Best Peculiar Poems
The polystyrene waves whip the sea of earth on
a Spring tide as the crows nonchalantly look on
patiently waiting for the styrene spray to uncover
the fishes of the dusty dry earth to feed their young.
A peculiar middle name, all my life I've been burdened with
Twas “Byard”, that's even worse than “Archibald” or “Biff”
What were Ma and Pa thinking
They must have been drinking
My nickname of Jack saved the day and made a big diff!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Peculiar Petunia was very strange indeed,
I mean how many six-year-olds would choose to wear tweed?
On the first day of school, in an effort to impress,
Petunia chose a hand-woven olive green dress,
The other little girls wore lace in pink and red,
But Petunia knew the value of a harder-wearing thread
Beneath a starlit sky
of an early tranquil night
A solo pianist sits
in the middle of a quiet valley
A lost swan,waddles by
in a forbidden lake
Seeking reflections
as moonbeams cast their glow
upon the lone man's silhouette.
'Pull off your mask '
He heard her say
as She glided towards him
in a smooth and graceful way.
''I need to see what lies behind
those once upon a glistening eyes.
I need to hear you play again
I yearn to hear you sing
I want to waltz in ballet
to your voice against the wind.'
His lifeless mask fell slowly to the ground
Into a thousand pieces without making a sound.
His youthful soul revealed
Like a splash in calm beauty
His fingers were released.
Knocking on her heart-chords
He composed new symphonies
Dark feathers drifted by
like tragic memories
He did not let another yesterday
Steal all the joy, take all the bliss
He bathed in fresh waters
and showered with her kiss.
...And the pianist plays again
A found swan ,pirouettes
Her wings She opens freely
He rests in her embrace.
Inspired by music ,and a disney movie
I watched awhile ago with my girl called
'The Swan Princess' :)
Was my life just a wish
I hid between the pages of survival
And even though the Universal source of all
Granted me this gift
This singular precious life
Did I search instead to be the worthiness of heaven
Did I judge all my actions
By the prison bars of hell
And see in your eyes and the eyes of others
The handiwork of demons
Have I written on the chalkboard of my soul
The dark inks of my submissions
I see that in our innocence
We have been duped and confused
Into leading a less than innocent life
And the greatest tragedy of this Earth
Is the ignorance of our denial
We do not see the collage of injustice
Their bodies scattered on our path
And all the bright and shining electronic objects
Are limply hanging from the sign posts of our children’s future
Their bodies dried and bloodless
Skeletal in their silence
Point the way to our decent
Into the depths of the untouchable and the soulless
Where and how have we been brought to this
To feel so very comfortable
While the price we count in money
Is the cost
Of human life
Did we eat too much
Did we want too much
Did we suckle so much in frenzy
Upon the teat of propaganda
Did I believe too readily
Did we swallow all our pride
Has conscience become a mouthful
A swallowed panacea of pharmaceuticals
When did we agree to be
So confused
Did you accept that all this luxury
Must be paid by the suffering of someone else
Or did I just close my heart
Close my mind and close your soul
And even though the nagging is persistent
The denial of truth haunts all of you
Did we bury ourselves in the infatuation
Of all this passing momentary thrill
Bought and sold from the instance of our birth
And it is not our part to carry the guilt or the fault
But each one of us in time
Must wake up
To the complicity that we play
In the slavery inflicted on this world
A part of innocence and ignorance
In the suffering of our brothers and our sisters
A peculiar gift is the insight burgeons a new light within the soul
Far more humane it is than burden of its curse
To live amongst these human chains
But still see all that we are worth
The walls open their eyes as
the mantids begin to weave
a loving celestial vibe, incensing
the onset of this boundless drive
Not questioning if one will retain
sentience, escaping for a time
confinement within her hive
machine-like serpentine's
propel mega metallic craft
exerting complex, magically carved
oaken ores
opening dimensional gateways
ascending straight-through
intensified vibrational planes
utilising the great wave
unlocking these secret doors
Fantastic crystal-blue eyed
gnomes with iridescent feather
shaped cheekbones perform
a dance, whilst oscillating
their elongated gold spoons
Traces of a nameless ancient face on
innumerable orange-pinkish moons
within vast space, divinely harmonised
eternally ringing out in high tune
Why do we not listen? Why do we not hear the sound in the distance? Why do we feel we have to talk over a whisper? Why can't we hear a voice a little more crisper? Why do we doubt? Why do we feel we can go without? Why is this all that life's about? Why do we want more and need less? Why do we not already believe that we are blessed? Why do some of us believe that greed is the only way to bleed? When will we stop the violence? And will we start bowing our heads in silence? When will we start to believe? When will we start to grieve? How is there not something more powerful than me? When will love be the only thing that is? When will we realize the ONLY love is His? Why do we chase things that cannot be found? Why do we look in the wrong places to find love abound? When will we just take a moment to stop and think? Why can we not find the moment to just get our thoughts in sync? Why does life pass by in a blur? Why do we sometimes wish we can go back where we were? Why do we strive for change if no one's willing to change? Why are the broken left to deal with the pain? Why can't we be thankful for each breath? Why doesn't being alive reveal God's attest? Why are there more questions than answers? Why haven't we yet found a cure for cancer? Why is it that these questions seek so many replies?Why is it that we are told not always ask why?
A Peculiar Life
Nothing is miracle to me
Clock doesn’t belong to me
I’m always on my chime
Who made diurnal and nocturnal?
You or your forefathers?
Or, progenitors or those stars and planets?
Who, why and where, begin and vanish?
As a bubble in the ocean upon my womb
All are my sons, I belong to them.
Atoms are overwhelming
Not considering foreign objects.
Seeing its promulgation, time turns neck
No rule, no law, no compassion, or
A flow of infinite fragrance, always.
No starts’ alert, nor bother of tedious
A course of action never towards ends.
Opposition’s uproars as if in next term
Need of evacuees or thoughts of demises.
Neither commences, nor courtesy
Speed, a course in the path of faith.
Always desolated, a effect of consciousness
Only winning event there seems in realm, always.
Time does have a peculiar life, a belief always.
It was, perhaps, the perfect place to watch
the storm roll into the eastern boundaries.
Too far inland to be submerged, the swatch
of land was close enough for the fierce breeze.
Come night, the sky had already darkened
to black, hours before, and bright flashes
illuminated the landscape. Pretend
Lightening, there was no sound of crashes.
Cracks of limbs were muted by sheer whistles,
feral screams that echoed between buildings.
Inside, some TVs scrolled school dismissals
as more reflected candlelight bearings.
I observed the hurricane in delight;
honored to witness a peculiar sight.
In the quaint darkness I hear these whispers,
my mood peculiar by the moon...
Arcane eyes transcend a flame fluttering there,
near the windowpane, candle's light burns.
Turns my thought to dimensions that dwindle,
like a solemn Spindler's yarn of silky weaves
of conceived creation by the swindler's hands.
Hardened by the years of gifting love's deeds,
yet gentled by the reeds of nature's brood...
my mind peculiar by the moon.
The air around breathes life in as breath fades away,
as day becomes the soul of night
and night the fading breath of yesterday...
All the while we play and dance at will
while willing the love we feel to feel,
as though breath itself be the only true,
I breathe in you...
my mood peculiar by the moon
I breathe in you.
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers…"
Every time I hear a kid recite this twisted rhyme,
I'm 'minded how 'gainst Mother Nature it's a crime.
What that peck of peppers was no one can tell,
Perhaps banana, jalapeño, cherry, bell.
But whate'er they were, it's plain, at least to me,
That such a peck as that came off no bush nor tree.
For years this simple nursery flaw
Has scraped, and scoured, and rubbed me raw,
And in my very craw the thing's been sticking.
So to bring the problem up to date,
And to try and set the record straight,
I've checked with Vlasik, Clausen, Kraft,
And all agree the notion's daft
That peppers can be pickled prior to picking.
Author's note: Of course, there could have been a typo in the original manuscript, and Peter actually "packed a peck of pickled peppers", or maybe Peter, himself, was partially "pickled" when he picked 'em.
Entered in Tom Woody's Nursery Rhyme Wackiness Poetry Contest on July 16, 2024.
One day a petulant pomegranate was racing around, hardly listening anymore tho the pips inside. But the pips inside were full and bursting with wisdom ready to impart upon other passing fruits and veg. But not meat. That was already dead really so no new information or education could be instructed. And it bounced and bounced and bounced like a little raging ball of energy. Impartiality impregnates improper introductory informative infer. And so the dust cart laughed. And laughed. Laughed so hard that the land was smothered in dust and flakes and water vapours poured from the eyes of a small white cherry bun.
And certainly the end format is the given fragrance.
Isometrics
Z in quilts
Peculiar reading men's mind set,
To look at things round in surround,
To look at things in rectangular in all angles,
Drawing lines self exiling in their own homes,
Rings,bangles,clocks,even roti and their eating plates,
Books and money notes in uniform widths and lengths,
Creations on this Earth stands straight like soldiers,
Top mountains,oceans,rivers,waves,clouds,flowers and fruits,
Elephants to tiny ants,whales,males and females,
Most of them are not in the shape of round,nor in rectangles,
Men's madness of making things in round,we can pardon at least,
The world is round,Sun and Moon so,theses captures stored in the mind set of men,
Why men then like things in angles,is a question want on answers,
If men can break the boundaries within the rounds and angles and get them freed,
They can walk a long way than where they have reached out today!
To the ancient Norse he was Kraken
With a mean inclination,
And the Greeks called him Gorgon
With the same reputation.
But as monster of myths
He's been wrongly miscast,
So I'm here to shed new light
On this poor creature, at last.
An exemplary example
Of his cephalopod race,
With a blob of a body,
The merest trace of a face.
He has eight arms, or legs,
But no fingers or toes,
No waistline or shoulders,
No eyebrows or nose.
He can fly through the water
With the greatest of ease,
And accomplishes it sans
Catapult or trapeze.
When danger confronts him,
He's off in a blink,
And disappears in a cloud
Of stinky black ink.
Octobabies leave home
When the mother gives birth
To be part of the food chain,
Which is no cause for mirth.
Octodads show affection
With indifferent tugs,
But at mealtime they can be
Overly generous with hugs.
The octopus likes his comfort
And prefers to make his home
In more exotically aquatic locales.
It's not unheard of for some,
Who want to see more of the world,
To drift away from their natural venue,
Only sadly to get caught in a fisherman's net
And end up on a sushi bar menu.
At Christmas he's resigned
To passing out gifts,
Though as helper elf his head's too big
To put a hat upon.
And like the squid and the manta,
He can never play Santa
'cause he has no lap
To be sat upon.
RIGHT TO BE PECULIAR
To each it’s own
Different ways and means
Is individuality.
It could be somehow a preference
But making the difference
Perhaps a right or privilege.
With all indications
Introduced them a direction
Also has it incidentally.
It may come though a coincidence
But it may emerge
The body has variables like mole.
Copy cat seemed it may earn
However, some methods learn
Would be complicity.
Blow-up to positive
Efforts to live by can save
The expectation no premature.
Be exclusively strange
Far from others attitude
Is peculiarity.
But then spectacular and attractive
Bring enormous joy to cause
Envy with rating volatile.
This being exclusive
May turn to be explosive
Sometimes end faulty.
As peculiar unlike to anyone
In schools familiarity drive
To mistrust and contempt heaved..