"outbursts" poems
Be my novel tonight
Allow me to navigate the depths of your thoughts
and journey through the pathways of your mind while
merging in my imagination and infusing in my wildest
poetic fantasies. Inscribing in our bedpost an
unforgettable bestseller.
Be my music tonight
Let me groove to the beat of your heart picking up pace
as I explore new ways to invoke melodious outbursts. I
want to sing a duet with you of synchronized moans and
pleasurable sighs. Culminating with you belting out my
name in one final perfect note.
Be my masterpiece tonight
Permit me to trace my fingertips across every inch of
your frame as I find your sensually stimulating spots.
Armed with new knowledge and intent, sit back as I
stroke you with my brushes of desire and take you on a
creative adventure of twists and turns as I bring to life my finest
work of art and watch with all anticipation your love erupt.
© Tina Thompson
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
when a bunch of old Senate men
and some intimidated women
voted to heave
an accused ******
and proven liar with an alcohol problem
given to irascible outbursts, fits of self-pity
and insulting comments on women
into a lifelong seat on the highest court in the nation
against voluminous evidence of his lacking qualifications
the statue of the Goddess of Justice
whom a former attorney general
had all covered up in blue cloth
dropped her sword and scales
tore off her blindfold
and covered her naked ******* in shame
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
If I took a moment to truly look into my reflection what would I see?
A soul burning
To realize my tendencies
Being hypocritical
Or
My outbursts of screaming
My times I put my emotions before others needs
Maybe my push to see all of the worlds thick positivity
Sometimes over shadowed by egos bellowing
How do we shape a reflection?
It seems pretty set to me
I pray to heal
To bring out a sunbeam not for show
But
To help the worlds love and grow
To help the plants and animals continue to glow
I know not where to go
But
I believe in this big ball of energy revolving
There is a purpose
A God
A devil
And a journey
Not sure which place it will take me
For now here I stand free
To make a choice
Creating destruction or happiness
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 3:46 AM UTC
A populace filled with totalitarian tranquility
The supposition that the world is in a harmonic homeostasis
Blissful ignorance that leads to careless calamity
Amid the uproar of the most populated of places
Therein lies the seed of humanity’s deceptive destruction
A solitary host housing a virulent virus
Infectious disease that proceeds crisis and corruption
Hope only stands with the powerful and pious
Prognosis describes communicable cannibalism
Rabid outbursts show signs of voracious violence
The harrowing pandemic leads to ceaseless cataclysm
Cities and towns suspended in systemic silence
Habitations riddled with gratuitous gore
Hope fades in the wake of the crimson carnage
The pestilent hoard feeds to a glutton’s galore
The Author of humanity publishes the final page
The closing verse rains down a rapturous recompense
The high cost of a dense population paid at humanity’s existential expense
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
Stories and poems
Love and shared coffees
Bus rides and jokes
I saw the sun glimmering
The corners crept in
The room became smaller
Breathing got harder and voices became more
My body became a canvas of my own doing
The blood became more and the smile slipped away in the dark
I became lost in a world of Bipolar Depression
With a new mixture of pills of various variety of color
The line between reality and fantasy became blury
Until a line was no more
I found comfort in creating art over my arms hidden by clothes
My days became a mixture of pills and emotional outbursts
It was like falling asleep, slowly at first and then all together
I was destroyed
I was distorted
I was redefined by darkness of late night cries
I was no more
I became a silent void
I became nothing
I became defined by my illness
I became my worst fear
I am a beautiful void
I am
I am
I am lost and captured in a glass jar labeled December Bipolar
I am no more
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
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
(Barbara Green)
A child so small
so vulnerable and weak
helpless, powerless
not allowed to speak.
Lying awake in bed
knowing he'll soon appear
Frightened and trapped
living a torturous nightmare.
Body is shaking
trembling with-in
preparing for
the terrible acts of sin.
Left all alone
with no-one in sight
The abused child cries silently
all through the night.
How does one heal
from such a horrible crime?
The scars, the damage
lasts a lifetime.
Emotionally I struggle
to make it through
Not knowing Why?
I feel and act the way I do.
The tragedy is over
but the turmoil is still there
I wonder, If my outbursts
is a way to see if anyone cares.
Please! God help me
I cry out
with so much anguish
fear and doubt.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
The redneck got arrested last night.
The ******* was barking back at dogs
and belting shots of scotch well-before sundown.
You could say he and the sun were collectively sinking.
Nights like these
breed pregnant silences
between the outbursts.
I sit poised for the next eruption
as a child cloistered under covers for fear of thunderclaps--
Another howl,
(presumably bellowing for beer)
then he's batting his live-in lap-straddler
around the apartment beneath me.
With every strike
the drywall learns a lesson
this ignorant *****
can't get a grip on:
some things never change.
The world will change around them
like tissue growing around a bullet fragment.
The cops come,
the cuffs go on,
and the problem is put on pause for an evening--
but he'll ascend the stairs with the sunrise.
They'll reconcile,
because misery does want for company.
He'll promise he'll be different.
She'll actually believe him.
They'll be back to battering their plaster
with the reverberations of ******* and arguments.
She can't see that a drunkard's apologies
are counterfeit currency.
I took it for common knowledge.
Perhaps it is...
Perhaps, like living in tornado alley,
they cope with ceaseless shit-storms
because they're just too lazy to move.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:36 AM UTC
The envelope was red, white and blue just like the flag
Betsy Ross spent days with bleeding fingers over so many
years ago. It was addressed to me from an unknown sender.
I was giggly, jumpy. Who would write to me? I wasn’t important.
Just a seventh grade nobody stuck in a sparkly purple wheelchair.
Mom said I could join. She secretly wanted her outcast
of a daughter to have a sense of normalcy during her
last fading moments of childhood. I just wanted to have
fun. I wasn’t ready to accept that I was different. I knew
that I was. The stares told me so but I didn’t want to be.
The letter said that I could represent my fine country
as America’s National Teenager. Me? All I had to do was show
my ability by competing in a scholarship pageant. You know,
a beauty pageant except it wasn’t being called so because adults
are trying to be sensitive to teenager’s feelings because we’re
more likely to be sensitive, emotional and prone to disruptive
and potentially harmful outbursts. The perks of being a wallflower.
Teenagers, we know this. We’re also not stupid. I and every
other girl who would participate knew this pageant
was nothing more than a beauty pageant; a popularity
contest. That didn’t keep us from dreaming of becoming
rich and famous, stop the crying fits, hormones from raging
or acting like drama wasn’t our life’s goal and college major.
Four days in Southern Idaho and an eight-hour drive
to and from gave me plenty of time to practice my talent,
an essay. Even then, I knew I had no real physical attributes.
Instead, I shoved my fears aside and wrote, rewrote and polished
my essay on America until my parents, teachers, and friends
repeatedly had to tell me “that’s enough already. You’ll do great.”
I made friends, told stories, laughed until snot came out my nose
and answered the ever cautious “What happened to make you look
that way?” I had the time of my life. I knew I wasn’t going to win
because let’s face it, I’m not pretty enough. And just as predicted,
I left with “Most Inspirational” and cried ugly tears when I
didn’t come home as America’s National Teenager. Looking back,
I was a real American teenager. I don't need a pageant to tell me so.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:15 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
I have ability to switch style
even under pressure
Focused concentration, I am
with tenacious unpredictability
And yet fail to admit mistakes
even resist as always
Laced with external distractibility, I am
What a world......Give me strength.
I have ' killer instincts' to move mountains
even driven to pinnacle with passion
Making things happen as always, I am
even I am, less anxious in decisiveness
And yet do things my own way
rushing the poor fellow to frail
Impatience won't disappear with quietness and shyness
What a world.....Give me strength.
I step forth in dignity for low anxiety
even with meticulousness
Decisiveness for reality, I am
with sterner stuff in slippery control
And yet unable to manage time
with a hog on spotlight
Drenched in my own outbursts, I am
What a world......Give me strength.
Proud of my strength of friendliness
even with positive openness
The power to carry on with persuasiveness
even I am, yes I am in assertiveness
My strength that never dies
in the face of motivation
And yet my ears are too weak to comprehend
with sound of **********
What a world......Give me strength.
Let me be weak to be strong
and strong I am in weakness
With passion for sweetness in bitterness
And this is real in steel
The contrast and the conflict
That steers in my way of long ago
And this reality in mirage
Gives me the courage to rise above pain
What a world.....Give me strength.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
Doctor O doctor.
Can you treat me?
This aweful mind refuses to greet me!
I'v been having trouble controling my thoughts.
Outbursts of creativity and crazy wandering thoughts.
I have work to do and need to concentrate!
But these wandering thoughts have me on stalemate.
The thoughts go here and the mind goes there,
They do not seem to coincide anywhere.
Doctor O doctor can you help me?
Bring these thoughts into order,
and let this mind be.
It concentrates of war,
it concentrates on pain.
None of which have any prospect of gain.
It concentrates on hate,
and the ever growing weight,
Of the population that refuses to wait.
No tollerance or patience,
No thoughts on moulding this nation.
Just fights on rights,
And pointing fingers with might!
No one looks at their duties,
Or the subtle beauties.
Beauty of diversity, and the numerous entities.
That form our great nation.
All it need is unadulterated devotion.
I have work to do and need to concentrate!
But these wandering thoughts have me on stalemate.
The thoughts go here and the mind goes there,
They do not seem to coincide anywhere.
Doctor O doctor can you help me?
Bring these thoughts into order,
and let this mind be.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
They kept her in the attic with the rest of the nonsense
An improvised pen and paper of fingernails and floorboards.
Cracked windows rusted shut from years of disuse
Chapped lips pinched shut from years of neglect.
Broken mirrors on the floor from outbursts no one heard
Shattered eyes blinking hollowly because no one was listening.
Patterns traced on dust covered windows letting bars of light shine through
Therapeutic
Sunlight outlining shadows that shouldn't be there, dust mites that should.
Daisy; the name she gave herself after forgetting her original.
Daisy; what she'd call herself should she ever get out.
Withered; what she became.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
I WANT TO BE THE REASON YOUR BONES THAT ARE ATTACHED TO YOUR GUMS APPEAR ,TO BLESS HUMANITY AS A LIVING, BREATHING STAR BLESSES OUR DULL EARTH
AND WHEN SPEAK OF ME I WANT YOUR SOUL TO POUR OUT OF YOUR TENDER LIPS GRACEFULLY BUT VIVID LIKE A WATERFALL
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
There's an ineffable urge
to sidle up against
masculinity; to allow his
mercurial fervor to unleash
these lascivious outbursts
of lust that dwell inside the
depths of my soul, ravishing
him with hungered passion;
tasting each sinewy muscle
pulsing with flickers of
want, like a savored sweet
chocolate truffle, indulging
slowly in every part I can
entwine as he shudders
with each lick I inflict
lingering in his aftertaste....
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
Oh
That laugh
Deep from your core
Uncontrollable outbursts
Fill up the corners of the room
Something truly real surrounding my head
Oh how I need something real
The way you lose yourself in the joy
The sound of happiness
Shuffles it's way through me
Chills run my bones
Nerves a bit queasy from something so new
My lips turn up with a grin
Something so strange is happening to me
What is this stifling emotion
It's weight on my lungs
I fight
And lose
Bubbling up my throat
A sound very similar
Laughter
A forgotten voice
A long lost ability
Contagious you are
Rubbing your filthy joyous self all over me
What is this preposterous habit
I run my hands down my arms
Wiping away this feeling
But
You girl... You.
What are you doing to me
Telepathically rearranging my neurons
With your leaky smiling eyes
And your mouth all open
Head thrown all around
How do you tweak my strings
Pulling my smile out from under the rubble
Warming my heart with those eyes
Burning red are my cheeks
It's like I've forgotten how to feel
And I'm coming to life again
Oh
That laugh
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
Did anyone ever stop to think that maybe mother earth has anxiety?
We say that nature can be cruel and work in mysterious ways, but she is mute. A language is always mysterious to a foreign tongue.
Perhaps my dear mother earth has anxiety.
The earthquakes are outbursts like an autistic child’s, she is begging to be heard.
She screams with thunder and any words she can muster up are nothing but whispers in the wind.
Tsunamis are angry fists slamming down on the dining room table, but no one cares to listen.
She grasps towards the heavens in attempts for everything to stop spinning, so that maybe the chaos within her will depart in one single blow.
No one cared to listen to the mute child in the corner or the room, who has always been in the corner of the room, who has been ignored and forgotten, only acknowledged when something is needed from her.
We were the voices in her head.
Each individual person chipping away at her sanity, and leaving tire tracks in her down trodden forests.
Maybe mother earth had anxiety,
maybe mother earth is dead.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
#*Promises, I make only to keep
You are a friend and that’s sacred to me
I will be holding space, for us, you see
My words safe in my heart
The hurt mine to behold
My inhibitions, fears
Tears and distance I keep
To elevate and alleviate
You may bring your words
My silence, I’ll keep
It’s been a while, the spoken words I’ve bartered for the written
Won’t give either to you
Escapist I am not
Happy in the crowd, smile and gel
Safely guarded by my shell
Mellowed with age
Outbursts few and defences weak
Empathy, I don’t seek
It’s only human
To let go and carry on
Looking fine and beyond
As quitting is not done*#
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 3:37 AM UTC
The Christmas lights are up
I am in the mood,
Alright.
Have they always
Twinkled like that
Or do they
Because it parallels
My own delight.
They are the same
While my eagerness
To stop,
Observe and smile
Has me burning
On the inside.
Under pressure I am
A snowball
Of anger
Outbursts
Often
Out of control
I am the same
But the difference
This year
I forgive myself
Like others
In the long stretch
In my lasting search
Of what matters
And I have you
As seed
To my everyday glee.
It is Christmas time
The lights are up
This time, I am looking up.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
and oddly enough, H is the only letter in the alphabet that can accommodate vowels the easiest, and subsequently laughter. well m can too, but it's more of a jolly hmm in between sudden outbursts of h and co.
and on Sunday i get to read
about a prince moaning
quote: 'at home on my arse'...
oi oi ***** Harry, where the magnum?
call on Clint Klein and head into the eastern woods!
'there be a bowl of spaghetti there waiting for ya'
the leprechaun said.
ah a job, ah a family, ah George the usurper
of attention seeking girlies...
10 years in the army, and then bust,
using a Ouija board to stop being
employed by McDonald's;
but hey! it's Sunday... can't a price have
his day?
god, this humour is so cheap
it's almost gagging
for canned laughter,
but it ain't getting any, shame,
and double shame for Fawlty Towers using it,
whatnot and what care for all that "famous"
intelligent humour of the British ballot box,
supposedly... if that **** is intelligent & funny why use
such horrid precautions (psst... laziness)?
slapstick does it for me, means i can be intelligent in
other mediums.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
Pieces of you linger
In my mind, causing random smiles and outbursts of laughter,
But sometimes I cry
Pieces of you reside
In my heart, placing me in sentimental moods and reminiscent flight,
But sometimes I just cry
Pieces of you remain
In my nose, creating fragrant blissfulness
Pieces of you stay
On my skin, triggering spontaneous quivers
Pieces of you survive
On my tongue, causing cravings for sweet things
But sometimes I still just cry
Pieces of you are indelibly ingrained
In my soul, intensely reminding me of love and love lost
And I cry :'(
© Tina Thompson 2011
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
Man enters the tavern
Claps down some cash and outbursts ;
'Thirsty Things Firstly !'
The barman evaluates his condition
And provides a session brew
Man tilts toward potential company
(a ferrety bloke in the shadows)
"Pull up that stack of milk crates
And halve a heart with me"
(he earns a quick friend
in a tolerant stranger)
Soon fellow gaspers fill out the gloom
And an eve of humour descends
Though soon upending
Gourds downed the gullet
Sunk ugly into the scene
The tippling wit drags the night
to the Slurry Pit
things turn Psychologically Rugged
his Mates soon round on him
bulldozing at the Elbows
saying he's a Cheapskate
they Berate him with rigorous Rattleprat
he's been goated with the Cain's mark
they tousle his crown malicious
Thorough in his cups and eaves
he mumbles and leaves
heaving up bile words
unheard
gurgle
over
his
shoulder
outside is dark and harsh
Outside the whole wild world does wail and weary
drunkenly
he sings to match its melancholy
but sadness lifts with his altered view
he sees 'a flock of moons' weigh down the sky
and natures churn
makes a phosphorescent stew of it all
... decay
to lifes' celebration
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC