"madnesses" poems
From within a blackened heart
spawns madnesses twisted Invictus,
a severed head sat atop a plinth, filled
with decaying thoughts of cyanide and citrus,
completely crazy, inverted, perverted,
infected with an insanity that dances from the eyes -
pouting lips tempestuous and alluring
from the tip of a tongue he sews insidious lies,
roosting upon the bleeding emotions of others
a vile disassociation sanity can't pertain,
charred lips from suckling the ******* of Hell
the back-broke miracle nature refuses to explain,
exhaling noxious fumes, a pyro-manic incense,
one soul re-arranged, deranged and blisteringly intense;
so much so, it disgusts me beyond words -
so kick the rotten apple,
watch the maggots writhe within thou sour curds.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
It's just a tease
It's just a joke
I'm sure that she
Can take much more
'Twas just the cat
'Twas just the diet
'Twas just the meds
That kept her quiet
Help her soul
Her soul is fine
But save her mind
From what's behind
Thunderstorms and razors
Linger in mind
"I'm fat , stupid and weird"
Is what's behind
So the purging came
Like a knight in shining armor
And the freeing of pain
Came running through her veins
And all she ever needed
From all of these madnesses
Was the thought of silence
Being only a cut away
Because It was just your tease
And It was just your joke
That made her think
Happiness is just a hoax
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
The body of a woman's neutral fineness embraces the chords of my steel guitar; laughing about all the points that I've been chasing after. Or just running away- no more for today. Christ, you slipped but lied too many times before, and while you plunge your wrists into your knives, I thought we had a second chance. But that was before, you throw sticks and stones and store your anger in the three fingers of the drink that clinks against our first date when I bought you a 25¢ ring. It was a children's vending machine, that brought me three years of happy things.
I don't want to be fake with you anymore. So go and find your Milky Way. I'm staying dumb, Britni I'm in trouble. All the stakes are different when you are chasing yesterday's killing.
And even the sound of the gunshots don't overcome the voice of the human tongue, in violence and war and all that's abhorred, even the smallest vesper or prayer a whisper of three little words can always be heard, even the faintest whisper can always be heard, as long as the voice that says it is honest and pure.
I was too tight to drive with your hands over my eyes, even in Inverness valley and South Santa Cruz, the wheelbarrow of berries I brought home for supper, ingested in each little bite we cut in half, was the best of the worst time that we ever had. And always we were. In love. In parking lots, playgrounds, at concerts, on airplanes, in bedrooms, custodian closets, laundry mats, and carrying our nap sacks, while we attempted to sleep and hide all night in the Shedd Aquarium. I just should have known better, it'd wouldn't be easy, with you I'm always wrestling sharks with a mirror, your pink sugar perfume from the chains on my wrists tied up across the room. While you didn't trust me I was always at home. Trust isn't love unless it's enough, unless it's enough to quit drugs. It's symptoms are the same as that of great madnesses.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
Rife with hate, and ripe with disdain
Full of love, yet smelling of pain
Within my heart only thou shalt remain;
until t'is sun dies and it all starts raining again.
And betwixt me, in my white chamber
Only upon thy smile I canst heartily ponder
Ah, having seen thee not since cold Sunday
As if I didst recall thee not morn yesterday.
I knowest I should carest not for thee;
for I thought not of thou and I.
But to my heart I no more lie;
it is not thou and I but we.
Ah, but why hath thou disappeared again, my love?
I who is sure thou art my half,
and even in t'ese all guilty, ye' gullible miseries dwell-
like a blind and dumb nut in a proud shell.
What am I to thee, after all t'is sorrow?
And th' pertinent pain I'th put to stand out and glow
In th' mind t'at I would somehow becomest thy rose
and lighten thee aft'r thy breezy frost
But thou wert not, thou wert not t'ere!
I am someone who should not care
How canst then I shove 'way t'ese tears?
Oh, all t'ese feelings are here-painted grimly blue and weird,
just like yon scarlet gloom our anguish hath feared.
Ah! Wherefore art thou, wherefore art thou, my skylark?
Let it just be th' moon who is to shine and spark
Glow and be as mad in its circles dark
As I leanest 'gainst thee in yon west park,
thoughts free from all nearby childish hassles
and dream, dream into th' realms of our loving puzzles.
Oh, but thou wert t'ere not, thou careth for me not!
Now all my long sentences maketh but t'is poem's story short
Yet again, after all I've finally realised t'at I loveth thee,
and for thou knoweth-amongst all t'ese abrupt madnesses
'Tis thy voice I still hopelessly long for, and thy caresses
art but t'at I secretly yearn, and shalt forever die for.
Oh, my thee! And triumphs of mine shalt lie in thee;
for from death to death I shalt only celebrate victory,
as long as thou dwelleth in me, and I in thy story.
Ah! And stiffen my soul once more-with thy kisses,
whilst stare into me with t'ose thick golden lashes.
Hidest our longings behind th' bushes-
and t'is sacred gift of our love,
as rain falls and redness flashes.
Tempt me into thy votive spell;
and please no longer say goodbye.
Giveth my heart joy and please me well;
put thy lips on mine 'till I die.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
The days pass
And the sunlight wheels along the wall
Spinning golden music through some days
And heaping cold white silence upon others
But always it comes
And always it goes
And always it changes everything.
What is a beautiful thought?
What does it take to have one and say it?
Must it rhyme, must it have a cadence
Or can it just fall free from the lips or the fingers
Or the eyelashes of someone whose days
Are stretching long like evening shadows
And whose nights are full of wishes on stars that are just far enough away
Not to recoil
From all that longing?
Tell me, what are dreams for?
The madnesses of a sleeping mind.
Why do they pierce so, what's behind them?
Tell me why the stars are just as far away when I'm asleep
As when I'm not?
I am a match that has been struck
But waits, frozen in that tiny space of time between
For years and years,
Defying physics and logic,
Yearning for a flame that is half finished gasping its first breath.
Someday it will leap upon me and I can feel its almost-heat,
But that day is not of my choosing,
And I have been struck
Struck many times
Without being incinerated.
I've been struck in every way-
Like a lone tree on a high hill
Like the dented head of a nail that, foolish, bent the wrong direction-
And I've always felt the heat
I've always felt the blows rain down
But I've never truly been on fire.
I want my bones to fill up with fever
I want every inch of me to be complete
None of these cold hollows and little nooks and edges
That let the wind whistle through- no
I have been struck more than enough times
And I'm begging life to let me burn.
Where are my days going?
I felt the thrill of flames in my heart
I felt hot metal in my veins- the stuff of stars-
And now I'm waiting
Slowing and stalling as it cools inside me
And the days are wheeling by on my walls
Like an ***** grinder's cart that pulls the sun along
And the only thing worse than being struck
Is being unable to ignite.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
your expressing sunshine
like unforgiving aspects
raising ******
camouflaging silver
meshing razor teeth
because back it up honey
lunacy is saccharine sweetness
your suppressing moonshine
chains of bitter freedom
rays are often hidden
beneath a skin of ashes
there is taste to savour
of warmth and promise
where madnesses collide
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
Our tongues know each other like old friends
And so do our eyes.
And they speak the same language.
Our heads seem to gravitate
to the same pocket of air and thoughts
and sadnesses and madnesses
You see me in every way I
wanted to be seen
but couldn't see myself
Light feels so good after being blind!
That night when the flame consumed me
and you held me and shared my burns
I looked up and the fire danced between our eyes
and you didn't look down
and you listened to my spitting rage
and told me with your eyes
"You are beautiful."
And I wasn't clenching my jaw because I
wanted
to hurt my teeth
even though I thought so, once
And I wasn't letting you anywhere
near close
enough
even though I thought so, once
It doesn't matter how or why
it only matters that it REALLY matters
I'm happy to be a child again
because a child knows how to learn
(feelings and things that hurt)
And I'm happy to be a child again
because a child knows what it wants
(without a reason)
and I want you.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 6:02 AM UTC
Willing though I am
I am not the 'full shilling' of a man.
You can stuff me full of worms and watch which way the earthworks turn or burn me on the stake,take your shot,make your play,willing though I am
I haven't got all day.
It's time you see that captures me and ties up the dandelion clock and there's no **** a doodle ****** me to wake and set this old man free,All
I see are mad old hens with fountain pens scribbling in the sand and the farmers wife who never had a life to call her own, sits and hones the carving knife,willing though I am she won't be carving slices off this old piece of ham.
What's normal now may tomorrow be somehow sanitised by experts who'd then advertise me as the fresh young thing and bring me to some underling who'd work in order just to pay the madnesses to go away,but
I remain,
the stain you can't remove and I turn again into the groove,another disc reminds you that I am
not quite 'the shilling'
not quite the man.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
When she wades into the water
spray flies through her,
The Devils daughter.
I should have gone to light the fire
to scare away the night within her
but
saddled with responsibility,
I couldn't see the way to go
I lost myself in thoughts of she,
handmaiden of my reverie.
The night became a friend to me
companion of my misery
she took it all away and then
with one stroke of a bladed pen,
emasculated with a smile,
she danced along the golden mile with
me in tow,
the friend of foe,
I would not want to see her go so
followed her into the black
and now I know that coming back
is an impossibility,
another friend of misery.
I get to know them all
I see the future rising up, before the morning
wakes me with a shot of coffee and my misery becomes
one more impossibility.
One day the cycle will outdistance all travails that I've been through and
chains will melt into one link, which will teeter on the edge,
the brink of madnesses possesss me,
another friend of all the misery,
but it's Christmastime,
so full of glee.
The grandchildren surrounding me
I think that I might wait and see
just
what tomorrow brings.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
It is Henry,the horse, taking me but of course on the madnesses of the white light,
out of sight and my mind and my eyes underlined with the redness of deadness,
I am ready to go,
In the strip club where girls rub their bodies up tight and bite on the hands that feed them,
I'm gone of course,riding the pale white horse,bucking the trend and wondering if, and if when it will end,
someone tends to the jailer who,on his horse looks much paler than me.
if this is free then I am chained and I have gained nothing at all,
watch me fall,watch me die,watch me breathe again and try to believe again.
Henry is always there
out in the background where
the devil sits high,
watching me try,
madness of course and Henry,
will be
the end or the
beginning of me.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
.
all on a saturday morning
••
••
••
On the .... Long River
we
In a tiny boat
On the river
•
We go Down
We go further. In
Into mysterious forces
Into other visions
Of reality
•
The Long Boat
On the Swift River
Thru dreams appearing
With love
///
All the man made gods who rule us
All the vast madnesses
Of
Hypocrisy
The naked daughters
Paedophilically playing
With the ***** of the MAN !
•
•
Creating the businessman is god
Mentality
Of the slave
•
We have forgotten
That
The Great RIVER
Flows toward an infinite Sea
//
Little puerile patriots
Painting by the numbers !
Visions of a dying society
•
•
I am still here !
//
I'm really not so hard to find
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
When madnesses o'er takes me
I shall watch the world burn in the light of your eyes.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
black crushed pupil tipping at its
peak with a mild sheen
discombobulating words
to their own contained madnesses
putting an apostrophe
on everything
it lays sight on
a salvage of disrupted vision
wrings true wind blowing through
the white steel of dangerous contraption
in the hand and takes to leaping
of faith, a restless voyage:
a volute image lightheaded
still with the passing to and from—
nomadic breath still splendidly
penetrating through all sound
and silence and words
like fire wily without intent,
the moon. only there. without a name.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
I am D.D. of Forever
dually desired
In mansions made of crystal
I gesture gorgeously with
Fingers to lips and mouths
I am one of many
Beautiful
Bashful
Ghoulish
Garish
Flaring
Flaming
Life-saving magicians of endless forevers
Sunken inside my brain
Seeking to share shorn madnesses
So far away from here
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
beautiful lyrics caress the heart of the broken one
trust is a scarce resource wraith like it floats above the fear
love is the drug that conjures these madnesses
the notes play upon heart dances in beats caught off guard
the thud is never beautiful.
lyrics take over
they speak my soul
they endure
as I endure
the long lost
caress of your innocent game
finding myself the victim
no longer able to play
the lyrics move over me
and I send them as
consolation of the broken one.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
So we have remained,
With the constancy of stubborn and vestigial elms,
Through any number of moons and Junes,
Equally as many improbable springtimes,
Madnesses of petunias and potholes,
But with a fidelity relatively unstrained, untested,
Our travails being minor things,
Trivial as opposed to titanic,
Our hithers and yons no more
Than the muted triumph of simply carrying on
And we could ask, one supposes
Have we truly loved, then?
Such questions are best left to poets and philosophers
(Grandiloquent fools with time and inclination
For such lines of inquiry)
And though the panorama of our time together
Will be an unprepossessing thing,
No strings heating up and crescendoing
As the camera pans wide in a sweeping crane shot
Of great craggy valleys, the zenith of white-capped peaks
(The lumpy moraines of our landscape,
Merely bits of sediment moved half-heartedly by the odd glacier,
Providing rather uninspiring visuals)
We suspect, no we know, know in such a way
That it is as unremarkable as blinking an eye
Or making some unconscious sound
Which annoys yet endears in the same moment,
That we would be all, give all,
Unreservedly and unhesitatingly immolating
Any thought or concept of self in service of the other,
And the notion that all of that occurs
Away from the watchful eye of director or camera
Does not diminish it in the least.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
I bit my tongue
The harshness hadn't gone.
Wondered if it was my drink
Or if it were the blue tears.
The bitternesses,
Which was keeping me drunk.
The madnesses,
Which was jamming me up.
But all I said was,
'Hi, you want some too?'
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 7:46 AM UTC