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Alan S Bailey Jun 14
A million words, a million thoughts,
We've all been here writing till the end of time.
What new ones may have been brought?
It's all I can think of, did something happen?
Am I still original or am I out of line?

"Soon-to-be-victorious" you start the  song,
A dirge of memories past, till the very last.
The rhythm sounds like 'other time folk music,'
Played to an *****-like effect,
I guess you would be able to out-do my
Eccentric best.

Keep playing that well worn traditional back-days song!
You know I was here to **** you down all  along...
So serene but,broken too.

So brave

Yet scared in a way.

Simple but, eccentric

at the same time.

So, what will be 

the quotation of you

being mine.
The Owls are Watching

In memory of Helen Martins
'The Owl House'
Nieu Bethesda, South Africa

In sculpture and rock rested your art
Cement faces that speak volumes
Of emotions and tales untold
As mysterious as your life itself
Glittering walls of crushed glass
That shone by candlelight
Outside of art you were branded
Though remembered as unique and ahead of your time
With big glass eyes the owls watch the world
What was once your sanctuary
Now a showcase to the world
Recognized at last
Unspeakable loneliness of a soul misunderstood
Now your handwritten letters are framed and displayed for all to read
But you don't mind the curiosity of mankind
With cement hands raised to the heavens facing the east
You drank your chosen cup
Your Mecca now complete

Written by Sean Achilleos
28 March 2016©

How this poem came about:

I was a visitor to the Owl House Nieu-Bethesda South Africa in 2015. Approximately, one year later I was inspired to write a poem about the late great Helen Martins. I was intrigued by the eccentricity of this woman.

One evening while in my living room and enjoying a glass of wine, my eye caught the cement owl in my windowsill which I had purchased outside the Owl House from a vendor. I saw its big blue glass eyes glaring at me. At the time I was listening to a Jennifer Ferguson record, and decided to write while the music was playing. Once I had completed the poem I felt exhausted. Then a very strange phenomena occurred, the lights went off for a few seconds and came back on, unlike a power surge. It reoccurred a second time that same evening, and never since. It felt like a supernatural intervention. As far fetched as it may sound, it seemed like Mrs. Martins had personally given her approval of the poem. I then decided to email it to the official Owl House website. I didn't think much would come of it. However, they embraced the poem and were generous enough to display it on their official Website for a number of years under a section titled "A Visitor's Perspective".

https://g.co/kgs/BPyx1U
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
No.
That’s all i need to say to make something stop
Why care for the things that once mattered in the past
When the ones that mattered in the past didn’t come to last
Honestly, it ***** to ****
We live this life with no breaks nor shortcuts
Suicide is simply an illogical solution
Doing so would diminish my own resolution
I’m growing tired and brittle
I may not be old but i’m hollow
No, not to be edgy in any matter
I wouldn’t care if you went and bantar
If you view me having the lack to emotion
Somewhat of a form of entertainment
I wouldn’t blame you
I invite you to do it
Know that I’ll give no reinvigoration
For your own amusement.
Amelia Sapp Dec 2019
you were a rare specimen,

i wanted to catch you with my words,

paralyze you with my gaze,

dissect you with my tongue,

and stuff you with my love,

i wanted to keep you as a trophy,

but you were wild, and i was eccentric.
Anya Dec 2019
Thud-thud-thud thud thud-thud
Me and my silver owl glasses
And the silver car with the broken hood from when I ram ram
Ramed into the light grey garage and the pale
Blue fire hydrant
And now it goes thud-thud-thud
Thud thud-thud
And me and my owl glasses
Squint up at the sky while the car goes thud-thud
Thud thud-thud
And my skin basking in the sun’s glow,
Rudolph’s luck it was only his nose!
And with a little jingle,
Time to take the baked potato out
Bright red and ready to peel,
Leaving behind an ugly little thing,
In her silver owl glasses and thud-thud silver
Car
With the dented hood
This came from a really weird mood.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Him: She looked different, I hadn’t seen her face this bright in a really long time. In that moment she was the moon, the star, a luminous soul that stood before my eyes. She was like confetti, leaving sparkles where she stepped. It wasn’t like the happiness she plastered on her face or the smile that made dimples appear on the ends of her lips. This was different. I could feel the energy. 
Her cheeks swallowed her eyes whole and those hidden teeth behind her lips were exposed. It was just everything about her, how her voice was powerful and high-pitched just like a youngster. The way her pupils dilated and showed all her excitement. The way her soul radiated excitement and joy. It was everything about her, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she laughed. Happiness made her feel like she could do anything. Happiness was more than just beautiful on her. It was luminous and powerful.

Her: This happiness felt ineffable. It was more than just a star lighting up in the dark, it was more than the darkness fading away. It wasn’t the happiness that is supposed to be picture perfect or the commercially perfect of having pearly white teeth. It was the one that my soul roar and bursting away from the confinement. It was the happiness that made adrenaline rush through my veins and neurons spark every cell of mine. It was the happiness that made me not care about what others thought, whether I was too much or over-excited. I was happy, I was more than happy after a very long time. It didn’t matter to me. I felt fierce. I felt like a child. I felt everything beautiful and powerful. I didn’t want to lose it to others words or to anything in this world. I was going to protect it, guard it and hold on to it. I was going to shine and radiate.
Madhav Nov 2018
A long time ago
A time quite known
There was a man
Who was seeking the truth
Who's wish was to understand
The path drawn by the hand
The way of the wandering

He wished
Hence his truth
Stained
Circles he thought
Was what the hand would draw
All wandering quite agreed
But one did not
He was defiant
Back he went
Forth later
Lunacy was inherent
The way he tread
The hand the man doubted
Had but made a mistake
A mistake
Or just a perspective
Shall remain unknown
A circle
Eccentric
Was defined
Two centers
It had
Perplexed our man
Circles he thought
Defined perfection

Had it not been this wanderer
Who chose to defy

Our man
He would have been kept
Away
From the truth

The truth
That eccentric
Are the paths
That all who wander
Follow
Its only the perspective
That defines the lunacy
The eccentricity
The path of the wanderer.

The hand
Could have made a mistake
But who knows
He too might have been
Eccentric
At least a little bit.
The poem is about Kepler's quest to understand planetary orbits, which he thought should be circular. The to and fro movement of mars (also loop the loop motion) didn't fit the hypothesis of circular orbits. In the end he had to abandon his idea of circles to ellipses, which fit the anomalous movement of mars perfectly.
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