Anomalies Poems | Examples

Pig on a Spit

Walking down York Avenue,
A very urban block,
An odor had my senses piqued
And then I saw, in shock,

In front of a local restaurant
A pig turned on a spit.
With juices dripping down, it somehow
Didn’t seem to fit.

It’s not a sight I’ve ever seen,
Right out there on the street,
And though I’m sure that some would be
Excited by that meat,

To me, it registered as just
Another strange surprise,
For such anomalies are part
Of New York City’s guise.

I hope that those who feast on this,
A fresh-cooked Easter ham,
Are not as bothered by this
Street-side cookout as I am.

My Roots

My Roots
Pluck at my green leaves
Devour my fruit with gusto
Hack at my bark all day
Carve your name on my trunk
My roots remain steadfast

Snip at my blossoms
Relish in its colours and scent
Stroke my buds and wait
Swing on my boughs with glee
My roots remain steadfast

This is my identity
This is what defines me
Makes me unique
Makes me bold
My roots remain steadfast

Clones are ubiquitous
My DNA is under attack
My companion mimics me
But could never be me
My roots remain steadfast

I am under scrutiny
My community of overseers
My society of critics
Searching for anomalies, imperfections
My roots remain steadfast

I absorb the nutrients and I grow
I draw life-giving water and thrive
It is with roots I survive
My generations of gripping roots
My roots remain steadfast

A Distress Dish Of Blue Cheese And An Old Dill

Blue Cheese and Old Pickles Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish

A dish of disappointment
mocks the kitchen chef
two anomalies sitting on his cutting board
all in their glory, dumbfounded
... and unappetizing 
plated for aliens and not humans
or for a horse that doesn’t know better
this recipe’s giving him the blues and he’s seeing red
where …
his yellow brick road has two strangers today
two lost food groups 
arriving earlier in hearses
a funeral procession
mythically carrying the deceased to his kitchen foyer
… some blue cheese and an old dill
that  are down for an undressing 
of his bitter words
like, fudge, where’s the beef
… or better yet Mars is up there
as a cloud of despair hovers over the kitchen 
not a spaceship as one might think
darkness begetting light
salt, pepper and garnishes spooked
… a ready barf bag crashes this meal

Foolish Crowd

There are a lot of mysteries, anomalies and such,
things that seem to have no explanation why they are.
One of these (above the rest) that makes me wonder much - 
is how the foolish crowd is made of people who are far

from being foolish on their own. Yes, people who are good.
Yet somehow when they’re in a group, mysteriously they change. 
It’s something I suppose just really can’t be understood. 
Yeah, something that is general and it’s nothing short of strange. 

For every group of size (the more there are, the more it’s true)
is full of gossip, foolishness, and cold judgmental spite. 
The group does things that what its members on their own would rue. 
Collectively I guess they lose their sense of wrong and right. 

And this anomaly has been the case throughout all time. 
It’s something that will surely drag you down, if it’s allowed. 
So maybe it is time to get yourself out of that line,
and make sure that you’re never part… of the foolish crowd.

Dave Crandall - Third Party Perspective

Dave Crandall is a fella who is always in tune.
Don't believe it when they say he's crazy as a loon.
He's a vegetarian, so you might not relate
to the curious items that you find on his plate. 

He loves to solve mind-bending math puzzles just for fun,
and whether you like it or not, he'll surely ask you one.
He's got the sense of a blow-up animal balloon.
His favorite thing to watch is a Betty Boop cartoon.

He likes black and white movies from nineteen thirty-nine,
and folk songs from sixty-two, like "kisses, sweeter than wine."
While these anomalies, you might not think are so great, 
I think you will agree, he should gain a little weight.

Taken for granted

Sincere apologies 

Diabolical policy 

My part in your life 

losing its  novelty 

Babe magnet wannabee 

Recurring anomalies 

Quantity first and always above quality

Bronze Blossom

Once a bronze blossom shone so sophisticatedly.
Flourishing in an oasis of tropical butterflies.
Its aura would emanate from enigmatic auroras.
Its roots nourished from the scents of petrichor.

Admirers would gather to gaze at such grandeur,
oblivious of poppies among common roses,
so the jealous sun in its narcissistic loneliness,
blazed with hell like rays, creating a drought.

In the inhuman illusion of synthetic flowers,
its petals withered like rustic wicker wreaths.
I stood helpless, as the wind left it exposed,
as lifeless buds began swirling in the air.

Only evergreen textures remain timeless.
An empty garden has no worth to birds or bees.
In the silence between seasons, so much is lost,
yet unique anomalies always leave memories behind.

Choosing!

Choosing
“How Odd of G-d,
To Choose the Jews”,
G-d’s not Odd,
The Jews chose G-d!
First Hashem then Barbara chose Chaim,
A Ger, How peculiar!
Anomalies, no Rhyme,
C. Wilson, MD for Mad Doodler,
But here Chaim Chose & Aligned!

COMPASSION IN THE CYCLONE THAT IS LIFE

The twinkle of an eye
blinks in the same time span as a bullet fired 
and the casing hitting the floor 

Birds’ wings flutter at different speeds
but a hummingbird’s wings are much faster
a cow’s skull hangs suspended from a vein from the gut of a cat

But a good life is found wherever one can find it
as flowers can grow anywhere
I like gardenias best, my favorite

In Las Vegas two crows sit on a well lit sign of a casino  
a child asks his father do we have enough to eat
the father huddled in a drainage pipe says, “Yes, we do.”

A child in Ethiopia asks his father 
will I have something to eat tonight, daddy
his father answers, “No, maybe tomorrow.”

Life in general is full of anomalies
Americans' world knowledge of real life is limited
And so it seems is compassion in many of its citizens.

her lips lie metaphorical realism

she could not handle the truth
easier to live a lie
just the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth
does it still exist
 
when none believe reality its still truth
if all believe lies they are still falsehoods
authenticity captures facts that exist
cold hard facts metaphorically speaking
 
how do I substantiate its actual
is there a magic formular to follow
do I trust my instinct can it be misled
if its verisimilitude can I trust
 
being lifelike cannot be the whole answer
fakes can seem more actual than authentic
verifying requires a masters degree
some anomalies are true world or true life
 
says true fruit would they put fake fruit in the can
corporeality surely must exist
a physical body a truthful being
must be believed actual

Latibule

As I lay under blankets of twinkling stars
I can't help but to feel so small in comparison
Galaxies await, untouched by the corruption of humans
So pure, so innocent, away from this rat race we created

I wish to retreat into baren icy wastelands
Where no one else dares to venture, in fear
The crystals of snow around me my company
The stars and auroras, my soulmates

Away from this world that we somehow give meaning to
Away from the greed and pollution that curse this planet
Away from the talons of the evil desires of men
Away from the city lights that ruin such charming sights

Let me be left there for every eternity that awaits
And when I die, may I be reincarnated as a constellation
Forever to be seen, but never to be touched
Hiding in the overwhelming void, light years away

But for now, I simply take refuge in the elements
The fierce arctic that drives most away, calls to me instead
For every creation of man cannot match the perfection of nature
In these divine anomalies I take shelter, and at the end of time, I smile

Torque-Aye

J ust. Applied; personal postivity acutely
A s grounded in effort to help humanity
P lacing poseys to alleviate humour
P rosecuting actual effort helpfully
A man among many, hurtful anomalies.'

Ms Horsatense

Do not schedule a pta meeting for Miss Horsatense
She will have none of that, ridiculous nonsense
She does not “do” meetings with others, they would waste her time.
Communal living? Not on her dollar or dime.

Her dance movements are inventive, her music is her own,
her ideas, ways, and means are unique – anomalies unknown.
Miss Horsatense does not “do” lunch, it would waste her time.
She has never let any man, cat or dog call her “mine”.

Her days are filled with whatever she wants to do.
She was born with money, in case you had not a clue.
Her hairdresser does not know her at all, she will tell you.
She lets no one get close, not even her brother, Lou.

Anomalies

The sky is looking to contemplate the rainy drops. 
It is considering the theory of becoming new
 by breaking an old one. 
I doubt, though, if it is sure for all or if it may be. 
Deviations in nature are caressing the concept of transformation. 
Look at it in a beautiful way, like from a caterpillar 
to a butterfly, mandatory is the definition of changes.

Seams

trapped,
safeguarded,
each appendage
secured in amber,
some Jurassic specimen
created for your gaze

you regard me
with a quizzical eye,
comb your notes carefully 
for collected data
on my anomalies

how to straighten this limb,
shape this abdomen,
bend this thorax
to fashion the perfect
exemplar of your
scientific prowess

no manufactured artifice
will satisfy you
you deftly maneuver
and rearrange,
cut and reassemble,
manipulating your scalpel
and forceps

until you have your prize,
flawless and complete,
but for the glue
leaking from the seams

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