Best Offbeat Poems
On troubled roads of life, when opposing sides collide,
Conflict of emotions clamors, agitating ego and pride,
While empathy warns: let forgiveness be your guide,
As benevolent angels, in missives of compassion chide.
Mired in wins and losses, when humanity strums offbeat,
Adversaries propagate hatred, and blatantly mistreat,
As meaningless conversations puff up, donning conceit,
While expressions of solemn amiability retreat in defeat.
A proffer of calm and goodwill, checks enemy’s reign
When sanctity prevails, calming a perturbed domain,
As atonement and humility heal, soothing angst of pain
And disturbed vibes seeking revenge, begin to wane.
As nobility of repentance tenders offers of mercy, grace,
Malevolent behaviors recede, ashamed in disgrace,
And enlightenment of intellect inspires vacuous space,
When hosting redemption, reformed enemies embrace.
In affluence of cognitive thoughts informed minds elate
Harboring tolerance and sympathy, discarding hate,
Being harmonious with peace, mundane life they liberate,
Achieving balance within, unfazed by travails of fate.
City streets spew fire on sunburnt July day.
Dabbing sweat from brow, I meld into paved sea.
Mick cries out "Angie" from quaint corner café;
slowing steps, I search his stripped-bare poignancy.
Strangers strut in sync with street’s allegro beat.
Pigeons peck concrete, hungry coos offbeat.
Sullen faces fall, diverting weary eyes.
Souls emit loneliness lost in sad goodbyes.
Exhaust squeezes my chest with each poisoned breath;
choking on my tears, I smell acrid deceit.
Amid spinning wheels, a stranger till my death.
On wide city streets, crowds rush by in defeat.
A restless, hazy sun sinks to moonless night.
Senses become keen with city’s fading light.
Midnight hour comes to call, taunting my dark heart.
Angel wings span streets as nameless child departs.
An anomaly in furnishings, I was;
so avant-garde, I triggered smiles and buzz.
Not like baroque, ornate styles of the past,
my bona fide remake was made to last.
A cacophony of patterns- deja vu,
brought slow ennui; now time for something new.
With full carte blanche, my sharper look emerged.
Sparked by elan, my modern era surged.
Some called my offbeat stylists dilettante-
but, retro styles are still on lists of wants.
January 16, 2018
Contest No 1167 Poetry Contest,
Sponsored by Brian Strand
.. continued
Flag-lowering is a daily observance at the Wagah Border, open to the public this day.
On our view of the gate:
l --- Bharat ------------------------------------------------- India --- l
A crowd gathers on either side - Eleven thousand are provided seats.
Not unlike a cricket match, except everyone leaves satisfied.
(Communalism - it caused two parts of a whole to drift apart.
Seven decades later and to this day, sweets are exchanged across the frontiers.)
With measured steps they neatly stride, a silver blade in hand upright.
Handmade badges turned to gallantry ribbons..
a soldier’s uniform is always lined.
revered fabric
draped across two sturdy palms
nation in his arms
~Late Evening TV Coverage of the morning’s events - The Prime Minister’s speech~
A crew stands on nine years of sandstone - A bird’s view from afar.
Hailed by music
he walked into a constellation of schoolchildren
‘Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high’.
Acceptance is the first step towards change:
Violence in the name of faith is unacceptable.
"In the New India, the biggest strength is democracy.
But we cannot reduce ours to mere ballot boxes. Our resolve is to have a democracy where people are not driven by the system, but the system by the people."
I watch the proceedings
many states away
nation in our hopes
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Jai Hind
Tricolour lighting in my city:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=herkuupDnAo
Internationally:
www.ndtv.com/offbeat/independence-day-2017-indian-embassies-light-up-in-colours-of-the-tricolour-see-pics-1737756
I came as an unaffected statue
Halloween depiction depicting everything
vaguely-leaving margins for misinterpretations
like hieroglyphics deciphered by illiterates
scawling crayon scratch book reports
Walk in these shoes
Feel the pavement scrape through openings worn through souls
and feel the contours of the Earth ravaging
~merciless~
Take the reigns of this chariot
rambling around on undiscernable tracks often
backwards-hobbling humbly
numbly picking up pieces from a patchwork jigsaw
picture possesing voids in the most beautiful places
Climb this tree and know the shaky footfall limbs
sprawl like weeping willow tendrils on my fathers branch
bare and abandoned like locusts came, fed, and fled
watch the forest flourish and realize
this tree is flawed yet resilient
rooted in the strength of adversity
Stethoscope this heart and enjoy the offbeat beat
thumping in uneven peak and valley arrythmia
loving deeply and loved shallow, coldly
berating every executioner who killed
my adoration quotient with dull unfeeling axes
Leaving tides turned, churning me to hurt
Vengefully....Senselessly
Leaving no paths passing me passively
~~passion is my blessing and curse
I was an odd little girl. At a very early age writing, and seeking out nature. I
loved to wander libraries and art galleries, while other little girls played with
dolls together. A loner, lost within my thoughts. I grew up to be a bit eccentric
and offbeat. My style of dressing is whimsical and unique to me. I love
seeking out vintage. The key is to not wear too much at one time! My pose
and mannerisms are quiet and gentle, people have commented on how calm
I seem. I found my Zen a long time ago. I do yoga and meditate each day.
Something about me is my need to know what is going on in the world.
I watch the local news, the Canadian news (yes, I am from Canada), varied US
news, and the World news each morning. Only then can my day begin! It is an
oddity I think as so many do not listen or read about the news. I like to read
books but not on a Kindle or on the computer I want, must actually hold a
book, I love the feel of the pages in my hands. I collect old books, well old and
fragile anything. A beautiful vase or plate with a chip perhaps found in second
hand shops. I do not need an expensive antique to satisfy my need for "old".
Well, that's the oddity of me, a whimsical, unique and a bit offbeat girl.
the forest quiet
the sound of soft snow falling-
I stop listening
_____________________
February 7, 2018
Poetry/Haibun/This Quirky Girl
Copyright Protected, ID 18-991-422-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Quirks
sponsor, Madison Demetros
Second Place
Bare footed wind is swaying the curtains
Freeing the air from all its dewy burdens
Letting the dim silvery moonlight
Cast engolangated shadows at midnight
It brings some melodies along
Somebody, in distant, singing a song
From the woods it comes, I can guess
Their windows are not shut, it suggests
The night is dark, the night is cold
A waning moon is rising and the wind is bold
Yet the song is lovely and feels so sweet
When sung for beloved , feelings are never offbeat
21st October, 2022
The Joys of Snowshoeing
S ~ suspense, silent steps, scenery
N ~ natural, Nordic, noiseless
O ~ outdoors, open heart, offbeat
W~ woods, wildlife, winter
S ~ stamina, suspended in snow, solitude
H ~ heart healthy, happiness
O ~ ocean of snow, one with nature, outstanding
E ~ exploration, energetic, exercise
I ~ impressive, idyllic, intense
N~ new, native, normal
G~ groomed trails, graphic tracks, generate warmth
So sublime my dream that I want to scream,
for a guy who is a sweet offbeat character;
he is kind, gentle and helps where he can,
this sort of wonderful man appeals to me !
I wish that I could be his forever girl friend,
with love to transcend that grows over time.
It's nature's will in Autumn trees—
To slip out of offbeat colors.
There lay crushed prose he saw through her.
My unattached ground still does bleed
From raked walks on lanes— those who leave.
I can feel her stirring once again,
through gloss of morning and fog of twilight
echoing out a new adventure’s call
while the nomadic tempo beats;
a fine instinct's voice ignites her heart
drumming a free-spirit ‘s lively song...
with a bohemian flair taking after Grandpa’s mold .
As a middle-born girl, she is warm and complex,
running unto fields catching a hue
in firelight's inner-dance that spins a groove,
while exploring new trails never blazed
like a wayfarer ready to face the unknown
with painting exhibits that capture this offbeat strain.
Though she keeps life from being bland
defying traditional rules as archaic, oh run-down…
a childlike nature is kindled and forever moved
when her college students throw an overnight gig
as pinches of life's drama and hubris make swollen lids cry,
forgetting how an angel touched her at a young age.
Well, that’s what I am: a pilgrim soul of all time.
.........
Bio Of A Poet Contest for Tammy Reams
4/17/2015
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
I walk loose slow
slouched but straight
smooth
unknown
Arms swing
On comers avoid
eye contact but I smile
Hips swing
No need to keep my joy
contained locked away
I share
my sidewalk groove
Fingers snap offbeat
to a passing car’s rhythm
Who cares? Birds sing
I walk loose carefree
Butterflies flit wings
I'm not trying to be
anyone else not even me
No purpose in my stride
Not trying to hide
No particular place to be
right-left-right-left
tap-tap- of heels
Hair swings
I walk loose then pick up speed
finding my direction
regaining perspective
The source of
My joy
Source of
My swing
All
wait for me
A weary sky settles
low on a bed of soft sand,
eyes closing,
and drifts in dreams
of agile hands –
hands birthed from
crystal clouds,
rising and falling
like a breath
calling, haunting
from the ages,
beating aloud like the pulse
of man’s muse –
sculpting, painting, inventing
an artist’s sanctuary.
A sparkling sky witnesses,
with eyes wide,
beauty and imagination
birthed from inspired minds,
and wakes from dreams
of agile hands creating
an original portrait,
a unique expression.
With a wink from
the eccentric and
offbeat clouds,
a communal museum,
comes to life -
a labor of love
shrouded by sky
on a bed of soft sand.
for Roy Jerden's East Jesus Poetry Contest, 12/15/14
"Conceive true deception multiplied a million fold
visualize the yin and yang in a battle so intense
that we get em confused
the resident evil specialize in misconstruing
We wanna be at a presidential level -- what are we doing?
foolin' ourself, clownin ourself, playin ourself
by not bein ourself
We can`t babble no more than we can bob our head offbeat
Nimrod by the time we forty cause we can`t get our meat
while we ask no reason for the misplacement of the season
look at the picture that`s painted
tainted as the mind who`s blinded to the point
where Sodomites get all the rights
we fall for fights with fisticuffs
get pissed enough to miss the bus
It disgusts me to see my folks run up on
I say stand up on deception of time all of Revelations
and recognize this mind on the reality of horror
known as mankind
Jesus and his twelve disciples make thirteen
A righteous number of righteous men
even Judas the Betrayer came true in the end
the Devil says the end is the beginning
they teach that we were the product of incest
Invest no level of self into their system of Paganomics
stand with us and don`t look back upon it
just face this mind state
Otherwise Babylon..."
~this is to get Ruben Bailey's WuRdz to a new audience. a true STREET POET, Soothsayer