Long Offbeat Poems
Long Offbeat Poems. Below are the most popular long Offbeat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Offbeat poems by poem length and keyword.
November first two thousand nineteen...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum
Divine myriad biota amidst
heavenly Lily of the valley
(Convallaria majalis),
he didst imaginatively greet
Edenic heavenly terra
incognita immeasurably sweet
nature's ensemble proffering
Gaia's quintessential orchestration
resplendent sensational treat
natural splendour regaling,
this fellow wayfarer
happenstance gifted autochthonous peoples
espied proud specimens unobtrusive
planted armada, viz sleek bodies fleet,
of foot while me accidentally
risking, schlepping, traipsing... offbeat
winessed unschooled tribe,
yet verily synchronized,
primed, muscled... athlete
their soundless rhythmic swiftly tailored
flit to and fro upon poetic
unshod calloused feet
carefully, gingerly, lightly...
I shod dully tread nsync
toward drumlins upbeat
mouthing, kneading, imbibing... glorious
ebullient choral unadulterated feat
extemporaneously kickstarting crisp and neat
pow hour full rhythm across
analogous macroscopic excellent spreadsheet
inducing their sonorous symphonic
roundelay unfamiliar tweet,
whereby flora and fauna future meal to eat
oblivious regarding mine seat
dated existence, which quiescent aesthete,
yours truly basked,
froliced, luxuriated... complete
as once innocent hymnals kindled atrocity
this observer, spectator aghast white as sheet,
how civilization's machinations didst deplete
terrestrial firmament within one fell stroke
eradicated once pristine unbroken
promises chiseled to cheat
rightful owners expansive swath
over yonder til ocean and land did meet
Europeans scoured seas one after another
lumbering bulwarked fleet
exhausting resources while simultaneous
mowing down aborigines
grotesquely analogous harvesting wheat
indiscriminate deliberate genocide
decimating indigenous tribes beat
defenseless against microbial
weapons of mass destruction,
thus only within third blind eye
courtesy invisible paleface with tenderfeet
strictly envisioned Perkiomen Valley
once abundantly populated
with ample game during cold and/or heat
paradise unbroken stretched hinterland,
where place names mock to pay hollow tribute,
where native peoples no longer replete
vinyl city amidst amidst graveyard
lovely bones turned to dust
paved over by mainstreet.
We The One Who Die
There you have it, something marvelous that is nigh impossible to achieve…
A small country hamlet that has completely banned smoking, you better believe…
Somewhere in an offbeat location in Indonesia, people there achieve an impossible feat …
There, in a small country hamlet, or kampong by local slang, everybody has smoking beat…
The people that live in this unique hamlet or kampong exhibit remarkable self restraints…
How else can you explain this impossible feat of successfully achieving a No Smoking ban…
Of course there are visible signs from the local authorities declaring this smoking ban…
There, at the very entrance to this unique settlement of country folks living simple lives,…
A simple sign reads “Thank You For Not Smoking, Say No To Cigarettes” for every visitor…
Another says “You The One Who Smoke, We The One Who Die”, what a grim reminder..
Tobacco related economic s are stymied here in this hamlet of simple country living…
Unlike in the rest of Indonesia where as high as 30% of adults are hooked on smoking..
For a country with 200,000 smoking related deaths a year, this hamlet is setting the lead….
Nearby kampungs, villages and communities are working hard in trying to emulate…
The seductive lure of the tobacco related economy and monies are insignificant factors…
When the individual, and the community, are resolute and determined to prosper…
For the monetary savings from not smoking daily are very significant to better spending…
As evidenced from the comments gathered from those who have stopped smoking…
This little piece of writing is my salutations for the people who are residents in that area..
Where fresh country air is free of tobacco particulates and life couldn’t be any better…
I could imagine in my mind the simple lifestyle there on offer, a simple country hamlet…
Off the beaten route, away from the din and bustle of modern high paced hassles….
Bravo to the residents of this rustic Indonesian village called Kampung Bone Bone ….
Bravo for their collective success of promoting and prospering health to each home…
http://www.star2.com/health/wellness/2016/03/18/this-tiny-kampung-did-what-authorities-couldnt-ban-smoking-completely/
Hooray for Captain Spaulding...
though he played only a cameo role
helping me secure corrective eyewear I sport
mucho gratitude to all parties involved
including the missus,
cuz she needed to shuttle me
to and from hither and yon,
wherever I needed to go,
cuz entire bill paid
(including thorough examinations and lenses -
the frames repurposed
from one used many moons ago)
courtesy AETNA Medicare Advantra
in tandem with superb
ocular optometrist Doctor Paul Halpern,
that would be an unpaid for plug
touting outstanding kickass knowhow
insync with his offbeat good humor
without making a spectacle of himself.
Many insightful revolutionary breakthroughs
linkedin to gamut of intelligent people,
whose exhaustive mental,
physical and spiritual efforts
witnessed visually impaired
(shortsightedness affected wordsmith
since he entered second grade
at Eagleville Elementary School
circa approximately mid nineteen sixties)
and anticipated him being called
mildly derogatory name four eyes,
thus withheld donning glasses
at the expense of lackluster marks
for that half year, cuz parents moved
to 324 Level Road
initially R(oute) D(elivery)
until Donald Neilson
(if memory serves me
more correctly than spelling
of his surname, and "The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More Than Ropes Will Ever Do" by Fiona Apple),
and yesterday November 12th, 2024
happily, proudly, and zealously wears glasses
to see the webbed wide world crystal clear.
Post cataract surgery,
about couple months
after consultation at Kremer Eye Center
and finally came to figurative juncture
whereat (drum roll please...)
prescription adjusted eyeglasses
now sit squarely on my button nose -
as long as I hold them there with a finger
until cosmetic surgeon affixes a bump
on the bridge of said nose
analogous to the song titled
I can see clearly now the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
(courtesy Johnny Nash,
who raked in quite a bit of cash)
to drive our 2020 Hyundai Elantra
after dark shadows slink and slither
along the edge of night
encompassing an ever widening berth,
where the outer limits
meld with swathes of the twilight zone.
Church to Blindness, nothing to see
Crystals of light shining before He
Slowly the mist consumes all
Expanding its tendrils- Wait! Up above darkness falls.
Slowly He approaches, no sword in hand
Attempting to view the fallen evil on this land
Scars tearing into a black sheet
Behind Him a smooth voice breaks, slightly offbeat,
“Listen openly and listen free,
For my time is limited with thee,
To It, I'm opposite, your sweet belief
Do not contest me and yours shall be sweet relief.”
And with a horrid bow the monster winked
As Orange Light made the illusion extinct
Awakened a lover sat nearby
Of this world, she was His truest Ally
The time had come, for they called
And seeing Him they were enthralled!
“Let us take this giant before his Greatness,
And no longer shall we remain Nameless”
Victory over man was easy enough
The Demon, thriving, was the next rough
But silent it was for one more day
Just man and peace and naiveté
In clouds and lightning did it appear
But not to man’s prediction did it adhere
The monster had no quarrel with simple man
To kill a god, that was always the plan
Upon a ethereal mountain top He stood
Reflecting on His home, wife, and fatherhood
The clouds around grew thick with smoke
And a scarred monstrous hand upon the plane broke
It tilted its head, baffled by what it saw
“Child I tell you to withdraw.
This is not a battle you can win
I do not lie no web do I spin.”
As He climbs branches to its height
His voice rumbles, “You know I must fight.”
And so with a smirk it let lose its fire
For beyond him lies its desire.
No man truly wants to die
But honor calls to defend an ally
Even in the saddest moments ending never
Man wants to be here forever
With courage and might he lept
And humanity, unknowing, never wept
For faith unbroken he crashes down
And into a stream of fire the monster and man struggle and drown
The purity of holiness extinguish both
The vile and the true beholden to His Oath
We do not understand it, we cannot deny
But that man fell for He was three feet too high.
The drum is sounding
From Queens in New York
Stretching to the horns of America
And the horns of Africa
Hear them applause
They call it the Trump drum of triumph
I sat on my chair of reeds
And looked towards north America
O, Horns of America!
Send your messengers across the pacific and be specific
Send waves of excitement for the Republican
U.S President elect---who entranced the long serving mother
The mother of United States who has done enough for the U.S
To stand on HER feet
Tell the world what a drum it is
Should it be a drum of war!
The trump drum of triumph
Is offbeat
Those are tourists at Las Vegas
Watching the Trump towers
Fathoming the towers would reform into a gold mine
A precious gold mine to America and the world
The Americas and the world at large in awe
But agape with an intriguing question
Will the Trump drum of triumph not sell America to the world?
Either, will it not sell the world to America?
Now that Trump needn’t a salary?
Does he have a business plan in his palace behind his unproved humility?
America wonders---the world looks on---hat trick or not!
Let the white house and the black house both keenly watch
The start of this political game
Should he meddle in his belly and ignore America and the world?
The Trump drum of triumph
Is offbeat
What is his say on gay-ism and lesbianism?
Where Barrack Obama was offbeat-ism
The practice that is against God-ism
Which spoils ten thousand American children daily-ism
A man kissing a man-ism
A woman kissing a woman-ism
Abominable act in the world traditional society-ism
How about Illuminati, the god worshipers that are barriers between God and mankind-ism?
Consult Trump’s priest-ism
To burn down all the shrines of Baphomet in Americas-ism
And the National church of bey where our men become unproductive-ism
By sacrificing their manhood-ism
They become infertile for life-ism
Heal the world again dear Trump-ism
Make my county South Sudan a country again-ism
And refrain from God’s wrath-ism
Only then will the Trump drum of triumph-ism
Not be offbeat-ism
Inspired by the movie "Accidental Husband" starring the lovely Uma Thurman and ever awesome Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Be open to love. Be open to life. You never know how amazing your life could turn out.
Romantic love can be real love. You can have it all. It just takes time, patience, love, respect and trust... Sprinkled with heaps of fun, friendship, joy and passion.
A sweet, upbeat, fun duet...
Unsuitably perfect
By Michelle Morris
21/07/2023
You made me smile
It was boy meets girl
But I had a life that
You completely upturned
We were complete opposites
Two strangers married by a prank
But as we got to know each other
We learned our own special dance
Sparks, sparks; fly, fly, fly
Burn twin tattoos on our hearts
Fire, fire, burns our desire
Kiss, kiss, kiss; lips seal our fate
Unsuitably perfect for me
Unsuitably perfect for you
You're my fantasy
You're my reality
You light up my world
With your love and passion
It can take time to appreciate
That the safe bet's not the answer
Sometimes what we need most
Is the offbeat characters
That inspire us with fun and magic
Joyous celebration of attraction
Sparks, sparks; fly, fly, fly
Burn twin tattoos on our hearts
Fire, fire, burns our desire
Kiss, kiss, kiss; lips seal our fate
Unsuitably perfect for me
Unsuitably perfect for you
You're my fantasy
You're my reality
We don't have to be right all the time
We can trip up and help each other through
I'll be unsuitably perfect for you
And you can be unsuitably perfect for me
We can have respect and patience
Trust and honesty
Live our best dreams together
Beautiful soulmate devotion and loyalty
Sparks, sparks; fly, fly, fly
Burn twin tattoos on our hearts
Fire, fire, burns our desire
Kiss, kiss, kiss; lips seal our fate
Unsuitably perfect for me
Unsuitably perfect for you
You're my fantasy
You're my reality
Unsuitably perfect for me
Unsuitably perfect for you
Unsuitably perfect for me
Unsuitably perfect for you
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Written on 29th and 30th April 2012.
BY: Sashi.Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Father time always has lessons to open heartedly preach,
Of late have understood few of them, which was for a long time out my thoughts reach.
Now life seems to me as a sandy bank of a long desolate beach,
Where we trudge life’s sandy path in a hurry without an end the shores of success to reach.
But I often ask myself, what lessons, life to us, does preach?
Need to with all 5 senses deem or else we will end up filled with remorse and impeach.
People tell me about change,
And ways to my life rearrange.
But my heart and mind vehemently hum to me to be real sure,
And ensure that the changes don’t take my life on an offbeat detour.
Far away from people who on me shower their love and care,
Is that what you desire I ask myself? Stop think, mull and be minutely aware.
Life’s Moments pass us like flowing water of a the sea or stream,
Linger on, Sweet memories of some wonderful people who touched us like waves, come to mind or in our dreams.
In our quests to succeed and get on in life we strive to move ahead to the success shore,
And those cherished moments keep flashing in our dreams and in our thoughts more & more.
But
We trudge each day life’s sandy path in a hurry the shores of success to reach.
Need to with all 5 senses deem or else we will end up filled with remorse and impeach.
Life’s Moments pass us like flowing water of a the sea or stream,
Linger on, Sweet memories of some wonderful people who touched us like waves, come to mind or in our dreams.
So
I often mull and ask my mind,
Mostly about me but also about thoughts that often in mind and they themselves grind.
Must I, my beliefs, ideology and principles change?
To improve my life and it’s relations and my entire life rearrange?????
Now
I long to be my original me
As an original is worth more than a copy, as the world conceives and all see,
I am my original me.
I am me
I am
Me………….
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
I am the wrench in the clockwork,
a tiny twist in the gears of a universe
too vast to notice my pinch,
yet enough to reroute the cascade—
leverage, a quiet conspiracy of small forces.
Like a catapult built from old regrets,
I launch myself over gravity’s grumble,
where time folds like origami cranes—
folds that hide the sharp edges of loss,
each crease a fulcrum point for flight.
Leverage is the sly magician’s hand,
lifting an elephant with a feather,
trading the impossible for a wink—
an alchemist turning doubts into leverage,
transmuting weight into possibility.
I am the offbeat rhythm in a symphony of cogs,
the marginal note that shifts the meaning,
the whispered nudge beneath the thunder—
the pivot that tilts the scale,
turning imbalance into dance.
Leverage is the secret recipe in a shared meal—
a pinch of kindness, a spoonful of patience,
the subtle tilt that makes a cracked cup hold water,
the thread pulled to unravel a knot
that’s strangled days into silence.
It’s the crooked key that fits no lock,
the sideways glance that shifts a stubborn heart,
the small word spoken at just the right moment,
a lever pressed lightly beneath the weight of worlds.
When the world demands a lever long enough
to shift the mountains inside my chest,
I build it from moments others discard—
a stack of fractured promises,
a hinge forged from stubborn hope.
Leverage is not brute strength;
it’s the art of bending without breaking,
of finding the fulcrum in chaos,
a crooked smile in the face of fate,
a quiet power, slight but unrelenting—
the subtle architecture of change.
It’s in the way a whispered apology
loosens the bolts of bitterness,
the way a single seed, planted in cracked soil,
can uproot the wilderness of despair—
leverage is the unseen hand,
the small lever
that pulls a life
out of the shadows.
Snapping fingers, a low hum in the microphone)
Hey, It's Café Jazz/ But we ain't just sipping black coffee and snapping our fingers in polite applause/
Talkin' Bop/ first idiom where being white wasn't the fast track to success/ Yeah, dig it/ Bop was the soundtrack/ To anxieties, to late nights, to dreams deferred/
A nervous tremor in the rhythm/ Hard to play/ Man, you don't even KNOW. Only Bird, Diz, Miles...a constellation of cats burning bright, digging deep into a new conception in jazz/
A new hip way/ The hard Bop LP Clifford Brown and Max Roach, Study in Brown, 1955?
Got heads blown right off/ This isn’t just music, see?/
It's talkin' 'bout you, talkin' 'bout me/ talkin' 'bout life getting ready to take on a new form/ Be-Bop Creating a dialogue in Blending ideas, twisting sounds, birthing a style from the after-hours jam sessions at Minton’s Playhouse, Harlem/
Extreme virtuosity/ blistering speed/ /dissonant chords/ chordal substitutions – a vocabulary of rebellion/
Offbeat piano action, more action, SUPA DUPA HIGH VOLTAGE, MAN! Scorching tempos mirrored the doped-up lives...the pain... the desperation...of some Bop masters/
Even the beat poets... yeah, they copped the style/ the wicked mix of horn blowin' break-your-freakin'-neck speed, the Bop notes bleeding into their verses/ Jazz poetry on fire/
Did Bop influence Lenny Bruce? while doin’ a A-bomb of Heroin and Marijuana in the back of the room of his late night gig/
Is you black, or is you white?/
That question still under the skin of Jazz America/ still inching, scratching, Racism out of jazz/
Where are the jazz lords of the in-between at?/
What's the jazz world like today? Well, your ride is way clean, man/ got the chrome shinin', the leather gleamin'/ but… your gas tank is on E. (Silence, save for the click of the microphone being switched off)