say

but apple crops
are abundant 

cherry crops
sublime

potato production
prodigious 

rivers
are full

and rainfall
is normal

is "they say"
overactive
imagination 

or planned
propaganda
...

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The passing melancholy of an overactive mind
Drags you beneath waves of lost time

No notion to breathe permeates past the ache
Crashing of waves doesn't encourage you to wake

Intertidal zone creates time to stop and think
Pelagic slumber though I wish to surface not sink...

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I don’t want a tape worm sucking away inside
For that would certainly dent my inner pride
My choice would be for an overactive thyroid
And to have my fat from my body to be devoid
Why can’t I be thinner for all my friends to see? 
A stolen mirror’s look would always satisfy me! 

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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Some people moan that they are overweight
Attempt dieting but can’t shift it at any rate
I could have an underactive thyroid they may squawk…
But in reality
They suffer from an overactive knife and fork!

Poem based on a quote I heard on the radio and have since found on the web by Donald Kiddick 

13th April 2016...

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His kiss was death
not life, the chains
and dungeons of a nightmare.
Against the free dream-
smell of salt air.
So here I am
stuck in the mud
created by tears of crimson
emptied painfully and 
an overactive mind.
But death to the mind.
The air slipping away,
suffocating.
The darkness all around.
Disgustingly brilliant.
Yet I walk away
leaving my body 
in the dirt.
Buried alive....

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I am on this little enthusiastic theme today
It has come into my mind, and it is here to play.
I can tell it will not release me until it’s full out gray
And it has been vibrant, red-orange since the break of day.

Come on Trixie, I say to my overactive, excited muse
Are these poems even my own well-thought out views?
We laugh together then my personalities and me.
Because on poetry themes we truthfully seldom agree....

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Old age once seemed like some distant destination on some horizon uncharted. Yet, just as one step in front of the other will take you thousands of miles if you keep walking, my old age arrived and caught me quite unaware. 

bones grating together,
muscles achingly overworked, 
bladder slightly overactive,
eyelids heavy and blinking,
yet never able to find restful peace
...

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Can you hear it..?
The war in my mind
The thoughts crashing down on me
The smash and the grind

Do you see it..?
My expression misplaced
Anxiety blowing up on me
Numbness of face

Is it normal..?
The panic untamed
The overactive fantasy 
That burns in my brain

Can we go now..?
Away from the flame
Avoid the rolling gunfire
That keeps me awake

Do you wonder. .?
Where it all went wrong
Never ending daydream
of never ending song....

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Slave To The Pen.
.
An obedient driven slave to the pen
With an overactive fertile mind 
Words overflowing from the abundant
Fountain of my heart with little thought
Words weaved together in poetic line
.
Inspiration drawn
From the rich tapestry of life
Ink spilled
Within the midst of a sleepless night
. 
My sweet affliction
And my all consuming addiction
My mistress my life
My therapy
That makes more inclined 
To understand the world
People
And myself.
. 
Peter Dome©2020....

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