#bedlam - Hello Poetry

This morning I was in a mood Eggs were sunny side down Nurse thought I should be subdued Liquid cosh in the **** now I love the drugs Drugs make me fall in love Dream of you and all those hugs Helps me get by in this place called Bedlam. I’m always on the edge of losing my mind Yes I teeter in and out of sanity Nice little dip into hysteria Then I scurry back into reality. This afternoon I was feeling tense High noon on the chaise longue Shrink just started to make sense Didn’t take him long I thought I’m cured He said I acted disorderly Then called in the orderly Reminded me of where I belong in Bedlam. I’m always on the edge of losing my mind Yes I teeter in and out of sanity Nice little dip into hysteria Then I scurry back into reality. This evening I was full of glee After dinner was medication time Doctor called for a sample of my *** But I didn’t give him mine I did a swap Swapped it with a different vial Passed the trial with style Things I do to get through here in Bedlam. Will you help me to abscond? Ése I’m loco please respond The last time that I felt calm Was genuinely when I held you in my arms. I’m always on the edge of losing my mind Yes I teeter in and out of sanity Nice little dip into hysteria Then I scurry back into reality. Tonight in Bedlam in a padded cell Wrestling with my straight jacket I am nothing but my shattered self Isn’t love such a strange habit? You’ll hurt yourself Hurt yourself so blindly Smile back benignly In this little place called Bedlam.

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Oct 20, 2025

Oct 20, 2025 at 11:32 AM UTC

BardofBlyth

Bedlam

This morning I was in a mood Eggs were sunny side down Nurse thought I should be subdued Liquid cosh in the **** now I love the drugs Drugs make me fall in love Dream of you and all those hugs Helps me get by in this place called Bedlam. I’m always on the edge of losing my mind Yes I teeter in and out of sanity Nice little dip into hysteria Then I scurry back into reality. This afternoon I was feeling tense High noon on the chaise longue Shrink just started to make sense Didn’t take him long I thought I’m cured He said I acted disorderly Then called in the orderly Reminded me of where I belong in Bedlam. I’m always on the edge of losing my mind Yes I teeter in and out of sanity Nice little dip into hysteria Then I scurry back into reality. This evening I was full of glee After dinner was medication time Doctor called for a sample of my *** But I didn’t give him mine I did a swap Swapped it with a different vial Passed the trial with style Things I do to get through here in Bedlam. Will you help me to abscond? Ése I’m loco please respond The last time that I felt calm Was genuinely when I held you in my arms. I’m always on the edge of losing my mind Yes I teeter in and out of sanity Nice little dip into hysteria Then I scurry back into reality. Tonight in Bedlam in a padded cell Wrestling with my straight jacket I am nothing but my shattered self Isn’t love such a strange habit? You’ll hurt yourself Hurt yourself so blindly Smile back benignly In this little place called Bedlam.

48

Athena takes me sometimes by the hand and we go levitating through strange Dreamlands where Apollo sleeps in his dark forgetting and Passion seems like a wise bloodletting and all I remember ,upon awaking, is: to Love sometimes is like forsaking one’s Being—to drift heroically beyond thought, forsaking the here for the There and the Not. * O, finally to Burn, gravity beyond escaping! To plummet is Bliss when the blisters breaking rain down red scabs on the earth’s mudpuddle ... Feathers and wax and the watchers huddle ... Flocculent sheep, O, and innocent lambs!, I will rock me to sleep on the waves’ iambs. * To Sleep, that is Bliss in Love’s recursive Dream, for the Night has Wings pallid as moonbeams— they will flit me to Life; like a huge-eyed Phoenix fluttering off to quarry the Sphinx. * Riddlemethis, riddlemethat, Rynosseross, throw out the Welcome Mat. Quixotic, I seek Love amid the tarnished rusted-out steel when to live is varnish. To Dream—that’s the thing! Aye, that Genie I’ll rub, soak by the candle, aflame in the tub. * Riddlemethis, riddlemethat, Rynosseross, throw out the Welcome Mat. Somewhither, somewhither aglitter and strange, we must moult off all knowledge or perish caged. * I am reconciled to Life somewhere beyond thought— I’ll Live in the There, I’ll Dream of the Naught. Methinks it no journey; to tarry’s a waste, so fatten the oxen; make a nice baste. I’m coming, Fool Tom, we have Somewhere to Go, though we injure noone, ourselves wildaglow. This odd poem invokes and merges with the anonymous medieval poem “Tom O’Bedlam” and W. H. Auden’s modernist poem “Musee des Beaux Arts,” which in turn refers to Pieter Breughel’s painting “The Fall of Icarus.” In the first stanza Icarus levitates with the help of Athena, the goddess of wisdom, through “strange dreamlands” while Apollo, the sun god, lies sleeping at night. In the second stanza, Apollo predictably wakes up and Icarus plummets to earth, or back to mundane reality, as in Breughel’s painting and Auden’s poem. In the third stanza the grounded Icarus can still fly, but only in flights of imagination through dreams of love. In the fourth and fifth stanzas Icarus joins Tom Rynosseross of the Bedlam poem in embracing madness by deserting “knowledge” and its cages (ivory towers, learning, etc.). In the final stanza Icarus, the former high flier, agrees with Tom that it is “no journey” to wherever they’re going together and also agrees with Tom that they will injure no one on the way, no matter how intensely they glow and radiate. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, Tom O’Bedlam, bedlam, bedlamite, beggar, mad song, Apollo, welkin, Rynosseros, limerick meter, ballad, hag, goblin, maudlin, chains, whips, dame, maid, afraid, dotage, conquest, cupid, owl, marrow, drake, crow, gypsies, Snap, Pedro, comradoes, punk, cutpurse, panther, fancies, commander, spear, horse, wilderness, knight, tourney, world’s end, journey, Phoenix, Sphinx, Genie, Don Quixote, Quixote, quixotic, cage, prison, glitter, strange, molt, knowledge, oxen, baste, Auden, Musee des Beaux Arts, Breughel, Fall of Icarus

0

Feb 28, 2020

Feb 28, 2020 at 5:23 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Finally to Burn, the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus

Athena takes me sometimes by the hand and we go levitating through strange Dreamlands where Apollo sleeps in his dark forgetting and Passion seems like a wise bloodletting and all I remember ,upon awaking, is: to Love sometimes is like forsaking one’s Being—to drift heroically beyond thought, forsaking the here for the There and the Not. * O, finally to Burn, gravity beyond escaping! To plummet is Bliss when the blisters breaking rain down red scabs on the earth’s mudpuddle ... Feathers and wax and the watchers huddle ... Flocculent sheep, O, and innocent lambs!, I will rock me to sleep on the waves’ iambs. * To Sleep, that is Bliss in Love’s recursive Dream, for the Night has Wings pallid as moonbeams— they will flit me to Life; like a huge-eyed Phoenix fluttering off to quarry the Sphinx. * Riddlemethis, riddlemethat, Rynosseross, throw out the Welcome Mat. Quixotic, I seek Love amid the tarnished rusted-out steel when to live is varnish. To Dream—that’s the thing! Aye, that Genie I’ll rub, soak by the candle, aflame in the tub. * Riddlemethis, riddlemethat, Rynosseross, throw out the Welcome Mat. Somewhither, somewhither aglitter and strange, we must moult off all knowledge or perish caged. * I am reconciled to Life somewhere beyond thought— I’ll Live in the There, I’ll Dream of the Naught. Methinks it no journey; to tarry’s a waste, so fatten the oxen; make a nice baste. I’m coming, Fool Tom, we have Somewhere to Go, though we injure noone, ourselves wildaglow. This odd poem invokes and merges with the anonymous medieval poem “Tom O’Bedlam” and W. H. Auden’s modernist poem “Musee des Beaux Arts,” which in turn refers to Pieter Breughel’s painting “The Fall of Icarus.” In the first stanza Icarus levitates with the help of Athena, the goddess of wisdom, through “strange dreamlands” while Apollo, the sun god, lies sleeping at night. In the second stanza, Apollo predictably wakes up and Icarus plummets to earth, or back to mundane reality, as in Breughel’s painting and Auden’s poem. In the third stanza the grounded Icarus can still fly, but only in flights of imagination through dreams of love. In the fourth and fifth stanzas Icarus joins Tom Rynosseross of the Bedlam poem in embracing madness by deserting “knowledge” and its cages (ivory towers, learning, etc.). In the final stanza Icarus, the former high flier, agrees with Tom that it is “no journey” to wherever they’re going together and also agrees with Tom that they will injure no one on the way, no matter how intensely they glow and radiate. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, Tom O’Bedlam, bedlam, bedlamite, beggar, mad song, Apollo, welkin, Rynosseros, limerick meter, ballad, hag, goblin, maudlin, chains, whips, dame, maid, afraid, dotage, conquest, cupid, owl, marrow, drake, crow, gypsies, Snap, Pedro, comradoes, punk, cutpurse, panther, fancies, commander, spear, horse, wilderness, knight, tourney, world’s end, journey, Phoenix, Sphinx, Genie, Don Quixote, Quixote, quixotic, cage, prison, glitter, strange, molt, knowledge, oxen, baste, Auden, Musee des Beaux Arts, Breughel, Fall of Icarus

75

how long then to Bedlam? why it’s but a Browning and a stave, but for you dear. how long then to Bedlam? a whisper’s blink and a cartridge of lily, but for you dear. how long then to Bedlam? a bit of this ampoule and it’s here. it’s here.

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Jul 28, 2018

Jul 28, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC

d-w-stojek

Pug and Sebastine

how long then to Bedlam? why it’s but a Browning and a stave, but for you dear. how long then to Bedlam? a whisper’s blink and a cartridge of lily, but for you dear. how long then to Bedlam? a bit of this ampoule and it’s here. it’s here.

10

The street of no name where she walks upon The moments past.As where their was motion, all has now ceased, silence reverberates. The animals no longer walk, they play died All are still, motionless ss they're closemouthed Sewn silent eyes stare empty onwards. No longer does their bedlam greet any who Motioned feet upon a street now all are stagnated Only she walks upon this cobbled remnant. Leaves dried, shrivelled play on a road of silent pasts. She was the life of a laughter and Now she is unmoved Upon lingering breath, her figure stands inhabitant, gaunt. This street of echo's, fading in to oblivion grasp, there Is only one who walks no longer of atomsOf life or love. Only shadows roam here now. She is forever silent more.

0

Aug 20, 2015

Aug 20, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC

poetic-t

Cobble Stones Stillness

The street of no name where she walks upon The moments past.As where their was motion, all has now ceased, silence reverberates. The animals no longer walk, they play died All are still, motionless ss they're closemouthed Sewn silent eyes stare empty onwards. No longer does their bedlam greet any who Motioned feet upon a street now all are stagnated Only she walks upon this cobbled remnant. Leaves dried, shrivelled play on a road of silent pasts. She was the life of a laughter and Now she is unmoved Upon lingering breath, her figure stands inhabitant, gaunt. This street of echo's, fading in to oblivion grasp, there Is only one who walks no longer of atomsOf life or love. Only shadows roam here now. She is forever silent more.

15

We think we're hard done by Coasting in our sleeping bag boats, Binliners of lumps waiting for our names and for our coats. Oh Lithium Lovers Are we ****** - ? Are our bloodlines blue, black and blue and botched, blotchy on the page, cowed and crowing in the cage? We were birds, stunned birds, Singing to the guns, With picks behind our eyes And walls to catch the turds. We were history We were gassed We were mush inside the glass, We were carnival sweethearts, We were the horrors of the crowd ****** if we were quiet, Or a bit quiet, Or loud. Yellow pages, A pipe, not a pipe, Notes - What's your name, darl? And where's your coat?

0

Jan 9, 2015

Jan 9, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC

a-mareship

bedlam

We think we're hard done by Coasting in our sleeping bag boats, Binliners of lumps waiting for our names and for our coats. Oh Lithium Lovers Are we ****** - ? Are our bloodlines blue, black and blue and botched, blotchy on the page, cowed and crowing in the cage? We were birds, stunned birds, Singing to the guns, With picks behind our eyes And walls to catch the turds. We were history We were gassed We were mush inside the glass, We were carnival sweethearts, We were the horrors of the crowd ****** if we were quiet, Or a bit quiet, Or loud. Yellow pages, A pipe, not a pipe, Notes - What's your name, darl? And where's your coat?

28