SILVER-LINING
Cheated life occasionally yet it couldn't play even.
In life's sequel, I'm swivelled into a deep sweven.
Where's conventionality in a cosmos that's so odd?
Everyone that ever rocked my world
I've dexterously dovetailed into words;
Lyric, ballad, elegy or love sonnet occupies 2-thirds.
Every single trusted love I've ever lost
and that ignorance had collaborated with lust,
I've resuscitated in verse, stanzas & enjambment;
And ameliorated into memory or emotional strength.
Bathed in past disconsolation and the aftermath,
I've never & will never remain on the same wavelength.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rondeau Prime.
Copyright© December2022.
Self-expression is dependent upon personality
We can only really be who we are deep inside,
Some folks by their nature defy conventionality.
There are folks who can set inner nature aside
And, with strong determination, choose to be
Whatever they want to be with enormous pride.
I am thinking, specifically, of people in comedy
Who are hurting deep inside, but never show it;
Perhaps, never realizing it, do not seek a remedy.
We can all think of sad, sad cases this shoe fits,
It always behooves us to look below the surface
What’s going on beneath all the glamor and glitz?
I suspect this may lead to some who will deface
Others merely wear jeans instead of fancy lace.
Written July 29, 2022
Critical tendencies and agitated mind,
misread beginnings to like all in kind.
Air of the heaven and sensation in prime,
force of life and death at the same time.
Devotion aroused giving all for nothing,
which reality turns perception touching.
Endurance crowns goodness with beauty,
possessor through holiness of duty.
Conscious unity with the ultimate provider,
life’s culmination and transcendent rider.
Natures reach for no conventionality,
proofing in tune thinking ability.
Belief’s conception via faith’s conviction,
political metaphor for egos addiction.
Liberty of faith and only integrity,
impossible current of all mystery.
Absolute gorgeous pursuit
keep everybody with stories mute
continual chasing the impossible
chronic fatigue bible
her rope of boundaries
and laces of uncertainties
eclipse the human mind
scientific proof that bind
facts that loose its value
pale truth why one can do
voluptuous discrimination
righteous identity gestation
blindfolded juristic motive
power made exploitive
reasons life tragedy
rooted in conventionality
test to withstand her sweet lure
real and false knowing for sure
Caring deity wandering reflection,
love light celestial inward perfection.
Luminous serene time maternity,
conceiving womb sustainity.
Silent voice drifting flow,
water of mercy and compassion beau.
Provident sphere radiant shade,
heart endurance to be not afraid.
Beyond all conception,
drifting towards the ultimate conviction.
Virtues dissolved in the sea of pure,
mystic retained childhood through life for sure.
Natures regard of no conventionality,
reaching for the soul felt personality.
Loves creation the hand of worship shine,
resumed divine knowledge in living thine.
A rather young couple have
Moved in together
In the two up, two down
Across the street.
Not for them conventionality
Or conformity:
No wedding band offends
Her third finger, left hand
Nor, it must be said
From appearances,
Does bath water very often.
Long, lank and greasy hair
Drools over their acne-scarred complexions.
They proudly declare their membership
Of the rock music degeneration
With booming bass
And screeching electric guitars,
Earth-quaking the street.
Oh yes, they have defiantly
Made it clear
They’re not going to conform
And prefer to live their lives
Living in din.
Line up the meat
According to size and flavor
Make the mistletoe appear early
Beyond its seasonal fracas
The plying and plowing is
Executed with such precision
To avoid the blame of ordinary
To be buried along with
Missionary and natural means
The lattice design that
Shapes futures
Meant for conventionality
None of which sounds
Or tastes appealing
At least for those of us
Who feel we can, we should
Mix it up every once in awhile.
(8/10/10)
FIRST LOVE
Never speak of first love in the past tense
For the depth of a first love is eternal, ever present
To place it into the recession of our memories
Is to negate the essence of what is pure, beautiful...everlasting
Is to deny the existence of infinity........ It's like caging our feelings
Unlike the caged bird that wants nothing but the freedom of the sky
We become caged souls, cowards, timid beings corrupted by conventionality
To speak of first love in the present tense is like liberating our most sublime discovery
Let's give wings to our inner most sentiments..... and by this act transform ourselves
…..And become whole before the dawn of the forever present.
Bella Vista, AR
April 2, 2016
Real!
Can I cope with this reality?
The love and knowledge of past heroes,
Brimming up from within,
Accounts for me and my situation - conventionality,
And inspires me to love, care and liberate.
History partly gives us our freedom:
Our rights and what we fight for;
Lands us with our lot,
Our work, toils and spot;
Our trinket of such manifestation.
Martin Luther King and Ludwig Guttmann,
Fought for race and disability rights respectively:
Emmeline Pankhurst secured women their vote,
And Tim Berners-Lee created the world wide web -
They’ve all improved my life enormously.
COLOUR MY DREAMS
partake of my dreams tonight
exotic places unrelated
as I fly on stars of meteors
quick light
colour in my dreams tonight
hypnotic kaleidoscope displays
as we defy all conventionality
in sight
seduce all my dreams tonight
erotic tracing unexplored
as I drown in your passionate
delight
linger in my dreams tonight
psychotic demons chased away
I drift into perfect peaceful
white light
while you
colour my dreams
tonight
© Kim van Breda—1 March 2015
Two activities I love have a similarity,
To experience and conjecture in verse,
And to explore limits of certainty.
Rhyme and meter, whether wordy or terse,
Enact seeing freshly, banning banality.
Math proofs are finding a needle in a hay source,
Needing imagination to reach finality.
Many school veterans curse,
“Algebra is not daily reality!”
“Trigonometry makes life worse!”
But poetry and math have a commonality,
They both tease out how the world works,
Neither rewards conventionality,
Both work by seeing the diverse.
I admit rote formulas draw my enmity,
Whether in word or number universe.
I’ve found in sonnets and theorems an equality,
If you disagree, you can rightfully call this poem a hearse.
You wear this conventional life as a mask of death.
A heavy robe covering the infection of freedom.
Innocence of self that was severed from you at birth.
Trickery under the guise of normalcy where any deviation illicits fear.
Spreading wings. Striking horror. Soaring.
Conventionality is a cage, a prison, a ruse.
A lie to ones self to enable pity and shame.
The devils ideal for control.
Sheep is what you are.
Shed your wool to the wolf no more.
Seek their deception.
Their greatest fear becomes a prized possession.
Stupid sheep.
It alreedy exists. It already spoke. It already waits.
Wake from the uncertain, remove your shadow.
Step into the light created by you.
Away from the herd, slowly the weight falls and the Earth moves retrograde.
A travesty is dead.
Among the ashes is where truth resides, powerful now.
One of these days, when time is free
And I feel the urge come over me
I'll do the things I've always said
I'd do before I end up dead
Go places that I'd like to see
I'll shed conventionality
Live life as it was meant to be
Not fantasize, but act instead
One of these days
Pleasure will be my decree
I'll redefine normality
Adventure will lay just ahead
I'll do it all, just like I said
One of these days
The clichéd cavalier
clings to his
carbon copy life with
constrained complexity
and settles
for conventionality.
Miss originality
and Master clarity
dismantle, reconstruct
withered concepts
within a cul-de-sac
of ubiquitous creativity
by alienating themselves
from main-stream
cultural orthodoxies.
Our imagination:
a perverse configuration
of disparate thoughts
that congeal into
an incomprehensible concoction
of cerebral combinations
which reconfigure,
inexplicable,
to creatively convey some
innovative originality
and clarity
into a world
which continues
to advocate constrained
and conformist ideologies.
I would love thee man of my dreams,
Conventionality steps in the way.
I would love thee man of my dreams,
What is adult age when you love.
I would love thee man of my dreams,
Distance between the years.
I would love thee man,
How do you love a memory?
I would love thee man,
Do we have a future together?
I would love thee man,
The years have been kind and unkind.
I would love thee man,
What is love and how does God guide?
I would love thee man,
To have been a friend and companion.
I would love thee man,
Even if I have to wait forever.
I would love thee man,
What is God's love?
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
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