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
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
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
From the truth

The truth
That eccentric
Are the paths
That all who wander
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
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.
Journey of Days Nov 2017
the faerie is unwell
his shadow drags him
regretting taking him to parties
due to the muttering and monologues
the fashionable goggles he insists on wearing
are dark and distort perception

after rigorous analysis of observations and field notes now conclude that  faeries have personality disorders.
When I am old I will say what I think
And not worry to be thought a clown or a fool.

When I am old I will borrow from youth
As guiltlessly as a child robs the cookie jar.

When I am old I will throw away fashion
And dress myself solely in comfort as I please.

When I am old I will share anger I feel
Instead of letting it take bites out of my soul.

When I am old I will walk away quickly
From those who’s motives I find to be suspect.

When I am old I will sleep in my chair
And have picnics on my bed if I so choose.

When  I am old I will go to the places
That in youth I deemed not appropriate.

When I am old I will will buy stuff that sparkles
Simply because I like shiny things.

When I am old I will sing when I feel it
And not fret that my voice isn’t pretty.

When I am old I will pet everyone’s puppies
And laugh as they lick all over my face.

When I am old I will  stop tearing up like a fool
When parade marching bands with their banners go by.

When I am old I will be sprung from this prison
Referred to as rational adult behavior.

When I am old.

Yes, when I am old.

I can't wait to be an eccentric old lady!
Alan S Bailey Mar 2017
Forgive me...
I have "spoken wrong" again, been unjust with my words
Forgive me...
I have been eccentric, I haven't followed your personal ideals
Forgive me...
I am on a path to the other side, I am drinking
this "poison" down, it will be my own "undoing"
Forgive me...
Somehow these activities have been the grease
which lubricate the "devils wheels"
Forgive me...
I am underneath all "normalcy," I have seen things
that the children "should not ever see"
Forgive me...
There is a path I have tread upon that bares your mark,
I didn't see the mark before hand but "knew better"
Forgive me...
You are the one! You will show me the way, I am yours
to ****** upon all knowledge both right and wrong
Forgive me...
I will always be in your shadow, I am poor but still
I have "spoiled myself" with work that is lesser

~You will never say two simple words,
they are beyond your comprehension~

~You the "mature," "wise" old one with years of
learning and "pure" precision~

~I am always in your debt, you never need me,
I alone make the untrusted decision~

The two words you would never say are simple:

*~I'm Sorry~
Here goes...! Well at least I tried!
Sally A Bayan Feb 2017

Ocean plays,
pokes the shore,
waves' bubbly edges

making love,
sand and rocks,
both subservient...

ocean...fondles shore with
masochistic caresses,
love affair...


Copyright February 7, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Love poem #4
i've never fit the standard
i've always been quite odd
and while i know that makes me different
i'm not necessarily flawed
because it's always for the wrong things
that the world tends to applaud
though i swear it's not intentional
i've never been conventional

my behaviors have no pattern
my colors have no scheme
when i'm asleep i'm thinking
and when i'm awake i dream
while the rest are all so silent
something inside me screams
i'm more than three-dimensional
i've never been conventional

you may find me confusing
you may not like me very well
that's something i understand
i'm a hot pink among pastels
still i think, no i believe
that eccentricities propel
the reason i'm ascensional is
i've never been conventional
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