I’m too young and too happy
according to my ‘infectious agents’ professor
and is he ever wrong?
Four of us pressurized med-school freshmen
(Chloé, Emma, Léah, and I) who have become
fast friends, were twisted together in a seated circle,
laughing, cutting up and sharing our deepest thoughts
as the TAs handed back several quizzes that had been
slowly and torturously graded over the past month.
Isn’t it bad enough that studies have reordered us,
and made our days and nights as one?
Must we also wear our spirits low? We cannot.
Humor is our gentle requital
Laughter is the impossibility powerful sound
that slays worry and common sense
That educated man may spend his authority as he wishes
but well-timed delights can’t always be scheduled.
.
.
Songs for this:
Me & You by HONNE
Jamirobeegees Mashup by Pomplamoose
.
.
He said "you're too young and too happy" with a twinkly smile
but I treated it seriously in this poem. ??
A haunting rustle continues to stir,
imprisoned by a restless ghost I cant deter.
Becoming a relentless hiss of a punctured tire,
to the blazing crackle of a funeral pyre.
When the world is loud, it can try to hide,
as my brain is otherwise occupied.
When the world rests and there is no noise,
this perfect silence, my mind destroys.
Waterfalls that never hit the rocks below.
Unbearable phantom sounds plateau.
As the cadence quickens to a frantic hum,
while a fury of cicadas pulse like a drum.
Invading the desperate hollows of my mind,
it’s insanely incessant, torturously entwined.
There’s no sanctuary from this discordance of sound.
A tempest of delirium down to a snake’s rattle abound.
Streaming water from the shower, a noise I dread.
Nobody at home, its all in my head.
Suffering tinnitus is a lifelong affliction,
Every waking hour a curse, a malediction.
When will I enjoy silence and my sanity restore?
The Raven answered "Nevermore"
"That Dark Place"
that place
where hope waits torturously in vain
and strength is found cloaked in the kinder darkness
it waits patiently in that remote singular quiet
a neat corner of solitude back-of-house
where sonnets call to mind jangling contemplation
of under promises and over zealous outcomes
romancing poésies pressed between
the seconds and the hours, the days and years missed
the metronome tick-ticks luring forth integrity
from phantoms outside of imagination
such a rare well-hidden jewel dangling
on the end of a long chain of events
to find courage sorely missing front-of-house
on its card table of tricks that dark place its truth well lit
and the light once switched, changes the shade
of everything
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
The droplets formed, dangling, on leafy edge
sweet flowers gazed in lusty, wanton need
warm lingering hopes of summer’s promise
awakening the lips of future seed
Torturously tantalizing foreplay
sun gleaming in a perfect union’s eyes
swaying on the brink of love’s disaster
clinging to summer moments as time flies
But, with summer love, come shadows creeping
a darkness that will taint the untried heart
leave the leaf and slowly wilting petals
the agony of knowing they must part.
Love’s hearts have hardened some but still recall
a summer heat that bid those droplets fall.
©5/8/2018
submitted to – Summer love sonnet – Poetry Contest
sponsor – John Hamilton
Calamity spreads his dirty wings
Like a vulture, preying on the old and weak
The helpless children, shaking and shivering
But for a mother's touch
In the dim twilight, quiet red on the horizon
We kiss him goodbye, slowly and torturously
With dry, cracked lips and burnt, peeling skin
The ache heavy in our shoulders and hearts restless for sunrise
He spreads his dusty wings cautiously, looking back
But we do not. He flies away
Slowly, heavily, weighted down by so much death and disease
He is a sickness growing weary
Dying embers of a campfire,
Mostly smoking, choking out the last bit of orange
Heat as the moon makes a final exit from the sky
He flies into a reborn sun
Reborn as we will be with the light on our faces
A dingy feather lying still on the ground, a reminder
He is a ghost now, a whisper, a silence
But ready, always ready to return
A methylated river flows
Through the verdant hills
It suffocates the pastures
It maculates the mills
Its waters burn and blister
They torturously bend
To Tartarus below
They slavishly descend
I only hear the torrent
On certain times of year
When days are counted fewest
And Death is reckoned near
Caring hands massage my body and soul,
rejuvenating hope with a mere touch:
she is an Angel; she helps me so much.
And every day, as we take a short stroll,
she makes me believe I'll achieve my goal.
In time, I'll no longer require a crutch,
or at least, I will have less need for such
thanks to my nurse; I'll once again feel whole.
Her determination forces me on,
torturously rubbing my legs each day.
She'll taunt and bully me if I resist,
demanding I work the pain, till it's gone.
And despite my screams, she'll not back away,
but, instead, will mercilessly insist.
Planet of the Grapes
and so the grapes
conspired
met in secret bunches
eavesdropped
on the vintners
during their
wine sipping lunches.
too win we must
subvert their minds
causing loss of focus
torturously tenderize
rendering it “mocus”.
we must accept
our crushing fate
entombment in the
vintners cellar
convince them
their dreams absurd
are absolutely stellar.
we’ll infiltrate
the highest realms
of the intelligentsia
cripple them
in brain cell death
of alcohols dementia.
they will tend
the very vines
that nurture revolution
unknowingly
complicit in
our forty proof solution.
John G. Lawless
10/18/2014
For the “Words – The Heart of Imagination?” – Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Brian Johnston
23 Line Haiku Hijack
I stole a haiku from the Japanese
Stuffed it in a duffle bag, added 23 lines to make it fat
Fed it chocolate day and night before we started
Threw the 5-7-5 lines overboard in flight
Then placed the new one on the market when I landed
Shrimp and whale tails make for sound haiku
Deliciously raw like sushi
Japan hates my poetry and me. They call it criminal
Call it distasteful, crude and rude and even disrespectful
Complaining it suffered from too many lines and rhymes
I sold the stolen poem to a toothless Afghan man
A Taliban by trade, in need of a wife
He realized the mistake we made
Haiku is not an overweight woman, so he returned it
Calling it bland, loveless and torturously trite
I injected a diaphragm on the haiku 2nd line
To prevent undo pregnancies
When left alone to expand, haiku will multiply on command
It grew from 3 to 23 lines in what Japanese call, disgraceful
Hijacking haiku and adding more lines is wrong
It changes the meaning and is far too long
Haiku will never be the same again
I sent it off to India on a train…a quatrain to be exact.
I have no shame, and that's a fact
20 Line Haiku Hijack
I stole a haiku from Japan
Stuffed it in a duffle bag, added 20 lines
Fed it chocolate day and night before the flight
Then placed it on the market when I landed
Shrimp and whale tails make sound haiku
Deliciously simple like sushi. Japan hated mine.
Called it distasteful, too heavy and rude
Complaining it suffered from too many lines
I sold the stolen poem to a toothless man next
An Afghanistan Taliban in need of a wife
He realized the mistake and returned it at once
Calling it bland, loveless and torturously trite
I injected a diaphragm on the haiku 2nd line
To prevent undo pregnancies
When left alone to expand, haiku will multiply on command
It grew from 3 to 20 lines in what Japan calls a crime
Hijacking haiku and adding more lines is wrong
It changes the meaning and makes it too long
Haiku will never be the same again
In the end I put it on a train to India…a quatrain to be exact.
AN EXISTENTIAL EXIT
When I have to suck oxygen from a stainless steel cylinder
When the flame of my passion is reduced to a cinder
When I depend on a chair with wheels to transport me too often
When a hospital bed becomes a preamble to my coffin
When the only one to mourn me is a morning dove
When there is no longer the hope of a wistful kind of love
When kin have faded unkindly
When I face another day un-valiantly and blindly
When another tomorrow is the worst enemy I could meet
When I am tormented and torturously tamed by defeat
When the last chapter of the novel of my life is complete
Please allow a final bow and let me face Hell and its heat
© 2012…copyright..PHREEPOETREE...~free cee!~
Torturous to have one of these staples
Piercing through my tender skin
Need to find remover
Russell Sivey
Torturous to lose one of these staples
Lying flat is not pleasant
Need my pillow back please
Russell Sivey
Following the homeward trail by heart
Carefully eluding every puddle
My footsteps start to quicken
Knowing soon the path would part
Forewarned to never venture near
The fork leading to his lair
Oh, the lure of the forbidden
Curiosity whittles away the fear
Only once I’d met his piercing eyes
Had felt a shiver down my spine
The alluring gaze bestowed on me
Said evil rumors were not lies
Once through the wooded hollow
Temptation awaited me at the fork
Like a spider leading me to its web
Blatantly daring me to follow
My heart’s familiar racing…
Each beat echoing in my ears
Arms tightening around my body
Fantasizing him I was embracing
Such strange partners…thirst and fear
The confusion overwhelming
Drawn fiercely to his presence…
Intensely dreading he would appear
Torturously by his fork I passed
Fantasies rampant in my mind
Outwardly cursing this aching desire
Inwardly pleading for it to last
Mighty and large,
Onward to heaven.
Under the stars,
Not easy to climb;
Torturously high,
Amidst many others:
Indifferent to surroundings....
Not like another.
---Princefreakasso {Artist and Poet}
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