Long Peculiarities Poems
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Everybody knows the spot of the nose
It sits facing lighthouses, look up
Some guide ships, and stays lit
While the nose sniffs everything.
Have you seen anatomical perfection
On someone you know
Good spine, great waistline.
Looking downstairs
Nothing there, seem out of place
Some nose have wooed, wine and dine
Foreigners, even stars.
Never mind few nose have peculiarities
All else is fair
Or handsome, as with English dandy.
To add to the joy of the nose
Give it a job
Then again, the nose have been boss
Regardless of its class
Thank God, credentials rule.
If I could change something of my making
Lord knows, it would first be my nose
But the great aunt once said it suits my face
You decide. I'm on facebook, and poetry soup page.
Have you seen certain nose from around the globe?
Some will look you up and down
While others soon learn to look heaven bound.
*
The Old Man Mistakes His Home
my eyes espy
follow the old man
as he makes his way
into the Taco Bell
my interest wanes of Tacos
piques at the old man's peculiarities
or is mine in question, too?
it's early morning
worms have risen
on a fisherman's hook somewhere
near ...
traffic and pedestrians a blur
but i see the old man sharp
... sharp as a cookie fallen
he hesitates at the front doorway
and looks at the keys in his hands
blinking, focusing on which key goes where
undoubtedly his mind playing tricks on him
he does the unthinkable
he puts his house key
into the Taco Bell key slot
panics
turns his phantom key
as if opening his house door lock
then turns five shades of red
making a beet proud
... then realizing where he's at
he looks around
he sees me watching
I tried looking away
but I have no facade
only puzzlement
and analytical tendencies
... to the old man's credit
he enters the restaurant
places his order, albeit shaken
two coffees, two breakfast burritos
I watched with bated breath
I empathize with the old man's plight
... yet in my mind's eye I think
Is this me down the road?
I hope not, yet there are signs
...huh? huh?
my hearing has become worse with age,
especially within the last year
connie pachecho
4/12/17
Self analysis
& motive
imultiple functions
erupt
tradition
chiselled
in reality
distorted
by self perception
folds of skin
furrowed brows
surround
the anatomy of eyes
indentations &
peculiarities
crystallised forever
by self-awareness
in the existential
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand |
Written: August 05, 2023
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I alone agnize myself, a soul set free,
In the depths of my being, I truly foresee,
Asking for aid shows self-respect and awareness,
Strength in vulnerability is a testament to fairness.
Changing my opinion is not a sign of defeat
But a strength, a willingness to grow and meet,
My proven ability backs each choice I partake.
With confidence and conviction, no room for mistake.
I encourage others, as I do myself,
To embrace their dreams, to seek and delve,
For You can ask for what you wish and need,
For in unity and support, we shall succeed.
Allow me, oh world, to feel awe-inspiring,
To explore and soar, life's beauty aspiring,
My life can balance leisure and exertion,
In harmony and rhythm, an idyllic fusion.
Others support me because I'm whole,
A soul set free, a beacon of soul,
I alone cognize myself, my true essence,
And in that knowledge, I find my presence.
So let us all embrace our inner strength,
And show the world our true extent,
For in self-respect and awareness,
We can achieve greatness, beyond compare.
I alone agnize myself, my deepest desires,
And with each step, I bear passion inspires,
In the journey of self-discovery,
Lies are the key to unlocking our true identity.
Your foibles,
the characteristically odd ways
of your individual life appearance,
its mannerisms
your behavioral peculiarities,
and picadilloes,
will all fall away by and by.
What eventually will be left
is this alien species that bears your name.
You have died a thousand times already,
every feature of your character
has been replaced or modified
many times.
Your physicality
rinsed and recycled through
an ever-turning time machine.
Even now, the way you walk, and talk
is at the mercy and behest of a universal tide
and its shifting dunes.
The dead confirm the dead,
what never lived must pass away,
it was all a game of death
that soon will lead to the everlasting,
but not yet,
all is a work in progress,
until then
the Universe of All That Is
experiences itself as
you,
you playing hide and seek
with what you truly are.
BEYOND CONSCIOUSNESS
a clustered
dlsplay
simultaneously
longstanding
theme
partially
subjective
anatomy
embellished
resplendent
in
purity
flamboyant
meticulous
appealing
pastime
in
an
ostentatious
interplay
exemplified
illuminated
& irresistible
solated
offset
patterned
cryptic
ouevres
evoking
exhilaration
relaxing
seemingly
constructive
a talisman
replica
with
peculiarities
progressive
enigmatic
astonishingly
amassed
wielding
glimmering
in
a true
conversation
piece
Inside-Out with all the psycho-babble.
Multifaceted melange - merry and melancholy.
My pen’s prophetic,
authentic,
inadequate.
Hazel eyes that ponder divinity:
See the world.
See God through the world.
See the people.
Empathize with earthly beings.
Fall to my knees.
Seek inspiration.
Grab it with gusto.
Don’t wait for the brain to catch up.
I observe the peculiarities in my familiar space.
I often hide behind the blinds.
Occasions, work, and friends -
push me out into the serendipitous sun and clouds.
Clench books on dusty shelves.
Throw them into a shopping cart -
they’re all free.
Attempt to organize floaters -
those iotas, that crystallize,
to form a complete thought.
Exhaustive concordance of my travels -
violets, forget-me-knots, tulips,
and fear and sorrow
The viscous web of grandiose heights -
zip lines, edge of mountains, glacier treks.
Falling...falling back on my knees.
Confident? Conceited?
A poet - that’s me.
And ideas materialize -
with family and strangers,
life and death.
The affectation of emotion, pondered.
Like a journalist, I report roller-coaster happenings.
You see, I used to merely have an emotion,
get comfortable in its chair.
Now I play with it,
craft my joy or despair.
The mirror cracks -
my reflection
as I grow wizened,
with a chromatic symphony
of mystique.
...or It's good to be the king!
What was't made King Cole
Such a merry old soul
As he sucked on his pipe,
And he supped from his bowl,
And he fiddled around
With three young court musicians?
And what was the role
Of his missus, Queen Cole?
Was she under a table
With a lad from the stable
Who was told he'd be able
To upgrade his position?
These royal highnesses
Were not known for their shynesses,
But more for their quaint peculiarities.
The queen drank from a chalice
That was shaped like a phallus,
While he labored away
Doing king things all day
In a black lace brassière
And a pink negligée.
But their subjects adored
Such eccentric vulgarities.
Now, getting back to the king,
That sweet silly old thing,
Here's how his story played out.
He had good years aplenty,
Then at three score and twenty,
He finally retired
And expired of the gout.
Turn around! Turn around!
In perpetual spin memories abound.
One gown, long to the ground.
Antique white - quite profound.
A mother’s right to sow seeds.
A holy Father’s to yank weeds.
Snowbound virginal waist.
No legs, the hem was chaste.
Turn around! Turn around!
In perpetual spin memories abound.
Took the dress out for a formal spin.
Line dances would break her in.
Innocence with natural beige and blush.
Looks like a bride; there is no rush.
A mother’s right to sow seeds.
A holy Father’s to yank weeds.
Thrice used for the thrifty -
sceptical mightn’t find nifty.
One gown, long to the ground.
Antique white - quite profound.
She, the dress, looks like a bride -
the prom goer would confide.
Turn around! Turn around!
In perpetual spin memories abound.
The cake topper would be baby’s breath.
A mother would provide before its death.
The death of the gown buried in drawer,
found and tried on at least once more.
In secret, her daughter found and dressed.
Who knows if she was impressed -
however looking forward, she’d pick out
her very own ankle-covered knockout.
One gown, long to the ground.
Antique white - quite profound.
Only today, I discovered similarities -
a mother’s and daughter’s peculiarities.
Turn around! Turn around!
In perpetual spin memories abound.
5/17/2023
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.