"senile" poems
In That Moonlit Night Standing In The Abaft,
Watching The Towed Flaccid Wooden Raft,
I Thought That I Saw An Angel Resting,
Lying Exhausted There In That Craft.
I Call The Girl Out Unbeknownst Of Her Kind Name,
"Hey Young Lady!!" To Which She Didn't Much Respond,
She Looked Up Towards Me Once In Anguish & Collapsed,
I See Desperation In Her Amber Eyes & Resolve To Help Her.
The Crewmen Had Now Been Doing The Paddles After Resting,
I Summon My Captain & Ask, "Do You See That Girl In The Raft?"
The Senile Captain Smiles To Say, "Commodore, Better Get Married,"
I Look Just Clueless To Which He Simply Replies, "There Is No Girl."
True He Was As She Had Simply Disappeared,
I Started Thinking Of My Sleep Needs That Day,
I Looked Around Again In A Hope To Find The Girl,
I Had Compromised My Routine As The Commodore.
Then I Immediately Realized It Was My Wild Phantasm,
Now This Was Just A Plain Illusion Of A Tired Sailor's Mind,
No Mermaids Could Have Ever Existed In Reality & Were Fake,
I Turned Towards The Deck To Go Back To My Bunk For Sleeping.
As I Climbed Down The Stairs To Enter My Room Amazed & Dazed,
I Saw Her Standing And Waiting For Me By The Side Of My Bunk,
I Accepted That Delusion Of My Mind & Started To Lie Down,
She Said, "I'm As Real As Your Thoughts, Don't Fear Me."
She & I-Me & Her, Had The Best Time That Night,
In The Morning She Was Gone & Was Just Gone,
Disappeared Into Thin Air While I Was Asleep,
Each Day I So Dearly Long For Her To Return.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
I am a fœtus
Swimming in darkness
Oblivious to the world around me
I am a new born
Opening my eyes for the first time
Taking my first breathe
Crying the first of many tears
Confused by my sight and the light around me
I am a toddler
Crawling my way across a universe made of shapes sounds colors
Overdose of senses
Too many things happening simultaneously I
Just stare around and try to make sense of this madness
I am a child
Taking my first step into childhood by standing upright
And walking around the world on my own two feet
It's the first of many steps
I will move forward to take over the world
With my eyes ears hands nose mouth
Overdose of senses
I am a teenager
Feeling my heart break for the first time
A broken friendship
A broken love
Deception in human kind
For the first time I wonder why
Why are we here?
If we suffer so much and so intensly
My heart breaks and I cry and I shake and I have no idea what is happening
Overdose of senses
I am a young adult
Wondering about the future for the very first time
Where I fit in
Will I fit in
How do I fit in
What will I do for the rest of my life?
Overdose of questions
I am an adult
Worrying about taxes and marriage and kids
I have settled down I have a career and I look back
On the days all the things that mattered were grades and friends
I am happy but is this the life I dreamed of?
Or did I settle for less than I wanted?
What would happen if I left it all now?
Overdose of questions
I am an old grandma
Relaxing eveyr morning with a cup of coffee
Next to the man who shared my life for so long
I look back on life and realize I am happy
I have made choices that lead me here and now I
Am happy
Overdose of emotions
I am a senile grandma
No one claims me anymore
I am in a care home where most people don't care
I am one of many and
I look back on my life everynight when the demons come and visit me
So I yell out in hopelessness and they sedate me
I am faced with loneliness and there are so many things I wish I had done
Overdose of emotions
Heart attack
No heartbeat
I am dead.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
When, instead of cozying in bed
I wander out there with Kerouac,
Imagining that I am Kerouac
Or some slave who walks upright;
Or a priest without a crowd
With hands and feet tied.
When, instead of snoring like hell,
I am left unimaginative by some;
I am making disgusting Love with shadows unknown
And remain pinned against the wall.
I am some nine year old senile who wets her bed
in fear and disbelief.
Lights flicker and then fade
And the switch becomes a button pressed to send
Someone in raving comfort.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
Even when night becomes noon.
Nightmares haunt me no more but I
Am left haunted by my bed.
Sheets crumpled by tossing and turning.
My bed does not recognize my warmth.
Voice recordings and constant tweetings
Pump blood to my Über active head.
Sleepless nights are well received as my body
Succumbs to sleep.
I live in a different world with five hundred other names
And the ten thousand other Me’s are all in disarray.
(And when the clock chimes at one, two, three ‘til way down six,
There’s a carnival of sorts with hair strands flailing like
Seven sets of arms.)
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And wetting my bed is not a Sin.
I am sinful beyond recognition, as my bed is my witness.
I have had different beds
But to me, they’re all the same.
Some, soft; others, too hard
Or covered in satin, exaggerated by the moonlight. Some, made of wood
While others, with tight springs.
Water’s absurd but so is steel.
Double padding, triple linings, four feet, at times, none;
There’s the car, the guest room, the floor, hospital bed,
A seat next to a complete stranger ---
I make my bed before sleeping
And leave it when I’m done.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And I jump on the bed at midnight.
I am not a stranger to morning tides and the morning shows on TV.
I’m not a stranger at all, no,
And when I sleep, I sleep in peace.
Stranger things have happened
Noons and sudden weekends are no way sleep - inducing; I am left believing
That nights and days dance in my
Sleeplessness.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Health reflects plateaus,
Thick tears running like rivers,
Arthritic mountains,
Wrinkles ripple at beaches,
Plains welcome the exhausted,
Suburbs look peaceful,
Rural childhood decomposed,
Urban amnesia,
Roads outline the senile brain,
Destination: nostalgia.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
Wind whines and whines the shingle,
The crazy pierstakes groan;
A senile sea numbers each single
Slimesilvered stone.
From whining wind and colder
Grey sea I wrap him warm
And touch his trembling fineboned shoulder
And boyish arm.
Around us fear, descending
Darkness of fear above
And in my heart how deep unending
Ache of love!
4.4k
Five minute street artists
and insomnia mongers.
****** drunk blondes
and finger snapping phat booties.
Street geniuses
bred by Machiavellian philosophies
cypher dreams over tokes
of marijuana smoke.
Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,
and bread winners
parole corners
sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers.
Senile war veterans
beg for change in cardboard boxes
from the American dreams
they afforded.
Hard workers with every ethnicity
molded into each pore of their face,
rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops
barely escaping tires crushing their feet.
Sartorial geniuses with no pants
switch hips in knock-off stellos heels,
selling the origin of the world on avenues
next to Arab Halal food.
Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways.
nodding in and out of Daily News articles
while oxygen blessed by asparagus ****
pump through their noses.
Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies
From sky-crapper offices,
And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter,
With no apologies.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
hey, I'm
seeing spiders &
shadows & lights again &
there comes a point
in your life when
you realize
it's all this forced speech
about how
the weather is fine &
no one has died
that shouldn't have.
it's like sitting
in an unfamiliar bathtub
til the water goes cold,
knowingly just floating
in frosty clouds of your own filth,
that sick type of epiphany
that we're all just sad little
feeder fishes painted gold
that live to eat **** **** float
get old go blind become senile
then hopefully die
before anything too terrible happens.
happy ends.
unlikely.
high noon &
the horse flies are biting,
for the life of me.
if you find yourself dead
or alive.
they'll pay you for perfect timing.
so smile sunshine
the drain hasn't
swallowed you yet.
no problem no sweat.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
Going out with thy ecstatic rile,
Sun soaked cherubic smile,
You impale my ziel senile,
I slay a thousand miles
To meet ya' at Zion's isles....
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Strangers to the touch:
he was fast to dive into
the waves that were
indeed
his briny deep.
She, whom took
his complexion into
the trench that is her,
also took the senile
artistry that was he,
recklessly.
Strangers to the act:
he took the palm
of his over-dramatized
antagonist of his own
life and just
pressed it.
She caressed the
thought of it,
yet still arose
to find her most
fragile protagonist
grazing his head
on the
adolescent but corrupt
land line that made up
as her thighs.
*Strangers they must be,
though, strangers
whom have
found need in
the halves that have
halves in half.*
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
mum's well intended tough upbringing ended in a two sided razor sharp sword
i am independent, intelligent, and successful
that same achievements cause me no shortage of frenemies
and a severe debilitating starvation for true friendship and love
men wont touch me with a 10 foot poll
both sexes make me out to be weird beyond the point of recognising there reflexion in me
imprisoned in a life i wanted, successful
with a incurable case of loneliness, i'm drowning out with food and bad poetry
this is my roaring twenties, hooray
cant wait for the next 80 years
going senile will be a blessing
no longer haunted by pain and unreached potential
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC
i fall and ascend in a sea vantablack
spiral light
fire ghosts and ice
that cut the soul to pieces
like scissors
that split rabbits
industry of a hissing creation
polluted altar of sleeping lakes
and scythe
bludgeon and howitzer
prods of push and pull
in a grindhouse
necropolis of craters
scattering satanic eggs and tumors
i am here born to you thin of bone
mother of catastrophes
on a colossal ball of scab and callous
that moves sonorous dazzling shapes
careening through
ephemera workhorse torches
of doom
you fill me with knots of terror
and desperate dreams of stairway wings
veils and glimmers
resolutions dissolving
petaled apertures of desire
and night whispers
in a spider web of sonic bulls
before undertows gravity
i was vibrant
but then i died into the rock ash of earth
they called it my birthday
my parents with party hats and balloons
blinked fetters
against nights of granite and stone
i got deader still
until i was nothing
but an imagineless gob of mud and breath
an eye looking out
behind red nerve forest fires
and tears shook tambourines
down heavy lashes
cascaded fluttering tassels
i am born to you mother of senile seas
citadel of shattered glass
in a slate cube of cyclones
mute and screaming
my fate deep shock
encased in mausoleums led nautilus
blatting hells jaundiced shriek
Pluto conjunct Saturn
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
I'll love you
From silky smooth
To wrinkled,
From sane
To senile,
I'll love you
From sandy blonde or brunette
To ashen grey or balding white,
From twenty/twenty
To glaucoma,
I'll love you
From hushed whispers
To hearing aids,
From skips and hops
To rascal scooters,
I'll love you
From fast food and coke
To ensure and depends,
From broken fingernails
To fractured hips,
I'll love you
From baby boy
To great grandchildren,
From skydives
To rocking chairs,
I'll love you
From glitter
To pill reminders,
From off the lot
Until rusted into the ground,
I'll love you
From now
To forever,
From hello
To the grave...
APAD13 - 058 © okpoet
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
These lines experimental but elemental to your mental,
My creativity,
Will never submit to the minimal,
Isotopes subliminal penetrating the simple,
Similes send criminals to infiltrate your biochemicals,
Infected stanzas with stacked syntaxes sickness,
My subconscious semiautomatic and stimulated,
Formulate semblances of Leviathan illuminated,
It's a tragedy my soul's has become a victim of gravity,
Now my temples been raided,
My nirvana's disseminated,
And I've contemplated annihilation of self,
Picturing my end as a senile senior citizen,
With no one by my side,
My mind can't complete a sentiment,
Remembering has become my source of a smile,
But it's making me even more curious to taste the end of this projectile,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
arboreal
capitulation
to the last saw;
just lying there,
rusting and dull,
a senile serial killer.
a dirt water droplet
circlestalks the sun
like a vulture.
wild flowers
split the concrete
like jackhammers and
the vines hang low
over city streets,
while unmaintained
botanical gardens
shrivel and decay,
breeding mushy immensities.
bears hibernate in subways
and deer flock in herds
and oh, the birds..
the birds.
spiders hang webs
from ancient clock towers
while moth returns
to chasing moon.
dams crumble,
the water flows,
sea reclaims the shore.
but the
eldest
trees
still weep
when memory pains,
and so surrender
to the saw,
however harmless
out of hand.
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 1:43 PM UTC
I was at the post office the other day,
mailing off some letters,
waiting in line (patiently waiting),
when I see an elderly woman walk in.
Grey haired, wrinkled skin, hunched over, cane in hand,
walking, walking slowly, the world, run, run, running around her
at what must have seemed like to her, 1000 miles per hour.
She was having an some kind of issue with her post office box key,
i overheard, it wouldn't fit in her post office box,
and she wanted the postal worker to help her
They kind of shrugged her off like she was a senile old kook, snickering behind her back.
I finally got thru the line, and met the woman in the lobby by the post office boxes.
"Ma'am, do you need help with your mailbox?" I asked, concerned.
"They told me it should work now. They said there was mail blocking it."
"Which one is it? Let's see if we can get it to open" I said,
taking the key, I inserted it, but it wouldn't work.
"Are you sure this is the right box?
"Yes", she said, "they said there was mail blocking it."
"Then are you sure this is the right key? Look, i can insert it into any of these other boxes,
and it still won't turn. So its either the wrong box, or the wrong key."
I felt sorry for the woman.
I wondered if she understood.
She seemed disoriented, confused.
She took the key,
and brought it closer to her eyes,
examining it,
studying it,
realizing
"I must have brought my husbands key by mistake. He's passed away..."
I didn't know what to say, I felt so bad for her.
"I miss him so much..." she said, key in hand, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger.
"I'm sorry." What was i supposed to say at that point?
"Oh well," she said, "one day chicken, next day feathers. God bless you for trying to help me."
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 8:36 PM UTC
There was a squandering ember that climbed her spinal chord
and lit the deteriorating birchwood on the peach-fuzzed tea lamps.
When those stairwells cramped and swelled with staggered liquid terraces
in the foundational pin-cushion that cradled family after family.
Woe begone chants that railed support beams moaning under elemental abuse.
A litter of ghost kittens coiling underfoot where the rug
used to yawn before the grandfather clock,
now senile and rotting with absent-minded tick-tocks.
Inside her streetcorner, the music was that
monkey hopping to street ***** blue notes on somber ropes.
The air thick with the regal, chunky vibe
of batting eyes, flirty sighs, and bourbon.
Between the buildings again...
embraced with the same warm feeling that
entrances your fingertips, lips, and ears when within a man's arms.
In this city, Love is those two birds on that same powerline
that bowed and ebbed with summer's sweet sigh.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:47 PM UTC
I trust much too easily
Much too frighteningly
Yet, if I could only trust one thing
If one day I became a cynic and grew senile
If only one place i were to place my trust
Then I trust only Future.
Past is manipulative,
He has only false consistency
He tells my mother he will have me home by 12
And I find my self spending the night.
Present is only sneaky
And finds joy in the fright that she gives small children.
Not to be trusted...
While the Future,
The Future is noble....
I believe to be trustworthy.
Always pulling through,
when the Present is stabbing you in the back.
The Future will always be there,
Pulling through on the promises made of a better tomorrow.
The Future is a rolemodel.
Guiding the Present on her path to righteousness.
The only one I trust is the Future.
Even now, when I trust everyone.
I only truly trust the Future.
Because the Future has control over everything,
We can conquer everything,
If only with trust in the Future,
The Future can end this poem
however would make the biggest impac.......
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
walking down childish roads
I weep spotting something rotten
a tree
& I wonder before tying my shoes
in a church
guarded by senile eyes
I think to myself
why must I hold
in my fleshy heart
one becomes itself.
& below after years
of walking & soaking
structures & small
soiled gatherers
I see teal stained pages
smeared red, white
with the doings of our past
only needing a page in books
to breed fear in rosy hope.
looking before as a camera wants
we fly into the upward
quickly with enthusiasm
a smile etches our glossy face
& we see me
someone is here on my road
I stay calm
next to me sets the biggest
jaw I have or will see
sure there are greater
in numerous numbers
strange unfathomable flanks
ranking from mine
created from my rust
& our immense patience
seeing or realizing
there are strange silences
between the peace you held.
no I don't care
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
SAD VALENTINES FOR BREAKFAST
Oh my how red **** struts(thinks he's a sultan)
striding in and out among his harem-scarum hens
talking to themselves
like some lost senile sentimental souls.
Foolish fowl!
They lay eggs for gentlemen
and kids on long hot summer holidays
they hide their eggs like broken hearts
like old love letter secrets
safe in unseen places.
But see Auntie Nellie willy-nilly as a fox
stalk the chickens and expose them
cruel as the NEWS OF THE WORLD.
See her raid the haystacks
(backseat of the old car)
rain rusting machinery
her apron pregnant and precious with
the warm and brown gift of eggs.
Red **** crows loud against the morning marigolds
while children's voices babble sleepily into wide awakefulness
love letter secrets staining their lips
sad valentines for breakfast.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
Proud, Curious.
She steps forward.
Taking in the sight of the beast.
Cautious, Senile.
She growls darkly.
Alerting it's peers.
She doth take yes,
Nay to No.
Proud, Curious.
She goes onward.
Into the world.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
god i love fiddling with Kant...
i still don't understand why
Nietzsche thought he was
a senile old bachelor in the end...
**** similis...
the grand APE...
now...
is the ape a creature:
a priori,
os is the ape a creature:
a posteriori?
then again, i was once accused
of speaking out of my own
*** by a slob Jew in
Edinburgh,
as i was also jested at
with the words
'we'll crucify you'
at a UCL drama take on
the plight of the Palestinians...
**** me...
motley crue dr. feelgood style...
i guess when the last of
the last Holocaust survivors
are dead...
the gloves come off
and we can... rattle the bare-knuckle
slicks...
nope... i always preferred a drunkard's
slang to an ass-licking
****** addict's slack;
but don't get me wrong,
i could read a Burroughs' novel
in a day...
just... drenched....
in (a) hypnotic chaos of juxtaposition;
frantic vagary...
like watching a **** of a fly
darting here and there;
p.s.
(adjective & noun -
so, no... frantic vagary is not
a "misnomer"...
it's a doubled emphasis).
ah... the benefits of acquired
rather than the native
usage of the, spreschen -
hen hen... no spre(h)- -shen.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
Life is the prattle of an old lady.
She squawks either too loudly
or makes you crane to hear.
as she sits rocking,
her senile nonsense numbs your intelligence
until you sit bleary-
gaping at the air
like the fattest fish in the aquarium.
your every comment drowns
in the mush
of her tapioca voice.
you sit uncomfortably in her fishbowl world of
cottage cheese,
faded floral print- lace doilies
and contemplate your deft superiority
as her denture clicks gnaw on your sanity.
as soon as you think
a vague plotline surfaces in her mumbling
a new great aunt’s third cousin’s baby
weaves its way into the conversation,
and you are hopelessly thrown
like a reused dryer sheet
back into the colored load.
occasionally you attempt to establish a connection
between you and the venerable wrinkled smile
but she mishears and begins another
disconnected strain
featuring Bobby, the lad turned soldier.
but
just
as soon as you gain confidence
that you know how to handle this doddery senior-
she slams you with a small token
of sage advice
that shatters your naïve sphere
with its mind-wrenching validity.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
When I grow old, I hope I have wooden bones
that chip with a sculptors chisel and decompose
into the same soil as the dirt underneath my nails.
When I grow old, I hope I've found my green thumb,
and haven't forgotten Eden's hum, to have a garden to
drink coffee in.
When I grow old, I hope I still smoke tobacco from a pipe,
and read by candlelight, I hope I look back on life
and feel at peace when I go to bed at night.
When I grow old, I hope I find company in a woman with
grey hair whose somber, but bright eyes still stare at the Robins through the morning sun's glare. I hope she hasn't forgotten
how to smile when I'm being senile. And her joyous laugh still resonates deep in her stomach.
I hope we talk about the weather, how last winter was
better, and that we grieve well growing old together.
When I grow old, I hope the young ones will take my
mundane advice, and even if they find it trite,
pretend that it's wise.
I hope I have granddaughters and sons who'll be
just as excited for the sunrise as I, sharing the same
childish wonder for dawn's light sky.
When I grow old, I hope I still hope,
and haven't sunken into the stodgy bitterness that
plagues old men,
but still remain with fiery kind eyes that yearn
to turn earth into God's garden again.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC