Best Backhanded Poems
Sorry if I upset you,
I really didn’t mean it
Actually, I meant it
Until I saw it upset you,
Now I’m sorry you are
Upset by my words
But I got them said,
Which I intended to do.
Written September 12, 2022
POEM OF THE DAY
Poetry Soup
September 14, 2022
She tells warm lies through lips cool as frost,
while her eyes cast frigid glares.
Her backhanded barbs, sharp as steel,
strike like ice crystals in your heart.
Infidelity coats upon her like a sheen of ice.
Beauty and slippery deceit, rolled into one.
And yet, you stand, as a man made of snow,
not truly seeing, not speaking out.
You slowly die, waiting for her to thaw.
A snowball in Hades stands a better chance,
than you, to win her heart.
For within her veins runs soiled slush
and her soul is an Arctic wind.
For the contest: Free Verse For Winter
sponsored by: Chris D Aechtner
Placement: 8th
THE MONSTER YOU DREAD
i can’t handle rejection,
the unhug of perfection.
a piercing scream of perplexion —
my complexion streaked
grouted and piqued.
i backhanded you by
closing the splintered door,
vainglorious to the core —
now you can’t see the open sore.
you never uncovered, never looked,
never came to find me, i’m overlooked.
hiding beneath the bed, i’m the monster
you dread — tear-salted tongue, the martyr
with claws tearing at my skin - my fear
that she sips her coffee carelessly - oh dear...
the suicidal stripes down my cheeks sear
as my mother wanders through her year.
if only a look, a hug, a kind word spoken
to me would tear me from this sea forsaken —
this torrent, harangue of waves, haplessly
dashing, against heart and soul. if only a creak,
a scintilla of light would peek into
my claustrophobic space, saving me from me.
but i, only i...must resolve, unhinge the lock,
step out and see the clearing of the crock...
all alone on my private island - its unsecured dock.
i pretend it never mattered but carry the doom
within my flesh, my invisible childhood looms.
ready at turn to rear its misshapen head, its claws
digging into a buried past — all my flaws...
jealousy pops up in the middle of my joy
i stomp the frenetic beast, clawing its face.
i refuse to be that monster, that disgrace!
6/14/2019
Move me Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
A festered quelling of song
Tasting broths of ritualistic intent
Evermore
Nevermore
Can epiphany’s silent facade
Hold me down
Ever
Again
A war of hellos
Goodbyes
I miss you
“Please, come
Home”
The laughable oddity,
I’ve always been here.
They say home is where the heart is.
Yet, it soars thru Heaven’s misunderstandings.
With many peculiar eyes
Tearing in humbled curiosities
And placated heat strokes
Unable to fathom my reach for tomorrow’s message
Life lessons, tuition free,
Unto serenity
Unto serenity,
I awaken into a catharsis for the colors of song
Rather than the backhanded colors of skin
Because our finite heartbeats consist of one rhythm,
One skip
One shade
…
Yet, the time has come, for this heart
To muster up oxygenated infernos
Before I pave incipient paths
Less traveled
Warning
Warning
…
Warning
©Drake J. Eszes – 5/8/2014 (I of III)
“Now something…has kept me here too long. But, they can’t leave me, if I’m already gone.” –R.A.
Dreams frolic
in the basket of the mind.
Like Easter eggs on Sunday grass,
pastel hands for slowing time.
A misty- trusting face,
just beyond the frosted glass.
A spirit mare with fiery mane
that licked the heart with lips aflame...
then backhanded
your naive face into the fangs
of loneliness refrain.
In place of friendly smiles
were sirens with hollowed hearts, void of any grace.
The leather souled elders taught you the art of
kneading hope then weaving scars.
Turning a room of bitter spirits into angels
taming the bucking flanks of moody stars.
The golden mouthed flutist
whispers of a long- forgotten dream,
when ice cream trucks and noon church bells
flowed into the soul like rose petals on the wind...
When streams of angels waltzed with innocents....
upon a stage of gilded rosaries.
Now, everything is forever lost.
The flesh-the bone- the burlap- the silky sweet.
The heavy metal of our youth
minced into the thinning cloth of age.
Most every soul is gifted to the silversmith,
who forges halos and shimmering wings...
while a few are hung upon the tusk of
the icy, gray slag heap.
good morning
good night
i walked the shadows of hidden meadows until there was a sign to the right,
you were bathing in the light, then it all fell flat
good morning
good night
ride along and sing a song with vague attempts of interpretation,
a transatlantic whirlpool of twisting and turning emotion,
good morning
good night
i'm sorry that karma took a small hit,
but it wasn't my intention
good morning
good night
perhaps this connection is a singularly demented projection upon failing stars
whose shine still glitter but with shadows of fear
good morning
good night
smiling involuntarily is a beautiful thing I'm sure,
especially at matters of such insignificance,
good morning
good night
one strides a rhythmic cadence as the little one jaunts with such carefree joy
and big picture indifference
good morning
good night
it's memory prevention week so I'm setting traps to bring the backhanded troll
to justice, it's a pretty penny to forgive and forget, my inheritance a bitter
serenity absorbing youthful anxiety
good morning
good night
stars cluster unaware of our constant stare, some have the look of shame,
masking hatred, they're twinkling smiling faces protecting the ones to blame
good morning
good night
nothing takes aim at the gaps and empty spaces that go on and on, and then
even after that they go beyond, not so much as a truth or dare of importance,
more or less an allowance, an embrace
good morning
good night
of course there's courage but it's arrogance that gets the job done, with a split
personality the lion awaits a cautious blend
good morning
goodnight
the truth of the matter preys pretend and colors splatter in a failed attempt to
matter, one way is the same all day, baring stops an road blocks along the way
good morning
good night
the hours played sleepless depravation, no breeze, no oscillation, a simple man I
am not, from where I've come a curious lot
good morning
good night
after all has been said and nothing has been done, there is the missing, and the
knowledge and the truth, but in the end we'll start over again
good morning
good night
Form:
A believer in God
killing babies fun fun fun
rape, well I blame all sides
Forgive
my hate
and ignorance
and silence when it maters
I have traveled no where
have no conscience
love those who disparage the weak
the weak are terrorist
the nerve of them to speak
I have no heart
a heart requires pumping blood
empathy is for other fools
no one cares
who drowns under Zionist floods
I have no voice
other than among peers
who love their rifles
more than they fear Gods cheer
My sword is a Tommyhawk
empty words and
backhanded slaps
if you hate I am yours
I am in good company
amongst all the silent ones
indifference is my medal of honour
I am America
I am none of the above
I have a heart
"Dream Bug"
Hour glass
rainbows sparkling
crystal grainy rapids
sliding intrepidly through life’s fingers
their coloured sands speak in tones
they are obtuse and vapid
like snowflakes they fall
confetti on my hands
Writing you
between there
and here again
a feckless court jester
fearless sometimes
walking handstands
painting portraits
in pedantic rhyme
then a page stained,
you're thumb-licked and turning
metaphors gliding ghosting
a snail trail planchette
words miss spelled
they are moulting
like white feathers from cooing doves
we are back in grades of one
singled out on school parade
while the band plays on
we are all caught
like grounded gefilte fish in class
when the saints
go marching in
we’re stopped
for covert mingling
In the office a Nosferatu principal
ignores the grief
behind his two spectacles
two sets of hands are requested straight
knuckles down and held out
the bamboo cane
coaxed no passing
secrets out,
automata face
scream time put on delay
the clock to midnight
on his crypt's wall, hidden
strikes still a braille mind
doesn't once drop the ball
it smiles ruthfully
dialling up the forbidden
chemistry of tears,
a juxtoposition
from the internal well
My opal sky suspended
heaving dreams falling slow mo
through foggy clouds
are breathed in like lavender rain
antiseptic are all
our polished stories
rehearsed repetitively
then delayed and side courted
tennis left hand
lucid inarticulate
backhanded
Love all
candy hearted
is a fresh game
pulled swiftly
from a side pocket
refuting singing flutes
whistling and caressed
by a tongue flirtatiously wetting lips
a regular, pulsating change of pitch
a romantic vibrato
recalled
he calls me
a witch
Scent of a woman
once je t'adore
now her true essence leaking
their personalities mirror switched
bloodied and cut
pieces of peace
stolen by a foolish matador
she’s holding open the exit door
Dream Bug
walks across a
marked and sullied page
lines bleeding right
Melting
dissolved
to the far corner
lid sealed
in a glass jar
left-brained
Dream Bug
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Privately educated, privileged backgrounds .……no problem per se …….…but ......we're led by these plum in mouth toffs by the troughful.…... their snouts in the pockets of the electorate, creaming the real workers of cash for taxes .…....so long as they're okay with backhanded deals and offshore accounts, their empathy remains as real as a cuboid moon.
Distrustful dinosaurs with prehistoric rhetoric....... and arrogance beyond belief .......they give the people grief. Arguably their role is to be unpopular..... no reflection of the real people, no microcosm, no cross section, no true representation of us compounds their ability to irritate.
This is politics in full swing, full of stuck up d*cks and silly twerps in tailored shirts telling us how to vote. When can this change to a real democracy? ........Real parties talking real issues with real solutions with real taxes spent on real things. The equilibrium is unbalanced, the donkey jacket came and went ......now we're left with just the donkeys, more mules to carry the weight of their own egos.
We have the right to vote.....we pride ourselves on this democratic right...but this is looking through the rose tints.….I only have the ability to vote for different shades of beige....unless I want to become a part of an extremist, sensationalist mob.….I don't.... I just want a real choice of real people..….so for now my ballot card will remain a useful piece of cardboard.... to fold and prop up the wonky leg on my dining room table.
Drunk, and his eyes smoldering,
and that’s what she hated,
drinking and he became a monster alcohol created,
he rammed into her,
a string of spit,
after the hit,
stretched across his mouth,
then he struck her again,
he was a total disgrace,
backhanded her across the face,
she felt his rage and heat,
her knees buckled,
but somehow she managed to stay on her feet,
he sensed her fear,
as he grabbed her hair,
pulled her down,
ignored the sounds
as she hit the ground,
his fist pulled back,
and on with his attack,
he struck her again and again,
and once more,
as her blood stained the floor,
her mouth swollen and bleeding,
as he ignored the pleading,
she was his wife,
but she had no more strength
to plead for her life.
I dont know where to start
I dont even know what to say
I even dont know how to put these words in a phrase
Yet one thins is for sure, our friendship is made not by accidents but by choice we made and faith.
Cheers to the night that we are one and for mornings what we are not in bind
Holy ghost filled our holes and understanding for each one is made from time to time.
Respect we have for each one cannot be answered nor questioned by anyone
Coz we find ourselves before we bind and share happiness, sorrows and everyhing under the sun.
Backhanded compliment always surrounds us from time to time
Yet we care not for we admit that sometimes, somehow, our friends knows us more even before time.
So thank you from me and for everybody, for sharing joy and pain to where we stand.
We cut out our windows so they'd match the pattern in the stars we'd fall asleep looking at
screaming your name over and over only produced tears and a ruptured larynx
Whispering it only tore down the walls that held us together
of all the mistakes I've made
the worst one was when I said I loved myself when in the end I was the worst friend I ever had
her teen years were spent mostly on her knees
holding two jobs
split between boys cars and church pews
If I loved you any more it would turn into hate
or maybe it's already there
at this point I'm not sure
we speak in riddles sometimes
almost asking questions but never failing with backhanded compliments and floor ridden apologies
I had the best time of my life in April
a night when all I did was break my own heart
it was at that point I knew for sure I had one
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in adoration
tore a wake through the ink stains
but not from satisfaction
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
parked way out in Kokomo
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so have a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third Reich fell from bad music
I spat like a backwards vampire
the swelling is an obstacle
I added for evidence I mean emphasis
the King of the Scarabs was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great rectum of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
with their many novel effects and manifestations
such as hugely distended penises
not at all like the computer club
fart gigglers and Balaam anointed
who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
to use a dirty semaphore
for the male power hug
cracking walnuts with hydraulics
the Scarab King was a backhanded guy
strung out on endless platitudes
this is a spit shine day men
do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going got tough
and it seemed to often
for your present narrator
they allocate security personnel
in my case a comic endorphin gigolo
the hand of a spell upon his brow
good lord not another eccentric botanist
bedecked with the fabled Trinkets of Mouthgate
traffic fines double in poet zone
former servant of the hypno-avatar
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hI I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
screaming on the rack
my one line in the play
whatever will I do now
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
The black
crow sat on the
stump out front,
The old man heartily
swore,
He said you aint a
cunny funt,
Followed by the 12
guage roar,
Feathers flew and a
cold wind it blew,
And the cancer bit
some more,
Just a spit of
blood, not quite a
flood,
Cos death was
coming, sure,
Joe crow was arking
out the front,
And muttering soft,
caw, caw,
Aussie crows love
eyes you know,
An the bludger
wanted more,
The old man
staggered out the
front,
And threw a brick at
Joe,
And down he went the
cunny funt,
Flapped off the so n
so,
A pain intense did
commence,
In the yard he had a
fall,
Black birds a
circling stump and
fence,
The old man tasted
gall,
On coming round on
his chest he found,
Joe crow was
perching for,
His eyes to take,
make no mistake,
Black crow was set
to score,
Backhanded Joe way
cross the yard,
The old man said to
him,
Don't put my lights
out yet retard,
Till me lights are
low n dim,
Watch the reapers
black one on the
stump,
If he comes on by to
call,
Probably caw n ark
in his defence,
No ole Joe crow he
isnt dense,
Just loves a sweet
eyeball.
Don Johnson
I you are down and can't get up in the Aussie outback man,
Joe crow will circle want a snack, fore the the Dingoes an Goanna can....
Bogged animals lose their eyes to Joe when they get to weak to resist.
Old Ewes with new Lambs have Joe landing on then picking their Kidneys out too,
The weak must pay the black bird says, don't let it happen to you?
Why do you feel it necessary to make snide
remarks in the guise of a compliment?
The person I may have been last year is not
the person I am today. But you can’t really see
that since you’ve decided to throw digs my way,
in the guise of backhanded praise.
Things are not the same as before, but, when you
speak all I feel is a sucker punch to my core.
An ugly word wrapped in a pretty package does not
make it sweet and appealing, only unpalatable.
Needless to say when spoken in mixed company
just makes you look like a tyrant and horrible.
You feel you are beyond reproach that all you do
Is as it should be done and no one else can get in
word one. You may be fooling yourself into thinking
You are a genuine, professional person,
But all I see is judgment and derision.