Best Conform To Poems
Authority figures, teachers and scholars
Tell me to think for myself;
Then grade my answers right and wrong
Based on an answer key kept on the shelf.
Write a poem that’s unique and original;
No structure - of your own free verse,
But before you put pen to paper,
Please listen to these strict rules first.
You will never get anywhere in life
If you don’t conform to societal rules;
I’m told by mentors in lemming suits
Taking me for one of their fools.
“Flowers are red young man,
And green leaves are green.”
Quoted from the verse of a Harry Chapin song;
Words I find so very obscene.
So give me an “F” and flunk me out,
Cause I finger my nose at you,
Tell me my free verse doesn’t conform
To its definition in your view.
I go to the formal in my birthday suit;
I use the salad fork to eat my meat;
I don’t care to conform for conformity’s sake
And don’t care if you find my position weak.
Be proud of yourself for sticking to your guns
And being exactly like every other clone;
I have no problem being the only one
Living on my own island all alone.
I’ll write a poem and call it free verse,
Or call it Charlie or Plankton or Pete,
And chuckle at those I’ve offended so
Knowing my portfolio is quite complete.
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!
God's mercy and love raised you to this tier,
Amid the party of graduates assembled here.
So, think not of self more highly than you ought,
For it is the Lord's grace that kept you unfraught.
Try not to conform to the actions of this world,
But let your minds be renewed by this conferral.
Wisely put The Lord's perfect will to the test,
And hold fast to what your heart knows is best.
Honor one another above self and guard your faith;
Love what you deem sincere and leave evil to scathe.
Share with each other in need and keep hopes high,
Be humanly hospitable and let your service edify.
Seek not to do evil to repay a slight,
For integrity is the practice of being right.
Let peace be your goal when dealing with others;
We please the Lord by being sisters and brothers
I watch the tears fall from your eyes, but then why am I mad? …This is the day I was
told about, they said I’d be happy, blissful, content, and victorious, so then why am I
sad…
Man, today I met a new side of me, I learned you could confide in me, and know that
your secrets are safe with inside of me, trying to weaken the soul that lies in thee,
but my heart is as wide as the sea. And I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be,
because I learned to forgive YOU, and to love ME!
So I wipe your tears and ask myself where is your strength… the strength that kept
me in complete darkness, provoked words of cold harshness, the times I CRIED and
YOU acted heartless, I let you guide me as though you were my compass, but you
chose to destroy me and feed off my weakness, leaving me to pick up the pieces and
tidy your mess. So if you’re wondering if I feel your pain, my answer is yes!
The pain you feel was a place I once resided in, so my only words of wisdom is take
this as life’s lesson, learn that things happen for a reason, ppl we think we know
change like the season, learn to fight your daemon. Don’t let this be a rerun, don’t let
your soul get beaten, train your mind not to weaken, don’t wallow in your sorrows,
forgive and forget and your life will sweeten……mines did!
I did, I moved on, forgave and forgot, and in turn I am grateful for all that I got. Road
out the waves, rolled with the punches, built back my strength, my emotions and
senses, brushed myself off when you threw me in the trenches. Drowned my
sorrows, faced all my stresses. And at the end of it all I made a few pledges.
I pledge to love me and put myself first, love me through hard times, down to my
worst. I pledge to forgive, we all make mistakes, I pledge to succeed and do
whatever it takes. Avoid all the foes, follies and fakes. Avoid stepping on skins of all
cobras and snakes. I shall not conform to gossiping and sin, because despite what
I’ve been through I choose to win. Do good on to others, be kind, be true, and your
hardship will cease, your sorrows will be few. Now wipe the tears from your eyes,
cuz you finally paid your due. You can run and you can hide but karma will always find
you!
When the time is right
one again will walk with you unaided
in an eon of age,
where promises are made
not to conform to life’s illusions.
Only now this earthly spirit
will not last forever,
the journey has been long, now weary,
and this pen is spent
needs to fade
into one’s own mitigation.
Yet your smile your poetry
one will gladly hold dearly
with in one’s heart forever,
as life blends with in
one’s terminal sunset
before methodically melting
into the golden horizon!
© Harry J Horsman 2013
You were so
full of life and
uniqueness and inspiration
to those like me
looking for a voice
to cry out and be
oneself, shuffle off
such mortal coil
and fly high above
the elements of
repetition.
Yet I saw your
roots now, they
run deep, breaking
free from the cold
pavement and saw
life jetting up
You friend are birthed,
live die and are
born anew in all
uniqueness. You don't
conform to one mold
but are willing to
change with the seasons
of life and just be.
Be green
Be red
Be brown
Be puke-green
Be old
Be young
Be new
Be you
you are the teacher
of this poem
Be yourself
and look up from
the pavement of
repetition
Love.
There are so many conotations behind it,
Yet what does it mean?
I think too much,
But can’t come to terms with any thoughts.
This brain fog is yet to go,
But how will I know
When it is gone?
Love.
What I feel is not romantic, no.
It is not some crush,
It is not feeble,
I am not in love.
I swallow the dry taste of confusion
Drifting through me.
I cannot think,
But the thoughts are always there.
What is love?
Why must it be divided into parts
Like romantic and platonic?
I don’t know where to start.
This feeling is not romantic,
Yet it is not platonic, either.
What I feel goes deeper, but not too deep.
I continue to wonder;
What might be if these words ever released from my lips.
I love in a way that cannot be described.
Comfort. Warmth. Safety.
Those are the words
Quawing like birds
In my mind.
Love.
I am constantly thinking.
Not with my head,
But with my heart.
But I wonder:
Is my heart burdened by my brain?
All of this pain
Yet to go away.
What is love?
Is it some socially constructed label?
One of few definitions, none worthy of explaining
What is going on up there?
Who’s to say?
My mind won’t sway,
It’s just another day
Of tormented silence.
What does it mean to be held?
Why would I ever want that in a non-carnal way?
Because I am not to be narrowed down to some physical prowess.
My anxiety keeps me from feeling,
But makes me feel constantly.
Love.
Why must you be so complicated?
Drifting away,
I do not pray
To a god,
But to anyone listening to free me from sorrow.
This love is not sorrow, no.
But the state of unknowing is treacherous.
Why must I conform to societies beliefs of what I am supposed to feel?
Love.
I don’t know what this love is,
I just know what it isn’t.
What is this love?
Etchings upon my heart, so profound in time
These hues, colored so bright, bringing out an array of light
This love, in healing softened my existence and allowed me to trust
Yet sad, as we parted for the differences were evident and pained;
pained by the physical was he, as I would watch him sleep
curled up in a fetal, his hidden small frame
Today, no evidence of the cancer, and I thank God for the blessings!
I am not selfish, as he moved on to passionately live
For he needed the things in which I could never provide
Someone once said to me that they had a normal life
and it might be a good thing to try
Yet I find my travels amazing and the people I meet daily in life
I smiled gently, as I refrained my opinions publically
leaving them pacified that yet somehow,
there was a bit of encouragement that they had left me
For in this world filled with filth, money and greed among things
It is something I've always refused to conform to really
Sometimes I wonder about him, as I sleep on this life's pillow made of concrete
For I know many struggles, yet I know the Lord is showing me
The easy way is not always the best but the path less traveled
enriches the spirit
At times my flesh reeks of the sinful spoils, that I cannot deny..
Some look upon the stars and ponder great loves gone by
Some think that true love will just fall out of the clear, blue sky!
I say to you now, love is a verb, indeed, I know this to be so
and sometimes after the valleys, our rotten fleshly ways
I awake in the darkness, at dusk, awaiting the dawn to arrive
In the silence, the wind caresses my skin and I remember a different time
and I breathe in deeply to keep the moment that soon I will have to exhale,
with a somber farewell, as my heart hopes for another moment in time,
lest I am left with the depth in my soul to carry of loves tragic goodbye
So, these lessons in life are sometimes blessings in disguise
I know not, why God shows us the things he does each day
I find peace, though I am much different than most, I know
One day the Gallo may be requested for me,
and my more than average, unconventional ways
I merely ask for one thing,
Please do not greet me with pity, along my passing way
~Someone said to me once, they had a normal life and it might be a good thing to try~
She's too skinny. She's too fat.
He's too white. He's too black.
She's too pretty. She's not hot.
He wears stripes. He likes dots.
She's too peppy. She's too sad.
He's too cheerful. He's too mad.
She's too quiet. She's too loud.
He's too humble. He's to proud.
She's too much a lady. She's not enough.
He's too weak. He's too tough.
She's too lenient. He's too strict.
I can't have a conversation without pitching a fit.
It's too old. It's too new.
I want more than one, but I'll hate having two.
It's too original. It's too much the same.
I don't care if you say it's awesome, I say it's lame.
Too young, too old, too short, too tall,
I have standards to uphold, and you'll conform to them all.
Although we don't see eye to eye,
And our opinions are as different as whole wheat and rye,
I won't unfollow, I won't ignore.
I'll shove my opinions through your front door.
I'll shame you in public and criticize your name.
It's not "just a movie". It's not "just a game".
Your misery is my happiness, unless I get what I want,
And I'll get what I want through threats and insults, hatred and taunts.
You will confirm until we agree.
This is all about me, me, me.
There comes a time
We ask ourselves
The why of what we do
What is the use of writing poetry
Do I write to express myself or to be read
If I have to conform to someone’s rules
Am I writing for me or am I writing for them
Afterall do they want to read my deepest feelings
Do they want to read everything I have to say
Will they appreciate the way I want to write it
Am I writing for me or am I writing to be read
Am I still creating if I am overthinking
Isn’t creativity being fundamentally original
Expressing what comes from within
Totally unrelated to outside demands
Does everything really need a purpose
Isn’t the purest form of creation
Basically the urge of needing an outlet
Be it as an explosion or pure mountain spring
Aren’t creativity and conformity
The epitome of polarities and paradoxes
Contradictory by their very nature
Read on air by invitation ~ August 21, 2022 'POETS HARBOUR'
AP: 3rd place 2022, 3rd place 2021
Submitted on May 23, 2020 for contest BRIAN'S CHOICE S sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - HONORABLE MENTION
and on October 10, 2018 for contest CREATIVE CONFORMITY sponsored by JOHN LAWLESS
Where is the rhyme; where is the reason
Discrimination takes many forms
Cultural differences enrich us
Why should others conform to our norms
Religion’s often the cause of wars
Each should be free to worship their way
Where is the rhyme; where is the reason
Judge others not by the way they pray
Red, yellow, black, brown colors of skin
All of us have hearts, feelings and souls
Where is the rhyme; where is the reason
When racial barriers hinder goals
Politicians cast public needs aside
Point fingers with charges of treason
Independent thinking is needed
Where is the rhyme; where is the reason
Perfection
Too Thin, too Fat
Too Tall, too Short
Too White, too Black
Too Rich, too Poor
STOP!
Always labels of perfection,
from a vain and ignorant nation.
Not only the halls of our schools,
but also in our homes are the fools.
With images from our media
The celebrity obsession and Hysteria;
Our moms and dads are joining in.
From our families to our friends.
All in the effort of perfection
young lives are from existence ejected.
Trying to obtain the impossible;
When are we going to become audible.
I am here with you and feel the pain.
Parents riding you because you are not the same.
You can't make friends unless you conform
to what society says is the perfect form.
You are Perfect, You are Beautiful.
You are loved, you are graceful.
You are you, you are nothing less.
You are strong, you are blessed.
Stop!
Don't conform to the idiocracy.
We'll create our own society,
free of judgment, with loving affection.
For only in unity and love is Perfection.
October 2014
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
Don't Stop
Keep Going!
Your growth & healing is showing!
We've stopped believing and started knowing!
Everyday they are more fearful
Everyday we are a taller steeple
We are the church
We show the worth
God is an equal
No, its not evil
Each man has his own God
You cannot be one with paper
So money as god would be quite odd
So your God must be a spirit
Must be able to be one with you
If its anything external, external praise is all you can do
So I pray your God is living inside of you.
I pray it tells you too love, too.
& do not conform to things of this world- Stay true
Be You!
Is it the spirit within us,
or is it adventure we seek
to travel beyond the wild side,
not stay in our traces quite meek?
The way of the wild is our nature,
challenges—mountaintop high,
searching for life’s rich fulfillment,
or looking to God asking, “Why?”
As children, we see things so different,
no bonds to hold back the mind,
no fears, no woes, no self-conscience—
only true ties that bind.
From birth we are tested and labeled
to conform to a socialized scale,
maybe for better or worse—I don’t know,
but sometimes it seems much like hell.
Torment and guilt put us under—
not always from what we have done,
but rather from what we were taught
as right or wrong since life’s begun.
Stresses unleashed on our ego,
competing for goals to succeed—
but is it to bathe in the glory,
or is it for purpose and need?
Let me live free as the creatures
on Earth and under the sea—
my soul needs rest from life’s sorrows—
my person wants just to be me.