Laughing like the Sun

Laughing like the Sun

A Poem by Mr. Misanthrope
"

If you find it difficult to understand, you know you're on the right track. It's a nightmare come to life, after all. Excluding all the scientifically impossible bits, which is pretty much the whole poem. Lol!

"

My soul, impure.

My spirit, tainted.

Myself, broken.

Many faces, painted.

A vast array of souls in the Empire Exhibition.

All boasting colours of dead inhibition.

And mine?

Sorry, I'm colour-blind.

I prefer not to slide down the rainbow of some retarded leprachaun

With his pot of gold (Miser!) and his Irish Setter called Scorn.

 

Dancing skulls and grey smoke,

Pink eyeballs and beauty unspoke,

Tip-toeing from soul to soul.

Banishing friends,

And Death personified.

He will make me suffer forever.

My Yellow Jester.

 

Red and black and golden bells screaming

An ode of ridicule to make me wake up in my dreams,

Wearing nothing but boxers in a gaping-mouthed classroom.

A cold shower in the Mo(u)rning of my Life.

 

He just stood there,

Silently,

Staring,

A sardonically woven voo-doo doll with lidless eyes.

Baring his teeth,

Their yellow surface

Blinding me with

An absence of friends,

With which I sow the soil of my barren Purgatory, my world.

 

Those teeth,

Those teeth,

Grinding and grinning at me

With their own plastic faces.

 

'You are alone,' he tells me. 'And you always will be.'

 

And he laughed...

 

And laughed...

 

And laughed...

 

And all I did

Was stand there,

Taking it in,

Absorbing the aura of torment into my hollow cocoon that I call a body.

That Glasgow smile that haunts my dreams,

Emanating from his soul,

Like a Joker, with style, from Hell...

or maybe Heaven?

I don't know.

I don't know who wants me anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You know what? That laugh?

 

 

 

It kinda hurt....and it still does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© 2008 Mr. Misanthrope


Author's Note

Mr. Misanthrope
'Empire Exhibition': the place were this incident, the basis of the poem, happened, was a cinema called Empire.
I hate the colour yellow. Also, its supposed to symbolise a yellow sun. Sort of like the sun, the only thing that provides light, lies to you. Plus, I hate staying in the sun for more than 15 minutes. It gives me migraines. Lol.
The whole 'waking up in a classroom wearing nothing but your boxers' theme is a common nightmare which many children have, so I thought I would mention it.

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Featured Review

I don't care for the Sun either. Too many years spent in Florida working under it.
This was an incredible poem! There was mix of things that made me lean forward with the intensity of it, and smile.
"I prefer not to slide down the rainbow of some retarded leprachaun. With his pot of gold (Miser!) and his Irish Setter called Scorn." Couldn't help but smile at that one.
You have a smooth style, and the verse catches the eyes and compells you to move down the page. And I can certainly relate to nightmares. I think as writers and poets our minds are in over-drive constantly.
Great work!
Mark

Posted 12 Years Ago


5 of 5 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

This makes me sad.

It's so very well written though.
Kudos friend.
Once again, I'm blown away.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Wow. I actually like this!! Haha, and I only say that because it's very different than what usually appeals to me. But I think the difference is that you actually DID IT WELL!!

"He just stood there,

Silently,

Staring,

A sardonically woven voo-doo doll with lidless eyes."

Love that part.

One misspell - "caccoon" should be "cocoon" :)

Gosh, really great job. I can tell you must have a fantastic imagination, and even better, a way to translate that onto the page without losing or disturbing us too much, haha. :) Look forward to checking out more of your work.

Kara


Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

i like the nightmarish imagery in this piece... good flow and overall very strong dark read..... fav lines....Dancing skulls and grey smoke,

Pink eyeballs and beauty unspoke,

Tip-toeing from soul to soul.

Banishing friends,

And Death personified.

He will make me suffer forever.

My Yellow Jester......................... nice job on this one!!!



Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Hiya, love the part of colorblind, kinda funny, great work! ---mishy x :S

Posted 12 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

You certainly created a vast array of imagery here. I like your word choice, very different, and the thematic darkness made it even more compelling.

Posted 12 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Amazing....loved it!

Posted 12 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I often tell people I prefer rainy days and nighttime walks. The sun's to bright, too hot... I think you nailed it perfectly

Posted 12 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

So fantastic. I loved it. The sun and I are not the closet of friends...I much prefer sitting on my roof at night writing. Thats one of my favorite nightmares to talk about....the boxer's one.
Anyway I thouroughly enjoyed it. Great job.

Posted 12 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Lots of great imagery in this piece, and a very cadenced flow which made it a nice read. I like the darkness, and there was a certain poignancy to the images that comprised the nightmare sequences...haunting. Nicely done.

Posted 12 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.

Sounds like a poem that nightmares are made of. A haunting sadness engulfs this piece, but moves in so many directions that I found it digging into my soul with unrelenting torture. Funny at times as in the section that reads.


I prefer not to slide down the rainbow of some retarded leprachaun

With his pot of gold (Miser!) and his Irish Setter called Scorn.


So sad here


My soul, impure.

My spirit, tainted.

Myself, broken.


Frightening, but sad here


He just stood there,

Silently,

Staring,

A sardonically woven voo-doo doll with lidless eyes.

Baring his teeth,

Their yellow surface

Blinding me with

An absence of friends,

With which I sow the soil of my barren Purgatory, my world.



Those teeth,

Those teeth,

Grinding and grinning at me

With their own plastic faces.



The dreams that nightmares are made of.



'You are alone,' he tells me. 'And you always will be.'



And he laughed...



And laughed...



And laughed...



And all I did

Was stand there,

Taking it in,

Absorbing the aura of torment into my hollow caccoon that I call a body.

That Glasgow smile that haunts my dreams,



Your poem shows a great talent. Good job on this piece.






Posted 12 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.


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Added on August 27, 2008
Last Updated on October 24, 2008

Author

Mr. Misanthrope
Mr. Misanthrope

Malta



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