Nonsense and Such: The Animal Minded or None-A Poem?

Lost Man in Chair

Nonsense and Such: The Animal Minded or None

by: Ronovan

I never saw the flight of a turtle dove,

its shell must weigh so much.

But when the howler monkey screeches

why does he choose to say it such?

 

And how much tross could an albatross tross

if an albatross could tross tross?

The truth of the matter is so simple.

You determine it by a coin toss.

 

Where does the rilla go

when he must be somewhere?

Wherever it must be,

he will go in his suit of hair

 

What does the snake wear with its rattle,

when it attends a formal function?

Whatever it is, it must be secure,

lest there be a wardrobe malfunction.

 

And how will the old coot bandi about,

when the season does change?

Most likely find another place,

but still in down under range.

 

Some may wonder what has happened,

to the mind of this odd man

I will explain to you someday,

when I can catch it with my hand.

 

 

© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

TO SOAR – a poem

I miss the beauty while in the pain.

I forget the truth while fighting the lies.

I lose confidence while filthy in self-pity.

I

I

I

jailed in the mind-itching madness of insanity

the heart atrophies one beat at a time.

for the lack of…

what

of

of one touch

one touch

is that it

is that all it takes

all it takes for the heart to burst

from my chest and to soar

to soar across the lands

to soar across seas

to soar

to

to soar to… sweet… whispers

to… healing

or is it to soar to beat faster

and faster

and faster…

with each touch of lips and fingertips

is that mending

or is that sweet beauty

is that sweet pain

sweet insanity

sweet madness

the madness of a love so strong it defies the world

defines what love is what love has never been

oh that day

that day is going down in the works of historians

is going down in the songs of mankind

is going down

and all the pain, the tragedy,

the endless seconds passing in a hell of denial

will be soothed and released by the whispers

of…

by…

 

Ronovan writes standard poetry image

© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Dripping Melody.

Drip … drip … drip … drip … drip,

Sounds the cruel melody,

of the fatal heart.

Dripping Melody; Art and Haiku Poetry by Ronovan Hester



Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling by PS Bartlett and Ronovan Hester

Ronovan Hester is an author, with his debut historical adventure novel Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling due out in February 14, 2016. He shares his life through his blog RonovanWrites.WordPress.com. His love of poetry, authors and community through his online world has lead to the creation of a site dedicated to book reviews, interviews and author resources known as LitWorldInterviews.com.

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@RonovanWrites

© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2016

 

Nonsense and Such: The Animal Minded or None-A Poem? (Throwback Thursday)

Lost Man in Chair

Nonsense and Such: The Animal Minded or None

by: Ronovan

I never saw the flight of a turtle dove

Its shell must weigh so much

But when the howler monkey screeches

Why does he choose to say it such

 

And how much tross could an abla tross

If an abla could tross tross

The truth of the matter is so simple

You determine it by a coin toss

 

Where does the rilla go

When he must be somewhere

Wherever it must be

He will go in his suit of hair

 

What does the snake wear with its rattle

When it attends a formal function

Whatever it is it must be secure

Lest there be a wardrobe malfunction

 

And how will the old coot bandi about

When the season does change

Most likely find another place

But still in down under range

 

Some may wonder what has happened

To the mind of this odd man

I will explain to you someday

When I can catch it with my hand

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-May28, 2014.

Screams Pain

Misunderstandings

Release destruction on earth,

Like a haunt screams pain.

 

 Man in Pain

 

(my first for my prompt challenge this week of haunt&release-scent of fear.)

Ronovan

 

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2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com

These Hells

The feeding frenzy begins, as the dark brick wall spins

 

Spiral clouds filled with angel light, laughing tease my denying sight

 

No one ever said life would be fun, but then again no one said demons would overrun

 

My mind feeds on the dark things, it hunts and pecks until torment springs

 

I watch from the corner as it takes hold, shivering in despair as if it were winter time cold

 

Is there a way to break free from this pain filled cell, or am I forever bound to my skull shaped hell

 

Do not try or attempt to placate me to a smile, all you will bring is darkness and bile

 

A cheerful soul you can not produce, all you do is cause to make my hold more loose

 

The waves of this tormented ride, are the path of a coaster not to be denied

 

All I do is float out among the swells, and hope for my sake . . . to reach the other side . . . of These Hells

skull

 

 

LMP

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com

 

The Lost Minded Heart

The Lost Minded Heart

by: Ronovan

 

Depressed Man in Dark Room
gettyimages © Original Photo by Michael H

Oh this mind I have.

It seeks to tear itself from my skull,

And scatter its sanity across the wind.

It denies me all things that I crave.

Long sequenced words to form thoughts,

Escape behind a mesh door, seen but unattainable.

This mind knows it is a piercing pain of storm and fury.

How I hate it.

It laughs and runs and races and calls and shouts and screams and twists.

Do I mind?

Ha! What mind do I have to mind with?

But how does one without a mind each day continue on?

How does the mindless give, how does it give hope?

How does the less minded give encouragement?

 

The Lost Mind still has heart.

 

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Prismatical

Prismatical

by: Ronovan the Lost Mind

Prism xray like image

These limbs I hate

Give me a saw

But how would I do it

Without them at all

 

So they ache

My fingers pain

I keep writing these words

Driving me slowly insane

 

I have happiness

But why do I fight

I hang onto the madness

With all of my might

 

Is it that the pain

Is something that is always mine

Is it that it will never leave

Is it because I’ll never be fine

 

Spin around twice

Capture the light in a bottle of green

Shake it up

It looks quite obscene

 

Yeah that just came to me

In the middle of this thought

Now you see what I deal with

It’s something I’ve always fought

 

Bring on the words

And throw out the time

Days mean nothing

When you have no kept mind

 

You probably been thinking

This boy is crazy crazy

But to know the whole truth

My brains just dazy hazy

 

The luminary softness glow

Cascades across her ebon locks

Enticing my thoughts to danger

Worth death of all for one kiss

 

I went off in another direction

My mind is distracted by a world aflamed

What does it all mean

I’m learning not to ever feel ashamed

 

Let your thoughts flow

Just get it out of your system

Cause if you hold it in

You’ll be fractured psyched like a prism

 

 

Image Credit: gettyimages© Original Photo by Steve Satushek /The Image Bank

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com.

My poetry Tears at Me

My poetry Tears at Me

by: Ronovan

 Lost Man in Chair

 

I’m sorry my words don’t speak in romantic filled embraces.

My language is built from elementary understanding of feelings.

I attempt to translate my true thoughts into a message to convey.

Above all my words are meant for my own wounds’ self healings.

 

My page opens with clear intent for a jovial sharing.

By the second word typed the mindlessness takes control.

It’s not that things don’t make me laugh or I find comical.

But in my world the only thing full of ideas is the crazy bowl.

 

Left to my own creative and undirected devices I stray.

What comes out of my fingertips are words that I never would share.

I wonder sometimes what the powers that be would do with them.

But I push the letters in their neat little rows and print them as if I didn’t care.

 

Therapy of the mind and heart is what some people call poetry.

For me it’s the feeling of razor blades over delicate skin tearing at me.

I lay here exposed and bleeding as the words and thoughts force their way free.

But whatever people may say of this they know I must be what I am to be.

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 14, 2014.

Questions

Questions

by: Ronovan

Black and White Question Marks

“So you’re a loner, huh?”

“I’m sitting in a dark room…by myself…and you ask me that?”

“This could just be a momentary thing, right?”

“Seriously?”

“Dude, what is your problem?”

“You’re the one intruding on my time and you are asking me what my problem is?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Are you mental or something?”

“If I were the one sitting alone in the dark all the time staring at a computer screen and making up stories that no one will read then you could say I was mental, okay?”

“You’re making fun of me now aren’t you?”

“Dude, don’t you realize you make fun of yourself every time you exist?”

“Why do you have a problem with me?”

“Don’t you think you should ask yourself that question?

“What are you talking about?

“Dude, how many people are in this room?”

“What?”

“Don’t you realize I am you?”

“And who else understands me enough to talk to?”

“Does anyone understand anybody enough really?”

“Am I going insane?”

“Are you already there?”

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 14, 2014.

Nonsense and Such: The Animal Minded or None-A Poem?

Lost Man in Chair

Nonsense and Such: The Animal Minded or None

by: Ronovan

I never saw the flight of a turtle dove

Its shell must weigh so much

But when the howler monkey screeches

Why does he choose to say it such

 

And how much tross could an abla tross

If an abla could tross tross

The truth of the matter is so simple

You determine it by a coin toss

 

Where does the rilla go

When he must be somewhere

Wherever it must be

He will go in his suit of hair

 

What does the snake wear with its rattle

When it attends a formal function

Whatever it is it must be secure

Lest there be a wardrobe malfunction

 

And how will the old coot bandi about

When the season does change

Most likely find another place

But still in down under range

 

Some may wonder what has happened

To the mind of this odd man

I will explain to you someday

When I can catch it with my hand

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-May28, 2014.