"quirky" poems
Friendship is built upon the foundations of
Unique and quirky first impressions.
It is not brought together by what others
May say or recommend,
It is not brought together by a Rubik’s cube
Or the use of super glue—
Friendship is just what it states!
Two or more ships brought together
To become one friend—thus the
Creation of Friendship!
It involves a raging sea of betrayals;
Of innocent white lies; of going astray;
Of being in the wrong place at the wrong time;
Of hatred and envy.
But Friendship is strong
And it prevails over anything above all else;
And when the bonds of
Friendship is that strong, nothing between
Friendship should ever; could ever be wrong!
However, you do get one or two that goes overboard
The bow of Friendship and are forever lost at sea
Hoping to be picked up by Cecrops, the Lost Mariner to
Remain forever a prisoner on the ship of Friends that
Corrupts the minds of truthfulness; of the One True bond
That which is called Friendship.
My ship is true and has never
Strayed from its course.
It is homeward bound towards
The foundation that which
Made it true; towards quirky
First impressions that’s unique and precious;
Back to the fleet yards and of harbors
of its creation--
The Fleet of Friendship.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
People stare at me with confused eyes
They ask to know where my secret lies
They wonder where I found my gait
They love the way I articulate
The softness of my arms
My captivating youthful charm:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
I walk with a quirky poise
People whisper, and it's a delightful noise
The smile on my lips
The curve of my hips
They say I've always been this cool
But honey, do not be fooled:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
They see fire in my eyes
They say I'm for keeps 'cause I'm a prize
There is a grace in my vibes
Something good to imbibe
The warmth I bring
The joy I bring:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
There is something about me
How did I come to be?
The reason behind my womanly pride
The reason for my sedate stride
My aura, as that of a beloved emperor
My shoulders high like that of a conqueror:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
They say I am a mystery
There's definitely more to me
In the stillness of my mind
In the presence of my kind
I become more of the woman I am meant to be
The best of me you are yet to see:
This is my woman
The woman I have become
All these and more, are my woman
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
by definition,
lust is
extreme ****** desire for someone
by nature,
lust is
uncontrollable...
I'm attracted to my thirty-seven year old male teacher
and my eighteen year old male coworker
and the quirky girl who sits behind me in history,
what?
by religion,
lust is
a sin, punishable by Hell,
whatever that is.
lust is unavoidable,
but socially unacceptable to act upon.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
You looked much prettier with long hair.
Don’t - give me that, show me a smile
it’s better to be natural oh!
look your arms are so hairy, hairier than mine.
Not rowdy or older than myself but definitely
confident and intelligent and maybe even
‘quirky’ as long as she’s thin
and kind. Because I don’t like fat girls
how to find your dream woma
where to find dream woman online free
I think I’m still in love with Grace but
she ignores and blanks and shuns me even
after I shared so much yet
she doesn’t even seem to care
hey
I’m verrru drunk
I see u
the little green dot next to your name haha
night then iguess
I think I just hate women and that
stupid insipid conceited *****
couldn’t tell a good guy if
he cuffed her clean
across the cheekbone
and spat in both her eyes
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
The challenge. Handling all those quirky reflections and layers of transparency.
"She has phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle.
"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings look under the surface?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? It's just a way to test my skill.
"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise. Besides, there's a rope.
"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
*I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'? *
"I don't like your message."
*OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.*
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
Prickly pokey
I guess I'm kind of hokey
cacti are my jam!
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
My flaws are not pretty.
My imperfections are not endearing,
my vices are not quirky,
and my regrets are not intriguing and elusive.
They’re ugly and unsettling;
better off buried in the catacomb that is my memory.
better off dormant, hibernating through all four seasons.
They destroy and ravage anything
that they can get their hands on.
They spread like wildfire through any self-respect
that might be living inside me.
Burning up every last trace of my dignity
until all that’s left
is a shower of ash and things I wish I could forget.
They don’t add character or substance
and leave me blinded by contempt.
They whisper to me that I don’t deserve to be happy.
And I listen to them.
They’re angry and want revenge.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:12 PM UTC
My mother was
a first generation lesbian.
My father,
a first generation divorcee.
His father was the one child
of a public school teacher.
He found my grandmother at 18.
A farm child, one of seven.
A painter, a baker.
My mother's father
a single boy to three sisters.
His aggressive masculinity
kept the line clear and thick.
He found my mother's mother at 17.
A middle of seven Pentecostal children.
A beauty queen, an agoraphobic.
Each had five children.
The door-to-door salesmen/
homemaker and mother of boys duo
bet it all to open a hobby shop.
They were by far the poorest of the
watermelon farming siblings.
They were artists and explorers.
The high school graduate and ladies man,
was a logger before a father.
And the single mother of 25 he left
scarcely left her home at all.
Neither pair made it big.
But they made my father.
A lonely, post middle aged man.
The poorest of his brothers.
A used to be pilot,
and could have been teacher,
a want to be pioneer.
A nuclear family super fan
who never got his way.
And they made my mother.
A nervous, eccentric hippie
who doesn't know how to talk to her siblings.
A woman working her *** off to excel at lower middle class.
A builder, a fighter, a **** good mother.
Even if accidentally so.
She has plans to travel.
He has dreams to live by a lake.
And they made me.
A single girl among three boys.
A quirky, nervous tomboy.
A thinker, a gardener, a climber.
A loser and a dreamer by blood.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
My younger brother and I heard strange noises coming from the beach again…
We looked up at the ceiling and then the window…
As the voices from outside, in a lively allegro…
Grew softer and louder in repeating crescendos…
We skittered out the door and stared in fascination…
For what we saw must have been our imagination…
The door closed with a creak as our feet hit the grass…
It was at that moment we got a look at the mass…
Of stubby foot, hunchback creatures from which the sounds had amassed…
There was about six of them chanting like a choir…
They danced and paraded around our burnt out fire…
As we looked on, we saw our fire raise…
It got brighter as they lifted their hands in waves…
As light betook the blue beach night…
A crowd of colorfully masked gremlins caught us in their sights!
Their feet slowed to a stop and they quieted down…
They stood still as the fire flickered off their weird wooden frowns…
One reached out his hand in a come-here motion…
They seemed to stand and wait with an encouraging notion…
As the fire crackled and the waves tumbled onto the beach…
All I can remember, is for the rest of that summer…
My younger brother and I served as the drummers…
For that quirky marching band of lake sprites…
With which our burnt out fire we’d reignite…
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
You kissed one side of my neck and then the other, with a smile.
When you’re behind me and rest you hand on one hip to take a selfie, I have to place my hand on the other.
Quickly, you realised you love a girl of balance.
You lost her to tendencies and rules that love can’t fix.
And I know my OCD will affect you to.
Yet you still call me your little OCD girlfriend.
Within 11 days you realised 4 was my number.
It’s no longer quirky, just habit and safety.
But you, you could have waited till the 12th day
You ******* up a system in a bid to help
To make it worse the first argument lasted 21 minutes so even that wouldn’t fit the system.
You’ll never get it will you?
Yet I’ll always be your little OCD girlfriend.
Each colour may seem like a little, cute way of keep organised.
But without them it’s a black abyss in desperate need of structure.
A visual balance.
So even if it seems simple, it’s me.
And me, I’ll always be your little OCD girlfriend.
Clockwise.
That’s the way I’ll walk round you.
That’s the way I’ll make you turn if I’m in your balanced arms.
Don’t block my path.
Don’t roll the other way
Don’t try and change me
You know the rules
Because I’m your little OCD girlfriend
Now forget the clocks, number and colours, they are small fry in my OCD pond.
Balance
That’s my weakness.
That’s why I might hurt you
That’s why it takes time
But remember: what happens to one side must happen to the other.
Your love will be my balance.
As your hands learn a new way to explore my body
As your lips touch me twice,
You’ll remember I’m your little OCD girlfriend.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
Don't let this self-effacing exterior fool you
I am meglo-maniac in the making
Social media the perfect introvert's mask
Reinventing myself daily
Vanessa Ives, girl-about-town, quirky geek
An attention *****
******* in the digital wind
For a like, a follow, a retweet.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales
They broach the subject of her lemon tree.
"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."
Silence. Then the punchline:
"Reminded me of your daughter."
They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
His eyes are my escape route
They take me anywhere I wanna go
Which always leads right next to him
When he looks at me
I feel my soul become furious
Somebody has me bothered
I crave the scent of his cologne
When the smell of it on my sweatshirt
F A D E S away
The limited-time only reminder
that at one point
He was on top of me
And in that moment
I was all that mattered
to him
The anxiety that lurks through my body
Everytime I think of him
The feeling in my body
Everytime my brain remembers
a happy moment
With him
Or sincere moments
we shared
Two broken people
80/20
I broke my own heart
To give him pieces to fix his
20/80
My mind and what’s left of
my heart are at war
Because of him
Because of him, his smile
And his quirky laugh
that quench the desire
Of the simplicity of his existence;
My heart won’t let me be at peace
My mind tells me to let go
Reflecting on post trauma
Nothing is better than feeling
Wanted but safe
By the person you want the most
But nothing is worse than feeling
You’re not good enough for the person
You want most
Looking into his eyes again
Constantly searching for reassurance
And then suddenly
the source of happiness vanishes
you were only a distraction
While what was really wanted
Wasn’t accessible
allowing attachment
is unbelievably dangerous
But learning to let go
is worse
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Creeping up, a silent foe,
Breaking him down, nice and slow,
Crushing all his hopes and dreams,
Bravery fading, silent screams,
Fighting on, war and peace,
Just to get, a partial release,
A little confidence, suddenly lost,
One step forwards, the ultimate cost,
Walls built, a safe distance,
Hiding the world, from his existence,
A man in a cave, keeping away,
Building the courage, to battle today,
Invisible injury, a runaway train,
Mental illness, significant pain,
Weakness, it's how it's percieved,
Colleagues find...It hard to believe,
Lack of remorse, absent support,
Pushes him, to obvious thoughts,
Attenion seeking, he was no more,
Discovered today, by local law,
Tears shed, guilt ridden hearts,
Talking history, picking him apart,
Realisation, lack of due care,
Former colleague...
Empty chair
----
Trying to find the words to explain the poem. The message is there. Think about your actions to those you see every day. The ones that annoy you, for their quirky behaviour. There is an untold story behind each of us. Some suffer in silence, some try to seek help. Compassion and understanding is within us all. The unseen illness is a killer.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
There’s no other choice but to wear them,
The drawer offered nothing but these.
An odd pair of socks might be quirky,
Odd sizes don’t normally please.
The one at my ankle was spotted,
The other was striped to the knee
The latter two sizes the smaller,
The former quite large by degree.
This mismatch I thought to keep secret
And cover the dissonant pair.
I chose from the wardrobe some trousers
And shoes, with considerable care.
My ruse would conceal the divergence
From prescribed social standards of dress
And none would be any the wiser
My discomfort I’d have to suppress.
Now, it’s harder to mask discomposure
When physical pain has attacked.
The small sock had cramped my toes tightly
That blood didn’t flow, was a fact.
My colleagues regarded me strangely
For they could see nothing amiss
But I could feel cold perspiration,
Anxiety I couldn’t dismiss.
It was then that I felt a strange itching,
The striped sock began to descend
And round my right ankle it wrinkled
And bulged at the trouser leg end.
Dismayed at my great consternation
But clueless to what was awry
My friends made comforting gestures
Need of which I could only deny.
The moral of this story’s transparent
Socks are always best worn as a pair
Their nature is in the relationship
Which provides a well-balanced air.
And take the trouble to remember
Be congruent in all that you do
For disparity will often bring discord
And that path, you’ll certainly rue.
Oct 11, 2009
Oct 11, 2009 at 6:43 AM UTC
All she wanted her horoscope to give her
was a sock-foot cozy kind of relationship.
One that wore SPF 30 and smelled of sugar candy.
That would have been just fine.
Instead she got a surprise pancakes kind of beast.
Bear hugs, dog kisses, ***********
sumptuous battles, book aisles, 2am feast
and little silver spoon in the middle night.
We never made it to the papers,
so we built a patch-quilt nest.
The quirky loving is alright,
you dress me in my Sunday best.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
I lay spread out on
My local shingle beach
Letting the pebbles
Sift through my fingers
I consider the myriad
Shapes and forms they take.
The varying rust
Charcoal grey and mustard shades
I set myself a mission
In the multitudes
That the sea brings to my feet
I will find amongst the
Copious cobbles
The ultimate pebble
Perfect and pleasingly
Quirky or smooth.
I become so absorbed by
This sifting sorting
Comforting process
A simple quest
I forget myself
And my proximity to the waves
Until i am splashed
And soaked and
Have to vow to take up
This valiant quest
Another day.
Until then I have taken
Home a few shortlisted
Candidates
And made a promise to stand up when
The winner is found
And make a little trumpet
Fanfare sound
And hold the stone aloft!
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
I like to laugh and smile
like any other kid
but you decided that
I was undeserving
of being liked
of being loved
of being myself
I wasn't cool
I wasn't trendy
I wasn't sporty
I was just being myself
I am quirky
I am intellegent
I am creative
You Don't care!
You are relentless
You are misguided
You are ruthless
Who hurt you so bad?
You have friends
You have fashion
You have popularity
Is that not enough?
I am now untrusting
I am now anxious
I am now depressed
It still hurts till this day!
I have grown to resent you!
I have grown to hate you!
Why aren't you dead yet?
I'm sure the feeling is mutual
You hurt me
because
Someone hurt you
When does this vicious cycle end?
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
Bipolar
Schitzo
Paranoia
Mania
Anxiety
PTSD
Depression
******
Liar
Dramatic
Never sits still
Makes a scene
Lives in her past
Needs to get over it
Beautiful
Unique
Quirky
Energetic
Caring
Wise
Helpful
You only know parts of me
Not the total
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
I’m not good at being forward
I have this habit of becoming disordered
I let my emotions change the color of my sleeve
In my aspirations I hope to find belief
I walk through jungles and rainforests
Once in a while I see through the canopy
Into the skies of my memories
And request that stars dance to the rhythm of us
I keep them alive to avoid the gathering of dust
My memories, caught in the Pensieve of your eyes
Have ignored all the times I told myself lies
I may not be your ideal Superman
But I’d accept Peter Pan if you’ll go with me to Neverland
I’ve rarely been so captivated by a girl
Sure, Zooey Deschanel is quirky in New Girl
And Emma Watson bewitched me from the start
Anna Kendrick was perfect in Pitch Perfect
Alex Morgan is the luckiest 13 I’ve ever seen
But I choose you! To fill my canteen
You quench my thirst when the loneliness dries me
I was not made to walk in a desert
My heart is an amphibian
Living like a Floridian in the ice-cold tundra we call Rexburg
You still need the sun, no matter how much it snows
I’ll trudge on in the jungle; dormant in the night
I’ll carry on with you in mind, until the time is right
Once I’ve faced death, or even a spider
Then, I think I’ll top the greats; George of the Jungle, Aslan, Mogly, Tarzan, Batman, Peter Pan, Harry Potter, Genghis Kahn, Michael… Jackson or Jordan
They’re all kings and I’ll be in their league
As I shake off the fatigue and find courage in you
To make it through the awkward moment of simply saying
“You’re a real kind of gorgeous”
In that chorus, played on my rhythm of heartbeats
I found my way out of the back streets
From deep in the jungle I’ve come to know as Fear
A jungle that disappears when your presence is near
Sometimes I have to stop walking, stop thinking
I feel like I’m on the verge of something spectacular
Anything normal might ruin that
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
You should have been the soul that Edgar Allen Poe loved,
So that he wouldn't have died miserable and alone,
You are the Morticia to my Gomez; deadly in love,
We would make a quirky Addams family, bar none,
I love the nerds in us and the banter of annoyance,
I love the moments of radiant love and our nature of being different,
'Cause we did meet exceptionally over persistence,
And we accept each other regardless of difference,
I wish that our love will remain eternal,
Narrated by Obi-Wan,
With a theme song by John Williams,
Directed by Lucas, nah, we don't need direction,
I do know, we need a Queen, and that's you my puddin'!
Leia to my Solo,
A Queen-B-lovin'-Quinn to my Joker,
A die-hard Drake lover with a heart for the Dark Side,
This Vader loves his Amidala, xoxoxo,
We would revel on any side but the holy!
May this love never fade, and be full of surprises,
But not the kind where there is nasi lemak with no ikan bilis!
But you make the best **** nasi lemak, sigh,
I'm forever grateful for my Babloo
I'm forever grateful that you're by my side,
My Annabel Lee, I'm grateful Poe never met you,
'Cause you're all mine!
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:35 PM UTC
Little speckled bird,
quirky nerd, owl eyes-
gleaming behind the glasses,
often you zoom inwards
and land in that never never land
beyond the reach of most,
yet I am in love with your
ingeniousness that defies words.
bit strange it may sound
but I am one who explores
the hidden spaces beyond
my desired comfort zones.
they warn me saying a nerd
is a killjoy, nothing else
Swimming against the tide
I hear your excited chirps inside
making me restless with anticipation,
my intellectual slant
received your approval,
many times,I am hopeful
growing my beard long
I'll wait here, till you return
completing your mission.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Why?
Why do I want you?
Why do I put myself through all of this?
Why do I like the quirky things you do?
Like the face you make when you are thinking.
Or when you make that heart-melting smile.
Or when you look at me with those fierce, ice blue eyes.
Why do I **** myself wanting you?
Why do I want you?
Why?
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
***All that mush
What's the fuss
Life is to live
Oh yes
Love it and live
Love you Zindagi
Love you Zindagi
A crazy you and a crazy me
Holding hands breaking rules
What a lovely pair together we make
Love you Zindagi
A simple smile and a twinkle in the eye
Take away the tears and banish the fear
A beautiful art , warms up the heart
I do what I like
And I like what I do
Right or wrong
Responsibility all mine
A Believer
More of spiritual
Forgive me , Oh Lord
Follow not too many rituals
I do what I like
And I like what I do
Works of a complicated mind
That's what you'd find
In retrospect
Reflect
Yet not regret
A quirky me
Yes that's true
And
Today I turn 42
Love you Zindagi
All that mush
What's the fuss
Life is to live
Oh yes
Love it and live
Love you Zindagi
Love you Zindagi***
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC