Short Schizoid Poems

Everything as fake as a film,
Seems I've a filmmaker syndrome....

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Fools believe in fantasy. 
Skeptics see through all.
Devout and doubting, both in me,
Divided by a schizoid wall....

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My hands are shaking, not so much trembling.
I don't believe I have anything to tremble for, as of this moment.
They beat back and forth in a schizoid pattern,
Placed in a spacious space in time....

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     My friends tell me I'm a 'tad neurotic'
       though they really mean 'totally psychotic'

     So around them, I show off my 'full schizoid' 
       ~ picking my zits while reading Freud...

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How could Bridget
Watching A midget
On one hand denied a digit
Continue to fidget?

Why would A paranoid,
Last year, with a fibroid,
Often getting her annoyed,
Now turn schizoid?

When do angles become trapezoid
And mind of soundness void?

How, why and when?
For I want Bridget ‘Now’
Taken back to ‘Then’…
Medically, right now?...

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As angels dance 
               overhead
    and do battle 
with dragons 
We wait on the ground 
   for the bombs to fall 
It seems that we 
    are 
"Twenty First Century Schizoid Men"
  as that prophetic song says 
       Leaving cherished hopes 
    to die in the flames
    We try desperately 
to be on course 
And 
   I believe we will be 
though it may take a while...

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passive agression
schizoid fantasy
she seemed patient
like green earth
quiet and withdrawn
like a hermit
interjection of thoughts
projection of wants
red wine
we are walking
white sand spreading
music of the heightening
waves capsizing
the fortress of black
rock
distorted emotions
conversion of sublimed
lust
we are uniting
union of ecstasy
blessed
witnessing mermaids...

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Fueled by 
a schizoid frenzy
in an 
angers intensity
and
loves acidity 

Sparked by
a passions blazing
in an
array of crayons
and
blank faced canvas

Ignited by
a lovers raging
in an
unleashing of scribbling
and
vivid colors releasing 

Fired by
a wild appeasing 
in an
mind blowing flow
and
caught up in throws

Cooled by
an abstract messiness
in an
anger well spent
and
into the closet

This Scribbled Face Went!...

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Written: December 09, 2023
               ____________________________________

solitary slope whispers below
by the vernacular aphonic
with a fierce wind and unbiased rock

bucolic vibe is ponderous
It's chameleon patois
In schizoid iridescence and fluffy sky

I decipher everything
while trudging uphill as blind
Into the mouth of irrational tempest
no reason to stay here

as haze covers the sky
crows excel at tracing the white trail....

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