ingrained inbred ignorance ignited Ivan
infuriating infatuated Inez, Iowa’s individualist
indulging Ivan’s inebriated indolent mother
who initiated Ivan’s inexorable, inflexible ideas.
Amanda is thirteen
Claims she wants to be an individualist
Has pink and purple hair because Monica does
Wears her shirts tied at the waist like Jacque
Has fake tattoo sleeves like Erica
Had to have sparkly pink boots like Meeme
We keep waiting for her individualism to appear
So far,
Nothing….
If in a singles ad you spot
a 'RUGged individualist'
Don't be surprised if he
lays carpet for 'Magikist' *
Perchance you'll get excited
when you read that she is 'curvy'
Hate to let you down, old stick
but she just can't type ~ meant 'scurvy'
When you eyeball 'slightly heavy'
picture a spare tire in cargo pants
And if you ever read the dreaded phrase, 'well-rounded'
If she's a poster girl for 'Obesity,' please don't be astounded
_________________________________________________
* 'Magikist was a leader in carpet installations and cleaning
in the Chicago area back in the 1950's and '60's. It went
out of business in 2001.
William Robertsan individualist
yet a homely art modernist
Originally doing poster design
so pioneering Vorticist was just fine
Be A Plucky Poet
Just go through life being your complete,
entire self.
You may get more than a few
head bonks and conformists who run
like the plague from you.
Would you prefer to be plastic
or rather stand out sparkling?
Like beautiful Waterford crystal
unique and shining on a shelf?
A true individualist who speaks
their truth openly.
I call that, quite close to holy!
Be that plucky poet with a
disdain to be like other poets in
the sea..
November 8, 2019
~ Panagiota ~
Silence
Try, try to comment!
You know how you would feel.
If hundreds read your poetry,
And forgot there is a human
Behind the pen.
You put your heart on paper
And your're passed by like
a cold breeze.
I've seen great poetry here.
Shocked by the hundreds of
poems never commented on,
A great loss indeed.
One feels like there is an
In Club,
Into which one has to fit.
But, truly a poet should not
even consider this.
Share your joy, beauty or
or pain.
Be an individualist, that is
our terrain.
I salute every poet here..
The prized and the prize-
less.
Each poem a thing of beauty
A song in and of itself.
Each poet, I acknowledge.
How could I do anything else?
Panagiota Romios.
3/1/2019
A mention in a list, so doubly in a dual list
is not an option for a true individualist.
Volodymyr Knyr
2017
Behold the pioneering spiritualist, living on the edge
Of the civilizations harshest grid, seeking tranquilities
Harmony beyond the brick lined streets of stress and
Strife of the big city life!
These individualist of true grits foundation, whom live
Life to the fullest extent, tasting the winds of freedom
With every breaths inhalation and exhaling joy of
Revelation in this venue of isolation, known as
Alaska the last frontier!
In clarity’s ice kingdom of the forbidden land, does
Not alone wolf cry echoing, in the timbers breaking dawn
Of twilight's final hour, here endurance's vitality is set to fight and survive this call of the wild struggle!
Within the forest wilderness man and women,
Climb the heights vast divides of the untamable,
To achieve a simpler existence, of our forefathers
Harvesting the ancient theology, of the pioneering
Spirit!
Time reflecting architects thriving on the thrill
To endure, savoring the concurring desire to challenge
Against the obstacles seemingly impassible, living
Off the land and being grateful just for the promise
Of this opportunity to live freely, as men were meant
Too!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
She is as wild as the prickly thistle
That stands proudly on windswept wild rugged moor
Emotional deep as an ocean
As flirtatious and fragile as a butterfly
That graces a simmers day.
Her voice as sweet as the robin
Her beauty
And very presence
Takes my breath away.
She can be as temperamental as a tempest
And sting the heart as a bee
Her stubbornness like a tree
That doesn't bend in the wind
But she keeps her secrets
Under lock and key.
She can be loving kind and mild
Beauty personified in femininity
So alluring
But also playful and mischievous as a child.
She is my nemesis my mistress
My angel an individualist
With fire or hunger in her beguiling eyes
I love her I hate her although my passion
And gratitude runs high
She is wild and untameable as that rugged savage moor
Her name is Bella Donna
She has my heart
And belongs to me.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015. May.
Being present in any
list
sickens an
individualist.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
I have to be understanding
For everyone... everyone for their problems
Everyone with endless pleasing
Is there really someone who’ll listen?
Everyone only drives to what suits them
Every other thing to make do... never an effort
Forever doing what never can
Is there honesty to depict life weird?
No one is dirty... cause their proud
No one is ashamed cause they gain
Do therapist themselves consult?
If I’ve suffered... do I understand pain?
I’ve always believe everyone to be an individualist
No matter how much the same they relate to be
For the mind of each's own never is
Is there really a world, we do so happen to see?
Is it my turn... for some understanding?
Everyone wants to be heard with their problems
Some life if at all worth realizing
For that someone... to finally listen
Wrinkled, worn, and weather-beaten
one old hat sits a loft a dusty shelf.
A witness to individual history,
a vision of days gone by
of both good and bad times,
a garment of many memories.
Like a King's crown,
the hat once sat cocked to the right
over a stern, but wise brow.
Well used and sweat stained,
but worn with dignity and pride
by one unyielding individualist.
A common man by all accounts
of uncommon quality and character.
A man who never lost focus
on the true widgets of life
even when it was at a cost.
A man who once owned:
a pocket full of dreams,
a desire for pure freedom,
a true lust for life,
and one old hat.
The evil green monster consumes the conscience of mankind.
More lethal than the worst drug on the market.
Greed creates ravenous souls,
incapable of gratification.
Lustful endeavors with unsuccessful aspirations.
Physical nirvana is irretrievable.
Perpetual descent of morals and character.
Independent contemplation?
Soul searching for the common good?
The new endangered species:
an individualist who renders abilities for selfless contributions.
The desperation of humanity
starving for revolution.