Best Slanted Poems
Look past
the faded little girl braids and bows
in a polaroid picture
buttery yellow skirt
curtsying a smile
frog prince
imprisoned in her palm
under a creamy pound cake sun
(her grandmother’s recipe
sugar and spice folded carefully
with love and guilt
into a thick summer sky)
daisies like polka dots
piecemeal on her bonnet
seem to stare down
her face with jaundice eyes
slanted above ensnaring weeds
swirls of sorrow linger
in knee-high field
where flowers grew wild like
freedom once felt
Look closer picture fading
She is running
legs bent shouting from the page
stockings peeled off
lanky legs running
through her pain
till her heart detaches
from a barefoot soul
She still feels spiky burs in her heels
drops of blood
zigzag numb
beyond the treeline
memories meld
love and loss
euphoric rush warm winds fuel
an urgency her creation
until lightning strikes
her grief rushing to catch up
through crushed wildflowers
fragmented patterns
under paths at her feet
tears flooded her field overgrown
She remembers to forget
Her mother
buried under
a distant willow
She was taught
by her grandmother
to be composed
poised like other girls
wad up unpleasant feelings
slip them into a corner
of the cedar chest
under layers
of afghans and quilts
she laid them to rest
long ago but
never stopped
her fidgety legs from weaving
through floral tapestries
of field and meadow
wild brush turned emerald green
in mourning
Her daddy passed away
ten years ago today
He was buried with wildflowers
tucked softly
in his lapel and praying hands
he always said windswept blooms
reminded him of his girls
If you look closely at the picture
of that faded little girl
you will see her running
from the graves
as the wildflowers crush
beneath her feet
When stars ascend and illuminate moonlight,
he sits in the midst of childhood confusion,
bricks in ruby quartz, shape pearl-face of twilight,
crafting a castle from artistic vision
where secrets of his heart have unlocked windows;
letters and numbers, no longer mere shadows,
architecting comfort through mini figures
that masquerade ticking truth of lonely hours.
Dyslexic mind moulds an armored foundation,
lego became his true salvation through strife;
reflections of kismet, contrived with passion-
gilded courage framing the frailties of life,
tiny fingers breathe hope through rainbow colors,
whilst imagination carves profound pillars,
stacking the slanted canvas of dreams to rise,
as his strength towers beyond bluest of skies.
One tear slides down a slanted cheek
A silver line, the only sign
Of anguish which she does not speak
Insistent smiles, bright by design
Thin fortitude, her whitewashed shrine
Gilded answers rain, lily meek
She lies and says that she is fine
When truth is too fearsome to seek
2/1/20
Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.
Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly
From the thickening air,
As they brightly
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.
For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated barns.
Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds
lament!
Blown far out
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.
So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley,
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...
To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...
And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!
Your house still smells like you:
Warm shortbread and lavender soap -
Comforting and agonizing.
Your plants still bloom,
Perched beside the window
Where the kettle waits to be filled.
But your rocking chair is still
And all is quiet.
I could have fallen to pieces
Like a hand-blown vase
Hurled against green walls
Or dropped on old floorboards
Through fingers slick with shock.
But you sewed me up
With words gone by.
Your remnant thoughts
(So similar to thoughts I've had)
Penned in your slanted scrawl,
Filling pages with perfect rhymes
And clever observations.
Here you'll live forever
In vibrant verses and lilting lines.
And I'll live here too
Until the last salty drop
Lands on the final page.
I can offer you sympathy,
try to feel you through empathy.
But if you take it for granted,
silence will be your remedy.
Remember the seeds you planted,
when unnourished will bloom slanted.
Hearts yearn for balanced devotion,
like birds sharing what they chanted.
When there is too much commotion,
tears seem to fall in slow motion.
Will you give my soul an embrace,
try to sense its deep emotion?
Ego only portrays disgrace.
Some actions are hard to replace.
Judgement is harshly negative.
Selflessness should be your showcase.
When the conscience seems tentative,
your heartbeats become expletive.
But if you've helped quench someone's thirst,
the thoughtful become sensitive.
Before the heart and soul immerse,
the eyes observe compassion first.
Awareness brings sweet harmony.
A purpose that should be well versed.
Hereabouts the thinning glades
Of sparse grey Birches:
Brackens crisp copper tresses
All aglow;
Gently waking Snowdrops
Lift their sleepy heads
From leafy beds of woodland moil,
When tucked snugly up,
Out of intrusive sight and just
Below.
Fondly the slowing bend
Hugs upon the river...
Banked heavily with frosted
Bulrushes
That shifting breezes once did so
Stiffly blow;
The faltering current,
That sped the pied Dipper,
Patiently seeks out the quiet
Devotions
Of her beguiling flow.
When the drawing Moonlight
Gives way to purple Twilight
In the gloaming
Of Winters sharp days;
When the yellowy willows
Weep watery glints
Lingering and loitering...
Pining for long Summers slanted
Rays.
For far, far, high above
Over the old red-bricked mill...
Whose creaking sluice gurgles
With long melancholy sighs:
Heavens twinkling stars,
Held briefly in abeyance,
Partially obscured by thin veils of
Dull-leaden, magenta tinged skies.
Where the low horizons fall
And briefly meet the mornings
On heathered moor, open field,
And inland shore:-
Here beached boats dreaming
Of white crested waves;
Soon the keen plough will make
Ready
To score the deep furrows once
More.
Now our Lady Skadi,
Purest and resplendent,
Through driving sleet
And blinding blizzards will ascend -
Returning to aged fortress
Of eternal Utgard
Leaving her thawing snows
To dispel long Winters End!
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 ~
Extended family, children play
as sunbeams fall all slanted,
‘round a wooden table in the shade
of a tree great-grandpa planted.
I like to think he smiled back then,
with sweaty brow, and handsome grin.
Old and wise – I’m sure he knew,
in time his tree would block the view.
I wonder if he thought about,
his family tree - with branches out?
The bonds of blood were strong and grew.
So has the shade he never knew…
Copyright © 2014
You remember oceans
Filling your wet footprints
With foam and salty brines
The tracks you left upon
Seashell crusted shorelines
You remember oceans
As immense illusions
Irregular and curled
Cutting slanted cliffs from
The wild ends of the world
You remember oceans
Majestic and complete
Like your heart
when whales dive
Under aqua castles
Where coral is alive
You remember oceans
In shifting turquoise green
Dawn gold to midnight blue
And, when tides are pulling
Oceans remember you
04/09/22
A dark room with a small wooden desk, no lamp
A thick pad of paper and a typewriter, never used
Like a museum exhibit, though they aren’t allowed to gather dust
And dead flies and moths, a pack of playing cards
I never learnt to play, but still they’ve turned yellow with age
The shelves full of books, thumbed and read a million times
The pages fall out sometimes onto the slanted shelf, broken
The cascade of over-used books falling into each other
A literary car crash
The carpet burnt by years of clumsiness, dark and worn
The ceiling stained by years of nicotine, the cigarette smoker
Looking on at a world frozen, the books are the only living things
Read a million times and thumbed to death, the dirty pages blending into each other
The faces and the timeless, frozen authors and poets, trapped here forever
In the corner, a lonely television set, never used and not even plugged in
The lonesome keyboard, beaten a million times, my voice recorded
The German tongue, screamed above piano murder, the manslaughter of my violin
A cultural car crash
The curtains, white to ivory to ashen, unopened in an age
Time to let the world come in through the never-before-seen window
I sit upon the bed and watch the silhouettes gather, their vagabond army
Creeping over everything with their tired and dirty little hands
The books I’ve read to death, the literary suicide, gathering in a spot of light
Like flocking birds fleeing for the winter, their matted feathers and scabbed legs
They can’t fly anywhere, trapped here, my favourite victims, dead within the covers,
Like broken pigeons trapped within damning cages. I close the door and leave
The untouched car crash
Take Me For Granted
Maybe I'm just crazy
or my views are slightly slanted.
But I love when you don't have to ask.
When you take me for granted.
I need it when you're needing me
when push comes down to shove.
I love when you take it for granted
that I'll show you my love.
How when you know I'll be beside you
and I'm not afraid to fight.
And how you take it for granted
you'll be loving me tonight.
Go on baby you can look away
the seeds already planted.
I love the way it feels to me
when you take me for granted.
Not everyone will get this poem.
But those that do, have known love at a depth not everyone will ever see.
They've been hurt. Taken advantage of and they have been betrayed.
Still they have known love.
They were open to it. They've been warmed by it's fires and chilled by it's North wind.
They've flown where eagles fly. And they've crawled through hell and back.
None of it for them but for one they loved.
Because if you know love, you soon find that it's not love until you give it away.
Edwin C Hofert
The rain, at last, has finally tiptoed in
I almost missed the laughter, but for leaves
that murmured quick surprise along the eaves
It caught my eye, with tapping on the glass
as I looked out to see a somber cast
bringing change to evening's sky
Then, having heard, I left my cozy place
and stepped outside to drink the fragrant air
And felt the slope of rain upon my face
I heard the dance of dripping leaves
against the fray of windswept trees
And watched the rope of silver coils
in casement light, as evening fell
Puddles in the nearby street
were playgrounds, dancing to a beat
Each slanted chain from heaven fell
with balmy incense, in the night
Then quickly over, like a dream
rain scampered east, without a glance
and without a chance to wipe its feet
Away it flew in fickle flight
So brief it came, to quickly cover
the leaves, the grass, and even me
with showers, sweet, before my sleep
But, left the scent, of sweetened clover
.........................................................
11/13/13
Contest: Rain
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Blight the clouds lowly dispirited feigns,
Despite these regards there belies the shrouds,
In height uncovers the misplaced reclaims,
Ignite, blameless drives of a dove in clouds.
In measured distance or that of life's span,
Of treasured reflections as fawning dawns,
A feathered friend that needs a shepherd's hand,
Unfettered airiness descends chiffons.
An aloof crowned hall grows ever grandeur,
Shall allude facts of dire circumstances,
Can assume, beasts of burden, not dirt-poor,
Ample proof, a slanted roof, mischances.
Grounds, telltale's a flap, wingless warrior,
Sounds, fled coos, eyes unreachable love,
Downs of feathers white o'er once courier,
Pounds the ceaseless cease ... flights anew born dove.
“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