Schizophrenia Night (v2)

Schizophrenia Night (v2) long poem

Photo by kozumel

Introduction: John Nash has suffered most of his life with severe paranoid schizophrenia and has gone on to be a celebrated American mathematician whose works in game theory, and differential geometry are appreciated around the world. The movie A Beautiful Mind portrays Nash’s mathematical genius and his struggles with schizophrenia and how he went on to win a Nobel Prize.

Schizophrenia Night (V2)
(Devoted to John Nash, A Beautiful Mind Movie, 2001)
By Michael Lee Johnson

I am a chalkboard computer brain.
I have updated drawn raw
images even the classroom
students cannot see, hear, nor understand.
They sit quietly in Disneyland
wondering about my eccentricities
I capture their stillness, and then I speak.
I am the professor, special agent of government
dream tracer of crossroad puzzles.
Photographic memory in private rooms,
did I hear a critic, erase
destroy dissociate thoughts.
I walk out unsteady in disbelief.
Is there a shadow of storybooks following me?

I am a genius; I know who I am.
I spend nights in formula construction
drawing full color images of my brain,
percentages of gray matter lost.

I stick my ego to the bird eagle of the sky.

When on a high on an airplane, self-love,
full bloom, I keep my enemies at bay.
I shelter the skeletons of thought.

I trust Jesus because His image is stable,
every group I have ever known says “The Lord’s Prayer.”
Even then, new members leave, disappear, I hear what they said.
I had an MRI to trace all my youthful abuses.
There were no images there but voices I remember.
I cast their shadows, audio, visual for show, in the background.
In time, they quiet their voices. I walk beyond their images.
I pass on, they still screenplay.

You have to stretch lean, refer to sanity,
drink Asian tea, smooth out, limejuice, hallucinated sounds
before that stage, I took that Nobel prize,
even before, I forgave you.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Michael Lee Johnson

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era. He is a Canadian and USA citizen. Today he is a poet, editor, publisher, freelance writer, amateur photographer, small business owner in Itasca, Illinois. He has been published in more than 930 small press magazines in 28 countries, and he edits 10 poetry sites. Author's website http://poetryman.mysite.com/. Michael is the author of The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom (136 page book) ISBN: 978-0-595-46091-5, several chapbooks of poetry, including From Which Place the Morning Rises and Challenge of Night and Day, and Chicago Poems. He also has over 116 poetry videos on YouTube as of 2015: https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos Michael Lee Johnson, Itasca, IL. nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards for poetry 2015 & Best of the Net 2016. Visit his Facebook Poetry Group and join https://www.facebook.com/groups/807679459328998/ He is also the editor/publisher of anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762 A second poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses, Editor Michael Lee Johnson, is due for a February or March 2017 release date.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Next Night

Next Night short poem

I hate the self-immolation of orange sex. Weather was leaving blue strings on the skin. Redemption was incomplete by sharing the legs Lips will not knead the ears. Like wakng in darkness for a passage to grief. Black moon will

A Somber Night

A Somber Night short poem

A volcanic kiss was becoming ungreen. The shark was coming. All night it was raining. The sap was rising and love-farm was deluged. A blue moon walks on the dry eyes. Why the tears had gone to exile? A mole

Stormy Night

Stormy Night short poem

The dark clouds are rolling in quickly, wild wind blows fast and fiercely Many leaves and twigs start twirling around and circling Feeling like Edgar Allen Poe, In the distance I can hear some echo’s Of many dog’s barking in

Splitting The Night

Splitting The Night short poem

Pillage started, when there were anti-answers. The trapped light- wanted to be released, from brutalism. When you were nearly drowned, in the multitude of questions, joining the palms, you collect the moments of solitude. You drop a key in the

The Night Sky

The Night Sky short poem

As the sun dives into the beguiling sky And the darkness is about to smear the vault of heaven. The mind, then wanders the lonesome places. The moment , when the mollified region is filled with despondency. The night, then