Best Abnormalities Poems
I feel I have appendicitis,
Or a bad case of bursitis,
And I think I need another tonsillectomy.
I'm sure I got a staph infection
From a tetanus injection
While I was prepping for a hemorrhoidectomy.
I've got cataracts and shingles,
When I cough my kidney jingles,
And my muscle tone's diminished due to entropy.
I have a lower disc displacement,
I need a knee and hip replacement,
And I'm scheduled for my umpteenth colonoscopy.
With my doctor's full compliance,
I will donate my corpse to science
To see if reasons can be found for all my maladies.
No doubt that when they disconnect me,
Vivisect me and inspect me,
They'll find a host of medical irregularities,
As well as hitherto unheard of abnormalities
That may account for part or all of my infirmities,
And might help to explain my PCP's enormous fees.
Author's note: After reading Ilene Bauer's delightfully insightful "A Certain Age", once again I delved into my archives and disinterred this bit of nonsense from 2017. I apologize, dear readers, if any of you who might be suffering from medical conditions find it insensitive. It is certainly not intended to be so. Although I don't think it's been scientifically tested or doctor recommended, I firmly believe in the homeopathically therapeutic value of humor and laughter. And I know that after writing this piece, I felt better about my own health issues.
Slicing the instinct
The arcane was torn, curses spit
Teardrop bated as the breath hunts
Wound wide open, the heart cries
The ripple of pain unable to stem
The cimmerian sigh loud and stay
Body falls along with the bridge of hope
Toying life unwillingly to be blamed
The chain of fate convoluted by mistakes
Incised by the foredoom of another story
Shouted a shout inevitable said
Reverses direction and unpredictably impaled
Breath blows the true bitterness
Jaded in each lamentation
Tired of every abnormalities which frequently ensue
Longing for the things which reasonably flows as it should
Life is about to choose
Though destiny had its own script
We have awarded a red carpet, but
Sorry if we still have to walk on the imperfections of life
"I'm hearing images, I'm seeing songs no poet has ever painted
Voices call out to me, straight to my heart"
Cold, emotionless, and her nature, defiant
Hard to connect with as well as unreliant
A boarding school for outcasts such as Wednesday
Revenge for brother, brings on her sinister way
Dysfunctional families—ivory towers make wagers
Enrolled are lost souls and morbid teenagers
Like Arkham Asylum, a long and brutal history
Medieval mayhem come to life again in her story
Nevermore Island, Romania’s Nevermore Academy
Unconventional practices become their enemy
Designed for students with extreme personalities
Who don’t think their practices convey abnormalities
Is an all American coming-of-age supernatural
Tangled in spider silk or it’s web, which is factual?
And there it is the unscrupulous psycho-therapist
A principal’s shapeshifter and her sorceress rapist
Forcing thoughts back into some semblance of order
Werewolves, vampires, gorgons, and sirens who boarder
Are the architectural texts with applications ubiquitous
And the requisite archaic desperate mass exodus
Dark long tresses, paints it black in gothic dresses
Many who are romantic interests she addresses
Rises to an ovation with a most clever shadow dance
Sanity, reason, balance, rationality, and much arrogance
Behind the smiling facade of normality where lie derelicts
There lurks a psychopathic serial killer, and other convicts
Beyond their control, declined their world of decadence
Insanity, lunacy, madness, the outcasts show no evidence
Highly severe psychological and physical illnesses?
Or real paranormal abominations and alien devises
Guiding her are messages from the beyond with passion
Her lecture combined intellectual lucidity and compassion
Teachers, Teachers.
Teachers Teach us.
They give us speeches and praise us like Jesus
But they're not holy, swag.
They cater solely, for themselves; So selfish.
Some are rude and crabby; So shellfish.
There are fat teachers, black teachers white teachers, nice teachers mean teachers, Chinese teachers short teachers, tall teachers real teachers, fraud teachers They all have one thing of mutuality It's the reality that their mentality is somewhat less of a formality
But in actuality an amorality to separate individuality and callously cause a casualty within the academy!
This insanity is why humanity can embarrass me because instead of practicalities teachers search for cavities, abnormalities, incapacities and irrationally devise a strategy to tactfully act valiantly.
But will still unhappily fail students for what they see is blasphemy its fallacy!
This rhapsody I tragically quote rapidly will acidly still be viewed as a travesty
And I'll still disastrously speak profanity to the faculty And keep my centre of gravity up like I'm on a balance beam.
I aim to be satisfactory, not great or any better
This madness will fractionally cause my fatality but ill happily see every person that ever doubted me praising me surrounding me clouding me with a comradely like I Just saved the galaxy
And naturally I'm a hero nationally for upstaging our teachers vanity
This Veracity for becoming an anomaly has fuelled my heart with audacity and now I sit lavishly lacking the spirituality to gallantly care about this municipality that we live in
And teachers teach in so I guess my speech ends with a brief description of some frequent fiction Teachers, if we speak up Will you freakin listen? Because this cheap conviction of you I speak is different.
always the object of analyses
universe is what the universe is
from quarks to atoms, planets to galaxies
plus divers cosmic abnormalities
everything caught up in heavenly flow
of where non-stop change forces it to go
no guarantees a passing asteroid
will not explode our world into the void
no guarantee seeds will grow in the soil
no guarantee the great oceans won't boil
no guarantee we will have air to breathe
no guarantee we will have lives to lead
no guarantee we'll have time to reckon
all may end in interstellar second
So as not to come under the scrutiny of an oncologist,
Each six months to check my moles I visit my dermatologist!
His exam is as thorough as that of an investigative criminologist.
Sometimes he'll take a biopsy and forward it to a microbiologist!
Many times he's had my moles zapped by his electrologist,
Or provides an RX for medications from the pharmacologist!
If he suspects any cell abnormalities he'll call in his cytopathologist,
Or send me down the hall to consult with his peer, the etiologist!
I don't want to come under the knife of that "cut-up", the pathologist,
Nor do I want to be listed in the obituaries by a passionless necrologist!
To keep this old frame free of moles I have no faith in a cosmetologist,
So, I'll continue to bare my hide for inspection by my dermatologist!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 6 in Nikko Palmario's "Holy MOLE-y!! Contest - August 2010
Inventory yourself.
Who are you? How do you measure up?
How close are you to what we think you should be?
Then, like sun-ripened raspberries, pluck the abnormalities.
Put them in a jar labeled, INSECURITIES.
You can’t discard them, of course.
Your quirks are part of what make you unique.
They make you you—preserve them.
But we don’t want to see, so bottle it up and put it in a cupboard…
or better yet, a cellar.
Keep the jar in case someday the world wants raspberries;
or if not the world, someone.
Perhaps in vulnerability, that someone will open their cupboard
and you’ll find a loaf of dry bread hidden there.
In a box labeled INSECURITIES.
Thus, it stays concealed.
In vulnerability, you’ll reach deep into your cellar.
You’ll accept the bread, and they’ll accept the raspberries.
That’s the hope, isn’t it?
That your insecurities will compliment?
That you two can be open with one another
and find happiness in spite of us?
But that’s not how it works.
As you work to appear as you ought,
or as we think you ought,
or rather, as you think, we think, you ought,
you’ll find your raspberries are not preserves.
Call it a short self-life.
In the darkness…in the jars
your vulnerable parts suffocate.
They spoil. They rot. They die.
But “they” are what make you you, remember?
So you change into something not you.
You hide your unique attributes, to be normal.
To be like us.
But you fail to realize
that we are like your spoiled raspberries...
bitter.
05/09/15
My insecurities are making me insecure
My doubts are giving me doubts
I would scream and yell, if I thought I would be heard
Over top of all of my shouts
My phobias are starting to scare me
My complexities are awful complex
I am a perfect text book example
Of a condition for which there is no text
My psychoses are really psychotic
My episodes are episodic
I am a narcissist who hates himself
Bi-polar must be contagious, because I know I caught it
I think I failed the ink blot test
All I saw were big ink blots
I am haunted by my memories
But my memories have been forgot
I am sick of being a hypochondriac
My narcolepsy keeps me awake
I am a non-practicing masochist
Because the pain I cannot take
My abnormalities are really abnormal
My multiple personalities are all the same
My psychiatrist says there are explanations
For these conditions he cannot explain
Beautiful, even when no one else is looking.
You're beautiful now.
You always will be beautiful.
You always have been beautiful.
Don't let anyone tell you that you're not.
Don't let your own eyes deceive you.
Don't let words nor thoughts strike you down.
I see you as you truly are.
Beautiful beyond compare.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Do you know what that means exactly?
Everything is beautiful, deformities, abnormalities, bruises, scars both seen and unseen, perfection....
So trust in me, resist the temptation that will bring you down,
Because if you go down, I'm surely to go down alongside you.
I love you.
Even if you don't see beauty, there will always be someone else who does.
Always.
Believe me.
Believe me to save me.
Believe me even when I don't believe in myself.
Because if you're not beautiful then who is?
Not me that's for damn sure.
If you are, then aren't I?
Let me be beautiful too, please.
Let me love you until you learn to love yourself.
Scratch that.
He got it wrong.
Let me love you even after and forevermore.
You're my friend and always will be.
Let me love you. Period.
You are you, do you know what that means?
It means you are beautiful.
Inside and out.
If you doubt it, look in the mirror through my eyes.
I'd gladly tear them out for your better vision.
Hold out your palm.
Take them.
Here they are.
But be gentle.
They're fragile.
Seen too much.
Felt too much...
But it's ok. This isn't about me.
It's about you.
Back to you.
Point is,
Love yourself or no one else will...
Except me.
Remember that.
My body is full of chasms
Lumps and abnormalities
Big and round in the middle
Nothing wrong with a dimple
It is simple
Yes sure I have a wrinkle
My toes are curled
It's Different around the world
I'm like a diamond coated pearled
Skin is fair
Look if you dare
I am all open and bare
Cheeks are red
I'm not a purebred
Enough is said
My lips are small
I'm not tall
Yes I have an eyeball
Not one but two
They are both blue
It's true
My butt is white
I will keep it out of sight
It just doesn't seem so right
I'm 5"6 I can't do trix
Or even lavishing flips
I love to take trips
My bosoms are like a floppy disc
There is much to risk
On on them there is extra misc
Yes my **** are pink
So what I did not ask about your dink
So let it sink
Next is my face
This isn't a race
Slow down and pace
It's round
It does make sound
It even got an extra mound
My hair is gold
Not that old
It can never be sold
Yes my body is large
It may even have a jumping barge
I can even take it on turbocharge
I got extra cracks
Where you could hide your snacks
And you can see my tracks
I have curves
Just look at my swerves
Fall into my words
I got dots feckless and spots
Scars and stars
But that's okay that's me and that's all you will see
DEFINING LIFE
~~~~~~~~~
Anomaly... abnormalities that can and... do confound us all...
Avant-garde... new words... alive with meaning prance across the page...
Baroque... words... can they but allude to that amazing style... if at all...
Bona fide... from my pen the truth oft flows... to calm world rage...
Cacophony... words can explode the hidden silence... exposing all...
Carte blanche... there is one who thinks he has that right... he is no sage...
Deja vu... if only... back to a life where happiness was a joy... a ball for all...
Dilettante... rulers who think they know how to... their eyes a glaze...
Elan... a writers... poets trait... a determination to write... it is in them all...
Ennui... who would choose a life to laze... yet seems ennui is now a new phase...
Entered in Ten words ten lines 2 - Poetry Contest sponsored by Silent One
Who is she who has stained my heart?
Who is this woman of glory, valor, and virtue?
She, like a melodious instrument, plays songs of wonderment that my soul enjoys.
She with joyous harmony completes my every measure of symphony.
Who is her who has spoken my name in a language I have never heard?
Who is her who embodies my justice, my peace, my abnormalities? Like a calculable equation she is the invisible function to my relationship with God.
Like a grand sword her edges are sharp yet still in my hands. Like an eternal flame we ascend, smoking out our impurities and causing them to thin out in the air.
Who is she? Who is her? Who are we?
We, incompatible compatibility complete each other's cycles, words, phrases, and dramatic soliloquies.
Lovely lullabies kissing the tongues of our inner ears - like a choir we now sing jubilantly in desperation of finding each other.
Who am I?
I am not her. She is not me.
Total belonging is key and everything we desire to be, we are.
All that we desire to do, we become.
And we, the stuff of each other's greatest dreams are outcast from the world's Sorrows and become something else.
Yet, we still are very far apart, singing songs on different oceans - staring out into deep blue aquatic territories, exchanging love languages from separate rivers. Deep we go into the 6th and 7th Heavens inspiring Angels...
Higher we climb into dimensions unspeakable, toning out the sights and sounds of Forces greater than we. So high up the altitude seems to be where we began.
Our spiritual coordinates dissect abomination, destruction, and peril. The map of my She-wonder floats majestically in the wind. I too float.
"Where am I?" She plainly asks.
"In me," I reply, "in my prayers."
10/10/2019
I tried to write today, but I couldn’t manage it.
You see, there’s a speck of dirt stuck to the paper.
I tried not to let it get to me, but to no avail,
And had already begun trying to get it off.
Scratching at it was no use, I couldn’t get under the thing.
And washing a paper would defeat the purpose.
It seemed impossible to pry off.
I can’t live with it in my sight, yet can’t throw it away.
I’ll have to take my mind off it somehow,
So I can rest easy tonight.
Just the thought of it will haunt me.
Tomorrow I can write again.
10/11/2019
I got another piece of paper today,
And had managed to get the speck out of my head,
Just long enough to get some thoughts out.
But something else is bothering me.
Now that I think about it, I can’t stop myself.
All the abnormalities of the patterns on the wall,
The crumbs on the desk,
Even the nearly invisible creases in this paper.
I need to get out a bit more,
There’s no way I can function like this.
I can talk more when I’ve dealt with this,
But for now this is all I can think about.
10/12/2019
I couldn’t go to sleep last night.
I had turned on the fan in my room,
But its spinning motion had fascinated me.
The quink motion blurs it together,
But if you focus on a single blade, following it,
It starts to become clear.
After a while I decided to get up.
There was nothing to do, but anything was better
Then staring at the cursed fan.
I found a rubber wall stick toy, molded into the shape of a dragon.
My brother probably got it from a teacher.
After spending the rest of the night trying to keep the wings apart,
I passed out.
10/13/2019
I can’t stay in this house,
The abundance of dust has only become more clear.
My brain won’t rest and I’m seeing things I haven’t before.
The edges of my nails that are begging to be cut,
The imperfections in the palms of my hands,
The papers not all in a straight pile,
The lines of my handwriting inhabiting them,
The dust scattered over the tables,
And the finger marks breaking the unity.
My head is spinning
And I can’t make it stop.
Round and round the ceiling goes.
10/14/2019
Ah, the beauty of sleep medicine.
I finally had a good night’s rest,
And I think I have an idea on what to write about.
Until next time, Journal.
And please, deal with the erase marks,
I need a break.
-Connor Lotts
Myopic Microscopic
Microscopic myopic;
Melanoma Glaucoma;
Abnormalities.
Part of my wishes;
Song group became suspicious;
Serendipity.
Whippy da do die;
There must be another way,
My guitar to try.
Society boon
So started playing the tune;
Ended up on moon.
Moon is a sexist;
Man who you cannot resist;
Should add to Trump's list.
Ho ho Jim Horn
Jim Horn
Illegal and Not Bona Fide
If answers are illegal and not bona fide
An MMPI scale said that you have lied
Or to commit suicide may or do desire
And indicates why you want to expire.
Abnormalities Trump has a long list
Determined by a known psychiatrist
And have also heard some people said
That he may want his mind to be read.
If Trump was up against wall or fence
Out of problems not make much sense
While world was having another disaster
His abnormal behavior might be his master.
Why take a chance and experience go for
Hillary has it along with education galore
We know she is brilliant and intelligent
Gave Miller Analogy Test with her consent.
She is normal battery of tests did determine
And not insane like Hitler who was a German
Results were in that for we all had waited
Being brain and success was highly correlated.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet