"madmen" poems
for leather accrues
The miracle of the streets
The scents & smogs &
pollens of existence
Shiny blackness
so totally naked she was
Totally un-hung-up
We looked around
lights now on
Top see our fellow travellers
~~~
I am troubled
Immeasurably
By your eyes
I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply
The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain
And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain
~~~
She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
just out of reach
A candle stranded on
a beach
While the sun sinks low
an H-bomb in reverse
~~~
Everything human
is leaving
her face
Soon she will disappear
into the calm
vegetable
morass
Stay!
My Wild Love!
~~~
I get my best ideas when the
telephone rings & rings. It’s no fun
To feel like a fool-when your
baby’s gone. A new ax to my head:
Possession. I create my own sword
of Damascus. I’ve done nothing w/time.
A little tot prancing the boards playing
w/Revolution. When out there the
World awaits & abounds w/heavy gangs
of murderers & real madmen. Hanging
from windows as if to say: I’m bold-
do you love me? Just for tonight.
A One Night Stand. A dog howls & whines
at the glass sliding door (why can’t I
be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine
revs & races against the grain- dry
rasping carbon protest. I put the book
down- & begin my own book.
Love for the fat girl.
When will SHE get here?
~~~
In the gloom
In the shady living room
where we lived & died
& laughed & cried
& the pride of our relationship
took hold that summer
What a trip
To hold your hand
& tell the cops
you’re not 16
no runaway
The wino left a little in
the old blue desert
bottle
Cattle skulls
the cliche of rats
who skim the trees
in search of fat
Hip children invade the grounds
& sleep in the wet grass
’til the dogs rush out
I’m going South!
40.3k
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls
Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle
Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms
Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues
Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare
It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
sway with me, everything sad --
madmen in stone houses
without doors,
lepers steaming love and song
frogs trying to figure
the sky;
sway with me, sad things --
fingers split on a forge
old age like breakfast shell
used books, used people
used flowers, used love
I need you
I need you
I need you:
it has run away
like a horse or a dog,
dead or lost
or unforgiving.
15.5k
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreadful cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but not from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless.
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
11.1k
You changed the colors of your hair
We don't care
You got an A on your test
We don't care
You got a new car
We don't care
You recieved a promotion
We don't care
You ate at that new resturaunt
We don't care
You bought new dress to flaunt
We don't care
Children are starving
Madmen are are carving
Up women they grabbed of the streets
Say goodbye to our heartbeats
Soldiers are dying
Innocent people are crying
we can try to fight starvation
But we are headed to damnation
but you don't care
It has nothing to do with you
just keep breathing your clean air
You have more important things to do
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.
© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
Never would I have thought
What this piece of paper had brought
Inked in its first days
It uplifted us into a golden age
but as its letters faded and disappeared
the king and his madmen reappeared
with his forged steel and crude command
The paper was soon banned
now the ink has evaporated
and the paper has lost its grace
our future is ill-fated
tomorrow comes the stone age
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees,
But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;
She is a Gypsy,—will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her;
A Jilt, whose ear was never whispered close,
Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her;
A very Gypsy is she, Nilus-born,
Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar;
Ye love-sick Bards! repay her scorn for scorn;
Ye Artists lovelorn! madmen that ye are!
Makeyour best bow to her and bid adieu,
Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.
6k
we are the masters of self-destruction
trying to numb the pain with wine
and drugs
and smoke filling up our lungs,
we write down in lines with no rhyme
all the things
that make our souls burn and die.
our poems bleed
we drink their blood
then we write again,
listening to stupid songs all night
wishing sometimes we were deaf
wishing we were dead.
we let the doors open
anyone with a knife can come inside
cutting our hearts in half,
any tear is welcome
to create the ocean around us
in which we deliberately drown ourselves.
masters of self-destruction,
our bodies are temples where dying souls hide,
we run till our legs are broken
jump off cliffs
go between sharks' cheeks
forgetting to sleep
to dream
we bleed
we drink
we love
and hurt
it's a madmen game we play
each day
laughing hysterically
while slowly taking steps to the graves
we dug for ourselves,
the masters of self-destruction we are
lunatics
worshiping what's not for us to adore
crying
hiding
falling again
and again.
legs broken,
hearts cut and eaten
flesh ripped from our bones
lungs full of water
ears burnt
our eyes scream
but that's fine
'cause we are the masters of self-destruction
and our life is just a mad game
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes
Of children hordes
Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park
Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through
With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom
Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood
The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy
Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense
And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge
I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp
I’m here because it’s a riot
My head can throb to the jittery birds
And the blasts of carsong
It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to
** ** **
Ketamine days and the lolling slums
To make sure the insane stay insane
And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds
And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair
And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more
We don’t pretend to understand what we see
In subway grates thirty feet wide
Like the earth punching out of work for a bit
Opening to you her *** belly
So you can check out the strips of metal inside
Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze
Shoots you through the turnstiles
The train squeals and grinds down our eyes
With thoughts as slow as ketamine
Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation
We’re listening to ‘til sundown
** ** **
Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills
Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes
Squared off with police in the park
Being beaten for the fun of being beaten
Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets
And you grow up to the loony mumble
Of the woman who knows the boat
Moored at the end of the street
Mansion of the stray cat colony
You help her with her daily chore to feed them
Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless
And puking in tandem all over their house
Living off generous dying folk
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
The Genius
Philosophizing the universe
One who thinks of quadratic theories of space and time
On his free time
The one who thinks of beautiful poetry
To a delightful muse
The Madman
Inventing ways he can put math to his cause
Always thinking of things to invent
Ideas- a storm of them
Intelligence- enormously, yes
Standing behind a corner
Stalking his love
I ask you:
Is there much difference between madmen and geniuses? Aren't they the same?
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,
Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,
Love in her gear is slowly through the house,
Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,
Hauled to the dome,
Comes, like a scissors stalking, tailor age,
Deliver me who timid in my tribe,
Of love am barer than Cadaver's trap
Robbed of the foxy tongue, his footed tape
Of the bone inch
Deliver me, my masters, head and heart,
Heart of Cadaver's candle waxes thin,
When blood, spade-handed, and the logic time
Drive children up like bruises to the thumb,
From maid and head,
For, sunday faced, with dusters in my glove,
Chaste and the chaser, man with the cockshut eye,
I, that time's jacket or the coat of ice
May fail to fasten with a ****** o
In the straight grave,
Stride through Cadaver's country in my force,
My pickbrain masters morsing on the stone
Despair of blood faith in the maiden's slime,
Halt among eunuchs, and the nitric stain
On fork and face.
Time is a foolish fancy, time and fool.
No, no, you lover skull, descending hammer
Descends, my masters, on the entered honour.
You hero skull, Cadaver in the hangar
Tells the stick, 'fail.'
Joy is no knocking nation, sir and madam,
The cancer's fashion, or the summer feather
Lit on the cuddled tree, the cross of fever,
Not city tar and subway bored to foster
Man through macadam.
I dump the waxlights in your tower dome.
Joy is the knock of dust, Cadaver's shoot
Of bud of Adam through his boxy shift,
Love's twilit nation and the skull of state,
Sir, is your doom.
Everything ends, the tower ending and,
(Have with the house of wind), the leaning scene,
Ball of the foot depending from the sun,
(Give, summer, over), the cemented skin,
The actions' end.
All, men my madmen, the unwholesome wind
With whistler's cough contages, time on track
Shapes in a cinder death; love for his trick,
Happy Cadaver's hunger as you take
The kissproof world.
3.4k
Pitter Patter
Fall the rain
The dwelling
Bedlam of London
Residence of the insane
Behind metal rusted bars
Shall they forever remain
Raving madmen
Who chose with the mind's chaos to lay
How many poets
Are in the echoing screams
The artist's visions
In lifeless eyes
A vacant being
The mad king rife with venom
Sitting upon corruption's throne
The sculptor
Genius hands
Frozen into stone
Frightened into psychosis
For fear of being alone
Pitter Patter
The maniacs clatter
Lightly falls the rain
Upon the dark roof
As the lunatics howl
Pitter Patter
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author's base. All material is subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
I'll tell you a story about two young brothers.
Like fire and smoke, that's what was said.
Always together, laughing and singing,
Sharing adventures, sharing their bread.
One day these two brothers both became lovers.
Yes! They both fell in love at the very same time.
Though always before they'd shared all their secrets,
This was a secret they would not confide.
Each of the brothers went into the garden.
One picked a red rose, the other a white.
They rode off at sunset, not one word between them
In opposing directions, into the night.
At the balcony window of her father's veranda
Rosa is anxiously scanning the street
Pablo is late now, soon Hector will ride up
This cannot happen! They surely will meet!
Rosa hears hoof beats from different directions,
Riders approaching along cobbled streets.
Each bearing a rose, and a heart full of passion
Brothers no more, but two rivals that meet.
A challenge is offered and is quickly accepted.
Their swords are both drawn before Rosa can speak.
She cries out to stop them, their blood's screaming louder.
They fight like two madmen and fall at her feet.
Their life ebbing from them, they lie there before her,
Rosa is sobbing, "Oh what have I done?"
She kisses their lips, so cold now and pallid,
And sheds her tears on them, so soon to be gone.
Bending over her lovers, they whisper to her,
"Take these two roses, and plant them tonight
on each side of your window, they'll grow up together.
Our love will be with you, though we die in this fight."
That's the story he told me, when I was a small boy,
When I asked my papa of that house on the right,
With it's balcony window grown over with roses,
Twining together, the red and the white.
And each day at sunset, Rosa goes to the old church.
She kneels at the altar to say her long prayers.
Lighting two candles before the Mother of Mercy,
One red and one white rose she lays gently there.
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 4:39 PM UTC
I took care of others, walked in their shoes,
got their trivial pains and forgot my loyal legs...
If I present you the baneful thorns I have trodden,
would you be ready to follow me again and barefoot?
My mind will always be bitterly cold
as an intact valley and never understood...
Though I am sure that you do not care,
I feel well, very well, except longing.
Your dreams are flying even everywhere
while I try to stop contemplating...
You know, I am a bit chatty when I am inspired
and the poet inside me never gets tired.
You can't grasp how painful it is to emanate a poem,
how you go out of your infatuated mind...
When 'clevers' seek for justice, but only for themselves,
there is nothing else purer than the tears of madmen.
So, happiness would have been an evident injustice,
if all of the people attained their desires.
I have faced many types of mental battles,
but no war is harder than the lack of love inside.
Love is living your life for another one's sake,
sacrificing everything with honor and pride...
Now I am sure that there exists no hate,
but just does the love of hatred indeed.
Before the absurdness of irrevocable fate
only love will save us in eternity...
No feeling will help you to be deeply blessed
while mass is spurious and loners are obsessed...
As you **** your hopes you gain fake freedom,
but free slavery will still be going on,
sometimes feeling oppressed, depressed, repressed...
However,
Invincible I am before such odd jobs
and I have found ways to keep myself up.
Now I live slowly till the time begins to blur,
paradoxes take place within my dark thoughts,
I divide the time to its perpetual aeons,
all the rules and limits I swear to deny
and save the endless time when we were eye to eye...
Through your looks the heavenly sky is clear
and all the possibilities are real there...
My benevolent angel,
let the eternity recur from the start,
only the eyes of blinds do not show their hearts...
I feel very sorry and deeply upset,
when the human inside silently regrets ...
Yet I am too clumsy to move mountains,
to achieve sanctity which I want to serve.
I wish I made you happy at my any chance,
But I can only make you happiness itself...
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe,
Now that my symbols have outelbowed space,
Time at the city spectacles, and half
The dear, daft time I take to nudge the sentence,
In trust and tale I have divided sense,
Slapped down the guillotine, the blood-red double
Of head and tail made witnesses to this
****** of Eden and green genesis.
The insect certain is the plague of fables.
This story's monster has a serpent caul,
Blind in the coil scrams round the blazing outline,
Measures his own length on the garden wall
And breaks his shell in the last shocked beginning;
A crocodile before the chrysalis,
Before the fall from love the flying heartbone,
Winged like a sabbath *** this children's piece
Uncredited blows Jericho on Eden.
The insect fable is the certain promise.
Death: death of Hamlet and the nightmare madmen,
An air-drawn windmill on a wooden horse,
John's beast, Job's patience, and the fibs of vision,
Greek in the Irish sea the ageless voice:
'Adam I love, my madmen's love is endless,
No tell-tale lover has an end more certain,
All legends' sweethearts on a tree of stories,
My cross of tales behind the fabulous curtain.'
2.9k
Miles of highway pass me by.
So many beautiful places.
Yet apon nights reflection I cannot even try.
She waits down near that red Georgia clay.
So many names to recall.
But only one brings a tear to my eyes to say.
Jasmine scented dreams hang like spanish moss
in my mind.
My soul does linger apon a southern shore
for the one I could never leave behind.
Ive travled the four corners
From the lights of Vegas to isolation of planes Montana.
I can forget all but my sweet savannah.
People many inviting yet none lure me to stay.
All night dinners frequent flyers.
loving like madmen only to vanish with the day.
We are pirates of land.
Giving all sacrfice the soul.
The tramps of being in demand.
Should I stray to oceans view.
Cocktails by the beach front bar.
Taste of peach mixed with strawberries and bannana.
So sweet to the taste apon painted lips.
But none can ever quench the thirst.
For the sunset of savanna
Nov 19, 2009
Nov 19, 2009 at 10:53 AM UTC
Spurred on by scarecrow's
chemical coercions
convicts and sick souls
spill out into the streets
To slice dice
cook and eat
An orange jumpsuit army,
a crushing orange wave consumes
The neighborhoods and avenues
Chaos is constant
Carnage is complete
No single hero can quell a wave of madmen
well acquainted with violence
Like an avalanche of razors, and ambulance sirens
Wielding improvised blood letters
And bone snappers
Citizens scream and flee
Consumed by the visions
Contained in the cloud of fear
It is clear
it is going to be a wild time
in old Gotham tonight.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find your mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
2.4k
The nights are
filled with corrupt
doctors and cops.
Justice, like a dog bite.
Madmen prey on
the weak and needy.
This seedy town ain't got
nothing for me.
I'm heading out west,
get a longboard
ride the breeze, and
taste the waves...
all the way to
Hawaii baby.
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 12:30 PM UTC
I saw lot's of gold men
strutting out in the desert,
spinning themselves
like drunken madmen
warped on internal-sin.
They fell at your feet
like arcade-magic,
the way you want it.
But you gave it away
to the whole team.
So sultry & wanton,
cravings, cravings, cravings,
screaming such sexiness,
scheming your selfish desires,
another everybody's girl,
saving nothing &
not much left to give.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Glitterati Gangsters gaze
with commanding stares
and broken plates glass blown and open gates
There she sits eyes
all holding
all knowing
synchronicities shatter the scene
Sparkling
each blink initiates a flood of flaming diamonds
that lash out like hot irons
Eyes like this entice and take
Each blink unlocks a new mystery
as she grinds resistance in her teeth
Igniting my lust
Sparkling
each blink creates a dawning sun
Her gaze inflames ten thousand ways
She wields sparkle
like madmen spray sarin
With sparkling abandon
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC