Best Unevenly Poems
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(PoetrySoup Format)
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. . . someone like me, sultry and carefree,
becomes excited in tender moments,
simply
anticipating spring, the silhouette of summer
warmth leaves me breathless, and
seasons never cease to be expressive and please
perhaps i’ll imagine the possibilities,
beyond this sweet ache
do you understand the feeling of being windswept,
how i long to escape and frolic ?
( to linger in days of seagulls and sand,
salty air dancing upon luscious lips,
. . . sighing as the moonlight twists its fingertips
through my dirty blonde hair -
tangling its glow, softly and slow
as waves welcome me, in pure ecstasy )
perhaps i’ll imagine the possibilities,
beyond this sweet ache
- - under a pink umbrella basking,
absorbing the radiant atmosphere,
with creamy coconut lotion on sun-kissed skin,
while sculpting sandcastles unevenly, as the tide moves in - -
*sand in sandals *
even the wind, with its soothing melody,
moves distant clouds my way, in hopes to soothe me
perhaps i’ll imagine the possibilities,
beyond this sweet ache
. . . to finally feel, only you
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~ A Romantic Scribble ~
(Longing for warmth)
. . . The season, or your touch ? ? ?
Perhaps both
And I walk
across numerical figments
speaking hyperbole dialect to their imaginations.
Numb, blocky gaps
whisper invitation to secret club.
Enticing my stature
to belong
to become exponent’s side-kick.
So they can welcome me with open arms.
Coating my digits with inoperable tumors
double-knotted in hot pink laced bow
and baby-breath scent.
They even left a Walmart Rollback smiley face sticker
with crack residue on right cheek
and a comic-style bubble caption, “welcome home puppet”.
Yes!
This is exactly how Mother 1 told me it would be.
Kinda like marriage,
but less detail-oriented.
But, I could never fit in.
For I am neither positive
nor negative
about their (cult) ural ways.
Timing would always be off.
An arm from the clock that suffered a stroke at Midnight…
They’d never understand,
how they’d alter this unevenly, odd numerical figment.
For they’ll just calculate,
deduce,
my sum with rusty protractor.
This Zero, into a fraction...
© Drake J. Eszes
I stand naked by the mirror
Looking at myself
I look like ummm
Something off a dusty shelf
My ribs stick out
You could play them like a harp
And my eyes bulge out my head
Like a half squeezed Chihuahua pup
My legs they call them lucky
They like two fighting swords
I have the knack of amusing people
With them I even won awards
Now my wife is a total contrast
She’s short, fat and round
It takes me three hours to spread the fake tan
But she still comes out unevenly browned
Just the other day I thought
She threw the duvet over me
But when I opened one eye
I saw it was a crusty bikini
I love to watch her dressing
It makes me shake at the knees
I feel like grabbing a handful of ripples
And give them a gentle squeeze
Driving the car is a challenge
Her ripples stop me changing the gear
And when we walk down the street
We look like a shield with a skinny spear
But to her I’m her half finished pepperoni
To me she’s my fluffy bread bun
We always do things together
I’m telling you, we have so much fun
And now I would like to announce
The arrival of baby number seven
We may seem like the oddest couple
But it’s a match made in heaven.
Joy and pain…
Sun and rain…
Love and disdain-
Opposites existing simultaneously
To its own detriment.
One cancelling out the other…
Parasitic and unevenly yoked.
Through thick cumulative clouds
I was the sun…
The flow of light
In and out of her rain…
Creating rainbows of
Misty colors between
Our different mediums
We clash…
Much like the uneven
Heating of the Earth’s surface
As cold meets warm-
A flow of wind between
Our boundaries
That violently blows…
Juxtapose-
once i had footprints as tattoos
the art was tasteless
the seed was a hateful hoax
once i had phlegm laced spit in every hair follicle
the gleam was unattractive
the roots were unbalanced and unevenly growing
once i had gnats fronting as a jazz band predominately playing dirges
the rhythm was a compulsive liar
the melody was basically a malady
then you came along
you saw me in all chapters of unkempt
you dried my tears
you gave me shelter
you made me pray with you
you Loved me to Wellness
now i am a better man
now i am smelling like lavender and vanilla
now my heart is richer than my many big pictures
now i know the true meaning of Prosperous Gratitude
now i know what it really feels like to be Definitively Loved
Now I Thank God and Give Him Praise For You.....
now i must go and get myself together and get ready
her funeral starts at 11am
her last words to me were 'You Blessed My Life By My Saving Yours'
Treasure The Pleasure Of God's Blessings......
A prince who’d been changed by a spell,
Was an ugly frog in a well.
To a pretty young miss
He said, “Give me a kiss.”
She replied, No thank you, you smell.”
When asked by Prince Charming to wed,
Cinderella shook her fair head.
Thought, not for a ransom,
He’s not very handsome
And she married Buttons instead.
When Snow-white saw the dwarves in the hall,
She observed they were not very tall.
They were children she thought
And decided she ought
To apply to foster them all.
The dragon had breath fiery red
And the people wanted him dead.
So Saint George was dispatched
But, unevenly matched,
The dragon slayed Saint George instead
Georgy Porgy, pudding and pie,
Kissed all the girls and made them cry.
Nursery Land was aghast
At what had just passed
For Georgy was a girl, that’s why.
On the pretext of finding water,
Jack chased Jill and then, when he caught her,
They got carried away
And the following May,
Jill gave birth to a little daughter
I see the eye of an albino deer,
facing east, as I face north
It is almost silent
The sky is an empty granite gray
His eyes match
the mimosa flowers
that feather down in a fluffy rain
around us, unevenly
He looks at my hazel eyes,
probably not seeing the color
I hope he considers me
as I consider him
It is 5:15 on the road.
We are sandwiched in by woods
in the fatigued heat
of a drawn-out Sunday in June
when even the cardinals are tired of singing
The buttercups
are a dusty shade of mustard,
too dry to stand up straight
The male albino drops his head,
after figuring me out,
nibbles the hot grass
and flicks his ears
His tail swishes away a fly
A hungry mosquito
mocks this moment
and won’t leave my ears alone
The oaks and pines stop swaying
as if holding their breath
There is heavy honeysuckle
in the air, and smoke
Someone must be burning leaves
I am close enough to see
the velvet blush of his antlers
He is a four pointer
I count the seconds
and try to find meaning
in this
A red-shouldered hawk
announces itself
and the porcelain king
scampers off
into the thicket
The orchestra was loud when I walked in,
Performing a whimsical waltz by Strauss.
I picked a group of friends and settled-in,
And perused the fineries of the house.
The chandeliers were unevenly spaced,
Creating random spaces of shadows
Where intimate strangers chastely embraced,
And not-so-innocent virgins caroused.
A friendly acquaintance introduced me
To his available little sister.
Turned out she was charming and quite lovely,
So I gave up trying to resist her.
“I would be most honored, beyond measure;
If you’d care to dance, it’d be my pleasure.”
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
We stare with grim satisfaction
Because the black winged Angel
Ridding a flaming chariot tells a tale;
And proclaims that God is love,
Yet he, himself is an Angel of death.
Day after wretched day Humanity walks!
He walks down the dark alley of freedom;
Freedom which shouts fairness;
Fairness that begets confusion—
And he tries to bottle the spittle of birds…
Every night he lies in bed and tries to hear
The voice of fishes shouting gender and Sexualty in a world where the scale of
Equality is unevenly proportional and
Equal rights mean the oppression of men.
Apartheid, the history of Mzanzi is
The present for the African world and
That has caused his inferiority complexes
To suffice and personalize racism and
One after another, generations play along.
Lest we forget,
The victims are just as guilty
As the perpetrators but at some point.
Humanity weeps as he inspects
His isle of hopelessness!
But just like the majority, men;
They cry in hiding.
Where no-one sees,
No-one hears and
No-one dares speak for the black sheep!
Deep down this egocentric radicalism,
He orders rotten eggs to make an omelette
With which he feeds pirate justice,
And he goes all year long
On a running stomach.
Although the words never sink,
Humanity hearkens to
The rumbling stomach of justice but
When the rainbow of life turns
Grey!
Humanity's children cry day and night
While the Angel of death entrusted
Their protection feasts on their tears
And dances to the beautiful sound
Of their troubled voices.
And when the wolf comes for their
Brazen souls we hail at the smiling lady
Who says 'I am virgin Mary'
With fangs behind her white vail
And poison under her tongue—death!
The rich are poor but morally,
Yet no-one sees
And no-one cares;
They say 'each one for himself'
Come shall the final hour do.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
Humanity looks on
And passes his judgement.
The masked preacher scoffs:
“No-one is perfect.
No, not one!”
Back when McGee was a fireman
A fairly long time in the past
He thought he'd go for a little walk
And feeling quite up to the task
That was until he saw a site
That was cute in a curious way
There he was , that little boy Shawn
Playing as he did everyday
But this time he sat in a wagon Bright Red
With a ladder tied to the side
And a hose he held very tight in his hand
As a dog and a cat pulled his ride
So McGee played along, and said "Hey there, Chief,
That's a fine fire engine for sure
But I notice your team is unevenly yoked
It's Ok though, cause I have the cure
I see that the rope that's tied to the dog
Is cinched to the collar 'round his neck
But the rope's 'round the testicles of the poor cat
The problem is this I suspect"
Then McGee started switching the rope on the cat
To his collar to equal the chore
But Shawn stood up and protested loudly
"So, I won't have a siren no more"
I have no urge to do what used to be a necessity; I don’t dwell on the past. In your
presence of physical and mental distribution, subsiding the bad for good, putting
me in a state of equilibrium. It’s not safe to be writing these things this early. But
its how I feel. The cloth that your skin resembles dries up my past, and absorbs it
without any question. The warmth you radiate makes it unevenly distribute
throughout my body, you bring warmth and shivers. The safety issues don’t play
a role in either of our minds, what is needed is the presence of each other. It’s a
word that has no existence, but yet keeps us both wanting more. As the smile
radiates your figure, it does mine also. The one on one attention brings calamity
to my bindings. What’s embedded inside my delicate figure has been strangled
for such a long duration. It’s waiting to be released by the power you invested into
the lock. You’re entitled to the contents of this wooden chest. The color gold
resides all throughout your figure, but the feeling of another time, the warmth of
present time, the question of future time, is the Golden Rule. The intense but yet
visible attraction draws out all stressors in my mind. The chemical impoundment
is so concrete and so obvious that we both will not deny that it’s there. And what
we have, I’ve never felt before.
Crunchy golden brown potatoes
Cut unevenly into strips sticks
One maybe half, one and two inches long
Best eaten after freshly fried
So thus us, creations of God
Unequal to wit, might and talents
Yet, daily equip in battle of growing
Not on failing but succeeding
The fries eaten plain or flavored
So is man simple and favored
The fries a fine finger food
So is man by nature is born good
Either served on plate or pouch
Us humans ready to serve and touch
Sometimes bitten bit or whole
Us humans molded clever or fool
by: olive_eloi
10:07am
01/19/2014
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Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
(and second oldest heir)
Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
titled The Communist Manifesto,
and Das Kapital
which political philosophy
incubating seeds of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
historical materialism, dearth
of equitable wealth, and inherent
contradictions of industrial capital
distributed unevenly
across avast swath of Earth
thus inviting his perspective
(conveniently exploited,
mined, and usurped) advocating
the working class (proletariat)
to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin exchanged for labor bled
fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
till slaving laborer nearly became gratefully dead
despite being cased in 12 point
Times New Roman garb, who incessantly fed
insatiably maws of production,
(no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
within schema of Capitalism),
a predominant paradigm
stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
between bourgeoisie red
dilly controlling means
of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
as historical materialism,
where figurative landmines forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
would supposedly lead down the road
where self destruction wrought marriage
birthing Socialism offspring from shot gun wed
ding, thus coaxing eventual establishment
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association of producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
campy population hood pitched a tent.
tenuous strands
lithely tethering
the soul to reality...
strummed unevenly
by life
sharp notes
compose
a subtle dirge
of mournful
ambivalence
14 May 2023
Over a labyrinth of dust
carved by cockroaches scampering away
at the faintest sign of company,
waning light is unevenly cast
by an old crackled glass window.
Limp and age-stained curtains
tint green the yellowish rays
where they haven’t been eaten through
by moths which flutter unwittingly
along an old crackled glass window.
The sullen mood satisfies the bees
which hum, as they go to-and-fro,
some sulking tune void of melody
which reverberates nicely
off an old crackled glass window.
There is no living recollection
not even among spiders
peering wistfully about
who have long-adorned in cobweb
that old crackled glass window.
Yet recorded in detail
black and white on the wall
hanging skewed from a nail
is an old family portrait
taken under a clear glass window.
07/18/15