"mentis" poems
The fire knows nothing but burning,
we know breathing that way, naturally done for
our own sake.
We old still know sake and grant mean true immaterial things.
Sake and granted we take to mean
my good, your good, good sake grant me take me con
mentis sans carne
by golly.
Dada-esque wire spoke far writing ease
e everything e-literate e-mail
---
the boinin' in d'boozum, dat be da ting, da ting con sum in all ya'lifes.
be knowin' dat, be knowin' a-dam lie.
Jah know y'know, don' be sayin' no y'don'
Be happy. Jah know haps be hap'nin' allatime. *** sum, take wha's granted,
take all fo' free.
You got nothin' t'boin, nothin' to oin, be a bird brain seein' stars fo'
no. birds be sleepin' when stars be seen so birds consider nothin', sidereally.
Hmmm. Quit?
Walk away, say, I got nought to say I ought t' say.
No way.
Temporary tempt-test-u-us sitchee-ations,
suffer it so. It don' hurt t'say no f'now so
How'd that that shiny critter know my game? How'd it know,
I think
thisaway and it is gone, forever. (which has begun, btw)
-----
The biosphere is regaining consciousness, Capitan.
Shall we continue burning?
What's the bullocks count?
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
A diagnosis of masturbatory insanity
is the inevitable conclusion
that I, as a fellow onanist,
debaucher of sheep,
and baby goat buggerer
have bestowed upon your befuddled mind.
Your insistence in frequenting
the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution
and self evacuation of one's seed
with mutual onanistic pursuits of sodamistic bed fellows
and other anti Christian pursuits,
have finally brought a visitation of madness
to the perverted soggy mess
masquerading as your brain;
If one may make an
advantageous suggestion
to your befuddled self,
it would be to seek out a restorative nervous elixir
or wrist strengthening electuary,
the former of which would aid in the
"compos mentis" of your good self;
and the latter is extremely efficacious in the
soothing of onanist wrist
and vinegar stroke eye.
but alas; neither is of use against the
" ejaculatio praecox " of foetid poetry..
your Servant, Obadiah Grey.
Secretary for spermatorrhea conservation
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
Proudly self diagnosed as non compos mentis , the gallivanting hermetic of Hill Country , walking barefoot this evening , scantly clad , joyfully whistling beneath astonishing skies of blue , fields of clover , clear running creeks , copious woodland greenery ! A fickle , fanatical , fervent lover of every creature the forest has to offer ! Rolling hill , pasture and homestead , Wood duck , blue jay , otter and crawdad ! Every rooster , wild turkey and dairy cow ! A boisterous , benevolent , painfully reverent disciple of Earth and sky , lover of cascading brooks , placid lakes , the cool breeze , bumblebees and centipedes , bobcats and chickadees ..
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
*Today, yes today.
I found something new about you,*
Those philosophical thoughts of yours keep
repeating the same chains-rhymes, that circulate
in the air - showing me
that you are that worth;
to keep, to treasure for.
When those sparks of fire arises,
Let me be the water,
To be the tranquility of yours, to deliquesce you.
When those 'non compos mentis' thoughts of yours emerge,
Let me be the scholar,
To figure them, to decipher them for you.
However, the truth is my love,
Even after breaking those codes,
Smashing those unbreakable walls and barriers
of yours;
I will never fully understand you,
as you yourself don't.
The thoughts of me not having you;
disrupts the sea within me,
destroys the fort within me,
Sayang (read:love),
those inequalities of ours should not be
the river that separates two lands,
the wall that separates two nations,
the line that separates between black and white (even the grey exists)
Promise me that you will
bare with me, will you?
Even promises are meant to be broken.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
"O Fortuna
velut luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis
nunc obdurat
et tunc curat
ludo mentis aciem,
egestatem,
potestatem
dissolvit ut glaciem.
Sors immanis
et inanis,
rota tu volubilis,
status malus,
vana salus
semper dissolubilis;
obumbrata
et velata
mihi quoque niteris;
nunc per ludum
dorsum nudum
fero tui sceleris.
Sors salutis
et virtutis
michi nunc contraria,
est affectus
et defectus
semper in angaria.
Hac in hora
sine mora
corde pulsum tangite;
quod per sortem
sternit fortem,
mecum omnes plangite!"
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
He hears voices; but do you hear his?
Spitting crystals from his teeth,
he says he drank the magic of time
and now every second passing of mine is nervous
knowing every passing second of his mind.
His internal monologue eternally seeping into external,
leaking into the verbal.
He wears many faces; many places know his steps.
How do you react when you see him?
Do you retract and take action to extract yourself
from his immediate surroundings? I do.
His impact is astounding, found in my hometown
are two types of intimidation;
the vexed son and the wrecked **** of Wrexham.
Giant in the crowd, bald with a dead stare.
Constantly looking down, clothes so thin with many a tear.
Academic with his head in the clouds, to look at,
epidemic with his eyes to the ground in reality.
Local myth whose pith is to be barefoot,
you daren’t look. Innocent elder, non compos mentis,
tells you she carries bombs.
It carries on, in plain sight
there are so many vacant minds walking these streets.
They incite fear, recite dreams and live near
the edge. Of the kerb. Of the absurd.
I have had the chance to meet some frail lives,
one gave me their last drop of wisdom and the tale of his bullet wound.
He told me to remember where I was from.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
Air was filled with love
She was oblivious
Too naive to be compos mentis
Then something extra-mundane happened
She was enchanted by a smile
That everlasting smile made her go loony
Those eyes were twinkling like a star
Too close yet too far
That face was shining so bright
Slowly her feelings were blazed down
He faded like a rose, evanesces
Something pricked her eyes, Perplexed
And she was doomed by one thought
The thought of not seeing him again
The thought which discerned her
That he was just an illusion.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
My dreams have lost their luster and I read them easy now
With everything in lucid rhyme that doesn't skip a sound
I'm summoned by a certain note and open both my eyes
And what constructs the things I see puts hoods upon the lies
But how can I approach them now without becoming stained
Without becoming subject to the motives they've unchained
In retrospect I take a step, enough to make a start
Without delay my legs begin to move our worlds apart
In time I'll reach the ground I knew and tended to, before
Though blind I be my hands contain the key that sealed the door
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Le soleil se déplie à nouveau
Timide et méfiant
Le mai qui tout a bouleversé
Le jour où je t'ai trouvé
Le paradis, je t'avais dis
Je ne t'avais pas mentis
Mon truc c'est d'apprivoiser les vagues
Rien qu'avec les yeux
C'est **** d'être une affaire facile
Ça demande du temps
De la patience
De la ruse
Ne jamais regarder la terre
Toujours l'horizon
Toujours toi
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
She creases her forehead in confusion
She wonders what they say as they pass her by
What are they saying, to whom and why?
They murmur, frown, giggle and titter
As if they have no emotional filter
The little she hears almost brings her to tears
Do they dance to the tune of some shadow puppeteer?
Call them rumors, gossip, lies, hearsay or fabrication
Call them improvised news or forged information
Little difference would it make.
Malicious whispers, known to topple empires
Sunder relationships and cause death
Her chest hurts and she can’t seem to take a breath
As her heart tumbles in her chest, her mind is drawn to Wilkinson v. Downton
In that moment, she could almost relate to Miss Wilkinson.
Ware those Whispers
They travel far and wide
But their source is always close to home
Who tattled? Was it a loved one or a close friend?
She may never know.
Ware those whispers.
They may have as little as a kernel or as much as a boatload of truth
At this point, the defence of truth is surely moot
She called them girls, squad, friends and besties
In their company, she was merely lollygagging
Behind her back, their tongues were wagging
A mere misrepresentation can cause complete devastation
They scoff at her frantic utterances of truth
To them, it is no more than mere superstition
She retreats into her Fortress of Solitude
In this bubble of quietude, she lifts her hands in gratitude
Though she knows it is no more than a blanket fort of self-deception
They continue to natter and chatter
She ceases her cries of protest, for it no longer matters
In calm desperation, she starts to twine the hanging rope
But wait, suicide is still a crime under the law
She stands helpless as the whispers sneak past her defences
She grips her head in an effort to drown out their voices
To this they mutter, “look, surely she is non compos mentis”
Dear child, let them run their mouth for God is thy witness
Guard your tongue for the walls have ears
Calm your heart and hear no whispers
Let them speak, they are no more than vipers
Do not be sad, though you may lose some friends
It is only the beginning and not the end
They may think they have you assessed
But they have no idea how much you’re blessed
And at all times, ware those whispers.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
No given thought
from one so young
of double speak
or triple tongue
I cradle thee
within my boughs
ignorant of
thy whats and hows
Jednom slomljena
ce jour, repare!
mia mente, la vuoto,
verloren geht, und wie!
'Twas scattered 'bout
now gathered glued
so yugen read
this thought subdued
if now a mess
no more to rhyme
you should have seen
this,
aforetime
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
*diaphanous girl
a headless masquerade
her black lipstick and shivering pearls
giggle like earthquake chandeliers
festooned buttocks
curves a lyrical hell of desire
pocket eyes
dead suns
aloof
yield vacant split azure vault
a fetish horror
zoomorphic and decapitated
a thrilled non compos mentis
her mouth widens
like a line turning into a circle
turning into a jagged city
of twining red wet mayhem
fish head stare
and toothy kisses
on red abdomen posy hook
jutting her spine for sadistic fires
she rolls her velvet thighs
wriggling
a wrench
and twitch
a mad headless lunar sputnik
circumambulates spit tongue sputum
she is the eye in the sky of eternal night
her spirit impaled upon
torrential mountain libidos
impaled on a wild life park of *****
wet ********* a basket of skulls
she nestled
her depraved tilted crown
lilting onto the stained guillotine
saying come on
i can hardly wait to get started
make me the ghastly queen
goddess of the witching hour
bone blood
and black glitter dead of night
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
I guess you were showing me I have choices
To manipulate those inner voices
The liars in me that deceived
Their fictions I had hitherto believed
Those voices took a while to surmount
Of the tortured days I lost my count
Repeating threats and mocking me
They taunted me most horribly
But sometimes they soothed my head with music
Imploring me to wisely use it
Giving me words and rhymes and ideas
Quelling all my awful fears
Knowing that they can be seduced
My voices I cleverly reduced
To my handy, willing apprentices
Even though I’m still cognis mentis
The obstacle remover gave me a chance
To improve my life and to enhance
My experience of the world as a whole
I’m so glad she touched my soul
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
Ontem
Sim, ontem
um anjo
falou e disse-me:
- Deixai que vos pergunte,
porque vos atormentais ?
- Podeis dizer que sou novo,
que sou ignorante,
mas estou só.
- Quereis que acredite ?
- isso creio.
- Mentis e enganais
mas vejo para além dos teus olhos,
e a tua felicidade
está para além do mar.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
She thinks,
she thinks she could quite like you,
she wonders,
she wonders if offers ever genuine,
are they worth playing with?
In her life,
genuine is non-existent,
she may even grow to love you,
now,
those roses thorns are all stripped bare,
the once decadent silver foliage,
repatriated to the garden,
to be mulched into dreams of what may come,
compost for the compos mentis,
should the lady of the day be lucky?
she was right to doubt,
so right!
(C) Livvi
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Were you well as sunlight's ascendancy left darkening footnotes everywhere?
Their cerebral pitch and polish--
non compos mentis, were you well?
Stalactited as Nostrefaru's leaking enamel...emergent, crooked shape of a shifting focal point overspread to no more of itself.
Your sun hissed as it plumbed its depth...covert feelers circumscribed the injunction of tongue caught at speak, bifurcated and serpentine.
Wherefrom runnels of india ink ran, corresponded with stones to their haphazard period, numb with duplication...broken down nervously.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
I know this nurse
called Olivia
hope
on my dying day
I get one of those
happy to push the pipes back
when I pulled them out
and when
compi mentis
feed me by mouth
and tell me
what old fool I am
for the nurses
are princesses.
Just for you Livi.
With regards P@ul.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
You hated
the white walls
and large windows
showing the trees
and grounds
snow hidden
grey skies.
Other patients
behind you
on the locked ward
music from the radio
some love song.
Yiska stood beside you
you smelt her perfume
heavy dose.
Furore mentis
the Roman's called
our state of minds
confusion of mind
she said.
You turned
and gazed at her
too much going on
in my head
like the radar as gone
spinning out of control
you said.
You saw her
bandaged wrists
suicide attacks
of the previous day.
You ok today?
You said.
Less anxious
she replied
looking at her wrists
maybe I ought
to have tried
hang myself
as you tried
she added.
Same way
different door
you said.
You became silent
watching snow fall
heavy and slow.
Come for a walk
with me
she said
along the passage way
away from the mad
and deluded
and self harmers
(like us
you mused).
Sure
you said.
She took your hand
in hers
your wrist against
her bandaged one.
Where are you
two going?
a nurse asked you both.
For a walk
Yiska said.
The nurse studied you
no mischief then
she said
and walked off
her blue skirt
swishing from you.
What's she think
we'll go ****
or go hang ourselves?
Yiska said.
You walked along
the passageway
walked past
the ECT room
where you went
one evening to lie
on one of the recovery beds
but a nurse found her
(you were
out of sight)
and returned her
to her bed.
You dreamed of her
in your head
in your bed.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
She wants me to
believe that her
bibulous moon calf
copulates with
her in her slumber.
She's too far
gone for me to
**** with.
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 9:26 AM UTC
I want to change.
I want to feel it rushing through my veins,
growing in my bones
and threading through my thoughts.
I want to change for better this time,
rather than worse.
I want to change in a way not only I notice.
Strangers will look at me and think
"She's a new person now, look at her aura"
I want to prove to my surroundings that I can bare to be compos mentis.
Mother nature will close around me in a way I can finally understand.
Stress is no longer an obstacle but an opportunity.
Uncertainty is no longer scary, but alluring.
I can't stand to see my time go wasted.
Chances never taken.
My mind, body and soul will be one,
not three.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC
I do not know what the trouble was that caused this.
It was soft, supple, and bright.
It was whole, and I watched it all I could,
My mouth agape with love and joy.
I hugged it closely to my ***** like a babe,
And felt the fluttering thump of livingness.
I held it as it dried to dust.
What loss! What dissolution!
What betrayal of trust!
I am soiled with the ashes of what once was
And what could have been.
I wash these blackened hands again
And again, yet the smell,
The burning stench of rot
Has soaked into my very flesh.
I tote it now, like a badge, the black hands.
I am a murderous brute.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
There's no need for you to worry
No need for you to fret
I've been to see the doctor
And he says I'm not a threat
He says that I'm not dangerous
And I will be okay
And that the voices in my head
Will one day go away
If unhinged were bottle rockets
I might light up the night sky
I could snap at any moment
But I promise not to bite
Don't be nervous I'm not contagious
Though I'm not a betting man
My mind's just on hiatus
Out building castles in the sand
So you see there's no need to worry
Or call the authorities
But if non compos mentis came in Slurpees
I'm pretty sure my brain would freeze
Perhaps I see things differently
Than the normal side of town
Doesn't mean I'm pushing crazy
I'm just tugging on its hand
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:01 AM UTC
i aspire to write great poetry,
where words carry the remains of the inconsolable population inked with misery.
i've bathed in the conclusion it's the only factual part of me.
concrete & sturdy.
practitioners drain me of life then use my own words to keep me strapped & straight on a gurney.
& then they carry me away.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC