Alcatraz was built for this escape,
pass me the bars I’ll break them again.
As I flow the words move off script,
jazz on the lows send ink to my pen.
Rules cannot keep the abstract at bay,
schools teach and breed nonconformity.
Tools are as good as their playground,
mules like the mind demand to be free.
Is a picture worth a thousand words?
Is it the same with a song?
Is it worth a thousand pictures?
Who can deny the powerful images
evoked from Songs of Struggle and Protest –
a forte of common humanity?
A song can paint optimism, commitment, and a desire
for peace, freedom, and the right to live without
…Your Millions, Mister.
A piece of art sings in the minds of thousands.
It shouts injustices to the skies in loud color
and questions Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
in broad strokes.
A government of placid leaders who
Turn, Turn the other cheek and project calm and concern.
Ask your children,
What Did You Learn in School Today?
Lord, save us from ourselves.
From My Muddy Stream all the way
To My Old Brown Earth, I see inspiration and admiration for nature.
I see the waste and cry to the skies, God Bless the Grass!
There is strength, passion, and nonconformity
in picture and in song.
The one should affect us, touch us, stir us,
and fill us, Step By Step.
We must never renounce
the dignity of being...
So that we do not fall
into the hasty,
cunning nonconformity of non-belief...
Let us reach the chimera of dreams,
even leaving visible traces
of our weaknesses...
Let us tread uncertain grounds
with the greatest certainty of the superior,
because we are sublimely graced by it,
towards the final peak of glory...
Let us have faith in the endless struggle,
let us be stoic on the journey,
we have the Lord by our side,
this is what is most valuable,
this is what matters most...!
When I saw her eyes were burnt sienna,
and her lips were purple plaid,
when she said she wasn’t my kid’s teacher,
boy, was I ever sad.
Confusion in all the most obvious places
On her face,
In his words
A collective silence to urge nothing said should leave this room
A mark of intelligence
Missed by a split second of hesitation
Its harder to talk with a drink soaring down your throat
But I can't say it's out of character
And it must suck to see me this way
Avoiding confusion in all the most overlooked places
It's all over their faces
Oh, how the night was slipping away from them
They'll never get that time back
They'll never get that time back
But me, I've already moved on
And I'm ready to trade up in the afterlife
They'll never get that time back
But you'll never improve
with one foot in the present
And the other in the past
Fear prevails for another day
I thought if I waited long enough
I'd eventually find the strength
Is my body getting weaker?
Is my body giving up on me?
I'll never get that time back
But you'll never improve
with one foot in the present
And the other in the past
So fear prevails for another day
But I find hope in the most unexpected of places
And I'll hold onto that
For when my body's giving up on me
Razed you, as the way I would my most hated enemy,
Ruined by my intended selection of words, with a consistent nonconformity.
Confusion continues to discombobulate, dominate, and eradicate a clear awareness consciousness,
Buried below the intellectual, to a place that refuses to be blessed, were there is only stress.
Imprecated thru and thru, over and over again, your suffering is of your own deserving,
Weak mind this is karma and it is a full serving.
Callous and cold, hollow and unemotional, calculated and diabolical,
Vengeance is now upon you, merciless and radical.
I only believe in what changes
keeping good quality
even the profound change
must keep this truth in itself
Change for the sake of changing is instance
of nonconformity, and confusion
litmus proof of little substance
devoid wisdom without solution
Change is life's mister
Inexorable law of living
evolve with faith and essence
the truth of life to realize
evolve here and in the afterlife
and in the post death it will still be..!
Our story is wild style graffiti
’We fell in love then we fell in love again.’
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity;
We could write legal but chose illegally,
bombed the building with expression;
Our story is wild style graffiti;
Inspired by Love’s rebellious personality
etched a passionate confession;
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity;
Fairytale of daredevils painted artfully
a legend spoken of now and then;
Our story is wild style graffiti;
Writers personify nonconformity
relishing a dangerous artistic break in
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity;
Masterpiece matching soulmates intensity
may have our tag on a spot up in Heaven;
Our story is wild style graffiti
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity.
Disordered sheets
denounce storms of emotions,
draw loving pictures...
Or simply mental agitation,
insomnia...
However,
always a poem sprouts...
Can of love be agreed,
an eureka elucubration,
a simply inducer
for the nonconformity of
a poet...!
What I miss day and night,
is the nonconformity to realize
that we don't know anything...
Hence, this terrible emptiness
in the soul ...
This hole in the solar plexus...
An incurable disease in this world
that we call, anguish... !
Her restraint ne'er beholden to a closed entity,
but to turn the key that unlocks the shackles
that hinder one’s poetic pen, utmost words
to cascade into the annals of history,
Bard to reveal decadency of a mind from
ravelled stifled panoramic views.
A script of nonconformity that dwells deep within
one’s consciousness, battles with the hostilities of
an academics re-eduction of the tyrant’s expressive
enzyme, that breaks down the very essence of freedom.
A need to call upon the phoenix of ancient times, and
from the flame of one’s liberality penetrate the
barriers of one man’s mindset, only when birthed
within and lived it, can the truth of understanding
be apparent to those that reside outside the bubble
of totalitarianism's ambiguity.
entered Mark Toney's 2022 Marathon poetry Contest
Mile 18 27/10/2022
Poem written 2021
in the name of living art
pushing the limits risking it all
i put myself out teetering on every ledge
i stand where everyone can see
my nakedness flaunted as body art
i dare to expose my vulnerability
my passion lusts boldly for innovation
an unbridled vision steers my powerhouse
flashing artistic flair of feral imagination
hardcore inspiration with no map or guide
driven by the spontaneity of it all
never sure what outcome to expect
living on the edge of nonconformity
concepts blasting boredom out of existence
an animal survival instinct is what drives me
my art is a living organism
i’m radical no matter what the cost
i don’t care for labels but
at my core i have the heart
of a bona fide performance artist
AP: 2nd place 2020
The nonconformists decided to band.
And form a friendship club in a new land.
A new land could not be found anywhere.
Plus crazy disagreements were everywhere.
Intense yelling ensued and fighting broke out.
Nonconformity was rampant, and all about.
I did not think it would work a ringleader said.
For if anyone said green, I would have to say red.
A club was always a dumb idea, said another.
I can’t even get along with my own stupid brother.
I can’t believe I ever agreed, said a third.
Knowing I have to always have the last word.
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
On the Road with Kerouac
Brilliant stars, silent nights
Fireflies, Northern Lights
Mountain streams, fresh air
Fall asleep anywhere
Small town, take a chance
Pig roast, barn dance
Allemande left! Do-si-do!
Spontaneity here we go!
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
On the Road with Kerouac
Beat Zen's hey-day
Doing things our own way
Nonconformity, anything goes
Kerouac-Ginsburg-Burroughs
Shot to pieces, picking skin
Benzedrine, adrenaline
Don't forget the Phenergan
Notify our next of kin
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
On the Road with Kerouac
I’m a secret watcher of Dr. Who, but now you know, and his tardis is bigger on the inside as the cult following knows. So much philosophy, such as we look much smaller on the outside. It is as if “The Doctor” lives inside his brain as do us poets always imagining something greater...something bigger. And yet we can also reduce something to its smallest component and expound it. We look at a seed, climb inside its shell and see the universe. We keep walking in and out of our world, amazed at its nonconformity to our idea of reality. We see a box, color it blue...just blue the teacher says as she points with a ruler and slams down hard on your knuckles. Persnickety self says “black and blue.” The teacher points “out” and you gladly climb back into your roomy cocoon. A butterfly emerges with Queen Alexandra wings that land on the teachers hair, taunting her, beating her at her game of “inside the lines.”
11/5/2018
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.