Best Mismatched Poems
misplaced in moonlight
my muse lay mute and inkless~
venting in darkness
like mourning mists crawling through
sleepless stars before sunrise
but between silence
and twisted tunes of twilight
I found silver runes
carved with mismatched metaphors~
healing hymns amidst blurred lines…
The world is perfect –
That’s what everyone says.
The world has no faults –
That’s what everyone says.
“Everyone belongs;
Everyone fits in.
There will be no mismatched piece.”
That’s what everyone says, that’s what everyone believes.
Everyone except me.
I am not perfect;
I have an infinite number of faults.
I don’t belong;
I don’t fit in.
I am the mismatched piece.
Always on the fringe, never able to join in on the big picture;
Always on the outside looking in.
Still, “Everyone belongs;
Everyone fits in.
There will be no mismatched piece.” is what everyone continues to say,
And that’s what everyone believes.
Everyone except me.
No one notices, but I guess that’s because I’m always on the outside looking in.
Notes: This just came to me when I was thinking about the topic "propaganda" and I literally just penned this down in about 5-10 minutes. Sometimes I get on a high and this just happens. Same thing for my first submission, "Acceptance". I was so groggy at 6.50 in the morning but I had to write something out for some random Literature thingamajig and hence ensued the birth of "Acceptance". :)
I was born an old soul and always a
step out of time. It seems old things just like me
and come to me- like old colorful dishes
found in dusty antique shops
and second hand stores. I found a lovely fancy tea
cup with a small chip yesterday and
it is pretty on my window ledge now. Dust,
and cobwebs in depths will
not stop me when I am searching for a treasure.
Even one of a kind will find a forever home with me.
Oh, just ask my friends- I set my table with
mismatched dishes beautiful . . .
________________________
February 12, 2019
Poetry/Verse/Mismatched Dishes Beautiful
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1114-234-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the Mid, Feb 2019 Standard Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
Fresh opened plastic,
unstretched elastic.
Crew cut, solid white.
Knee high, gray on white.
Wal-mart bag, home that night.
Days go by, what a sight.
Wash the socks from the box,
dry them now, match them up.
Not too long to realize
something's up.
I search and search,
then give up.
Crew cut solid white,
gray on white, knee high.
My head goes back,
out comes a sigh.
Smeared it in pure black hate,
Until it was completely covered.
A black heart engulfed me,
Only telling me to destroy, destroy.
Without realizing my ugliness,
I felt at ease.
A long time ago, I once loved this world.
Countless ponds shining like gems,
The soprano of the leaves,
And wind sweet in scents.
In a world like this,
I was a complete mismatch.
So I cried, sending out my wish,
But those tears will not bear grass or fruit.
I continued to cry yet I continued to hope,
One year, ten years, fifteen.
Eventually I grew taller, and the lake of tears dried.
"Somebody, please look at me."
I shut away the small voice I heard.
Because that's the way it is.
This world is full of lies and fools. I lie, you lie.
It's all part of growing up.
Those who believe will be treated as idiots.
I'm so glad I snapped out of it,
I don't want to be treated as a fool a second time.
Love is only an illusion, the weak are the only that dream it.
Right? That's because......
Well.....
I don't have a reason or a word.
My words and tears and life will never bear fruit.
I have three pairs of patterned socks,
With colors and designs
That vary in each duo
Set on horizontal lines.
From triangles to hearts and dots
To checkerboards, as well
As numbers and some words,
But what they say I cannot tell.
Today I noticed, far too late,
My socks are not the same.
Of course, right from the dryer,
Matching pairs had been my aim.
Yet somehow I messed up
And now my outfit is complete
With mismatched socks, although they still
Feel cozy on my feet.
Sweet Grace married a guy from old Amory
He worked for the government gendarmerie
She was a postal clerk,
He was a total jerk
And they soon lived in Amory's armory.
written July 18, 2021
Sweet grace who's job title is postal clerk
Got married to a man she met at work
Although he's a jerk
She has made it work
At home she's boss, lord help him if he shirks./
added by Belle Bellevue
Socks 2
Sucked into the vacuum
Outside the realm of bliss
Closeted in claustrobic tears
Knit stitch dropped, ladder falls
Solitary socks seek new pairing
3/26/2018
Mismatched Mary invited us all to lunch
We are her fabulous book club bunch
Did not know what to expect of her
She never matches, groused Mrs. Cur
Mrs. Cur is persnickety, really prissy.
She has never married, her cat is Kissy.
Mismatched Mary met us at the door
As usual, nothing matched that she wore
Still, she looked put together, and kind of pretty.
She has a marvelous sense of humor, she is terribly witty.
Even her boots did not match, which I thought was grand.
The supper she fixed us was all made by hand.
Homemade biscuits, beef stew from scratch.
Even Mrs. Cur forgot that she did not match.
Her personality and food wonderful for all of us; a big hooray!
We elected her president of the book club that very day
We are a perfectly mismatched set.
We share contradictory alliances in Peace
We conquer complimentary foes in War
You quell the unnerving anxiety that haunts me
And I haunt the quelling worry that unnerves you.
My emotional lows keep your mental highs grounded, well-balanced, and sane
While your emotional ups grant my mental downs the conviction, confidence and trust needed to take flight.
.
May the discrepancies we harmonize bring the peculiarities identified by our inner circle
because they misunderstand
the eccentricities that keep us identically opposite.
We will thrive in eternal impermanence, blissful in our gloom,
satisfied with our greed
We are a perfectly mismatched set
she craves to live with passion
he wants to douse her fire
this won't end well
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
There was an enormous gorilla
Who fell in love with a chinchilla
When time came for loving
He’s pushing and shoving
But hadn’t intended to kill ’er
A bunch of socks without their mates
Are nestled in my drawer.
You’d think I wouldn’t save them
Since they’re no good anymore.
But lately, when I’m choosing clothes
To wear out on the street,
I realize not a soul will notice
What is on my feet.
Of course, this was the case before
The virus, but today,
With mask and hat, nobody
Could ID me anyway.
What do you do with a mismatched sock? Asked my dear.
The puppet squad a laughed when they heard this cheer.
Their googly eyes went round and round, in a wild way.
“We want some new friends by the end of the day!
The dear was not surprised. She remembered now.
The puppet squad included a pig, horse and a cow.
They had each started out as a mismatched sock.
Now the most vocal socks on their block.
Up with puppets! The puppets rule!
The old timers chanted outside the school
The kids came to the window and threw out one sock.
It was the most fun they had ever had on this block.