Long Askew Poems
Long Askew Poems. Below are the most popular long Askew by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Askew poems by poem length and keyword.
Spookaroo where are you he yells while standing at the window
his diaper is sagging and his witches hat is crooked and all askew
The ghostees are busy tonight preparing candy for the big kids
she says, and the sorcerers are chanting in the forest of doom
But when are the Spookaroos coming, I don't see a think out there
then he sticks a thump in his mouth and pops out his big blue eyes
They are flying in the sky my love checking out the little children
now let's put your costume on and shell out, remember no peeking
He walks bow legged to his room and parts the curtains just a wee
hoping to catch their attention, he bangs at the window with a shoe
Spookaroo spookaroo where are you, I got gummy bears for you
the witch's costume waits on the bed, he catches a cold Achoo!
Mom lifts him up and runs to the den with a voice singing soft and low
" they're a comin a comin, and they love naked bellies my son "
Quick get your costume, hide your navel, the spookaroos are here
toeing, he runs with his hands in the air screaming, no fair no fair !
What's happened to modern day families
They once were a tight little group
The kids would visit Granny and Gramps
Someone would bring homemade soup
Folks arrived bearing goodies and sweets
And put all their stuff in the fridge
The kids would play their hide and seek games
While the old folks played Euchre or Bridge
Granny didn't mind that the house was askew
Afterwards we sat down for a chat
It sure looked like a big bomb had gone off
It was weeks before they located the cat
Today they email to say they can't make it
It's their time to scrub out the bath
And Susan broke a finger nail last night
She's sulking but I'm sure it won't last
Maybe in June we will find time to visit
We'll slot you into our journal
Between Tommie's first ever baseball game
And Susan's play, "Love Eternal"
©Jack Ellison 2012
I wear a poppy every day
And always there’s someone who’ll say,
“You’ve got it wrong! That’s not the way,
My man, you’re disrespectful!”
You know the type. They take delight,
Dictating what is wrong, what’s right.
But really I don’t give a sh*te.
I’m not at all regretful.
“Not on your hat! It’s all askew!
The leaf at eleven, not six or two!”
What a ridiculous, pointless to-do!
Really? Does it matter?
So my poppy’s on a shirt, a tie
Low on my coat or pinned up high
I really do not understand why,
There’s so much outraged chatter.
You see, it’s not the way it’s worn;
What piece of clothing you adorn,
Smart as a guardsman or tattered and torn.
What matters is, it’s there.
I wear my poppy how I like.
The haters? They can take a hike!
You wanna moan? Get on yer bike!
My tribute’s my affair.
The Ferris wheel, a spoked and sputtering crown,
Pinned back the velvet dark. We paid our fee
In crumpled bills, bought passage to the town
Where gravity forgot to work its shift for me.
Neon stuttered sermons: "Try Your Luck!"
"See Freaks! Win Love!" The calliope’s thick breath,
A sticky-sweet confection, made us drunk
On promises spun sugar-brittle, sweet as death.
We traded common sense for ticket stubs,
Gulped down the chaos. Bumper cars collided
With jarring joy, released electric grubs
Of laughter down our spines, fear undecided
If it should stay or flee. The Tilt-A-Whirl
Unstitched the solid world, flung stars askew
In streaks of cheap chrome, made the pavement curl
Beneath our feet. I held tight onto you,
A fixed point in the whirling, painted blur.
The rifle range barked sharp, tin cans leapt high.
A sad-eyed bear, impossibly demur,
Watched from his perch where hopeful bullets die.
We shared spun sugar, ghosting on the air,
A sweetness gone before it reached the tongue,
Like fortunes told by Madame Zara’s stare
In smoky glass where futures, cheap, were hung.
The haunted house exhaled its chilly moan.
We walked through shrieks (machine-made, mostly sound),
Past rubber bats and bones of plastic thrown
To frighten children. On the trembling ground,
The roller coaster’s skeleton outlined
A shriek against the stars, a rattled breath
Of riders flung through space, ecstatically blind.
We felt its tremor, smelled its oil and death.
Then, sudden quiet by the carousel,
Its painted horses frozen mid-career,
Up, down, around, beneath a tarnished spell.
The music box wound down, the notes unclear,
Like childhood memories half-drowned in time.
The lights began to shutter, one by one.
The midway sighed. The air grew thick with grime
And spent excitement. All the magic, done.
We walked back through the gates, the real world vast
And strangely silent after all that din.
Holding the cheap prize that was meant to last,
A plastic star still glowing deep within
Its fragile shell – a captured, fading spark,
A testament to how we briefly flew
Above the ordinary, through the dark,
On borrowed light, just me and just... and you.
The carnival's clockwork heart beat slow, then ceased,
Leaving just echoes, ticket stubs, and peace.
Like the pompous pied piper leading the way,
chirping his tune of a dawning new day,
frustrations were championed, oh how we followed,
the ego stuffed shirt of a suit cold and hollow.
From the top of the hill, he showed us the view,
convincing our eyes it was harshly askew.
Nearing the cliffs as if caught in a spell,
he fed us like lambs from his poisonous well.
Touting sweet taste of his truth well embittered,
ignoring the signs of nonsensical twitter,
rot with the smell of the nations decay,
we drank from his cup of a water so gray.
Watching and waiting for gifts of his gruel,
the masses assured we were not made a fool,
his promise of greatness was all we could see,
with great expectations of how it would be.
There's no turning back once we swore the man in,
believing bright futures were soon to begin,
blinding frustration gave evil its day
for the pompous pied piper to lead us astray.
He led us to thinking, all driven by fear,
then gave his directives so cryptically clear,
stripping the values by which we would stand
before the American dream had been banned.
Addicted to all the attention and glory,
swiftly he moved to remain the top story,
insisting on walls made of concrete and steel
built by the anger and hate we should feel.
Then some were shaken, disrupting his spell
and found he was stealing our Liberty Bell.
The fog began lifting and soon we would see
the piper exposed as the fraud he would be.
Time has a way, proven over again,
of playing its imminent part.
The shedding of light upon every mans soul,
exposing his darkness of heart.
No longer seduced by the piping we hear,
choosing to see through the veil,
Democracy once again fights to survive,
let us all pray we prevail!
-Jeannie Cronin
Face framed ornate, or curl corner blu tacked up
Childhood fanciful daring must softly be contained
Dispicable hovers inside cherub cheeked adorable
Challenge for enamoured to create correct shape
Administer discipline with compassion entangled
Potential beckons infant innately curious
Toddler discovery meshed with messiness
Woven with wonderment routine can't limit
Succumbed mother disowns justifiable furious
Besotted witness, sure estate for mischief
Nudging daughters towards beings approved
Beyond old rigidity, modern option multiples
Youth spoken forums we're foreigners to
Images of genuine and fake indiscernible
Listened to lunacy delivers messages askew
Duty to daughters reflect our similarity
Penciled declarations stuck to fridge
Devotedness focussed on child precious
Inflated effort, parents' universal currency
Whether meagre expenditure, or excess
Snippets of your prosper are written in me
Lawyer loads clothes into washing machine
Submerged both classes in a world severe
Puppets of striving in fast passed society
Consumer boom boldly commandeered
Disparity reveals parental symmetry amazing
Faithfully accommodating girls' shifting needs
Working mothers, each of us 'unaccompanied'
Various sized resources serve child raising
Sacrifice made by dedicated souls equally
Providing guidance, friendship gripes quieten
Line of latitude curved by desire to control
Old school wisdom bolsters brains susceptible
Dramatised screen infused new century children
Content quickly spirals into unacceptable
Desperately hoping, we Mother soldiers
Shield children from future provocation
Hold fort, nest feathered dedication
Thrusted comfort, reluctant scolders
Admist mixed rails, reliable station
Within swayed pre teen trajectory
Sturdy parenting depots journey
Home stands firm from outside duress
Finances overshadowed by reliability
Partnered peers approve sole success
17th July 2020
I sat in front of his mirror -
my long locks looking askew.
It brought me significant anguish.
Atrocious means horrible in my book
and my book spelled it awry...
A – Awful
W – Weird
R – Rigid
Y – Yuk
Luckily, a new hairdresser, Adam,
gave me auspicious hope.
He was able to assuage the rigidity
with great aspiration,
with a burning desire towards release.
My head was in his hands.
He managed to absolve my wild ringlets
removing hairspray, gels, then cutting.
After awhile, I stood up amazed.
Adam had spelled my awkward look with allure...
A – Attention
L – Lavished
L – Loveliness
U – Unrivaled
R – Release
E – Elation
June 8, 2020
I follow the trail of blood,
milk, and honey,
to where we’re all going
from where we once came.
The Buddha said to embrace suffering
and feel your feelings fully,
but in my short time
I’ve uncovered that men
often mean the opposite
of what they meant.
So I’ve pledged
to live a life of duality,
in hopes to askew you
from thinking
you know
what I know I know.
The Christian God said
to bear one another’s burdens fully.
Well, if man made his purpose
levity to man,
the earth would be utopic,
and there would be
no more burdens
left for anyone to bear.
So I’ve pledged
to bear the weight of myself
wholly and alone,
for only individually
can we return
to Eden again.
The Muslim God said
not to trust anyone
except Himself
and the Prophet Muhammad,
and surely one man
can’t be the only one right
for the sum of all men.
So I’ve pledged
to disobey
and incorporate a piece
of everyone’s theology
into my way of
being.
Philip, man of men, said
man hands misery to man.
Well, that’s only true
if you don’t change
or try.
So I’ve pledged
to forgive
myself,
me and I,
and you,
only in the few times
I’m right.
I’ve been to temples,
I’ve been to shrines,
I’ve been to chapels,
I’ve been to forests,
and I’ve sat alone
on park benches
listening to junipers sing.
And here’s what
I’ve come to believe:
We’re all talking
about the same person,
and he loves
both you and I
equally.
Over the horizon,
on distant shores
lies my message in a bottle
cast askew on the beach
with other remnant memories
and hopes in tatters scattered
strewn among the drift wood debris
dead soldier memories lying face down
castaway sailor survivor sobs long gone,
in the debris fields of dead memories, silent
On distant shores
turtles hatch
alligators bask in the sun
seagulls argue and caw
fishermen love just being there
stranded cockles ooze under for cover
waves surge up and run out
tides rise and ebb
surfers smile, turn and head back out
ghosts of lovers walk the beach hand in hand
cries of kids playing echo in the splash and hiss of waves
kites ply the skies
pearly shells beckon beach-combers
cuttlefish and seahorse skeletons stark white
buried in the flotsam and jetsam
wood debris worn smooth and bleached
smelly old seaweed dried-out leathery
action aplenty, memorabilia.
On distant shores
the hiss and roar of waves
the glare of the sun
the coming and going of the sand
moved in drifts by wind and wave
drowns out all the memories
cast ashore as debris and litter
on a graveyard shore
where fresh footprints are washed away
where lingering wanderers
see, feel, touch and taste in the moment
but where no one hears
the stories locked away
in the debris fields of dead memories, silent.
You fear you'll never find love;
no matter how hard you try.
And yet, you still cling to hope;
wiping a tear from your eye.
You have little left to give,
emptied of all but your soul.
And your social life's askew;
a square peg in a round hole.
You're led to believe you're loved;
only to be hurt again.
And yet, you crave love so bad
that you'll tolerate disdain.
Though they offer some relief,
dreams cannot alter fate's shape.
For skirting reality,
sleep is a form of escape.
The problem is that lonely
souls settle for scraps of love.
And when their hearts feel empty,
they curse the heavens above.