Best Eccentricities Poems
(This poem was published in Every Day Poets. Enjoy the read!!!!)
“You have lost your mind!”
they told him. His eccentricities
surpassed the boundaries
they regarded as
normal.
Determined to get his mind back,
he searched forest, roadside,
bridge, cemetery….everywhere he remembered
visiting; wondering whether his mind existed or not,
because he had memories.
By: Teddy Kimathi
How quickly our world changes
filling the minds with an allure!
The clothes hanging in the closet
are no longer stylish and hot;
the new trends are for the elite
who are exploited by the designers
creating the latest fashions
not appealing to the masses
who have eyes set on modest prices,
not on meticulous attire made to compete.
What's so strange and confusing
is that men once had a dress code,
and looking sharp they assumed their role
by charming women as they leered.
Today's eccentricities are irritating:
would a real man wear something weird
that looks feminine for the sake of fashion?
Is he comfortable with this transformation?
To butterflies, bats, and midnight creatures,
To the brilliant, the dark, and things unseen.
To roses, wine, and satin dresses,
To a lucid child-like dream.
To the musty scent of ancient places,
To thoughts distilled on a fragile page,
To open-ended expectations, and
Eccentricities of a secret sage.
To the promise that lies in what is unfinished,
To the charm in the rawness of the fray,
To quests that lead to curious changes,
And rest that unbinds peace and play.
Raised a thumb, hitched a ride
random raced, inside
a freaky, desert mirage—
—then took it——solo
and slammed smack dab
into Slab City.
Oasis to lost, wandering souls
outcasts, living off society’s Grid
—crash landed—
into immediate immersion
of oddball oddities and eccentricities.
Psychedelic dreamscapes
mixed with Truth tellers—
—Salvation Mountain, God’s love
and John 3:16.
then, around the corner
East Jesus, where heathens
and aliens commune.
Find your path, your truth
within Coke bottle walls
Madonna shrines, plastic people
junk art sculptures—-
—-RV snowbirds and hippies
living side by side.
Commentary complimentary—
—spun from a grey bearded elder
telling tales of the glory days—
—of protests and picket lines
—of hazy days, flower children
and far out, rainbow dreams.
Written: December 5th, 2023
_________________________________________
Inspiration bursts forth akin to a volcano
with kinetic rainbows and gooey agony
frothy vortices or bubbling in infernos
an existence on the verge of decay
reaching the pinnacle of bliss
In that moment, originality bursts forth.
A creative vision of shadowed areas
amid a thousand beveled mirrors
portraying vibrancy and iridescence
in tandem, or utterly not
conversing common items into marvels
perched atop majestic mountains.
The highly focused artist's mind
perfectionism never fades
up until the medium is fulfilled
often veiled eccentricities
displaying pushes witnesses to impanel
an opposing viewpoint to hate and love.
Gratitude for vivid dreams
revealing hidden spaces to inspire and empower
emerged from cramped corridors
of crumbling walls and fading edges
within the Edenic roses of teal.
If you brush away all the fallen leaves,
from the branches of my family tree.
You're likely to find a few old bones that,
we've tried to keep hidden from history.
As with all families you're gonna find,
things that no one ever dared to bring out.
Gays, lesbians, bi and transgender were,
the kind of things that no one talked about.
Back in those days they whispered horrid words,
all about subjects that were quite taboo.
Now accepted as just a way of life,
that many people now openly choose.
I say that all the 'eccentricities',
that filled up our ancestral lineage.
Have helped color in all of the blank spots,
though some paint may have spread over the edge.
It is so hard to stay inside the lines,
when it’s colored in by so many hands.
Our quirks and words and peculiar traits,
are perhaps what helps us to understand.
That it's from those colors that gently bled,
and all those secrets that were never told.
That created who we became today,
and we don't have to all fit the same mold.
Eccentricism
Dick has a problem I don’t have.
He is a man.
As that I am female, Dick infringes through ignoring what is right.
He relates to homosexuality whims when I stand as a mist from the Garden of Eden.
Do you know that dick stated a psychological tenet that he was powerful because of *****?
That is when I had to relate because I had presumed that dick was *****.
However, he ventilates that dick is not the same as *****.
In this world, men are going through metamorphosis.
Their psychiatric preference is a man’s best friend.
In this place, women are suppressed.
Their psychological performance is best with a straight man.
Therein, many tendency is to become a lesbian.
This fundamentally means this world is twisted.
So insane that structured is trembling.
Through idiosyncrasies and sexual desires of man, minds are being manipulated.
But never mind all that, I is the person that wins against mammoths.
Insofar as none has, eccentricities are real.
Aerate the ideas of humankind.
Let loose the knowledge of origin since the time of God, if it is known.
Tell no lies.
Propaganda falsehoods until we acknowledge the truth.
This is what we do.
___________________________________________________
Penned on January 22, 2015!
Ebony and Phonics
Talkin’ Jive, slippin’ inta the ethnic eccentricities
of survival, hip-hop, rap, the blues, Ebonics.
Ebonics, the melding of Ebony and Phonics
into a language that could be spoken
within hearing of the overseer. Genius
spoken here, clandestine communication
lines strung in plain view. News flashes,
who ran, who escaped, who was sent and
where, who was sold. Assumed “ignorance”
displaying pure brilliance before an unconscious
audience.
Ebonics, a language shaped by hardships and
prejudice, now reduced to phrases and a
chant-like mockery of its necessity and
protection.
Ebonics, a language that preserved a spirit,
nurtured a fierce independence, fed the
flames of rage and the hopes of love.
Ebonics, a tribute to a tenacious desire to
be free, not from the chains, but from
the bondage of the chains. Free to
communicate their deepest thoughts,
their hidden loves, their seething hates.
Ebonics, lost key to railroads underground,
doors no longer found, generations in
search of freedom’s sound.
John G. Lawless
8/16/2014
for Verlena S. Walker
Ebonics – Let’s do Some Slang contest
Poems for Children Only
If poem seems bad straighten it out for me
So maybe soon eventually I can start to see
What I thought were to be my eccentricities
Compared to yours were all inadequacies.
Many of my verbs may be in wrong tense
Word arrangement never made much sense
Some adverbs should be adjectives instead
And ending of my people often did dread.
Okay, my comrade poets I must confess
What should I do to straighten out this mess?
Start trying to tear all of my poems apart;
Write poems for children only soon do start.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Scattered discs so far
Trans Neptunian objects
Gravitational
Iced minor planets
Solar Systems, orbital
Eccentricities
If I could go back
For just a day
Even just a few hours
I would set up the board
Put each checker in it's place
I would see
Really see
Grandpa across the table
Him with his furrowed brow.
I would be less concerned
Less focused on winning
I would relish his laugh
Listen carefully to his tales
Record them
indelibly on my mind's eye
Combining
Past
Present
Future
I would see
The eccentricities of me
Passed on in perpetuity
His playfulness
The keenness of his former mind
Before the disease stole what was left behind
With each play the minutes would pass
I would take my time
Make them last
There would be questions to ask
Sadly the time is gone
The board has been put away
It's a game I no longer play
It was our special thing
He left long ago
On angels wings
Yet one day
When this
Life has passed
He will be there and I will ask
"Set up the board
It's time to play.
We can take our time
We have all day."
I am reading
"Democracy in Black"
by Eddie S. Glaude, Jr.
but continue reconstructing this title
"Hypocrisy in Only White."
Because
when I let my memory
look back to my own self-interests in history
as archaeological digging and prying and discovery,
adventure and curiosity
of my internal ecological development,
I reweave back
through still on-going matriarchal lines
that include,
are shared with,
anyone capable of reading
and comprehending
these words of regenerating memory.
Back
to darker
denser
richer genes and memes
of cooperative to still thrive today,
saving competitions for survival moments.
Back to
better to prey together
side by side
as neanderthal brothers and sisters
than to grow predative
against each other.
This Golden Rule
of dark Afro-Eurasian
equatorial resonant depth
of historical origin
in normative play
at least until we substitute capitalism's
supremacist agendas
for rationalism's ego-ecocentric
reweaving memory
of this original Earth Mom
magical and mysterious
then worshiped and danced
ritualed and cooperative ownership co-governing,
then more modern radical eccentricities
forgetting our shared matriarchal
regenetic
memory of dualdark
hypocrisies of merely white inferiority
complexes
disease
dissonance
despair of remaining fully
who we together are,
where we have been
predating history
where we could return
each morning
with greatest polyphonic joy.
To paraphrase David Holmgren
(Permaculture, p. 113)
Containers were one essential organic innovation
necessary for this cooperative agrarian revolution.
Opportunities to refill organically produced bodies
are enormous
transitioning into recycling energy descent
for shared cooperative memory.
Reimaging full organic containers
is far better than sending us
away and down and out for recycling.
Most official ecopolitical waste reduction strategies
place little emphasis
on organic reuse refilling re-educating
deep ecologically learning containers,
or confuse WinWin refueling,
reweaving,
with capitalism's WinLose recycling,
switching productive containers
into merely consuming eventual empties,
bleached-out white-washed faded hypocrisies
of purest supremacy against nothing
deeply densely
richly resonantly valued.
You question why I wish to live
In isolation among the wilds,
Forsaking all society gives
And its lure of ventures beguiled?
To answer this I can't decree
In words what lacks simplicity
Instead, why not come with me
To taste my eccentricities.
Come with me to stand
Atop a snowy mountain's peak
To gaze at miles of virgin land
The beauty of which words can't speak.
Come, let it strip away your cares
And then perchance you just may dare
To feel the peace that's waiting there
Atop that snowy mountain fair.
Come with me and walk
Along a winding river's brink
To listen to the wood thrush talk
Or watch a doe come out to drink.
Come, watch the beaver's clever craft
Then pause to hear what few men have
Come stroll along that peaceful path
To listen to your spirit laugh.
Come with me and run
Through golden fields of flowing grain
Then pausing there to fill your lungs
Take time to smell the windblown plains.
Come, watch the merry butterfly
Float 'cross an amber colored sky
And hear the earth give out her sigh
As now the day says his goodbye.
Come with me and sleep
And lay beneath the star strewn skies
In timbered heights, so dark and deep
To find repose for weary eyes.
Come, think of all you've seen today
Of Mother Nature's grand display
And once we have knelt down to pray
Then let your dreams come out to play.
Then arise with the sun
And return to society
To work until the day is done
On another man's proprieties.
Think then of our day gone past
And of these questions you've asked
You'll know then why I'm an outcast
Who's chosen the more tranquil path.
Timothy I. Brumley
All eye admiration flood upon your presence
Beyond words, this mind bleeds,
Crushed by your metaphysical yet practical brilliance
Deafened by the hilarity of your quirks
Envying those that may embellish in your jests
Frozen in tears where the past brings smiles
Groveling beside the untouched potential
How is it you excel among such fetid company?
Initiating your moon-shines like the sun is your god
Jumping jacks pounding these ever depressing soles
Kittling the fingertips mindfully so
Lackadaisically glancing upon our stranger-friend relationship
Mustering the audacity to surmount your eccentricities
No one could ever quite notice before
Opulent in knowing you have captured so many
Pained inside to the very last penny
Quenched from courage, I remain caged in your glory
Rabid to agitate your unacquainted waters
Suckling upon the overflow—
The leftovers that offer richness I will never know
Understanding you wholeheartedly—I quiver
Violated by the comfort tease of your words
Wondering how love can surface upon unsteady oceans
X chromosome searching for a sharp fool within a current of chaos
Y chromosome spinning, slightly hidden with a small, sparkly smile
Zealous in the frivolous chase—I was latched from the start
If there was hell to pay,
I'm sure I would of payed the cost.
But it seems like some days
no matter how much I try,
I'm still lost.
Fighting in circles,
staring at the same obscenities.
Fierce, grueling tags pinch
me with their eccentricities.
Dark shadows trying to sneak their way in.
I run away and focus away from this sin.
Corse tear drops fall as I feel like I lost it all.
Whose to beg if there is nothing to differ?
I must not give up hope and let this siffer.
Between the lines,
between the blades,
between the worlds,
I will search.
Fleeing from the darkness,
leaving my perch.
Longing for a place I can call home.
I will whisper to God
along these lonley streets I roam.
Through tunnels and pathways,
all winding and dark.
I will burn through these times,
that encase my heart.
Blanketed with refreshing water,
I make myself whole again.
From the bottom of the tireless depths,
to every moment I take breaths,
I will fight.
Caught in the fierce wind beyond delight.
Vision focused,
intentions on sight.
Things are going to start to change.
I had to encorporate the knowledge
to rearrange.
Things may seem broken,
but along the silent streams they flow.
It is all in what you give,
how you live.
I'm going to ignite my soul,
pay the toll.
Bring myself home.