"oddness" poems
Eternity can change in a fleeting moment,
These are the hopes of a girl, bound to a chair, looking out of the window, seeping sadness with in a barage of frustration locked away,
Rejected by the other kids because she was different, she soon has stopped to bond anymore, friendships seemed like a happy illusion,
Too scared to go outside and be made fun of, or called out for her oddness which would unfold in special, yet fascinating, blissful ways,
Days pass by, which become months, with no range of change to be seen or gazed at, sealing her emotions away to stay sane, one option,
Reading to develop a further understanding of humans, as to develop greater, wonderous capabilities of imagination to simulate a world within her little, fragile, yes almost broken mind, in which she can grow strong and happy, alike her flowers she calls her own children,
After all, each time she desired to get close to one or another, a cold shoulder has been served, their backs turning at her in spite and hate,
But, this girl has lost the reason to mind it, after all, her loneliness is her shelter, her fantasy and her dreams a happy place to return to,
Left behind, like a one winged heron.
~ Umi
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
He
had
worked
hard
for
most
of
his
lifetime
at
being
the
odd
one
out
or
at
the
very
least
at
appearing
different
to
other
people
he
considered
with
disdain
to
be
normal
and
now
after
finally
mastering
the
look
other
'different'
people
wore
he
had
an
uneasy
feeling
that
he
had
simply
exchanged
one
uniform
for
another
and
doing
so
hadn't
required
a
presence
of
oddness
in
any
way
at
all.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I am my mind, my memory and my mask
I am my heart, my head and my hand
I am my soul, my sanity and my sin
I am my secret, my sorrow and my skin
I am my sight, my senses and my stomach
I am my future, my fingers and my flesh
I am my grave, my growth and my guts
I am my past, my present and my pain
I am my bitterness, my blood and my brain
I am my words, my wounds and my will
I am my sweets, my *** and my scull
I am my thoughts, my tears and my trust
I am my loneliness, my lungs and my lust
I am my love, my lover and my lies
I am my emotions, my echoes and my eyes
I am my Gods, my groans and my ghosts
I am my fears, my freedom and false
I am my familly, my form and my force
I am my satisfaction, my swears and my scores
I am my organs, my oddness and my OCD
I am my disease, my Demons and my destiny
I am my prison, my prayers and my pest
I am my ****** my madness and my mess
I am my house, my humanity and my hormones
I am my battles, my body and my bones
I am what I am made from
I am made from my parents
Therefore
I am my mother and I am my father
I am made from the dust
Therefore
I am the air and I am the ash
I am made from just nothing
Therefore
I am just nothing
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
Hey!
Listen. Listen you!
I wanted to say-
Yes of course I'm talking to you,
So I was saying-
Don't get me wrong
But when you'd so nonchalantly
Placed your fingers on my shoulder
And had tapped lightly
To say "excuse me",
I'd made an irritated face
But just when I was about to make way,
Then-momentarily-
Oh for a fleeting second it must have been-
My eyes had met your eyes,
And though they were shielded by your thin-rimmed spectacles,
I swear, I could see them beautifully shine.
And the dark black of your hair,
Black salted with those stray strands of white-
Those young white strands-
I hadn't meant to stare-
But they looked so beautiful,
Messed up, mixed up,
It was almost involuntary,
Some sort of magic, believe me!
I know I'd looked for a little bit longer
Than would be considered appropriate
But I'd just got busy following your lips
As they'd curved and took the form of something
That looked like a crooked, confused smile
And I'd kept looking until I'd realized
That it was just your way of politely inquiring
About why I was staring.
That time I'd gone red and had
Averted my gaze
But here I am, I followed you,
Yes I did, I just had catch up with you
Because I had to tell you
That even though we'd met for a moment
Something unprecedented happened.
Nothing major-
And I don't know how but
This heart of mine-
It's really, really so rogue, I agree-
Yes so my heart somehow,
Got entangled into
The awkwardness, the oddness, the beauty
Of that little encounter of ours,
And like it never was mine,
It tore away from me,
And it stubbornly says
That what it wants is shelter inside your chest,
So it can stay near your heart,
And beat along with it.
Funny it is, but what can be done?
Yes, so, hear me out carefully,
I am about to say it finally-
That now that my heart has decided
That what it wants
Is to be yours,
And only yours,
Could you play along with it for now?
Could you, perhaps, let my heart,
Beat with yours, for
Just some time?
I'll try to dissuade it later on,
But right now, this is just what it wants!
I would've ignored it but it wouldn't listen to me
You know how adamant
These hearts can be!
So, tell me, what do you feel
About this proposal of mine,
Would you like to accept it?
All my heart wants is a home near yours.
Please, oh please,
Do keep it.
:)
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC
I had the bottle
I had the well
I had the population
and the cold interest
in consequences.
So simple:
tip it in, see what happens.
But it would have been too obvious.
I was not interested in being caught.
It gnawed at me,
for all my polished indifference,
the knowledge of the power I wielded
but could not use
Then one day
strangers came,
rolling into the village
in their painted caravans
And I wasted not one second.
As soon as the moon was full
I crept out
through the villagers' suspicious mutterings,
unseen by the baleful glances
cast at the foreign shapes and colours -
forgotten, in all my oddness,
in the wake of this new devilry.
It was the work of a moment,
a soft sound like summer's rain
then back to the shadows
to wait.
And now,
riding past the lynch-mob's clumsy justice,
circled by merry crows,
briefly entranced
by a burnt-out caravan
I can finally
enjoy
the silence.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC
There is a boy bathed by the light of the full moon
I wrote about it, then I burned it
Now.. sitting in the shade of the budding lime trees
I realize that which is once written..cannot be destroyed
An oddness is abroad I believe
An oddness that allows for the purchasing of warm apricot juice
An oddness that produces groundless but powerful fears
An oddness producing an impulse to run away
An oddness that weaves itself into a shape among the sultry and coagulated air
An oddness in the shape of a boy
Captured by the blue light of a full moon in the middle of the day
I shut my eyes but the vision flutters before me
As if it is impressed on tissue paper
Blown gently by a soft breeze
The boys face though beautiful is one made for derision
I think to myself..this can't be.. but alas it is
For when I now open my eyes the hallucination
For that's what I believe it to be
Still flutters before me as a candle flame flickers
My heart is beating in a wild desperation
I am about to scream
The mirage dissolves itself and the boy vanishes
The fear that has griped me evaporates
I put the whole episode down to the drinking
Of warm apricot juice on a very hot day
But am I wrong am I wrong...that would be an oddness
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
the oddness of your lips stained across my chest
unable to move
flawed
by the blood that flows there
my frantically beating heart
gives me away to how humane i have become next to you
i have lost my wild
thorn filled hair now hangs lifeless at my side
and the electricity that i once felt at your touch
has been dimished
i am in love with the idea of you
the thought
that i may not roam forever alone and free
is equally as terrifying as being with you
part of my hate for the way you are able to penetrate my iron wall
is also the reason why i am unable to forget you
yet i stand here
frozen
where you left me last
and i remember how hard your heart beat too
i could not fathom that i would be the one stuck
while you are able to move so freely
for i am the breaker of hearts
and yet
here i stand
the jagged edges of my heart protruding from my chest
hungry to devour another
so that i might heal from their pain
and one day
when i am free again
i will look back on this moment
and run
blindly
through the forest
allowing the wilderness to consume me
haunted
by your beating heart
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
„one two three“ go to boulangerie
„four five six“ may be write letter to missis x
„seven eight nine“ my call you deny
„ten eleven twelve“ …i slowly despise rhymes with sheer vengeance..
out of coquetry and out of bravado, i desist our memory, i will turn to enter
in a new day, without prescribed lies and tainted tricks, without whens without whys, without "be blue" commands and daily ****** „luv-syndrome-disease“
& what in particular corrupts the works and days:
without nasty repressive syndrome as consequence of how ugly artistic comradeship can be.
Yah. just depart towards unknown, under guiding of trembling crescent,
to whatever oddness i will might to face..
O it wont be worse i still guess...
something wrong with me?
so strangely i rejoice out of any certain cause.. ?
tis is may be shy anticipation of the delight which the read of some few subterranean poems can sometimes make ?
is there „land in sight“?
is here some flower to breath in?
even if it merely about basking in darkness,
not alone, but with sojourner..
my nonsense, your nods, isnt it slightly utopia?
O b s c u r i t y i s o u r r e w a r d. seem be the single remnants to chant..
vomiting and scolding abundance is what only will remain to realize?
isnt it kind of tryst which satisfy the starving one at best..?
O to large demand!.., but still
towards all of futility my worn heart still embrace
the solemnity of unknown..
wish to inhale the solemnity of unknown..
to enshroud myself with solemnity of unknown..
to chock on solemnity of unknown..
..as long as poetry is yet not dead
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
You kiss me the way the sun sets
everytime how dark my world gets.
You draw constellations
on the freckles of my face-
ought to see the beauty in oddness.
You paint dusty blue and white
with hasty brush strokes in my lungs
as you hold me perfect enough
to make my breath smoke.
You taste like grace
when I dance to the sound of your voice.
I am the venom, we are toxins poured to dissipate.
Promise me we'll never hold back nor hesitate.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 2:28 AM UTC
Person #1:
My oddness correlates with your oddness, and it's the most unusual sense of 'home' that I've ever felt.
Because of it, I've found myself quite content when we are in the same room together.
Saying my 'heart skips a beat' when you talk to me sounds so cliché,
but it seems to be true.
I wish I could tell you this in a way that wouldn't make you unsettled,
but alas,
my anxiety tells me you'll be uncomfortable with it no matter how I say it, so
I'll just write it here for now.
Person # 2:
You are a work of art;
are you aware of that?
Your whole aura leaves me
perplexed yet intrigued.
Somehow you are the definition of grace, but in the most unhinged way.
When you look at me,
I feel as though I matter in the world, though your whole personality screams anathema.
You are just a work of art,
and someday I hope to understand every part of you.
Because we are not very close,
it seems odd to tell you this face-to-face. That is why these words will just stay here for the time being.
Person # 3:
My God,
where did we go?
Things were so lovely back in the day,
but everything crumpled before our eyes. When I used to look at you,
I saw hope and someone worth my time. Now when I see you,
I honestly become nauseous.
I am well aware that some of it is my fault- but it's my fault because
I didn't stand up for myself sooner.
Why did it take so long for me to see
how shallow your thoughts really are?
All you were was collateral damage,
and after all this time,
it still affects me,
and it sickens me how
petty I appear to myself.
I don't tell you this because we don't speak, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
That terran voice
Has little weight,
Is slow and late;
But voice sooner
Trade all feature,
It had a teacher
And is other.
That like a forest
Keeps all time,
If nighttime isn't
The death of that;
For time is miles
But the people's struggles,
Where goblin has lurked
Eager and deadly.
If that is never
A goblin's measure
Nor, began that;
Is goblin at rest
But when it drift
Thought shall not near
The oldness there,
And oddness steal
Her ceaseless shake.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
I lost myself between the folds of a fairy tale
Enchanted, embedded beneath a deep scale,
Seven years old ,I was a little girl with pony tail
So excited as a happy duck learning how to sail,
Holding my mom's hand so tightly trying not to fail ...
We went for shopping in that happy spring day
Enjoying the gentle breeze in that month of may,
So curious was me to follow a colorful butterfly
As i jumped and crossed over the street ,
A peculiar oddness spread in a hasty heart beat ...
Suddenly my heart felt a weird ache
Once I saw no mother's hand to take ,
I felt a mysterious melancholy stretching all over my veins
As I muttered "mom!" with jumbled voice and teary eyes ,
There was no one to hear my call but a gentle guy ,
As he took my hand and comforted me with a cheerful smile
Calling me :"oh ! dear princess ,don't cry it's all about a crossing mile",
I drunk a bittersweet cup of water mingled with my salty tears ,
Waiting in his coffee shop for minutes which seemed like years..
Long I stood there , Deep drowning in my dark fears
My mom's heart was earnestly sunk in her keenest frustration
For she lost her luster of soul and glimpse of inspiration ..
She tried her best to find this lost playful doll,
She asked a police man who didn't care at all ,
She got over her fears and followed her heart
Which alluded her to that coffee shop standing apart;
Finding her little girl watching her favorite cartoon,
While she sent a warm hug with a shivering heart so soon ...
Our both hearts melted ardently with rapturous happiness
For we restored our souls with loving cheerful radiance ...
So grateful was mom's esteem for my savior dear gentle man
He was a my charming hero who kept me as safe as he can ...
It was as delicate as a butterfly's wing
And as menacing as a knife in the dark ...
Still lingers in our memory immersing deepest feelings,
Thanking Allah for the delightful rescue and healing ...
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
She told me a story
of how she used to clean cars
for a living.
The oddness of a perfectly
carved girl
with seven noses.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
Her eyes on my skin.
Burning through layers of flesh and bone with each glare and bat.
Hot tea whistling into steamy rooms.
Creeping around the corners.
Blowing fresh orange citrus into my lungs.
Warming my blood.
Boiling hers.
Rustled sheets lying on the floor.
Cold bed.
Hardening pillows.
Morning dew running dry.
Cigarettes and coffee that used to keep me company.
Lost in your company for me.
Cold chills up my spine.
Screeching like nails against blackboards.
I lean in.
Stealing a kiss before you turn away.
It was one.
This time I didn't bother going in for two.
Or four.
Or ten.
You didn't bother stopping the faucet from dripping.
You didn't twitch with uneasiness.
I didn't go mad by the oddness of our love between warm lips.
My body pulls away.
Rejecting your hand from mine.
And every little thing I used to love about you
Bothers me somehow.
Our dreams.
Wrapped in paper.
Covered in white.
And laid out in real stars.
Tied together with a silver ribbon of light.
Now dripping in oil and black paint.
Ripped up.
Thrown into the flames.
Streaming ablaze like moths.
Like powdered butterfly wings in hot coal.
Black smoke.
Filing away at my outsides.
Pulling out pieces of hair you used to run your fingers through gently as I cried.
Spreading oceans to your lap.
Swimming with the creatures of the dry ground.
Floating on the waves until we drown.
Falling to the floor in heaps of spirals.
Falling to my knees.
Feeling the wet mud beneath me.
Pulling me under slowly.
The soft rays once glistening on our bed.
Caressing your face.
Your sweet lips gently on my thighs at Night when your bare body calls to mine.
Turned to darkness.
To the space in-between.
To the lies resting into my ribs.
Contracting inside.
Ripping away at everything living.
Keeping my chest afloat inside of me.
I kiss your feet for what seems like forever.
With one last breath escaping my lips as the water boils over.
As the ashes fill the air of crisp moth wings once before.
As the last song from the last bluejay blisters out.
Desolé mon amour.
Kicking up.
Pushing me under the bottom sole of her feet.
Sinking in deep.
With only a second of suffocation.
I fall through.
Out of the childish dream.
Of forever love.
Into reality once more.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
I can still feel the burn on my face
The feel of your lips
The oddness and the greatness of it all
But I have to come to a decision
And the deadline's heading quickly
I've never been a quitter
So why force me to quit?
Don't give me your 'everything and nothing's
Just tell me like it is.
The universe does disappear
Time does stop
But it comes quickly
Our reluctance will be nothing but a slap back in our faces.
But reality jumps and bites
***** our blood
And at this rate we will soon
Be nothing but cold, empty-bodied, dead versions of ourselves.
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
It's been a long day. You
died so soon ago and we notice
your noise is gone, the parakeets and me.
You should comment somehow on
the oddness of things
since your disease.
The paranoia and lies the dementia
played made your dreams seem like
waking and your sleep tore into
you with fantasies and confusion.
You shouldered the nurses by
telling them you felt fine. That
lie pushed you to more agitaton.
I never knew you would get well.
I was cursed with a colder reality.
As I drove to see you in the cocoon
of the nursing home I wondered
would you be crying or well.
It was the crying I never unfolded.
in your room where we so carefully
braided the colors to your whims.
The colors are the same today.
Now wilted, the bright sun's rays
like the daylight dim but your harsh
yellow teeth spread around my
name and you saw me beaten
and unforgiven
You took me with you to the
Hell of brass urns. I thought
to ask you why but the look
on your framed face said you
were waiting and your yellow
grin dared me to be quiet.
I saw the years in stark
isolation.
You in a painted slicker,
I knew you
loved me once and
briefly. Your journey
was a long one. Mine is
to shower daily your burnt
name across the
yellow ******* of
chared Sorrow
off.
Caroline Shank
May 15, 2022
.
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 7:51 PM UTC
We drove by the cemetery in a different part of town
Searching for another restaurant where we didn't really want to go
And suddenly I remembered you were there; that is, your clam shell was there
Carefully wrapped and placed underground, somewhere among the thousands
Your inexpensive namecard merely flat brass; invisibly close to the ground
And I thought of the oddness of life;
Here I was with two people you never got to meet,
Who meant everything to me, as you did back when,
And indeed always will. And back in my touchy days of grief
I could not have envisioned a happy day
On a drive beside where you lay,
Busy composing your still reverie for the ages.
So life goes on, however we wish it would not at times,
And though it is difficult to believe, we do get better, by and by.
And though the Earth will not remember one flower
That we knew together,
I realized the cemetery ground is made hallowed
By all the love and faithful memories being poured into it:
I'm pouring in mine now-
Who knows, perhaps it will flood?
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
The heavy air hangs over the stadium to watch it waken from its slumber.
It is the eve of battle.
It awaits its hooligans.
The oddness of bears and lions
Facing each other in ritualistic bands
Chanting their devilish cries.
Carrying the raven on their lilied shoulders
As they trudge past their own respect.
It is a long way down to the ropes of war but no one bothers to stop.
But this game is an excuse for fruitful violence.
A game? A simple game,
Fathering all this dense cloud of hate.
How satisfyingly
How triumphantly
They think they have celebrated “The Beautiful Game”.
Both sides shout and bang against the stadium, drowning the crowd with Sounds of war drums to the beat of the stone prison all around them. They tear and writhe at the thought of innocent blood.
But that blood is less innocent than the claws it feeds.
It is a dance remembered, mimicked through the ages.
Danced by men of forgotten unity.
What would their children think?-
But remember this:
Your daddy fought with the hooligans, son.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
I want to wake
Each morning
In your arms
Comforted by your oddness
Seduced by your knowledge of my ways
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
I have reached a destination I had never been before
A breathing sensation of energy and creation
It floods my veins
And fills the void
To be enlightened by one’s own mind
So fragile and precise
Letting go of what has been understood
By letting in the uncertainty of the unknown
Spinning vibrations of colors and sounds
I think I’m breathing,
I think I’m finally alive again
Living In the realest realm of conscious truth
The true reality is frightening when one realizes
How much time has really been wasted
The ego stays beside me
Tugging my sleeves begging me to stay
But I must let go to protect my sanity
Between the complexity and oddness
To grasp the significance within the insignificant
Inheriting the flesh as a temple
To breathe the truth
And cease the uneasy
To let go to my greatest ability
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Sticking out like a sore thumb,
At least I'm not locked in the masses' fist.
Writing my own tale of oddness day by day,
Building the stories I will tell my grand kids.
This might only be the preface of the plot,
While I climb the raising actions to the ledge.
I will not peek at the end of this book,
But just might burn some holes in the neighbor's hedge.
I live for the reaction of you all,
Hoping to bring smiles and laughter.
Maybe opening your eyes to the way I see life,
So this can be a successful rapture.
Please stare at me in disbelief while I blow your minds,
Beneath this crazy face their more then meets the eye.
Thoughts,
And yes,
Most of them rhyme.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Elaine got off
the school bus
following her younger sister
not sure if John
was on the bus
or not
she didn't look
although she had been
tempted many times
to look about her
but she just stared
out the window
at the passing view
listening to others
talking and laughing
wondering if John
was there
and if he had been
looking at her
she walked on
by the school fence
her sister went off
with a friend
into the girls' playground
she looked
at her shoes
scuffed
black
her white
ankle socks
looking
now and then
at the passing feet
of others
not looking
but staring
waiting
for the school bell
to ring
can we still talk?
a voice asked
she looked up
John was standing there
with that quiff of hair
that hazel eyed stare
she blushed
and looked at him
talk about what?
she asked moodily
looking at his
loosely tied tie
anything
as long
as we can talk
he said
she didn't feel
like talking
or listening
but she did
she was in
such a depressed mood
that she thought that
any moment she
was going to cry
and she didn't want
him or others
to see her cry
she looked behind him
at passing girls
their hair
all arranged neatly
you're not going
to kiss me again
are you?
she said
he looked at her
then at her hair
not if you don't
want me to
he said
although at that moment
he wanted to
because he wanted
to make the oddness
of the day before right
to get them back
to some kind
of friendship again
she wasn't sure
if she felt relieved or not
part of her
wanted him
to kiss her
to show others
that someone
did find her attractive
and that she wasn't
just a 14 year old
frump as others
called her
we can't talk now
she said
the bell will soon go
maybe lunch time
at recess?
he nodded
sure
he said
I’ll look out for you
O by the way
I saw a Jay yesterday
she looked at him
there was a small smile
on his lips
Jay?
she said
it's a bird
he said
don't see them often
but it was in
our garden briefly
O
she said
not knowing
what else to say
about a bird
I’ll show you
a picture
in my bird book
at recess
if you like
he said
she nodded
and a smile spread
on her lips
the book of birds
he kept in that
coat pocket of his
she thought
the school bell rang
and he said
see you later
and touched her hand
and was gone
she she sensed
his touch still there
warming moving along
her nerves
like a fire
opening up
a small unknown
deep down desire.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
tonight
the moon is brighter
the crickets louder
my heart larger
i've learned to love myself
the creases in my hands
the oddness of my mind
the way i give too many chances
even though i know i'm bound to be broken
i have fallen in love
with the poetry that spews from my lips
and how somedays my heart turns a shade of gray
because it's been damaged too many times
i have learned to love myself
because you can't trust others
to love you and your broken bits
to love your complications
to love your mind
you can't trust someone to always stay
for as soon as the days become rainy
they pack their bags and head to warmer weather
they fall for someone different
a soul with warmer hands
and eyes that resemble the moon
but soon enough the storm strikes there too
and they're right back knocking at your door
and tonight, i'm strong enough
to say goodbye
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Tonight I'll bring you flowers
so vibrant they'll lighten up the darkness
that fills your room
tonight you'll change
and become an ambassador of light.
It's okay to cry
a river of tears
change is hard
when you've lived so long
amongst the clutter of books
and dust.
You see
the world is different now
the modern era
has grabbed the limelight
pushed out the oldness
and the oddness
now we live in clarity
a technological wonderland.
Bear with me
and keep your heart from gripping its valves
we're on a journey of self-discovery
never will we lose
when we have this power in our veins.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC