Best Athwart Poems
I want to be free, I want to be me
I want to sail across the deep blue sea
I want to search for inscrutabilities once told to me
Where cities of elation lay below the sea
I want to be free, I want to be me
I want to fly athwart the skies
Where rainbows will wipe my cries
I want to trip new places
I want to meet new races
Living each day, seeing new faces
I want to be free, I want to be me
I want live life like a fresh new seed
Blooming with happiness that’s all I need
Cladding to life like an unshakeable tree
I want to be free, I want to be me
- Sherwin Fernandes
Categories:
athwart, adventure, analogy, blessing, earth,
Form:
Ballad
Wanton Willows weave athwart the weir
Wishing all the while wilful to wind
Their winsome wands that whelm and win
The restive writhing watery way
Meandering in moonlit mazy motion
Then moving on in misty morning mood
The river runs by reed and grassy mead
Where wily waders’ stalk in stealth concealed
The stream now slows tween sandy sides
With susurrating sound surround
As silvery strains speak of the sea
And flow transforms to estuary
Breakers brash now beat the brook
Unbinding bounds of broadening bay
And memories now melt of milder motion
The River to be merged with mighty ocean
Categories:
athwart, nature,
Form:
Alliteration
“Rewind Forward”
Memory mirror
supple sylph yields
and naked
walks through liquid glass
towards your dark eyes
to float in black
legs wrapped
rapture drawn deep
unclothed into your arms
bathed bare
you climb my mountains
pull me in
your fingers coiled
tight and unforgiving
around my silken hair
mouth drawn to bare
omni amor libido
opalescent skin glistens
slow dance
silence listens
caught in time
elementals float in the aether
no walls no stairs no roads
bodies in rhythm rhyme -
in your dark mirrors
are all my blue skies -
dream duelling flames
tongues do not speak
they torch a burning blaze
there are no nights
there are no days
two flaming souls
deep dive
erotic waves
they read no maps
trysting in their lovely trap
Pantoums
each the other world
Phantom
opium kissed lips
repeat repetition
Ships lost at sea
in our ghost myst
a fierce longing
a holy confederacy
Kisses long and languid
Luscious long neck licks
Drink my life
Your need is met
my mead is sweet
and want is whet
Honey swallowed
lost in the love
love in the lost
trapped in the net
an open cave
doorway
where lush moss
waits wet
treasure found
treasure kept
sensual salty
her sea is met
pounds to your
foreign uncharted shore
two rare pearls
are free yet
bound and kept
on the other side
awake forever
with the never slept
hearts open
wounds bleeding
turn the key
Mirror Memory
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqEZ_RQ4Cm8
"Flashbacks", Emika
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF6v7yCthd4
"Flashbacks (reversed)", Emika
“We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.”
Anaïs Nin
“Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.”
Anaïs Nin
“Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.”
Anaïs Nin
"But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover..."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan
Categories:
athwart, desire, for her, for
Form:
Romanticism
Standing in a foreign nation, fragrance from a fresh cremation
Lost and long forgotten by the beasts that roamed my home
Nights are dark and gloomy but the tundra’s so damn roomy
Here is where I want to be so leave me standing here alone
Here I stand a man with quill in hand is all I own
That, my crown and throne
Walking on the sandy beaches, there I saw the strangest creatures
Living in a unison together on their own
Then behind the bushy myrtle, hid the cowardly old turtle
“Don’t be hiding there old turtle, don’t be hiding all alone!”
But the turtle stayed behind the bush beneath a stone
This, he calls his throne
Night defeats the sunlights laughter once the mockingbirds cry after
Day has set so I can be the king of lands I roam
Darkness gives me all the cover, more than I could need a lover
Here is where I want to be so leave me here alone
Darkness is my friend so I can call this land my home
Here, I sit on my throne
Moonlight let the turtle scurry athwart on the beach to hurry
Into deep blue seas where he is free to swim atoned
Creatures from the deep blue ocean bow down to their king’s devotion
When the sun arose he then recoiled back in his dome
“Pity you old turtle” I said, “hiding there alone.”
That, you call a throne?
Days long gone that I remember, Spring-time joy in mid-November
Hiding in and oak tree from the creatures of my home
Now my kingdom bows before me no one stares or dares ignore me
Here I stand a king, adore me, lord of all I own
Pity all I own is barren, barren to the bone
At least, I have my throne
Then one starry twilight dreaming, where I stood there pride redeeming
Came along the turtle beaming till he saw my throne
In a flash, his neck retreated in his shell and self conceited
“Don’t be shy and self defeated!” Said I, in stern tone.
“Stick your neck out, coward, or you’ll end up all alone!”
Returning to his throne
Returning to my throne
When I woke in shock and horrid, scaly felt my morphed new forehead
Overwhelming dread and torrid shook my body to the bone
There I was a transformed turtle hiding there beneath the myrtle
All along I was the turtle standing there alone
Horrified of all the creatures rounding my new home
My shell that I had grown
A self-made, feeble throne
Categories:
athwart, allegoryme, old, self, blue,
Form:
Ballad
let’s take the long way back
beneath shaded oak and aromatic pine
athwart the weathered split-rail fence
bent into the warp and woof of nature’s wiles
past the old place
with its long front porch
and massive beams holding memories
of laughter and dancing feet
in moonlit rooms resonating with sounds of
family and friends fading now
as we roll past the giant willow
bending shade into the shape of long afternoons
drawing water from the well
with the fresh coppery taste
so light and cool on a summer afternoon
we glide into the blue-amber glow
of the western penumbra spread long and wide
with faint lights glimmering in the valley below
melding light and shadow into night
as we drift on wheels crunching gravel
like popcorn between our teeth
the hour is right in its time
and all that might have been
trailed behind and lost the way
back to what we remember
of days that are no more
Categories:
athwart, aubade, , western,
Form:
Free verse
Ode to Morning
Yon morning, spellbound mistress of the skies
How gently all your feathers move apart
How lightly thrill your soft, eternal sighs
And feed with hope and mirth my swollen heart
How softly sway your tresses of pure gold
And glut with wealth the barren, night-sprent glade
And plump the crisp, brown hazel shells with beams
And cast a light strewn with a cooling shade
Athwart the gentle ebbs of oozing streams
Once quiet, still unravished yet. How bold
Your bubbling swells all cast their glinting charms
Across the earth’s soft cheek and softer breast
Yon morning, wrap the world within your arms
And light each mead with gloried noonday zest
And twine with passioned rays the Heaven’s steep
And cups of all the gem-encrusted buds
And feed the bowers with a web of light
And all the clouds with Lord Apollo’s rods
Of nascent shine to veer away the night
And all the evil spells of its black sleep
Return to us, gold morn with aching pride,
And wake the spirits of the sleeping clouds,
And stir the bees which in the foxgloves hide,
And let the bashful roses pry their shrouds
To feel upon their breasts the cooling breeze
Unfold from out the mountain’s stony rim
The rainbows, looming arches, sundry hued
Gold morn, when midnight’s sleepy glow shall dim
And leas no more shall be by stars bedewed
Then glow, until the lark sings with full ease!
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
Categories:
athwart, morning,
Form:
Ode
Act One scene one, the curtain drawn,
before the players cross the stage~
A silent script and program gone,
this mute perception to engage~
Fallible form and fancied function,
athwart the stage they come and go~
Delightful dance of grand conjunction,
perfect parts within the show~
Audience to this human plight
and resting in the arms of trust~
See the play with inner sight,
all temporal forms return to dust~
Satprem~
Copyright © 2015
Categories:
athwart, creation, deep, how i
Form:
Rhyme
Better to be bold in battle
then benign in retreat!
No victory comes from actions prattle;
May honor be found in refusing defeat -
My vaults will not be breeched
by faults,
may we have a merry waltz
devoid of all unsavory salts,
this of you I have beseeched -
On this table we have met to render fable
rich as ancient Babyl,
heralds of ancestral heros and our forces' label,
bulwarks raised above this field's haze, stalwart gaurds strong and poised,
daunting sounds of ritual carols, the primal ones that spirits praise,
what is this match but a moment for atonement,
trite tribute and humble homage if you wicked will foment,
my battalions and I are stolid, faithful, our souls not being rent,
the birds in sky like personal medallions signify for we, victory is meant,
in the center sentries stood,subterfuge, lethal blows I knew you would,
a Queen as envoy repelled rudely, religiously crude as you brood,
armistice you will seek knowing bleak the future be,
like battered egos quiet speak,loosing strength,you shall weep and sneek
to snatch the proud prey from eagle's beak, your pommel being sweaty sleek,
terrified of the Promeathean peak, of my glory you may peek,
The mellow march of my bagpipes,a pallid pitch that makes men creep
they like leary sheep my wolves will eat,
must you trust a God of glutton lust,and savor his decree,
of Athena I have asked,athwart this army made by brass,
as broken glass shattered fast it shall yeild to Her Mass,
shaken soldiers running past, your eyes will cry the slaughters vast,
pray not in vain to block our rasp, or for this fauna you'll be mast,
my blood as Emperor say you crave, oh how brave,
like a slave made the day his grave was paved,
such a man is never saved,
J.A.B. Part One -
Categories:
athwart, war,
Form:
Epic
.
Thus sat I
athwart her boarding
as the train’s whistle
bellowed
I panting
stroking mine beard in
anticipation
mine pen and slip
excited
to cast each her
chary glints
when
CRACK
back mine head
mine consort
her ring baring
jealous
Categories:
athwart, beautiful, corruption,
Form:
Free verse
The grumpy principal athwart the class
is walloping the learner ad infinitum
with his computer cable,
and screeching his lungs out
his wrath and his tranquilities;
he says she’s late for school yet again.
Madly she pulls across the desks;
pleads for pity in pigsty floors,
whilst he despite his heavy paunch
chases and corners her.
He whips and whips the weeping non-plussed
girl till the cable slips in his hand. Her tears are
like explosion of waterfall in her cheeks and her pain
still so fresh:
He picks it up and pursues the poor girl
who endeavours to escape from him. She
jumps and climbs atop the desks on her way
to the classroom door but quickly plummets to
the floor to receiving another angry wallop.
As hard as he can he strikes the poor girl till his
hairless bald is dripping wet with sweat. The
learner’s heart is a watershed of fear words
can’t even describe. His visage is sadistic and
turns into something I never liked or loved…
Well, it is over now and the poor girl is
sobbing sadly in the library,
Yet the principal plunges and slouches
over his circling chair in his office. His lips mumbling,
pooped out –In slight remorse of the cruel hiding
he’d given the poor learner; and lugubriously he envisions
the twinge she’s had to bear, but it ain’t no use
for what’s done is done.
Categories:
athwart, fear,
Form:
Narrative
While we all fallen, asleep
words collasped, howling and weep
Minutes losing, to the night
so glory, even shadows are divine.
The shadows of the dying moon
Reminiscing, the time of Rune,
too close, too soon.
The fire of the dying sun
Sing the song that be unsung.
The life of a dying man
Often regret and reject
of time unwisely spend.
Across the shadows, athwart the dark.
Last thing I saw, was the hope in your birthmark.
Against the stream, into the woods.
Owls hooting, trees whispering,
lasting like they should.
At the gate of sleep, one last time
Hear the weep, like bells chime.
Harrowing years come and gone, beware.
The fall of new beginning,
happens from those who never care.
Categories:
athwart, age, howl, life, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
Hour hands clock back sixty minutes of Autumn
Round about this same of month every year, what a bum
er, and inconvenient truth diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over
sans yesteryear doth drum
a sensation of jet lag (with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme, nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as hoe hum
fortunate, this chronological seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kempf cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and booring into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea – gram ma mother earth glum
where live yikyak wired vanguard trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down behavioral sink went – me mum
bling bloviation, once worth matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset, when athwart pilot rum
man strait ting and bickering with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans defiantly thumb
ming nose, where body, mind & soul weeknd viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock, who got high-jacked 3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs, which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace, resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis space/time continuum did devour.
Black hole event horizon indeed kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched the band wagon of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted to oppose this minute accord.
Categories:
athwart, allusion, assonance, autumn, fun,
Form:
Free verse
Alyssa danced in the center of the
empty historical ballroom.
Imagining suitors standing in line
for one more waltz around the artistic
ceramic tiled flooring.
Her dress, ivory full, swept the floor
as she turned and sauntered on
winged slippers.
Elegantly breathtaking… enchantress form;
mesmerized an onlooker athwart
the chamber.
His eyes fixed as she pirouetted to
a silent melody.
Observers gathering in amazement
as she tip-toed gingerly in a dance
with butterflies of her fancy.
Swaying her gracefully thin, delicate
arms above her head; back and forth,
hypnotized in herself.
Oblivious to tenacious eyes concealed
only in cracks of walls, Alyssa dances
ever so genial.
The onlooker from across the chamber
floor, hesitates to accompany her.
He walks towards her and slips his
wieldy arm about her torso.
Her eyes open and smile as her hand
falls leisurely into his cupped palm.
Simultaneously sliding, gliding,
Alyssa closes her eyes feeling his
heart pulse; radiating as one.
Tenderly, he pulls her close, wedging
their unfamiliarity.
Their eyes touch in an upheaving
embrace as if known forever.
Reticently they speak
-through Alyssa’s dance-
shared only in brevity of the moment
while an aristocratic minuet
stills the hush…
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
This was written for my granddaughter at my son and daughter-in-law's wedding. Alyssa
was five and pretended it was her wedding
Categories:
athwart, love, granddaughter,
Form:
Narrative
if you can not speak, hear ...
I am no better than you -
we are turning inward en masse
light gleams from the mountaintops and steeples
warning us with dread, yet our swirling head is never fully fed
the beast, reticent as death, wastes breath on blame
it screams without a voice to shatter the mirror of truth
begs with keen intent to move our lips
to reach and grow and sing
the song matters not ...
it is the lilt music of elucidation that begs to tremble the air
and the sacred echos not our own ...
lies and cries ... moans-to-sighs
the pregnant replies that move in the womb of hope
cloaked in doom they grope for sound, sacred
but are born wan and still and cold ...
if but a heaven's thunder to rattle the starry veil
to coax the sun to wail its bright, athwart the darkening hem
to tear the dreams from our hearts, and cast them upon our fellows
to feel the weighty wonder of dire discourse and deliberation
to burn our iterations in the frozen flames of compromise
but first, to daub tender our lips with utterance
for if the air hangs deaf and dewy like the crimson morn
we will surely earn our sorry fate and folly
and cold curse ...
of silence ...
if you hear, speak.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sound Of Silence" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
athwart, analogy, fate, metaphor, silence,
Form:
Free verse
Written as a tribute to a popular song ... can you guess which one?
When wak’st from slumber shall I be
Fain present to lay next to thee
and whither shall my sojourn be
methinks that thou would’st walk with me
much ale beset me to the ground
laid next to thee shall I be found
if all’st my parley bawdy be
I warrant, it shall be with thee
Forsooth five hundred miles afield
Travail - and then five hundred more
Traverse a thousand miles, in truth
To haply lay athwart thy door.
A reworking of "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by the Proclaimers
Categories:
athwart, funny,
Form:
Free verse