"manics" poems
happiness is fleeting
obsolete
cold like the sleet
it gets
when it wets
and success
comes in a disguise
wearing a dress
dreaming
of happiness
realizing
what it means
to be
not to be brought
or bought
or taken
with a restless mind
it's an image of time
in which relaxation
happens
without the need
of a glass of wine
or a drop of this
hit of that
the happiness to be had
do you think
you deserve all of that
to feel good again
to do something
that makes you feel guilt
something you feel
to be a rude awakening
that keeps you waking
in your sleep
your dream
you thought you had
could come true
unruly
attributes
begin to penetrate
what you had in place
what you wanted
thought you needed
a happy place
you built in your mind
gets crushed
by reality
now you're blind
to what happiness is
but you continue to live
and redefine
shape it
make it
and see
what you can find
is it happiness?
sadness
and gladness
and manics
panics
attacks
angry outbursts
not being able
to relax
has its way
into your life
how do you make
happiness
the number one
most felt
feelings
that you normally
feel
how do you make that real
that happiness
how do you not conceal
your happiness
without letting
the people around you
clown you
down you
try to put you in a place
where they are
which isn't at
the same spot
you're trying to be
the happiness
as it fleets
and you grasp
at your bed sheets
satin
slips away
through your fingers
give it time and let linger
feel breathe
get happiness
and when you see someone who needs it
and you still have some that lasts
go from within
and give it right back
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
MaaaaaaaaaannnNNN !!!!!
I DON’T ... Give A **** !!!!!!
People over here ….
Like to …. " Pass The Buck " …
" Problems " ... Now ... APPEAR
cos most ... Live in ... " FEAR " ... !!!!!
But …
Fear's ... NOT MY PROBLEM ... !!!
My Position is ... " CLEAR " … !!!
I Know what i'm doing ... !!!
but … young people are ... Moving …
Like … New Born Deer ... !!!
Many Can't ... " stand up " ... !!!
But STILL …. They Sup ...
On ... EVERY kind of ...
Beer ... They're Near … !!!
Then come to work ...
and ... “ POSTURE ” …
with vision ....
Still ... uNcLEaR … !!!
Systems ... THIS ... !!!!
and …. Systems ... THAT ... !!!!
These Fools nowadays ...
REALLY ... Talk some ... CRAP … !!!!
They're Lucky because …..
I’m ... Tall and Black ....
because …. If I was … ???
A ... " Top Flight White " …
BELIEVE … Fo' REAL … !!! …
They Would get ... "TRAPPED" … !!!!
They'd get ... Directed …
OFF ... The Map … !!!!!
With … No Way for them ...
To ... Come Back … !!!! …
I say this stuff ….
cos' work is ... ROUGH ... !!!
when dealing with ...
These chicks and chaps ….
I hear these things ...
These days on ... Trains ...
It seems that others ...
Feel ... " The Drain " ...
of colleagues ... who ...
Can't Take ... THE STRAIN … !!!!
But are ... THE FIRST ...
to ... Dish Out Blame ... !?!
for problems ... THEY ...
Put in ... " The Frame " ...
They take this work thing ...
for a ..... " Game " ..... !?!
When Business Deals ...
GO UP ... in flames ... !!!
They look ...
" Bemused " … ? …
Now …
Ain't that ... LAME … !!!
Now ... if my name ...
was ... David Blaine ...
These people ... wouldn't ...
look the same ... !!!!! ...
They'd be like ... " Clint " ....
WITHOUT ... A Name ...
while I would ... " Drift " .................
To Those .... " High Plains " ....
and there is ... " Where " ...
I would ... RETAIN …
My ... Peace of Mind ...
CLEAR OF ... The blind ...
who try to put me ....
In a .... " BIND " ....
With ... ANY EXCUSE …
That they can ... " Find " ... ?!?
to ... CLEAR THEMSELVES ...
Leaving me .... behind ....
Well …. !!!!!
This is where …...
They Should ... BEWARE … !!!!!
My tactics are …
" Refined " ... like wine ...
NOT ... to drink ... !!!
But for ... THIS LINK ...
My train of thought …
Shows that ... I THINK … !!!
on how to leave them …
On The …. BRINK …. !!! ….
NOT … On The Virge ... !!!!!!!
Cos' that's for me ...
to ... Lyrically Splurge …
" Poetic Words " ....
that ... DEFINE ... " The Truth " ...
to … “FOOLISH HERDS" … !!!
cos' ...
Moves they make ...
Define .... “ABSURD” …. !!!?!!!
My Vision's ... CLEAR ... !!!
While there's is .....
" blurRRrrrrrEDD !!!! "
So ....
with these words ...
Do You ... " Concur " ... ???
or has ... The Piece ...
Left you like …..
D'EerrrrrrrRRRRRR …. ???!!???
I'll give you time ....
So ... Please Confer … !!!
This is ... " My Challenge " ...
Try to ... Balance ...
“PROBLEMS” … that ...
You face ... at work ...
cos' working with ….
" Blame Culture " ... Berks ...
Could …. Like the ... " Chicken " ...
Leave you ... ****** … !!!!! ...
While these ... " Smart Alecks " ...
………….. “PANIC” ………… !!!!!!!!!!!!!
And then ... " Hit The Street " ...
Just like .... " THE MANICS " …. !!!!!
This piece for me …..
Has been …. “ TITANIC ” …. !!!!!
Like the … STRUGGLES ...
In my job …. Because ….
My Colleagues ...
are ... “MESSED UP” ... !!!!!
Folks …. This is why ...
I write ... This Stuff ... !!! …
To ... STOP ME …. " Slappin' " ....
SOME FOOL ... UP ... !!! ...
Who tried to say ....
“Big Virge Messed Up ” ….
When ... TRUTH IS ….
Their work's …
ALWAYS ... " DUFF ” ... !!!!!
which is why ... " They Try " ...
to ... " COVER THEIR **** " ...
Thinking ... that they're ... SMART ... ?!?
and so ...
are quick to …
" Pass The Buck " ...
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Rivers flow
Humans grow
Stars glow
Humans blow
Toxic waste
Air pollution
Humans haste
Perfect solution
Beggars hungry
Homeless ****
Humans angry
Robbing wills
Bullets fired
Tanks raged
Juveniles hired
Humans tagged
Terrorists warns
Lives lost
Families torn
Priceless cost
Lust gains
Humans pained
No brains
Love insaned
Lots learnt
Media zooms
Orders sent
Countries doomed
Hunger peaks
Children sick
Humans weak
Diseases leak
Money priority
Humans exported
Marking territory
Guns imported
Humans kidnapped
Women rapped
Lives begged
All taped
Tears lack
Government slack
Manics back
Terrorist attack!!!
©sim
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 7:00 AM UTC
Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts
That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories
They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly
But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares
Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic
Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella
Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******
I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.
JJB
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Slow moving manics
Dance more frantic
When they know
They don't got a nickel to spare
Aware of the hair
Missing but still fair
Where women make love
God watching from above
So late now
Yes so late it is now
Love gone and away
I couldn't stay
You talk to me
And you write to me
As if you truly knew
Every ****** thing
That is the thing
That I just can't seem to understand
That is the ****
That made me give the final nod
Who are these people
Among the desert steeple?
Do they pray for themselves
Or is there truly someone else?
Money made me do somethings
While passion some others
Irresponsibility is guilt
Cast down from the man wearing the stilts
Believe in the sleeve
Of the beggar shaking next to you
For he can see
What we'll all soon be
These promises of luck
Or handed out
From the ten eyed ghosts
That have never felt the ****
The vacuum of morticians
Piling body after body
All covered in mud
Obsessed with this drive called love
House with a machine
That translates that into this
Get out of my house machine
I need life to believe
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
How many men make or brake the barriers?
How many more move forward as the carriers
of the message? The presage of the black dark future.
When society is wounded who'll be dressing the sutures?
Those in suits blur truth across the canvas,
Then paint over it with blood from the youth and the savages.
Ravaging for innocent civilians, to apply the bandages.
While the man in the suit counts the loot as he micro manages.
Feed them Faceless, Tasteless food for thought.
Get them Pacing laceless- racing to be caught
red handed, then remanded in custody to rot
in a cell, dwelling on how poorly they fought.
Not to quick to mention their desire for redemption.
The lesson is learned until it's consumed your whole attention
span, quick make a plan- confessing that you're a bad man
Don't change the fact that you were sweating as you ran man.
Who's this man? Who's lurking in the shadows?
The search narrows- he's found hanging from the gallows.
This harrows the whole world for a whirlwind minute.
Until the media man has had enough chance to spin it.
"He was a reprehensible, dispensable shell of human.
His soul had creeped out after years of consuming
peoples fears, then blaring it back into their ears.
He was mole for manics, spreading panic to the assuming"
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Oh the men that make their way
Sitting around in lapping bays
How a wish is whispered naked in the corner bar
Never heard from someone close but always from someone afar
A listless night of effort is remembered fondly
Worlds torn to pieces just because the sight of another temptation missing
So the story goes from soul to soul like fish peeking from their fishy bowl
Scattering for a thought into publishment to share a pain that can only be felt within
Experience tempts the senses to reveal and spit and *** and bleed onto the page scanned and verified and blotted by high ink and
Misinterpreted
But still tried as if a jury full of fledging turtles tempting the God's to bring the wisdown unseen but known by clowns with twisted frowns, and analyzed by sizes with flashy prizes and excavated by the mindless & ****** vacated and ripped to shreds but still seemingly in love in bed
So the bearer of the bad appears in blue
Shifting from side to side from the news
Knee deep in his own birthed and electric disease
A breath of air touches the ears of the virgins
The attempting takers
Eyes that gaze up skirts and oh how I remember how it hurt, how it hurt
With the water entrenched with the back and forth touch within but still no sight of a friendly boat
But oh the loafs, the hot bread manics, underlying a temper furious hot ferocity, fast and fast and fast until they met themselves, seeing themselves sweating, panting, exhaling and finally feeling what it feels like to expel the spell they were cursed with and are now forced to live with
Through it all if one doesn't have a ball
They'll turn out to be just another victim with a gripped dulled saw
With a wasted mother's gift, a wasted torn ticket, a pocket of wasted rockets, Their grandly sad and oh so deserved
Epic fall
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC
A poet, by necessity, cannot be a genius. What most poets are, are manics with a knack for finding a consistency- logical or illogical- in the human condition and the world around them. A poet, within themselves, has the ability to create something that otherwise could not exist in the tangible world; a thought, a feeling, an idea, a hope, a lover, even another world entirely. But a poet is not a genius. Or at least cannot be perceived as, or believe he is, one. For poetry to have poignancy, emotion and sense it must be selfless and selfish, sweet and agonising, peaceful and anarchic. But it cannot ever be the work of a genius. Geniuses are absolute in themselves, poets are abstract. Genius is the work of a researcher who finds a cure for deadly disease, not the simplicity of words. However poets can bring faith, sympathy, and even light a fire within their reader. But poets are not geniuses. They are wordsmiths that wind this world into something better or worse in their minds, in the hope that someone else will see it too. A poet cannot provide absolute truth or reason, therefore cannot ever be a genius. Their work however can be ingenious.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
The world has grown around her womb,
The beginning of all beginnings, the onus of creation upon whom.
While it is her whose life slowly ebbs away,
At the hands of the manics and the fools.
Her hands chained, mind refrained,
Tongue tied and body veiled.
Lies be sold, this is your world behold!
Here your prejudices are yours only, but your pride is collectively owned,
Of the family you are born in, and the family of your future,
And the society that allows you to breathe any further.
So don’t you dare, this is a world prepared
By some to define your modesty and others to violate it beyond repair.
Caught between the two, ever so stretched thin,
Striving for approvals when discontent is where you are stuck in.
Rather learn to live in this moratorium of rules,
That pays no heed to your desires, your esteem, your needs or your moods.
Your life has never been yours, a conjugation of time tested judgements,
A world build around everyone’s opinions and your very own helplessness.
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC
When blue collars you
you might as well
howl at the moon
no one is coming
the windows are shut
the doors are all bolted
your lifelines are cut
start ******* in air
'cause you're going nowhere
and there is where
you'll end up.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
Little baby nothing
Momma nothing, your baby has got the blues.
These tears I weep are the only way I can speak with you.
Little empty of feelings, little crazy days in Hell,
For little baby, waiting for an angel, to help me clean myself.
Couldn’t find the words to speak,
‘Take this dummy out of my mouth.’
Pacify your little baby nothing;
Oh my Goddess, why can’t you help me out?
Silence breaks the screaming; nothing left to shout about,
Or let out.
Full of gas. A giggle laugh.
All these things which I am scheming;
Got to find a way to indulge the doubt and the dreaming.
I couldn’t face another half-truth.
I cannot tell the lies from how I should feel.
I couldn’t cover my feelings, bruised.
I’m falling into myself with no way to heal.
Another soiled ***** removes the smile from my face.
Another bib full of happy pictures.
I can only eat if I become a runway.
Flashing camera blinds my eyes, I’m lost, I need her!
The Manics blow my little ear drums.
My mood changes with every tear;
Isn’t life such fun!
I cry for I have no human language,
That I can use to explain to giants.
This is no fun, satisfaction impatience;
I have been waiting for a year!
Why does mommy not come to me?
I wish I didn’t disappear.
Little baby, nothing left to say,
Beneath the blues mid-winter.
Tired of singing lullabies,
This hobbit needs another dinner.
You love us,
But you love us,
But you love us,
But you love us.
Do you love us?
Little baby nothing doesn’t lend a hand.
Little baby nothing just can’t understand,
Post-natal, post-partum,
Post-modernism epiphanies.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC