Best Conventionality Poems
"You are ... different, aren't you?" she said, crinkling her nose.
That sentiment, spoken by my fourth grade home-room teacher
Had been paraphrased many times before
(And would be countless times again)
Different, unusual, odd, weird, curious, complex, or just plain strange
Those were the kind ones - the ones I can repeat
My favorite, however, was "unique"
The day my mother put it into that sensible little frame, I knew ...
I ... was HOME.
You see, we creative folk
Are not put on this good earth to "fit" into it
We are not molded to be a status quo part of society
But rather, set apart FROM society
Our gifts are granted us in order to change the world
Not continue the order of its mundane spin
We are interpreters of the language of beauty and ingenuity
We weave expression and imagination into what's tangible and visible
Turning ideas and emotions to the substance of words and color and sound
Bringing light and clarity to variation and choice
We are the very children of NON-conformity
Living proof that acquiescence and conventionality stifle the human spirit
We are soldiers of vision, innovation, cleverness, and inspiration
Fighting the war on commonplace, submission and docility
Battling daily in the name of ALL who are unlike the Average Joe
And bringing inspiration to the world.
So, do I think I'm "special"?
Yes, for we are ALL special ... every single human is born with unique gifts
Ours - the artistic talents - just happen to be of a creative fashion.
Yes, I am odd, strange, weird, different, unusual, and unique ...
And I am BLESSED ... to be so.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "CReAtiVe CoNForMiTy" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
conventionality, appreciation, art, creation, culture,
Form:
Free verse
A time may come, when heart, which is said to be a soft piece of flesh, turns to a stone. A stone beating in your chest doesn’t just free one but opens a shell with magnanimous appealing for solidarity from world. While a smile is wore on the pale face and sound of giggles made back and forth, loud enough, the sound is most relatable to a laughter, but , void of life and energy. In short the sinking holes under eyes which must had ‘v some time given way to a river and the crow lines, gaping emptiness of soul inside this rusting body explicitly trying to define itself in that lifeless forced laughter, but see, a smile and a puff of powder hides everything and frees the mind from the uncomfortable conversations one always want to avoid. So then, smile and wave, sit with a stone in your chest, and be very content with it, because a stone doesn’t feel, nor does it break. Here it is then, free from the conventionality and space in which you breathe, which pledges your personality though the luxuries and beauty on name of blessings, still be grateful on them and fly off from all the possible uncertainties, raging inner self. Then with time, slowly, this nourishment of terror leaves, but with a gift, a heart of stone. HN
Categories:
conventionality, absence, analogy, death, feelings,
Form:
Prose
FIRST LOVE
Never speak of first love in the past tense
For the depth of a first love is eternal, ever present
To place it into the recession of our memories
Is to negate the essence of what is pure, beautiful...everlasting
Is to deny the existence of infinity........ It's like caging our feelings
Unlike the caged bird that wants nothing but the freedom of the sky
We become caged souls, cowards, timid beings corrupted by conventionality
To speak of first love in the present tense is like liberating our most sublime discovery
Let's give wings to our inner most sentiments..... and by this act transform ourselves
…..And become whole before the dawn of the forever present.
Bella Vista, AR
April 2, 2016
Categories:
conventionality, blessing,
Form:
From devadasi in temples to women of the streets,
Form hooker to harlot,
From courtesan to call girl,
Whether a paramour in the hands of wealth,
Or a Whore engaging in promiscuous sexual intercourse,
So many names and so many fames,
Above all I am a human being too,
Often referred as the lady of the evenings,
People forget that I also have mornings,
I use my body for lewd purposes,
But this is my job may be the worst of all,
This is not for pleasure, greed or money,
I am trapped to this vicious world,
These callous men turned me a used good,
Now whom to be blamed?
This society calls me ‘Characterless’
Because I pledged my dignity for this profession,
May be the oldest of all,
I never dreamt of marriage,
I am an impoverished cultural outcast,
I am excommunicated,
I work in darkness,
And that’s why people fail to see me in light,
But Menaka, Rambha, Urvashi, and Thilothamma,
The celestial demigods – who are they?
Indian mythology says this as high-class prostitution?
This is the harsh reality,
I spare myself for making you elated
But you brand me the “curse of this society “
I never look at my mirror with joy
My own reflection titters at me
I see only destation and revulsion around me,
I scream in agony and excruciation
But for people they are pleasure sounds and sex noises,
I have dissolved my high spirits in the ocean of Hedone
Where my conventionality and morality have gone invisible,
Now I stand before this society as a misanthropist,
An elite lady – who changes her boy friend every now and then,
I love my John just for few minutes,
I eventually break up for the next John to stay,
When I walk down the streets I never look up,
For the eyes of women fend off,
For the eyes of men fond off,
They rate me based on complexion,
Being a black seducer I am paid low
But none discovered my hearts white glow,
From a lad to a gray man,
All try to touch my skin,
But none so far have tried to touch my soul
For them I am a doll – without feelings or pain,
But for me no pain no gain,
I can never change this world,
Or the way they treat me,
Likewise I can never change myself,
Or the way I treat my men.
I am searching my bright future in the night,
And I call this my nocturnal life.
BY,
MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM
Categories:
conventionality, anxiety, cry, dark, depression,
Form:
When did this ambivalence fluxed into happiness,
When this happiness boisterously took over mind’s stagnancy,
Till today I had bounded it to mere laughter,
Till when I kept waiting for my jocundity in the mere faces around,
Didn’t I know,
All this already puns in my heart,
Ah this happy-Ness dwells in my very self,
Really this very essence of my life, resides in my soul!
This serenity, in which I actually float, furtively I say,
Didn’t I know,
Of this poignant happiness,
When my sight is blessed with their faces,
It is stunning me out of the bizarre conventionality,
From where am I being enlightening? With this happiness,
Didn’t I know,
Even under darkness, this happiness is fondling me,
Making my life utopia,
this is Providence, surely,
it is all around me and in me,
really didn’t I know !...
To be happy for no reason,
To be grateful for having life,
To be nurtured and loved unconditionally,
To appreciate this beauty of deflection of life,
Before …of This happiness, really! didn’t I know !
.......................................................................................................
dedicated to my parents (they are all i have), and to the friends who accompany me on poetrysoup, thankYou so much ,for appreciation and love, all of you .
Categories:
conventionality, beautiful, cheer up, father,
Form:
Ghazal
Two activities I love have a similarity,
To experience and conjecture in verse,
And to explore limits of certainty.
Rhyme and meter, whether wordy or terse,
Enact seeing freshly, banning banality.
Math proofs are finding a needle in a hay source,
Needing imagination to reach finality.
Many school veterans curse,
“Algebra is not daily reality!”
“Trigonometry makes life worse!”
But poetry and math have a commonality,
They both tease out how the world works,
Neither rewards conventionality,
Both work by seeing the diverse.
I admit rote formulas draw my enmity,
Whether in word or number universe.
I’ve found in sonnets and theorems an equality,
If you disagree, you can rightfully call this poem a hearse.
Categories:
conventionality, humorous, poetry, universe,
Form:
Light Verse
One of these days, when time is free
And I feel the urge come over me
I'll do the things I've always said
I'd do before I end up dead
Go places that I'd like to see
I'll shed conventionality
Live life as it was meant to be
Not fantasize, but act instead
One of these days
Pleasure will be my decree
I'll redefine normality
Adventure will lay just ahead
I'll do it all, just like I said
One of these days
Categories:
conventionality, introspection,
Form:
Rondeau
COLOUR MY DREAMS
partake of my dreams tonight
exotic places unrelated
as I fly on stars of meteors
quick light
colour in my dreams tonight
hypnotic kaleidoscope displays
as we defy all conventionality
in sight
seduce all my dreams tonight
erotic tracing unexplored
as I drown in your passionate
delight
linger in my dreams tonight
psychotic demons chased away
I drift into perfect peaceful
white light
while you
colour my dreams
tonight
© Kim van Breda—1 March 2015
Categories:
conventionality, fantasy, longing, passion, sensual,
Form:
Imagism
The clichéd cavalier
clings to his
carbon copy life with
constrained complexity
and settles
for conventionality.
Miss originality
and Master clarity
dismantle, reconstruct
withered concepts
within a cul-de-sac
of ubiquitous creativity
by alienating themselves
from main-stream
cultural orthodoxies.
Our imagination:
a perverse configuration
of disparate thoughts
that congeal into
an incomprehensible concoction
of cerebral combinations
which reconfigure,
inexplicable,
to creatively convey some
innovative originality
and clarity
into a world
which continues
to advocate constrained
and conformist ideologies.
Categories:
conventionality, life, on writing and
Form:
Free verse
A rather young couple have
Moved in together
In the two up, two down
Across the street.
Not for them conventionality
Or conformity:
No wedding band offends
Her third finger, left hand
Nor, it must be said
From appearances,
Does bath water very often.
Long, lank and greasy hair
Drools over their acne-scarred complexions.
They proudly declare their membership
Of the rock music degeneration
With booming bass
And screeching electric guitars,
Earth-quaking the street.
Oh yes, they have defiantly
Made it clear
They’re not going to conform
And prefer to live their lives
Living in din.
Categories:
conventionality, conflict, funny, identity, urban,
Form:
Free verse
Line up the meat
According to size and flavor
Make the mistletoe appear early
Beyond its seasonal fracas
The plying and plowing is
Executed with such precision
To avoid the blame of ordinary
To be buried along with
Missionary and natural means
The lattice design that
Shapes futures
Meant for conventionality
None of which sounds
Or tastes appealing
At least for those of us
Who feel we can, we should
Mix it up every once in awhile.
(8/10/10)
Categories:
conventionality, adventure, appreciation, desire, lust,
Form:
Free verse
Self-expression is dependent upon personality
We can only really be who we are deep inside,
Some folks by their nature defy conventionality.
There are folks who can set inner nature aside
And, with strong determination, choose to be
Whatever they want to be with enormous pride.
I am thinking, specifically, of people in comedy
Who are hurting deep inside, but never show it;
Perhaps, never realizing it, do not seek a remedy.
We can all think of sad, sad cases this shoe fits,
It always behooves us to look below the surface
What’s going on beneath all the glamor and glitz?
I suspect this may lead to some who will deface
Others merely wear jeans instead of fancy lace.
Written July 29, 2022
Categories:
conventionality, identity, image, pain, self,
Form:
Terza Rima
Real!
Can I cope with this reality?
The love and knowledge of past heroes,
Brimming up from within,
Accounts for me and my situation - conventionality,
And inspires me to love, care and liberate.
History partly gives us our freedom:
Our rights and what we fight for;
Lands us with our lot,
Our work, toils and spot;
Our trinket of such manifestation.
Martin Luther King and Ludwig Guttmann,
Fought for race and disability rights respectively:
Emmeline Pankhurst secured women their vote,
And Tim Berners-Lee created the world wide web -
They’ve all improved my life enormously.
Categories:
conventionality, discrimination, growing up, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
Critical tendencies and agitated mind,
misread beginnings to like all in kind.
Air of the heaven and sensation in prime,
force of life and death at the same time.
Devotion aroused giving all for nothing,
which reality turns perception touching.
Endurance crowns goodness with beauty,
possessor through holiness of duty.
Conscious unity with the ultimate provider,
life’s culmination and transcendent rider.
Natures reach for no conventionality,
proofing in tune thinking ability.
Belief’s conception via faith’s conviction,
political metaphor for egos addiction.
Liberty of faith and only integrity,
impossible current of all mystery.
Categories:
conventionality, 12th grade, perspective,
Form:
Ballade
From the book of revelation the warning is clear,
people will be deceived in worshipping the master of fear.
Predicted in scripture to lead most into loosing their salvation,
when false Gods are the symbol of appreciation.
The mysteries order is formed on a cosmic line,
symbolic language by constellation and numbers refine.
Religious manipulators erecting the controlling act with obelisks,
making sure that the secret act enriches ego’s little fanatics.
Most ridicule and initiated great concern to serve,
the greater good of hierarchy as best deserve.
The blasphemous doctrine that one can reach perfection,
through higher spheres of knowledge perception.
Hermetic books as such proofed to be fraud,
and even the Kabbalah is a medley of absurdity still taught.
Freemasonry lodge meetings by so called masters in disguise,
then darkness like death is the symbol of initiation of blinded wise.
Since Masonic Presidents, Governors and Senators making law,
the Roman Catholic Church has its perfect power draw.
The phallic symbol of Osiris at St. Peter’s square at the Vatican,
throwing an ancient shadow as predicted practicum.
The wicked have to forsake the spiritual sanctum,
not ever understanding the divine abundance factum.
All pseudonym facts lose their color in the face of truth,
boundaries of limitation and capital conventionality to sooth.
Categories:
conventionality, devotion, history, meaningful, perspective,
Form:
Ballade