Was by the pool, sporting a Speedo
Cursed with overactive libido
I did all that I could
Now, I'm just sporting wood
The damned thing looked like a torpedo
So I used my towel, trying to hide
But still, it wouldn't swallow my pride
The shadow from my shaft
Was creating a draft
And it stirred up a crowd a mile wide
The line stretched from here to the border
Trump signed an Executive Order
News choppers filled the air
Bigfoot could only stare
Cher begged, but I couldn't afford her
I announce a decree,
overactive bladder, pee frequently.
I must haste to and fro,
because I just really have to go.
Gangway, vacate the loo,
or I'm going to splash all over you!
I wear industrial size diapers that
are pricey,
I'm a human waterfall, how dicey.
Aging isn't easy,
I know this poem is cheesy,
but I still can do a little dance,
as I've nicknamed myself, "Pissy-Pants!"
body dysmorphia from...
an overactive optic nerve
speculation on the dating and self worth market
get a phone book and stay inside
homeless people exist
we are not clean for we do not have civil rights
the illness is in the occupation of the united states of america
welcome to the civil war
Enveloping me in a cloudburst,
my minacious blues held a funk.
Dribbles are now torrential,
a rainstorm in my brain.
Overactive mind,
l’m exhausted.
Let me go
right now
fears!
Aurora borealis charismatic
Demystifying
Electrical phenomenon, geomagnetic
Heavenly impressive
Joyful Kudos
Light marvelous, nature
Overactive particles
Queen,restless storm triumph
Universe vivid
Wonderment Xanadu
Yay, zazzy
Active billionaires
We get tired of his face, which is a mirror
into his soul shows an obsession with self
has drowned his tender heart was
in agreement with the world around him
it is about power, the dislikeable want
to be loved, to show strength is second
best to be feared when love fails
overactive and exhaustive, he bothers
about things that are unimportant for
for us, but of vital interest his one road
self-centered intelligence, to be liked he
has to feign compassion for those he sees
as a loser and secretly despises
in silent moments, he senses his loss,
but feels defeated til the engine of his busy
life revs up, and he can throw himself into
the clamor of a life that is a mere echo of
the loss he has suffered.
Yesterday did you see,
At no time was I me,
Today I am, I be,
Sanity was my fee.
Yesterday had no goal,
An empty soul,
An overactive brain bowl,
The world smelt foul.
My mind carnal,
Appetite to life brutal,
Everyday a battle,
Daily burst a bubble.
Yesterday held loaded pistol,
Today am not a puzzle,
You and I equal,
View became global.
Christmas is tomorrow,
Forget guns and sorrow,
Only in kindness wallow,
And pride swallow
My road paved with pebbles,
Don’t associate with rebels,
Life has no medals,
Side with angels not devils.
When I arise in the morning, after “Thank you, God!” I often ask,
Am I fully loaded for this day to meet and complete my many tasks?
Have I spent the necessary time in thoughtful contemplation,
And calmed my overactive mind with deep yoga meditation?
Am I free from negative, nagging dark moods and fitful emotions?
Can I rise to the challenge of this day with faith, praise and devotion?
How I start my day sets the tone and pace of my achievements.
Gratitude, praise, and love are the highest spiritual vibrations.
When I fill my spirit with these before the morning work begins,
I know I am fully loaded and positive waves of faith pave my way
With all the help, encouragement and support I need for the day.
Chula Fleming © August 17, 2024
drought
they say
severe
they say
alarming
they say
but apple crops
are abundant
cherry crops
sublime
potato production
prodigious
rivers
are full
and rainfall
is normal
is "they say"
overactive
imagination
or planned
propaganda
In a world of cutthroat
Competition
Tension is a malady
Too common
To ignore;
Often
Inherited from
Parents
Who themselves may have
Received the DNA
From their own;
I am a past master
In building tension
Even if there is none,
A fertile and overactive
Imagination, ironically,
Coupled with unimaginative
Handling of stress
Can build up tension
In a rush;
Ignoring personal health while
Worrying too much
About the world,
In general
And the future,
In particular
Is an assured path to
A nervous breakdown;
It is not as if I don’t care
I do, but I have an
Uncanny affinity
Between external stress
And natural home-grown,
organic tension;
I am beginning to love the tension
In me
And striving to build it in others
Because I believe in
Sharing
And passing it on to
Others who are
Not so lucky;
Building tension
Is an art
Come to me
I’ll only be too happy
To pass on the
Nuances.
The enthusiastic logastellus,
empty handed yet so scripturient;
Try to write it feels incoherent,
without words there is no audience;
Plagued with a poor vocabulary,
madness fills an overactive mind;
First line leaves that soul unsatisfied,
not able to capture a writer’s quiddity;
You can sit warm yourself by the fire
believing the Muse comes on command;
When will raw emotion understand
it takes tools to pen what you desire;
Go out communicate in person
you’ll pick up a new line every time;
No longer with a struggle to rhyme,
No longer riddled with guiltroversion.
Ever tune anything in a dark hallway?
Ever tune anything in a dark hallway?
Let’s dance on rose petals and glass;
Let’s dance on rose petals and glass;
Anything, let’s dance in a dark hallway,
and ever tune glass on rose petals?
A slow song that always speeds up;
A slow song that always speeds up;
Overactive pulse hops in your throat;
Overactive pulse hops in your throat;
Always a pulse speeds up overactive,
in your throat that slow song hops;
Candles beside a moonlit hot tub;
Candles beside a moonlit hot tub;
I could relive this moment forever;
I could relive this moment forever;
Forever I could relive moonlit candles,
this moment beside a hot tub;
A slow song on? I relive this moment;
Overactive pulse always speeds up;
In a dark hallway glass hops in your throat;
Candles, let’s dance beside rose petals;
A moonlit tub could tune anything
that hot forever and ever .
A troubled life
Her life has become
an agony of anxiety,
of death.
Her brother died
she thinks the knuckled hand
is touch her shoulder
is coming nearer.
Her shoulder twitches
she wills painfulness.
Another appointment
to a doctor
or a hospital
they cannot help her.
She has days
when overactive
she buying a car,
a Mercedes
she can not drive
a hip surgery saw to that
next day she is in pain
walking too long
her day is spent in bed.
He plans his escape
but has he got the faculty
to do so?
I am on this little enthusiastic theme today
It has come into my mind, and it is here to play.
I can tell it will not release me until it’s full out gray
And it has been vibrant, red-orange since the break of day.
Come on Trixie, I say to my overactive, excited muse
Are these poems even my own well-thought out views?
We laugh together then my personalities and me.
Because on poetry themes we truthfully seldom agree.
Slave To The Pen.
.
An obedient driven slave to the pen
With an overactive fertile mind
Words overflowing from the abundant
Fountain of my heart with little thought
Words weaved together in poetic line
.
Inspiration drawn
From the rich tapestry of life
Ink spilled
Within the midst of a sleepless night
.
My sweet affliction
And my all consuming addiction
My mistress my life
My therapy
That makes more inclined
To understand the world
People
And myself.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
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