Long Nonconformist Poems
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Genuine Fecklessness Exemplifies Despondent Creature Because...
Lackluster life lived
as each subsequent day,
a carbon copy
of the one before,
though far from
being clinically depressed, this boar
ring guilt ridden Capitalist decries
mass consumerist paradigm
satiating the whore
rub bull Lady Liberty, where more
disinclination arises, per
crossing upcoming birthdays corridor
January 13th finds
increased repugnance being part
of materialistic culture club
as hellacious tore
char, implied societal behavior
expects blind submission
subjected to glore
re: us lee spouting
hallelujah nauseating your
every five senses to accept
point blank, Nee pay adore
ration, asper goyish gaiety bon jure
blared, foisted, and
lobbed upon every
man, woman, and child of society,
which imposition, this
outlier doth deplore
as an avowed antiestablishmentarian
to thee very core,
of my being, who
experiences continuous ab hoar
rent theoretical strings
of disappointments pour
ring down (like confetti)
from on high, viz directly
linkedin as nonconformist eyesore
from cradle to... when,
me cremated ashes get scattered,
though right now... still technically
alive, at least... I think so
(despite not yet),
being gratefully dead...
nearing three score
years, yet upon
my demise wherefore
welcoming relief against
(feeling like the oddball),
shares his glumness
weighing me down, where
every step an arduous chore
his compunction being open to explore
living off the grid, or
alternatively joining thee dacor
oven intentional community,
cuz he seems severely mismatched,
where vast material consumption,
especially accentuated with
holiday season heavily pitched
to spend every
last red cent, (and beg
borrow, max out on credit, or steal)
to splurge for
expectation to endure
the helter skelter frenetic
Black Friday and Cyber Monday
fire sales kindling
a bonanza galore!
Nonconformity
All my life I have been controlled
Told what to think
Told how to behave
Told what was right and wrong
Don’t talk to strangers
Eat all your vegetables
Obey the rules that God set down millennia ago
Who made the decisions for me?
Preachers, teachers and parents were all guilty
Don’t use drugs because they rot your mind
Their morals and ideas twisted my mind
I grew up obeying every word in fear of eternal punishment
At least a note in my permanent record
I grew, read and learned that the world was not white and black
Strangers ended up being cool people
Meat tastes better than the vegetables I used to be served
God’s rules were designed to take every bit of fun out of life
Pot was a cool drug that never hurt anyone and helped some
I learned that the people who taught me never listened to the rules they preached
One thing they did teach me was to never conform
Never listen to people who feign authority
Always learn for yourself
Experience is more knowledgeable than preachers, teachers or parents
So now I live hated by some and admired by others
Both call me the same name, “nonconformist”
That name is one I wear with pride
I hope that kids of the next generations will refuse to accept the nontruths
I hope that they will learn to question authority
I hope that someday there will be more nonconformist like me
They will not have to live being spurned by a conformist society
It is my hope that they will speak out and be heard
And at that time nonconformity will be the norm
And all will be good
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
doth now conclude another poetic wire.
Though A Destitute Alteh Kocker...
(albeit boyish), I tell myself with pride
always look on the bright toothless side
of life, this nonconformist tried
his darnedest with
threadbare trappings to abide
despite bristling, harumphing,
and lamenting luckless life,
while woe didst ride
shotgun squeezing snotty
schnozzle, nuzzling nose, wide
dilating nostrils coquettishly cozying cold
conical snout splayed alongside
steering column as if silently to chide
yours truly for impoverished states
of body, mind, and spirit hermetically hide
ding, asper necessary manna,
hence, (no eggs add chore ration) I yolked
reining clamps down hard, ultimately dried
existential wellspring, especially averse to risk
rejection, when as supremely
scared boy stifling bittorrent tide
natural animal propensities squelched elide
ding healthy mental, physical
and spiritual development
desperation found future bride
less because stricken with love bug,
versus when pent up vasocongestion vied
hardened male member, which relied
on instinct to seal biological pact
sporting two (now grown) daughters bonafide
birthright genetically patented
each taking their respective stride
toward housing vibrant young women
expanding their comfort zones,
unwittingly forcing this papa to admit he denied
himself obligation to foster maturation
implicit with every species within world wide
web, no chance to rectify the bitterness inside
hence pervasive reference, sans annulment
portraying "FAKE" motif life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness only
experienced, when Alpine for Swiss side!
She will not change her mind, and she will not budge.
She is a nonconformist, who drinks beer, said my Uncle Mudge.
She is opinionated, vile, mean, and usually wrong.
It was the beginning of his “poor me” song.
She had left him at the alter when she found out he had cheated.
Saying she never wanted to see him again, her words unsweeted.
She stomped off mad, and she’s been mean as a bat caught in a fence.
He told me this, taking no guilt for his lack of common sense.
She is a rascal, a devil, a woman who cannot be rattled or taught.
He is being meaner now. He seems radical, ridiculous and overwrought.
She used to be my honey, but now she’s a woman of her own.
She is lanky and nasty, and her garden is way overgrown.
Late morning today (February 17, 2021)
I (accompanied by missus)
drove to bed bath and beyond
Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania
off Chemical Road location for naught.
After arriving
at said destination alas and alack
with intent to purchase:
ZeroWater®
10-Cup Ready Pour™ Pitcher - $17.50
and ZeroWater®
4-Pack Replacement Filters - $39.99
(we discovered aforementioned store shuttered)
both of us essentially undertook round trip
to Schwenksville and back
without rhyme nor reason.
Subsequently, an idea dawned
(came to mind) to craft a poem
with immediate insight
since yours truly likes to write.
Our eldest daughter, an engineering ace,
(who lives in Oakland, California,
and conveniently employed to chase
the buck courtesy remote technology
within walls of her dwelling place
by B-corp) frequently politely reminds us
to purchase environmentally friendly product
to help sustain earthly creatures
besides human race
who about bajillion years from now
will vanish without a trace.
She nsync with youngest offspring,
(a lovely lass awaiting
her prince charming
ah...if only her fantasy
to marry available bachelor
singer constituting the
British band One Direction, -
would be dream come true)
insync with alluded to first born
unwittingly contribute immense happiness,
whereby meaning of life,
liberty and pursuit of happiness
doth resonate
despite both adorable girls,
(an unbiased opinion courtesy their papa)
in Oakland, California
and Bend, Oregon respectively.
Eco-friendly ethics
informed courtesy older sister eons ago,
she (Amelie Beth) hypersensitivity,
a contemplative introverted bro
who as a socially withdrawn boy
rather puny and scrawny body
standing with knobby knees
unknowingly foretold skeletal escrow,
viz arms akimbo point each elbow
perpendicular while moving to and fro
geeky and nerdy
improvisational dance intro
exhibiting nonconformist Judeo
spontaneous boyish schtick
just before onset anorexia nervosa manifesto.
As par and parcel of being
alive wire impossible aye
to maintain totally tubularly
literarily celibate by and bye
with parochial restraint antiseptic dry
as dust poetic refrains
asper this healthy older guy
devoid of physical whim zee
unlike a inscrutable eunuch...so hi
there dear reader experienced
by this self contrived Zen
minded nonestablishmentarian outlier,
whose nonconformist yen
tries to steer clear of controversy,
heresy, prurient wen
unless one happened
to be eunuchized,
i.e. sexless as a cold oven,
but similar to generic men
this writerly hen
pecked husband dully
drumming, droning, and
dribbling as a lix spittle
aged chap housed within
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania bailiwick
though far less inclined
to whet ma lil atrophied dipstick
than some young buck
at the peak of his sexual prowess
every now and again viz,
aye feel a much slighter sensation
drubbing, crackling, and
buckling mine body electric
and attempt to record
re: font ten blue type
boldface and/or Italic
such infrequently occurring
fleeting Johnson magic
speculating why the
hoo ha regarding mystic
spell binding codas,
dogmas, and enigmas,
an integral component naturalistic
within the calculus of life,
when human species
(parenthetically), naturally, inherently,
and biologically opportunistic
akin to other organisms whose quixotic
antics allow NON GMO,
MSG, and gluten free,
and uncensored discussion
asper reproductive habits rhapsodic
with floral and/or faunal symphonic
emanations donning each their own
"NON FAKE" trumpeting
spectacular humbly modest
rubric, yet...universalistic
as being linkedin
within the cosmic whirled wide web.
KEROUAC THE WORD SPEAKS JAZZ/Tony Adamo
Spoken Word All in Caps for Better Reading While in Recording Studio/10/14/23
THE JAZZ COOL AND BEBOP MUSICIANS MADE MUSIC THEIR OWN/
THE BEAT GENERATION WAS A NONCONFORMIST CULTURE MOVEMENT OF THE 1950’S/
WRITERS, POETS SUCH AS JACK KEROUAC, NEAL CASSADY, ALLEN GINSBERG, DIANE DE PARMA, WILLIAM S. BURROUGH, AND PHILIP LAMANTIA, AND A WHOLE BEAT GENERATION OF AUTHORS WHO TOLD YOU LIKE IT IS/
INNOVATIONS IN THE COOL OF WORD SPEAK POETRY/ THE BEATS WERE A LITERARY SUBCULTURE THAT WAS DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE TOTAL REJECTION OF STANDARD NARRATIVE VALUES/
MAN, HARD LIQUOR, DRUGS, AND MAD SEX FUELED THE BACKBONE OF THE BEATS ALONG WITH THE HARMONIC SYSTEM OF BEPOP IMPROVISATIONS INFUSED INTO THEIR WORLD OF THE NEW POETRY SPOKEN WORD/
THE BEAT GENERATION’S MOVERS AND THINKERS HIPED THE WORLD TO A NEW WAY OF KNOWLEDGE WITH FLOWING THOUGHTS AND IDEAS ABOUT PERSONAL FREEDOM WITHOUT GOVERNMENT INTERVENTION/
SO, DIG, LIKE THE BEBOPPERS STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS ON THE BANDSTAND, IN PARTICULAR, CHARLIE BIRD PARKER IMPROVISED HORN SOLOS/
SO WAS IT FOR THE BEATS' FAST AND SLOW MUSIC TEMPOS IN THEIR WORD DELIVERY/
TAKING MELODY BEBOP MUSIC LINES, IMPROVISATION ON WORDS, AND INCORPORATING THE SOUNDS INTO THE BEAT THINKING AND WRITINGS/
MAN, THESE JAZZ POETS WERE DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF JAZZ WORD SPEAK, BEBOP JUMPING FREESTYLE IN WORD WRITING TO PAGE AND BEYOND/
NOT ALL BEATS WERE JAZZHEADS/ BUT JAZZ MUSIC IN THE 1950s GAVE VOICE TO A LOT OF THE BEATS' POETRY AND WRITINGS/ LIKE DIG KEROUAC ON THE STEVE ALLEN TV SHOW TO SEE AND HEAR WHAT I MEAN/
LIKE IT IS BABY, LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI, KEROUAC, AND GINSBERG, WERE KICKIN THEIR WORD SPEAK WRITINGS WITH A BEBOP INFLUENCE AND A MARIJUANA, HIGH BALL HIGH/
THE BEAT GENERATION FREED THEMSELVES IN THEIR WRITINGS AND LIVES FROM THE SHACKLES OF WESTERN THINKING IN SEEKING NEW WAYS TO EXPRESS THEIR TIMES ABOUT LOVE, LIFE, DEATH AND POETRY.
Strewn to the floor he collected his marbles and memories
Had played for hours as a child with his friends in the flat
Passed innumerable hours never bored always enthralled
Abraded by wear of near instant replay nostalgia flashes past
A time of Innocence and Recall of pure Joy
Collecting from lucky packets from the five and dime store
He cherished his treasures and assembled a wealth of its own
Built a shiny smooth fortune traded with his mates from next door
Never lost sight of his satchel clinking and clonking at every stride
Foundations of Wealth and Possessions
They only had a small space on the floor boards smelling of wax
Polished the wood and their skills on their knees with great care
Rolled the little balls one at a time to get the closest to the wall
Practised side spins straight lines curve balls ingenious bounce
Perfection and Victory held their suspense
But the little buggers appeared to have a devious thrall of their own
Fell into knotholes swerved back to where they had come from
Ricocheted recoiled or stayed idle deviated from inglorious norms
Some disappeared in the pantry just in time for a substandard deviation
Snookered in unintended Diversity
Today he respects outliers and dispersion from a delusive tendency
Cherishes and embraces people and places and different paradigms
Which include eccentricity oddballs and nonconformist dissidents
Finds beauty in a spread of reasons emotions and different drifts
When Loneliness strikes he looks fondly at his Marbles
28th June 2019
Pervasive personal questions people ask,
shredding to shards what truly is me.
The pieces are of no use to them though,
the effort seems at times
to stem from veiled spite,
incisive curiosity or even subtle affront.
I forcefully flinch to introspect,
ask myself why I’m under their prying lens,
and don’t answer.
Caustic comments people often make
on the manner I behave,
that seems strange to them,
or on the way I do or don’t do things,
that seldom matches theirs.
I don’t try to explain,
these are innate traits I am born with,
discarding or changing which for their sake,
or walk on their footsteps would be
to dispense with a vital part of my persona,
to exist as a facsimile entity of no individuality.
So, I don’t react.
If at times some people are good to me,
I can’t express articulately enough
the feeling of hearty appreciation,
for that action may appear a manifestation overdone,
deceptively laden with pretentious display of gratitude,
which in essence screens the implicit expectation
that the good done is what is deserved and due.
When this trait is criticized as intended insensitivity,
a part of me, inherently obliged though,
is tortured to plaintive and painful despondency.
I can’t endure the undeserving denigration,
for it aims to maim part of my bruised psyche,
I can’t rejuvenate, for it does no longer respond
for me to demonstrate.
People brand me quirky.
Surely, I’m so
with my strong sense of self-identity.
Travelling on the divergent path I paved,
I tell nonconformist me, reassured,
Shikata Ga Nai.