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Array ( [sid] => 6858 [catid] => 1 [aid] => Mick [title] => Temporary Insanity [time] => 2002-11-17 07:00:00 [hometext] => [bodytext] => In children, we call it hyperactivity.
In teens, it’s promiscuity.
In elders, it’s senility.
But the young adult has no excuse.

In central park we saunter by,
feeling safe among prostitutes, dealers and bums.
We feel content and savor the colors of the world,
so tolerant are we in this mismatched living quilt.
Our hearts seem ever so big.

But how sordid and fearsome the wild-eyed man,
with tangled hair, shooting jauntily at angles,
or the woman who clutches an old rag doll,
jerking her head in perfect circles,
She moves like a music box dancer, badly wound.
Both mutter words and oaths
at invisible companions near by.

At these displays our feet gather speed.
We attempt to break records in flight.
Maybe it’s contagious, insanity.
My God! He’s a lunatic!
See his blue shoe and his red shoe?

Stay far from that woman psycho.
She was asking the bench for a cocktail.
Did you see?

We flee like madmen ourselves,
tripping over our own feet.
Our faces red and sweating hard,
pushing through crowds in panic and haste
to be away from the nuts in the park.
[comments] => 3 [counter] => 217 [topic] => 21 [informant] => carrie [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

Temporary Insanity

Contributed by carrie on Sunday, 17th November 2002 @ 07:00:00 AM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

In children, we call it hyperactivity.
In teens, it’s promiscuity.
In elders, it’s senility.
But the young adult has no excuse.

In central park we saunter by,
feeling safe among prostitutes, dealers and bums.
We feel content and savor the colors of the world,
so tolerant are we in this mismatched living quilt.
Our hearts seem ever so big.

But how sordid and fearsome the wild-eyed man,
with tangled hair, shooting jauntily at angles,
or the woman who clutches an old rag doll,
jerking her head in perfect circles,
She moves like a music box dancer, badly wound.
Both mutter words and oaths
at invisible companions near by.

At these displays our feet gather speed.
We attempt to break records in flight.
Maybe it’s contagious, insanity.
My God! He’s a lunatic!
See his blue shoe and his red shoe?

Stay far from that woman psycho.
She was asking the bench for a cocktail.
Did you see?

We flee like madmen ourselves,
tripping over our own feet.
Our faces red and sweating hard,
pushing through crowds in panic and haste
to be away from the nuts in the park.

Copyright Â© carrie ... [ 2002-11-17 07:00:00]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Temporary Insanity (User Rating: 1 )
by OreO on Sunday, 17th November 2002 @ 01:45:59 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I have been in central park
a couple of times now and i think
it's absolutely beautiful, all the
different types of people that
are there and everyone is so nice
I really enjoyed this one it took me
back on memory lane, Thanks for
sharing this one
.::´¯`·..· OreO·..·´¯`::.

Re: Temporary Insanity (User Rating: 1 )
by Patricia_Petro on Thursday, 21st November 2002 @ 08:54:03 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Nice imagery in the line, "She moves like a music box dancer, badly wound. " The whole poem made me smile. Metaphorically speaking, it reminds me of another park...NP...and the ending calls to mind my own mad escape on bad days with TA et al.
~Pat

Re: Temporary Insanity (User Rating: 1 )
by Ooniegirl on Wednesday, 18th December 2002 @ 01:38:04 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Too often have I had such similar reactions - by admission, somewhat shamefully. In my own city, I have often wandered like a tourist, being shocked and surprised by the people I see, forgetting that they share more in common with me than I realize. I loved the last stanza for its subtle irony.

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