Best Obliquely Poems


Premium Member Interlude

"In life, grief outweighs joy and laughter is an interlude between two sighs."
                                             ~By Poet~

Isn’t it sheer destiny that you and I were born,
In the endless flow of time as humans.
But we are here only for a short interval,
When death calls, we leave the stage ending the show.
As peace is an interlude between two wars
Life is an interlude between birth and death


The moon that fades after lighting the night,
The sun that sets after warming the day,
The flowers that wither after feasting the eye,
Obliquely announce that life is an interlude.
Love once flourished may fade and die.
Trees towering high may fall and rot.
Rivers that swell can dry up once.
The same is true of our life on earth.


At times we soar on wings of joy.
At times we drown and are deep in grief.
Does it not remind us of a vital truth,
That life on Earth can never be the same.
We are travelers on this wild terrain,
Heading timorously towards an unknown goal,
Ever tossed by the vicissitudes of life,
Fated to partake evenly of smiles and tears. 


Know that all the paths we tread along,
Finally converge on a single spot.
At the tomb, we just pause awhile,
To resume our journey to lands beyond.
All that counts is how well we lived, 
And not how long we have been here.
So, mend your life as your conscience directs.
Bridge the gap between words and deeds.
Categories: obliquely, death, growing up, life,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member An Early Experiment

The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze.  A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the windy noise its yellow
across my face.  The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence.  A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around.  A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs.  Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck.  Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine.  The trees --
appearance.  Altogether so.  Oh well.
Quiet.  Steady.  Sturdy.  Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.
Categories: obliquely, allegory, angst, depression, imagination,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member The Co-dependent

Opening the door onto your secret,
my heart pounds at the display of old wounds. 
Healing achieved by clinging to nothing—
a future only obliquely glimpsed.

My heart pounds at the display of old wounds
where other’s careless words and barbs had pierced.
A future only obliquely glimpsed
through a whiskey bottle nearly empty.

Where other’s careless words and barbs had pierced,
going through life like that makes one anxious.
Through a whiskey bottle nearly empty,
discontent is always triggered by something.

Going through life like that makes one anxious;
healing achieved by clinging to nothing.
Discontent is always triggered by something—
opening the door onto your secret.
Categories: obliquely, addiction,
Form: Pantoum

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member I Died a Little Inside

Taking my place in your gazing blue eyes
Who stole the glow of my dawning sunrise?
As defiling your virtues you obliquely lied,
Pounding my heart till I died a little inside.

When a brilliant sunny day said goodbye
As lightening arrived to thunder blue sky
Storming my life, you left me teary eyed
Exacting high price by forfeiting my pride.

Reluctantly I disclaimed your sweet smile
As your blatant animosity put me in exile
And adulating ill-will you ceded to hate,
Trampling on destiny you altered my fate.

On my horizon cried your reign of disdain
As you rejected goodwill again and again.
Remnants of aspirations no longer claim
A desire of passions to reignite our flame.

Meaning of love soon indelibly changed
Revoking your name from souls estranged.
Hurt still remained, woefully pacified--
Lingering listlessly, till I died a little inside.

February 9, 2019
Placed first:Early March 2019 contest by Brian Strand
Placed second:I died a little inside contest by Silent One
Categories: obliquely, betrayal, heartbreak, lost love,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Rejecting Her Plea To Renegotiate What Was

Evoking sullen quests of a lonesome mind
She stepped outside under the starry skies
Only to find, one more time, no one replied

It was a vibrant sky celebrating moonlight
Wanting no part of her gloomy trespass
Jolting her entrance in thunderous clouds

Being self absorbed within grim thoughts
She rewrote the vows engraved in hearts
Ignoring sensuous past that longingly recalls

Refusing feelings that once she cherished
Courting indignation of a senseless voice
Asserting obliquely, she made her choice

Unwilling to acknowledge her cries  forlorn
Silence she heard was the galactic response
Rejecting her plea to renegotiate what was

May 10, 2019
HM: Strand select M contest by Brian Strand
Categories: obliquely, emotions, love hurts,
Form: Verse

Premium Member The Unholy Terror of Little Tom

THE UNHOLY TERROR OF LITTLE TOM 

The bashing sounds of thunder echo in reverberation 
to the electrifying bolts of lightning that illuminated
every single room from dark to light just seconds earlier.
Sheets of rabid rain torpedo upon a leaky roof.
Broken limbs of trees tossed away by raucous sheets of sleet 
ram hard against the battered frame of the small cottage.

Little Tom holds close in a fetal position 
immobilized in fear and bowed down as a non person 
waiting stupefied quivering and frozen in spaceless
timeless obedience to all his emotions. 

The vibrations of the shaken windows
push and pull in harmonic rhythms 
accelerating into a persistent succession 
of unrelenting pounding pistons 
upon the naked wooden structure.

Little Tom awaits in terror for the moment
when the storm gates will crash in 
allowing the blizzard to surge the void 
and tear obliquely at his tender 
weakened shivering flesh.

He ties to hide by pressing deeper into the blackness of the night.
But the sparks of the fireplace dancing in rapid cadence 
against the wall reveal the shadow of his huddled form.

Wet and convulsing in unbecoming behavior 
Little Tom yells out DADDY, DADDY! 
.
His father, lays dormant and unconscious 
in a drunken stupor passed out and vacant 
on an unmade bed.

Worn and withered forlorn and terrified Little Tom
in one last whimper, cries himself to sleep

CAK 5-16-2013
Categories: obliquely, abuse, fear,
Form: Blank verse


Dead Cow

It was a time to bond and booze with dear Papa,
An interval all the more naughtily charming
As it inflamed the temper of irascible Mama.
Before happy hour, we two went shooting
With the three o three I bought for drama
In a gauche youth that was always dragging.
Out we drove in my short, fat pa's beetle,
Two maladroits equally socially feeble.




We stopped by some neatly stacked cans
That we shot, exploding wet excrement
Putting a brown pall on our bonding plans.
I fired a random shot as if by witty accident.
Off we went driving by unbroken fences
Till we saw a policeman in bewilderment
Standing over a black and white cow,
By a farmer making a bellowing row.

“We shot the beef, my son,” joshed Pa,
And put the foot down upon the pedal,
Laughing merrily in the hurrying car.
I smiled at his jest however feeble,
A tasteless jibe at the furious farmer.
The very thought I readily dismissed
With a sly, effete flick of the wrist.

The matter of the dead cow was forgot
Until not too long before oblivion
Took hold of every thought of the sot
Aged stupid by whisky and bad living.
“It was because of that cow we shot,
A sin that God has not yet forgiven.”
For a neighbour's dog gored his heifer,
A punishment he had to decipher.




But I think he obliquely gave me blame,
For it was I who shot the bovine brute.
Before his fading mind went fully lame
He reasoned it best to stem guilty root
Before old sins haunted shaky mind's frame.
Dark disputes lingered as he was less astute.
But for me the cow is a point of indifference,
In the abattoir a month earlier of its existence.
Categories: obliquely, age, anxiety, death, family,
Form: Ottava rima

Premium Member Kiosk Now

My infancy was the time for imagining your unique beauty
As the saprophyte danced in the magical fountain of ambiguity
You ingenuously stole my pulverized heart with your duality
Your ironware, I mean those muscles, were more than fruitful

Just like inner potency to inspire my spirit; they were my infinity
Because the dancing spirits obliquely touched me as I sat there in a tree
Dacoity imbued their roaming minds until they were ultimately free
And once I became as diametrical as the tides, I traveled across the sea

Let's take a kiosk to the dutiful trees that enchant me
Otherwise, the spirit within us will conically
Travel to an extraterritorial place which has yet to be freed
Like the uncombed hair of an angelic weeping willow tree

With its wild gamekeeper who keeps score of my latent thoughts
Such quandry thoughts will never cease to amaze me, verily
It's better not to be complacent about the future that humans will face
An annuitant flower bud will grow and expand our shared, ancient garden 

Such flowers will invoke the threader in our imaginative minds
Your skin silkily makes everything resolve itself for me so that I finally smile
And you make peace with the challenges that prevail all the while
Because you're the one I love, the one whom I'd not beguile.

Your name evokes perfection
All the while, my beloved connection
Categories: obliquely, dream, love, word play,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member Winter Noon

The sun reaches highest point of the day.
But lower and weaker than evening of the fall.

The sun makes time shorter to stay.
And it rapidly intends to fall.

Sunlight comes obliquely,
My shadow grows longer dejectedly.

Wind throws fresh but freezing air,
Which people don't want to bear.

It is still cold on winter noon.
Who says spring comes soon ?

But look at the park over there !
Children under sunlight are playing cheefully there.

Currently I'm on moving to my client.
I was so encouraged at this brilliant ambient.


Fengleishanren.
Categories: obliquely, children, day, encouraging, life,
Form: Rhyme

The Flamenco Dancer and the Bull

The Flamenco Dancer and The Bull

The acoustics of your snuffle
 is an absolution 
of a descending staccato 
in an E chord.
Behold, my lancing third, 
an urgency to trick you 
with my jalapeño-colored capote,
to mask the stains of your blood 
as it oozes,  while I thrust 
these Romani banderillas 
in your neck.
Tease me with impulsive pretence
of your Berber-like invincibility,
while I magnify 
your monotonous habits,
triggering the sequel
with the mutiny of these senses
in a most soulful manner.
Beware, my gitano-inspired estoque, 
hidden and within a rhythmic beat cycle
in sync with a Moorish chant,
while my arms obliquely stretched
plunging to your bosom, 
as I dare to move my hips 
in a sultry fashion, to anchor it 
in your Andalusian-unceasing being,
Oh! My Iberian-bred tragedy,
consummating my tableau
with your immortal inexistence.
Categories: obliquely, conflict,
Form: Ballad

Premium Member Obliquely Opaque

obliquely opaque 


opaque – soft light sifts through stained drape
filtered through muted sunshine’s dancing shape
trapped within dim confines - dust covered trust
love’s charred remains - victim of unbridled lust

awakening to darkness – blinding brightness
stumbling sightless through outdated rightness
alone with thinking’s disconnected fears
seekers reconstructing new frontiers

layering more dust upon the Grail
adrift amid the thoughts they never sail
searching without - for that within
saddled with past - and future sin

oblique – soft angle breaking stride
questioning the truths - that “must abide”
within the hearts and souls - of all but one
awakened to the truth - that there are none



8/27/2015
Categories: obliquely, imagination, introspection,
Form: Verse

There Is Only the Sound of the Steam Escaping

City spreads out with a turned cold shoulder
so cold you begin to break apart
so empty, heat cannot keep warm
the silence so loaded.

you go back to the place you remember.
you go back to these things that are like wires or gravity
pulling , tangling , annoying

you go back
seeking the inside.
Notice how the corners get picked at first
somehow I am pressing this through
maybe you are reading this
you would be the only one

surely no one else is left
and then in the same way
it would be the same road, the same day
going to the same place you go to
and what ever it is you are doing
rite now

when you first discover this
shriek! so the neighbors know
it will have no bearing on me now
this is a one way street and I am driving too fast.

there is only the sound of the steam escaping
the muffled mouth limps away laughing
its flat feet one by one
advance
stamping
singing about nothing

we are dropped off at the corner.
at the best part of the hour
inside and underneath, tucked away or
in the dryer
inside the circle of trees, or 
underneath the furniture

its silent drifting,leaking
underwater and overland
passing obliquely into
neverland.
Categories: obliquely, adventure, allegory, imagination, inspirational,
Form:

Premium Member A Mysterious Voice

From here and there, I hear him speak
His voice, falling in mild whispers
But he always plays hide n’ seek
Never once I could see his countenance

At times he speaks loud n’ clear
Sometimes so harsh and stern
How he denies my wild longings
With a stubborn ‘Yes’ or ‘No’

What magic and mystery in him stored
I often wonder and am at a loss to gauge
Amid the shards of my broken sleep
I often struggle to decipher his mysterious codes

I sought after him over and again
Down the nights and through the days
But he eludes me like a mysterious sprite
Prancing around and hiding about

When I give up my search after him
He shouts and whistles amid the confused din
And I see faint truths suddenly uncoiling
Forming in me a clearer perspective of life

At the end of my incessant search
I chanced to meet him within my own self
Peering into my depths, I saw him, his face veiled
And a balance held obliquely in his hands

When the veil was lifted from his countenance
I saw him clear, clear as in a mirror
Someone with such commanding air
And so stern with an impassive demeanor

In the still pool of humid silence
I heard him introduce himself
His sound ringing distinct and clear
Leaving echoes in the caverns of stillness

“I am CON- SCI-ENCE, your alter ego
Listen to me, you shall not stray’’!
When he thus revealed himself before me, I stood
Wonderstruck staring into the face that eluded me for long

Honorable Mention
'Wonderstruck' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by 
Robert James Liguori
Categories: obliquely, integrity, judgement, light,
Form: Personification

Hue

The Hue 
 the main property of 
 color from which your 
 lips left behind clusters of 
 ideas and notions
 was not processed by my brain first
 rather, unsuspecting lips.
 There was no logic behind it
 no formulas, rather,
 a RED
 deep Saturation
 amongst
 strangers leaving behind brisk blue streaks.
 Our hue, that first kiss
 it’s Lightness
 brightness
 both, 
 deafening.

 On a contrasting
 day
 at the same venue
 with the same
 Brisk
 Blue
 Streaks
 you positioned my face
 in such a manner
 and 
 The Hue 
 left behind 
 was that of the 
 painting color theory
 a pure 
 color 
 no shade
 no tint
 I was painted
 as were your lips
 obliquely on my face

 thus, varying arts
 were created
 on 2 separate days
 with one brush stroke
 of your lips
 and the position
 spoke volumes
 subtlety
 even
 to those
 Brisk
 Blue 
 Streaks
Categories: obliquely, kiss, love, lust,
Form: Free verse

Moon Mirror

The sun, going about her daily chores, 
glimpses a new star in the sky, 
one smaller than herself, 
yet strangely familiar.

Used to catching her image first in puddles, 
then growing larger in lakes, 
she at first only sees a stranger, 
then catches herself 

spread in the moon's reflection 
across thousands of miles of sky.
Hypnotized by the beauty 
of this strange new view of herself, 

she can't ignore it, 
sneaking looks time after time; 
she can't take her eyes off herself.
Daily, as the moon moves about in the sky, 

the sun catches tantalizing glimpses 
of herself from multiple angles. 
By then, the sun imagines herself to have 
the moon's full attention, 

claiming it as her mirror.
Like Snow White's wicked stepmother, 
the sun asks this mirror repeatedly, 
methodically, almost hypnotically, 

"Who is the fairest of them all?"
The moon answers all questions 
obliquely, 
bringing the sun back time and again, 
puppet on a string 
seeking a definitive answer.

By day, the moon untangles 
its strings of moonlight, 
puts out its nets.

Their dialog moves sideways; 
the sun's questions, always direct, 
glance off the moon; 
the moon's answers slip around behind it 
as the sun tries to get a better look 
at what the moon might be saying.

Who was created in whose image? 
Which came first, 
the chicken, the egg, or the yolk, 
small sun caught up in the quicksilver lies 
of albumen?
Categories: obliquely, life, nature, science, moon,
Form: ABC
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