Best Askew Poems
Apricot marmalade wispy clouds upon the blue
canvas, swiftly changing sunrise reveals a surprise_
charcoal gray, a textured smoke billowing askew
across the eastern sky, Suddenly diamond dew
drops fall upon grasses, Everything expressed anew
as the sun rises, the moon bidded
adieu, this day will pass; tomorrow, too
Apricot marmalade wispy clouds upon the blue
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Contest: Enjambment
I know it doesn't make any sense...
Written October 19, 2014
It all started when Sleeping Beauty slapped Cinderella
Then Snow White retaliated and hit her with an umbrella
as Ariel the little Mermaid's tail turned into legs
Prince Erick and Prince Charming stole the Easter bunny's eggs.
As Alice from wonderland grew five times her size
Hansel and Gretel attacked her by surprise
While Puss in Boots fought Peter pan
Captain Hook and Ursula produced an evil master plan.
Rapunzel chatted with Red Riding hood
and the three little pigs were up to no good
Thumbelina still aspired to grow
and Rumpelstiltskin has a name he thought no one would know
Jack climbed the beanstalk which was later cut down
by the woman in the shoe who stole Cinderellas wedding gown.
The wicked witch of the west set the woman's shoe ablaze
and Dorothy clicked her heels but didn't return home for thirty days.
When fairy tales get messy this is what well never see
but this is what fairy tales would be like if it were up to me...
If I were
an astronomer,
a follower of Papa
Galileo through
th'expanding years,
I should be
less confounded by
that vortex
in the sky
first spotted
when a learned bro
peeked through
his viewing lens.
"Our home"
he said, "is bigger
than we thought!"
and thus he kicked
the boot of Italy
into a cosmic ocean
where galactic islands drift,
defying that old wader
of its terra,
no longer firm-a
("oh, let's asee my fren;
we play da words,
I mean, da Medi-terra-neans")
Yes, I know signore, those
who think longingly
about their home upon
the ground beneath.
But there it is,
a starry nebulum
that just will not behave
as science thought it should.
And so she floats
albeit saucilly
with starry hands
on cosmic hips,
"Just where"
she wants to know,
"is a galaxy
to go?"
~
.
Geese squawking askew
V-formation out of form
Headed south too late
/
/
/
\
\
\
\
\
\
\
Must be young geese
No strong leader
First flight home
No I will not ask for directions
(Haiku/Free Verse and what else who knows)
No butterflies at Christmas time, you and I know why
they'd freeze their wings and wouldn't stand a chance
inside this wintry Palace of snow and fanfare glow.
But little Suz with her happy trails of dreams galore
asked Santa for a butterfly, she wanted nothing more.
One with summer wings that could dart, flit, and fly
one that could light the room like a cloudless blue sky
one that could take her away to a place oh, so high.
Upon this firmament of earth what would a holiday be
without the assistance of a magic fairy's glee
So, it was on that diamond studded Holy night
that a fairy appeared wearing wings way too tight
she nipped at her pillow and whispered in her ear
"Help me get these pinions off, won't you be a dear!"
Little Suz with eyes so big touched the spongy wings of blue
they were warm and cradle soft, filled with morning dew
Soon the fairy left her side off to Netherland she flew
to get another pair of wings, with her Halo all askew.
sheets of light from times that’ve passed &
(patterns of events
that try to circumvent)
clichés dancing ‘pon the looking glass
(original overcast clouds
placing bets upon the rent)
where places drift along the sea
(introverted romantic something somethings
being labeled criminal)
as Dali’s clocks did drip & tease &
(whilst the hoity-toity high society harlequins
are dubbed seminal)
from the egg his wife did come
(merely chatter, merely filler,
merely wasted time is found)
along the beach a silent song
(when original tunes are ignored
for those tramping round the town)
a place to run when problems come
(be them neon, be them glitter,
be them televised in the day)
insanity claims the sanest ones
(nothing molds so well so to exploit,
better than the softest clay)
still as the snow covers all the tracks &
(full of figureheads & liars getting up to the pulpit
to say their piece)
all one’s life’s packed in a sack
(like genitals on the slab
seething sores & bearing yeast)
the quicker all the lot is done
(telling torrent tales of tortured lands &
faces they’ll never know)
the sooner death for everyone
(using everyone as bargaining chips
just to gain a few more pounds)
but is the dream one’s having now
(smoking cigarettes to bear the look
of some hollywood glammy putz)
any different from a walkabout?
(streaming show suits & ill-gotten gains,
twisting, turning in the lutz)
another clue, another quiz,
another care for an idiot.
Unless you're a true celebrity
or one with real notoriety,
what you think folks think or say
of you in public or in secrecy
shouldn't bother you in any way
though your hunches persist;
for all you know they don't even
have an inkling that you exist;
and when you're down, don't blame
the world for ganging up on you;
don't kid yourself with such conceit
that's so inane and so askew!
Lately it appears
As if something is missing
That spark's not quite there
Have you started dismissing
By becoming increasingly distant
Are you growing immune
At an inopportune moment
Unfortunate events
Are now putting dents
Causing you to lament
All the time that's been spent
Your abandonment issues
Manifest malcontent
Presenting the case
That resent will torment
It's odd
Your demeanor is this incomplete
Are their things going on
That have led to deceit
There's an unwanted tension
That isn't so sweet
Not to mention the way
You mistreat then repeat
Please don't allow love to become obsolete
Bent askew, with shadow straight as a die
reflecting my every move and mood
I dwelt upon the hidden grace of being bent.
For curved things are strangely stronger
than straight things, so rare in nature.
So prone to shatter to pick-up-sticks, straight bits
when compliant and inflexible.
Fearing the wind will turn you into a statue
if you flap, furl, curl and yield to change,
and take a backward step, arching back,
away from the straightforward.
Soul Askew
the greed for power, money too,
rich think they are better, due,
halos slip, slip-slides askew,
self serving, self deletes,
self judges, self repeats,
next time on sorrows street,
reborn, the ever whining meet,
the self bought,
humble stew,
ironic its not new,
subtle ends, an sour deceit,
parasitics, souls defeat,
starvation conquers you,
does the lesson educate,
or is it pointless too,
why we suffer, calculate,
but logic says its true,
reason for debate,
be honest and true blue,
cos Africa can wait,
but suffering renews,
our spiritual estate,
you little bugger you…
Don Johnson
Looking out to the horizon
The warmest colors, the sun setting just past the water
And yet all I see is a line, slightly askew
Is it me? Is it the world around me?
Why do I feel disoriented?
My heart races
Frustrated, I adjust my own posture
I study the horizon and begin to speculate
There's a problem in front of me that I must solve
Minutes, hours, days go by
The sun rises and falls, the weather varies
And yet I notice none of it
Why is the horizon slightly askew?
How can I set the lines straight?
My frustration grows
The waves crash
The voices in my head grow louder
Louder
Until finally, I forget about the problem in front of me
I move on to the next challenge
All the while
I failed to notice how many glorious sunsets passed before me
All that beauty wasted
Because the world wasn't perfect
I couldn't look past its faults
And now I remain, stoic, unphased, uninspired
And still slightly askew.
On a clear day in the day room
he will tell anyone he has
had an askew life.
When he was a small boy
out for a Sunday walk
with his parents
his father would shout
not to walk on the edge
of the sidewalk
and in grammar school
the nuns would get upset
because he didn’t always
write between the lines
and at jobs after college
despite doing things well
and getting promotions
he had a habit of being late
and in a long otherwise
satisfactory marriage
his wife would get upset
because he didn't put stamps
on envelopes straight.
On a bad day in the day room
he will tell anyone none
of those people is still alive.
Donal Mahoney
In the hollow of my chest resides a void
Where the seats recline
a whispered voice
Is heard in time.
When echoes once danced
Now silence abides.
In the backseat of the past
The pulse of life Is heard
When the cars go by
a distant muted drum
In this empty realm
Numb shadows come
No one stirs
I couldn’t feel
The quiet deep
No dreams or fears
No tears to softly weep
Emotions’ color fade
To spectral gray
A canvas blank where
Light has lost its way
The world around me
Spins in the vibrant hue
Yet I am still askew.
I remain unseen
No warmth to touch
No chill to pierce my skin
A ghost adrift
Where feelings should’ve been
Oh how I yearn
For just a fleeting spark
To pierce the fog
and chase away the dark
Yet in the silence,
all my hopes remain
A voice of nothingness
A void of constant pain.
In a world where touch remains a dream
I reach for shadows, grasp at seams
The sheets that are not there
The seats that are always bare
The space between us, cold and clear
Hold echoes of a love sincere
Your presence lingers
Soft and near
Yet I cannot hold
What’s held so dear
Fingers trace the empty air
Feels like sponge
Absorb the warmth
That we use to share
Each whispered word
A remnant song
In a realm where
I don’t belong
My heart extends
Across the void
To find the touch
We once enjoyed
Yet here I stand
In silence bound
Where only echoes
Can resound
For though we speak
And hearts may blend
The touch I crave
I cannot stand
In waking hours
Our hearts entwine
The tethered beats
On leather seats
Through joy and pain.
Though touch is lost
Love’s truth remains.
On the heights of despair, where light falls askew,
I rise through the abyss of thoughts as through a dream,
The whole world is an absurd song, without meaning,
And yet, behold, my foes, the mountains do not laugh,
And the worms, silent, do not sing, only I, solitary,
Watch as illusions dance on stage,
Dressed in garments of clouds and smoke.
What a wonder to love supreme uselessness,
When morals and aesthetics break like reeds,
And religions become just shadows of forgetful gods,
How to live when all around is just dust
And your soul trembles under the eternal weight
Of the void that holds you close like a mother
Who has lost her child in the desert blizzard.
Ah, but the absurd, this playful demon,
Casts its light on the chaos within me,
And I lose myself in questions without answers,
In love with something formless,
A love that stretches like a river
You cannot touch, only feel its flow
And lets you drift in the drift of eternity.
Without purpose and without aim, my love
Is a play of shadows under the emerald sky,
And I, a lost dreamer, bow
Before the absurd, for only it gives
A semblance of life’s meaning, a reason
To pass through time like a traveler
Who does not seek a destination, only the journey.
so
ironic
that art
subtly shares
a dubious intimacy
with the slightly askew,
with the quite assymetrical
with the somewhat . . . artless.