"madcap" poems
Sun and snow
Rain, then the rainbow's glow
Melt, and a new awakening
So eager to restart the agony.
Days are not life
Just the wrapper
Encapsulating
All our strife.
Dreams are not hopes
Hopes are not dreams
We scurry madcap trails
Chasing all these things.
Clarity is not inspiration
Inspiration is not clarity
We dream so fiercely
We awaken the beasts.
We did the math
And found ways to cheat
We thought it through
And found ways to cheat.
Whether you lead or follow
In the same old hollow
The cheating ways
Spin us all around the circle.
No ejecta
No new-found paths
Spinning hugging misery
The nucleus of humanity.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
It begins brusquely in the dark, a hoary noise,
a tune which all the cats in town enjoy.
Yes, they stare at the stage for a sparkle of gold
to come forth from the shadows, the sound will take hold.
Rippling through the room, a devilish groan
rises, spirals high from an aged baritone.
The other musicians join in this depressing affair
and the men in their fifties are still fused to their chairs.
The sulky cello, whining trumpet slither into the mix,
the sadness fills the ears of several dozen beatniks.
Then with no caution comes a madcap flow
of music from the star performer, frantic yet mellow.
And it slows, then picks up, goes on for what feels like a year,
this rugged Jazz, no words but my, **** sincere.
Like something so eccentric that can't be left alone,
everyone captivated by the golden saxophone.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
I was never your protector, you abused my stoic nature
Madcap ****** for days on end, and copious substances, abused
The blaring music, disturbing the peace, rattling windows
and you dismantled my structure, and yours alongside it
I am just a house
I was never the crutch you needed, nor was I a friend
Remember those long nights on the town with raving girls
and you were irate when I fell to the floor; rich man's art piece
Now you snivel and scratch because you flushed me in haste
I am just *******
Pair me up with old white friends in speedball imprudence
Meticulous measurements in early days but you grew reckless
Now your ghastly macabre silhouette on back alley walls
Is all that remains in this dead town that you still saunter in
I am just ******
You put too much emphasis on me, to defend the sentient
and you stare me down on the kitchen table, questioning
You hold me close and I feel your brow, indecisiveness
and now I'm caressing your temple; bemoaning barrel
I am just a gun
You sit and attribute voices to the voiceless and inanimate
because for years you have repressed your depression
When you should have asked for help and not escapism
and today you end it all, alone and weeping for something you know not what
I am just your psyche
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
Searching for words to fill this gaping void,
Try as I may, It's just all too absurd!
As I try to rhyme and think of a word,
I just can't ignore getting played and toyed!
These feelings of bliss and joyous despair,
I just can't get you out of my head's care!
I stare at the screen, sitting on my chair.
With thoughts as blurred as my moistened glasses,
With you in my head, I just wear and tear!
As I walk back and forth in disrepair.
I sit back down, I wouldn't even dare...
This writer's block I often experienced,
Is as maddening as your invasion,
Of my madcap heart's reckless imprudence!
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 9:20 AM UTC
With your satiny hairs,
You amble without a normal foot.
But with a pristine look,
Your big eyes shines luminously.
Dear, Maybe people call you a handicap,
I call those bullocks a madcap.
Interestingly, what, I am a handicap mentally, here I reveal.
Everyday I fight inside the close door when night falls.
A few days ago your eyes have cried a lot,
Let me clear here, you are a daring person.
It gives me a reason to fight with his servants openly.
You are a bizarre, I don't know you Monica Sharma.
Though we did not shook our hands at all,
But whenever these eyes squints you,
A new story creates a History...
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the ****** snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
When the voices start talking
I start listening
They tell me,
"Your mom never loved you"
"Dad thinks your a joke"
"Everyone at school hates you"
"At lunch, you sit with a girl who can't even hear you"
"You are an outsider"
"Pull the BLASTED TRIGGER"
"JUMP"
I'm like the Deadpool to their Madcap
I am in control
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
eastern seas and trembling hands
do not take me yet
for the winds of these sails
have yet to become filled
with the salted tears
of turquoise valor
let this ship wander
the vastness of the open waters
and land alike
for the shores of distant territories
are carried upon the breath of the ocean
as if the ancient voices of seductive sirens
were calling me forth
their enchanting song
an enticing peril
that i dare not follow
my wary crew
i bid adieu
upon a wooden raft
sink not your anchor
for i remain an explorer
of the forgotten ways
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Sometimes I write nights, in the séance of the city
to the thrum of the sidewalk, the fume of the smokestack;
I scribble the madcap of it all, I furrow my nails in vinyl and dance
in memoriam,
my face blackened by storms in the crematorium;
there are those that watch the world through a window,
and those that are watched;
and if they have no voice in their manic stumblings; and if instead they
mutter
to the shadows for traction, to the swirl in the gutter, the outer rim of
silence
they will find a friction
to descend upon cement with an electric lunacy;
and though they will be outliers, they put out the candles
and write nights too;
within the funneled starlight, and the wheel of the sky,
we string our bodies astral,
in procession and out, similar in divergence, until similarity diverges
into steam and carbon
and time surges backwards to rejuvenate nights
and our visions are left clotted in their seams by
the dark.
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
All of a sudden I can no longer write
I’ve lost a tone, an evil glint in the eye
Lost the snicker of a sardonic, and instead found a
Muffler for madcap laughs.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 10:12 PM UTC
i've a plundering urge
to whom it is absurd,
the black teeth
the blood scribes
the woe, the whither,
the word
i felt seen from afar
telescoped warmth cups my right shoulder
and i expand from shrivel in your forgiving light
are you my soilmate ?
for you i prepare scents beading from my most sweaty regions
a moist sporing emits in nifty allium spritzes
i stammer to a standing position
and exercise my full height
sporting,
i swing and tap an annihilated aluminum bat
sounding out my specific code of fidelations
resonation through the ground
and suddenly you are near
receiving the humming
up the souls of your doughy bare feet
you shiver
i prance wildly and perfect kilter in my hips
i offer to preen you
i present you with a pyramid of spittle balloons
i **** myself a little
i sink my teeth into your side (it's not 'your jam'
but we recover the mood)
i give chase to you for you to be chased
and it's a wild kind of keen fun
and you are a madcap display of laughter and wide smiles
and within i feel a gordian nest
of some lust manoeuvre
(maybe we can copulate face-to-face ?)
pondering scars wounds that were much deserved
the white meat the bright stars delivered
who is rude to the rule of what is ours ?
i knew you
magnesium burn and unwholesomely dauntless
bold your portfolio always within an easy reach
your passionate simmering might you branded my eye
and now we're similar mites in a feather
simian partners surveying territory needs
and then you’re gone again
vanished
and we are distant minds that strike the hour together
like before
between our signals I am met with cross chatter
my hemispheres bicker
and retorting memories barrage
refunding the past
and taking you away from me
i am a mating dunce once more
i shrivel
May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 9:00 PM UTC
That grandiose colossus who
Stood astride
The envious assaults of sea
(Essaying, wave by wave,
Tide by tide,
To undo him, perpetually),
Has nothing on you,
O my love
O my great idiot, who
With one foot
Caught (as it were) in the muck-trap
Of skin and bone,
Dithers with the other way out
In preposterous provinces of the madcap
Cloud-cuckoo,
Agawp at the impeccable moon.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
There's a power inside
everyone
It cannot be quantified
could this be destructive?
or help us stay alive?
The line between
Mr Pink
and the
Madcap's laughs
For every gain
there was a loss
What gain?
a song
called
Arnold Lane
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
The living legend is ****** into a rut of pining for his splendid playwright
She was his everything
A new breed of woman
No societal entourage could compare
No jovial jubilee could top her
Her humongous measure of perplexity
Her grace
Her charm
Her mystery
He now despises himself for this moment of nostalgic weeping
The mucus makes it hard for him to breathe with his deviated septum
He looks for something to alleviate his sniffling
And eviscerate all his emotional anguish
Nasal spray and bourbon
He can breathe but the alcohol only exacerbates the visceral issue
And dampens his already flaccid spirit
Clouted with the disheartening reminder that it wasn't all her fault
He fumbles with the bottle while retracing the event in his mind
"It was the golden age of bronze metals"
"She was asked to do as she was told"
"A white lie"
"A foul up"
"An accusation"
"An accessory to ******
"Madcap ad libbed alibis and recounts verbatim"
"She turned on them, they killed her"
The bourbon was gone, his nose was stuffed again
Wheezing, gagging, crying
What's the word for when a living legend wants to die?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
i just looked at friedrich hölderlin's
life and thought: fair enough, Hegel might
get his bagel... but i'll have this madcap's
treaty of honour... the rest can have
the woman who will assuredly spend, and spend,
and keep the economical side of
things in tip-top ticktock... i don't mind death,
having embraced it once, my only fear of death is
a death that i should not wish to exercise against
the educational demonology of the Catholic church,
i.e. not exercising my rights to admit euthanasia...
as one poet said: the sane are too numerous,
too moralised, too cocksure and ***********
you can hear them talking but it just ends
up being a chance to hear them gagging
with a fur-ball... your thoughts on suicide are one,
but your thoughts on medical suicide are another...
that a: the joke wishes to die, what will the people
ever do next? cry? i believe in the Sinai Sun...
i believe in Taiyō as i believe in the Ensō -
Thai-yo-yo... if i am not allowed this luxury
i believe there's no need for a sofa, or a television...
or a care for your opinion being matched
to consider the way to live equal to mine...
your own the path sown and sewed...
each to our own straitjackets and the signature alive,
and epitaph dead.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
I’ve a coat with many pockets,
that’s special in its ways,
Although young when I first donned it,
still fits me well these days.
With a host of special reasons
for wearing it today,
It's gifted to my chidren,
when I reach my final day.
It’s got pockets full of memories
and others full of dreams,
from my ninety years of living,
with more to come it seems.
there’s a pocket for the future,
into which I hope to add,
all the moments I’ll enjoy,
be they jubilant or sad.
Should I feel downhearted:
an occasion that is rare,
I’ll recall a favoured happening:
or a moment I can share
with anyone that’s listening,
that has befriended me.
With a moment that I treasure,
I deem a priceless memory.
When friends have come together,
a common human trait,
we’ll reminisce on our early years,
and how we faced ill Fate,
We talk of our successes
and times of yesterday,
as for achieving the impossible?
We’ll brag the livelong day.
But there is a pocket hidden,
it’s one embedded deep.
Within it, lie my broken dreams:,
that have hurt me rather deep.
They rest with irksome memories:
that make me sad and blue.
as do my angry thoughts,
that I'll not disclose to you.
There’s memories that are cheerful:
there’s others that are sad.
Whilst others make me wistful,
for the better times I’ve had.
When I think the world’s against me,
I’m alone and feeling bored,
I’ll rummage through my pockets,
for the memories I have stored.
In its pockets by the number,
there’s many treasured dreams.
Amongst memories I cherish,
there’s a host of madcap schemes.
Despite pockets overflowing,
and others fully filled,
there’s plenty more to fill,
before my life is stilled.
Yes, my coat of many pockets,
is a cherished one I wear.
Though somewhat worn and tattered,
about it I really care.
It may not look inviting,
when hanging on a hook,
but Memories therein stored,
invite your second look.
Rhymer. August 10th, 2020.
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 6:37 PM UTC
I want you, no lie
Just not now
Not right now
Can't handle your madcap adventures
I'm still recuperating
Because I think your love broke my heart
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
I used to have passion
I used to have it along time ago
Now I just sit here
And take action
I'm a sad opportunist
Who lacks a bleeding heart
Without a beat or pulse
Just lock me away
I'm too busy, oh, I am
Too busy everyday
Lock me away, please
For I must be a monster
Oh, I cannot see what I should be seeing
I am too blinded by opened doors
You should crush it while you have the chance
An opportunistic chore
Oh, I'm too busy, I
The relentless sovereign
Stoked with such dreams
Prying off my partnership
***My love, my love
Of all such kinds
So well conceited
Yet I'm blind
I think it's good that you're trying hard
But you'd rather now bury me in our yard
I'm a stubborn wall who can still feel
My darling opportunist,
Our time may yield***
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
She is so many poems
Words in an endless sky
Reading her, and getting high
She is riding alone in a car
I am feeling so far away
Today, clouds drift away
Disingenuous words fall flat
Insincerity, your friend
Abandoned
Dusted lungs, bizarre psychotropics
The birds are chirping
the ground is hard
you lay, I was lying and lying
and madcap laughing
and the rest was drifting away
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Mij was a storm of laughter and defiance,
A stubborn spirit, ever demanding his way,
Yet when the drinks flowed, oh how he shined,
A madcap maestro in the delirium of night.
Johnny Thunders on the speakers,
Hanoi rocks and Lords of the New Church
Echoing through our wild, endless journeys,
Tunes that stitched our misadventures into memory.
He’d promise me refuge in sunlit Greece,
An open door to his scattered sanctuary,
A place I longed to visit,
But lost my courage amidst the clamor of his drinking.
Now, two years on, silence aches where he once roared,
And in the quiet, I feel the bittersweet pull
Of laughter mixed with grief,
Missing the man who was as difficult as he was dearly loved.
In every clink of glass and every chord played,
I hear Mij’s defiant laugh a reminder
That even in chaos and excess,
There was a spark of beauty, a story worth every flawed moment.
Feb 4, 2025
Feb 4, 2025 at 5:42 AM UTC
Some days,
I've forgotten to laugh.
My scowl says I'm being serious
while my mind loudly whispers
*you shit head
you're such a fuck up
watch you die alone
because
you can't do anything*
and so forth
and everything feels like I'm swallowing
porcupine barbs.
But when I talk to myself and remember
the silly goofy cuckoo bonkers
madcap absurd world I'm living in
where people care more about the environment than each other
are still arguing over whose good book is the best book
seeking to live a life like Jay-Z instead of His Holiness
paying bukoos of shekels to guys to who hit and catch ***** instead of those who teach their kids
while remaining ignorant of the stuff they're eating
I can't help but laugh then!
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
There's a house where the world
has stopped dialing...
But a rotary phone, that
has my number.
and plunders my unavailable
daily.
We blink like opening a mystery.
But we never brush the canvas
of any inspiration.
we gather in the fields of our golden jokes
and each the other are about
how nothing is the same that now
we see what eyes deny
jellyfish
and cotton
swabs.
but there's trees and eggs.
it's nothing how we remember
love and hate.
slow things are voices to recall.
but the matter of their wisdom
is bleach and peaches.
and perhaps a flightless
squab.
II
to endure is to be a living thing.
and to love is to die more
willingly.
but nothing procures the reality
like a dream.... and we cluster
precisely where we diffuse
Unkindly.
III
Let us walk where the treasures march
in impoverished enmity. but know
the different things that sanity
conspires to reveal.
we can be madcap and foreign
to our native selves -
but never once be alien
to what it means
in hell.
IV
heaven is a kind of grace that forgets you.
and trees and eggs
are something else
entirely
despite you.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
I wanna tell you a story,
Wherein I chose you and me
to be the protagonists
We met while waiting for a bus,
under the shed
Rain pounding on the sidewalks
The sky is a mix of blue and violet,
wind is whistling like a madcap
But the raindrop still reaches us
Our shoulders soaked
we were so wet
And we glanced at each other
Meeting each other's eyes
so we looked away fast
Silence...
You laughed
So I laughed
And we laughed our hearts out,
for no reason
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Winter sleeps both cold and deep,
while spring is a madcap scramble,
summer sings and jogs along,
but fall is a definite amble,
dropping hints of cooler times
with every leaf and bramble
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 11:11 AM UTC
It's just another night when the lights are bright
and the knights ride slowly with the stream
with the steam rising ragged in the cold evening air
and I swear they were laughing at me
being there.
But I was there and I did see
the history of old
strutting boldly down my street
going off to meet
that appointment to keep
back in 1642
with Cromwell and his madcap crew.
Where,
when the Crown lay heavy on the head
and the King had fled
an empty bed
a viper's nest
and no rest for the wicked or the Royal.
Those loyal did their best
but his head came off quite cleanly
obscenely
some might say
other's remarked,
'he'd has his day'
And as another night fades into obscurity
trapped between youth and maturity
no longer able to see the words that were penned
I look on
and long for
the day to end.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC