ok i have many crazy poems, but this is one i just wrote for our site.
ONE MORE TIME
" gimme one for my baby and one more for the road. buddy you wouldn't know it, but i'm a kind of poet " - mr frank sinatra.
all that time that was mine ended with a heartfelt emotional sign can't do this anymore ending up sleeping on the floor
got mugged in the park. no cards, no money and no credit can't really say i was surprised that her bite was worse than her bark this city is gonna get you, so just let it
samantha panther seems like an angel to the women i know now they lie and lie, while giving their most sacred vow.
after the mugging, nearly died in the hospital but they brought me back being dead isn't so bad, it just smells funny sortta like ladies feet dipped in honey reasons are scarce. more fiction than life all i want is a smiling wife.
" then i go and spoil it, by saying something stupid like " i love you " "- mr frank sinatra.
thanks ladies and gents. i had another 2 verses, but they had to be burned and thrown out the window. too scary for mortal humans to read ha ha - take care everyone - love and peace - paul.
I loved the visuals in the poem. It strikes me that you enjoy quoting something from a song at the end and sometimes the beginnings of your poems ...ummmmm Paul I would have liked to hear the 2 verses that you burned and threw out the window. LOL!!!! Awesome poem
thanks victoria, karate girl ha ha. i can't resist a bit of frank, elvis, the beatles and the clash sometimes. i wrote another crazy poem in hospital. don't know if you are allowed to post more than one poem on the same subject? but that's all i do. write. read. have disaterous relationships, whine and have nervous breakdowns ha ha. only partially joking - love and peace - paul.
thanks wolfie. i've got music going round in my head all the time. i don't watch t.v. so my mind is like a human juke box. slip[ me a nickel and i'll sing any song you want. you wouldn't have liked the burned verses. too scary even for me. half my poems get burned anyway - e - mail me kid. i missed ya - love and peace - paul.
thanks bonita. insanity is my middle name kid. i was in a punk band ha ha. i know we had a disagreement, the other day, but if we agreed on everything, life would be boring wouldn't it? - love and peace - paul.
Paul F., I liked your insanity very much. You do express your feeling very well indeed!!! I always say that the one thing that I'm going to miss about life is the sense of smell. Ladies feet dipped in honey you say....hmmmmm Paul B
I really do want to write a new one for this but this old one is almost to the prompt so I can't help but post it. LOL The poem was published in the Bottom Dog Press anthology "Working Hard For the Money."
WHEN CHERI'S FATHER WAS CRAZY
Factories were hiring but Cheri's dad was crazy. The mothers shook sad-eyed heads over backyard fences. Family men did not work on the docks loading cargo.
Cheri's dad did, sometimes left for months on ships, unloaded, loaded again. Then his father died, left him an upholstery shop, the house behind it. The mothers smiled.
Now Cheri's dad would not go away. Now, he had a business at his doorstep. He did good work in this new life, with tools, wood, nails, studs, fabrics, leathers, Naugahyde.
But when customers came, he hid in the bathroom, smoked cigarettes until they left. Then, there were mornings in the cramped kitchen with smells of eggs, coffee, toast, four teenage
voices screaming over rock music and their mom, loudest of all. Cheri's dad sat at the table, quiet. Amid the din, he stacked. Cup. Saucer. Cup. Saucer. Sugar
bowl. Cream pitcher. Butter dish. Salt shaker. Precariously, they sat, balanced in the chaotic kitchen. And still, he stacked as his wife screamed Stop that! Stop that! Stop that!
Nothing ever fell. Nothing ever broke. After a few years the upholstery shop folded. Cheri's dad went back to work loading cargo on ships, crazy again.
This is a wonderful description of mental illness. I especially loved how he sat peacefully stacking things during what sounded like chaos!! He seemed to love his job on the cargo ships. Great poem!!!
controlling chaos physically by stacking cups and saucers to quiet the chaos in his mind. you really reached deep and produced a poem that shows the various parts of mental illness.
Funny, I didn't think of it as mental illness. He just wanted to work on the docks and people thought he should do "more", or "better" but he didn't want to. But he was sort of mentally ill while he was forced to run the upholstery shop.
i used to hide in bathrooms and smoke to get away from people. nice poem victoria. i know some people who live on the docks. but they aren't dock workers, if you follow my drift - love and peace - paul.
Victoria, I loved this poem!!! I have never been that bad off myself I don't think but I have seen people who are. Stacking the cups and saucers was a great sign of organization in a chaotic world
I was the leader of the pack we slept in a pile for the heat ate raw meat, gnashed our teeth growled and played; so strong we could not be defeated. we crawled beneath porches I felt cobwebs gently sweep my face
a phone rang in the distance it sang out a warning that all was not right I wavered, confused in my reverie
so thirsty, so hungry the phone rang again, reality, I answered "are you alright?" "I don't know, I think I'm lost" "go to the doctor" said the voice on the phone
"I think I'm sick" , I told them there. "How long has it been since you've brushed your hair?" "and food and drink? what have you done to yourself?"
a week in the hospital, dehydrated and starved I thought I was a wolf, in stone I could have carved No one called me at all for a week, by then I was half dead. Three weeks in the mental ward put my head back on straight
it's so hard to be what you are when you aren't when life is odd sometimes we tend to jump the gate but I made my way back, the air just had a little crack and I fell through. I just make sure it won't happen anew.
I remember that time. Your spirit guide was trying to help you but it was all in dreams and not reality. It's so easy to fall through that crack and to never find your way back. I'm glad someone called to bring you out of that reverie and back to reality.
" that's when i fell for the leader of the pack " wolfie. i like the imagery. only a little crazy today.......but it's early yet ha ha - love and peace - paul.
Honey, If I remember correctly, I was the one who called you. I wasn't allow to call for a week and when I finally did you sounded so distant and sick that I told you to go to the doctor. This is a great rendition of that time.
No one can come in and I cannot leave The house has become my prison - my womb Of safety where I cannot be touched Those who enter breathe my air until My lungs feel as if they will explode I scream for them to leave - to stop The voices - the noise that suffocates me The phone is my enemy when it rings I panic - i don’t want to answer - don’t want to talk People say they are worried but I don’t care I just want to be left alone in my insanity It is comfortable - it is familiar and I am at home With the silence that echoes in my mind. Time moves slowly - the madness lifts I see daylight again - i leaven to breathe To open the door and walk outside. I do not die - i do not disappear Little by little I find my way back to reality My friends and family are part of me again And I leave the security of the house To once again be a part of life.
very intense bonita. i shed a few tears over this one, but you know what i'm like. it can be comfortable in your insanity in bed, with a bottle of vodka and a joint and a good book, knowing that what awaits you in the city is real insanity - love and peace and pussy cat puuuuurrrrrssss - paul.
made me laugh, but reminded me why i hated school and left at 15. my knowlege of fractions and the internal angles of triangles along with pi, have never really been any use in the real world. still i know what a quadrilateral triangle looks like, just in case anybody asks ha ha - love and peace - paul.
Paul, as a former math teacher I have to say your attitude is pretty typical but I find it sad that people choose to pick on math when a lot of it is actually useful and in reality most stuff you learn in high school is never used again. I mean, have you ever used diagramming sentences in real life? And how about all those history classes? Ever used knowledge of Mesopotamia? I think knowledge is a good thing, even if you don't find uses for it in your everyday life. And I really am sorry but your last sentence cracked me up. I think you mean an "equilateral triangle." A quadrilateral is a 4-sided figure. LOL.
ha ha. see, i've even forgotten my damn triangles now victoria. i'll be forgetting all i know about hexagon's next. many subjects at school are a waste of time. latin, teaching shakespeare to 13 year olds, when a lot of 40 year olds don't understand it. but at least math means you don't get short changed by dodgy shops ha ha. had to learn physics though, to get to do my astronomy stuff. mainly my education started after i left school though.
go deep down inside and what will you find a myriad of crumbles jumbles that have fit together like a thousand piece puzzle nuzzle into my psyche and you may scream or dream along with my puzzled piece neatly fit betwixt one another, the mother the id, the tester, the psycho in bedlam, hallucinating gem stones and animals emeralds and wolves or a calm stream and a paper dream in which I die all in one picture a puzzle am I
excellent wolfie. you scared me a bit. it's so annoyining being a jigsaw puzzle with a lot of your pieces missing. don't know if you are allowed to post 2 poems under the same subject, but i gotta put this one up. about when i was on the road for three years.
NO ATTEMPT TO RHYME EXCEPT BY ACCIDENT 3
there are some nice people in the world a priest once slipped my twenty pounds 'cos he knew i was homeless and under multiple amounts of stress
a taxi driver took me for a free ride a funny indian guy, who knew how the world unfurled a lady from jamaica who knew what it was like she gave me a drink and a slap and told me to sort it all out
" when you get a slap from a lady, you take it and like it " humphrey bogart - the maltese falcon.
no time to buy a bike but i gotta get outta this hospital a'fore i get all pirating and scream and shout damn! rhymed by accident must be my weird accent.
" nineteenth nervous breakdown " - " the rolling stones.
Paul F. You are allowed to write as many poems as you want on one prompt as long as they fit the prompt. I like this one a lot. I like how you rhymed by accident...it must be your weird accent.....hahahahahahahah
Good, tight verse, Linda, and again, nice slice of life Paul. The poems on this subject have been fun to read. Mine will post soon as I get to the bottom of them.
oooohhhhh! wolfie, you shouldn't give me permission to write as many poems as i like. you know what i'm like. i've only got about a zillion poems, that nobody has seen and survived being burnt.oh, ok. here is another
WASCALLY WABBITS
sometimes grumble become weeds of tumble my watersheds are all washed out with a little cry, a sulk and a pout down the rabbit hole, i now stumble
like the coyote chasing the roadrunner around in the rain wondering what there is to gain th - th - th - th -that's all folks i'm a little out of jokes.
crazy bonita? you should have seen the one i burned. i think you can be arrested in most countries for writing like that ha ha - love and peace - paul.
It's the piles that grow under tables and chairs and next to the bed, mostly books to be sure. He hangs up his clothes but his shoes seem to linger and lately the heap of stuffed animals grew by several more, so adorable too.
Sometimes I complain, and he sets right to work to tidy the piles and remove all the extra, but magically somehow the piles reappear and grow 'til they topple and land on the rug, and he says I will fix it, I'll do it tomorrow and sometimes he does, sometimes not, to my sorrow.
It isn't my way to accumulate stuff, I tend to be careful to keep my things tidy. However I know that he's doing his best to cope with his habit of piling possessions. He is my beloved, though he is a bit lazy and I try to be patient so I won't go crazy.
I took a rather broad interpretation of the prompt, using the top Crazy rather than the when I went, because I couldn't think of a time when I have. If I do, I"ll write another. If not, this is it.
hey tash. don't ever go to sunderland. you'll be crazy within a week ha ha. very familiar. huge piles of teetering books in my room. really good at falling over at 4AM in the dark. like most book collectors, they are in an order that only i understand too - love and peace - paul.
I can soooo!!! empathize!!! you said it well! that last line sums up our being...I try to be patient o I don't go crazy! we can clean and clean and clean and still it look like a storage place for everything under the sun!
When reality tweaked out on me I didn't know It slowly creeped away and I just let it go What was the reason that things went south I dreaded the words that came out of my mouth
Things were tense and the pressure bad I wasn't talking to my mom or dad Was I a friend or was I the foe You could have asked me but I didn't know
Sanity is a concept upon reflection So did it matter if I lost my direction Someday I hope to think thoughts that are right Before time steals the option and closes for the night
I can relate to the line I dreaded the words that came out of my mouth. it's like sometimes we are totally out of control and say things we never would have said if we were in our right minds.
yes! it does! I think being insane is part of what keeps us sane if that makes any sense. we all have moments that make us wonder what is wrong with me!
ok i have many crazy poems, but this is one i just wrote for our site.
ReplyDeleteONE MORE TIME
" gimme one for my baby and one more for the road. buddy you wouldn't know it, but i'm a kind of poet " - mr frank sinatra.
all that time
that was mine
ended with a heartfelt emotional sign
can't do this anymore
ending up sleeping on the floor
got mugged in the park.
no cards, no money and no credit
can't really say i was surprised that her bite was worse than her bark
this city is gonna get you, so just let it
samantha panther seems like an angel to the women i know now
they lie and lie, while giving their most sacred vow.
after the mugging, nearly died in the hospital
but they brought me back
being dead isn't so bad, it just smells funny
sortta like ladies feet dipped in honey
reasons are scarce. more fiction than life
all i want is a smiling wife.
" then i go and spoil it, by saying something stupid like " i love you " "- mr frank sinatra.
thanks ladies and gents. i had another 2 verses, but they had to be burned and thrown out the window. too scary for mortal humans to read ha ha - take care everyone - love and peace - paul.
I like the poem. Not overly fond of ending them with a Sinatra song. I think it takes away from your words and your words are awesome.
DeleteI loved the visuals in the poem. It strikes me that you enjoy quoting something from a song at the end and sometimes the beginnings of your poems ...ummmmm Paul I would have liked to hear the 2 verses that you burned and threw out the window. LOL!!!! Awesome poem
Deletewow! love it! powerful and the insanity of the moments comes through wonderfully. great write!
Deletethanks victoria, karate girl ha ha. i can't resist a bit of frank, elvis, the beatles and the clash sometimes. i wrote another crazy poem in hospital. don't know if you are allowed to post more than one poem on the same subject? but that's all i do. write. read. have disaterous relationships, whine and have nervous breakdowns ha ha. only partially joking - love and peace - paul.
Deletethanks wolfie. i've got music going round in my head all the time. i don't watch t.v. so my mind is like a human juke box. slip[ me a nickel and i'll sing any song you want. you wouldn't have liked the burned verses. too scary even for me. half my poems get burned anyway - e - mail me kid. i missed ya - love and peace - paul.
Deletethanks bonita. insanity is my middle name kid. i was in a punk band ha ha. i know we had a disagreement, the other day, but if we agreed on everything, life would be boring wouldn't it? - love and peace - paul.
DeleteYou live your poetry and your poetry is your life. Love it, nicely done, though sad to read...wish things were otherwise for you.
Deletethanks tash. i only seem to be able to express my feelings adequately through verse now a days - love and peace - paul.
DeletePaul F., I liked your insanity very much. You do express your feeling very well indeed!!! I always say that the one thing that I'm going to miss about life is the sense of smell. Ladies feet dipped in honey you say....hmmmmm Paul B
DeleteI like the ladies feet dipped in honey too. I liked the whole poem but that part stuck in my head forever I think
Deletecoudn't get a reply to enter the other day. hope this works.- yeah, the ladies feet thing, eeeerrr ( blush ) - love and peace - paul.
DeleteI really do want to write a new one for this but this old one is almost to the prompt so I can't help but post it. LOL The poem was published in the Bottom Dog Press anthology "Working Hard For the Money."
ReplyDeleteWHEN CHERI'S FATHER WAS CRAZY
Factories were hiring but Cheri's dad
was crazy. The mothers shook sad-eyed heads
over backyard fences. Family men
did not work on the docks loading cargo.
Cheri's dad did, sometimes left for months on
ships, unloaded, loaded again. Then his
father died, left him an upholstery
shop, the house behind it. The mothers smiled.
Now Cheri's dad would not go away. Now,
he had a business at his doorstep.
He did good work in this new life, with tools,
wood, nails, studs, fabrics, leathers, Naugahyde.
But when customers came, he hid in the
bathroom, smoked cigarettes until they left.
Then, there were mornings in the cramped kitchen
with smells of eggs, coffee, toast, four teenage
voices screaming over rock music and
their mom, loudest of all. Cheri's dad sat
at the table, quiet. Amid the din,
he stacked. Cup. Saucer. Cup. Saucer. Sugar
bowl. Cream pitcher. Butter dish. Salt shaker.
Precariously, they sat, balanced in
the chaotic kitchen. And still, he stacked
as his wife screamed Stop that! Stop that! Stop that!
Nothing ever fell. Nothing ever broke.
After a few years the upholstery
shop folded. Cheri's dad went back to work
loading cargo on ships, crazy again.
This is a wonderful description of mental illness. I especially loved how he sat peacefully stacking things during what sounded like chaos!! He seemed to love his job on the cargo ships. Great poem!!!
Deletecontrolling chaos physically by stacking cups and saucers to quiet the chaos in his mind. you really reached deep and produced a poem that shows the various parts of mental illness.
DeleteFunny, I didn't think of it as mental illness. He just wanted to work on the docks and people thought he should do "more", or "better" but he didn't want to. But he was sort of mentally ill while he was forced to run the upholstery shop.
Deletei used to hide in bathrooms and smoke to get away from people. nice poem victoria. i know some people who live on the docks. but they aren't dock workers, if you follow my drift - love and peace - paul.
DeleteAmazing poem, thanks for sharing. so vivid! Wow!
DeleteVictoria, I loved this poem!!! I have never been that bad off myself I don't think but I have seen people who are. Stacking the cups and saucers was a great sign of organization in a chaotic world
DeleteI like the idea of the guy getting to go back to the job he really loved. good poem
DeleteI was the leader of the pack
ReplyDeletewe slept in a pile for the heat
ate raw meat, gnashed our teeth
growled and played; so strong
we could not be defeated.
we crawled beneath porches
I felt cobwebs gently sweep my face
a phone rang in the distance
it sang out a warning that all was not right
I wavered, confused in my reverie
so thirsty, so hungry
the phone rang again, reality, I answered
"are you alright?" "I don't know, I think I'm lost"
"go to the doctor" said the voice on the phone
"I think I'm sick" , I told them there.
"How long has it been since you've brushed your hair?"
"and food and drink? what have you done to yourself?"
a week in the hospital, dehydrated and starved
I thought I was a wolf, in stone I could have carved
No one called me at all for a week, by then I was
half dead. Three weeks in the mental ward
put my head back on straight
it's so hard to be what you are when you aren't
when life is odd sometimes we tend to jump the gate
but I made my way back, the air just had a little crack
and I fell through. I just make sure it won't happen anew.
I remember that time. Your spirit guide was trying to help you but it was all in dreams and not reality. It's so easy to fall through that crack and to never find your way back. I'm glad someone called to bring you out of that reverie and back to reality.
DeleteWow. Amazing experience. Both inside and outside your head.
Deletethe memory of this is so clear to me that I can still smell the pack and feel that cobweb on my face.
Delete" that's when i fell for the leader of the pack " wolfie.
Deletei like the imagery. only a little crazy today.......but it's early yet ha ha - love and peace - paul.
Scary dream, scary experience, glad you came back from it. Sounds like a bad trip. I had one once...no fun! Great poem, fine writing.
DeleteHoney, If I remember correctly, I was the one who called you. I wasn't allow to call for a week and when I finally did you sounded so distant and sick that I told you to go to the doctor. This is a great rendition of that time.
DeleteNana, you told me about this time in your life. It must have been very hard. You wrote about it very well and intense.
DeleteNo one can come in and I cannot leave
ReplyDeleteThe house has become my prison - my womb
Of safety where I cannot be touched
Those who enter breathe my air until
My lungs feel as if they will explode
I scream for them to leave - to stop
The voices - the noise that suffocates me
The phone is my enemy when it rings
I panic - i don’t want to answer - don’t want to talk
People say they are worried but I don’t care
I just want to be left alone in my insanity
It is comfortable - it is familiar and I am at home
With the silence that echoes in my mind.
Time moves slowly - the madness lifts
I see daylight again - i leaven to breathe
To open the door and walk outside.
I do not die - i do not disappear
Little by little I find my way back to reality
My friends and family are part of me again
And I leave the security of the house
To once again be a part of life.
Wow. Very intense. This prompt is turning into a really good one.
Deletevery intense bonita. i shed a few tears over this one, but you know what i'm like. it can be comfortable in your insanity in bed, with a bottle of vodka and a joint and a good book, knowing that what awaits you in the city is real insanity - love and peace and pussy cat puuuuurrrrrssss - paul.
DeleteI don't why but after my gallbladder surgery I went into this weird world for awhile
DeleteSuperb!!! You recapture an experience you had so vividly we can all experience it. Great job. Only sorry you had this happen to you. Wow!
DeleteBonnie, You allowed us all to experience a totally intense experience of insanity. Very vivid and colorful
Deleteif this is for real, I'm glad you found your way back to reality. It's a great poem
DeleteThis is absolutely amazing!!!! I love the imagery, it really sounds like a clinical case of bi-polar disorder. good job.
ReplyDeleteOkay, a sort of new one. This is taken from one of my "Yo Miss!" blog entries:
ReplyDeleteI pass out fraction worksheets
to middle school math students.
Katrina asks, “Why you want
us to do all this work? You
crazy or something?” I smile
insanely, cackle just a bit.
I say, “I decided to
become a teacher at age
51. Does that sound sane
to you?” Katrina reaches
for the worksheet, picks up her
pencil, glances up at me,
every few seconds, but
writes on her fraction worksheet.
I got a big chuckle out of this one!!! I especially like the insane smile and the cackle!! At least Katrina decided to do her work!!! fun poem!!
Deletemade me laugh, but reminded me why i hated school and left at 15. my knowlege of fractions and the internal angles of triangles along with pi, have never really been any use in the real world. still i know what a quadrilateral triangle looks like, just in case anybody asks ha ha - love and peace - paul.
Deleteyep I agree...made me smile and chuckle. I can ee that poor student wondering is teacher crazy? and doing the work just in case... lol
DeletePaul, as a former math teacher I have to say your attitude is pretty typical but I find it sad that people choose to pick on math when a lot of it is actually useful and in reality most stuff you learn in high school is never used again. I mean, have you ever used diagramming sentences in real life? And how about all those history classes? Ever used knowledge of Mesopotamia? I think knowledge is a good thing, even if you don't find uses for it in your everyday life. And I really am sorry but your last sentence cracked me up. I think you mean an "equilateral triangle." A quadrilateral is a 4-sided figure. LOL.
DeleteYou did it again... I like how you capture the essence of the relationship in between teacher and student in this vignette of a poem. Great fun!
Deleteha ha. see, i've even forgotten my damn triangles now victoria. i'll be forgetting all i know about hexagon's next. many subjects at school are a waste of time. latin, teaching shakespeare to 13 year olds, when a lot of 40 year olds don't understand it. but at least math means you don't get short changed by dodgy shops ha ha. had to learn physics though, to get to do my astronomy stuff. mainly my education started after i left school though.
DeleteVictoria, this is funny as all get out!!!! I LOL and enjoyed it very much!!!
DeleteI laughed out loud when Nana read this to me today!!! This is soooo funny
DeleteHere is one from gotpoetry.com
ReplyDeletePsycho in Bedlam
go deep down inside
and what will you find
a myriad of crumbles
jumbles that have
fit together like a
thousand piece puzzle
nuzzle into my psyche
and you may
scream or dream
along with my
puzzled piece
neatly fit betwixt one
another, the mother
the id, the tester,
the psycho in bedlam,
hallucinating
gem stones and animals
emeralds and wolves
or a calm stream
and a paper dream
in which I die
all in one picture
a puzzle am I
a puzzle indeed...a jugsaw puzzle! and who will fit all the pieces together?
Deleteexcellent wolfie. you scared me a bit. it's so annoyining being a jigsaw puzzle with a lot of your pieces missing. don't know if you are allowed to post 2 poems under the same subject, but i gotta put this one up. about when i was on the road for three years.
DeleteNO ATTEMPT TO RHYME EXCEPT BY ACCIDENT 3
there are some nice people in the world
a priest once slipped my twenty pounds
'cos he knew i was homeless
and under multiple amounts of stress
a taxi driver took me for a free ride
a funny indian guy, who knew how the world unfurled
a lady from jamaica who knew what it was like
she gave me a drink and a slap
and told me to sort it all out
" when you get a slap from a lady, you take it and like it " humphrey bogart - the maltese falcon.
no time to buy a bike
but i gotta get outta this hospital
a'fore i get all pirating and scream and shout
damn! rhymed by accident
must be my weird accent.
" nineteenth nervous breakdown " - " the rolling stones.
Linda, I like this one even more than the last. And do you remember dad's uncle (???) who used to cut jigsaw pieces to make them fit into the puzzle?
DeletePaul F. You are allowed to write as many poems as you want on one prompt as long as they fit the prompt. I like this one a lot. I like how you rhymed by accident...it must be your weird accent.....hahahahahahahah
Deletethis flows nicely making and easy read even though it was a tough topic. finding goodness in the wake of an insane world gives hope.
DeleteGood, tight verse, Linda, and again, nice slice of life Paul. The poems on this subject have been fun to read. Mine will post soon as I get to the bottom of them.
Deleteoooohhhhh! wolfie, you shouldn't give me permission to write as many poems as i like. you know what i'm like. i've only got about a zillion poems, that nobody has seen and survived being burnt.oh, ok. here is another
DeleteWASCALLY WABBITS
sometimes grumble
become weeds of tumble
my watersheds are all washed out
with a little cry, a sulk and a pout
down the rabbit hole, i now stumble
like the coyote chasing the roadrunner around in the rain
wondering what there is to gain
th - th - th - th -that's all folks
i'm a little out of jokes.
thanks tash. just wish life wouldn't slice so deep sometimes.
DeleteI enjoyed this very much, honey. I think I remember when you wrote it.
Deleteto Paul F. you pesky wabbit!!!!!!
DeleteTo Nana, this is a wowser poem!!!! I love it
DeletePaul F...now that was some crazy stuff! and I'm pretty sure Paul B was referring to Linda in his response.. lol
Deletethanks paul b ( too many paul's in the world. all mc cartneys fault ha ha ) more of a daffy duck now a days - love and peace - paul.
Deletecrazy bonita? you should have seen the one i burned. i think you can be arrested in most countries for writing like that ha ha - love and peace - paul.
DeleteI certainly do remember but I don't remember who it was. Uncle Elias????? The one who was with Aunt Jenny???
ReplyDeleteno it was Papa from 2nd street. Hortense's dad.
DeleteYou're right Bonnie
DeleteDriving me crazy
ReplyDeleteIt's the piles that grow under tables and chairs
and next to the bed, mostly books to be sure.
He hangs up his clothes but his shoes seem to linger
and lately the heap of stuffed animals grew
by several more, so adorable too.
Sometimes I complain, and he sets right to work
to tidy the piles and remove all the extra,
but magically somehow the piles reappear
and grow 'til they topple and land on the rug,
and he says I will fix it, I'll do it tomorrow
and sometimes he does, sometimes not, to my sorrow.
It isn't my way to accumulate stuff,
I tend to be careful to keep my things tidy.
However I know that he's doing his best
to cope with his habit of piling possessions.
He is my beloved, though he is a bit lazy
and I try to be patient so I won't go crazy.
Tasha, I guess I can really relate with your mate...nice poem
DeleteI can really relate with your problem because I live in a camper and we have things stashed everywhere. Good poem
DeleteI took a rather broad interpretation of the prompt, using the top Crazy rather than the when I went, because I couldn't think of a time when I have. If I do, I"ll write another. If not, this is it.
ReplyDeletehey tash. don't ever go to sunderland. you'll be crazy within a week ha ha. very familiar. huge piles of teetering books in my room. really good at falling over at 4AM in the dark. like most book collectors, they are in an order that only i understand too - love and peace - paul.
DeleteI can soooo!!! empathize!!! you said it well! that last line sums up our being...I try to be patient o I don't go crazy! we can clean and clean and clean and still it look like a storage place for everything under the sun!
DeleteThanks Paul and Bonnie especialy, it's good to know I'm not alone.
DeleteCrazy Then
ReplyDeleteWhen reality tweaked out on me I didn't know
It slowly creeped away and I just let it go
What was the reason that things went south
I dreaded the words that came out of my mouth
Things were tense and the pressure bad
I wasn't talking to my mom or dad
Was I a friend or was I the foe
You could have asked me but I didn't know
Sanity is a concept upon reflection
So did it matter if I lost my direction
Someday I hope to think thoughts that are right
Before time steals the option and closes for the night
I enjoyed reading your poem, Papa, it is a very good poem.
DeleteClever poem, I especially liked the last two lines.
Deletevery good poem. I like the rhyme and the rhythm . I especially liked the last stanza
DeleteI can relate to the line I dreaded the words that came out of my mouth. it's like sometimes we are totally out of control and say things we never would have said if we were in our right minds.
Deletereality is overrated mate. i'm in disguise as one of the normal people....don't always do a good job of it - love and peace - paul.
Deletecraziness comes with a force
ReplyDeletenow I'm not crazy
it comes and goes everyday
Spare and effective, good job.
Deleteshort and to the point...good write...so glad you're sticking with us
Deleteyes! it does! I think being insane is part of what keeps us sane if that makes any sense. we all have moments that make us wonder what is wrong with me!
Delete" anger is an energy " johnny rotten - love and peace - paul.
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