Related quotes: It is not yet noon...

Pre-Occupation

It is not yet noon
And indeed it cannot come too soon
For already I'm at my wits end
Trying to figure myself out of this bend
Where all I can seem to do
Is fail to stop my thoughts from wandering to you
And my heart from diving south
And that annoying smile from curving my mouth
I'm not comfy with the swell of emotions
I experience at all these crazy notions
I assure you, I have better thoughts to think
And although I say this with a wink
Seeing as I've yet to earn my daily bread...
Could you kindly get the hell out of my head? ? ? ! ! ! !

poem by Marilyn Odeon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

Am I Crazy?

This is a poem that for me elaborates a little about the thought-provoking word ‘crazy’.

Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!

Stop!
They all look at me
With words spelling ‘Crazy’
Stop! Stop! Stop! Am I crazy?

I forever rant my thoughts to my daisy,
She stands in a vase all day playing lazy
Stop! Does this make me crazy?

Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!

An adult who still sleeps fondly with a doll
Is usually described ‘a screwball’
Stop! So am I crazy?
So what is crazy?
Talking to yourself alone on the day bus
Walking the street naked without a just cause
Sleeping under your bed daily without giving a toss
Speaking to the mirror, stating you are the boss
shitting in public, wondering why they are making such a fuss
Walking and talking like a man, instead of a lady

This poem is crazy
Stop! So am I crazy?

Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!

Ranting away in my new mental home
Doctors have labeled me half-baked
Simply because of a normal mistake
I stopped acting normal
First lost all my pals, labeling me ‘Animal’
When I’m only a meat and fish cannibal
I'm accused of being mentally deranged
Because I shouted in the supermarket
as I was dollar short-changed

They say I’m mentally unstable
Pump me up daily with drugs
While tied to the bed with crazy cables
Now who is the vicious thug?
But my thoughts are still perfectly capable
Of comprehending the new meaning of crazy

What is normal?
What is crazy?
How are we so damn sure, normal is not crazy?

Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Stop! Stop! Stop! Am I crazy?

poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

U Say...... (under Consturicon)

you say i am...
crazy
stupid
retared
annoying
imutore
u say were not ment to be well i dont care u say if i get a a life i will be with u well i say hell no get ur own llife loserz cauz i am not like other gurlz that dream about boyz that are
crazy
stupid
retarted
annoying
imutore
what do i look like to u
a piece of paper that u can mess up
or a doll that u can breack
or a person that u can hert

well hell nooooooooooooooo

poem by HeArShEy De La Rosa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Thoughts Just Thoughts0

Who am i?
A lonely vesicle
An open shell
Only to be filled with thoughts
Only thoughts
Thoughts capable of causing
Causing so much damage
Thoughts that falsify good intentions
Thoughts I hope will never cross
Even the darkest of people
But I continue to smile
It’s all we can do
But we are continually
Insisted to cry
We let our eyes fill
With salty waters
And lock those doors
We hide behind
Reassuring ourselves
Those others are on the outside
So we are stuck in this isolation
That is welcoming and intimidating
All at the same time we cry
We show our emotions
To no one but ourselves

poem by Charlie Alexdranda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The third woman

She is the offer whom I accepted.
My heart and my head were bartered.
Such a price that I pay, I have less
My heart and my thoughts, but I manage though
For all these years

Oh she is beautiful and my flesh trembled
And I surrender without conditions
I am helpless
I am despite,
I am dumb.
But I assure myself, things will turn out just fine
As planned
As patiently planned

She will not talk and she will not answer questions
About her past and what the future brings her
She lies before me, she will be beside me
Her mind somewhere else, her heart not on her breast
And she tells me she loves me
And will do whatever it takes to comply with the contract

She also surrenders
She is helpless
She is despite
She is also dumb like me.

Sometimes I recall, have I ever invited her out for dinner
So my friends will know her?
How unkind, she is always designed as a woman-object
Fit for my bed.

We are miserable. What we need is a little time to stop this.
We shall figure it out sometime
When all the two women are dead.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Currents, Emotions, Oceans and Tides

In torrents of emotions
Are humans destined
To dwell

Thoughts but mental motions
Given to rise, tide
and swell

Of momentary madness
To tidal pools
of peace

To soothing waves
Of goodness…
Emotions without cease

Envy, anger,
jealousy,
Wonder

Riptides rising…
Then pulling
Us under

Torrents of emotion
Are of what our thoughts
Consist

A flood of feelings
We cannot
Resist

E'en in our sleep
The current
seems

To seep into
Our deepest
Dreams

We're naught
But helpless flotsam
Tossed

Adrift upon
Emotions hapless
Sea

Unknowing slaves
To reason
Lost

At least
So it seems…
To me

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Mad man

Lately i feel that i am going mad
A cluster of thoughts and emotions inhabit the inner sanctums of my mind
nothing is safe from the darkness
it has consumed almost everything
only a feint glimmer of hope still remains and yet it gets duller with every passing day
am i crazy, am i insane
or am i just like you, just like everyone else.
maybe I'm not crazy at all, perhaps your the one who is crazy, everyone is crazy.
Perhaps I'm the only person sane enough to understand it.

poem by Bill Panelo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Poetry as bread - In the spirit of Rumi 28

Poetry is like bread – daily bread,
like ‘Irish’ soda bread, best eaten on its day:

In the bakery of the heart and mind,
the baker’s woken early before dawn,
refreshed and clear of purpose, full of the day’s promise;
brings air to flour, moulds and shapes;
as the sun rises, so the bread.

Here it is, warm from the heart,
smell it – this is the smell of goodness, isn’t it?
Touch it, both crisp and soft by turns;
taste its goodness, beauty, truth, its very being;
this is not yesterday’s bread, with which you toy
while waiting between courses, your head’s straying mind
in a thousand other places; this is here and now;
coming warm from the heart; eat it with your heart;

this is the heart’s nourishment; tomorrow it may serve
tomorrow’s mind; today, it is your daily bread,
your nourishment – this poem, warm from heart to heart.

And when you've eaten it - the bread has disappeared -
only your satisfaction remains, beyond all sense;
as these words, already staling on the page,
exposed to all the wanderings of the mind;
only the love that they were made with, still remains;
this, is your daily bread.

[from a metaphor in Rumi's writings]

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Thoughts Of Suicide

Here I sit and write this poem
Thinking of all I love and all I hate
Thoughts of suicide thinking its my fate
I think of all the times I used to laugh
And now I wish I'd just die
How did so much misery come in to my life
And now all I have are thoughts of suicide
Crying every night is not the way to live
Heck I'm still a kid
I should be out hanging with all my friends
But these thoughts of suicide haunt my head
Will they care when I am gone
When nothings left expect my thoughts
And this small poem telling everyone
I will be no more in about an hour
Don't try to save me
Just save your tears
Nothing can stop me
Because i have thoughts of suicide
Heres to the end my dear friend
I hope you live life through
This is the end to this girls life
And all her thoughts to boot
Nothing there but my thoughts my secret thoughts of suicide

poem by Danielle Arsuaga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sailor's Harbor

My thoughts, like sailors becalmed in Cape Town harbor,
Await your return, like a favorable wind, or like
New tackle for the voyage, without which it is useless starting.
We watch the sea daily, finish our daily tasks
By ten in the morning, and with the day to waste,
Wander through the suburbs, with quiet thoughts of the brothels,
And sometimes thoughts of the churches.

In the eating-houses we always contrive to get near to
The window, where we can keep an eye on the life-
Bearing sea. Suddenly a wind might blow, and we must not miss
First sight of the waves as they darken with promise for us.
We have been here too long. We know the quays,
And the streets near the quays, more than should ever be necessary.
When can we go on our way?

Certain we are of this, that when the wind comes,
It may be deceptive and sweet and finally blow
To shipwreck and ruin between here and the next port of call.
At all times we think of this. At last we have come to know
The marine charts can safely assure us of less and less
As we go farther south. So we cannot go out on the boulevards
Or climb Table Mountain,

Though if we had certainty, here there might be delight.
But all that is world in itself, the mountain, the streets,
The sand-dunes outside the town, we shyly and sadly return from.
They are too much to bear. And our curiosity
Lies alone in the over-scrubbed decks and the polished brasses
(For we have to look trim in the port) and in
The high-piled ambiguous cargo.

poem by Henry Reed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!