Long Oddness Poems
Long Oddness Poems. Below are the most popular long Oddness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oddness poems by poem length and keyword.
If my usual wasn't so ordinary
And didn't span great feats of generic
It may just be shy of extraordinary
A mediocrity so bland I'm hysteric
Enormity in normalcy's highest gear
Worked out so hard and never got abs
Without an ear my regular cannot hear
I'm the base tested against in labs
An everyday, workaday, 10 of a kind
Fantastically, head over heels habitual
Frequency, ooze from me, for oddness I pined
This middle of the road, uniform fool
An average in math I lack sum of the fun
My highest point is the peak of just typical
If my usual started with "un", not a prefix of none
This run of the mill status is biblical
I'm routinely symmetrical time and again
Burst at the seams in familiarity
A dullery so wild it verges on zen
Like a quietness without any clarity
I've searched the great depths of the known
Looked for an in but found not a trace
For my explicable or scrutable down to the bone
Destined to be dazzlingly commonplace.
Written: February 15, 2024
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I ultimately rule over these stunning valleys,
Elm trees with mossy brows line the alleys.
Where distant peaks arise, calm and azure,
Akin to the strong tripods used for rapture.
Who can't view river stones as viable paths?
A scad of scramblers on spurs stoning laths.
To slay fair faces, who bartered leaden blasts,
And weapons because of their leopard casts.
Who inflicted lasting wounds upon the land,
Those who pursued the avian crowns stand.
Fetched to flatten fascinating flesh but failed,
Who still flies above "fallen Tomahawk," veiled?
From my awakened gaze, I view a world,
Across eyes that bear a black shade furled.
A confined space, restricted and stretched out,
Then I cast a velvety gaze over a dumb doubt.
In a shadowed visage, this is how I mumble,
These walls, built by oppression, must crumble.
I must quit as I gaze upon my unique form,
Through opened eyes, no longer blind corm.
And behold, my unique hands create,
The space exists within my mind spate.
Nonviolent activists avoid causing friction,
Path for discovery, not building any tension.
Yield your tension a flight and let it depart,
God will never strain you over skills to impart.
Stress is only a reaction, probe not to worry,
Oddness from bodies and beliefs is blurry.
Not all stress stems from having a lot to do,
It originates from a lack of follow-through.
The potential increases with increasing strain,
Growth comes with a sense of life's innate pain.
I'm feeling hollow, not due to any sorrow,
Yet, in a sense of relief, each knot fades hollow.
The most crucial factor in ensuring lifespan,
Is staying clear of tension, worry, and strain.
Life is not a rising conflict or a stressful scene,
Life ought not to be painful; it may be serene.
It's habits that induce tension and relaxation,
Cutting rituals and building useful tension.
In a world of laughter, he stood apart,
A boy with shadows dancing in his heart.
With a grin that twisted like a crooked vine,
He found the punchline in the darkest line.
When others wept, he’d chuckle and jest,
Finding solace in chaos, a curious quest.
Destruction was funny, a comic delight,
As he laughed at the ruins that filled up the night.
His humor was sharp, like a knife in the dark,
A shield against sorrow, a flickering spark.
He wore his weirdness like a badge of pride,
An outcast, he thought, with nowhere to hide.
But in the quiet corners of his mind,
A flicker of truth began to unwind.
For in the mirror, he saw not just him,
But a reflection of her, his mother, so grim.
She danced to her own tune, a whimsical song,
With no need for friends, she felt she belonged.
In her solitude, she found her own grace,
A strange little world, her own sacred space.
Her laughter was odd, her quirks were profound,
In the silence of stillness, her joy could be found.
And as he looked closer, he started to see,
The weirdness he felt was a part of her glee.
Together they thrived in their peculiar way,
Finding comfort in shadows, in night and in day.
For the boy who once thought he was lost in the fray,
Discovered his heart in the games they would play.
So he laughed when he should, and he cried when he must,
In the chaos of life, he found love and trust.
For the strange little boy, with his dark sense of cheer,
Was just like his mother, and that made it clear.
In a world full of normal, they danced to their tune,
Two outcasts together, beneath the same moon.
With sarcasm woven in laughter and tears,
They embraced their oddness, conquering fears.
Because I could not love for Love,
it did kindly love for me.
Pausing to love, like a Love does.
With an oddness, a frailty, consumed.
A goodness, however hard it tries,
shall always be caring.
A goodness is ducky, is favorite;
a goodness is dear, then again...
A friendship, however hard it tries,
Will always be temperate.
Do friendships make one quiver?
Or do they warm a soul?
I cannot help but look at the white dove.
All that is little is not romance,
romance, by all accounts is big.
Compassion is, in its way,
the emotion of fellow feelings.
"Staring", said the compassion,
and "staring", then "staring" again.
I saw the pious dedication of
a generation destroyed in the name of love.
I travelled down into the darkness of devotion,
Gently it goes - ghost-like, weird yet sacred.
Yes, like a sinking ship into a black abyss.
You see, I could not love for Love, but,
it did kindly love for me. Love is everywhere,
Yet, not a drop of love upon my lips.
Love or Bust Poetry Contest
2/1/2026
Sponsored by: Karen Jones
I woke with moonbeams in my eyes,
feeling oddness had passed this way.
Opened a window, with surprise,
saw wee faeries, clear as day,
some rode on dragonflies in play
They danced and spun on moonlit lawn.
That's when I spied a Leprechaun.
As Dawn painted faint crimson gleam,
I saw her colors spilled upon
each wing, and toe, and crooked seam.
Adding to my intriguing spell,
voices, sweet, from treetops poured.
Songs were haunting, almost of bells
Each word singing lightest chords
and not one word should be ignored.
As Dawn's magic turned into day,
quickly my spell just fell away.
I search each day, and, yes I grieve.
I saw pureness in their brief stay.
They come but once... if you believe.
March 11, 2022
for A Magical Spell Contest
by Robert James Liguori
syllables checked with Syllable Counter
Written: May 14, 2023
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Your dewdrops are bedazzling on dunes,
Hides enticing sparks so haphazardly fumes.
Your eyes, akin to honey, exude an inner charm,
Love embraced your fragility with supple calm.
My love, time has tainted your obsession,
Captivating every pulse is magnetic affection.
Your aesthetic evokes divine Greek magic,
Dazzling draws blithely on peaks, ecstatic.
Enduring aromas soothe my random fondness,
Pushily puzzled by odd bond built by oddness.
Magic is real yet scary as seconds tick by.
Fear incites harm as sharp shards cry.
Prayers to all those trapped in this maze.
No one is or is meant to be scathe or graze.
Mist emitted by crashing waves may stay.
"It is only me," I whisper as tears of hope dry.
Today I saw the woman
who seemed missing of her smile.
I watched her there
and we started to stare
at each other for a while.
I looked at her mouth
and heard her say,
“To thine own self be true.”
While in her eyes,
so tired but wise,
my every thought she knew.
She’d felt every feeling
and she understood my pain,
just as if she
were a part of me,
with somehow something to gain.
I wondered if she might go on
with seemingly much to say,
but matching my stare
she just stood there,
so I guessed it would not be today.
Feeling the oddness we looked away,
then I reached for the door.
When I turned off the light
she had gone from my sight
and the mirror went black once more.
~Jeannie Cronin
That cacophony of little, irritating noises inside me
Finally, tell me how we would pray for forgiveness.
The reckless condonation of a wickedness spree.
That cacophony of little, irritating noises inside me
We have no reason to suppose we possess an alibi.
Lamentation amid spasms of crying and weirdness.
That cacophony of little, irritating noises inside me
Finally, tell me how we would pray for forgiveness.
The reckless condonation of a wickedness spree.
That cacophony of little, irritating noises inside me
We have no reason to suppose we possess an alibi.
Lamentation amid spasms of crying and weirdness.
Finally, tell me how we would pray for forgiveness.
Insanely brave devotion that is never oddness.
Written May 08, 2021
WRITE A "TRIONET" FOR ME Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
The brain is an instrument of improvisation
With its white and gray byways
garnished in electrical blood drops.
Creating refined works, although pressed for time and pressurized.
It suffers in its bone cage.
Like an octopus in a jar, always planning the grandest escape.
It is also a weapon of mass deception
pods of oddness, always plotting.
Endless deep blueness and innate jealousy.
A DNA staircase decorated in ornate self-centeredness.
Prone to God-mocking and demon-envy.
Overall, the brain is a hieroglyphic glass ball.
Bursting with dead-end riddles and black troughs.
Perched on a flint-and-paper faith pedestal.
Artist of the butterfly realm
Dancing a dream others dare not follow
Enticing your dendrites to play
Enjoying your imagination in the best of ways
Earthly silence in every day commonality
No one sees what you are about behind intelligent eyes.
The genius within, dares not growl during the day
Not showing herself to the masses
Keeping her butterfly realm inside,
Safely tucked away where imagery
Beautiful poems and paintings lie dormant
Waiting for her to open the door, and throw them to the skies.
In her silence, others worry, discuss her oddness.
Having no inkling at all of the wonderful world she nurtures
Rejuvenating and replenishing her world nightly.