"maniacs" poems
In tunnelled darks, pastes of reminisce
Outward disjoint points to irrelevance
Spooned and coned in cold mountaintops
The darks of sorrows and trails of struggles
Persistence patterns of self satire in gloom
Sunken in identity crisis of broad oceans
Stormy seas spotlighted by beatific stars
Trajectory of spilled ice in recurrent motions
A mere past cocooned by fears and tears
Clouded in thoughts that cruise and decline
Greyed white imprinted by sudden sadness
Madness echoes on arched ancient bricks
Checkered maniacs of fulfilled passions
Filed and iced in cased prolific memories
Cascades of sunshine tickles to warmth
Orchards of glow that bloom and grow
Picked, ticked and unpacked from boxes
Attacked, nurtured and stored in bliss
Eventful lessons unfolds in untold augury
A mission as the known permeates and fade
Windowed eyes all line up in parade
Mirrored lights digest the haunted haste
A stranger to self, an ally to another
A dance of bright entwine a twist of blur
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
I'm considered to be nerdy
Awkward, not flirty.
They call me gay,
Because I Cosplay.
I must be a dork
Because Zelda's my lord,
And she's way cooler than any sport.
Could someone love me?
That couldn't be.
I watch too much anime,
And BBC.
I praise The doctor and Spock.
Even Sherlock.
Cause in my opinion
They're better than jocks.
Being nerdy is quite fun,
But you make me sound dumb.
We're accepting and caring
But please stop staring.
Am I making this boring?
Don't start snoring..
Just give me a chance.
I'll make it last.
We could play Skyrim or league.
Wait, don't leave!
I can be cool,
Just like you!
I can calculate big numbers in my head,
Or make a fortress out of my bed
I can be an ork, elf, or spy.
Just as long as it's allowed by the die.
I can cast spells online.
Don't worry, you'll be fine!
I can role play to the extreme!!!
That's right, I call it d&d.;
I'm proud to be a geek.
Yes, we're very neet!
We know our facts!
We're anime maniacs.
I'm good at mtg!
It takes skill to be like me.
I'm cool I tell you!
I'm grand.
But at the same time,
You don't make me feel great.
I'm a loser,
A dork
No, I don't like baseball, football, or hockey
I can't bench and I don't lift.
But I go to some pretty intense parties...
On Xbox.
My heart is bigger than my head..
No, not literally.
I'd bring you a rose
And write you a poem
You'd be my Rory.
This isn't the end of the story.
I'd love you more than
video games, Star Wars, and D&D.;
In the end,
You're always my MVP.
You don't have to lie,
I know you'll decline..
but my feelings won't change.
They'll always be the same.
Maybe I'd be cool..
If I were with you.
But that'll never be
Because you fail to see OTP.
Then again,
It's all good in the end
Because..
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Manga costs less
Than dinner for two.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a ******
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.
The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.
I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.
How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!
I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.
I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.
They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.
The box is only temporary.
3.8k
Patterned dots, existence connects
An anther to a stigma, reproduction
The pollen withers, pollution subsides
Colonies of bees vanish in the wind
Toxic genetic food wins in binge
Mother earth cries in pain, an ail
Food chains and supplies cut short
Globalised mass production of poison
Supermarkets stocking “all season”
Consumerism monopolies swell
The environment abused and misused
Plastic bottles displaced, a chemical sludge
The haunted “great pacific garbage patch”
Littered garbage, debris and chemical sludge
Humanity displaced, dissociated and divided
Ruining sea waters , floating landfill fueled
Probability of heightened population
Global panics, mimicked maniacs
Reductions of resources to feed all
Unsustainable long windy farms
Big roads, buried bills, stingy reality
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
When you’ve had enough
Of maniacs and hustlers,
Of fakes and phonies
And smooth talking hucksters
It’s time to pull back
And sort through the weeds
To find the flowers
And see what you need.
Not what you want,
That’s something different.
If your needs aren’t met
Life can get belligerent.
You need breath and water
And some other great stuff
Or you stop living a lot
And that is rather rough.
Once we move from needs
The rest are all your wants
And you can live without them
Despite all your rowdy taunts.
How many times have you heard
I need coffee when I wake up?
That is a case of your want
That comes in a handy cup.
Or, I need to buy cigarettes
But that isn’t really true.
You don’t think you’ll die without
I mean, not really, do you?
Or, I need some ice cream now
Or a cruller or two or three.
That doesn’t sound fatal
Unless you do that daily.
So, the best thing you can do
For your one and only body
Is to try your best to keep
The thing from getting shoddy
By separating the things
That your body best deserves
And realize that ignoring wants
Does nothing but get on nerves.
With that clearing of your head
And setting of new priorities
The Big Things of the day
Turn into pesky minorities.
Suddenly you see that you
Can choose who to ignore
And then see what you need
And need for nothing more.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
(Dad returned this to me tonight, apparently I wrote it in the 90s and he found it and saved it for almost 20 years)
Love hides in the moon,
Where lies and deceit hide too.
But you don't want what you got,
'Cause I'm just an astronaut.
God hides in the manic eyes
Of the maniacs you despise.
And if I'm just a man on the moon
Well then I'm still part of you.
If it will take a tragedy,
For you to see the truth,
Then I just hope I'm still here for you.
All things are fleeting,
And soon I'll be gone.
Gone sailing on ethereal seas
Of forgotten songs.
Joking 'bout my wrongs
With time's tides of traitorous throngs.
Laughing while the ones I love
Chase Maltese Falcons,
And society sinks shaking in withdrawal
From the loss of knowledge
That god is eminent
Throughout the body of existence.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
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 am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
What if machines ruled the world?
Whatever would there be?
If surgeons were all robots, without knowledge.
Just controlled by programmers.
Whose programs could be manipulated by international spammers.
All out to make a rapid buck.
What if all the soldiers were not human,
If all of them were robots.
What on Earth would be?
I guess with robotic soldiers, no soldier boys and girls would die.
The robots could battle each other.
No need to worry about hurting each others fathers or cursing their mothers
What if they became corrupted?
What ever would we do?
What if these metal and plastic maniacs ran amok?
Maybe a power surge, at the wrath of Thor and his thunderstorms,
Their circuits may be rather short.
A corral full dying robots, successfully caught.
Awaiting decommissioning by their human masterminds.
(C) Livvi
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
(Sung to Where Have All the Flowers Gone)
Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy American,
Better still, a red Russian.
Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's a guys like loonie Kim Jong;
A psychopathic American,
A dictator with no where to run.
Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all fine Presidents gone,
Biden was the last good one;
When will we ever learn,
Ego-maniacs can't govern.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
Let's see what you've got inside,
I rip you up, open wide!
Let's do some digging, fingers deep within
You think I'm done? Let's begin!
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
It was on Hallowe'en when we said we'd meet;
as we thought it might be romantically spooky;
and I trotted gaily along the pathway
through the dimly-lit park
where the predator gay *** maniacs roamed
hoping for a bit of backdoor action
and my excited little heart went
"YI YI YI YI YI YAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"
with eager anticipation
of a hot new nymphomaniac date.
We had been a-texting with
ever-increasing frankness
for several weeks and I was beginning
to get tired of wiping the keyboard clean
after each bout of frenzied
manual self-stimulation
which she had boldly urged me to
and the built-in camera was out of order
because of the damp ***** build-up.
I found the pictures she sent me
stimulating to say the very least
especially the one with the melon
peeping out from between her legs
and I found her blood-red eyes
rather exciting really
once I got used to them;
and I was quite looking forward
to the love bites she promised me
which was why I had washed my neck
with particular attention to the blackheads.
Promptly at the stroke of midnight
my putative mistress arrived
with a ******* great clap of thunder
and to say I was surprised by her sulphurous breath
would be putting it mildly
and the fifty-five inch waist
was a bit of a disappointment,
and I honestly and truly think
she might have mentioned
the suppurating scabs
and oozing boils
or at least hinted at them.
As I fought the ravening hell-bitch off
with the hatchet I had wisely brought
in my briefcase as a safety precaution
once more I rued my innocence:
how many times have I been let down
after such high hopes from internet dating
and yet - trusting soul that I am -
I had again let my heart go astray.
Once it was all over
and I gazed down at her hideous
and mutilated corpse bleeding
and twitching on the ****** bitumen,
I lifted up her skirt
just to check the melon photo
hadn't been a fake;
and although there was no large
piece of fruit in situ at the time
I could see it had always
been a very real possibility.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Sea serpents still smash ships
In the dark seas of my subconscious,
Devilish legends roam
Giggling, chainsaw wielding
Masked maniacs are at home
Hunting and being hunted
By whip wielding antiheroes
With black leather biker outfits, with the right sleeve missing
The theater of my Id charges a penny admission
Sold my soul for a remote control
My mind ruled by visual opiates
Of violence and flesh
Creative outlets come
In sporadic outbursts
That ****** your imagination,
What some men call horror
I call liberation.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 7:21 AM UTC
In a graveyard by
a temple of maniacs
I dream to hold
your crippled hand
and cremate
my starving soul
in the space
between
the approval of your graceful thighs...
-Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Sometimes I think I love best
from afar,
observing impossible conquests
from behind crowds
of maniacs on sidewalks.
Sometimes I love through written notes
to people in far away places.
When up close, reality stops
the imaginings.
I dream of far better love
than I live.
-Ron Gavalik
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
The wheel spins slowly to a stop
traffic screeches to a halt
the aslant to this crime
is now far away, speeding across town
Another monday hit and run
another angel of death on wheels
this weekly occurrence
in this city of steel
Euthanasia is banned here
yet the maniacs on four wheels
want to finish what they started
they want to finish you and me
So they drive with headlights flashing
their horns blaring liken to speed demons
dive friend if you can, out of the way
for they pay tax for these road ways
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:03 AM UTC
Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.
Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.
A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.
Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.
It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.
Paul Butters
(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
North cornered near the glass ain't gonna' last
Cause the money is running out
It's running out fast
Nickel and dimed' burning money burning pride
With the liquor stores all closing and mother mary praying whispering
"Sarah, sarah, sarah..."
No names in these streets empty touched' defeat
The meat is getting angrier surlier burlier
The heat is getting heavier breathier and touchier
Blankets burn in the Connecticut sun mother mouths something
But I can't make it out
With these posters on these white walls falling for their own droll
Committed to the picnic that is not life at all
Putrid in these notes that sail through the air never fail
With the heart that once was held
By a women that I thought I'd take the time to know
But then the winds came with the side ways rain
All that pain that I couldn't bare or understand to stay
There was the window washing maniacs pinching pennies
Letting go of their soul for another side dish and entree of dough
Ploughing through their TV screens which falls through their skin like
Love used to do but in the blue hue there was nothing
They could bear to do
Bear man breaks open the skin flecked electro heart machine
Shocking every last one of us past the point of divinity
Already through the heart and mind and limb of man
Into the skin and the blood and the beating eye lids
Of a brother I never had, that man named CID
Jesus named me no name so I wander wherever my feet may carry
Never had no religion only long lesions through the seasons
Cut wound bleed break breakfast dinner bird
There was a glint in the sun
The way she gripped and held Her sword
Graining through pages of past history ***********
Seeing visions of kaleidoscope faker ***** with their blisters
Gripping their panoramic sisters
Beauty in the eye of the hair that twists
In the mid-west chilling winds of the whisp
Forests burning boringly gripping the last hope of
Mother murdering herself just to stay alive
In a stride of elegance tides of benevolence
Roaring rewind curb side b-lines
And a mix-tape that spins and spins and spins
But plays nothing
No nothing
At all
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC
It was Saturday,
And you said God was with us.
So, we drove as fast as possible-
Into blistering orange and purple,
Into the death of the sun.
Because we knew he was, just as well as wasn’t.
There was sweat on your chest,
And on mine two black handprints of mud.
You called me your Apache warrior.
I made fierce stabs at sol, spears tipped with glass.
I did not **** the fire, only scared him away for a cycle.
In ecstasy you asked if I’d like some-
Fearful to step past my father’s drugs I shrugged you a no.
Sold you the same line from dreams before.
I don’t like being in heaven and hell at the same time.
To which you replied with hollow eyes to hell with heaven.
And together we cried ponds in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.
Beseeching the dams not hold,
Hoping we could wash it all clean.
It was Sunday,
And you said that god was dead-
We danced in the street, maniacs,
Exposed flesh and drumming war cries.
Busted open the fire hydrant and nursed,
Hysterical for love and peaceful tomorrows,
Crusaders of regrettable intentions.
And then your mother called and you had to run off to church.
During this fifth year you were enlightened.
Many people feel that upon reading a book or two.
Labeled me wrong, you of course playing the protagonist -
I didn’t see it that way.
I wasn’t keeping any type of score.
Still bear chested, scowling at king sun,
Howling to mother moon, dressed in pale luminous silk,
Knowing she would never howl back.
With duly noted precautionary tales in mind I set forth-
To coastal plains lush with life,
Trees hiding the cityscape.
Stars sending light at a glacial pace,
Eroding corneal muck.
You had left three sheets to the wind,
And I was inside my own mind without.
Skies bled crimson heat,
Leached from me that passion that once held steadfast
And it was pleasant at best.
But, I am no martyr.
Revitalized in my own indulgences,
Slept till Saturday when you returned-
The world making right again.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
Not just a political affair
Or a public property
Not to use for commercial purpose
An individual right, a right of privacy it is
Every single heart yearns for it
Children from parents
Youths from old ones
Women from men and
Men from women
Lovers from the society
Politicians from the law
Government from the people
Nature from these greedy evils !
A common wish of every soul
Under a star is Liberty
Carried a meaning and
Few fame of tags, Liberty
For one nation from the other
For the poor from the rich
Carrying lot of meanings
With different names of tags
Fighting for Liberty from
Rapists,Serial-killers,Hackers,
Rumor-mongers,Media maniacs
Political monsters,hijackers
Living with a fear to live !
Finally the soul too wishes
Liberty from the body
Leaving it a deadly skin
Stopping its yearn to be free !
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
my dreams forgotten
the moment my eyes open
frightening sleep induced
realities
my mind keeps secret
to protect
my abused brain
from more horror
and monsters
when i have remembered
they are carved into
my body
i numb to the memory
it is too damaging
to my brittle soul
to hold onto what my mind
has circling beneath
my consciousness
daydreaming is a favourite past time of mine
i swim in the fantasies of a life
i would bury my full attention
into
to at least, in one place in this world,
though not real,
i could be, just once,
someone other than what i was
a mutilated, defective
little blonde haired human
in a home
where maniacs mocked and violated
the innocence i only possessed
for the first few years of my life
oppressed and beaten
to a point where i was
swollen and blemished
where i didn't even know
who i was
only a victim of hatred
and abuse carried from
generation to generation
I MADE IT STOP.
I ended the cycle.
I screamed until I was blue
and made the world that is
domestic violence
halt in its tracks
and told it no.
never. again.
will you harm another
little human.
will you harm,
an adult who was still
in the quick sand
of abuse.
i got out.
(at 24).
i set myself free.
jagged pieces
that are mine now,
not theirs,
put back together
into the puzzle i was
before i emerged
into what became my existence.
my innocence stolen
but not forgotten
i reclaimed fresh air
again,
let it
give new life
into my lungs.
breathing out the black tar
of neglect
breathing out the
white picket fence,
the red brick one storey,
a facade, the mask needed, to
which gave way to allow
my father to hurl everything
he could our way,
so we could burden
his own deep, harrowing pain,
where he was beaten with a belt by his father,
and controlled mercilessly by his mother.
he gave onto me.
us.
our little family.
completely broken.
it could never be repaired.
ever.
we. are. separate.
and we. are. broken.
apart.
for good.
for now and for later.
and it’s all your fault.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
What keeps me up all night
Is my own vivid imagination
Creating swirling embers, smothering smoke
And the bright flashes and crackle of flame
What keeps her up all night
Is she simply cannot sleep
And maybe she can't sleep
Partly because of me
Either way, we are both maniacs
And I know I'm happy to be one
So will you burn the world with me?
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC