Long Kilter Poems
Long Kilter Poems. Below are the most popular long Kilter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kilter poems by poem length and keyword.
Unhinged the face dwelling beyond the pale.
Seeming slightly off, a kilter, behind the glass
a semblance of a mother, grand and wife
whose sojourn upon this life is passed.
How familiar yet, not..that face can be
each wrinkle timely placed by strife
whose sojourn upon this life is passed
a semblance of a mother, grand and wife.
Are we not to be ourselves at all
must mere copies be we, alone alas;
a semblance of a mother, grand and wife
whose sojourn upon this life is passed.
Few sightings of an inner self are seen
the form, the flesh, the vessel so contrive
whose sojourn upon this life is passed
a semblance of a mother, grand and wife.
When the ocean swells the boat of life shreds shoddy anchor line
I put to words from pen and keyboard what matters most in time
and seek a buoy a float some flotsam dejected towards the storm
then hope for tides for rudder oars and compass worn and torn
Cannot want not pretend the sails are healthy all is mighty fine
attempt to find refuge shelter calmer waters in poetry and rhyme
listen to the climate forecast watch the stars that seem forlorn
seek charts and words’ expression transposing dusk to dawn
The waves and swelling torrents thunder remain whatever spell
fills sadness metaphors lost rhythm alliterations sent from hell
The weather remains whether or not I scribe my melody and tune
cacophonies or lonely harmony despondence hewn and strewn
In sink or out of kilter self soothing or shouting angrily is what I got
some scribbles join some dots to pointed hooks not to loose the plot
Apocalypse may find its way or not when Armageddon calls seduction
yet poetry verse narrative or stories fend of that teasing deadly suction
The worldly whirlpool will not succumb or surface because I put on paper
destruction mindless soul depression timid aspirations hopes or vapour
when steam cannot be rescued the pit and bottom loom away from shore
But writing keeps me just above the water line and I cannot really ask for
MORE
Massive, gray, these leaden waves
bear their unchanging burden—
the sameness of each day to day
while the wind seems to struggle to say
something half-submerged planks at the mouth of the bay
might nuzzle limp seaweed to understand.
Now collapsing dull waves drain away
from the unenticing land;
shrieking gulls shadow fish through salt spray—
whitish streaks on a fogged silver mirror.
Sizzling lightning impresses its brand.
Unseen fingers scribble something in the wet sand.
Originally published by Southwest Review
Options Underwater: The Song of the First Amphibian
by Michael R. Burch
“Evolution’s a Fishy Business!”
1.
Breathing underwater through antiquated gills,
I’m running out of options. I need to find fresh Air,
to seek some higher Purpose. No porpoise, I despair
to swim among anemones’ pink frills.
2.
My fins will make fine flippers, if only I can walk,
a little out of kilter, safe to the nearest rock’s
sweet, unmolested shelter. Each eye must grow a stalk,
to take in this green land on which it gawks.
3.
No predators have made it here, so I need not adapt.
Sun-sluggish, full, lethargic?I’ll take such nice long naps!
The highest form of life, that’s me! (Quite apt
to lie here chortling, calling fishes saps.)
4.
I woke to find life teeming all around?
mammals, insects, reptiles, loathsome birds.
And now I cringe at every sight and sound.
The water’s looking good! I look Absurd.
5.
The moral of my story’s this: don’t leap
wherever grass is greener. Backwards creep.
And never burn your bridges, till you’re sure
leapfrogging friends secures your Sinecure.
Originally published by Lighten Up Online
Keywords/Tags: amphibian, amphibians, evolution, gills, water, air, lungs, fins, flippers, fish, fishy business
Capitalization and punctuation are automatic to me.
It is what I was taught years ago, and I cannot break the habit.
Haiku is difficult for others insist on no apostrophes or caps.
It is difficult to unlearn what has been instilled and boy was this instilled.
All of those quizzes and tests, which I thought were a waste of time.
Then I began reading other people’s writings, and I was stunned.
Two, to, and too are incorrectly used so many times; too many times.
I get a sense that apostrophes are thrown in willy-nilly for no good reason.
How many times have I seen it’s when they do not mean it is, rather ownership.
To not capitalize a proper noun infuriates my internal gauges.
I am incensed when punctuation is off kilter also.
Checking and rechecking my own work to an idiotic degree.
I am such a product of the sixties, growing up in the corn state.
The home of the ITBS.
look out from Hawaii
where summit isles peek at volcan panorama
like curious messengers scouting out ahead
where we spied Oumuamua skim slanting past
interstellar sliver rock tumbling by our yard
from Lyra curving by the sun, on to Pegasus
hyperbolic speedster, too fast for solar capture
......
am I poet enough to catch your angular drift ?
prophet of the space age
Arthur foresaw your approach some years ago
for moments our eyes meet, tangential traveller
mysterious wanderer, wonder who probes whom
wonder whether we are worth your fleeting visit
hello from us to the white-horse mythical stars
wisdom and excitement resides in not being sure
......
am I poet enough to read space between the words ?
do not stare directly
be askance, be oblique and somewhat off-kilter
watch the molten islands plume across the ocean
cosmic time, ancient journeys, canoes and planets
stumble on a meaning, kneel down, breathe in, rejoice
feel transition, change of key, symphonic rise and fall
music in the silence, in divergent destinations
......
am I poet enough to hear gaps between the notes ?
Rapid ideas sprinkle out of my dendrite village,
Flowing down my shoulders, landing on the best of days,
In kilter skelter felter welter milter belter jagged piles
in crazy, zany, silly, dark, ugly, horrible, unnatural, weird ways.
I watch them form little armies. Some skitter off into the kitchen walls.
Others slither back up my legs, trying to reinvent themselves.
None want my help, so I walk into the living room.
Some are laughing hysterically, thinking it is a game.
A couple of them hit me hard in the middle of my lower back.
They are giant jumpers, trying to get back into my skull.
Good luck I think, knowing my imaginary dendrite village well.
If there is one thing she does not allow,
it is access to repeat offenders.
Best to lie down on a page and let me
Draw a cartoon around you or put you into a poem.
Some sense it
a tipping point being tilted.
You step back
into your mind's eye,
survey the present climate
sensing a dire change,
a new darker wind
stirs your thoughts.
Something went wrong,
something got too damaged.
In the stateless moment
where we were once unified
by the same dream
there is now a lack,
a narrowing of opportunities
for peace and harmony.
What you once loved and honored
is being dismantled,
its parts being carried away
by political gremlins.
The Great Divide is here
it rumbles under our feet
it pollutes the very air we share.
You want to run to the nearest hilltop
and shout:
"broken arrow, broken arrow!"
Alas ears are now blocked
and hearts sundered.
The rocking scale is off kilter
and a torn veil has fallen
from our eyes.
While rummaging, mining,
and distilling me gray matter,
stoking mentality activates
oft time surprising me,
where unexpected novel
cognizance never abates,
I experienced becoming
linkedin with cosmic fates,
sans collective unconscious
soul of the universe,
and chanced to espy,
(albeit only a trimmed speck),
the spirit of William Butler Yeats
considered one of the foremost figures
of 20th-century literature,
where elan suddenly accelerates
though immediately abruptly stops
dead still in figurative tracks
utter disbelief accompanied
by shell shocked shyness accentuates
to remain stock still
suddenly feeling inadequate, inferior
immovable, insignificant...self doubt actuates
internal tussle, while
wise counsel within adjudicates
unable to convincingly
brush off devil's advocates,
which in no way, shape or form
successfully bolsters cockamamie idea,
floats and navigates fan to see, alternates
with bold prospect an emotional
paralysis immediately aggravates
anxiety as cowardice accumulates,
nonetheless pesky needling aggregates
maximizing far fetched optical illusion,
despite what must be hallucination,
this laughable wordsmith appreciates,
though many wildest dreams of mine defy
explanation, a feeble attempt articulates,
how dreamlike hypnotic stance captivates,
thru cosmic haze quantum matter assimilates
aura, charisma, enigma
rippling ethereal tore'n shroud
sensing, nursing, imbibing...
indecisiveness capitulates
wavering seduced mooring
temptation assertively celebrates
nonpareil genius among pantheon,
whose Eire rush grandeur circulates
thru time and space infiltrates
stimulating within mine off kilter crown,
where reverence circulates,
for long deceased Irish poet laureate,
his unseen presence amalgamates
vibrant tendrils of late
August author's grandeur effectively percolates
within and illuminates me with inspiration.
She Opened Her Eyes
She passed the three gates of:
truth, doubt then honesty:
She was lost.
Was she lost?
Lost was she!
It was September, a rare, red robin
bobbin on the limb of a branch.
A click of her fickle fingers,
a flash of feather and it vanished.
She should have been born a robin;
one flick of a fidgeting fingernail
and she would have evaported too.
She was alone on waters of calm;
alone on storms of turbulence…unchaperoned!
Her vision blurred, her thoughts unclear,
unsure of the next step on life’s undulating path.
Out of kilter, out of sequence, out of tune
but she’d always preferred a subordinate role;
slightly blurred was always best for her.
Then, once again, a stranger drifted around her,
wearing attraction like a favoured jacket,
personality spraying intensely from him;
control at his lingering, fingering tips.
In time she handed him her vulnerability,
proffering up her fragile heart
which had been reblown in glass.
Here she was again, swallowed by dominance
until strength of moral direction anaesthetized his toxicity.
Hope now swam serenely, calmly beside her
so, she opened her eyes and rode a wave of opportunity
where her future beckoned in a new direction.
Finally, she had discovered her true self,
contended she passed through the three gates again:
She was thankfully.
Was she thankfully?
Thankful was she!
Ian Souter
February 29th, 2020
alternately titled: 207th leap year since 1582
the year Pope Gregory XIII world leader
(i.e. essentially paterfamilias among
Roman Catholic flock)
timely maneuvered around calendrical rock
and hard space implementing
viable system tracking years ad hoc
out of sync and lock
step by one day
with astronomical calendar,
slated more'n acceptable tick tock
off kilter around the year of 4818
after common era making mock
re: regarding mankind organizing and
witnessing global chockablock
Democratic celebratory anniversary party
millenniums after Republican dynastic deadlock
thoroughly walled imponderable gridlock
worse fate than quaffing hemlock
practically snuffing out lock, stock
and barrel constitutional birthrights
thirteen original American
founding fathers ghosts experiencing shock
how initial inalienable rights
activists sacrificing life and limb
united with linkedin armlock
said freedom fighters shackled
within crowded jail moldering cinderblock
cold upon hemorrhoid riddle buttock
diehard libertarians unified, pilloried, denounced
legion with repulsion as Shylock
purported, reputed, touted playwright
(William Shakespeare's sited anti semite
The Merchant Of Venice) doth mock
Judaism in vogue four hundred plus years ago,
smoldering think white supremacists i.e. skinheads
violently aiming to knock
non Caucasians upside the head
courtesy pistol whip,
and/or emptying gunstock
into human flesh disenfranchise scaring up
one after another racial and/or ethnic aftershock
aforementioned celebrated bard unwittingly
strictly opinion of me:silly poet -
despite hashtagged as laughingstock,
(plus vitriolic objection taken)
voiced by Shakespearean expert defenders,
yours truly reckons mine thought provoking
regarding storied, lauded, and feted Globe theater
literary King my interpretations not crock.