"compos" poems
Faking Bad
In anticipation of my
Evaluation to be declared
Non Compos Mentos
I slept under a bridge
For three days
"Getting into character,"
But on the morning of
My intake interview
My hair fell perfectly,
I mean I looked like
A ******* rock star.
College girls on the bus
Were giving me their
Numbers and my skin,
Which I'd purposely sunburnt
And caked in the finest filth,
Glowed like an Australian
Chippendale dancer named Weegie
And even the female Assisstant D.A.
Who had busted me for vagrancy
Waved her ******* from
The third story building
Of the Courthouse.
No matter how much I
Tried to speak gibberish
Poetry and philosophical
Tracts spewed from my mouth.
Shuffling past the park
I beat eight
Grand Masters
At chess on move 1
Inadvertently I solved
The Phi Epsilom Theorem
By kicking stones
Into an algorythym.
When I arrived they didn't
Make me wait at all.
My caseworker giggled like
A schoolgirl while I told her
Each day was like an endless shift
In a Chinese fish- gutting
Sweatshop and every one of my fellow
Employees was motivationalist
Richard Simmons.
She ungirdled her enormous
**** and as they spilled
Like fishguts onto the desk
She began to howl
**** me, **** me, oh ****
Me right here in
Front of the open window
On State Street as everyone
Watches me ******* the strongest,
Healthiest, smartest, most popular,
Well-adjusted man in the world.
The rest of the examination was
Also a success.
But as I left the Mental HealthCenter
feeling marvelous
I accidentally bumped
An old woman with the door:
"Watch out you manic-depressive
Schizoid with Socially Avoidant
Features klutz."
-Thomas L. Vaultonburg
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
OH ! born to sooth distress, and lighten care ;
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair ;
Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought
So rarely found, and never to be taught ;
Of winning speech, endearing, artless, kind,
The loveliest pattern of a female mind ;
Like some fair spirit from the realms of rest
With all her native heaven within her breast ;
So pure, so good, she scarce can guess at sin,
But thinks the world without like that within ;
Such melting tenderness, so fond to bless,
Her charity almost becomes excess.
Wealth may be courted, wisdom be rever'd,
And beauty prais'd, and brutal strength be fear'd ;
But goodness only can affection move ;
And love must owe its origin to love.
*******
OF gentle manners, and of taste refin'd,
With all the graces of a polish'd mind ;
Clear sense and truth still shone in all she spoke,
And from her lips no idle sentence broke.
Each nicer elegance of art she knew ;
Correctly fair, and regularly true :
Her ready fingers plied with equal skill
The pencil's task, the needle, or the quill.
So pois'd her feelings, so compos'd her soul,
So subject all to reason's calm controul,
One only passion, strong, and unconfin'd,
Disturb'd the balance of her even mind :
One passion rul'd despotic in her breast,
In every word, and look, and thought confest ;
But that was love, and love delights to bless
The generous transports of a fond excess.
2.3k
A diagnosis of masturbatory insanity
is the inevitable conclusion
that I, as a fellow onanist,
debaucher of sheep,
and baby goat buggerer
have bestowed upon your befuddled mind.
Your insistence in frequenting
the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution
and self evacuation of one's seed
with mutual onanistic pursuits of sodamistic bed fellows
and other anti Christian pursuits,
have finally brought a visitation of madness
to the perverted soggy mess
masquerading as your brain;
If one may make an
advantageous suggestion
to your befuddled self,
it would be to seek out a restorative nervous elixir
or wrist strengthening electuary,
the former of which would aid in the
"compos mentis" of your good self;
and the latter is extremely efficacious in the
soothing of onanist wrist
and vinegar stroke eye.
but alas; neither is of use against the
" ejaculatio praecox " of foetid poetry..
your Servant, Obadiah Grey.
Secretary for spermatorrhea conservation
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
O Thou, the Nymph with placid eye !
O seldom found, yet ever nigh !
Receive my temperate vow :
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,
And smooth unalter'd brow.
O come, in simplst vest array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd
To bless my longing sight ;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chaste subdued delight.
No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell ;
Where in some pure and equal sky
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye
Thy modest virtues dwell.
Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye ;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening through this vale of tears
A vista to the sky.
There Health, thro' whose calm ***** glide
The temperate joys in even tide,
That rarely ebb or flow ;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild, unvarying cheek
To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage
With settled smiles to meet ;
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread
He bow'd his meek submitted head,
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.
But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy !
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy
To tell thy simple tale ;
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss rose, and violet, blossom round,
And lily of the vale.
O say what soft propitious hour
I best may chuse to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway ?
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid ;
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whispering thro' the shade.
2.1k
Proudly self diagnosed as non compos mentis , the gallivanting hermetic of Hill Country , walking barefoot this evening , scantly clad , joyfully whistling beneath astonishing skies of blue , fields of clover , clear running creeks , copious woodland greenery ! A fickle , fanatical , fervent lover of every creature the forest has to offer ! Rolling hill , pasture and homestead , Wood duck , blue jay , otter and crawdad ! Every rooster , wild turkey and dairy cow ! A boisterous , benevolent , painfully reverent disciple of Earth and sky , lover of cascading brooks , placid lakes , the cool breeze , bumblebees and centipedes , bobcats and chickadees ..
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
*Today, yes today.
I found something new about you,*
Those philosophical thoughts of yours keep
repeating the same chains-rhymes, that circulate
in the air - showing me
that you are that worth;
to keep, to treasure for.
When those sparks of fire arises,
Let me be the water,
To be the tranquility of yours, to deliquesce you.
When those 'non compos mentis' thoughts of yours emerge,
Let me be the scholar,
To figure them, to decipher them for you.
However, the truth is my love,
Even after breaking those codes,
Smashing those unbreakable walls and barriers
of yours;
I will never fully understand you,
as you yourself don't.
The thoughts of me not having you;
disrupts the sea within me,
destroys the fort within me,
Sayang (read:love),
those inequalities of ours should not be
the river that separates two lands,
the wall that separates two nations,
the line that separates between black and white (even the grey exists)
Promise me that you will
bare with me, will you?
Even promises are meant to be broken.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
He hears voices; but do you hear his?
Spitting crystals from his teeth,
he says he drank the magic of time
and now every second passing of mine is nervous
knowing every passing second of his mind.
His internal monologue eternally seeping into external,
leaking into the verbal.
He wears many faces; many places know his steps.
How do you react when you see him?
Do you retract and take action to extract yourself
from his immediate surroundings? I do.
His impact is astounding, found in my hometown
are two types of intimidation;
the vexed son and the wrecked **** of Wrexham.
Giant in the crowd, bald with a dead stare.
Constantly looking down, clothes so thin with many a tear.
Academic with his head in the clouds, to look at,
epidemic with his eyes to the ground in reality.
Local myth whose pith is to be barefoot,
you daren’t look. Innocent elder, non compos mentis,
tells you she carries bombs.
It carries on, in plain sight
there are so many vacant minds walking these streets.
They incite fear, recite dreams and live near
the edge. Of the kerb. Of the absurd.
I have had the chance to meet some frail lives,
one gave me their last drop of wisdom and the tale of his bullet wound.
He told me to remember where I was from.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
.
My lute doth sound
With music soft and sad this pitchy night,—
A plodding ground
Largo e sostenuto play'd by a wight
Long dead, and living yet to his despite.
He gins to sing.
His voice is strange, and ghostly is the tone.
The song, a thing
Witless and wordless, compos'd is of a groan,
And a long, drawn-out, agonizing moan.
About his *****
The plaintive melody painful is to hear.
The song recalls
A time long-past—a very distant year—
When they were clipp'd to please a sadist's ear.
A throbbing pain
Resonates, sounds in every sombre note;
And like a rain
Of wept droplets from a sad fountain, mote
Forever be the weirdness in his throat.
O.O
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
***Fallen under a darkly cast spell
eerie spectral vibrations in my bones
music compos'd upon churchly organs
rushing shivers up my uncompromising spine,
demons playing charades on blacken'd keys
heart bleeds a dull beryl hue of expir'd crimson
mind whirling in gray'd remuneration tunes
dance tracks takes fight without raven's hindsight
commission'd by devil's own apathetic self***
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Air was filled with love
She was oblivious
Too naive to be compos mentis
Then something extra-mundane happened
She was enchanted by a smile
That everlasting smile made her go loony
Those eyes were twinkling like a star
Too close yet too far
That face was shining so bright
Slowly her feelings were blazed down
He faded like a rose, evanesces
Something pricked her eyes, Perplexed
And she was doomed by one thought
The thought of not seeing him again
The thought which discerned her
That he was just an illusion.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
My dreams have lost their luster and I read them easy now
With everything in lucid rhyme that doesn't skip a sound
I'm summoned by a certain note and open both my eyes
And what constructs the things I see puts hoods upon the lies
But how can I approach them now without becoming stained
Without becoming subject to the motives they've unchained
In retrospect I take a step, enough to make a start
Without delay my legs begin to move our worlds apart
In time I'll reach the ground I knew and tended to, before
Though blind I be my hands contain the key that sealed the door
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Beautifully cultivated and so carefully crafted
Into intricate designs of the mine
Are words flowing from perfect lips
So lovely they could slow down time
For all the world would turn and gaze
At the colour of sounds swirling in the marvelous ways
Tying stomachs in knots and setting hearts on ablaze
I find the words and in the right place
Compos a tale with the emotional weight
I can order the order of these words in my corner
To flow from your tongue in fluttering fervor
Or drop your tone line a sun setting lower
The power of these words an invisible wonder
Creating these moments for you
So see what I see and feel what I fear
Taste what I love and hold these things dear
The stars in your eyes are more than real
And the light of your mind so brightly shines
I capture these moments for you
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
She creases her forehead in confusion
She wonders what they say as they pass her by
What are they saying, to whom and why?
They murmur, frown, giggle and titter
As if they have no emotional filter
The little she hears almost brings her to tears
Do they dance to the tune of some shadow puppeteer?
Call them rumors, gossip, lies, hearsay or fabrication
Call them improvised news or forged information
Little difference would it make.
Malicious whispers, known to topple empires
Sunder relationships and cause death
Her chest hurts and she can’t seem to take a breath
As her heart tumbles in her chest, her mind is drawn to Wilkinson v. Downton
In that moment, she could almost relate to Miss Wilkinson.
Ware those Whispers
They travel far and wide
But their source is always close to home
Who tattled? Was it a loved one or a close friend?
She may never know.
Ware those whispers.
They may have as little as a kernel or as much as a boatload of truth
At this point, the defence of truth is surely moot
She called them girls, squad, friends and besties
In their company, she was merely lollygagging
Behind her back, their tongues were wagging
A mere misrepresentation can cause complete devastation
They scoff at her frantic utterances of truth
To them, it is no more than mere superstition
She retreats into her Fortress of Solitude
In this bubble of quietude, she lifts her hands in gratitude
Though she knows it is no more than a blanket fort of self-deception
They continue to natter and chatter
She ceases her cries of protest, for it no longer matters
In calm desperation, she starts to twine the hanging rope
But wait, suicide is still a crime under the law
She stands helpless as the whispers sneak past her defences
She grips her head in an effort to drown out their voices
To this they mutter, “look, surely she is non compos mentis”
Dear child, let them run their mouth for God is thy witness
Guard your tongue for the walls have ears
Calm your heart and hear no whispers
Let them speak, they are no more than vipers
Do not be sad, though you may lose some friends
It is only the beginning and not the end
They may think they have you assessed
But they have no idea how much you’re blessed
And at all times, ware those whispers.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
*diaphanous girl
a headless masquerade
her black lipstick and shivering pearls
giggle like earthquake chandeliers
festooned buttocks
curves a lyrical hell of desire
pocket eyes
dead suns
aloof
yield vacant split azure vault
a fetish horror
zoomorphic and decapitated
a thrilled non compos mentis
her mouth widens
like a line turning into a circle
turning into a jagged city
of twining red wet mayhem
fish head stare
and toothy kisses
on red abdomen posy hook
jutting her spine for sadistic fires
she rolls her velvet thighs
wriggling
a wrench
and twitch
a mad headless lunar sputnik
circumambulates spit tongue sputum
she is the eye in the sky of eternal night
her spirit impaled upon
torrential mountain libidos
impaled on a wild life park of *****
wet ********* a basket of skulls
she nestled
her depraved tilted crown
lilting onto the stained guillotine
saying come on
i can hardly wait to get started
make me the ghastly queen
goddess of the witching hour
bone blood
and black glitter dead of night
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
She thinks,
she thinks she could quite like you,
she wonders,
she wonders if offers ever genuine,
are they worth playing with?
In her life,
genuine is non-existent,
she may even grow to love you,
now,
those roses thorns are all stripped bare,
the once decadent silver foliage,
repatriated to the garden,
to be mulched into dreams of what may come,
compost for the compos mentis,
should the lady of the day be lucky?
she was right to doubt,
so right!
(C) Livvi
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Were you well as sunlight's ascendancy left darkening footnotes everywhere?
Their cerebral pitch and polish--
non compos mentis, were you well?
Stalactited as Nostrefaru's leaking enamel...emergent, crooked shape of a shifting focal point overspread to no more of itself.
Your sun hissed as it plumbed its depth...covert feelers circumscribed the injunction of tongue caught at speak, bifurcated and serpentine.
Wherefrom runnels of india ink ran, corresponded with stones to their haphazard period, numb with duplication...broken down nervously.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
She wants me to
believe that her
bibulous moon calf
copulates with
her in her slumber.
She's too far
gone for me to
**** with.
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 9:26 AM UTC
I want to change.
I want to feel it rushing through my veins,
growing in my bones
and threading through my thoughts.
I want to change for better this time,
rather than worse.
I want to change in a way not only I notice.
Strangers will look at me and think
"She's a new person now, look at her aura"
I want to prove to my surroundings that I can bare to be compos mentis.
Mother nature will close around me in a way I can finally understand.
Stress is no longer an obstacle but an opportunity.
Uncertainty is no longer scary, but alluring.
I can't stand to see my time go wasted.
Chances never taken.
My mind, body and soul will be one,
not three.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC
I do not know what the trouble was that caused this.
It was soft, supple, and bright.
It was whole, and I watched it all I could,
My mouth agape with love and joy.
I hugged it closely to my ***** like a babe,
And felt the fluttering thump of livingness.
I held it as it dried to dust.
What loss! What dissolution!
What betrayal of trust!
I am soiled with the ashes of what once was
And what could have been.
I wash these blackened hands again
And again, yet the smell,
The burning stench of rot
Has soaked into my very flesh.
I tote it now, like a badge, the black hands.
I am a murderous brute.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
There's no need for you to worry
No need for you to fret
I've been to see the doctor
And he says I'm not a threat
He says that I'm not dangerous
And I will be okay
And that the voices in my head
Will one day go away
If unhinged were bottle rockets
I might light up the night sky
I could snap at any moment
But I promise not to bite
Don't be nervous I'm not contagious
Though I'm not a betting man
My mind's just on hiatus
Out building castles in the sand
So you see there's no need to worry
Or call the authorities
But if non compos mentis came in Slurpees
I'm pretty sure my brain would freeze
Perhaps I see things differently
Than the normal side of town
Doesn't mean I'm pushing crazy
I'm just tugging on its hand
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:01 AM UTC
i aspire to write great poetry,
where words carry the remains of the inconsolable population inked with misery.
i've bathed in the conclusion it's the only factual part of me.
concrete & sturdy.
practitioners drain me of life then use my own words to keep me strapped & straight on a gurney.
& then they carry me away.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC