A danger to my thoughts
An intellectual imprisoned to her roots
Who am I to mingle?
Am I to squeeze the truth?
I am confused and tattered
But even when breaking
I make ends meet
What is it for me to further seek?
Despite of all the truth unfolded
Yet my questions are still tricked to be asked
I have tried drowning myself in distractions
Yet all is fated to be discovered
What were held are bound to dust
I’ve held me and still have not come ashore
Words written are better off than words said
But those unspoken have wrecked me more than it should
I have revealed baggages
And yet here I am still caught in a wordplay
A poetic disgust for those who fathomed
Yet applauded for those who knew lesser pain
I have been asked more than I have answered
Yet my questions remain a riddle
I am perfectly watered plant in a broken pot
Is it another riddle? Have I again made you wonder?
There once was a jerk from Sarasota
Who fondled a nice girl named Dakota
She sued him for cause
To control his paws
To avoid time, he fled in a Toyota.
written July 26, 2021
I happened by a Valentine
on my old way to work
When she would stop and stare at me
for what was just a quirk
When we would live our lives together
for marriage meant to be
When she would say our time together
was just what we could see
Quirk of fate
it was a quirk of fate
that i met my fate
that date
when she walked
of my dreams
into my life
and became my wife
that date
when due to that quirk
of cosmic fate
we met that date
and the rest
well was just
a quirk of fate
writers digest prompt to write a quirk poem
Why do I often get the shopping cart that doesn't work?
I swear, it is like some kind of coincidental quirk!
It is pulling me to the left with force as it moves,
Literally squealing like it has not wheels, but hooves!
I look like a drunk trying to get through the store,
Hurrying just to get a few things and get out the door!
Heidi Sands
12/19/18
I eat my cereal from a coffee mug as I wander 'round the house.
I suppose I could do it in public and not look out of place,
just another morning Joe putting something in his face.
I get stomach satisfaction that coffee sippers enjoy,
but with more nutrition,
and fiber.
Though I miss that coffee smell,
with spoon in hand it's all so grand to have my morning java status,
and gratis,
I'm having breakfast as well.
What unspeakable secrets
he conceals in his mind,
What spiteful thoughts
he sweeps under the rug
of his conscience,
what untenable desires
he breeds in his heart?
No heavens can compare
them in their complexity,
No oceans match their depth,
No erupting volcanoes
can match in their fury
No vicious hurricanes
match their destructive force;
Man, thou art the quirk of nature!
~Brian Strand contest
My Quirk
A thing that bothers me the most,
the quirk that nags at me each day,
my study desktop capped with stuff -
its cluttered surface on display.
Poetry books, card-making drafts,
some poem lines on scribbled notes;
variety of pencils, pens,
and spaces filled with filing totes.
Perhaps an empty coffee cup
and crumbs from lunch or tiny snack.
A cell phone charging, tablet too,
and sheets from folders not put back.
Computer, printer, stacks of poems;
scattered photos, mail not read.
Some bills to pay, and some to file;
this vision messes up my head!
It drives me crazy! But, I smile
and disregard my mind's complaints.
My picture-perfect desktop dream?
Perhaps in heaven with the saints!
Outside my study, rooms are neat;
most things in place and looking fine.
But in this wild space, I create!
My freedom to compose, design!
February 10, 2018
Premiere Contest: Quirks
Sponsor: Madison Demetros
Wherever I would go out to
A workplace or the market
I must put my pen
In the shirt's breast pocket
Mostly a sparkling fountain pen
Though nobody uses them now
I have a collection of at least twenty
None I will part with, everyday I would vow
You are like your grandson
My friends would humorously point out
If someone pretends to take away his toy car
He would refuse angrily and shout
That day at about eleven
I had been to a bank branch for a fixed deposit
Would you mind giving me your pen
Showing the form I asked a friend, just to fill it
All eyebrows rose in surprise
As if I was a creature from a different planet
Never could I surmise, however,
It was because of the golden pen in the pocket
How could I tell them
It was a Parker with no ink in it
A compensatory stratagem
I would frequently repeat
I rushed out of the place
Sweating profusely till I reached home
And sometime later with a gel pen
Got engaged in the poetry syndrome
_________________________________________
February 9, 2018
For the Quirks - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Madison Demetros
Quirk and Jerk
In nature, Trump was found to be quirk;
That to me always proved he was a jerk;
Seemed short-sighted;
Even though knighted;
As President he has even become berserk.
Jim Horn