"zonked" poems - Hello Poetry

Art class was a given A bird course as they say But, our teacher had gone awol You could say he flew away They found him at a campsite Cross legged on a mat Naked, drinking cool aid And talking to his cat He snapped while teaching concepts beyond the grasp of teenage kids Who only wanted to pass time and be on ebay making bids He taught them about structure about lines and Bernard Frize and now he's in the forest sitting naked with the trees Pastels, crayons and chalk sticks littered where he sat sitting naked, drinking kool aid and talking to his cat the kids, they drove him crazy never doing what he told Instead they sat and doodled while the teacher...well...unrolled they didn't draw the things he asked didn't study all the masters instead they were more intent on creating art disasters he came to class equipped one day to show them some van gogh instead they all got up And told him he could blow he snapped and left the class room never stopping at the door he went to his apartment and picked the cat up off the floor he went down to the locker he took his tent back to the car he was going to go camping he wasn't going to a bar he drove up to the campsite made his kool aid, grabbed his cat took his clothes off and got naked and sat down upon his mat this is where they found him seven days since he walked out he's now painting in nice place where there's lots of staff about most days he sits in silence in his jacket, sleeves behind zonked out on medication to help him find his mind they give him lots of kool aid but his cat he does not see he just paints with all his fingers making pictures of a tree once he was a teacher of a bird course teaching art now he gets all his excitement drinking kool aid from the cart in his mind there are da vincis claude monets and rembrandts too but, on paper he paints tree limbs in black and grey and blue...

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Jul 15, 2013

Jul 15, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC

roger-turner

The Art Teacher

Art class was a given A bird course as they say But, our teacher had gone awol You could say he flew away They found him at a campsite Cross legged on a mat Naked, drinking cool aid And talking to his cat He snapped while teaching concepts beyond the grasp of teenage kids Who only wanted to pass time and be on ebay making bids He taught them about structure about lines and Bernard Frize and now he's in the forest sitting naked with the trees Pastels, crayons and chalk sticks littered where he sat sitting naked, drinking kool aid and talking to his cat the kids, they drove him crazy never doing what he told Instead they sat and doodled while the teacher...well...unrolled they didn't draw the things he asked didn't study all the masters instead they were more intent on creating art disasters he came to class equipped one day to show them some van gogh instead they all got up And told him he could blow he snapped and left the class room never stopping at the door he went to his apartment and picked the cat up off the floor he went down to the locker he took his tent back to the car he was going to go camping he wasn't going to a bar he drove up to the campsite made his kool aid, grabbed his cat took his clothes off and got naked and sat down upon his mat this is where they found him seven days since he walked out he's now painting in nice place where there's lots of staff about most days he sits in silence in his jacket, sleeves behind zonked out on medication to help him find his mind they give him lots of kool aid but his cat he does not see he just paints with all his fingers making pictures of a tree once he was a teacher of a bird course teaching art now he gets all his excitement drinking kool aid from the cart in his mind there are da vincis claude monets and rembrandts too but, on paper he paints tree limbs in black and grey and blue...

64

A sun, shinning through looking glass Broken pieces of me are glowing with remorse Can you tell, how lovely tea leaves are singing Duets with crows and ravens Everything shines in glory, shines in regrets Falling in reverse, crying in reverse Gone are the ghosts, gone are dreams How lovely are the birds' beaks Integrating with the sea's edge Joining the dead ships and shells Keeping the diseases, keeping the rain Low sounds, do you remember how it felt when we said goodbye? Melodies discharging tears from their eyes like a funeral's crowd No more remorse, no more regrets Opening their mouths but the words are trapped like birds in cages Pills are choking them, stuffing their bodies Quite was the day, loud was the night with screams from within Run for your life, or run for your death Sick were my dreams, sick with my insanity This birdsong, it's haunting you, haunting me Under pressure, under which gate is the key? Vaulted were their smiles, like an ancient city With sorrow it is, vaulted is the gate to you Xeroxing my needs, every inch of my pride You have set my soul on fire, I'm burned to the ground Zonked out, exhausted by the lies that lingered through your skin, through mine.

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May 23, 2015

May 23, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC

Noorr

The alphabet of a sad birdsong

A sun, shinning through looking glass Broken pieces of me are glowing with remorse Can you tell, how lovely tea leaves are singing Duets with crows and ravens Everything shines in glory, shines in regrets Falling in reverse, crying in reverse Gone are the ghosts, gone are dreams How lovely are the birds' beaks Integrating with the sea's edge Joining the dead ships and shells Keeping the diseases, keeping the rain Low sounds, do you remember how it felt when we said goodbye? Melodies discharging tears from their eyes like a funeral's crowd No more remorse, no more regrets Opening their mouths but the words are trapped like birds in cages Pills are choking them, stuffing their bodies Quite was the day, loud was the night with screams from within Run for your life, or run for your death Sick were my dreams, sick with my insanity This birdsong, it's haunting you, haunting me Under pressure, under which gate is the key? Vaulted were their smiles, like an ancient city With sorrow it is, vaulted is the gate to you Xeroxing my needs, every inch of my pride You have set my soul on fire, I'm burned to the ground Zonked out, exhausted by the lies that lingered through your skin, through mine.

26

Dog Tired, Bone Tired, Dead Tired. all in, beat, bored, burned out, bushed, done in, drained, drooping, exhausted, ****** fatigued, fed up, flagging, just about had it, indifferent, knocked out, out of gas, pooped, punchy, ready to drop, spent, taxed, wearied, wearing, wiped out, worn out plain old zonked. there are only two words, for which there are no precise, exact, synonyms. To mind, they flash instantly, For they are the constants in the equation of life. **Love Responsibility** Man, can they make you tired! But they are constants, so we accept and pray for ourselves To accept them both with Equanimity. 5:45am August 24th 2013

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Aug 24, 2013

Aug 24, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Constants in the Equation of Life

Dog Tired, Bone Tired, Dead Tired. all in, beat, bored, burned out, bushed, done in, drained, drooping, exhausted, ****** fatigued, fed up, flagging, just about had it, indifferent, knocked out, out of gas, pooped, punchy, ready to drop, spent, taxed, wearied, wearing, wiped out, worn out plain old zonked. there are only two words, for which there are no precise, exact, synonyms. To mind, they flash instantly, For they are the constants in the equation of life. **Love Responsibility** Man, can they make you tired! But they are constants, so we accept and pray for ourselves To accept them both with Equanimity. 5:45am August 24th 2013

20

Dog Tired, Bone Tired, Dead Tired. all in, beat, bored, burned out, bushed, done in, drained, drooping, exhausted, ****** fatigued, fed up, flagging, just about had it, indifferent, knocked out, out of gas, pooped, punchy, ready to drop, spent, taxed, wearied, wearing, wiped out, worn out plain old zonked. there are only two words, for which there are no precise, exact, synonyms. To mind, they flash instantly, For they are the constants in the equation of life. Love Responsibility Man, can they make you tired! But they are constants, so we accept and pray for ourselves To accept them both with Equanimity. 5:45am August 24th 2013

0

Aug 24, 2014

Aug 24, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Constants in the Equation of Life

Dog Tired, Bone Tired, Dead Tired. all in, beat, bored, burned out, bushed, done in, drained, drooping, exhausted, ****** fatigued, fed up, flagging, just about had it, indifferent, knocked out, out of gas, pooped, punchy, ready to drop, spent, taxed, wearied, wearing, wiped out, worn out plain old zonked. there are only two words, for which there are no precise, exact, synonyms. To mind, they flash instantly, For they are the constants in the equation of life. Love Responsibility Man, can they make you tired! But they are constants, so we accept and pray for ourselves To accept them both with Equanimity. 5:45am August 24th 2013

20

He woke up in the morning as usual He hated tying up stuff He went for breakfast that he never did unusual He ate some bread and cheese stuffed! His daughter came running to him Hey dad ,"wazzup" she called She wanted him to tie her hair As mom was at the mall He tied' her hair any how To escape from the hatred , She got up and realised he had to tie' his shoes And after that she came again for her soes to be tied.. He did it all.... For what could he do he did it all along... As he walked out of the house the lock was a lace He had to tie it for the door to open in pace Odd he felt but in a rush he was He did it any how and walked up to his car He saw a tied knot on the car and the grass beneath was tied...... He started going mad after all and just kept on opening all the ties...... His hands were soaked in blood as he was tearing the ties not opening them...... He pulled the laces and red liquid came frm them all... From the car from the soil from the concrete road... Eveything that came in his way he pulled all the ties apart. A loud thud on the street , he was hit by a car.. .. His eyes were closing. He opened his eyes... Heavy breathing, He was zonked and all was a dream, He saw his hand they were red.... all around was red There was lots of hair on the ground His daugher ,bald on the floor Her head covered in red..

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Aug 19, 2015

Aug 19, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC

sajid

Tied

He woke up in the morning as usual He hated tying up stuff He went for breakfast that he never did unusual He ate some bread and cheese stuffed! His daughter came running to him Hey dad ,"wazzup" she called She wanted him to tie her hair As mom was at the mall He tied' her hair any how To escape from the hatred , She got up and realised he had to tie' his shoes And after that she came again for her soes to be tied.. He did it all.... For what could he do he did it all along... As he walked out of the house the lock was a lace He had to tie it for the door to open in pace Odd he felt but in a rush he was He did it any how and walked up to his car He saw a tied knot on the car and the grass beneath was tied...... He started going mad after all and just kept on opening all the ties...... His hands were soaked in blood as he was tearing the ties not opening them...... He pulled the laces and red liquid came frm them all... From the car from the soil from the concrete road... Eveything that came in his way he pulled all the ties apart. A loud thud on the street , he was hit by a car.. .. His eyes were closing. He opened his eyes... Heavy breathing, He was zonked and all was a dream, He saw his hand they were red.... all around was red There was lots of hair on the ground His daugher ,bald on the floor Her head covered in red..

34

We rode white lightning across state lines To a little town in the mountains over the tainted river Where the entire strip is full of bars Buzzing barflys hoping from tavern to tavern It was mid day in broad daylight We found the place A hole in the wall You would only be able find it if you were actually looking Solvent Reflections It was called We went down the stairs, passed the wooden Native American at the front entrance A marvelous collection of glass implements Colorful fabrics and alluring smells A man came out from behind a beaded curtain Eyes glazed and a zonked out look on his face "Right this way" He showed us the assortment of extracts We chose the middle way Purchased twenty scented sticks Descended from the mountain To a sketchy out post We fought a pool shark While waiting for the evening to come Our friends had come out to play with us To the market for brightly colored cans of caffeine and ethanol Torches lit and music playing We sat in a circle We opened the little brown vile Releasing the leaves of deeper knowledge We put in the vessel of self-exploration Put fire to it and inhaled Immediately she ran to the highest point to admire the art the moon and stars had fashioned on the black and blue firmament His head became a cardboard box And his body began to look like wicker I was somewhere between an animated reality And a three dimensional fantasy My friend went on a cruise upon a swaying pirate ship And found his face under the word "fabulous" on every single page of his dictionary Then saw himself in a magical grassland But then we stopped and stood in awe Of the mighty Cricket Lord Within ten minutes it came to an end Our voices hoarse from laughter Lets go again

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Jun 4, 2014

Jun 4, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC

tommy-johnson

Muronivid Aivlas

We rode white lightning across state lines To a little town in the mountains over the tainted river Where the entire strip is full of bars Buzzing barflys hoping from tavern to tavern It was mid day in broad daylight We found the place A hole in the wall You would only be able find it if you were actually looking Solvent Reflections It was called We went down the stairs, passed the wooden Native American at the front entrance A marvelous collection of glass implements Colorful fabrics and alluring smells A man came out from behind a beaded curtain Eyes glazed and a zonked out look on his face "Right this way" He showed us the assortment of extracts We chose the middle way Purchased twenty scented sticks Descended from the mountain To a sketchy out post We fought a pool shark While waiting for the evening to come Our friends had come out to play with us To the market for brightly colored cans of caffeine and ethanol Torches lit and music playing We sat in a circle We opened the little brown vile Releasing the leaves of deeper knowledge We put in the vessel of self-exploration Put fire to it and inhaled Immediately she ran to the highest point to admire the art the moon and stars had fashioned on the black and blue firmament His head became a cardboard box And his body began to look like wicker I was somewhere between an animated reality And a three dimensional fantasy My friend went on a cruise upon a swaying pirate ship And found his face under the word "fabulous" on every single page of his dictionary Then saw himself in a magical grassland But then we stopped and stood in awe Of the mighty Cricket Lord Within ten minutes it came to an end Our voices hoarse from laughter Lets go again

44

Her wont on a sleeve only made hour grieve while fever fed a cold today the road sought hither late and zonked this dale still clamored in her oath she'd bid herself again but to perish her affront while inside my belt only brought here by stock would swelter in her seat along highway oft-tried and never abandoned till a rap her deathly congestion, Alas

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Mar 5, 2017

Mar 5, 2017 at 7:31 AM UTC

poetman

Deathly Congestion

Her wont on a sleeve only made hour grieve while fever fed a cold today the road sought hither late and zonked this dale still clamored in her oath she'd bid herself again but to perish her affront while inside my belt only brought here by stock would swelter in her seat along highway oft-tried and never abandoned till a rap her deathly congestion, Alas

14

|| || The abandoned tricycle on the sidewalk Speaking louder than the passing police car • The only thing noticed Is the absence of the Real • a drop of love in an ocean of indifference Is really something not even there • To think that immature high school children Zonked out on ***** and anti - depressant medication Are actually Falling in love Is impossible • Statistically speaking Everyone is happy happy ! happy !!! • Do we love each other Or do we only love to say we love each other ? • Death is here • If the people who call themselves Loving People were loving people There would certainly be love somewhere • The police cars are screaming The tricycle has been picked up by the trash collectors The child is lost

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Apr 17, 2015

Apr 17, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC

jeffrey-robin

lost

|| || The abandoned tricycle on the sidewalk Speaking louder than the passing police car • The only thing noticed Is the absence of the Real • a drop of love in an ocean of indifference Is really something not even there • To think that immature high school children Zonked out on ***** and anti - depressant medication Are actually Falling in love Is impossible • Statistically speaking Everyone is happy happy ! happy !!! • Do we love each other Or do we only love to say we love each other ? • Death is here • If the people who call themselves Loving People were loving people There would certainly be love somewhere • The police cars are screaming The tricycle has been picked up by the trash collectors The child is lost

30

By: David W. Clare The aging secretary bugged me all morning, she even tossed salt in my womb: eh wound, er I mean coffee... That old tuff broad must be nuts! Hector, was juggling the books behind Tracie's back again. He's blind enough to fall for them goofy lies... Another day at the office with a hang-over the size of a rusted-out Buick yanked out of an old junkyard swamp. Boy, was I zonked... My broken-down dented up car ran out of gas on the freeway. The tow truck almost broke apart from being too old... I swear, that creep-faced driver looked familiar. Yeah, that's it! I saw his mug-shot in the old town-square post office last year. He probably lied, told me he goes bowling on Saturday nights. What a hidden agenda... My job was answering calls until Shelly gets back in town... Her kid-sister went berserk and wound up in a not-so straight-jacket. She is a kept-woman, forced to serve and sleep with a callus man she cares nothing about... The county hospital phoned; she took an overdose, went into a coma... That's life in the big city! It's a pity that old hidden agenda... (C) In perpetuity all rights reserved (P) FilmNoirWorks

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Dec 19, 2016

Dec 19, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC

david-w-clare

The Hidden Agenda

By: David W. Clare The aging secretary bugged me all morning, she even tossed salt in my womb: eh wound, er I mean coffee... That old tuff broad must be nuts! Hector, was juggling the books behind Tracie's back again. He's blind enough to fall for them goofy lies... Another day at the office with a hang-over the size of a rusted-out Buick yanked out of an old junkyard swamp. Boy, was I zonked... My broken-down dented up car ran out of gas on the freeway. The tow truck almost broke apart from being too old... I swear, that creep-faced driver looked familiar. Yeah, that's it! I saw his mug-shot in the old town-square post office last year. He probably lied, told me he goes bowling on Saturday nights. What a hidden agenda... My job was answering calls until Shelly gets back in town... Her kid-sister went berserk and wound up in a not-so straight-jacket. She is a kept-woman, forced to serve and sleep with a callus man she cares nothing about... The county hospital phoned; she took an overdose, went into a coma... That's life in the big city! It's a pity that old hidden agenda... (C) In perpetuity all rights reserved (P) FilmNoirWorks

16

Turning off the IDIOT BOX. Can’t stand the inane WISHY-WASHY CHIT CHAT, Or the HANKY PANKY of extremists on the left and right, Who ladle out FAKE NEWS-laced Kool-Aid, To their ZONKED-OUT viewers who gleefully consume it, While nodding through glazed eyes. It’s OPEN SEASON on the truth by DIRT BAGS, With journalism degrees inventing rather than reporting the news. Bring back old-school broadcasters like Cronkite and Brinkley, Who personally leaned left and right but reported the news. When news and commentary are no longer indistinguishable, In all the networks, I’ll tune back in. Meantime, BUG OFF and GOOD RIDDANCE!

0

Jun 11, 2019

Jun 11, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC

VictorDLopez

Tuning Out

Turning off the IDIOT BOX. Can’t stand the inane WISHY-WASHY CHIT CHAT, Or the HANKY PANKY of extremists on the left and right, Who ladle out FAKE NEWS-laced Kool-Aid, To their ZONKED-OUT viewers who gleefully consume it, While nodding through glazed eyes. It’s OPEN SEASON on the truth by DIRT BAGS, With journalism degrees inventing rather than reporting the news. Bring back old-school broadcasters like Cronkite and Brinkley, Who personally leaned left and right but reported the news. When news and commentary are no longer indistinguishable, In all the networks, I’ll tune back in. Meantime, BUG OFF and GOOD RIDDANCE!

13

I can't tell what time it is the clock has stopped and it's dark outside So it could be midnight just before first light or half way through, if I had some candle light I might see. The radio conked out and after listening to the crap that was put out I'd be zonked out too. please message me with the time if you have the time, I never did.

0

Nov 10, 2018

Nov 10, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

About then

I can't tell what time it is the clock has stopped and it's dark outside So it could be midnight just before first light or half way through, if I had some candle light I might see. The radio conked out and after listening to the crap that was put out I'd be zonked out too. please message me with the time if you have the time, I never did.

20