Idiosyncrasies: Celebrating 10 Years of Publishing

By Adam Thomas Applebaum

Idiosyncrasies is the second poetry book written by Author Adam Thomas Applebaum and his 7th Book Published to date. Take a deep dive into the amalgamation of 15 years of casually writing poetry and 10 years of Independent Publishing. In it you should find a mixture of poems of multiple

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Thomas Applebaum
• Release date: May 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218421113

Adam Thomas Applebaum

Adam Thomas Applebaum is the author of 7 books as of this publication. He holds a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and Concentrated in Information Systems. Adam founded a seasonal popup store that would make convention appearances and operate solely online outside of that in 2016. He has offered both self-published books written by him, calligraphy, and poetry services. Adam has a YouTube channel related to that side venture, and it aired its first video on March 09, 2021, where he reads creepypastas, demonstrates how he writes poetry and helps us get in touch with emotions men were expected to repress for generations. He also controlled a mostly variety archive channel for things he had done on a whim since YouTube began, but he only uploaded his first video on February 15, 2010. Adam's most significant influence on his value of being well-read and prolific was his late Great Grandma, Frances Zimmer, who died of Alzheimer's. He said, "She knew how to take a board or card game and take me out of the competitive tension of it by conversing about unrelated things." She also gave him a glow-in-the-dark teddy bear as a baby, which he regrets selling or donating as a teen, and last year bought a replica of it in like-new condition. Said item has since been an easter egg throughout this and other works Adam has created. It does not necessarily mean to the reader that something tragic is about to happen. Those who are said to hold such a specific item will have a more significant role before them than any reasonable person may expect of them when it is bestowed. It could be anything from being the main character of their own story to someone of interest in a case. Although some supposedly own these items, not all of them will have anything extraordinary happen to them. Instead, their being "written" to have it in their possession makes them a person of interest, if at all. Adam grew up in Covina and moved to Torrance at 14, so it should be no coincidence that many exciting things happen in both places. The black and white Mainecoon, some of you saw on the back cover of previous books, Jimmy, died July 05, 2020, of complications arising from Anemia found after a flea bath. Adam has a rock holding the remnants inside, a clay pawprint, and a picture of him as a kitten. Adam went from being a cashier and quality assurance analyst to an office administrative assistant. He now lives independently of his parents in an apartment in Los Angeles, California. Since leaving them, he has not stopped writing and has no plans to quit anytime soon.Nevertheless, since the move, Adam has focused more on professional development than attending conventions and meetups. If he could run any brick-and-mortar business in the world, he would want to own a bookstore where people who are not traditionally published could have their works sold. Adam would carry almost exclusively book titles not found in significant book retailers except online, if not for his store. Adam may continue his tradition of selling custom poems as he currently does, depending on how many people he expects to visit the store regularly and how many employees he has working with him. Adam does not quite know if he could make this work long-term or secure the necessary funding, but perhaps it will be something he does when he can afford to retire.

Book preview

1

Reflection of Self

A New Beginning

Betrayed by his passion that burns like fire,

Words spoken in ire,

Circumstances like winds waver,

Connections once great are no longer in favor,

He wanders the land,

Writing is not in demand,

Wisdom gained in the brains,

Darkness consumes the soul,

Birth of a pale foal,

Time is neigh,

It must be this way,

Into the Earth's deep,

No one left to weep. 

What went wrong?

All is gone.

We Discard The Black Hangers

Life is a retail store,

Where people want more.

Clear and black hangers the clothes adorn,

From the day they are born.

The clear hangers fall apart,

The black hangers are discarded.

A sale is made inside the Mart,

The items inside appear unguarded.

Is it coincidence or our nature?

That leads us to avoid darkness.

Or is it not in our nomenclature?

To show equality, compassion, and kindness.

The answer is not clear as day,

Why do we treat them this way?

But we do,

And so, this poem is through.

Are We Happy?

Safe Inside our homes,

We hear the groans,

Elusive are Gnomes,

The van rolls in unpaid loans,

People run but cannot see,

Death comes in,

Beneath a willow tree

Some have said,

the end is near,

While numerous the dead,

It is not I fear,

We never learn,

We never prosper,

It is not what we earn,

It is what we do,

The fit ones go on,

The others are through,

Another song,

Another hymn,

Cannot right a wrong,

Take heed,

Do right,

You will have what you need,

Content with need,

Not greed,

Is happiness indeed!

Pieces 

Parts of the whole,

Cartilage and bone.

Dismembered into a surgical bowl,

The operation was ordered by phone,

Deep inside, they go into the dark recess.

Drugs are given with instructions to follow,

Financial costs and numbers to assess.

Suffering and pain are hard to swallow,

It feels like an eternity when you cannot do,

What you took for granted.

Long though it is, you will get through.

One day, you might get implanted.

Until then, you are the sum of parts,

Some necessary and some less so.

Figures and medical charts,

Leading decisions on where to go.

To what end do we keep pace,

All is impermanence, yet still, we run.

Hopelessness upon my face,

The burden put on us weighs a ton.

Another day, another dollar.

Life goes on, and thrill does not.

Expenditures for the blue-collar,

Life is suffering, and all we got.

The darkness prevails,

Light of hope extinguished.

It doesn’t care how much one wails,

It exists to be relinquished.

When time is done,

And life is no longer fun.

Dark Days are Happy Days

As I write on this stormy night,

Children are filled with fright,

Some consider it depressing,

Some call it dark,

I say, Let’s go to the park!

Am I strange?

Or am I an optimist?

I love such days,

They are great for writing poems and telling stories,

The rain replenishes marigolds and morning glories.

Rain and water are the lifeblood and sustain life as we know it,

I cannot fathom how anyone could dread it.

My ability to see the positives despite the negatives is a credit,

If this poem does nothing to ease the dread of these dark days,

I don’t regret it.

He Lurks

You’ve probably seen him walking as though nothing can touch him.

He pretends to be happier than everyone else.

He is, at times, outspoken,

other times reserved.

You look at upon and wonder what he is thinking.

You pretend not to notice him.

In his mind, he ponders his purpose and has flashbacks of darker days.

He lurks in the shadows, wearing a conspicuous dark jacket,

Among other offbeat clothes,

A silent protest to how shallow our society hath become.

If one is bold enough to probe his mind,

One can learn a lot about him and our world.

The Wanderer

You see him on your college campus or out in public.

He swears his allegiance to no one.

If you watched him, you’d see him blend in and mingle with every social group.

What is his purpose?

Why does he align himself with no one?

Why does he seem to feel so beside himself no matter where he goes, although he can blend in? Why does he travel on this seemingly aimless path?

But is he the wanderer, or is everyone else who notices this pattern the wanderer?

Are we all not in some way, shape, or form a wanderer seeking our true purpose?

Or are we empty vessels that exist only to die and never find meaning in what we do?

As these questions are asked in one’s mind,

He continues through life, unsure how to escape this rut or whether he is even in one.

He seems completely unaware of others around him unless they speak to him.

People used to be concerned in the past, but now they try not to think about it or don’t notice it.

When he does talk, it often sounds cryptic or unusual.

He seems to fit in better with people older than him who finally have the sense to seek the path of wisdom and purpose.

Improv

Poet of darkness,

Poet of death,

Your life's a mess,

You live Each day,

Come what may,

A girl you pray,

Will make her way,

You will have what you deserve,

And experience rebirth,

As the Phoenix to the ash,

You shall be reborn at last,

A new man,

That's the plan,

Naught by might,

Not by power,

Love will light your darkest hour,

Just don't wait until it is too late.

Passion & Profit

Lost and confused,

An author believes the reviews.

Darkness will rise,

His works unfit, they surmise.

Other pursuits consume his time,

We all must earn a dime.

An emptiness inside,

Life is a bumpy ride.

Highs and Lows,

columns and rows.

Lacking in soul,

The profit is null.

A mind is a prison,

Circumstances have risen.

Lacking fulfillment, he toils.

As his blood boils,

It must come out.

And so, he will shout,

I quit!

He is not a git,

We all break.

Let's all make,

the most of each day,

and live it our way.

Uninspired Poet Blues

Ink like blood runs deep,

In the veins and words upon a sheet,

Onlooker's eyes begin to weep,

A poet they wished to meet,

Now writes words of a lexicon of a different time,

How captivated they are with my reason and rhyme,

They could never understand the steady hand,

He walks the land without reprimand,

There is nothing wrong,

He has come and gone,

Wandering the earth,

And minding his girth,

Time ticks on,

Spectators begin to yawn,

His muse seems lost,

Failure has a cost,

Not his life,

Or a wife,

His pride is gone,

His life is long,

Now begone!

2

Love and Loss

Love Is

Love Is…

When someone brings you a pot or garden of flowers, a bouquet will die in a week, and you can care for it together.

When someone would prefer to hold you close and snuggle with you rather than feed the corporate machine.

When someone takes time to understand the method to your madness.

When they are as willing to alleviate stress in a work or school project as they are to leave you to do it all for the sake of accomplishment.

When they don’t have to tell or hear that you and they love each other.

You can be comfortable acting as awkward or weird as you like without feeling judged.

When they at least try to share an interest in what you enjoy.

When someone takes the time to listen to you and understand how you feel.

When someone knows the darkness inside you and pledges to be the light in your life.

When someone can share mutual trust in confiding anything, you might feel uncomfortable telling a therapist.

When someone can appreciate a thoughtful poem over a store-bought gift.

Those are the makings of true love.

Adam by Mariyah Howard

A single female cries alone, bitter tears in her eyes.

Her life, so pleasing to others, holds a dark side most wouldn’t believe.

An old master’s touch haunts her mind, someone whom few have known.

A blood slave she was, dammed to bleed at her master’s command.

Yet it’s not his hand that wields the blade; ’tis her fragile hand, cutting her flesh till she can cry no more.

Yet this night, her hand hesitated, her mind conjuring up two straightforward names.

She held both of them dear, yet one was so far away.

One was her daughter, whom she loved more each day, a gentle little girl who always put a smile on her face.

The other was a male’s name. He was an amazing man she barely knew, yet just his name in her mind sent her heart a flutter.

His name alone, while so simple a thing, made her hard skip a beat, her spirit sing.

His name alone made her smile and hope for something better, a clean life.

Although he wasn’t close to her, her heart yearned for him like no other. A simple man made her heart want to sing.

For the first time in what seemed like fever, she’d not bleed, but sleep, a dream, a simple happy dream.

A dream where she’s holding her precious daughter in her arms, both of them surrounded by the arms of her dream love.

I’m sure you’re wondering just who this man may be. ’Tis you, my dear Adam.

"Tis you I think of each night, right before bed.

It’s your name, I think, that brings me such joy and dares me to hope.

My heart is yours for the taking; all you need to do is reach out and grasp it.

Fine

Her middle name means courteous goodwill to all,

Last name of high quality,

First name industrious and hard-working till life’s fall,

Purveyor of good times and frivolity,

Appreciative of concepts most deep,

Photogenic and brimming with passion,

She does not find me a creep,

Always in fashion,

And brings out the best in me,

Inspires rhyme,

Someone I’d want to be,

Is Sublime,

Never change who you are.

When it comes to cool,

You set the bar!

Red

A bad balance in accounting,

Color of anger,

Trials I’m surmounting,

Music is a banger,

Roses are thorny,

Blood is blackened red,

The rhymes get corny,

Thicker than water, they said.

Ink in my pen,

New book,

No dealer’s den,

Have a look,

Wares online,

Until the end of time…

Loveless,

I isolate myself a lot of the year,

But never more than the winter season.

It is a time for couples to meet and have a nice feast together.

Regarding romance,

I have never been so lucky to have a relationship that lasts long enough.

Like Jacob from the Twilight series,

I am a lone wolf.

I lie down to rest at night and wonder,

Why do I continue to live this way?

And How long will I let life pass me by as I wait for true love’s sweet embrace?

The kind of love you only hear about in fairy tales.

Granted, they never tell you what happens to make the kids,

But in these dark times, it seems like there is no love.

There is only lust and materialism.

I would sooner die alone forever.

 I cannot be with someone who only loves me what I own,

And not the quality of person I am as a whole.

Every time I swear off women,

Another one comes along.

Why must fate play games with me?

When will a woman be able to accept me for who I am,

And when will my few questionable qualities not drive them away?

When can I stop living a lie?

When will I meet one that my past or unusual interests won’t repulse?

No matter how good things seem,

They are not to last.

Do I have to be a jerk to get anyone to stay?

Is that what they want?

Or are they only interested in strength or money?

Then those who ask this question have admirers they don’t want to date.

Such a vicious cycle love is to humanity.

Women ask, Where have all the good men gone?

They rejected them.

Men claim there are no women with the capacity to love them.

This notion is also untrue.

Both are too particular because the good people have something about them,

Something about them that the ones who lament their situation don’t like.

It could be physical appearances,

Harsh or conceited words,

Or perhaps they came off as unstable or filled only with lust.

So we ask once more, Is there love in this world?

Should we settle for what is available?

Do we know what we want?

There are so many questions with varying answers.

One thing is sure:

Whether you fall in love and it lasts

Or die alone and frustrated,

Death ensures, Nothing gold can stay.

Lone Ranger Beach

Beaches of roaring waves,

Chirping birds and blazing suns.

A ranger upon a steed,

A sight indeed!

Trotting on the sandy beach,

The reigns in reach.

The ranger holds his hat.

What do you think about that?

He is all alone,

And he must atone. Where is his wife?

That is his strife.

His female

Sent him an email.

Now they are through,

What’s the ranger to do?

He rides upon the sands,

The reigns in his hands,

Into the sunset,

That is the story so far,

Now to the bar!

A Grave Situation

On a cold moonlit night,

We see a sight.

A child kneels in front of a tombstone.

He cannot go home.

As a cold wind blows,

Where it never snows,

Etched in the slab,

In a color most drab,

The name of the deceased,

Cause of death by a beast,

The child cannot sleep,

He can only weep,

People visit and cannot see,

The name on the stone is…me.

Konaroo

Marsupial, who worked on many a car;

I met you in a bar;

Bouncy and full of life;

Absence wrought much strife;

Your hugs and purrs in the chest;

Devotion to character is simply the best;

In Hellish heat;

You grilled our meat;

Never once leaving your suit;

Spontaneous and dependable;

Others say you did recruit;

Oxytocin and love your chemical;

Black, blue, green, and yellow;

You were a sweet and caring fellow;

Gone away before your time;

Up above your heavenly climb;

Us below may never know;

Until it is time to go;

Peace and tranquility, a soul complete;

Your body beneath our feet;

Though we gather around and weep,

Memories of your deeds we keep;

Until, at last, we reunite and fly;

In the great Furry Convention in the sky.

You!

I knew from the day we met that you weren’t like the others.

Your eyes had seen right through me.

You knew that I was cynical and hopeless.

A glimmer of light remained stubborn amid the darkness.

It was invisible to most others, but you saw it clear as day.

How did it come to be that when I thought I lost it all,

When I thought my game was over,

You were there?

I stared into the fire... ready to throw it all away.

You stopped me and showed me true happiness.

I wanted for naught but someone to understand the method to my madness....to embrace me for who I am.

I am sorry I could not be this light for you.

Although you are gone, the light burns brighter than ever.

We are one, and as long as I remember you,

You’ll never truly die.

Gone Away

Morose and full of untold strife;

Sense of humor eclectic;

Going through the motions of life;

The pace of life and demands are hectic;

Body groans like a rusted gear;

Slowly, I pack my things and roam;

Gone without goodbye, No one near;

Unneeded like a comb;

Darkness envelopes all I am;

No one will be sorry;

Taken my essentials, I will scram;

On a soul-searching safari,

All will fade away;

Meaning not found;

Will my time be today;

Or will I be buried amid the temple mount?

I am neither here nor there;

I have gone away…

3

Memes and Funnies

Undead Survival Guide - For Undead

So you have managed to win the proverbial Darwin Award,

Shuffled off this mortal coil,

Made all your friends say oh my gourd,

Was it by lightning upon a hat of tinfoil?

Regardless of how you came and went,

You have just realized this is it,

Was your life well spent?

Or do the regrets of life keep you here like a git?

If you are reading this, seeing it, or otherwise you have died,

You probably feel pretty mucky,

Your family cried,

The worm crawling out of your eye is yucky,

And your limbs are naught but bone and rotting flesh,

The following steps will help you make the most of your sorry State.

Step 1: Rise from your grave; you are a hideous mess!

Step 2: Examine your surroundings for possible survivors, undead, or hazards such as a wooden crate.

Step 3: If any living exist, they have been trained by movies to kill on sight, even if you wear a dress.

Step 4: Do not look for a cure or hunt for brains.

Step 5: If your maggot-infested stomach needs sustenance, try the cave mold instead of the wastebasket.

Step 6: If you have to go back to the grave, find clues to how you lost your life's reins.

Step 7: Rest in peace. Your soul is free, and you are back in the casket.

With those steps in mind, I hope the transition will be smooth.

Wait, can zombies read this?

Da Wae

You ask me, Do you know da wae?;

Da wae to where?

San Jose?

Yes, I know da wae there;

You say the path of enlightenment is da wae;

Again, you ask me if I know;

I don't understand what you say;

You spat on me, and da wae you will show;

Your clicking sounds are pretty annoying;

Then came your bruddahs, who seemed to mimic you with ease;

Playing with my emotions is an act you seem to be enjoying;

So stop it now, and show me if you would please;

This queen who knows da wae;

I am not your queen;

I am not now nor any day;

My senses are keen;

I woke up, and it was all a dream;

Canus Famous

Fur is so golden they made you a virtual currency,

Born of a misspelling of Doggy,

You were a meme, then you were MLG,

How your cuteness was simple yet profound,

The biggest thing since Puppies of the Pound,

Tit for Tat,

You'd beat Nyan Cat,

Your eyes are so happy and bright,

You'd light up the night,

Why your creator chose you, we may never know,

Though you may be forgotten in time,

You'll be immortalized in rhyme,

For, at last, I am paid what is due,

They'll be talking about you.

Comedy

Varied and sometimes subtle;

Lost in a rebuttal;

What is the punchline?

I get punched and given a dime;

What is the reason for this rhyme?

Who’s on first?

This poem may just be the worst;

Or is it, though?

I tried to catch the fog,

But I mist;

The dyslexic Rabbi prayed to a dog;

I got a boot to the head, not a fist;

My Sense of humor was not shared;

Where did I go wrong?

I never knew they cared;

I didn’t think it’d take this long;

To write this poem and make it funny,

Improv is hard, and I’ll know why;

It doesn’t make me money;

Making content on the fly;

Sometimes, it takes humor to live;

Until there is nothing left to give

Roasted or Baked?

A Jersey man,

The 49ers are at it again,

A discontented Cowboys fan,

How about that beard?

Former football coach,

Isn’t it weird?

Shaven like a goat,

Now a golf manager,

The Eagles made the Super Bowl,

If all goes south, be a janitor,

I love Domino’s

Nothing is 24 hours except Denny’s, but it blows,

What is Wawa’s?

Pete loves a roast,

Sounds like Mama’s

If I mess this up, my job is toast,

On the opposite shore,

Complaints of no work ethic!

Oh, what a chore,

Life story unfit for an epic,

Waited forever,

Due date missed,

I thought I would never,

Finish this list,

Of data to make,

This poetic bake!

Bottleneck

Bottleneck of glass;

Narrow and corked;

A pain in the ass;

Bought in hopes it worked;

Biological lack of diversity;

Roads converge a traffic jam;

Few left overcame adversity;

It makes one wonder if it is a scam;

Scrolls were not to fit;

Things don't always go to plan;

So what do I do with it?;

I am no one but a man;

Hopefully, ordinary paper;

I will not have to cut;

To taper;

I will find a use yet;

Maybe this poem;

Will be all set;

And this bottle will show some;

Utility to me;

And be a harbinger of money;

It is not free;

It is rather funny;

How meta this piece;

To the experiment;

Eventually, I must cease;

And commence the Merriment;

So, at last, I must say to you;

Goodbye and Adieu!;.

4

Religion and Spirituality

Passion & Profit

Lost and confused,

An author believes the reviews,

Darkness will rise,

His works unfit, they surmise,

Other pursuits consume his time,

We all must earn a dime,

An emptiness inside,

Life is a bumpy ride,

Highs and Lows,

columns and rows,

Lacking in soul,

The profit is null,

A mind is a prison,

Circumstances have risen,

Lacking fulfillment, he toils,

As his blood boils,

It must come out,

And so he will shout,

I quit!

He is not a git,

We all break,

Let's all make,

the most of each day,

and live it our way.

Chanukah

Chanukah has eight nights,

Each candle lit,

Jews fought for their rights,

To live as they saw fit,

Latkes and Sufganiyot made in a pan of oil,

A celebration of the defeat of the arrogant royal,

We dance, sing, and play,

Each day,

Though our numbers are small,

We stand tall,

Play sevivon and give gelt,

Eat them before they melt,

One present for each night,

Now, let's celebrate our holy rite!

Ode To The Matzoh Cracker

Matzoh cracker,

Crumbly and plain,

You remind us of our pain,

Of the Hardships and the Slain,

Did they all die in vain?

Are we angry? Are we sane?

Passover traditions remain,

And immutability is to blame,

History was cruel,

To those of G-d’s rule,

Though today they are few,

Innovating is what they do,

Take it from a Jew!

Hate

You told me you liked my performances,

You listened, musing over my stories,

I thought we had a connection,

Such beautiful words of compassion and care,

But then He came in,

Your agenda is clear as day,

I would rather die than kill who I am,

Your love works for you,

He does not work for me,

How dare you try to kill my identity,

I