Best Idiosyncrasy Poems
I remember the tree verdant in spring
Those years stretched out could be filled with anything
I had dreams of strong limbs and plenitude
Thoughtfully give limbs for nest and bedewed
I saw you change in fall to colors rare
The frost touched your leaves and limbs unaware
I saw winds swoop from the north stripping pride
Then run its course, your fears you tried to hide
I wonder what will happen to the tree
Though life issues idiosyncrasy
Written: 8-26-22
Contest: Dot Your i's and Cross Your t's
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, family,
Form:
Couplet
(Read later stanzas for more of the humour part ; parody of politics)
I Can't think well of a democracy
if nepotism and false promises
are part and parcel of its idiosyncrasy
A system of governance can't appeal to me
if it forever stinks of the 'stinking' rich plutocracy.
The media the ravening wolves many times their puppets,
together they howl for our divided attention
With wily words to win the masses of marionnettes
The nation's welfare merely their scheme in pretension.
Wonder why political power has to be the monopoly
of ambitious, vainglorious affluent power moguls.
Why can't they simply choose leaders
from any sincere poor yet wise and humble individuals?
The promises of a better world by 'em' politicians
are simply the oratory tricks of slick tacticians.
Demagogues come in all shapes and sizes
They come in 'perfect' future leader disguises
Pulling you and me to polling booths, luring us the dumbstruck voters
To amass as much power and wealth as possible in their limited quotas.
No wonder poor presidents are turned or burned
in the form of their rude and crude effigy cartoons
Comic sarcastic politics I say, since a caricature
it purposely lampoons!
Then the demonstrations, remonstrations
but they only invite riots and tear bomb gas
So if yah can keep your rallies peaceful
maybe you won't be such an ass.
And if yah do go ahead ranting, panting, slogun chanting
No seeds of discord nor weeds of hate be sowing, planting
for a showdown with fleshy arms, no metal arms can still be prancing, advancing
With sloguns not shotguns be ye protesting and demanding.
Thus I really wonder if politicos politicking
really do make the world tick.
Or do they simply in many places cause
timebombs to parallel the clock's tick?
(ok cast d ballot n vote 4 me as funny presidential candidate
of no-man's land ;
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, international, parody, political,
Form:
Rhyme
When the sky is dark, will the rain follow? Please tell me so.
When I’m feeling blue, can you make me glow? Please tell me so.
While each and every one has his own idiosyncrasy,
Does your patience with mine then help me grow? Please tell me so.
Let’s be grateful to people who love us and give us joy,
Let those who irk be ignored. Don’t feel low? Please tell me so.
It’s better to love and lost than never to love at all,
Is it from deep pain that hearts turn hallow? Please tell me so.
The direction of the wind is never in our control,
Do we’ve to be docile to where it blows? Please tell me so.
All life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze us,
They’re for discovering self not to go? Please tell me so.
Life is like a river of current sometimes rough and smooth,
It has beauty. Do we go to the flow? Please tell me so.
This beautiful world… nothing is more permanent than change,
Do update me with the new trends you know. Please tell me so.
;))))))))
Nov. 7, 2013 10.10pm
Note:
* 14 syllables in each line
Sixth Place
Contest: Take the Leap
Judged: 11/11/13
Sponsor: Poet Debbie Guzzi
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, inspirational, life,
Form:
Ghazal
Confidence,a radiant aura that defines him
Even whilst holding dear Jes playing a tune on a whim
It exudes and transcends his playing flaws until-
All you can hear turns symphonic like Beethoven
And his candidness,with each string,becomes proven
Laudable,is his love and passion for music
A true love of a jealous kind covering up like a tunic
Rare as a four leaf clover,a gift from God that makes-
The sound of his voice melt any frozen heart
And bring harmony and laughter to a world torn apart
Illustrious,like the great Achilles born to Thetis and Peleus
His percussive skills reflect the nature of his muse
Bringing unique blends of sound to greats like Hamilton-
Even Lira and Victor can testify to his idiosyncrasy
That which makes his sound distinguished and classy
Fastidious,a trait that echoes in his work and mannerism
'By the blood' is evidently a show of this perfectionism
Though he carries his talent in a humble manner-
He expresses himself with great felicity
Not forgetting that grand touch of simplicity
Fearless,he valiantly navigates his gift in a foreign land
Grabbing opportunities whilst gaining the upper hand
Though fearsome he may be when faced with commitment-
Love abides in him,he strives to achieve the dream
Knowing within that he is music,and music is him...
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, dedication, music, sound, love,
Form:
Cinquain
Here I stood, drenched with idiosyncrasy of evil rain;
Utterly dazed by what was said to be brightness,
Yes! I was poked in the eye by the dazzling lights of the terrain,
And I kept on swimming in the withered waters of wilderness.
I gave myself in, and was being smashed on an anvil just to go wasted.
Admonishing instincts gave me a cavil, but the fan for life, I really wanted.
Everything was okay, but the air, was it really soothing?
Oh no! I believe there was no fun to it at all.
What there was to it was really making me appall.
Now, I am overwhelmed with joy for I am king.
I was made king when He tapped me on the shoulder with affinity;
When I gave in and admitted it was all vanity.
He never cast me to doom though I was a slave of doom.
A new day I have seen, and will never get intimidated by gloom.
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, adventure, appreciation, bible,
Form:
Quatorzain
Passing of an Icon
An accomplished Lady of recondite letters
Writing humanity to free from its fetters-
From your clever Prose being deciphered,
With skewed minds, is where you differed.
And where, with prejudice, our minds think
Fellow Human beings can foul or sting
Indeed, there the Grass can loudly Sing!
Your discerning Eye and your sharp Wit
Endowed your firm hand with incisive writ-
Doris Lessing, rendezvous of every culture,
You ardently celebrated the pen’s rupture
With that broad mind and feminine looks
Reminiscent of the Golden Notebooks(s);
Thrall from callous confines of Cookbooks!
Doris the Amazon, you were sadly dismissed
Yet, in our hearts you’ll be happily missed;
The Vim, the Spirit, and your Idiosyncrasy
Will be cherished as our invaluable legacy:
Of a male Chauvinist or me a cold raptor,
From time immemorial, being a cruel captor,
To bow stepping forward to accept the Sceptre!
**Dedicated to the Great Writer; Doris Lessing, upon her passing on at her home on 17/11/2013.
JM
Categories:
idiosyncrasy,
Form:
Rhyme
What does a young naïve Christian think
When a hooded desperado storms a prayer room,
His scary presence quiets the praying tongues ,
And his outlawed round replaces hope with doom?
He doesn’t think, instead he silently prays :
Father, forgive their misinformed cruel idiocy,
Teach these men that suicide is not an escape
From the punishment for their bloody idiosyncrasy.
What does an aging single mother think
When the hope of a graduate daughter or son
Turns out to be that unthinkable news of death,
The bullet-riddled corpse, the end of the rising sun?
She does not think, instead she miserably cries:
Father, blight their brows with sulfurs hot,
Numb their souls with the gall of unending pain,
And their hope for bliss in death reduce to naught.
What does the orphaned little boy or girl think
When the bright elder sibling they adore
Calls to say that she’s been forced to call
And say goodbye before the triggers go?
The orphaned boy or girl does not think, instead they howl:
Father, tell the murderous killers to spare my sister
For there is no-one else to wash my clothes
And none to help with the assignments and dinner.
And what does the heavenly merciful Creator think
When the roars of guns and the sobs of death
Force him to turn and cast his all-seeing eyes below
To behold such thick-skinned extermination of breath?
He does not think, instead he wonders:
What breed of men is this I accidentally made,
To wound and mutilate my innocent lambs,
Rejoicing as their lives sorrowfully fade?
(The massacre of well over 150 Garissa University College students by the Al-Shabaab militants on 2nd April 2015)
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, holocaust,
Form:
Verse
I've tried to make words rhyme at the end of their stanzas,
but rhyme wasn't too perfect for those impersonal stanzas,
the Iambic pentameter was right, but it required rhyme for intensity,
so rhyme didn't agree with Iambic pentameter in every verse;
I paraphrased every stanza with a rephrase,
but frustration stepped in with a must of an exact phrase,
oh, can't a stanza rhyme with syllables without a count?
Not exactly the rhyme of Terza Rima as in The Divine Comedy!
Was Dante a perfect rhymer or an impulsive dreamer...
while his love happily played the lyre?
And did that lyre ever fail Beatrice so refulgent and proud?
Or did lovely Beatrice break the lyre?
Then again, vowels became consonants ironically,
and vowels and consonants all out of idealism;
and stressed and unstressed syllables created a strange idiom...
of consonants and vowels spelling out eccentric idiopathy:
the disease so unknown in literature, not idiocy,
but idiopathy became idiosyncrasy...oh, you figure, reader!
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, confusion, funny, on writing
Form:
Rhyme
Just an Apple to plucked from the tree!
Not one to let proceed wrongfully.
Create the character you want him to be.
Just an Apple deceitfully.
Just one Apple that is all he is.
Providing guidance via Psychiatry.
No one to let move forward in his wrongful deeds.
Just an Apple to deseed.
Providing guidance is his theme.
This what represents his capabilities.
An ambiguous body of faculties.
Not that of the greatest idiosyncrasy.
Just an Apple making mistakes it seems.
He sends his counselors to ACT his plots.
They reflect their images via my mirror or by sitting on my ottoman.
The black psychiatrist displays his face as a focus of yesterday.
Doctor Apple is white.
To him psychiatry can make wrong right.
In my family, he particulates as my son’s mental health facilitator.
Is there a cure from the voices?
Doctor Apple deeds are his choices.
A wrongful world cannot exist without a rightful way.
Just an Apple diablerie crafting mind-sets to seed.
Overshadowed by his degree in practice psychiatry.
Ubiquitous deseeding is paramount.
Doctor Apple a mountain is to climb once formed.
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, i am, identity, image,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Transplant
They saved him in the nick of time,
By a heart attack, from biting grime
By divinity, a pirate gave up ghost
With “heart” his heart to find a host!
The heart’s cage they cut it through
Infused heart to give pulse anew!
He is now healthy, live and vibrant
By the torque of a heart transplant.
What then could have gone wrong
His is no longer a humble being’s song;
He vaunts, tongue cracking like whips
Dog-tired, it droops outside his lips!
Could he have received a dog’s heart
Shuttering character and mien apart?
Is he re-living his Donor’s idiosyncrasy
Swaying to the Pirate’s foray decree?
Is he led by a lascivious Pirate heart
Lusting for all he left as he did depart?
Will he not re-marry the old widow
To quell the long break’s fiery libido;
Or on the hard floor paddle a table
Like boats when he was a sea rabble!
Is he behaving the Donor heart’s age
That I fear dazzles with reckless rage!
To kind Donors or sick recipients alike
This poem does not hold with dislike;
Ignore the poem as a frivolous affront
To “one man” I’m eager to confront!
***This is a situational poem, bear with me. I have no issues with the rest of Donors (who selflessly part with their valued organs) and Recipients (who have received a new lease of life.)
JM
10th January 2014
Categories:
idiosyncrasy,
Form:
Couplet
Sitting on the porch watching worlds collide
And wondering if the truth will be classified
Sipping a mint julep; knowing I should be horrified
Though I would consider that undignified
Gazing at the players moving their pawns
Fighting against destiny to become icons
Listening to the warriors singing their songs
And to the clanging of iron and bronze
I, the master puppeteer, watch with glee
As I make the once civil act so beastly
I have made them eat the fruit of the poison tree
And bent their will to suit my idiosyncrasy
I am the dulcet whisper in your ear
That tempts and beckons you year after year
I cajole with lies and caress with fear
I am the master puppeteer, the vile engineer
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, abuse, addiction, analogy, for
Form:
Rhyme
Flooding to sky, my feelings over the sloppy bank
Dangling like tulips on the rainy eve, flourishing
My smile, angels awake, their trumpet, my soul nourishing
Tell her! She never my heart left blank.
Her small argument, amuse i, while on bed to rest
Creature! Oh! Creature, she beat nature
That day, on my side seated, she never mature
Hope, her idiosyncrasy like weather never change abreast.
Wishes are pathetic, we might walk one day
On the plaited heir of roses and lilies
While our aged stories grow new like sweet bay
As ecstasy hovers like drunken butterflies.
Traverse her all time, i might miss her last wave
In case, do see her, my monumental epistle, try to save.
Uche Chidozie Okorie
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, angel, beautiful, love,
Form:
Sonnet
There was a aseason
When love was love
the educated are uneducated
hunger was hung in daylight
when sins were seen in scenes
There was a season
when poverty was prohibited
obscenity totally abhored
the gods are justice par
excellence
when people peopled with
purpose abound
There was a season
when earth has no earthlings
Rivers Niger and Benue were
at peace
Augusts were filled with
august events
WaZoBia means come
when there was a country
We are in a season
when the winter wins
people sums in summer
harmattan harms the poor
when things are no longer at
ease
We are in a season
when vultures are in
parliaments
religious overseers become
coffers seers
bards are turned to harbingers
when the falcon no longer
hears the falconer
We are in a season
When iniquity is ubiquiteous
democracy raped in public
gaze
tyrannism is re- christened
and democratized
when the center can no longer
hold
We are in a season
when the blind are experts in
colour prediction
the lame are announced
winners in relays
the deaf hears the sound of
gun- shots
the dumb lead in religious
hymns
when one is man of the
people in disguise
We are in a season
when the things above are
above us
the things beyond are beyond
us
senses no longer makes sense
modernity embraces
immorality
when heaven and earth lack
rapport
We are in a season
when kings are pimps
queens becoming madams
the good lack goodness
the bad bar the bards
the ugly remain ungodly
when things have fallen apart
I see a season
when angels will live in Los
Angeles
food will become free in Free
Town
people will go to overseas through Amansea
people will differenciate a
truth from a fact
when policies will not be
politicized
I see a season
when battles will be battled
death will become dead
immortality will be mortalized
when time will be made
timeless
I see a season
when penury will perish
praises sung in paradise
sickness will become sick
holidays will be made
holy days
we'll have a common
idiosyncrasy
when the arrow of
God is awaited
There was a season
We are in a season
I see a season
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, freedomearth,
Form:
Free verse
Let me tell you about my dream
My father said, putting me on his lap
It was a dream that has always seemed
Too impossible and hard to grasp
I dreamt that I was alone on a cloud
Looking at our nature being felled
Observing the glacial mountains dwell
Not up high but down so low
Destroying our lands as foolhardy foes
I saw the florid flowers darken as dried blood
As they greeted the ground with bowed heads
Giving scent not to the skies but to mud
I saw pain leaking from fettered petals
That fitfully designed our earth as devils
Beside me, there sat many grey clouds
It was a scene so hard to fathom
Never once seen color that shrouds
The sky above, that was for purity an emblem
I was surprised but thankful it was just a dream
For in reality it’s illicit to fell
And impossible for grey clouds to dwell
In our atmosphere, an idiosyncrasy of purity
Humans will never accept such ignominy
And never become iconoclasts
For our nature is our identity.
I falteringly smiled with a tear in my eye
I didn’t expect my father to ask why
I just looked at his clouded eyes and said with tender
You’re right dad Thank God it was just a dream.
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, naturefather, nature, dream, dream,
Form:
Rhyme
Two Poems
Avariciously she wanted to be a poetess
Cryptic colloquial eloquent words possessed
Often elusive eschewed from the theme
Limericks and rhymes avoiding etymology means
She an emissary of exonerated poetry banned
Refused extrication to facilitate an easy read
Hoped the fallowed grounds would lead the thieves
Foolhardily challenged the spies of poetry
Used furtive and feasible ingenious loquacious words
For the myopic poet seeing past opaque platitudes
A potentate poetess unconstrained by rules
Made a prudent decision of quiescent raconteur
The timorous young woman without any means
Observed scant observations of her apparent world
A sense of rectitude despite the rancid rooms
Holding profoundly laud regarding the state of penury
Perhaps, she myopic to any morose situations
A genius idiosyncrasy to others observations
Reading her books extraneous to any interpretations
Choosing eruditions to edify accusing disdains
Definitively making her way, condoning opinions
The cantankerous say.
Escaping reality with ambivalent
Articulate assents by way of academic astute ebullience
Categories:
idiosyncrasy, humorous, poems,
Form: