RSS

Category Archives: crazymad

In strokes of night

In strokes of night
In strokes of night, where stars ignite the sky,
Gerard Wilson sits, with a wild, knowing eye.
His hair, a tempest, mirroring the scene,
A mind ablaze, where madness has been.
A quill in hand, his parchment alight,
With tales of shadows and creatures of night.
From raven’s perch to dragon’s dark form,
His thoughts take flight, weathering life’s storm.
Books stacked high, a fortress of lore,
Whispers of worlds, forevermore.
In Van Gogh’s embrace, a soul laid bare,
The crazy-mad writer, beyond all compare.
 

Tags: , , , ,

The Ballad of Dizziness Day

The Ballad of Dizziness Day

by the Crazymad Poet of Ballykillduff

Oh the world did sway on a curious day,
When the clouds spun ’round like socks in a fray,
And Ballykillduff, in its charming old way,
Woke up to find balance had wandered away.

Sean the Ram did a somersault flip,
The postman delivered a letter to a skip,
The church bell chimed with a hiccup and blip,
And the milk turned itself into strawberry whip.

Mrs McFadden clung tight to a tree,
“That’s my third bush this morning,” said she.
A goat rode a bicycle (accidentally),
And the vicar did cartwheels, shouting “Wheeeee!”

The baker rolled out of his shop like dough,
Shouting, “All my baguettes have learned to go!”
The ducks flew backwards in uneven rows,
And a sheep tried to tango with Farmer Joe’s toes.

Young Nora O’Bannigan spun in a whirl,
Chasing her braid like a dizzy young squirrel.
She tripped on a hedgehog, collided with Pearl,
Then shouted, “I’ve seen three versions of the world!”

The Council convened by the village green pond,
Where they’d buried the Beacon of Anti-Spin Bond.
With goggles, a chicken, and ceremony fond,
They summoned its power with a mystical wand.

Old McGroggin raised high the gold cone,
(While humming a strangely off-key baritone),
And the village fell still with a satisfied groan,
As balance returned—at least to the stone.

But the wobble, my friends, still comes once in a spell,
With tales of the time when Miss Bridie fell
Into a wheelbarrow halfway to Kells,
Still claiming she met a dimension called “Smell.”

So here’s to the Day of the Great Bally Sway,
Where gravity quit and ran far away—
If you’re ever in town when your legs go astray,
You’ll know you’ve arrived on… Dizziness Day!

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on September 3, 2025 in crazy, crazymad, humor, humour, poems

 

Tags: , , , , , ,