"batty" poems
People are loopy
People ain't right
Inside of their heads
Out of their minds
People are nutty
Loco coco bean
Imaginary buddies
Putty for brains
People are batty
Fruit loops that fly
Come in different colors
Confetti minds
People are special
They say with a wink
Jumped the train trestle
Over the brink
Pick one or the other
No answer is wrong
It's all the above
When people are off
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
This is the house of Bedlam.
This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a wristwatch
telling the time
of the talkative man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the honored man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the roadstead all of board
reached by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the old, brave man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
These are the years and the walls of the ward,
the winds and clouds of the sea of board
sailed by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the cranky man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
beyond the sailor
winding his watch
that tells the time
of the cruel man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a world of books gone flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
of the batty sailor
that winds his watch
that tells the time
of the busy man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to feel if the world is there and flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances joyfully down the ward
into the parting seas of board
past the staring sailor
that shakes his watch
that tells the time
of the poet, the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the soldier home from the war.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is round or flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances carefully down the ward,
walking the plank of a coffin board
with the crazy sailor
that shows his watch
that tells the time
of the wretched man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
3.7k
I remember quite distinctly
The night the Angel came
Hovering above my field
And calling me by name
Fred, the Angel yelled to me
Waking all my sheep
I yelled "you stupid ****** twit"
I've just got them to sleep
He said a king was born to man
And I must go to see
I said, "I've got these bleating sheep"
I don't do this for free
The angel said follow the star
All the way to Bethlehem
I told him, you must be ****** daft
My next shift starts at ten
I've been around the world a bit
And I've seen a lot of stunts
But this angel hung right in the air
And his wings did not flap once
He said there is a child
And he will be the King of Kings
I didn't really listen much
I was still watching those **** wings
The sheep were going batty
The field was bight as bright could be
I said, of all the shepherds round here
Why did you come wake me?
He said to travel swiftly
And to follow yonder star
I said, I'm off to bed mate
I'm not going on that far
Then there came a bolt of lightning
He had barbecued a ewe
I thought this bird means business
I mean just what could I do?
I left my flock with Charlie
The shepherd two fields over one
And I said I'll be back soon mate
I'm off to see the holy son
I met up with some others
All of us had the same tale
Of an angel flinging lightning
So we all felt we best bail....
I got there in December
I'd been travelling for months
The only thing I thought of
Those wings...did not move once
There inside a manger
behind an inn...full up each day
Was where I saw a vision
I'll remember to my last day
Three wise men dressed in robements
A little kid, and his tin drum
Some donkeys and a camel
The baby Jesus and his mum
Dad, was in the corner
All alone hanging his head
He said "How could this have happened"
"I never left the bed"
I looked upon the baby
And I looked down upon that face
He looked at me and smiled
You could feel a state of grace
I really didn't know then
What I was here to do
But, now I know my task was
To tell everyone I knew
So, I started out on homeward
To tell old Charlie of the kid
I picked him up a present
Yep..that's exactly what I did
I guess the world must owe me
and this I 'll stand and shout
You could consider my gift to Charlie
Was the first true gift given out
Now, I sit and watch the sheep here
People come up just to see
The shepherd who started gifting
The shepherd...that is me!!!
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
What I said you can't define
A chill that runs down my spine
It lingers down my veins
Am I here? Am I sane?
You look at me like I'm crazy
You haven't said a word and just maybe
You want to leave
and let me be
I cannot move
I'm in the state of infirmity.
They call me ecstatic
In fact I am enigmatic.
I did it again and realized I am alive.
You cannot bare to see me here
In this insane trance I fear.
Just set me free
Into the rain, from all the pain
Down the drain, through the hole
I see no light, everything white.
I might be dead?
No more me sick in the head.
Life has become lucid,
but did you see what you did?
The power you had to make me mad?
Will you hark back to my old talk?
Or will you walk,
Away from me?
Leave me here
Let me be.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Thylacinus Cynocephalus.
Tasmanian Tiger, Tasmanian Wolf,
A crepuscular hunting nocturnal beast,
Carnivore by nature, feasted upon wallaby,wombats and roos,
Caught by female of the species,
Was he a feline or a lupine beast, hyena perhaps,
No, this strange creature now probably extinct was marsupial with pouch,
Female with pouch to grow her young, male had pouch of his own,
Protected his crown jewels within a scrotal pouch,
Appearance of a stripy dog,
Looked rather like a tiger,
Had amber eyes filled with fire,
This diamorphic beast, (Means the chap was larger)
Had four toes on hind feet and rigid tail of kangaroo,
It's gait was rather odd,
Could move like kangaroo, if it so desired,
Strange call, a guttural sound, alerted his family when he was abound,
Shy secretive little creature,
Kept himself locked out of sight,
For in the late 188os, early 1900s these creatures had a bounty on their heads,
The bounty hunters had such fun, left our world with nearly none,
Last beast in the wild as noted,shot by gun by Mr Batty,
1936 the last captive creature died in Hobart Zoo,
Reported name was Benjamin,
Book called The Djin-jum Man, said man, Batty man maybe, was cursed for killing the last of their kin,
Poor things,
Living legacy remains,
On Tasmania's coat of arms, two of these fine beasts support the islands emblem,
Probably gone but never overlooked,
Still being sought but never found!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
This was really difficult, hope its quite accurate!
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
The familiar rush
of adrenaline hits
almost cripplingly
Your hands have
become adjusted
to my every curve
My eyes dart
my voice becomes
a thick, heavy syrup
I flinch at first
but it switches to
thrashing about
Even just sitting
in your near vicinity
drives me batty
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
The rooster does crow at the break of dawn
but five to seven a.m.
is the hours of the dog
"Time to wake up"
Cheerful beyond belief
face in mine
dripping licking tongue
tail wacking the dresser
in perfect time.
Hot breath
not yours not mine
but you know whose.
Through the fog of the mind
knowing it won't stop
until food is served.
I am never that cheerful at sunrise.
Seven to five
the birds and rats
are in their time.
Squirrels chipmunks
deer
everybody working their *** off to survive.
I gotta go to work
Calling in sick every day
But one foot in front of the other
And I am on my way.
The crows line up
on the garbage man's run
The ducks laugh at every move you make
but you take it in stride.
The cows lay down to
take a nap.
But not I.
At about five
The bear comes sauntering down the street
tossing garbage cans
this way and that.
The best part of work is the drive home.
Neighbors come out of their houses
to watch him.
Power and hunger
a dangerous combination
But in a rare moment of neighborly cheer
even a cocktail was had.
He was big he was strong
We gave him a wide berth
but owwed and awed him
along his way like watching fire works.
Five to eight
The hours of the skunk
and you get very cranky
through the PTSD
of a mean and angry father
and tires on the driveway.
As darkness totally sets in
the racoons come out
making mischief on the roof
batty as the bats that flee into my room.
Those racoons
the more you try to
chase them away
the more they come over
to see what your doing.
You look at me and wonder who I am
Sometimes you snuggle up
While the night birds sing.
Three to five
D.H. Lawrence
called the hours of the wolf
when madness and suicide
remorse and dread reign
Blood pressure
at its lowest
Heart rate at its slowest
Breath down
Body temperature as cold as the ground.
Remember to not
take very seriously
what ever you think
until with relief
the sun begins to rise
and doggy smooches
awaken your time. ..
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
*magdalene just wanked off st. peter, and i’m like...
magdalene just wanked off st. peter.,
the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines...
and jesus did a miracle streak of shit-smear in leather,
gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation;
i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed
into a back-up dancer / mimer role -
and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.*
self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory,
self-love quotes from what the greeks missed
in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae;
i can write about my **** life
in the same way you write to idealise your **** life,
9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s
sardine packing of expected, tight...
he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer
for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent:
i will not make england my home just because i can speak it...
i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel
like lower class... if not migrants;
and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh
enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching
that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar;
unless of course it was all rather unnecessary,
then i abide by the law of knock down ginger...
and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
The chance to blossom, the fear
of failing,
weighing so heavy
on,
my broken,
encapsulated heart
no return, only the
desire, lust
to prove myself, worthy
a candidate,
of caliber, meritorious of
praise,
the extremes, of this
bipolar,
express, they named
it,
would surely bring,
a cast opened
soul,
drinking blood, vampire
of this night,
inspiration from
constellations,
midnight skies
feeding,
pleasure, gluttony
Tell me,
am I laudable
is this,
my true calling
or, am I yet,
again,
fooling myself,
even you,
squirrels in the attic,
batty,
deranged,
maniacal,
unhinged,
unhooked,
berserk.
© Sia Jane
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Swallowing dejection
The throat is throbbing
Fog is appearing
And smoke is covering
A reclusive setting
With no more company
An obstinate mind
Eyes set on you
Batty and insane
The color turns blue
Wasted feelings
Drunk off tears
Minimal breathing
The end is near.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 6:46 AM UTC
Can’t wait to be seventy
With knees that hang
Like fleshy skin tags
Over my knee highs
And Custard feet
All squelched into my Clarks.
No prunes
In my grocery basket
Just lots of cheese
Chocolate and beer
Which will make me gassy
So I’ll ask for a backrub
To get my wind up.
I’ll say those things
I’ve always wanted to say
And not come off
Like a social landmine
Because people will just think
I’m batty.
They’ll smile
And nod
And make corkscrew gestures
Behind my back
But I won’t care.
I shall say
**** a lot
Because people
Will not expect that
From a portly granny
With a blue rinse.
But I shall never be unkind
Of all of the ugly words
You can use
**** is probably
The most benign.
I shall read great books
Filled with ideas
And speak to the deaf geriatrics
In the old folks home
And say things like-
So what did you think of that?
And even as they
Clutch their hearts
To prepare for their exit
From this world
I shall say-
I feel that strongly too
And in this way
Everything shall
Be part of my interlude
It shall all be about me
Me
Me
Me
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
a watched *** never boils,
shine red letters, “9:09”
a watched wrist will not cut itself
this wristwatch won’t keep time
my pockets they are full of sand
i think i need a drink
but the bottles are all filled with ships
the salt is full of sink
the kitchen drawers are filled with clothes
the bedroom tile’s stained
theire’s bodies lying in the tub
i flushed it down the drain
“it hurts, it hurts!” i cry out
through the painting on the bed
the pink and blue’s a vivid grey
that noose i made from thread
“BATTY, BATTY, LITTLE ONE”
a psychic claiming womb
“we lies, we lies” he hollers back
a whisper, shoebox tomb
when tap run dry tap tap a vein
i wait ‘fore you(r) reply
the alphabet’s your master now
subvide by multiply
my my my you’re growing
every new voice looks the same
each set of eye’s thats staring back
deferent different game
the early bird just passed we
floating downward wrinkled skin
worm slither in your fat cells
to your wheels on broken rim
we’ve eaten all my vegetables
i’m eating all that’s green
whom made you king i’m paying
there is something underseen
name starts to sound familiar
daily hourslongs each week
enough milk baby didn’t drink
she too loud when i speak
i cut back on the coffee
i’m not laughing, ha ha ha
one tweak, I’m boiled water
it’s 9:10, a smoking ***
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
I am not nutty, I'm allergic to nuts.
I am batty. Duh!
© By Amanda Shelton
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
She doesn't understand her
biology.
Her need for extra attention.
Her desire to
chirp and meow
constantly, and raise her
**** in the air.
She gazes out the
window with
longing in her
golden eyes.
Her calls through the
screen bring no
visitors.
Little lonely orphan.
She sits with me while
I write at my large
maple desk.
She swats at the
purple orchid.
It drives her batty.
I've been there.
Lost in the
smell and taste of
flowers.
She wanders over to
the Starry Night
painting and looks
dizzy at the sky.
She lifts her **** in
the air and stutter steps
rapidly with her
back paws.
When I got her and
her sister, I thought they
had *****
I named him (her)
Bukowski.
She comes to the
name
and seems to like it.
Pray for me.
Buk's in heat.
Jun 1, 2024
Jun 1, 2024 at 10:15 PM UTC
I stagger cold through the halls of my indoctrination.
I do not wish to be seen.
A thousand ******* eye's gawk silent from there checker pattern perches
and my chains and prizes jingle
and attract stares
with each bounding step.
I can no longer stand my hours in this house of heresy.
Loose lipped **** lovers
spill secrets over bile chowder
chuckling about a days delicacies
and social secrets.
Second rate at best,
they all know there lover boy on the Hollister bag
probably takes it in the *** more than the average ***
and still they swoon blind batty eyed at the queens that prance the halls.
I am unamused
Feel abused
giving out my finest hobby to any takers.
I'm being used.
How am i supposed to taste my death sweet and smokey at this rate.
Like some fluff tailed hair
I hustle off with my ticking life in toe
the numbers at my waste spell ruin.
I'm late.
I'm late.
If only I had some red haired queen of hearts
to behead me.
A better fate.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
I tried but the deafeating sound of death captured me
Tore away the shreds of dignity laying peacefully
And I screamed to the damp grasses to let me free
But they withered away in cunningness for sanctuary.
So next day I got up and washed my hands and face
Found a pretty, party dress with contemporary lace
Bought a raspberry cake filled with artificial cream
And danced with dear Batty, Foggy and a spoon.
Life breaks hearts and fills this world with pain
It was in the beginning and still is just the same
But Pooh and Piglet, walk down a country lane
And Hundred Acre Wood is a lovely place to play.
Love to all Mary ***
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
It was that addy addy addy
It makes me batty
It's Caddyshack, with Bill Murry
I'm chasing furry little critters
Staying bitter, never quitter
Mind racing, always pacing
Rolling face, but never basic.
These intricate weaves of grammar are flowing,
Blowing brains and making waves
I've the kind of mind that will shatter your day
I'm wrought with pain, bought by shame
And I'm filled with disdain for the world around
I'm lost in leather bound forests
My head's porous like a sponge
It plunges to the depths of the alphabets in search of words that Shakespeare hasn't used, yet.
I'm lurching forward, never steady
Erratic, spasmodic, asthmatic mind at the ready
I'm too blunted, so I'm getting kinda heady
Skull's growing from the biddies trying to bed me
Swollen ego's popped by those that are not
I was stopped cold on the spot
By a raven haired mistress.
She left me witless to witness me with my **** left in my hand
Shattered plans pass by the window
Rolled low to keep the air flow going through my matter hair and bleary eyes
Red from the time I cried over her
Bloodshot from the *** that I burn
I was spurned by love, but learned no lesson
I tried to lessen the hurt, ended up losing my shirt
But I landed on my feet.
My heart was beat
But I was still wielding a sharp tongue to love from, and a dull knife
That's the story of my life...
You know she said she'd be my wife?
But the price was too high...
So she said goodbye and my eyes no longer picked up color
My world just seemed duller
My heart, he wanted to tell her
That he couldn't keep rhythm without her's beating with him, but...
My brain and my pride stopped my heart from getting to my tongue.
We had to be done.
We were far too young and uncertain to close that curtain
But that did not stop me from letting the hurt in
Telling her that we were too broken to keep stoking our fire
Burned me inside as I fought my desire to cry on her shoulder and breath her in...
But we wouldn't win.
We were too broken to mend
And we couldn't begin again without first changing ourselves
Without living outside of ourselves...
So, again, it's this addy, addy, addy, man
It always takes me for a ride.
Yeah, it helps me concentrate better,
But I can't always choose on what, or for why.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Me names Jane, they say I’m insane,
I’m insane Jane, yep, that’s me name,
I’m chatty, batty sometimes catty,
Predictable, despicable I find everythin lickable,
I’m mad and bad and sometimes glad, to be called insane,
Me name is Jane, insane Jane,
I’m ecstatic erratic, quite diplomatic, so why lock me in the attic and watch me acrobatic off the walls the halls in me under smalls, I will have a ball and you’ll hear me call.
I’m insane Jane coz that’s me name,
I’m a poet I know it but I don’t always show it,
I write I bite I like a good fight,
I can talk and walk I like to squawk, like a bird….. its absurd,
I’m crackers, run round in me under knackers, but I’ve got NO mental backers,
I’m on the street, bare feet no -where to eat, I’m full of deceit,
Got me life in a bag, I wear a tag and I don’t like to brag,
It’s a shame coz I’m insane,
It’s the government, their document, not my intent they overspent,
No room for me, they set me free to live and be a refugee,
I get frantic, I’m pedantic always apologetic,
I need some aid, and lemonade,
Someone to care, brush me hair, tell me what to wear,
They want me to work, but I’m berserk, I fit, I **** I’m like a firework,
I scream, turn green be very obscene,
I’m psychotic neurotic; I go of like a rocket,
I’m a danger, deranger not a campaigner,
I’ve lost all me hair when I lost me care, I live no-where, it’s just not fair,
I need support not court, give me a thought, I’ve not been taught,
I’m not like you its true, it’s nothing new,
I’m Jane, far from plain, and I’m insane,
BUT I’M NOT TO BLAME
By Christina Ford
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
She's mine amare
I'll say it loud
Screaming bleeding
I'll rip out mine hair
Put mine soul on a plate
Blood in a glass
These eyes I shalt pull
And enlarge them on stakes!!!
I'll plunge into darkness
To find her queen ways
Kooky I am for her
An insanity ive become
I'll give her mine lips for plurals
I'll cut out mine tongue
To give her five minutes of happiness
Wherein we shalt be one
I'm wacky
Im lunatic
I'm batty
Im nutty
I'm chatty
When it comes
To showing off
Mine one and only
Amare!
For tis I loveth her so,
For others I dont care!!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
You pitying on my twilight
As a cloud in the shadows
Your eyes lights
Killing in my heart the ego
In the candle chivalry
Cry & servile
My heart lover blister me
In my low-tide to her
I'm Bestselling as stars
In my Pride on her
I'm lost in the clouds
I'm Moaning & the darkness
Consoling a cheeks
Reddish as flowers
A batty bed
Comforting a hidden sorrow
As a sleepy prince
Waiting her by spoils
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
Calling all West Indian and Carribean man.
All points bulletin for the big batty girl.
Yuh know ?
She gone long time but she still leavin the room.
Yuh know ?.
No hard feelings bout the small variety.
Big Batty girl push it back
Daily and nightly.
Yuh know ?
All about that bass.
No Treble.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Brrr
As the ice drops drop
from gutters,
as I make my way
along
on my missions.
It's so cold
sometimes;
I just don't know how
to bundle up right
how I got the chills
especially
when I don't know
what to do or where to go
when I first get the shivers
from the brrr cold.
There are all sorts or nuances
to being out in the cold
that drive me to
frustration,
drive me batty really,
like how the temperature
drops suddenly at duck and rises barely at dawn
how little drops people
in behavior
are spawned
how you just can't even yawn
and wait to see
on the road a fawn
Oh well that's
probably not scratching
the surface
in everything
apparently
but that's life
best I can do
on how to deal with the cold.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
Eurasian roller birds
exist in the ecosystem
just as
I do.
When approached by perceived danger
Fight or Flight is feigned
Only remaining--wreaking self-destruction
Our wild flighty friends
Literally ***** all over their beautiful shells
in order to save themselves from suffering
Half digested disgust exposed on wings
arrests their blue beaming light
Eight years ago you climbed up to my nest
and held out your incredible love
Regurgitation immediately followed
Along with green abusive fear
I clung to my cloak of worms and saliva
You just laid down beside me
in digested stench
Multiple times you cleaned me up
licked up the pain
Accepting the disgust,
Realizing quickly
You could not clean a lover who aches
to be bent over, pale skinned, and protected
I fled from nest
and you did too my dear
we couldn't sit with the offensive smell any longer
My wounds were too porous
my pain, invasive
The foul smell that the roller exerts
is also meant to alert the parents to flee back to nest
and protect their blue babe
When I cracked from shell and entered the world
with slit eyes
There were thousands and thousands of threats
and the excretion was not enough
I did not get eaten up by the masses
but I did allow myself to become what I had eaten
infantile self-protection morphed into
Pervasive self-destruction.
Our nest kept singing back to us,
Our love entwined and weaved in with twig
Like haunted batty lovers
Pulled back in to vile
Finally finally finally finally fin a lly
I allowed the digestion
of your love
There were my bursting blue feathers
Sterile and glowing
Our nest safe from
my internal predator
And you, finally safe in my love.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC