"oddity" poems
i.
Queen O' queen, this is thy king
Queen O' queen, this is thy king;
Put thine amulet, around thy neck-
For me.
ii.
Queen O' queen, this is thy king(10,9,8,7,6)
Upon saturns ring's, a beloved dream; (5,4,3)
Taketh mine hand, glideth the moon's with me. ( 2,1,liftoff)
iii.
This is thine king mine dearest queen
Thou hath taken me far away,
To the places only known
By saint's and those whom pray.
This is thy king mine dearest Queen
Erelong love, tis thine hope I cling;
And I'm higher in the most
Ravishing way. Erelong dove,
We'll maketh love in a holy way.
iv.
For here, am I dancing on the cosmos,
Beyond angelic tunes,
Thine eye's of cocoa tides,
Blend's inside me
As I rise.
v.
Though we've passed the universal edge
I'm peaceful in thine presence
Alive or dead; I feeleth the dark matter-
Bubble around in mine head, as Nirvana's
In ourn sight's, Zion's breath.
Queen O' queen, looketh ahead
The stream's; their flowing as
Milk and honey tree's
Touch ourn feet,
A tranquil homestead.
vi.
For here, am I dancing on the cosmos,
Beyond angelic tunes,
Thine eye's of cocoa tides,
Blend's inside me
As I rise.......
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley(Filipino rose) dedicated
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
I was flabbergasted when given the chance
To join the renowned Roscoe's Oddity Of Circus
With no actual talent to speak of
I was pretty much dead in the water worthless
But Roscoe in all of his wisdom
Put me in charge of the Bubble machine
Low and behold people
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I started out with simple patterns
Blowing one treasure at a time
As things progressed rather quickly
I soon had Bubbles dancing in Mumba lines
There wasn't a Bubble imagined
In which I could not achieve
But like I said at the very start
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I even perfected what I like to call
The "Fantabulious Bubbles De jour"
In the Bubble circles in which I blow
I've become quite the Bubble Lore
My Bubble forte soon became
Floating Bubbles of Super Stars
*I'm not one to "POP" Bubble names*
Suffice it to say you know who they are
These days you don't have to go to the Circus
If you'd like my talent to see
I'm the one who does those Bubbles with the tiny words
In the Sunday comics you read
Why I've even been to the U.N.
Where the "Big Cheese" was highly pleased
The way I blew name tags and place mats
For all the visiting Dignitaries
But my favorite pastime after all these years
Even with all the fortune and fame I've found
Is relaxing with my Circus buddies
And blowing Bubbles of "Bubbles the Clown"
Just think when I joined the Circus
I had no talent in which to show
Who knew all it was that I needed
Was one good bubble to blow
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
Spurs in a grass hill
wind blowing up your skirt
honey and money
sweet and selfish
i like you touching my body
and i like touching yours
love oddity bright city
and glistening sun gilded skin
i need my fishing rod
when im around you
need the compliments that i might
complete your outfit by the end of night
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
It’s bad enough I’m just known as
that squiggly piece of the alphabet
but what’s worse are the jokes of
Why the long face Kevin?
Those are the times when I wish
I could give as good as I get
it's not as bad as facing the guys
with bloated stomach and ***
and have the amoebas ribbing me
incessantly
****** single celled creatures**
They have an idea, but they can’t guess
Poseidon take you Janet!
for leaving me in such a mess!
You take all of me without leaving
just a single ounce of pleasure
and I’m left birthing
your demon spawn
You were just a mistress Seahorse
in disguise weren’t you?
I’m no longer an oddity
now I’m something less
*Seahorse blues
a male in distress*
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
Your love begs the release of this immunity.
You see,despite my growing ******
I remain an oddity.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
I think that I shall never see
A thing as odd as eight baby
Eight baby from a single mother
Makes me roll my eyes- oh brother
Oh sister oh brother oh sister oh yeah
Mother looked like a Guernsey cow
Is there milk enough- I don't see how?
Eight colic'd infants wailing in the night-
Draw back, draw back- go fly a kite
Eight fitful babies screaming in duress-
Moved far away left no forwarding address
Eight poopy babies dragging two pound diapers
Went to the car wash and used the windshield wipers
Eight teething babies wrangling on the bed-
Picked up a gun and blew off her head.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC
I remember the days when
a broken glass was just a broken glass,
a poem was just a poem,
a wrist was just a wrist —
and not a headstone for
sunlights, melting;
flowers, wilting;
mirrors, breaking.
Now, it shows half summer smiles,
half dead and sunken cheeks —
an oddity that is Persephone, unhinged
and descending into darkness
and maybe one day,
I'll feel the haunted murmurs beneath my feet
and not in my head —
not in the poems
I cannot write again,
Now, the mirror shows
my aching — it shows my waiting
for death to show up at the doorstep
as though it was an estranged husband
finally coming home.
Slip your grief into Demeter's hands —
lithe. Graceful, and drenched in sunlight.
I remember back when this was an abduction
and not a quiet, slow dance with death.
Slip your sighs, carefully now,
into Demeter's forsaken hands —
I remember how breaths
ended in mine.
// "Maybe Persephone chased her death."
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
"Move" they say
and put martingale on with a neigh
Thai pony in Chiang Mai
A green patch of grass
was what your heart desires
would yourself like a chew of truss?
In the forest with no name
on hard concrete without an aim
swimming with the tuk-tuk wave
"Where am I?"
you ask with side-patched eye
"My knees are soft like a microwaved pie"
But all you ever get
is a whip on the back
from the oddity with some leather strap
"Why are you so hesitant
while all the other stallions are competent
don't you know the creatures in the carriage are very important?"
"How important are the vultures in the world I don't know
but I know that I won't say no
if you borrow a thread of my hair for a violin bow
and play their funeral march with it to and fro"
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
453
Love—thou art high—
I cannot climb thee—
But, were it Two—
Who know but we—
Taking turns—at the Chimborazo—
Ducal—at last—stand up by thee—
Love—thou are deep—
I cannot cross thee—
But, were there Two
Instead of One—
Rower, and Yacht—some sovereign Summer—
Who knows—but we’d reach the Sun?
Love—thou are Veiled—
A few—behold thee—
Smile—and alter—and prattle—and die—
Bliss—were an Oddity—without thee—
Nicknamed by God—
Eternity—
3.7k
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
What was it exactly about this rasta.
He seemed so to be out of time an oddity then.
He stroked the gong that resonates still
Nothing can dim his light
His message still reverberates
With all who hear his call.
A natural mystic sinking tap roots from far out.
Kaya budz meets Buffalo soldier and they journey to Transendentia.
Dread lion with Dread locks . Earth shoes and soccer socks.
Ras Nesta walking through di concrete jungle.
Nevah know what sweet rest is in disya concrete jungle.
When you think it's peace and safety.A sudden destruction
Collective security, for surety.
From the Tenement yard to a Pimpers paradise .
Lining up to run in the rat race.
Live if you wanna live .
Glazed over Duppy conqueror. Seeing past all limitations
Rastaman vibration. Positive.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
The most luminous example of a fallen angel
An ignored history.. A need for attention..
We define The Humanity Problem globally..
Let me enter the mind of a killer
Let me learn from within the mind of a saint
I will calculate the sociology
The norms killing our psychology
With pad and pen as my everlasting friend..
I want to burn in hells
I seek to bask in heavens
Show me the soul in my eyes
Weathering through a common storm..
People will find the real normal..
If they love themselves and help others..
It should be an oddity to erase normality
And so it exists only as a common standard..
That is how I grew up..
What if we ended expectations?
What if we embraced change?
Compassion could be a global comeback..
There is a nature in duality..
Humans engraved into double-edged swords..
If we could create love and war..
We may be able to end our battles..
We could live with evidence and compassion..
Ending our need to be beautiful, better or rich
As an American.. I am built of guilt
I suffer..
I displayed kindness, love and compassion
I valued evidence over assumption
Pointed out an economy of overconsumption
Only to be labeled as..
'Sheep'
'Idealistic'
So.. to my fellow kinsmen and women..
Open up a dictionary..
If I am a sheep..
We as a whole are not shephards..
Who do you look for to guide you?
Isn't America obviously lost?
We are defined as sheep by a globe called Earth
Currently? Like it or not.. They're right..
I am not powerful
I am weak
Despite the ego of America.. I am no sherpah..
I am no sheep..
I will never be a shephard..
I will only ever be me..
Think of you when at your happiest..
Revel in the lessons of how that was stolen..
It will be Hell..
I'll be blunt with that fact..
Want peace? Face it.
Face you.
Deflate all of your ego.
We need to bring back who we were long ago..
We need to care and foster Hope..
Eradicate foolish hate..
Value intelligence and knowledge..
Divided we are destined to **** and die..
But.. United?
We could be a beacon of hope..
A beacon brighter than God, who we're under
An American Beauty..
That has shed her mistakes..
To let go..
Of her American Ego..
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 2:23 AM UTC
I can see it now, I was in 4th grade and we were all saying the pledge of allegiance with our hands over our hearts. "One nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all." I always thought it was "invisible". One nation, under God, invisible. It suddenly turned our nation into a superhero with the sickest super power ever, invisibility. Our nation was leaping over buildings and fighting crime in the moonlight with a bad *** sidekick named God.
One nation, under God, invisible. That's what i have become to this sidekick, invisible. I subsequently have fallen victim to the rare oddity that is my brain and finally realized that God doesn't even know who i am. Suddenly, this nation was not jumping over tall buildings, it was blocking the sunlight and causing an eclipse.
One nation, under God, invisible. I am invisible in this darkness of the night. But i searched for the moon relentlessly, knowing that it was my only chance of finding my way out of here. And once i found it, i held it in my arms, cradled it like a sleeping baby and careful not to wake it up because once it awakens it must escape to the sky and will no longer be mine. But to no avail, the moon was awake and whispered to me, "Dear child, did you really think you could escape God?"
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...
as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky
His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost
He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.
I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell
When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath
It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.
He existed in the loosest sense of the word
He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting
Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.
You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.
Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl
He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.
An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child
The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging
The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings. Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather
He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive
He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced
On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why
The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd. Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.
When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.
When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile
Only for a moment.
I found it odd
That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Little baby bird,
you fell from the nest all too soon.
Dreaming of your wings scraping the sky,
now you're left battered and bruised.
I passed by one day,
a stranger, an obscure oddity.
What a coincidence that I needed someone to fix,
and you had fallen right in front of me.
I scooped you up,
whispering promises that I'd keep you safe.
Carried you back to my home,
and on passed the days.
Autumn rolled around,
and soon I realized,
I was a sucker for this baby bird
and his puppy dog eyes.
But would it be selfish,
would it be unfair?
To never teach you how to fly,
afraid you'd swoop up into the air,
and set off for somewhere new,
forgetting little old me..?
Forgetting that my only goal in life
was to make you happy?
So I'll patch you up,
and I'll let you go.
But I'll leave my window open,
just so you know..
If you're ever in trouble,
if you ever need a home..
You know where to find me.
I'm yours, and I've always been.
Even before you met me.
Even before we existed.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Oh my cheerful little ******* They hadn’t any notion
Of all the silliness, of all the commotion
One day their purpose would change
Temporarily my body would rearrange
Their use not merely ******
Suddenly they were meant to be practical
Away with my decorative commodity
Hello to something of an oddity
So I traded in those dainty little things
For two mountains bursting with springs
Slowly the transformation took place
Albeit lacking in grace
Oh, my lovely unpresumptuous *******
Had become so useful, for that I am blessed
My zippy little ****** had grown to such size
And areola darkened and saucerish in guise
So to you I must ask a serious question,
After this, my descriptive dissection
I borrowed my ******* why be afraid?
It is the babes whose homage will be paid
The ******* that had been lent, weren’t ****** or vile
You might even go so far as to beguile
Because their most typical use was on hold
Their new purpose should’ve been a sight to behold
Instead people like to glorify or shame
As if those ******* are actually the same
Forget your twisted ****** mind
And to breastfeeding mothers try to be kind
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
Thesis:
There's an easy way to disprove
that ignorance equals bliss:
Your eyes
were puzzles of space-time,
studied through conversations
fervent in their background noise-
where I looked for one single oddity
in what might have been the ordinary,
except it wasn't. Space-time
distorts around things of great
gravity
and your light-consuming pupils
pulled me towards you. Complexity,
hidden in some unsuspecting darkness
that I was dragged into...
things I didn't understand
until I reach our event horizon
and you and I are one.
(As for my thesis: what great Nothing would we have been
if I skyrocketed away
for fear of the unknown?)
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
They ask, why care so much?
Simple, my ancestors blood and bones
are the foundation of this nation.
But that isn't your blood or mine?
We have come a long way!
True but broken chains
don't free us from shackles,
and half measures
can’t get us across the finish line.
If you hate it so much leave!
In case you missed point one
I'd much rather fix what's broken.
I want to make sure that the stacked deck
is reshuffled. That kids don't have to grow up
in war zones, where the only way out is debt
or a casket. Where people don’t get to profit
from the very thing that took others freedom.
I want a playing field that all can use,
where the rules make sense and the enforcers
are kind. Where I'm not the oddity
for never having been behind bars.
That people realize that there's more
to our culture than our bars.
I'm over the 40 acres
I want 24 Oscar's. Maybe then I'll see
myself on more than just ESPN and MTV.
Others have it far worse than you!
Well then let's elevate them too.
A rising tide raises all ships.
So let's create a flood that washes
out the hate. When will people realize
that we aren't enemies. That the system
crushing you is already destroying me.
If they can put people in cages for where
they were born then Eastside or south
of the border are just bad hands we are dealt.
I don’t know how to fix it
but I care too much to be quiet.
So thanks for reading my thoughts,
but will you stay silent?
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 9:32 PM UTC
This oddity so rare, and unaccustomed to me
My 'family' is one of hate.
Of disrespect and fist fights.
Broken and filled to the brim in grudges.
When we all have opinions, no one budges.
Such a normality to hear rinsing of knuckles after a fired conversation.
Is this family?
Can growing up with this be childhood?
Maybe this is why I feel much older than I am.
Feeling much more than my years.
Raised in a fired household,
A home up in blaze.
No one in this family even seems phased,
....
But I, I am.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Hope is an oddity to me. It is a double-edged sword. Just enough keeps one going. Too much can leave one in despair.
Throughout my life I have struggled to sustain a suitable balance between hope and despair. The two seem to be interrelated for me.
There were days, even moments, where I had hope that my life would improve. I saw a way out, I found someone who seemed to care for me, I made it through an entire night unharmed... These things gave me hope. I was hopeful.
Then there were other days, even moments, where I was filled with despair. My hope was lost. My heart was sick. There was no way out, everywhere I turned I was met with hatred or disbelief, I was torn apart at night only to be met with "nothing happened" in the morning... These things destroyed my hope. I was hopeless.
My inner struggle between hope and despair kept me alive. I firmly believe this. This same struggle keeps me alive, even today. Too many times I have thought that there was no way out so I surrendered myself to dying. But over and over hope has surfaced.
So I fought. Sometimes I fought against hope. Sometimes I fought for it. It was a sickening cycle. Some days, even now, it is with a sick heart that I press forward.
Today it is with a sick heart that I write. The enormity of my past is weighing down upon me. Normalcy seems to be nothing more than a fleeting hope. One step forward, two steps back. Hope and then despair. My head is screaming once again. It seems that everyone want their say. Everyone wants to be heard. I am one and they are many. Today is a day where I am screaming at them to shut the **** up yet no one hears me. They drown me out and I feel powerless.
Today he is in every corner, no matter where I turn. He is smiling, licking his lips, and he is laughing at me. I tell myself that things are different now; things are better. He laughs harder. Despair is setting in and I am feeling myself surrender while keeping one eye slightly open on the off chance that hope is in another corner that I just can't see yet.
Today is despair with a sick heart. Perhaps tomorrow is hope paired with desire. One can always hope...
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
607
Of nearness to her sundered Things
The Soul has special times—
When Dimness—looks the Oddity—
Distinctness—easy—seems—
The Shapes we buried, dwell about,
Familiar, in the Rooms—
Untarnished by the Sepulchre,
The Mouldering Playmate comes—
In just the Jacket that he wore—
Long buttoned in the Mold
Since we—old mornings, Children—played—
Divided—by a world—
The Grave yields back her Robberies—
The Years, our pilfered Things—
Bright Knots of Apparitions
Salute us, with their wings—
As we—it were—that perished—
Themself—had just remained till we rejoin them—
And ’twas they, and not ourself
That mourned.
2.1k
Scribbles on a yellow notepad, this ink won't last
Letting sweat dry from a long walk, half way there
I didn't notice it on my first passing, or my second
Third time is the charm they say, don't they?
Now I sit in this scummy drainage ditch, writing
A tree, growing from a pile of waste concrete
Dumped carelessly by rough, tired, hands
Green leaves adorn it, this oddity, only a sapling
Like a flower on the peak of Mount Everest
Or an ice cube in the middle of the Gobi
This is not so grand, this urban contradiction
Some day it will be as tall as me, maybe taller
Stretching its limbs, eroding its base
Praising sun rays through photosynthesis
Pushing down roots through man made constructions
Reclaiming the soil from which all life springs & returns
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC