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.
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Geese squawking askew
V-formation out of form
Headed south too late
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Must be young geese
No strong leader
First flight home
No I will not ask for directions
(Haiku/Free Verse and what else who knows)
A snow-splattered,
cheerful red house.
Pine, sparkling white.
A snowman gladly,
proud and robust,
wears red-trimmed black hat,
a long green plaid scarf.
Buttons almost popping
off his pronounced belly.
His arms branch out
as if they are long fingers,
and there rests
a Christmas red cardinal.
Wind-pinched, freckle-faced kid
sweeps in, holding a sled -
done for the day. He’s ready
to make cookies,
just as mom promised.
The inside is warm.
The kid takes off his boots,
gloves, jacket, but not
his smile. Mom kisses
his cold-wet cheek.
He is glad for the warmth.
His pig-tailed sister is waiting
at the table, rolling the dough -
the little bit mama gave her.
They giggle - they will save
a couple cookies for dad,
and a tall glass of milk.
They cut shapes -
trees, sleds, angels
and use leftover dough
for kolaches filled with jelly.
Mom lets the kids
eat them warm from the oven,
but the cookies
must cool and wait
to be buttercream frosted.
Dad will get his cookies
and milk. Bright eyes
watch him. The cardinal
is now perched
on the snowman’s hat.
The snowman
hasn’t moved.
Days go by. The snowman
loses his pouch, buttons
popping off, his carrot nose
on the ground, branches askew.
The bird flew away
a long time ago
and the kids are back
in school.
Sometimes in life it never goes as planned
Into cul de sacs we turn behind us we leave
Feelings and sadness dealt by life's demands
Find that shining light, deliver us from reave
To me that light appeared, not one but two
Father God through his book, I entered
Pasts burdens left behind, no longer askew
My path of life now clearer, happily centered
Forward I now look to share this romantic day
Valentines as we know it, where hearts decide
For they shall speak volumes in loving display
Under Father God, for it's with his hand we guide
This day has finally arrived, it's the morn, we
Awakening with a kiss, cuddling, warming hearts
Smiles abound aplenty, amidst silken sheets glee
To forget pasts grief, welcoming our new start
Holding hands in prayer we, to our Father God
Us on this romantic day, blessed to each other
To thank him, we grace, righteously we laud
Breath of love now lives, no longer in smother
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A party is a body covered in freckles
the shape of wine glasses, circles
marking tables without coasters –
its arms are askew like rugs kicked upon entry by crazed teens,
its eyes half closed shutters, averting the gaze of a neighbour,
its hair the curling wires of a telephone cord, poised in said neighbour’s twitchy hand.
A party begins with youthful skin,
multicoloured shades of lights flashing, vibrant,
soon becoming a wrinkled reflection,
finger food left out too long, stale and dehydrated -
its veins pump with adrenaline the odour of a sudden first kiss,
its toes made up of faded confetti, trodden into carpets from the night before;
its mouth a door, lips a frame, teeth the white froth of innocence atop beers yet to be spilt, slurred.
A party is a heart that beats in time to its guests:
first, the nervous flickers of a host,
to the leaping buzz of an arrival,
then the frantic thumping of a midnight everlasting
until it slows, calms, to the gentle hum of a lover’s caress.
‘Twas December, two thousand two;
Christmas, of course, and my main thought -
Decking the halls on Tye Avenue.
With a broken leg, I’m in a stew,
my house, the only bare spot.
‘Twas December, two thousand two.
Grandkids, my volunteer work crew,
tied my heart in a granny knot.
decking the halls on Tye Avenue.
Porch lights strung, manger scene askew,
my approval, they earnestly sought.
‘Twas December, two thousand two.
Front window tree, last thing to do;
they attack it, never being taught.
Decking the halls on Tye Avenue.
Year to remember, grandkids, do you?
a Christmas I have never forgot.
‘Twas December, two thousand two;
Decking the halls on Tye Avenue.
December 28, 2020
contest: Deck the Halls (Villanelle)
sponsor: Joseph May
craze pops like a popcorn
roasting after every season of a newborn
awaiting what it looks, feels like trying new
zapping the line or cue in askew
ends short within a year or two after brew
fad drops like a snow when you're off guard
anything new, pleasing, soft, gentle or hard
different generations had them all --
some forgotten or dated to discard
fashion in modes move silent or loud over time
accessories, clothes, gadgets, machines, activities that consume your time
shoes worn, strings, sessions, social life people embrace
holidays celebrated, hypes, hope and holograms that may float or vanish without a trace
invitations, parties, gatherings of the unified
on gates, nooks and sites that require ticket, passkey, passcode that divide
new and old craze, fads and fashion
combined in an open, classified space in tide
I am often underused and often underestimated
a zing of a thing that often goes unheard, unseen
ginger beer is a tonic unlike me it can't be grated
a powerful root so astute, they bring from overseas
The captain gives his orders but I see you Mary Lee
sitting in your cabin drinking tea and writing poetry
flotsam and jetsam are marked on the ship, but me
I float above the rest and so I heal you, Mary Lee
The imp skipped merrily hugging his Jack Daniel
the sun was too hot so he knocked on every door
looking for a bed for him and his invisible Faneuil
she opens it a peep and finds him on the floor
Mr. Gargoyle tie askew in dire need of ginger root
"Oh Dear!" says Miss Lee, your drunk but very cute.
not for contest
In the witching hour's eerie embrace,
On All Hallows' Eve, when spirits brace,
I find myself in a darkened wood,
Where whispers of ancient evil stood.
The clock strikes twelve, the night's black heart beats,
A chorus of leaves dance in the streets,
The moon, a ghostly silent watcher,
Hides behind the clouds, the night grower.
A lyric of horror on my lips,
I tread where shadows and dread eclipse,
The path is lost, the world askew,
In this nightmare, what is true?
A figure emerges, draped in black,
A witch, they say, has come to attack,
Her eyes aglow with a hellish fire,
Her presence fuels my deepest ire.
She cackles low, a sound so vile,
It turns my blood to a cold-blooded bile,
She chants in tongues of long-dead tomes,
Her voice weaves through the night like foam.
I'm paralyzed, my breaths shallow,
As she approaches, her silhouette hallows,
Her fingers stretch, reaching for me,
In this witching hour, will I ever be free?
She whispers a curse with a wicked grin,
My soul to ensnare, my will to win,
But I'm no mere mortal to fall to her power,
I summon my strength in this haunted hour.
With a defiant cry, I break her spell,
My will is iron, it does not quell,
I confront the witch in her domain,
And in that moment, I reclaim my brain.
The witch, she fades, her form unspun,
A specter of the night undone,
I stand alone as dawn starts to creep,
The witching hour has had its keep.
So, remember this tale, young souls so bold,
When Halloween comes and the air grows cold,
The witching hour is not for the faint,
Where the line between terror and excitement ain't.
Sleepless, with defeat...
when night is black and what is left
is time turning back on promises
The sugar coated world askew
What happened to the world I knew?
My head in sand? Was it a joke?
Have I only seen the best of times,
and what is left declines , declines...
The news of grim, and smoke, and rage
has filtered down and I sink in
beyond the edge where I can't bear
another sound of death or war,
of senseless crime against the pure.
I can't command my heart to heal
or hands to cure those in despair
I peel the covers from my bed
and take an aspirin for my head
and click remote and choke on war,
or some new evil presence near.
What happened to the hope I knew?
I'm left bereft, again, again
A violent mess the world is in
I try to keep my dreams alive
and turn the clock back frequently,
when all seemed right in my small world,
when rules were rules, not this confused.
Of course, I know it wasn't real
The world is cruel, has always been,
and yes it is naive' of me
to think it not, to want a shot
at fantasy
So I must write, and be requite, spend dead of night
with thoughts of kindness, wearing blinders.
By day, I must embrace a world bereft, of life and death,
Of Isis, crisis, snipers, takers, rapers, starving children bearing rifles,
headline breakers, heartache makers
I take them all to bed with me
These cancers love the pitch of night, and grow without control
stalking me, my peace of mind
The nights for sleeping often die
sleepless, with defeat
____________________________________________________________
For Charlotte's Contest: 7/31/15
A guy decked out in suit and tie
Will never catch my eye
Nor muscles, money, fame or glam
They shouldn't even try
For what I deem is sensual
Might sound a bit askew
So close your eyes and come to know
My sexiest venue
At six foot two, my burly beau
Who's milked and tilled and farmed
Was called to help a cow with twins
To bring them out unharmed
And I recall the day when all
The kids lined up to see -
Him close his eyes and reach inside
Such raw inti – macy!
I saw him sweat and concentrate
And turn those breach calves 'round
So when they came into this world
I felt my heart just pound!
SEXY
Michelle Prital