"idiosyncracy" poems - Hello Poetry

building purist æsthetic proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry commemorating historic concert sensing dark forces fokken lekker antwoord pumping sensory overload featuring high-tech dee-jay admiring gelato micro-truck laxing laying lazing "doing something nasty" continuing quality content entering another cathedral journeying without borders "exactly one year since visiting vatican" appreciating full-time gigasphere awaiting pyongyang performance depicting unlikely crowdsurfer foreseeing exponential improvements furthering esoteric agenda sensing profound incompatibility data-mining people's infidelities anticipating futuristic caffeine perfecting invisible propaganda researching mind-control techniques polishing psycho-social weaponry sensing social embargo flourishing frantic fanfare admiring longitudinal monument parodying marketing slogans cycling through österreich eyeing dystopian disneyland streaming crosswords extended-play herding glass kittens deleting idiosyncratic fragment loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth receiving ultramodern telegram eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? guzzling duck-fat fries encouraging panic selling (juxtaposing past incarnations) getting black-and-white privilege renewing boutique account relishing cinema poutine re-entering hibernation mode opening old windows continuing zoo motif absquatulating excessive excesses nullifying originality claims proliferating protean persona disappearing sidewalk alphabet shrugging opprobrious moments enjoying vertical alignment re-entering cyberpunk paradise approaching island sun soaring beyond monoliths trivializing extraneous argy-bargy decreasing character limits dumping generic accounts uglifying commit message escaping into idiosyncracy moonshining great lake exuding idiosyncratic propaganda living nineties' dreams making occidental cuisine envisioning idiocratic president expropriating your time ascending homely helix singing fat lady

0

Sep 12, 2015

Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC

jonchius

201508-h2

building purist æsthetic proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry commemorating historic concert sensing dark forces fokken lekker antwoord pumping sensory overload featuring high-tech dee-jay admiring gelato micro-truck laxing laying lazing "doing something nasty" continuing quality content entering another cathedral journeying without borders "exactly one year since visiting vatican" appreciating full-time gigasphere awaiting pyongyang performance depicting unlikely crowdsurfer foreseeing exponential improvements furthering esoteric agenda sensing profound incompatibility data-mining people's infidelities anticipating futuristic caffeine perfecting invisible propaganda researching mind-control techniques polishing psycho-social weaponry sensing social embargo flourishing frantic fanfare admiring longitudinal monument parodying marketing slogans cycling through österreich eyeing dystopian disneyland streaming crosswords extended-play herding glass kittens deleting idiosyncratic fragment loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth receiving ultramodern telegram eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? guzzling duck-fat fries encouraging panic selling (juxtaposing past incarnations) getting black-and-white privilege renewing boutique account relishing cinema poutine re-entering hibernation mode opening old windows continuing zoo motif absquatulating excessive excesses nullifying originality claims proliferating protean persona disappearing sidewalk alphabet shrugging opprobrious moments enjoying vertical alignment re-entering cyberpunk paradise approaching island sun soaring beyond monoliths trivializing extraneous argy-bargy decreasing character limits dumping generic accounts uglifying commit message escaping into idiosyncracy moonshining great lake exuding idiosyncratic propaganda living nineties' dreams making occidental cuisine envisioning idiocratic president expropriating your time ascending homely helix singing fat lady

69

Every artist has his own stroke, creates his own distinctive masterpiece. he realises, art is subjective and is incomparable. he knows every writer has his own collection of words that personify transcendence. There are uncanny strokes of paint brushes; drops of ink that transudate out on pieces of parchment; he understands. But then again when it comes down to him, the voice within his head that is clubbed along with introvert in him, the constant thought to remain an incognito and the feeling that throws him into a chasm of loneliness, makes him tally himself against the odds and deadpan.

0

Jul 16, 2016

Jul 16, 2016 at 4:11 AM UTC

blackilfs

idiosyncracy

Every artist has his own stroke, creates his own distinctive masterpiece. he realises, art is subjective and is incomparable. he knows every writer has his own collection of words that personify transcendence. There are uncanny strokes of paint brushes; drops of ink that transudate out on pieces of parchment; he understands. But then again when it comes down to him, the voice within his head that is clubbed along with introvert in him, the constant thought to remain an incognito and the feeling that throws him into a chasm of loneliness, makes him tally himself against the odds and deadpan.

2

Yesterday, there was a cloud and the cloud was turning Today there were more, and the ounce kept burning Some bar in Hamburg and dreams of punching Atatürk The sister wasn't **** no paper, seven X's It wasn't a good time, it was a shoddy paper bar The redneck ************ was the one who turned a star But oh no An axolotl with the body of a flying serpent This is urgent, a full body of the color verdant Learning the choreography of a murderer of burdens The static and manic idiosyncracy of skin men The bodies of three legends accounted to ten But there was no reception or action back then But who knows? The calling of a tender serving drinks to no end Many friends to attend to and mend the hearts There were children who drank like worrywarts And the shortened query of lines was eerie Peering, they're steering like he was hearing Some sudden tale of questionable origins in there The fact that it's all the same **** with no name Makes it the same old hat, the same old game A dream of millenia ago when there was no fame The only person booing was some swollen lame But it's life and life is strange How do you change the way you change the way you feel Rotted brains that don't feel no feel, they steal But time heals, so time equals no wounds and that's why Why they wish to live forever on a never-ending ****** But then comes Life-ender, the scythe, ember, mender And it's all over, no one's sober on this Rolls Royce Range Rover, said Herbert Hoover the awful goober And now it's all **** and there stood the stooge A fool made of reed and a tool made of keys But what for were keys when there's no doors in need No trusty steed to ask for the **** or mead Who knew that life would be so hard indeed It's that two story fall that doesn't **** It made them fall ill and lie still for a fill Of this endless bucket made of Kengo's will There was a silhuetto of a rusted stilleto It was well kept like Velcro in a safe or the pocket Of the dog from Kesto, that ******* he pictured it Some poor animal and made it sit on the cover forever That made it sever from reality and come back never But that's a tale for another lever to pull Or the fool with another drink in their hands And a bit of food, delightfully canned or a machine That was manned by a man who was made of sand All there's left is a question I've always had What if I was the cloud, and the cloud was dead?

0

Feb 17, 2018

Feb 17, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC

oculiquetzal

Untitled

Yesterday, there was a cloud and the cloud was turning Today there were more, and the ounce kept burning Some bar in Hamburg and dreams of punching Atatürk The sister wasn't **** no paper, seven X's It wasn't a good time, it was a shoddy paper bar The redneck ************ was the one who turned a star But oh no An axolotl with the body of a flying serpent This is urgent, a full body of the color verdant Learning the choreography of a murderer of burdens The static and manic idiosyncracy of skin men The bodies of three legends accounted to ten But there was no reception or action back then But who knows? The calling of a tender serving drinks to no end Many friends to attend to and mend the hearts There were children who drank like worrywarts And the shortened query of lines was eerie Peering, they're steering like he was hearing Some sudden tale of questionable origins in there The fact that it's all the same **** with no name Makes it the same old hat, the same old game A dream of millenia ago when there was no fame The only person booing was some swollen lame But it's life and life is strange How do you change the way you change the way you feel Rotted brains that don't feel no feel, they steal But time heals, so time equals no wounds and that's why Why they wish to live forever on a never-ending ****** But then comes Life-ender, the scythe, ember, mender And it's all over, no one's sober on this Rolls Royce Range Rover, said Herbert Hoover the awful goober And now it's all **** and there stood the stooge A fool made of reed and a tool made of keys But what for were keys when there's no doors in need No trusty steed to ask for the **** or mead Who knew that life would be so hard indeed It's that two story fall that doesn't **** It made them fall ill and lie still for a fill Of this endless bucket made of Kengo's will There was a silhuetto of a rusted stilleto It was well kept like Velcro in a safe or the pocket Of the dog from Kesto, that ******* he pictured it Some poor animal and made it sit on the cover forever That made it sever from reality and come back never But that's a tale for another lever to pull Or the fool with another drink in their hands And a bit of food, delightfully canned or a machine That was manned by a man who was made of sand All there's left is a question I've always had What if I was the cloud, and the cloud was dead?

51

There are simple parts of me That long for you to be here and see Look at this pain etched on heart of filigree Of which only you could have been the trustee Waiting for a love in the great beyond where you hold the master key A passion of which you and I hold an honarory degree Because I love you, so honest and true, every single idiosyncracy But I'll be waiting an eternity If I believed that you and I can become three Because that, my dear was never meant to be It breaks my heart that this was your decree And so I must now set you free

0

Jun 25, 2017

Jun 25, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC

haleema

Idiosyncracy

There are simple parts of me That long for you to be here and see Look at this pain etched on heart of filigree Of which only you could have been the trustee Waiting for a love in the great beyond where you hold the master key A passion of which you and I hold an honarory degree Because I love you, so honest and true, every single idiosyncracy But I'll be waiting an eternity If I believed that you and I can become three Because that, my dear was never meant to be It breaks my heart that this was your decree And so I must now set you free

12