Best Asymmetrical Poems
Skimming through paragraphs,
I seem to stretch time and shrink my attention
Underlining words I can't grasp
With my limited span of concentration,
Creating art I can't explain
Stick men and asymmetrical shapes,
Spiralling into mazes and dotted lines
Lost in an alphabet jungle.
Encircling page numbers,
Decorating the margins with unflattering flowers,
Marking pages with , blue, pink, fluorescent ink, washing them dry
And awfully bright, missing out on the 'fatality rate' mentioned.
Little wings sprouting from a wavering mind, flying away from topics of discussion.
Dragging my imaginary feet across events in memory;
faces and voices muffled and in disarray
Eyes still glued to statistics and rates,
But seeing ten thousand flickery lights ;
dreams of glitter and starry nights.
Thoughts then seem like little bubbles,
helping me procrastinate much longer.
A finger snap would sound like a rifle shot at this point,
Shattering the world I made,
And awareness rising from rubbles,
Would speak for itself, about things I cannot evade.
Categories:
asymmetrical, anxiety,
Form:
Free verse
You can be those slanted slopes of quandary,
asymmetrical lines on my grid
the definition of doubtful,
the night
and my valley
--------
Let me be everything else:
Your certainty
Your truth
Your security
Your light
Your mountain
“Yours”
__________________
~ Just a little Scribble ~
Categories:
asymmetrical, life,
Form:
Rhyme
She wore a tiffany hat with a bow and six big plumes of red and white,
it had an ultra wide asymmetrical brim that rolled up to one side.
When it came to dames like this I believe God ran out of humble stock !
She wore pompadour shoes, like she had nothing to lose
and rouge so red it made the cardinals have fainting spells !
Her hair was soaked in henna, elderberry & radish extract,
and I believe her dress was stitched in the boudoir of coco-channel!
She was a nouveau riche reveling in her new found fame
and everything in her life was right as rain until that fatal day,
when her hat expanded 10 x its size, growing past her shoulders
like a great big beast, of leavened yeast!
Her hat pins strained from the strain of those great big plumes,
moaning and groaning from her lithe walk and all that perfume !
Then First World War arrived and suddenly it was unpatriotic
to be concerned with one's appearance !
She was no Rockefeller and didn't own a rupee nor a heller,
so she became a steadfast loyal dame, like dear old Helen Keller .
What happened to that big old hat, with the plumes of red and white ?
She stewed it, brewed it, boiled it down then poured it in a flask,
and yes she drank it slowly,... just in case you thought to ask !
March 30/ 2025
Categories:
asymmetrical, analogy, humorous,
Form:
Narrative
Life and Death in two separated clusters, Klimt draws conflicts.
The serenity of his cycle of life is bright in pure color, he depicts.
A modern dance of death, yet he offers pause in what is inevitably set.
Death savoring in anticipation, musing with the decision “Not yet”.
Idly, death looks on, a sinister smile upon the gruesome face.
He has no semblance of human form except a skull in place.
Bones clutch a scepter as he seems to have found something to amuse.
His robe of blue adorned by crosses, is he deciding which one to choose ?
The manifestation of death at a distance from the slumbering cycle of life.
A child to the young women, a muscular male and the old, fear no strife.
Beautiful rounded forms clad with gently patterned clothes,
Seemingly unperturbed by the grim reaper, everyone loathes.
There is an eternal confrontation between death and life.
Depictions of death usually show as dangerous as a knife.
Opposed to the life depicted in a passive sleep like state.
The purposeful asymmetrical balance is to differentiate.
Death lies in wait in his blue robe with many a gaping grave.
And yet hope of a reconciliation, seems that he will save.
Not the evil lurking death, tempting them from their bed,
Time to tell with the circle of life, will he allow them to live on instead?
Categories:
asymmetrical, dance, death, life,
Form:
Ekphrasis
She sorts me in parts
From one side to other.
I am symmetrical and asymmetrical.
I am closest to her brain
I swing around her freely.
I take a leap and kiss her cheeks
She tucks me back behind her ears
Adamantly, i repeat. She repeats.
I am tired
I rest on her shoulders.
I get confused and ill
She untangles me with her Clarity
She cleans me with her Sincerity.
I am hers.
I run down her neck and beyond.
Categories:
asymmetrical, 10th grade, baby, care,
Form:
Carpe Diem
Expressing and process emotions
Releasing tension - negative energies
The ability to identify
Release your feelings out
Whether they are shaped by laughter or tears
Large, hanging, bursting, asymmetrical, small
all boobs are just as amazing
The point is that you have an options
04.04.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
asymmetrical, cheer up, humor,
Form:
Verse
The boots moved slowly,
Crunching sun-baked clay.
A hazy wind down alleyways,
It moves with moans
Then whistles softly,
Quickly gone.
A child stands in a doorway
Pulling something from his robe.
He keys in certain numbers,
Only doing as he's told.
He waits, then hears a bomb
As it explodes.
A helmet lands and bounces
Near his feet.
He shrugs. then merges with a
crowded street.
Gene Bourne
06-03-14
.
Categories:
asymmetrical, allegory, allusion, america, betrayal,
Form:
Lyric
You can't imagine what it's like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' physical promise to a Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor,
wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scripture and stone
with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissension
inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview,
methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty,
we were Legio XV Apollonaris
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo,
the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other legions led by General Titus
60,000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through the Jewish guerilla ambush
asymmetrical urban warfare welting our progress
like a pirate pestilence,
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacrificers
their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets ankle high with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery
a torch was tossed,
flames rose in a rush,
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box,
our grief agape with horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent
with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man
aware of error in his ill plan,
the insurgents had men we called fox tails,
desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number
they would run into apartments
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge,
these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos
screams salting us with panic linger,
J.A.B.
Categories:
asymmetrical, history,
Form:
Epic
Justice of a beautiful woman is that of a model.
She may just be a Christian whore.
In five inches high hills, she does the Catwalk.
Her asymmetrical body spins in Prada blend.
She smiles and saunters entertainingly.
She is powerful.
She is a mogul.
Justness of a handsome man is that of a beautiful model.
Even in his sexual identity, he does the catwalk.
In Berluti loafers, he strolls as just another beau in a fashion show.
The designers place him tersely.
He becomes a baller and shot caller in the fashion industry.
He is magnate.
He is dynast.
In the entertainment world, life meanders.
The portrait that is viewed is of a fashion model.
She gleams in sketch.
His sheen is imaged.
__________________________/
Penned May 21, 2014!
Categories:
asymmetrical, clothes, color, fashion, identity,
Form:
Rhyme
The fading ancient sun casts long shadows before me,
as I shuffle slowly and sluggishly down asymmetrical lanes.
How age mellows me like ripe watermelon, squeezing me
until all my ambrosial juices run acidulously dry as dust.
Unsatisfied desire, mental torment and general malaise
conquer my better moods of love, devotion and quietude.
Straggling with widespread dishevelment and disillusions
I try in vain to set an orderly pattern to my straying aims,
hoping some guardian angel were to take my shaking hands
to lead me onwards steadily towards some well defined goal.
Mark my furrowed forehead, tap solidly at my potential energy
fill my withering wrinkles with some sense or empirical reasoning,
but at least give me one essential gift, that a grumbler I'll never be.
Categories:
asymmetrical, age,
Form:
Free verse
It’s unfortunate that we are living past the age of romanticism. It’s as if in our busy lives we don’t have time to make time to let moments intertwine. We are workaholics and hedonist who forgot to appreciate that love exists.
We are a couple decades over the time where the hearts use to frequently blossom and more than passion was the outcome. Instead we pay more attention to Hollywood heartbreaks and gossip. Stories of lust and mistrust that give love a bad name. Soap-opera clichés where to apply the word 'cliché' would be cliché.
When it comes to affection our conscience are unconscious. The mind's treachery leading to heart's lechery are the components of nonsense that leave the soul no longer autonomous .
Then there’s the other side of the story of those who look for glory, trying to find congruent atriums and ventricles.
Those lonely individuals whose only finds happen to be asymmetrical.
Those that live for love, those that lust love and can’t ignore it, also those who die for it.
It’s that common misconception that their next lover will be their last.
It’s the repetitive mistakes that made their next lover the same as their last.
It’s the entangled bonds between two roses that are divine. We comprehend not that we are diatoms in Diotima’s explanation of a love story.
There’s no acknowledgement of platonic love.
No demonstration of admiration for the family unit, friends and all the experiences we undergo.
It’s out of resource and need that Eros grows.
A gardener should be there to watch their seed grow.
It’s out of love that we should plant our rose.
Categories:
asymmetrical, brother, caregiving, daughter, dedication,
Form:
Free verse
A tall gothic black, steampunk top hat,
Hung from a hook by her bed,
Hung in the gloom, of her velvet black room,
After spending the day on her head,
And it was covered in gears from a motorised clock,
Goggles, a strap, and a feather,
Made with a fantastic Victorian design,
Made out of a toughened black leather,
This beautiful hat, matched her lifestyle of free,
She knew her hat was admired,
She knew her black hat held a powerful seat,
She knew her black hat had inspired,
Many folks bored with modern designs,
Her hat had a certain appeal,
It appealed against indifferent cyber filled space,
It appealed to asymmetrical real.
Categories:
asymmetrical, beautiful, beauty, fantasy, fashion,
Form:
Quatrain
I’m not interested in ‘pretty',
The television fantasy of reality,
Boxed up and bow-tied.
That pre-packaged, overpriced
Slice of life
Bought and sold by the pound
Of flesh,
That one-size-fits-all
(Except you)
Kind of beauty.
Give me flaws and faults,
Hills and valleys,
A crooked smile
And miles of interesting skin.
I don’t need made-up and maxed-out,
Sucked in or thinned down.
I want to see what’s real,
In all of its abstract
And unconventional glory:
Asymmetrical faces,
Lived-in bodies with scars
And traces of the story
Of someone who is just not quite right
For a modeling career.
I want to see the face behind the mask,
Natural-born,
Unadorned,
Non conformed.
Perfection is a myth,
Beauty is chaos.
Categories:
asymmetrical, appreciation, beauty, love, simple,
Form:
An awkward chuckle
Escapes my lips
White knuckles
Teeth grit
I don’t poke fun
Or humiliate
I get your pun
It isn’t great
I bear the burden
Of your ego
My introversion
Takes the blow
The problem is
You’re not clever
As lame as it is
I must endeavor
Feeling abashed
And quite dumbfounded
I chose to stash
How bad you sounded
I lose the grace
I had before
To save your face
I shake my core
Asymmetrical
Gawky, inept
Your spectacle
My debt
Categories:
asymmetrical, anxiety, social,
Form:
Rhyme
Marmalade Over Butter
All things are the same
the longer you look
Like rhythms at first distinct
like things with reference
like the asymmetrical, the unequal,
slowly melding
like mountains eroding under waves
forgotten, but not in a bad way
All things taste the same
the more you try
Like jam on toast
an exception being marmalade
It must be its citrus tang
floating on dripping butter
like my dreams of childhood
remembered above important things
All time is the same thing
past and present anyway
Varying only in light and circumstance
like morning sun in May woods,
or a burning sunset over hills
dawn light on winter snow
requiring the interpretation of the viewer
who cares about such things
All shadows are the same thing
Categories:
asymmetrical, moving on, old,
Form:
Free verse