"amusingly" poems
Bonkers? BONKERS?! Bonkers you say?!
I'll be completely wonkers for it is written upon my grave.
Until the moon turns to sun and the bearded woman shaves
Bonkers and wonkers until my final day.
Loud? LOUD?! Loud you say?!
I'll be forever loud for being quiet is a shame.
To whisper is to keep secrets and secrets shouldn't be said!
If not loud, then silence! Silent like the dead.
Stay loud, and bonkers, and wonkers, and silent
Be afraid to be public and amusingly private
Stay creepy, and hushed, and awkward, and such
I promise you'll like it.
Very, very much.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
With every sleep I find amusingly pleasing, lost in my dreams stuck in it like a coma, wondering if I ever want to wake back up and deal with reality instead of in a fantasy.
My eyes closed shut not wanting to open, everyone seems worried but I seem perfectly fine, seems I’m stuck in a daydream filled with all kinds of my long lost memories.
Everywhere I look seems dark,
No dreams no nightmares just blank.
No unicorns or rainbows,
No devils nor angels,
That all I see now is pitch black.
Am I dead or alive?
No demon tail no halo,
Bedroom eyes, I’m falling,
Away from the pitch black night in the sky
And on the other side, a light.
My other side, I see her.
White flowing hair, brown eyes.
No face, but pure glow reflecting my soul.
We’re both floating,
Looking so closely,
Mirroring the other like she’s the second half of my body.
Two souls touching, reflecting one another
By the time she opened her mouth to speak, I woke up not able to blink.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
#Mastmaula - The happy go lucky little turtle
On the beaches of Konkan
Lived a few families of turtles
For ages it has been their home .
Amongst them lived Mastmaula a young and adventurous turtle
To explore the surroundings he loved, popular and lovable , a friend to all .
Many a times he would stray away and had to be fetched by the elders in the group .
He loved visiting the homes of the fishermen who lived by the sea.
Particularly fond of cabbage fed by the fisherwomen .
Amusingly he was also fond of music .
And loved to dance
The fishermen went fishing by the day
And would celebrate the catch and their life by evenings .
Music played and seafood savoured in almost every home.
Mastmaula was sure to visit, the fisherman 's house when there used to be a party.
One of the evenings , there was one going on in one of the houses , music was loud with party lights on.
And ,the food yes cabbage in colours, purple and green ,
Mastmaula knew would sure be part of the menu.
The fisherman's family had guests coming from afar
The occasion , an engagement ceremony .
As the music went on , Mastmaula went turtle and began to spin.
And sure he did have a few amazing moves , which caught the guests' eyes
And one of them ,fancied carrying Mastmaula to their home.
The host opposed but the guest's 7 year old daughter Mili loved Mastmaula and wanted him to be part of her family . The host reluctantly obliged.
Soon , it was dark and a bale of turtles were out to fetch back Mastmaula home. They knew where to find him.
Reaching the party venue and not finding him there they panicked and soon swelled in numbers.
The fishermen family knew it was time to call their guest ,who had taken away Mastmaula .
The guest hurriedly came back with Mastmaula in a little basket and placed him down .
Mastmaula was overjoyed to reunite with his family and promised them all that he would never stray away and be careful of his visits alone to the fishermens homes.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
Yong Marx, yet to die, jumped
out of an air-conditioned car, a
journey Berlin to Bombay as the
Dream merchant of Utopia
metamorphosed him into a subhuman
white bearded national bourgeoisie.
The third world girl who was climbing a
tree without Motorcycle-
Diaries hung to her clothe looked
like an Engelian mistake possibly
not from Cuba, Zambia or Bolivia,
certainly not a Soviet artefact.
Alienation, self-affirmation and all
unlike modes of production confused
his surplus brain. The dichotomy
of imaginings and reality with the
girl proven anti-thesis kafkaesqued
him an added ****** struggle.
A shift in his struggle with a smile
on her lips gave a hint of welcome to her
Animal Farm. He did get inside.
The moulded furniture, preoccupied sickle
and the lacking exploitation
left him a disappointing proletariat grin.
She opened her mouth, blue words
did not discharge. Neither the mid wife
nor the revolution pumped her conscience.
He got up, disappointed, alarmed,
cursed the chap who misdirected
to a class-less renewed pattern.
“Comrade” she said shaking his hands,
the blood did stir for a moment but
the fight less slant , **** suits and
her distant reality pained the rationalist.
The amusingly alienated young Marx
jumped into his car and left for utopia.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
so kindled in sear summer July,
Upheaval churning in my most stoic feeling frazzled, I am,
Thank GOD for Good Riddance- putting on a thinking cap
And my Good Instincts prevails..
Brooding over and praying in silence-
PEACE and Faith too ; sustained my intertwined...
guts good 'ole meshed up toiled my life.
Like a web-gathering digging out into knitted vine..
Gotta dance w/ grace even if someone ogling..
actin' out like zilch..
out there mesmerizing.
Give it all out for sake o' Inamorata
And fervor like ne'er be in paroxysm, a day or two ..
Rhyme with the melody o' songs
And Sing it all out on top o' my lungs
like there's no one's eavesdropping
Amusingly enough as I wantonly be wanted
And feel hurting no more,
Sleeping in minty pillows, sobbing no more...
At the time, eventide dusk comes,
That Beauty; rests indeed, bellows
Live and let live like it's a bed o' heavenly velvety Roses in this cauldron earth!.ensnared my thoughts together oftentimes,
Through waylay conflicts
So akin to as DRAMA Momma!
That another can tote to my table.
Getting' along just fine witn MYself..
thus restore my sense of panoramic mindset; - my BLESSINGS- scrutiny on my studies and my cherub babes who cares as whippersnapper!
Thou Loves me more than
of enormous superficial stuffs-
things that won't last-
I'm in solitude for soul searching'.
I am of thy belief that
everyone needs time...
To just Be! @ peace with just MYself!
J
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
On a certain July, she found a new home,
Unused to the idea of openness,
An open terrace called her towards itself.
She was nine back then,
And the terrace was bright of sun,
For a long long time.
The terrace overlooked the horizon,
The clouds would merge and submerge,
Forming unadulterated child’s dream,
An imagination growing in itself.
She is seventeen now
She came to the terrace,
And closed herself to the sky-
It helped her, the tears of her first breakup;
She took out a cigarette and smiled her first,
The clouds were of smoke,
And the terrace took away her sorrow
She is twenty five now,
Cigarette butts have cornered their way,
Her father had arranged her marriage,
She didn't know him -
She didn't want to.
That day, amusingly, she didn't cry.
The tears wouldn't come.
Assemblage of marriage went through her home.
Her home wasn't her anymore;
A new family awaited her existence.
She couldn't go to the terrace that day,
And someone locked it inside out,
That night, the terrace flooded with rain,
For a long long time.
Nobody busted the terrace anymore,
The old man had arthritis,
And his wife had passed away.
Clouds still merged and birds still flocked,
It was closed for years.
A taller building got made, it obstructed the horizon.
Now its horizon overlooked windows of nothingness.
Algal invasion and cracked corners,
Weren't taken care of,
Wasteland of wasted memories;
The terrace was of no use now-
A girl who used to run, a teen who used to weep,
A woman, left it all behind.
The old man died, and the house was sold,
The tall building wouldn't let the sun come,
And the terrace turned dark,
For a long long time.
Maybe a girl would run again,
The lock was getting rusty;
Maybe the shade would light up open,
Maybe the life would take a toll,
And the rain and sun would come again,
Maybe her sorrow will make its way?
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
there is no song which time could sing
no chords of reason memories string
and though our moments bittersweet
could gnargled **** amusingly..
to kiss the knives in dark of nights
that cut us up in wrongs and rights
carve us into plainer shapes
homely, drier, commonplace..
remember each and every stance
by whims and fancies or by chance,
what drives us part is neither stars
or vague and placid fate of ours
in solace ; peace amid the pain
and spirits worming in embrace
what does soar high in tops of trees
in flash of silent tranquil breeze
through greens of promised merriment
while branching arms in wonders spread
lets close our eyes and find the rhyme
but not in stars, in heart this time.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
You’ve overfed me everything you had at your disposable
Staring up at me as I’m hanging from the ceiling.
Chocolate, syrup, honey, lollipops.
My belly’s rumbling.
It’s scaring me.
Sweat continues to wash over my pale face.
With trembling hands I try to tear my stomach open by myself.
And there you are waving a bat right underneath my feet.
“Blindfold on or off?” You ask amusingly with a growing grin.
The black fabric peaking from your pocket which you ignore to take out.
I’ve lost. My mouth sewn shut. I can’t be saved now.
I mumble uncontrollably as you raise for the first blow.
It hurts, my whole body is ringing of burning pain, as I swing around fast side to side.
You spin for another blow with your eyes closed this time.
You miss.
You do it again, eyes open.
Pain explodes faster everywhere.
I’m muffling praying to fall any second now.
“COME ON YOU’RE GREEEDY YOU KNOW THAT?!!” He shouts jumping from below.
“OPEN UP!! GIVE ME SOME!!! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING AND YOU DON’T SHARE??”
Tears are falling. I’m the one at fault. I’m the empath and you’ll do anything to make me feel this way, no matter what I do, it won’t be enough.
You overfed me and I ate so it was my fault.
You tried getting it all back but couldn’t expel it out of me so it was my fault.
You did your part, and all I did was intervene.
It’s all my fault.
It’s not you.
It’s all me.
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 3:32 PM UTC
My great Pillars supporting
This Life I lead - I read.
Entertainers, Educators -
They are not mutually exclusive!
Serious, amusing; Amusingly serious!
Relieving my burdens, wing-like.
You pilot, I'll navigate -
Your talented perfections,
As asymmetrical as possible,
And I'll bring to the table
A fire-brand to highlight
The why of your brilliance.
To me and those other
Gravity wells, unknowing,
But loving all the same - Thanks.
Even the Haters
Have their Lovers - Go figure!
I eight you, fell free to eat me.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Thought about my ex today.
Reminisced about the *** and such.
I know I said that I'd still love that girl,
But Lord knows I've never lied so much.
My ex girl is a good dream about a bad time that I mistakenly got away from.
My ex girl is a good dream about a good **** that could one day ***
My ex girl is a bad ***** with the thick hips and the *** to match, lips that softly slip so sweet with every kiss; I loved that.
My ex girl has that pretty face that makes necks break and men chase and she knows it.
My ex girl is a flirt and knows I want her bad and she shows it.
She looks at me so deep and sneaks through to my conscience and can switch it off so quick.
My ex girl got the magic; she could make you quiver in just one lick.
My ex girl could get it.
But I can't **** wit it.
My ex girl ain't wife type.
And I'm at that point in life where I'm tryna live that wife life.
So she could be bad all she want and it's sad she don't want that wife hype.
She could be so good but she's bad at being honest; more concerned with "likes" than love.
More concerned with quick *** and rec drugs.
**** gonna catch up to her one day and she'll learn that she should've used that beauty on the runway.
But I'm done bae, no matter how amusingly your beauty continues enthusing me.
But you slept while you couldn't be working to be the One bae.
Done.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
a common practice is subscribed to at the place
why on earth they do it defies one's mind space
over an extended period one has seen their escapade
which has the appearance of a staged parade
each person clocks in with something to show
then they'll remove it off the submission's row
how fascinating for one to amusingly sight
it'll happen both by morning and beneath lamp light
just a few minutes ago one saw this very thing
being openly displayed inside the writer's ring
a piece was put up for everyone's eyes to review
without any notice the work vanished from view
on not being able to find its new dwelling spot
one wondered about this their most interesting plot
a mere peek a boo is all they'll let you see
before they erase what was in their lines lee
you've got to be quick to read the material
if you are not you'll miss the fast paced serial
one knows the capers that they do imbibe in
that's why one watches with the broadest grin
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
Is she not in her most pregnant fullness?
She is pulling out more stops
than we cared to admit were there.
Isn’t she toying with all our favorite passions:
Letting everyone know she rules?
And just the same as when she’s hiding,
but now, unrelenting in uncovering;
unabashedly and amusingly daring
anyone not to notice. Oh yes!
She is here and bigger and badder
than you could hope for.
My, my, those #s, they sure don’t lie!
Yes, we are tested. And yes,
we are brought to the edge of the cliff
and invited to jump. And yes,
we see our highest seven
hanging out to balance and center
for our greatest intended good.
We salute you, Oh Divine Mother Moon!
We bow to your intuitive wisdom
and transcendental truths,
as you align our frequencies
on all dimensions
only to truth.
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 11:57 AM UTC
If I had but just one wish,
I’d break it into levels
which would more
than likely be this…
I’d wish to REMEMBERS...
remember the hard
lessons learned
this time around.
Most, painfully learned;
a few amusingly found.
I’d want to fulfill
all the promises
I made to myself.
Promises sacred
to the heart
and kept safe
and hidden
on a figurative shelf.
Remember
how I wanted to
draw and write,
sing and dance
and run and fly
as free and far as ever,
just gliding through
the sky.
I’d not forget
that the current facts
of my life were, in fact,
NEVER part of my plan.
For me, I did not envision
nuptials or children
or being indebted
to any man
but,
next time I’ll finally
get things right.
My life will be
a miracle of friendships and
beauty and art and music
in all forms.
All these and more
will then fill my
curious appetite.
Sorrows, fears, and worries
will NOT take over
my new world.
Only my innate sense
creativity, imagination
and wonder
shall then be
unfurled.
I will never HAVE to
share, give up, or
compromise a thing,
unless it is by choice.
My restless soul smiles
Inside when I stop to
envision these things,
and to them give
full voice.
If I ever get but just one wish
it would most likely be this…
next time around
I’ll not allow the trials
of life or selfishness of others
ever impede my search
for my genuine self
or my personal bliss.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
I felt it the other day.
Genuine, powerful, mighty, and iridescent.
It was small, yet nearly overwhelmed me for I had not felt it in a long time.
I cried, which I later found to be amusingly ironic.
It was happiness. And real, authentic joy.
The answer to a tear-filled prayer of, "I don't want to be sad anymore, I just want to be happy".
The answer to months of vulnerability with myself, my friends, and two very compassionate strangers.
The answer to unwillingly, but necessary medication.
The answer to undesired and unimaginable grief.
I don't always feel it. And I don't always think it's the only answer. But I'm starting to see it more and more frequently.
They say time heals. I didn't believe that six months ago. I didn't believe that when you left and didn't look back. I didn't believe that when I didn't have hope for myself.
But times change. And time changes.
The unexpected hope, the healing change, the slow growth, the light within.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 7:22 PM UTC
*Lying on my back
Arms sprawled and breath erratic, immobile
Can't even check to see my wounds but they have not gone unnoticed
In hindsight, the fall was too deep
The greatest things in life have gone sour
Laughter joy and love morphed into pain
My wanting to trust was amusingly a blindfold
But in the end it turned out to be ok because
Whiskey is my rebound*
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
O dear sir, I am a criminal of love
No need for your supplications have I
Make your prayers to the God above
I appreciate a lark and you are amusingly droll
Yet your lust fits me not as a glove
Your love is a heavy albatross
Mine is a lovely white dove
Yes, time it may be short
But your calculations run astray
The numbers and figures you quote I must retort
Be you true or only truly depraved?
Your kind of love is one messy tort
Take your time and take it slow
My smiles into sully frowns you contort
Be you handsome and witty is true
I am almost moved by you and your advance
But there are others, not just you
Nary you be the only fish in the sea
I am looking for a love that is true
Away with you, vile man
You are neither a driver, nor I a simple *****
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
When in doubt, say something funny
and then smile amusingly.
Everyone will think you’re charming
and they´ll treat you pleasantly.
Talk about the newest scandals
or some spicy love affairs.
But don’t waste your breath on business,
or the value of your shares.
No one wants to be reminded
of the failed economy.
Stick to pleasant subjects like the
latest fashion novelty.
And remember to go easy
on the blasted alcohol.
Proper conduct must be shown
and drunkenness will spoil it all.
Leave the place while you’re still sober.
Give no reason for disdain.
That way you’ll be well remembered
and invited back again.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
The assembly of words come stepping in the still vagueness of thinking, “Is there something you want to say“ “Something words need saying?”
At times you wait seeming to ask permission “Shall I come along? Shall I wait here again for you?”
A word slips not sorely but given away, a gift, a challenge, a burden born to itself.
It feels beautiful… waiting. Then it comes another and another like raindrops they begin to flow. Disarranged, compelled, brought to a meaning or question. You resist judgement. You embrace a distant muse rumbling uncomfortable within you
.
Then if you should venture to stray. In an utter silent doom; the likes of being at the bottom of a well overtakes you. Apologetically amusingly as a slight smile words return pleasingly again. The ebb and flow rushing in and out, back again and again in a hurried parlay. Exchanges are made, substituted, let go. Only on paper or by spoken word is the muse emancipated so freely.
So large the mind of it, so softly the sound, as wisps kindly drift into wandering fingers tapping keys in a dance split and crossed over. In hindsight by a little chance you acknowledge grace is blessed whatever you caught in the master mind of transcending lift. You've risen above the fray, above the plain of earth and have fallen deeply in love with the unified thought of mindfulness.
Writing is accelerating, distressing, bashful, and proud, playful and dangerous but always leaves you like a kiss.
BB2015
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
I walked through the balcony
I saw every room with opened door
I saw people in every room were laughing together with their friends
I started to feel the joy that they had
They played the music so loud
They danced amusingly
They laughed so hard
They were so happy.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
*There you were, standing alone
So I decided to make myself known
That was on night one
We laughed, we danced, we had our fun
We met another group and played a game
Where no two rounds were the same
Then we said our goodbyes and promised each other another day
When we would meet again and together we would play
We wandered aimlessly
trying to find places to be
Trying to keep ourselves busy
And failing quite amusingly
I read some poems to a crowd
Trying to not curse myself aloud
As I stuttered through one, two, and three
And hurrying off of the stage happily
And not long after, out of the room we flee
Again, lost with nothing to do
I look over and think about you
So we go and set up a game that took forever to load
And that action itself sent us speeding down an interesting road
After a while of musings and waiting
I place a bet to keep the ball rolling
I won and claimed my reward
But to my surprise I got more than was bargained for
So we went back inside and we finally played
The game we waited on that was hellishly delayed
And after that we went to your room
And it was far more than what I first had assumed
We showed each other videos, laughing at jokes
But growing ever bolder as we came very close
What started with the bet outside turned to something more
Definitely more than what I bargained for!
We played with the same group later, yet again
And after a while found it way past ten
So we regretfully dragged ourselves up the stairs
And wondered if any of my roommates actually cares
About how they know I feel about you
But there was nothing I could do
So we kissed once more and said goodnight
And by the last day to my terrible fright
You had to leave sooner than me
And at first I thought "This couldn't be!"
But I calmed down and faced reality
As well as built up some hope to keep happy
That we'll meet again
And when we do, I hope as more than close friends*
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
*The two roads
Bothering people from so long
One always treaded upon
The other deprived of company
How platonic does it all sound
Having been talked upon
People must have learnt by now
Territories uncharted are not to be fled from
But it's not just fear it seems
There is a feeling of loss
Though amusingly
Loss of something never had
Still loss can be over come
Who knows what will be there
Waiting in that place Unknown
Reserved for the heathens*
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
●●●
*the sun
was just about to rise
above the deep blue horizon
with a joyful mesmerising sunshine
blooms flowers n plant
in many color shine
pink white yellow
purple and red vine
sperading bewildered outshine
rain droplets
on the rose petals
lush green hedges
on the peripheral
sides of lawn
chirping of
distinct
delightful birds
amusingly colorful butterfly
freshness
of genial breeze
dense lush green trees
on the both sides
of walking track
crawling caterpillars
playing and running children
brisk walk by the young people
slowly exercising elderly couple
we should thank
and praise to divinity
for all of this natural
endowment
blessings
and
good fortune
from almighty to the
humans being*
●●●
© deovrat 14--07-2018
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
torpedo ink, some doubts to sink,
another mouthful, bruising to bethink.
without lexical integrity,
they're solecistic towards pedagogy, amusingly distinct.
basking in the blasphemy, armed to the teeth, blameless and bruised,
putting on another comical skit, guiltlessly bemused.
but don't sit next to me at this ball,
i'm pensively perusing the aisles of protocol.
baffled, more putrid than pellucid,
this hobnobbing appalls me, the exclusively reclusive.
a nuisance shindig, conversations far too allusive.
enough with the palaver, and this shallow vernacular,
far too stupid, far too human, forehead now growing vascular.
make way for me to make hastily for the exit, please,
my apologies, but i'm far too pedantic to revel in this cesspit, jeez.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 7:55 AM UTC