leftover madness

leftover madness

A Poem by paul

fear when
there should be none

madness as an art form.


there's hunger in the street
the wind knows

there's madness in the street leftover
from years 
ago

© 2010 paul


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For some reason the song The Streets of Laredo started playing in my head as I read this....I picture the streets of a bustling town in the old west feeling this way at times, as well as one of those nights that you go out drinking and there is just that something extra in the damp night air that pushes people to do things out of the ordinary, a real life werewolf encounter of sorts. Nice stuff.

Posted 14 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.




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. the only art there ever was ... and true to its form ... you are that artist ... and it doesn't matter where you're from ... this is one of my favourites out of all your marvels ... i feel for the hunger on the street too ... as you know ...

Posted 14 Years Ago


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. why don't you call this poem " leftover madness" ??? ...


Posted 14 Years Ago


Madness is a legacy...so is spontaneity...

Posted 14 Years Ago


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. madness as an art form ... i just can't get over this line ... how brilliant can you be? ... and why? ... why are you so brilliant? ... your powms are just too perfect ...

Posted 14 Years Ago


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fine line between madness and genius..the latter is winning :)

Posted 14 Years Ago


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em
- i don't quite think that this is madness - but an art form it is, indeed - you're truly magical - in your vision and your expression - and i think - some poems - are just titled untitled - cause that's what they are - how do you even attempt to title - this!!! it is - perhaps - one of my favorites - of all time - so far!

Posted 14 Years Ago


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em
madness ought to be
revered like the art of
hungry leftovers.


Posted 14 Years Ago


much madness is divinest sense

Posted 14 Years Ago


haunting desolation ~

Posted 14 Years Ago


oddly enough your deep poetic press for me personally impresses an endless stream of ghosts left in imprinted memories~dreaming their needs through endless expanding ribs breathing down the avenue~picking up the past on the bottoms of their shoe~ repeating. . . . .

Posted 14 Years Ago



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Added on October 27, 2010
Last Updated on November 3, 2010

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paul
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