Crooked Poems

God Has A Crooked Smile

I saw god near a pawnshop today: 

He had a crack pipe and 
a crooked smile. 

When he asked me for 
a quarter, I gave it to 
him. 

And that’s when he 
told me of his 
omnipotence. 

What a neat 
guy.

Crooked House

Crooked House
 Be content.
 Don’t take life for granted.
 Crooked house.
 Be you all around.
 Sometimes pulling weeds.
 Complaining, don’t feed.
 Through harvest.
 It's a test.
 Be concontent.
 Each day is a gift.
 Sometimes down in the valley.
 Count your blessings.
 Short on change.
 That's O.K.
 Grateful anyway.
 Down to earth.
 Don’t ask for much.
 A crooked house.

Crooked Crossroads

Standing at a dusty crossroads,  
The sun brutally beats down  
Upon flesh left for dead.  
High noon mingles with midnight;  
Diminishing reality becomes increasingly threadbare.  

Brittle tumbleweeds drift tragically away.  
Beady-eyed vultures swoop, circling.  
Gravity's pull feels increasingly heavy  
Against unrelenting waves of sorrow—  
Karma's come to collect its dues.  

Squinting in due south’s direction,  
A dilapidated shack instantaneously appears.  
An invisible pull propels me;  
Fate’s hand opens the door.  
Forward I march toward uncertainty.

Crooked Smiles

I walked amongst people for miles 
With hidden faces
And crooked Smiles.

My Crooked heart PT III

My will to leave, my bliss,
For I searched for me.
I have seen me,
When no mirrors comfort it.
That voice, that plays with soul.
A place so cold,
But I hold to hope.

I’m tired of feeling so stiff,
My mind wanders like a thief who seeks.
Am I but a man lost indeed?
My childhood plagues my grief.
Wars within my thoughts,
My mind at a dance for its bride.
She lays her ways on me,
The choice I chose for me—
Mine or something far from me?

Who am I,
But a word from Thee?
Truth be told,
I know not me.
For my mind at war with Thee,
To find me in places so hollow like me.
Will I oppose the dance she offered me?

Voices so seductive,
But words too pale for me.
I have searched for me,
But the whole too dark to see.
If I could follow Thee,
But faith wouldn’t rescue me.
For was I made for Thee,
To see me as He/She pleases?

The choice I make,
Because fear lives within.
I prose a dinner with Thee,
Let me search for me.
For my being so crooked to see,
A place for peace to live.
For my road so narrow but real,
I can see me,
But crooked as Thee.

By P.Fualem

My Crooked heart :PT II

But a linear crate,
You create your plate in days.
The seventh you lay,
For labor came to take its wage.
A circle, a grave we say—
Ohh, we are safe!

She lays in weight,
To maim and tame it seems.
Heavy to souls lost in hate,
Sorry, I meant to say in state.
Yes, the state of your mind in phases.
The clocks of ages,
Who linger like mages.

The moon,
Too glows but bold and slow.
Yes, slow,
For days with no faces.
Who finds themselves in strange,
But scary places?

To state my claim,
I lay waste the names they gave,
Biased on my faith.
Tunes unsure,
Far in future of stasis.
Some things lay in wait,
Measured in vain but valued too fame.

Distant, for that voice—
For humanity but a distant tone.
Truth be told,
For the man who knows
Is that soul in search of gold.

What do we know?
For man, for who is free?
But chained by the song that sings,
The ears that hid,
The calls of choice,
But a pond for life’s law came to leave.

By P.Fualem

My crooked heart

My crooked heart
A tempest beat to a falling stride,
To whom may embark on this funny ride?
Bee nature's guide to see you rise—
So much beauty in plain sight.
What if it seems all but lies?
Yes, lies! For they are as crooked as the Maker’s ways.
Don't be fractured by nature's game.
Have you seen its ways?
So unlawful, it preys away.
Ohh, the ways of its gaze,
A globe so small in million ways.

Let me tell you about nature's gaze:
Tomorrow’s mirror lays in waste,
For guilty pleasure but a center stage.
Dance and celebrate—so naive, they came to play.
Let me hold you in place; don’t lose your faith.
Yes, you. For you are safe in grace.
I hope so. Hmm!
But you danced on its grave and thought it went unnoticed?

By P. Fualem

Finger Pointing

You say I should/
Pay for my crimes/
But, I'm innocent/
You won't be satisfied/
Till you put/
A bullet in my head/
You call me *****/
Because of my conviction/
But, I don't stoop/
To that level/
I never done that/
But, you won't stop/
Even after my body/
Lays in the ground/
You will always/
Have a reason/
To find fault with me/
You call yourself/
A... Christian/
But, your love for Jesus/
I do not see/
All you ever share/
Is your hate towards me/

Moon above crooked pumpkins

The artistic viewpoint
Slightly skewed
Somewhat short
Just past the “two’s”
Water colors
On a white fridge
A bit a-kilter
Pumpkin heads
A blur of witches
‘Gainst the moon
O’er dripping leaves
‘Neath artist’s eyes

Writing Straight with Crooked Lines

Would that my poet's heart could fly,
but an artist's anchor is his eye.
I still see the magic in mere flesh,
so a humble fate is mine...

Your form shall be revered, my dear;
I pray you never need to fear,
the passions flowing deep within me
as we struggle down the line...

From fruits of base attraction,
sweetest sensual transaction-
God may grant us gifts
beyond what we can define...

Let's raise a clutch of saints, my love,
a brood of little lambs, my dove,
offspring who will far surpass us
as they evolve the design.


3 June 2024

A Crooked House

There was a crooked house 
in a crooked part of town
Where you could down a pint or two
and let your life calm down
A place to relax and to de-stress
with friends and glass or two.
Yes we loved that little crooked house,
with its ice cold special brew.

It was a warm and friendly place
met always with a smile
A place to sit and talk and laugh
and for us to sit awhile.
A place to go and socialise 
and meet up with your mate.
A place to take a new found friend 
or maybe a new date.


Alas one night there was a roaring fire
and the crooked house burned down 
The structure was deemed unsafe to stand 
and so was bulldozed to the ground.
We're sad to see that its now gone 
and our beloved crooked house is no more.
Just sodden pile of bricks and stone
lay in a rubble on the floor.


So thank you friend and Landlord,
Landlady and bar staff. 
For the friendly service with a smile 
and for all the friendly chat
for all the beers served and drank
and the laughter and fun, thanks alot
we hold dear in our hearts and minds
Good times never forgot


Thanks to the little crooked house

Crooked

Crooked

They are the ones who make them forget the existence they have and surround them with the spirit of their new life.
The grave may be the provider of new bodies and matter taken by counting for others.
They anchor vitality and life to the earth on the plane.
If it is crooked or twisted, it is replaced and transported.


They can become a pain that diminishes and leaves a trail of loss.
Because other family ties may feel sad about the desire to unite.
If the thought of the world is their meaninglessness,it is worth waiting for.
They will change for their new values.

Be You Crooked Or Be You Straight

Old man leaning on a wooden cane
Stumbling down the sidewalk in the pouring rain
People laughing and wondering too
If He might be insane

- [ ] He looks back at them
And sings a happy song
About how soon he be leaving
And it won’t be too long 

Death comes to all
Even those who cannot wait
On their bed or in a brawl 
Be you crooked or be you straight

He went on down the alley way
The sky turned dark and starless
He turned around and waved goodbye
And disappeared in darkness

Death comes to all
Even those who cannot wait
On their bed or in a brawl 
Be you crooked or be you straight

Crooked Tree

Crooked Tree, there’s so much of you in me.
I whisper to the wind my confession.
This heart of mine is quite GRIM and GLOOMY.
Of FEELINGS; not one goes without question.

WISTFUL; I reach beyond the canopy.
Lovelorn and lost in hell among the crowd;
wondering absently in agony
through eternity. Lost beneath it’s SHROUD.

Endless days, months, and years in precession.
Every second of time from dusk til’ dawn
I wage a war against my DEPRESSION.
Emotionally broken and WITHDRAWN.

Withstanding the winds of MELANCHOLY 
requires more grain than the common holly.

God Writes Straight With Crooked Lines

They say that "God writes straight with crooked lines"
we seek control, but perhaps that confines
God's Will, Plan, compassionate designs
it's up to Him, the One who defines
what's good and true, thus His Mercy shines
along shared paths where friendship entwines
the heart-grown courage God's Hope aligns



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inspired by just having finished reading--
LINES OF COURAGE by Jennifer A. Nielsen

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