"unorthodox" poems
Found myself at a dental clinic...
He was the best there was.
Unorthodox and eccentric,
But to the specialised craft, he was boss.
Ran through the bits and bobs
Like any normally would.
The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays.
Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.
Strange was what happened next...
Specialist and I then stood facing each other.
He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage.
Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.
Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man.
Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature.
Talks of politics and odd human behaviours...
What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.
I then realised that along with his decorated credentials,
Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant.
Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide,
But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.
Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness!
I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought.
I wanted him to just stop talking!
I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"
He was stunned momentarily...
I suppose he hadn't seen that coming.
Then his features softened to a blank
I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.
With an exasperated sigh of resignation,
He uttered his next words swollen with regret
"There's no need...for you only have four years left."
It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.
And then I woke up...
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
I have never been one to do things usual,
wet down and reusable
straight up delusional,
sometimes confusing all,
middle finger useable.
So juvenile.
Between you and me,
this girl is overly irreverent,
open book intelligent,
in need of saving reverend,
whose arrogant,
most relevant.
I'm typically benevolent.
It's evident I'm heaven sent,
REPENT!
I'm unsusceptible to rules,
except on days like April Fool's.
I'm orthodox, I kid,
you wish.
Unorthodox, reborn,Jewish
Foolish.
I have never been one to do things usual,
Chained up? Refuseable,
tied down and doable,
funked up and beautiful,
French words excusable,
the next line unsuitable.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.
But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 12:27 PM UTC
If I am to dig graves for the rest of my life
I wish to do it with my hair long and proud,
Swinging at the small of my back as a testament of
Will in the face of adversity,
Grown by the fruits of my labor.
I want to harvest the nectar
From the pear tree on my horizon
And when I eat my fill,
I will just as easily leave the sweetness behind,
Before it spoils and then,
I will look the hurricane in the eye and laugh,
Because I know it will baptize the earth
And my pear tree will be waiting for the day
This nomad returns to her roots.
If I am to choose between
A false lover and Uncertainty in the North
I want to have the gall to say,
“Brother, come at eight.”
I want to have the self-control
To lower the gun on a man,
Whose mind is a dank closet full of spiders.
By then, I must be ready to venture out,
And risk this Uncertainty in the North.
If I am to take my revenge,
I wish to do so without collateral damage,
And if I do,
I want everyone to learn that revenge
Will stab you with your own rapier
And that I am the kind of person,
Who will make you drink your own wine,
Because, in the end,
We are all sinners.
If I am to write propaganda to support
A nauseating turn of society,
I would rather be exiled.
Iceland, Siberia, The Ministry of Love:
They are all the same,
Because I will come out a different person
For better or for worse.
I wish to have the strength to cut my hair
Because I will not hesitate
To cut ties with anyone,
Who stands in the way of my passion.
I must be unorthodox
If I see my fellow men
Following in each other’s footsteps, with their eyes closed.
I will scream it in the streets,
“The world is not pretty.”
If I am to be unorthodox,
I wish to have faith,
Strong enough not to be undone by mere chance,
Strong enough so I can watch the coin fall:
Heads.
Heads.
Heads.
Accepting that I will one day die.
And if it involves a ship,
I will be its captain.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
With mighty aplomb
You drop your vitreous 'view bomb'
With unorthodox precision
You squander my decision
You have one filter
And that is to kilter
The views that don't come from a stranger
The views that echo in your echo chamber
Fair pity to those who reach out with an olive branch
To give you another chance
A chance to move away from grief
A chance to turn over another leaf
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 7:21 AM UTC
"It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you,"
but seriously don't you want to?
I'm giving you permission,
I'm giving you the go.
Because all I want to know is who you are,
along with what you fear, what you love, what makes you smile and laugh.
And in the end it's ok if you want to let me go,
I'll treasure every moment we spend together even if you don't.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
i saw you the way an artist does
brilliant and bathed in holy fire
your scars
the strokes of a brush
your anatomy every medium
your smile
a photograph in
black and white
your lips
oil on canvas
your eyes
watercolor on paper
your hair
texture and dimension
on a portrait
you and i
an unfinished graffiti
an unorthodox art form
fleeting and reflective
but a masterpiece
nonetheless
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
A kiss in the blue black dark
Inhibitions lost to drink
But slowly returning
Almost sober, but not quite
Forehead to forehead
Nose to nose
Chin to chin
Mouth to mouth
Resuscitation from this
Dream
Sparks fly between the two
But there are repercussions for that
Hands of another were held so tightly
Lips of another were made slightly wet
With a kiss unorthodox, taboo
Another's ******* pressed to his chest
While trying to make out another's eyes in the dark
A whispered goodnight
An event unregretted
A secret?
Lips that burned for more
But shushed
And feelings unrestrained.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
confessions from
a cerebral inkwell
hemorrhaging the
paradox of spilled
holy water blessed
in unorthodox
black lace.
||shoo.shu ||
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
With the box lid closed
It's dark inside,
There are no colours
We can't abide.
But a golden sliver of light seeps in,
To expose the colours there within.
We see red when enraged,
And scarlet dancers crowd our stage;
A red-blooded male brags virility
Through rose-coloured glasses of masculinity.
Some grow green with envy,
Reveal they're yellow in enmity,
Are blue when feeling empathy,
Turn blue holding out for sympathy,
Are tickled pink with comedy,
And white as a sheet with tragedy,
Or brown-nosed with syncophany.
If your yellow-bellied you may run,
And green-gilled after Jamaican ***
Write purple prose when versifying,
Ashen coloured when you're dying.
True colours show outside the box,
Use grey cells to colour unorthodox.
Our true colours are harlequin,
That fade to black at our end.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
To us, the world can be painfully beautiful,
staring through the stolen glass eyes of an Aquarian child,
a vision, a sensitive vintage acid spell.
Overt transcendence beyond abstract universal turns into Bohme consciousness: Unorthodox awareness.
Cracking jokes about death, laughing off serious black-and-white situations,
find them an electric bridge between the Rainbow corner of the sky and home,
a thick, liquid existence illuminating yesteryear’s universal revolt.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 4:07 PM UTC
Oh all the poetry in me head
Many Masterpieces never said
Melding works of the dead
I am the writer you'll take what is fed
Eat up these delicious words
Unleash upon society tasty verbs
Unorthodox I'm a writing nerd
Strive to push boundaries of absurd
Open imagination like a can of worms
Squirm from emotions as they turn
I am fire feel me burn
Down to be taught that's why I learn
I'll write the book you turn the page
Knowledge hits your mind like a 12 gauge
Not a prophet more a Pervy Sage
I have magic in me like a Mage
King of Poetry label me with a tittle
Potential to perform like an American idol
To evolve always grow to me is vital
To not reach full potential is suicidal
Join me on my journey feel the rub
Kissed with gifts from heaven above
Feel you..heal you..I will not shove
Me Head Flow potent full of love.....
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Rememeber how she loved you.
Remember how she smelled.
Remember the tiny hairs
on the back of her neck
and the way that she spoke
your name like you were
something special.
Remember how she laughed
at your poor-taste jokes and sewed
the buttons back onto your pants
when your weight fluctuated
all of those years.
Remember reading stories
to each other at night
and sharing your unorthodox thoughts
over a warm mug of something or other,
whenever she was into that sort of thing.
Remember driving miles to see her
and feeling like you'd never parted.
Remember sharing your insecurities
and your dark memories that you dare
not share with anyone else.
Remember how she never uttered judgement
in your direction even when you choked up
during those discussions.
Remember laughing.
Remmeber holding her.
Remember how she smelled
after a long stressful day
and how- to you- it smelt
sweet instead of sour.
Remember the sound of her voice
when she sang to you.
Remember when that same
"beautiful" voice cracked
when she would cry.
Remember making her cry.
Rmemeber the first time that your hands
forgot what a delicate little girl she was
when you struck her.
Remember her forgiving heart.
Remember the number of times
that you said "I'm sorry".
Remember the fire in your stomach growing
during those fights.
Remember how the love outweighed the issues.
Remember crying in each others arms
as you made up and held each other
so tight (it almost hurt).
Her smell.
Remember that.
Remember the first time that
you slept in seperate beds again,
like before there was an "us".
Remember waking up alone,
missing her.
Her smell.
Remember watching her pack her
things and walk out the door.
Remember how unreal it felt
and how you couldn't stop it.
Remember when words weren't enough anymore.
Remember why she walked away.
Remember trying to hold onto
the memory of her smell.
Remember how empty your
arms felt the night that
you couldn't remember anymore.
Take it all in.
Take some time to sit with it.
Now try to forget.
Try to forget how
much it hurts to
Remember.
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 2:52 AM UTC
mike, you puzzle me.
you make me
think
that you only want to see me
so you can think about me
later
when you're by yourself
and that's kinda
weird.
you beg
to see me
and then leave
quickly
just so you can
think about me.
mike,
i think you
like the idea
of me
but i am too real
too existent
to actually be around
you have to satisfy your imagination
get something new to dream
and then you
leave
mike,
you
puzzle
me.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
They fought like crackers
for the coveted prize
from the green bud banter
to the Sunday guise
whipped in a frenzy
by the Callaway score
torn asunder
at the elfin door
The hoodwinked watchman
holding council at post
stung by the folly
of the second floor host
a wild card shuffle
from numskulls and fools
high on their trade
and obstinate rules
Trenchant voices
remarkable cures
Billy’s brigade
and gob smacking boors
wreaking havoc
(in a flatulent way!)
staunch and bitter
and riled foul play
Scissor tailed catcher
and one eyed crow
trolls and packers
unfortunate woes
Lloyd’s forgiveness
and scowls at the chart
***** of fury
from a shot gun start
Gadfly’s and gripers
are unorthodox
the nineteenth hole
for **** in a box
tribunals and judges
a cold reverie
another fine year of the M.O.D.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
My father lit a cigarette and smoked the room up
with choked circles,
he rewrites every woman
he sees,
metamorphosis asunder,
because nothing is on tv.
My mom was hauled blindly
away from love to evening's riverbed
--to **** the fear of
correction away.
Birds talk about fish
that fly in airline crusades, gobbling up wise owls.
Blossom talons pluck
--up their words,
the closest a lie can come to the truth
and be set in stone None of them
will be remembered
the way they want to. footnote retribution.
The wandering dead only care about
modeling on the covers
of psychology magazines--hailing reviews that digest indulgence
beautifully,
carving chocolate waists
down
to starvation--we melt away to gnats
in Prozac hives
shingled with academic love papers
& bible covers.
Dear Alice,
you stole our table of tea, our shaved vigil,
our western rodeo,
our alcoholic omega.
Midnight on the dishonored battlefield
with the scythe beneath us,
we murmur love back into
our sheets of high horror.
Your meteorite adultery could not wipe
this hard drive clean--what we would lose...
the things we cannot touch.
Cloud 9 LSD,
its warriors passing
weapons down to the flock's ashes--to wives who fear
the wrath of their husbands. Chlorine gills quit
cold turkey
--sinks overfill under unorthodox skies--the turning of centuries
is nothing like flipping
pennies
into wishing wells.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
As the blur of my eyes clear
I spot the greatest of wonders
Lying next to you in our bed
I awake happily at dawn's nascency
Feeling the blessing of your touch
Is as caressive as a cloud's hug
Just your sweet fulgent smile alone
Vivifies my every forthcoming day
Each time we dance pelvis to pelvis
And you rest your head on my chest
It surely calms my jovial soul
When you listen to my heartbeat
It pleases me to make you blush
Making your scarlet cheeks show
As you look into my eyes and gaze
I gently rub my nose against yours
Then apply slow succulent kisses
Together we create perfection
We have everything in common
Even the smallest of things
I love to laugh with you
Enjoying lovey dovey humor
Springing out adorable chuckles
Being out and about with you
Painting the city with our ambiance
Comforts my very existence
I'm blessed to be within your planet
The way you make me feel is...
Unorthodox, uncannily beautiful as,
Rollerblading on Saturn's rings
It gets no better than this
Me and you connected as one being
At first sight, I was graced by you
And ever since then, I've changed
Happier than happy can become
Upon the darkest of nights
Our love will shine
Lighting the light
Since meeting you my queen
My format has been switched
It will now be you and I til the end
I'm honored you chose me
To multiply and grow old with
Now to me, that's love's essence...
© Michael P. Smith
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
I sat down today and thought of a face—
with kind curves and welcoming eyes,
with a smile that could illuminate a space,
and warm the chilled voids betwixt thighs.
So I snatched up a pen and scribbled like mad,
an articulate letter on said visage so divine—
pages upon pages of marvelous musings—
hunger dripping off of each line.
Then my hands finished working, my fingers at rest,
observing my mess of inked letters and blots.
One simple message derived from it all:
“You’re in my inappropriate thoughts.”
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
The human definition of humanity is becoming a conundrum-filled calamity.
Vivid memories of eclectic booming sounds continue bursting around veterans as they lose sanity.
Mothers work through their pregnancies as their children are born into a materialistically filled world of profanity.
Has the wheel of morality begun an uncontrollable spin in our growing urbanity, or is because of the religious wars we fight, the likes of Christianity?
A travesty amongst us all, but this pain brings an unorthodox form of healing, as we learn from our mistakes and fantasy.
We ******** band together, with our thoughts in groups, to determine a path back towards our morality.
We fight with vigor such as if we were the Roman General Antony.
These fruitless and segmented fights can make the matters worse no matter the strategy.
We must all wake up at once from our mindless love of insanity, and finally, throw to the wayside this world's cruel vanity.
Who or what will ignite the single uniting thought to spread instantly throughout, the thought that will bring peace to our mind, sanity.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
It all comes down to one moment,
a year of love, and happiness,
is ended within a day.
Everything we were,
the future we wanted...
was it right?
Was it wrong?
What can I say?
I guess Im the...
Unorthodox heart breaker,
And I want to die now,
for the pain I've caused you.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
Intellectual Insubordinates Infiltrating Independently Isolated Islands...
People Positively Promote Popping Pain Pills
Do Dummies Distinguish Different Demographic Disorders
Crazy Commanders Create Confused Combat Corps
Unorthodox Ultimatums Usually Unfold United Unions
Things That Typically Transform Taint Temperaments
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
Let me walk along the roads like a wanderer
I’ll glance at the beggars
Side eye the kids walking home
Someone asks if i'm selling
I say not today
The nights are cold
Grass and dirt stain my old clothes
Traffic sounds
Anger and wrath
Where am I going?
Where will I go from here?
I don't know
Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 2:54 PM UTC
this music that rings in my ears
it is heard by only me
these cold, bitter tears
are shed by only me
these unorthodox, irrational fears
torment only me
separation on every side
no one in which i can confide
isolation is where i hide
following rules only i abide
loneliness is not good for the soul
i need someone to make me whole
but i've pushed them all away
in fear that none of them would stay
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
I sat down today and began to type,
But nothing I said seemed to come out right.
The meter was all wrong,
The rhyme scheme was a mess,
The words were too simple,
The stanzas too plain,
So I decided to erase it
And start all over again.
A few backspaces later,
I started anew,
And with each keystroke,
My frustration grew.
My thoughts were garbled
And looked clumsy in print;
My words were childish
And seemed cliche.
So I tried one last time
To write something that made sense,
But instead of eloquent rhymes and articulate thoughts
I got ill-expressed musings and awkward phrasings.
Instead of a work of beauty and awe,
I had created a trite piece of junk.
And yet, I found attraction in its ungainly expression
And was fascinated by its candor.
Nothing was hidden in dreamy language,
Or couched in metaphors and vague allusions.
I was filled with a strange satisfaction
At having created such an unorthodox piece,
That evoked in me the simultaneous feelings
Of looking on a lovely, unappealing work.
Jan 12, 2010
Jan 12, 2010 at 12:10 PM UTC
Paradoxical split between the worlds in which I inhabit
Space and time discontinuum
For which art thou represent?
Nonsense you buffoon!
Insanity, sweet sweet insanity
Chill my bones yet warm my heart
Unorthodox orthodoxy with power
Eat thy young
The void always welcome weary travelers
Yet travelers that embrace the void
Are no longer travelers
For we love and loathe our void
Loving and loathing
The story of my passing through time
Completely unfinished
Yet left resolved
What is it that I speak of?
I sincerely wish I knew
I am only a medium
For the being inside of me
Is that not what we all are?
Just bodies withering ever so slightly
Whilst our souls remain forever youthful?
This life can make your soul grow old as well
Or is life an act of duality
In which we sleep at night
So that our souls can show us their lives
And awake to show our souls ours?
Nothing makes sense
It isn't supposed to
That's why there is faith
Whether in nothing or everything
I am nowhere yet everywhere
A tiny speck yet everything I've ever known
I am a clown confused in a circus
Switching realities, or rather fantasies
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC