Long Eccentricities Poems
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I suppose that nearly every town has its share of self-appointed snobs,
A few old crabs and the usual crowd of ordinary Bills, Jills and Bobs.
In our fair village there's a character whose name is "Squire" Squab,
Whose well-known eccentricities stand out among the seething mob!
No one seems to know how the title of "squire" he acquired.
Nor has anyone that I know of really ever inquired.
He certainly isn't a lawyer, justice of the peace or judge,
Though he assumes those self-appointed roles at the slightest nudge!
He always wears a derby hat, spats and a dovetail coat.
Kids harass him unmercifully trying to get his goat!
On his daily stroll downtown he'll sidle up to some hapless soul,
With a myriad of inane propositions that he wishes to extol!
Many times at town council meetings, that august body he'll disrupt,
To denounce their ancestry, telling them that they are most corrupt!
At Baptist prayer meetings he often disturbs their peace,
And must be cuffed and escorted to jail by the local police!
Although some folks consider the "Squire" a peculiar curiosity,
Others like to think that he exudes a distinguished virtuosity!
When all is said and done, he is simply a naive and harmless guy,
But he certainly animates our town, this we surely can't deny!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
We all have idiosyncrasies
Strange traits, funny quirks
Creating unique individuals
For each of us our eccentricities work!
Our personal characteristics
So necessary to who we are
Others may think them strange
But we do them ,no matter how bizarre !!
I thought it would be good to share
So I will tell you mine
Just two of my many strange quirks
Please leave all judgements behind!!!
No matter whether it’s hot or freezing cold
Every night when I am in bed
I need to have a fan on full blast
Blowing cold air on my head!?
I cannot drink a full hot cuppa
I “have” to leave nearly half the drink
The thought of actually drinking the rest
Makes me physically sick …..a mental thing I think!!?
Please feel free to share your strange traits with me
No matter how extreme
The only thing I ask of you
Is please just keep it clean!!!
I am reading
"Democracy in Black"
by Eddie S. Glaude, Jr.
but continue reconstructing this title
"Hypocrisy in Only White."
Because
when I let my memory
look back to my own self-interests in history
as archaeological digging and prying and discovery,
adventure and curiosity
of my internal ecological development,
I reweave back
through still on-going matriarchal lines
that include,
are shared with,
anyone capable of reading
and comprehending
these words of regenerating memory.
Back
to darker
denser
richer genes and memes
of cooperative to still thrive today,
saving competitions for survival moments.
Back to
better to prey together
side by side
as neanderthal brothers and sisters
than to grow predative
against each other.
This Golden Rule
of dark Afro-Eurasian
equatorial resonant depth
of historical origin
in normative play
at least until we substitute capitalism's
supremacist agendas
for rationalism's ego-ecocentric
reweaving memory
of this original Earth Mom
magical and mysterious
then worshiped and danced
ritualed and cooperative ownership co-governing,
then more modern radical eccentricities
forgetting our shared matriarchal
regenetic
memory of dualdark
hypocrisies of merely white inferiority
complexes
disease
dissonance
despair of remaining fully
who we together are,
where we have been
predating history
where we could return
each morning
with greatest polyphonic joy.
To paraphrase David Holmgren
(Permaculture, p. 113)
Containers were one essential organic innovation
necessary for this cooperative agrarian revolution.
Opportunities to refill organically produced bodies
are enormous
transitioning into recycling energy descent
for shared cooperative memory.
Reimaging full organic containers
is far better than sending us
away and down and out for recycling.
Most official ecopolitical waste reduction strategies
place little emphasis
on organic reuse refilling re-educating
deep ecologically learning containers,
or confuse WinWin refueling,
reweaving,
with capitalism's WinLose recycling,
switching productive containers
into merely consuming eventual empties,
bleached-out white-washed faded hypocrisies
of purest supremacy against nothing
deeply densely
richly resonantly valued.
I may be cuckoo for coco puffs but you have the personality of a wet sock.
I am a beautiful and rare gem. You're a boring grey rock.
You call me unhinged and mentally unstable. But I don't see anyone who wants to sit at your table.
Most people find me endearing and quirky. But you are as fun as a cold frozen turkey.
What I call unique is what you call weird. When people are true to themselves, they are often feared.
Of course a basic beyach like you would call me bat dung crazy.
It is better than being stupid, whiny and lazy.
People mock me because I am different. I pity them because they are all the same.
I admit I am a bit ridiculous but at least I'm not lame.
My antics are outrageous and at times loud.
I would rather be an odd duck that to blend in with the crowd.
You may say I am insane and mad as a hatter.
But my madness is brilliance.
By attempting to insult me, you actually flatter.
What you call wack-a-doodle others call creative genius.
I love who I am and flaunt my uniqueness.
My aura is rainbow and sparkles. I am a bit of a freak.
But yours is beige, drab, forgettable and weak.
My wonderful vibrant personality is often celebrated.
But your sad existence is barely tolerated.
I embrace my eccentricities. It's all part of my charm.
Does unapologetically being myself cause anyone harm?
My quick wit and outspokenness is why I am adored.
When people hear you talk, they yawn and act bored.
You may say I am bonkers and nuttier than a fruitcake.
But at least I am not phony or plastic or fake.
I may have a few screws loose but at least I am good in bed.
I bet when your husband is pumping into you, that you just lay there and play dead.
The moonlight entices
By Michelle Morris
15/08/2023
The moonlight entices
The moonlight glows
When she's in darkness
The Moon is in her shadow
She is working with the Sun
They influence each other but never touch
Like lovers who are separated
By the Universe's brushstrokes
You can trust in yourself
You don't have to fight it
The moonlight is inspiring
She'll make you feel excited
Your enlightenment and wisdom
Your charming eccentricities
She reveals them all
Your delightful layers of personality
She reveals herself in time
Leads you to honour yourself each month
Her reminders are there to inspire
A blessing and a guidance
The moonlight entices
The moonlight glows
When she's in fullness
The Moon is in her knowing
She is working with Earth
They influence each other but never touch
Like friends who watch over each other
The Universe flows its truth
You can trust in yourself
Have faith and hope and focus
The moonlight is inspiring
She'll bless you every moment
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Raised a thumb, hitched a ride
random raced, inside
a freaky, desert mirage—
—then took it——solo
and slammed smack dab
into Slab City.
Oasis to lost, wandering souls
outcasts, living off society’s Grid
—crash landed—
into immediate immersion
of oddball oddities and eccentricities.
Psychedelic dreamscapes
mixed with Truth tellers—
—Salvation Mountain, God’s love
and John 3:16.
then, around the corner
East Jesus, where heathens
and aliens commune.
Find your path, your truth
within Coke bottle walls
Madonna shrines, plastic people
junk art sculptures—-
—-RV snowbirds and hippies
living side by side.
Commentary complimentary—
—spun from a grey bearded elder
telling tales of the glory days—
—of protests and picket lines
—of hazy days, flower children
and far out, rainbow dreams.
I have too much sense to have too much sense
or should as enough sense is enough sense,
quite enough perforce because the strings
of pure logic invite a wide
and open-hearted composition,
or always should as common sense to excess
could mean a lack of comic mirth
which is really quite inane because
our periodic folly,
mine and indeed the world around us
as human beings, adds lustre to one’s life
and the lives of others we encounter on and off.
One's frequent social circle notwithstanding
Those little eccentricities that stray into the
luscious meadows of magic mishap that spread joy,
that most magnificent contagion,
the universal crying requisite whose absence
connotes a risible dull void.
Posted ; 12th May 2022
Once a year she comes in the middle of the night.
While children are dreaming about her eccentricities and specialties.
Her colors, her laughter, her barks, and shrieks and screams,
When children are on her Tilt-a-whirls and Rocko-Planes.
Once a year, she comes to town, silently, stealthily, in the middle of the night.
She is made up of many outrageous beings, people who love costuming themselves
To the delight and amazement of the youngest, and the oldest.
On this day the town of 2,457 is asleep when she arrives. No one is there to watch the magic unfold.
In the morning, over two thousand of the residents, and five hundred from other towns will be in her lines.
Waiting to shell out money for ride tickets, cake walks, and to see the 854-pound bear who talks.
His name is Champ Eater and he’s the biggest puss in the universe, prefers carrots to meat.
By noon the fantastical stories are all about, how Champ Eater tried to eat a teenager’s hand.
But the Super Wonder Man appeared out of somewhere and saved the day.
It’s a terrific day, a 74-degree day, with breezes. You can hear the children’s screams as they
Get scared to ridiculousness by a variety of things she has to offer.
There are hundreds of stickers, snow cone centers, and cotton candy cones littering the town square.
Two people almost had a fight, but couldn’t bring themselves to do it in front of so many children.
There are 16 preschoolers giggling in glee on the portable train, and the conductor is laughing at their gaiety.
It’s the best day of all, carnival day. The laughs, the colors, the funnel cakes, the shows, the rides.
How can we ever thank them? We can’t; they are already two towns away.
Night falls on many happy faces.
DIMENSIONS
spectacular
experiments
into
a magical
world
of dream-like
expression
a union with
the
invisible
absorbed by
the avant-garde
impossible
to engage
the marginal
moment
with
eccentricities
of an
imaginary world
with
a profound
demeanour
to incite
on going
inspiration
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
If I could go back
For just a day
Even just a few hours
I would set up the board
Put each checker in it's place
I would see
Really see
Grandpa across the table
Him with his furrowed brow.
I would be less concerned
Less focused on winning
I would relish his laugh
Listen carefully to his tales
Record them
indelibly on my mind's eye
Combining
Past
Present
Future
I would see
The eccentricities of me
Passed on in perpetuity
His playfulness
The keenness of his former mind
Before the disease stole what was left behind
With each play the minutes would pass
I would take my time
Make them last
There would be questions to ask
Sadly the time is gone
The board has been put away
It's a game I no longer play
It was our special thing
He left long ago
On angels wings
Yet one day
When this
Life has passed
He will be there and I will ask
"Set up the board
It's time to play.
We can take our time
We have all day."