"hypnotherapy" poems
Frantic mornings can make me grumpy,
Got to get you both to nursery.
Get to the car we're gonna be late:
This is the time of day I really hate!
I'm seriously considering hypnotherapy,
To make these mornings a lot less hazy.
But - a saving grace - you are but three,
Which means you're often very funny!
And this morning is no exception,
As you always say something to break the tension!
And, as you are so young,
You often get the expressions wrong!
Like this morning in struggling to belt you in,
You looked to me with that lovely grin,
And declared so happily:
"Easy pie, daddy!"
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 10:43 AM UTC
impetuous ******* braying at blooming roses
chosen one flowing stream like into view
truth adjectively curtailed
so as to prove useless theory
researching hypnotherapy in lue of information
unpresented speeches sit dusty, shelved
lacking interested parties
showboating cowboy quoting comic books
gazes into starless night skies
pollution fills the space
particulates dance, unencumbered
free to display each nuance of wind movement
air currents placate emaciated youths
as the soft breezes are the only comfort in this new world
globalized idealism creating pop-culture idolatry
faceless masses praying to the media outlets
begging for entertainment and indoctrination
as the pain of thinking for oneself hurts too badly
corroded pineal glands beg for rebirth
injecting the need for fresh green vegetables into the minds
of the McDonaldized populace
showing glimpses of traditional values
based on equality and love
a low rumble creeps up from the bowels
buildings tremble and windows rattle
howls of insane laughter pour over the people
like the biblical flood
love?
equality?
fools notions or the games of little children
twice dubbed voice over auto tuned and through a megaphone shouts out
deafening the society it rules
we killed the hippies with ****
ruined the idealists with animal rights
and stopped the liberals
with cash payments
we have won
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
The city's best hypnotherapist
Can't seem to trick me into thinking you don't exist
With the shades drawn in his office
I remember tiny flashing thoughts
Of your breath rattling in your chest
Why won't you stop smoking cigarettes?
Of handwritten letters, begging
Your hands around my waist
Or as I wait,
the aspirin sliding down my throat
Thinking it would cure me of my broken heart
Of the words "I don't love you anymore"
Or
"I've been ******* her for months"
He can't make the thoughts fade
Of me on my back in the park
Blowing out smoke
Waiting for death while you fall in deep
Deeply, deeply, deeply
Out of love with me
I'm getting sleepy, very sleepy
As I fall into the grasp
There is no erasing
For what slipped through all the spaces.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
i need a healing song
playing cobbler to my soul
so young and so weary old
i stare down the sun
not even fighting
praying to melt
gentle ever as i've felt
i'm a boulder grounding lightning
pet the cats in the cages
raise inner children into sages
i need to throw my skin
like... like a spooked horse
and be blank again.
i'm a frenzied little star
waiting for a big bang
to confetti my cosmology
turn the skeletons to friends.
my body has turned so wrong.
my heart's been broke so long.
i need, i need a healing song.
won't you, won't you sing to me?
nobody, nobody gonna sing to me
nobody but
me.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
"The Drawn Ones
Not the chosen ones."
~Oda
"Let's go... thru Melodic Existence
Into Hypnotizing Non-Existence..."
~Oda
You can say it
However you want so
But things, come
and go.
Passing by
All Beginningless Time,
The River of
Never-Ending Lifetimes...
Sinous Word flow
Of Ever Rhyming
Saying So's;
So you can say...
Since Beginningless Time
Yet it could Never Be...
And so goes on to Culminate
Paradoxically United...
Becoming Defined
In You Looking back at it
Once Again....
....But otherwise,
A Prison of The Mind
Lost in the
Illusory Tide...
...And with each Passing Facade
Forms Begin to take Shape...
And So The Soul
Begins to Focal-Point,
Preluding a Flowing
Of Coming and Goings...
....Thru Melodic Existence
....Into Hypnotizing Non-Existence
....So it will go;
The Push and Pull
The Ebb and Flow
The Ying and Yang
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 8:34 PM UTC
The story is that Rachmaninov was depressed for three years from 1898 to 1901. Eventually he sought the help of Dr. Nikoli Dahl who saw Rachmaninov daily using hypnotherapy and psychotherapy. Rachmaninov responded favorably to these treatments. In 1902 he composed his Piano Concerto No, 2. There are, of course, many great and beautiful musical compositions, but Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 2, along with Beethoven's 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th symphonies, together with Bach's Brandenburg Concertos and his Toccata and Fugue in G Minor stand at the pinnacle of the world's pyramid of great music. I have written poems since my early 20s. A poem is not a symphony, but it is a work of art. Do I ever feel the way Rachmaninov felt when he heard the deafening applause after No. 2 was performed for the first time? Sometimes.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 4:31 AM UTC