Long Uniqueness Poems
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God never said.
"And let their be technology to rule
the world."
Technology has no commandments.
It's a selfish piece of trash.
it's meant to separate you from friends
and family.
With bleeps, jokes and pictures
To replace their loving presence.
There is no love in an iPad..
So, who is behind all this?
He, the one,who wants to overthrow God
And take his place.
He who wants you to believe you
can live anyway you choose.
There is no morality, just pleasure.
There is no uniqueness, no human
treasure
He who laughs at goodness but honors
evil
So that ......the Spriit within us
Is choked, silenced and never seen.
5/10/2019
11:45am PST
In the twilight of thought, where shadows of reason linger,
I find myself floating in an ocean of consciousness,
A man, a whisper against the turbulent waves of culture,
Each wave a metaphor, each ripple a memory of forgotten understandings.
Culture, they say, is a tapestry woven from the threads of individuals,
Each unique response to nature, a stitch in the grand design,
Yet, here we stand, eight billion souls, each desperate for a spotlight,
A grotesque dance of egos, hungry for the nectar of recognition,
Endlessly fighting to be seen, to be heard, in some extraordinary way,
Separate from the collective, yet somehow deeper.
But isn't culture the echo of individual voices harmonized by time?
A symphony born from the whispers of countless souls,
Each note a response to the world, a reflection of place and spirit,
And yet, now, the melody is fractured, a cacophony of dissonance,
As we abandon the chorus for the solo, the community for the individual.
In this melancholic reverie, I see the grotesque unfolding,
A society sickened by its own desire for distinction,
Where the celebration of culture is overshadowed by the pursuit of uniqueness,
Where the importance of the collective is denigrated to the point of despair.
Oh, how we need to find our way back to the dance of unity,
To celebrate the culture that shapes us, the heritage that defines us,
For in the embrace of the collective, we find our true self,
Not in the futile quest to be different, but in the harmonious blend of many.
There is no health in being well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society,
A society that has forgotten the beauty of its own tapestry,
Lost in the obsession with the individual thread,
And yet, in this flow of consciousness, I see a path,
A way to weave ourselves back into the fabric of humanity,
To stray from the norm, to challenge the grotesque,
And thus, to find a leap towards a brighter, more united future.
In this twilight of thought, let us find the dawn,
Where the shadows of reason yield to the light of unity,
And the ocean of consciousness becomes a river of collective spirit,
Flowing towards a horizon of hope, where culture and individual
Are not in conflict, but beautifully intertwined,
A testament to the magic of our shared existence.
She sat unnoticed in the corner,
Strumming her guitar with quiet fervor.
Her name was called, and like a spark,
She ran toward us, youthful and stark.
Her hair, untamed, yet free with flair,
A boyish shirt and casual air.
Slimmed face, petite, with Asian eyes,
A modest flower beneath open skies.
Like a seed, her presence grew with time,
February passed, an ordinary climb.
She stood among us, shared her part,
Stories flowing, heart to heart.
I came to know her as my sister small,
And I, her brother, guiding through it all.
I was the director; she played her role,
But now I’m the bee, and she’s my soul.
At first, I sought another bloom,
But her uniqueness brightened the room.
I confessed, though her petals cried,
A fragile beauty she could not hide.
Love, like a plant, grew strong within,
By August, the waiting would begin.
She sat with me in a cozy café,
Sipped her drink, her shyness in display.
Why her, of all the flowers near?
Her charm so simple, her essence clear.
She loves purple, a playful hue,
And in her simplicity, I found my truth.
This poem is but an introduction,
A love story born of pure affection.
Each passing day, my heart proclaims,
Her beauty, her spirit, etched in my veins.
A name engraved, a melody to enjoy,
Three letters long—my heart’s Joy.
Purple and simple, yet endlessly rare,
Forever my love, beyond compare.
There are tons of things in the world that really matter.
And then, there are those that make you say, "Who cares?"
I was awakened this morning thinking about the word, 'WANT'.
If one broke down the word WANT, what would it look like?
If one saw the make-up of each letter, what would one see?
Does anyone even care about the individual parts of a word?
Oh, pardon me, my name is Triviality, and people call me Trivia.
Anyway, I was thinking about the four-lettered word, WANT.
I saw two 'Vs' that form the 'W' and two lines that made the 'T'.
The low-capped 't' has a vertical line that is curbed at the end.
The infamous 't' has a much shorter horizontal line crossing
the curbed vertical line just below the top to form a cross. It's
not that I don't have better things to do., but Trevia is my name.
I know. If this thought never crossed my mind, who would even care?
On a side note, the one lone vowel 'a', lives among three consonants.
But hold on; I'm almost finished. There are two crucial letters to go.
Did I tell you that my name was Triviality, and people call me Trivia?
Anyway, to me, the 'a' and the 'n' in caps have a uniqueness about them.
They are quietly sandwiched between the 'w' and the 't' to complete the very desirable word, WANT. The 'a' in caps is an upside down 'V', bridged just above the bottom by a horizontal line. The 'n' in caps is created with two leaning 'Vs', like identical twins, one up and one down. It's not that I WANT to spend my time like this, but what can I say? They call me Trivia.
062522PSCtest, Premiere Poetry Contest, Brain Strand
God saves you
Do you know that?
He does it every day
Saving you from stupid mistakes
Alerting you from danger
And sometimes practically jumped in and got you out
Do you ever take note
Sitting down and write all the things he had done for you?
He did my friend
Done all that
And is doing
Why?
Because He loves you
He is saving you from yourself
From the pit of hell
From tragedies and calamities
From unwanted situations
From awful scenarios
Are you going to let Him?
He won’t do it
If you haven’t let Him
Let your heart be contrite
Soft
And yielded
And turn everything over to Him
He will take that
And make a beautiful garden
Full of personal attention
Care
Grooming
Harmony
Gorgeous things
Full of His Breath
Full of uniqueness
Full of Life
Which is better or bitter without been in cool paints?
What will remembrance be like if there is no alphabets?
To memorise all thoughts would be very silly of sages
Or something else like the divinely blessed earth revelatory saints
What more would be the perfect ever glowing safe diskettes?
Enclosed tightly in a well framed document of many pages
Power to the deaf and relief to all who stammer
Its awesomeness has learned students unique ability to create writes
Of different kinds figured historical building the classes
Which keeps redirecting and reshaping human as it continuously hammer
On all ears the need to respect one another's rights
Its effects remain despite how soon each new generation passes
Thanks to the awesome 18 consonants that romance the vowels
What more diamonds are; digged deep all out from heart
Absorbing all the beautiful thoughts of minds like dry towels
And restructure its uniqueness into a pleasant and lovely art
~ Bygone beauty - the spark still pulsates ~
- quote by poet
Antique and retro
junk or culture?
I bought it
way too expensive at auction
Aging and rusty
Useless
you're probably thinking
A rustic lantern
from the time when kerosene lamps
was the best one had
Timeless design with
soul, charm and uniqueness
Brush and rub
Of sentimental virtues
the need for mercy,
nursing and care
in the hands of love
The beauty is temporarily hidden
will soon regain its former glory
The history of the lamp,
- the unvarnished truth
Brush and rub
03.04.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- 'R' Words - Poetry Contest -
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
The Present Juneteenth & The 4th...
Beginning with the celebration
Of our Juneteenth,
We prepare a new perspective
For the 4th of July:-
Though this nation now stands stalled
On the brink,
That she is also our nation too, there
Can be no lie!
What a uniqueness her oppressed people
Now share?
Two juxtapose emancipation celebrations
Back-to-back
Going from these times, only the future knows
To where:-
Oh what an interesting time it is for those of us
Born black—
And indigenous ones contemplating it all in utter
Amazement!
As for us, our eyes on the prize focus must remain
In the present;
No more standing around in a whine:- It’s celebration
Time!
P.S.: Remember this, my Lady and Sir:-
Indeed, “…We may not be
where we want to be;
we may not be
where we ought to be;
we may not be
where we gonna be;
but praise God! We ain’t
where we once were!”
In a world where norms reside,
Where rules and patterns coincide,
What is normal, pray, define,
For this tangled web, this grand design?
Normal, they say, is like the breeze,
A subtle whisper in the trees,
Blending in with nature's song,
Yet unique in every throng.
Normal is the sun's golden ray,
Warming hearts throughout the day,
Embracing all with gentle light,
Illuminating dreams in flight.
Normal, like the rhythm of the rain,
Falling softly, washing away the pain,
Each droplet dances in harmony,
Creating symphonies of serenity.
Normal is the laughter of a child,
Pure and innocent, running wild,
Unbound by worldly judgments keen,
Embracing love with eyes so keen.
Normal, they claim, is conformity's call,
To fit the mold, to stand tall,
But isn't normal a kaleidoscope,
Of varied hues, a tapestry of hope?
Normal is the courage to be true,
To honor what makes you uniquely you,
To break the chains, unleash the soul,
And embrace the extraordinary role.
Normal is a mosaic of diversity,
A celebration of human complexity,
Where differences bloom, hand in hand,
Creating a vibrant, united land.
So, let us redefine what's normal, dear,
Let it be acceptance, devoid of fear,
A tapestry woven with threads so bright,
Embracing uniqueness in radiant light.
For Ogunyinka Damola Ebenezer 2nd Year Remembrance
Of Illness of a Damola
Of Death to an Ebenezer
Of Disappearance of a Linguist
Of Eternal Ascension of a Living soul
To the great stage above the beyond
Bred in a clergy clad family
Of no one but the Ogunyinkas
With the last born baton in his hands
Exhumed from the city of "Iseyin"
A man of a baritone voice in
The wilderness of a choir
We toiled and laboured endlessly
With our eyes very heavy of TDB
The core to which you keep vigil
Became helpless and hapless
Only on your back exit from the stage
It all re-echoes nothing but something
In a Play titled Vanity of Life
For two moons rememberance we gathered
Not to mourn or weep today but to
Extol the uniqueness in him
That liveth still in our heart
For he it is indeed a rare breed
A scroll whose rarity brings out veracity
To three scores in November we shall
Continually gather every moon
To look Death straight in the face
And breath in fulfilment for a great work left behind
For we shall all come to join you in
The stage above the beyond
Promising to positively impact our society
Like you did in your sojourn on stage
Adieu.
Alayande Stephen.T
28th of November,2005
11.30am
For and on behalf of Dammy's Core in the
Deparment of Linguistics and African Languages,
University of Ibadan.2003/2004 Set.
Form: