"neurotics" poems - Hello Poetry

between the breaths, the boredom, the blues, the ***** the smokes, the sacrifices, the smiles, the sadness, the snooze the poems, the problems, the pros and the cons the needles, the nobodies, the neurotics, the loose the careless, the fearless, the dreamless, who knows the tulip, the lilac, the jasmine, the rose the suns, the moons, the earth, the birth the nights, the fights, the lies arise the loneliness among the hate, the fate, the date delayed the loneliness along the tongue, a song, wrong, wrong the loneliness inside the heart, a part apart, from the start the loneliness, the loneliness, the loneliness... "and the crowd, so many people, and the cries, the laughs, the whispers... Too many mouths talking in my ear, my left ear Is it the chaos of unphysical presences ? But I touch them, I see them, I hear them... And nobody is here" -- Myra -- Watercolour

0

Oct 5, 2016

Oct 5, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC

EleanorRigby

Loneliness

between the breaths, the boredom, the blues, the ***** the smokes, the sacrifices, the smiles, the sadness, the snooze the poems, the problems, the pros and the cons the needles, the nobodies, the neurotics, the loose the careless, the fearless, the dreamless, who knows the tulip, the lilac, the jasmine, the rose the suns, the moons, the earth, the birth the nights, the fights, the lies arise the loneliness among the hate, the fate, the date delayed the loneliness along the tongue, a song, wrong, wrong the loneliness inside the heart, a part apart, from the start the loneliness, the loneliness, the loneliness... "and the crowd, so many people, and the cries, the laughs, the whispers... Too many mouths talking in my ear, my left ear Is it the chaos of unphysical presences ? But I touch them, I see them, I hear them... And nobody is here" -- Myra -- Watercolour

22

The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain The Royals are Top Mafiosas, with International links atested So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin Sing with me everybody Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution We are clever, all in our White uniforms We march to the left left left with our two left feet We know our brains have left us but we go left left Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba. Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba Sing.........

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Sep 12, 2018

Sep 12, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC

yenson

To The Left...Quick March.....

The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain The Royals are Top Mafiosas, with International links atested So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin Sing with me everybody Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution We are clever, all in our White uniforms We march to the left left left with our two left feet We know our brains have left us but we go left left Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba. Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba Sing.........

32

Where is the terror please in a blameless mind Show me the pain and fears in a brimful loving heart Find me the nightmares 'n demons in blessed slumber Wish me the tears in pious gratitudes real and plenty Produce a charge sheet of dark deeds and secrets hidden Bring witnesses of a stained criminal past and stolen items Front me a past lover with tales of **** or ****** misdeeds Show me anybody truly implicating me in any foul deeds Ask my betrothed of ever knowing me drunk and disabled Dig out any associations of me with friends of ill-repute Point a day I conducted myself disgracefully 'n disrespectfully Stand out a neighbour I went begging and borrowing from Twirling taunting is nowt but delusions of ****** fantasists Nothing to do with one devoid of fears and guilt of the neurotics Show us the happy contented one who gives time to mudslinging Even the most basic of intelligence tells us this is an impossibility There are nasties out there kicking a poor policewoman in the head There are repugnant foreign Taxi-drivers prostituting teen girls about There are hate filled Terrorist willing to **** innocents unflinching While our deranged think school playground antics is all they're worth These are the ones that salivate in front of computer screens Unwashed Keyboard cowards parading malfunctioning brains Attention and ambition lacking deficits sad subhumans waiting to be fed How can wasted western fodders impact on my consciousness or even my subconscious Those by their evident actions already show they lack rationality, intelligence or understanding Inadequates whose only recourse is to showcase their inferiority in pained envy and jealousy by trying to bully Insignificant runts who can't better themselves despite opportunities abound Dr Livingstone come see what your children from your Great Empire has become You told our forefathers you came from the very cradle of Civilisation A land of freedom and great knowledge How come now your childrens are pathetic ignorant irrational insecure deluded cowards What to do with morons other than to pitifully toss them a morsel of our talents once a while and laugh as they feed hungrily You gotta laugh!

0

Nov 24, 2018

Nov 24, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC

yenson

Here Sheba..Here Rover....!

Where is the terror please in a blameless mind Show me the pain and fears in a brimful loving heart Find me the nightmares 'n demons in blessed slumber Wish me the tears in pious gratitudes real and plenty Produce a charge sheet of dark deeds and secrets hidden Bring witnesses of a stained criminal past and stolen items Front me a past lover with tales of **** or ****** misdeeds Show me anybody truly implicating me in any foul deeds Ask my betrothed of ever knowing me drunk and disabled Dig out any associations of me with friends of ill-repute Point a day I conducted myself disgracefully 'n disrespectfully Stand out a neighbour I went begging and borrowing from Twirling taunting is nowt but delusions of ****** fantasists Nothing to do with one devoid of fears and guilt of the neurotics Show us the happy contented one who gives time to mudslinging Even the most basic of intelligence tells us this is an impossibility There are nasties out there kicking a poor policewoman in the head There are repugnant foreign Taxi-drivers prostituting teen girls about There are hate filled Terrorist willing to **** innocents unflinching While our deranged think school playground antics is all they're worth These are the ones that salivate in front of computer screens Unwashed Keyboard cowards parading malfunctioning brains Attention and ambition lacking deficits sad subhumans waiting to be fed How can wasted western fodders impact on my consciousness or even my subconscious Those by their evident actions already show they lack rationality, intelligence or understanding Inadequates whose only recourse is to showcase their inferiority in pained envy and jealousy by trying to bully Insignificant runts who can't better themselves despite opportunities abound Dr Livingstone come see what your children from your Great Empire has become You told our forefathers you came from the very cradle of Civilisation A land of freedom and great knowledge How come now your childrens are pathetic ignorant irrational insecure deluded cowards What to do with morons other than to pitifully toss them a morsel of our talents once a while and laugh as they feed hungrily You gotta laugh!

33

V. the ballad of briseis my heart is of the flesh of figs, and that which i cannot touch: grainy sweet garnet nectar pretty to behold but easy to bruise no god shall speak for me, briseis for this fig-heart, like the heart of man craves art as it does god and though i know you not by name, but only pseudonym: blood, words, and love, we are kindred souls i'd like to believe that we are cut of the same cloth hewn of the same mound of clay (or cast into the same iron, i suppose for we became one another's anchor the day we met) i once told you, my dear briseis, that if you taught me symbiosis i would teach you love for you found pragma in philosophy cold markov's blankets freud's ego, plato's cave whereas i found pragma in alchemy's poetry chekhov's gun freud's neurotics, plato's human it means nothing. the alchemy lies beyond the chemicals, beyond the seed and the egg, beyond our festivals of atonement, beyond my prima materia and your unfulfilled magnum opus it lies in simple interdependence, the oceans, the heavens, the forests, the deserts, the storms, the famines, the herds of wildebeest, the colonies of ants, the beady dew on the spider web and the purling river shallows, our acrid mouths yearning for mother's milk, the boy who makes us cry at night, the fiery logs roaring against the cold air, the hoot-owls and the faces on the wall (our skeletons never did stay in the closet) bathed in that slow, hideous wonder those interplays of love and symbiosis as i drown and die in reverie once more pray that the stakes may be forever higher that i find those eternal elysian fields so long as our achilles lives to fight again we are more alike, than you or i would ever dare to admit, briseis so humor this fig-heart: hold me and tell me that it'll be all right

0

Jan 19, 2021

Jan 19, 2021 at 11:57 PM UTC

wrens_musings

iliad, a poem | no. 5

V. the ballad of briseis my heart is of the flesh of figs, and that which i cannot touch: grainy sweet garnet nectar pretty to behold but easy to bruise no god shall speak for me, briseis for this fig-heart, like the heart of man craves art as it does god and though i know you not by name, but only pseudonym: blood, words, and love, we are kindred souls i'd like to believe that we are cut of the same cloth hewn of the same mound of clay (or cast into the same iron, i suppose for we became one another's anchor the day we met) i once told you, my dear briseis, that if you taught me symbiosis i would teach you love for you found pragma in philosophy cold markov's blankets freud's ego, plato's cave whereas i found pragma in alchemy's poetry chekhov's gun freud's neurotics, plato's human it means nothing. the alchemy lies beyond the chemicals, beyond the seed and the egg, beyond our festivals of atonement, beyond my prima materia and your unfulfilled magnum opus it lies in simple interdependence, the oceans, the heavens, the forests, the deserts, the storms, the famines, the herds of wildebeest, the colonies of ants, the beady dew on the spider web and the purling river shallows, our acrid mouths yearning for mother's milk, the boy who makes us cry at night, the fiery logs roaring against the cold air, the hoot-owls and the faces on the wall (our skeletons never did stay in the closet) bathed in that slow, hideous wonder those interplays of love and symbiosis as i drown and die in reverie once more pray that the stakes may be forever higher that i find those eternal elysian fields so long as our achilles lives to fight again we are more alike, than you or i would ever dare to admit, briseis so humor this fig-heart: hold me and tell me that it'll be all right

66

The solution to pollution Is to cease affluent effluent. In other words make the rich Live in their ecological excrement. Force them to drink only from Their permanently poisoned pipes And turn a deaf ear, as they did To any of their constituent’s gripes. The enemies of the anemones Fought their way to the deep To censure and make sure The sea creatures had no sleep. It seems the corporations Don’t realize what they’re doing. If we **** off the plankton, then We’re headed for planetary ruin. It was bad enough when someone, Without telling us, sold our land And then they chopped down trees For a reason anyone can understand; Greed. That was the proper word. They wanted more money in the bank. So when the land erodes and dies We’ll have the corporations to thank. They cover up their eco-crimes By declaring illegal military forays And pretend they are taking us back To those good old, happier days. But in between bombing villages It can always plainly be seen That we and our country are Slowly being picked totally clean. And when we object, cry out loud That something is wrong with all this; They start to call us unpatriotic, Call us who starve are the neurotics. So, don’t listen to their lying rhetoric, Instead look at what they are doing. The sonsabitches are Macbeth’s witches, And they have a lot of poison brewing.

0

Feb 8, 2016

Feb 8, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC

brent-kincaid

POISONING THE WELL

The solution to pollution Is to cease affluent effluent. In other words make the rich Live in their ecological excrement. Force them to drink only from Their permanently poisoned pipes And turn a deaf ear, as they did To any of their constituent’s gripes. The enemies of the anemones Fought their way to the deep To censure and make sure The sea creatures had no sleep. It seems the corporations Don’t realize what they’re doing. If we **** off the plankton, then We’re headed for planetary ruin. It was bad enough when someone, Without telling us, sold our land And then they chopped down trees For a reason anyone can understand; Greed. That was the proper word. They wanted more money in the bank. So when the land erodes and dies We’ll have the corporations to thank. They cover up their eco-crimes By declaring illegal military forays And pretend they are taking us back To those good old, happier days. But in between bombing villages It can always plainly be seen That we and our country are Slowly being picked totally clean. And when we object, cry out loud That something is wrong with all this; They start to call us unpatriotic, Call us who starve are the neurotics. So, don’t listen to their lying rhetoric, Instead look at what they are doing. The sonsabitches are Macbeth’s witches, And they have a lot of poison brewing.

40

She is a daughter of mild madness, Visiting the humble ***** vulnerable, To grip of kleptomania and depressive manic, Like Shakespeare and Fyodor in the lands yonder, But often once in a while of the blue lunar, Not caring the social class or material status, She boldly loves those wallowing in the pauper’s mire, For they have nothing but time to court her to bed, Bed her down with patience and request for a turn, In lovely contrast to the bed room dilemma, She mocks the rich for boredom in the huge tummy, They stuff her up with un-called for luxuries, And they deny her love in freedom to behave poorly, Her deep-hearted secret, bed-fellowing the poorly, For the sweet gift is in the time they give to her, Like a decade of Odysseus turmoil with calypso, And Pope’s time with art in his torture by wants, To sing the short knowledge is dangerous, On a shallow sip of the pyrene spring, In the classical charm in the essay of man, A strain that only visit the neurotics,

0

Sep 16, 2017

Sep 16, 2017 at 5:01 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

Poetry is a Strain of Madness

She is a daughter of mild madness, Visiting the humble ***** vulnerable, To grip of kleptomania and depressive manic, Like Shakespeare and Fyodor in the lands yonder, But often once in a while of the blue lunar, Not caring the social class or material status, She boldly loves those wallowing in the pauper’s mire, For they have nothing but time to court her to bed, Bed her down with patience and request for a turn, In lovely contrast to the bed room dilemma, She mocks the rich for boredom in the huge tummy, They stuff her up with un-called for luxuries, And they deny her love in freedom to behave poorly, Her deep-hearted secret, bed-fellowing the poorly, For the sweet gift is in the time they give to her, Like a decade of Odysseus turmoil with calypso, And Pope’s time with art in his torture by wants, To sing the short knowledge is dangerous, On a shallow sip of the pyrene spring, In the classical charm in the essay of man, A strain that only visit the neurotics,

21

If I close my eyes I smell the butter of fresh popcorn and hear the whirring of a laptop powerful and bright. Can taste the dichotomy of the crisp melting of the popped kernel in my mouth, feel the happiness of being in a desk chair in front of a screen and surrounded by books. Then I open my eyes and see I have to edit everything I've written to be even vaguely coherent. Happiness is hard when you're never satisfied. When the childhood curiosity stapled to your youthful lips never unpinned as you aged. Neither did the idealistic expectations. Couple that with a pessimistic anxiety disorder and a mood disorder to swing things between the two disparities and it gets a little more complicated. I've been my most relieved and anxious in this place of empty, of nowhere, that I've settled myself into for the next three weeks. A piece of me enjoys the rest and possibilities. The other hates it for those exact reasons. I need to breathe, I tell myself. Being so separate is my fault, I insist. But another voice in my head pipes up quietly, offering a new idea. I'm demonizing myself for not being ideas, for not being normal, for not being one. But perhaps be bipolar, in more ways than just disorder, is exactly what concocts the human I like being. Perhaps the great empathetic thoughtfulness yet great introspection work so well in tandem. Maybe the assertive extroversion yet pleasured isolation balance in their own, special way. In a way, I might just need to look back on the old Sunday afternoon specials and speak to myself the lessons of their half-hour programs. In particular, admit maybe its ok if I'm weird. perhaps its ok I just be the own odd balance that is me. The Nowhere, the empty, can be itchy with the possibilities sometimes. Yet these moments, that help me breathe through my own neurotics and idiosyncrasies, may just be the best kind of nothing. Maybe the bothersome nowhere can also be something grand and great for me as well. There perhaps is another side of nowhere, and perhaps it is my favorite.

0

Dec 21, 2016

Dec 21, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC

grace-7

My Favorite Time of Nowhere

If I close my eyes I smell the butter of fresh popcorn and hear the whirring of a laptop powerful and bright. Can taste the dichotomy of the crisp melting of the popped kernel in my mouth, feel the happiness of being in a desk chair in front of a screen and surrounded by books. Then I open my eyes and see I have to edit everything I've written to be even vaguely coherent. Happiness is hard when you're never satisfied. When the childhood curiosity stapled to your youthful lips never unpinned as you aged. Neither did the idealistic expectations. Couple that with a pessimistic anxiety disorder and a mood disorder to swing things between the two disparities and it gets a little more complicated. I've been my most relieved and anxious in this place of empty, of nowhere, that I've settled myself into for the next three weeks. A piece of me enjoys the rest and possibilities. The other hates it for those exact reasons. I need to breathe, I tell myself. Being so separate is my fault, I insist. But another voice in my head pipes up quietly, offering a new idea. I'm demonizing myself for not being ideas, for not being normal, for not being one. But perhaps be bipolar, in more ways than just disorder, is exactly what concocts the human I like being. Perhaps the great empathetic thoughtfulness yet great introspection work so well in tandem. Maybe the assertive extroversion yet pleasured isolation balance in their own, special way. In a way, I might just need to look back on the old Sunday afternoon specials and speak to myself the lessons of their half-hour programs. In particular, admit maybe its ok if I'm weird. perhaps its ok I just be the own odd balance that is me. The Nowhere, the empty, can be itchy with the possibilities sometimes. Yet these moments, that help me breathe through my own neurotics and idiosyncrasies, may just be the best kind of nothing. Maybe the bothersome nowhere can also be something grand and great for me as well. There perhaps is another side of nowhere, and perhaps it is my favorite.

13

We exist because stars explode We become because the world moulds We have faith in our dying star We carry the world in muck and tar We took awhile to bridge the gap We lost the keys and burned the map At a time we were a world set free Now we spiral far too complacently We were gods of soul and mind We now are lost and hard to find We hid our hearts behind a shield But this digital age refuses to yield We live in a world of Blood and Sap We drip too slow and often snap We dull our minds with harsh narcotics and far too often become neurotics We live among our mother moon We dodge the sun and sleep till noon We love because we drink the sea We loved you and you loved me Gravity always dragged us here Now I speak wisdom and You speak fear

0

Feb 15, 2014

Feb 15, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC

oliver-evans

Simple Thoughts

We exist because stars explode We become because the world moulds We have faith in our dying star We carry the world in muck and tar We took awhile to bridge the gap We lost the keys and burned the map At a time we were a world set free Now we spiral far too complacently We were gods of soul and mind We now are lost and hard to find We hid our hearts behind a shield But this digital age refuses to yield We live in a world of Blood and Sap We drip too slow and often snap We dull our minds with harsh narcotics and far too often become neurotics We live among our mother moon We dodge the sun and sleep till noon We love because we drink the sea We loved you and you loved me Gravity always dragged us here Now I speak wisdom and You speak fear

23

Sigmund Freud Employed Analysis Treating neurotics who envied phalluses.

0

Jun 8, 2017

Jun 8, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC

lawrence-l-ladd

Clerihew: Freud

Sigmund Freud Employed Analysis Treating neurotics who envied phalluses.

4

You neurotics, projecting your fears… We have savored the salt of your tears. Though he fell with a thud, (yes, the man was a dud) We still trolled you with Trump for four years.

0

Sep 28, 2021

Sep 28, 2021 at 6:12 PM UTC

connecthook

Orange Limerick

You neurotics, projecting your fears… We have savored the salt of your tears. Though he fell with a thud, (yes, the man was a dud) We still trolled you with Trump for four years.

5