Best Unfashionable Poems
D ining is fast-food
R eading is extinct
A ging is ugly
W alking is inefficient
K nitting is unfashionable
C onversation is abbreviated
A rt is dying
B ackward is society
Categories:
unfashionable, life,
Form:
Acrostic
Child , stand up
Clothes deemed unfashionable
by followers with no individuality
Kinky locks not straight enough
according to those with no self realization
The stiffness in your tongue bearing testament
to your mother tongue, to which they laugh at, why?
You're Mahogany, sanded and buffed
well crafted and glossed to a high sheen
Vulnerable yet resilience is you
Intelligent yet humility is you
Poor yet generosity is you
Yes, you are all that and more
because you have captured and nurtured
a knowledge and pride in self
Your smile glows from within
as it brightens your surrounds
Don't be shackled with self doubt
for your strength feeds multitudes.
Your gentleness comforting many.
As you wear your head gear to dance,
dance till you turn up the dust
each muscle sinew in perfect coordination,
sweat weaving in between the seamless strings
of those beads crafted and carried with pride.
Roar with song!
Share your history through lore
Ululate till the sound carries to the heavens,
breaking the skies open with torrents of nourishing rains falling,
falling.
This ,Africa, is what you are...
Categories:
unfashionable, africa, birth, blessing, encouraging,
Form:
Free verse
TRIBUTES
overt
the
implication
& correlate
with
the
traditional
receptive
to
a
witnessed
desire
themes
at least
in part
a reaction
to be
explored
the intent
has
an intrigue premise
persuasively
constructed
&
organised
yet hazy
concept
of inspiration
sans rigour
questioning
or doubt
created
through
a complex
& informed
relationship
of
obedience
in
manifested
attitudes
a refusal
to adhere
to
unfashionable
& ascribed
anathema
topically
perceived
more
receptive
to
witnessed
desire
themes
at least
in part
a reaction
to be
explored
the intent
has
an intrigue premise
persuasively
constructed
&
organised
yet hazy
concept
of inspiration
sans rigour
questioning
or doubt
created
through
a complex
& informed
relationship
of
obedience
in
manifested
attitudes
a refusal
to adhere
to
unfashionable
& ascribed
anathema
topically
perceived
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Categories:
unfashionable, poetry,
Form:
Other
He was out of Woodie Wonder by the stallion Sunset Hue,
A freak thought breeding purists, who would surely end up glue.
For greys were so unfashionable he'd never get a start,
But this colt was a fighter with a truly valiant heart.
His origins were New South Wales, but sold up Queensland way,
'Twas Pippos, Coorey, Bishop and McMicking bought the grey.
A Goondiwindi syndicate, who gave the colt his name;
Gunsynd ... the punter's darling ... who raced his way to fame.
He'd never be a Peter Pan, a Carbine or Phar Lap,
No Tullock or a Galilee, but still a gallant chap.
Bill Whelow was his trainer and John Edmonds rode The Grey,
Till finally at Eagle Farm this colt was on his way.
It was the Hopeful Stakes that day in nineteen sixty-nine,
Young Gunsynd flashed from thirteenth place to cross the winner's line.
His trademark was his courage, his will to want to win
And how he made the crowds all stand to cheer the grey horse in.
They loved The Grey's performances; a showman through and through
And though he never always won they saw him as true blue.
Before and after races, he would play the press and crowd
By standing to attention while they clapped and cheered aloud.
With twelve wins to his credit Tommy Smith was now the chap,
Who trained Gunsynd while Langby won the Epsom Handicap.
He was the punter's darling, for he never squibbed a race,
That's why the folk all loved him, for he never did lose face.
The white and purple colours were well known at ev'ry track,
Australia's best known jockeys sat astride old Gunsynd's back.
The likes of Olsen, Higgins and young Langby rode The Grey
And flashed to blist'ring finishes, he raced no other way.
In over fifty starts Gunsynd had twenty-nine great wins;
Some eight point five times second placed, but took it on the chin.
Six thirds and unplaced in ten starts throughout those grand five years,
His name was up there with the best who'd raced to great careers.
Though sold to stud in New South Wales, Kia Ora down near Scone,
Queenslanders all adopted him and saw him as their own.
He'd put old Gundy on the map and right down to this day
Gunsynd is still remembered as The Goondiwindi Grey.
Categories:
unfashionable, animals, history, sports, old,
Form:
Ballad
SOME PEOPLE…
some people beg in the corners of the streets –
cover themselves in rags of ex-clothes thickened by the streets’ slime
dig in trash for spoiled foods and dirty empty bottles
huddle above the sewage covers in the cold nights
and I hide my hands in the pockets
some people are shot in the alleys for a few coins mixed with lint –
they forgot to hug the loved ones before they left their homes
and die fast or slow and their blood thickens in the dust
lives are draining without a decent warning
and I hear about them in the evening news
some people spend their lives in prisons for justice or injustice –
they grab the metal bars of the windows with impotent anger
inhale and perspire their food with shifty eyes
tattoo their bodies with emblems hoping to get out alive
and I don’t love them as if their misery is foreign to me
some hairless children die of cancer still dreaming of fairytales –
they learn complicated medical terms along with the ABCs
eyes are half opened toward the tearful helpless mothers
pale lips shiver with the shock of a body giving up
and I want to be comforted shifting my thoughts from them
some people are old with shrinking bodies –
hunchbacks without cathedrals as if they carry a load of guilt
unfashionable clothes smell of piss and flatulence
wrinkled bodies fold onto themselves like broken accordions
and I keep away from them because they slow me down
some people…
Categories:
unfashionable, life,
Form:
Blank verse
Here I sit, on an examination table
bored, swinging my feet to and fro
waiting for a doctor who will be able
to diagnose the reason why I feel low
I study the body posters while I wait
in my unfashionable blue paper gown
I must remember to sit up straight
to keep my tushie from being found
Another hour goes by, maybe more
I'm sure I got forty winks in a nap
I can hear him now, outside my door
clicking his tongue then 'rap, rap, rap.'
A cheesy smile then he reads my chart
I could tell him what he needs to know
and doctors are supposed to be so smart
Well, he should have been here long ago.
He shakes my hand then off to the sink
where he washes with ten squirts of soap.
"You think I'm contagious?" I ask with a blink.
"Don't know," he says. "Maybe there's hope."
He inquires, "Now, what seems to be wrong?"
I ramble symptoms; there are many to convey
while squirming from the pinch of my thong.
Shouldn't doctors be old, at least turning gray?
"Lie back," he mumbles, "and I'll check you out.
Blood pressure's high. You have a fever, too."
Into his stethoscope I was tempted to shout
but he hands me a cup and I'm off to the loo.
I clean off the seat from someone's neglect
sit quite impatiently, and desperately I try
to get enough of a specimen for him to inspect
while maneuvering the cup beneath my thigh.
Back to the room and the nurse peeks in.
A frown on her face makes me start to worry.
She seeths the words, "Where have you been?"
"My pee cup runneth over," was my true story.
Dr. OneSoYoung returns and takes a chair.
Eyes of blue, handsome face, but I digress
while I'm sitting here with my bottom bare
Wondering if my thoughts, I should confess.
"Get dressed," he orders, with a look of dread.
Must be bad news, I tremble, cold with a chill
thinking that by tomorrow I surely will be dead.
"You just have a bad cold and here is your bill."
I spent all morning thinking I was near death
and his diagnosis claims that all I have is a cold.
I peeled off my wrap and said in hissing breath
"Your bedside manner sucks, if truth be told!"
To the pharmacy, I strode with a disgruntled look.
I have to pay a fortune for prescribed medication.
Druggist or physician, which is the biggest crook?
Now I suffer from the malady of acute indignation!
Categories:
unfashionable, feelings, humor, , cute,
Form:
Rhyme
Stopped a front a marble alter
guilt of crosses to bear,
unrepentant sins left to falter,
a damage beyond repair.
Awakening a slumbered light
a soulless heart to fill,
burning a fuse that refuses to ignite
revulsion of the catholic swill.
Devils of a demented scroll,
souls rise to an angels call,
masquerading with unfashionable droll
death ultimately succumbs us all.
Divided souls of subtle pragmatics
an unyielding faith of fruitlessness fanatics.
Categories:
unfashionable, faith, religion,
Form:
Rhyme
About Twenty Two Score Years Ago...
One “FAKE” rumor purports April Fools’ Day
accepted with hostile abandonment
according to Giggle ling search result
conducted by this gent
adopted when France switched
rather than fight abolishment
transitioning from Julian calendar
to Gregorian calendar,
(yet maintaining same gender reassignment)
called for by the Council of Trent
Lot affecting chronological abridgement
forthrightly, immediately, and
magically decreeing making
with flourish of inkhorn - prestidigitation
"poof" quite few months absent
necessitating rejiggering
displaced vanished days forcing
latter time keeping paradigm absorbent,
asper sands of time no matter such
figurative tectonic shift population
aghast at August accomplishment
and probably did March in protest,
cuz entire season,
sans couture accouterment
suddenly rendered obsolete and unfashionable
manually crafted, swiftly tailored, and
harry styled clothes no mean achievement,
and uninformed folks got hashtagged
kindled, and named plenti admonishment
visited on their person such as
bumsteads, dolts, fools, et cetera
howling guffaws when derriere adornment
slapped with "kick me steady bum,"
or stuck with tail like appurtenances
eventually this "FAKE" – advancement
ha ha April fools historical joke
became embedded tradition inn advertent
lee established meshugas, where Jews
and especially gentiles went meshugoyim
generating cottage (cheesy) gum mint industry,
and brisk business for nascent advertisement
industry, (albeit handily horse drawn
attention grabbing kiln fired tablets)
mainly for (Philly buzzfeed string) affluent,
who secured lifelong gentlemen's agreement
with artisan, and of apprenticed trumpeting sons
(after tithe thing allotment) earnings
portion squirrelled away for rainy
May Day festivities ambient
brouhaha babushka's celebrating divine comedy
21st century poet tindered mild amusement
regarding this "FAKE" flight of fancy!
Categories:
unfashionable, april, art, celebration, day,
Form:
Narrative
Who feeds birds because birds are hungry?
Don't they have bread to eat because someone is lonely?
Did pupils bring forth apples for teacher because pupils were friendly?
Perhaps...... but didn't they expect something?
"Spread knowledge on me like a cake decorator with buttercream icing!!!"
Why would Mrs. Smith want to keep the doctors away anyhow when the insurance these days is so practical?
Will you trade it for pay? We'll throw in a hand full of sick days
Are kids enjoying soup anymore?
Smacks of unfashionable bribery
You still have a little about the chin Johnny
Did people really gamble their fate for
Mere pantry staples?
There was a lady just the other day
Down on Kenosha complaining how she couldn't
Give it away
I mean..... Who falls for the same joke twice?
Categories:
unfashionable, bible, culture, humor, life,
Form:
Free verse
Whispers in her corridor voices heard
Shouts of praise maybe laughing gas
She swings open her door to let the light shine in
Gone our the days we used to frolic in the haze
Stone walkways through the ivy hedge
She just couldn't keep her mouth shut to save her soul
Talk of the town that was until she fell ill
Deep within thought she begins to ponder her past
~
Reflections come to those who choose
Truth to her was revealed through a barbed wire fence
Setting her melodic soul full force in a trance
Always thinking of her long lost son who ran away
Then one day a knock came at her door
Lest that she implore some other way
Behind the door stood a tall man
Looking for warmth inside for he was a tramp
~
Her first impression was to send the man to camp
For many years have passed still having a reason to grasp
Old woman by the shore
Give life time we never know what's around the corner
In time she gathers her senses and approaches the man
His sad face had an unfashionable embrace
A long trace and a thoughtful warm trace
A closer look and she soon realizes
For it was none other then her own flesh & blood
Brown eyes just like her own
With many questions that she once heard
~
A plot of land brought back his memory
A mark on the tree would set the story free
After questions passed they both had every reason to grasp
Happy as a lark her face looked straight to the ocean
The reunion with her son
Was a heaven sent magic potion
Through sullen asps with briars in rhetoric décor
A morning has broken and the light came flowing
With shadows torn in darkened circumstances
Heavenly father is a God of second chances !
Categories:
unfashionable, adventure, america, analogy, angel,
Form:
Free verse
Here I stand in the gift of time
The present, living in false evidence
My existence breaths between rhyme
Truth be told, facts I fold
Shame in shold' are hope's hands holder
Hideous hooligans hide heaven helps
Here I stand in time gifted
These are the last days scripted
Souls for sale, picture pervs pale
Righteous today's stale
Unfashionable statues walls
But this promotion isn't for malls
'Cause the devil's lies I comprehend
Watch presents I stand.
Categories:
unfashionable, community, conflict, deep, emotions,
Form:
Prose
The merchandise looked perfect
Longing to have this master's work
Everything about it would make my life complete
The legs were perfect even and balanced
Even the color of the merchandise glowed and I desired
It spoke to me of how it would fit in a nook in my lonely life
I planned and planned how I could have it
Dreaming day and night
The day finally arrived
It was delivered to my home but where I placed it
The whole area it consumed
It seem to overpower everything
The color so beautiful at the store
Became dull unfashionable
In my life it became a bore
Looking at the monstrousity
As it smiled so cunningly at me
I wanted to throw it out the door
I called Salvation Army come get this merchandise
Remove it out my door
I should have know that it was a White Elephant
The minute I eyed it at the store!!!
Categories:
unfashionable, imagination, lifeday, life,
Form:
Free verse
Chapter One
Boy into the West
Dawn upon my cloak
Urged and so converged were the guns
Seeding myself with the rest
I broke in the eye of the Sun
Settling my mind on the heartless rapist. Time
Rasterize the faces
So thumb through the annals
Purged and so emerged fleshy etchings of this child
Breast wheels churn uncertainly
Moistened embers dance to the deafening drum
Tidal ducts offer piquant waters of the Pacific coffer
I arrive on the sands
Chapter Two
Hole in the Wall
Deserted in this mind
Hover in and now behind
Stare blank up through the ceiling stucco
Gathering in the stench of ghastly breath of wine
The New Year clothes itself topside
Unfashionable walls crush youthful spirit I drink alone, until morning
Demons of mine in lethargy
Gnawed and sluggish slivers bond my illness
Horizons of hues of shapes the girl knowing
Waking sweat cools slyly treats itself to my tongue
Warmth of girl takes my breath save the end of I prepare
God, are you there?
Chapter Three
Erosion
All in the deflection
Though his reflection isn't mine
Blood in kind of brotherly loving spiteful me
We close our doors of aid restraining love I have
For angry boys reject the angry drudge
Slave to a toilsome loving grudge
It is raining erosion
Blinding contortion
Why in my hands I can't see you yet
My rock there I can’t see her stand
These matters wash away too comfortably
I the destined rock
To erode on as grain of sand
Chapter Four
Facing the Crow
Give to the death
Long confronting his road
Gurge open those words she once clung on
Hung from the rope he dove to the end
I die decay per diem death
Metaling her heart on his mindless last breath
I survive only by his hand...
T.R.Sevrens
Categories:
unfashionable, adventure, angst, brother, death,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The winter has grown very old.
She is lonely and depressed.
Only the younger son helps her,
The modest and timid young man,
Dressed in a unfashionable coat.
He is hopelessly in love with the lovely Spring.
February, February, my sad boy!
Your destiny is unlucky:
Every year, when you go away
Nobody is sad or misses you,
And nobody cries bitterly about you,
Nobody take your hand tenderly.
Categories:
unfashionable, song-sad,
Form:
Lyric
Parisians
Paris is often on my mind, she was a pianist in an unfashionable
night-club had a smoky voice- at least 40 a day- she looked like
a night without sex was a paltry end of her struggle to keep her
skin, the glowing youth of remembrance. Our eye blinks collided
trolldom? She was a hex and I was drawn to her charm.
In the morning I heard her in the kitchen she was pouring a drink
that if water is added looks like milk- She went into the loo and
had a pee and I was quietly grateful it was not a dump.
I drifted off to sleep and only woke up when she awoke me having
made toast and coffee- She wanted me to stay, but I had a date at
twelve reading English written poetry for a group of Parisians
middle class twits, who would lamely applaud while thinking they
could have done it better in their legionary accent they thought was
an elevated a form of expression and we dumb people meekly have
accepted as a truth, the accolade of refinement. My French, elderly
seductress was from Morocco and her father had been an officer in
the army who when he came to France was offered a job as a doorman,
a job he refused he went home and shot himself.
Yet I love the underbelly of Paris, it is where the poor and loses live
and if one of the succeed Paris middle-class will claim them and say
they were typical Parisians.
Categories:
unfashionable, absence, age, analogy, anniversary,
Form:
Bio