Long Obliquely Poems
Long Obliquely Poems. Below are the most popular long Obliquely by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Obliquely poems by poem length and keyword.
The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze. A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the windy noise its yellow
across my face. The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence. A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around. A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs. Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck. Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine. The trees --
appearance. Altogether so. Oh well.
Quiet. Steady. Sturdy. Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.
QUINTESSENCE
an absence
of
fervent
intensity
in miniature
with
infinite
equivocation
an ambiance
of impressioned
sensations
a resurgence
of an elide
intermix
apparently
remote
from
abiding concern
obliquely
descended into
a preoccupation
with the sensual
such
eloquent
perfection to
enlighten
the fusion
of continuity
with cohesion
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
obliquely opaque
opaque – soft light sifts through stained drape
filtered through muted sunshine’s dancing shape
trapped within dim confines - dust covered trust
love’s charred remains - victim of unbridled lust
awakening to darkness – blinding brightness
stumbling sightless through outdated rightness
alone with thinking’s disconnected fears
seekers reconstructing new frontiers
layering more dust upon the Grail
adrift amid the thoughts they never sail
searching without - for that within
saddled with past - and future sin
oblique – soft angle breaking stride
questioning the truths - that “must abide”
within the hearts and souls - of all but one
awakened to the truth - that there are none
8/27/2015
I stand beneath the heavy shadow of the my father's old chair,
my breath suspended, fragile,s s n g s l a n t i n g i n t h e a i r…
Molomo o sekamego, a trembling fault line,
where the truth twists sideways before it reaches daylight.
My tongue—a clumsy, tangled bird—tumble-stutters,
afeela raranya leleme le ea tlabana,
trying to construct a cathedral out of fractured air.
*ke leka go uta…*
*se ke…*
*se entseng…*
I lean obliquely against the crushing weight of his gaze.
Ke leka ho uta se ke se entseng,
holding back the tide of a boyish, broken secret.
Inside my skull, the psychological gears grind—
an architecture of guilt, an imbalance tilting toward terror.
*f a l l i n g a s k e w…*
*b r e a t h l e s s…*
*v e i l e d i n g r a c e…*
Nka re go swana le mehleng ya tate—
for in his era, every line was straight, absolute, unyielding.
Yet here I bend. Here I warp.
I weave a cunning lace of pleasing words and desperate flattery,
mantswe a kgopama, a patela bohloko,
framing an excuse to keep my tiny fragile universe from shattering.
*ke leka go khupetsa…*
*se ke…*
*se entseng…*
Ke thoma ho inama, ke theohela tlase—
descending into the quiet sanctuary of surrender.
I press my trembling forehead against his towering knee,
hoping the warmth of my submission will erase the stain.
Empa leihlo la tate le otloloha nnete;
his eyes are sharp geometry, piercing through my paper lies.
*s h a d o w s d r i f t i n g…*
*u n s t e a d y e c h o e s…*
*p u r i f i e d i n a i r…*
Ke batla go lokiša, go lekalekanya,
to smooth the crumpled edges of this twisted tale,
to stretch the distorted storyline until it lies flat again.
Moo lipuisano li ka papamalang hape—
where silence and speech meet in transparent, weightless harmony,
mme ka fumana kgotso,
and the fractured mind finally finds rest in his forgiveness.
"In life, grief outweighs joy and laughter is an interlude between two sighs."
~By Poet~
Isn’t it sheer destiny that you and I were born,
In the endless flow of time as humans.
But we are here only for a short interval,
When death calls, we leave the stage ending the show.
As peace is an interlude between two wars
Life is an interlude between birth and death
The moon that fades after lighting the night,
The sun that sets after warming the day,
The flowers that wither after feasting the eye,
Obliquely announce that life is an interlude.
Love once flourished may fade and die.
Trees towering high may fall and rot.
Rivers that swell can dry up once.
The same is true of our life on earth.
At times we soar on wings of joy.
At times we drown and are deep in grief.
Does it not remind us of a vital truth,
That life on Earth can never be the same.
We are travelers on this wild terrain,
Heading timorously towards an unknown goal,
Ever tossed by the vicissitudes of life,
Fated to partake evenly of smiles and tears.
Know that all the paths we tread along,
Finally converge on a single spot.
At the tomb, we just pause awhile,
To resume our journey to lands beyond.
All that counts is how well we lived,
And not how long we have been here.
So, mend your life as your conscience directs.
Bridge the gap between words and deeds.
Carte blanche,
this scribe bandies, exercises,
and indulges inexplicable gravitas
drooling, extolling, and fielding greatness,
frothing handily, indubitably jinxed,
linkedin as some lingual philanderer,
which oral intercourse,
this sensate being suckles
figuratively das bosom
sans mother tongue i.e. english language
unbeknownst to this cobbler,
dabbler and fiddler with rhetoric
why those twenty six letters constituting
sole lingua franca known to him,
admittedly beheld captivate, fascinated,
genuflecting, high handedly
inflated educated cerebral cortex
aflame with fiery passion
asper language affianced to himself,
liberal minded radiant,
redolent and rudimentary scribe,
who would book chartered flight
per voluminous Goddess
to the ends of the Earth demonstrating,
hallucinating and punctuating affinity,
cupidity energetically gravitating ingratiation
knowingly manumission
only pleases queen rhetoric,
she thrives unequivocally
viz warbling xeroxed yapping
zestfully, amorously and beatifically,
charming dame, entrances fixation,
germinating hypnosis,
idyllically juicing kinetic love
mister nonestablishmentarian
obliquely producing
quintessential rhapsodies,
sonnets, rhyme less threnody
uber veneration towards prosaic
radiant, redolent romantic
in tryst ting worthily winsome weaver
doth frigate gently heaves illustrious,
joyous, kindness
livingsocial, merrily opportunistically profligate
overlooking many averse trait
viz zit ting this absolute brute,
cheating discrete envoy,
fantasizing glorious hedonistic insurmountable
barbed, blackened, and jazzed ken,
when, even as a haploid male or female germ cell
able to unite with another of the opposite sex
engendered genetically inherent
kickstarter mature oldster
quacking sociological product
tete a tete paramour the
reason aye wrote this poem.
Life, they say has no meaning,
If all that we live for is an illusion.
If you don’t see my efforts,
Then why do I try it anyway?
Why give my best,
If my best is not going to get me anywhere?
It was just like yesterday;
When you and I were kids alone,
Now that you are fully grown;
You don’t even want to say “hey”,
So you are full-fledged;
You don’t want to look at my face,
Remember when in the rain we were drenched,
Because you couldn’t keep up to my pace?
As a friend I waited;
As a brother I held your hand tight,
You and I were face to face,
But we couldn’t see eye to eye,
We were obliquely opposite like fire and ice,
Cos you couldn’t value the portrait we painted,
It was about you and me;
It was about friendship.
City Sun Spots
He’s got a twinkle in his eyes
an aversion to cold prose
he recites – obliquely – poetry
a king without his clothes.
She’s got no laces in her sneakers
still they caress her dancing feet
as she pirouettes on concrete
floating down the city street.
They invite the crowd to gather
amid the rush hour din
overwhelm the teeming madness,
sound bordering on sin.
The creation of a moment
to distract the mongrel mobs
snarling as life’s leashes lead
to and from their jobs.
These sunshine spots of life’s alarm
awakening the long drugged need
to shuck the yoke of drudgery,
run freely as unbroken steed.
Embrace the wind’s sharp eye, keen nose
laugh at your shadow’s rumpled form
rewrite the moments into change
become the duckling’s inner swan.
©7/12/2017
submitted to – MID JULY STANDARD CONTEST
Opening the door onto your secret,
my heart pounds at the display of old wounds.
Healing achieved by clinging to nothing—
a future only obliquely glimpsed.
My heart pounds at the display of old wounds
where other’s careless words and barbs had pierced.
A future only obliquely glimpsed
through a whiskey bottle nearly empty.
Where other’s careless words and barbs had pierced,
going through life like that makes one anxious.
Through a whiskey bottle nearly empty,
discontent is always triggered by something.
Going through life like that makes one anxious;
healing achieved by clinging to nothing.
Discontent is always triggered by something—
opening the door onto your secret.
From here and there, I hear him speak
His voice, falling in mild whispers
But he always plays hide n’ seek
Never once I could see his countenance
At times he speaks loud n’ clear
Sometimes so harsh and stern
How he denies my wild longings
With a stubborn ‘Yes’ or ‘No’
What magic and mystery in him stored
I often wonder and am at a loss to gauge
Amid the shards of my broken sleep
I often struggle to decipher his mysterious codes
I sought after him over and again
Down the nights and through the days
But he eludes me like a mysterious sprite
Prancing around and hiding about
When I give up my search after him
He shouts and whistles amid the confused din
And I see faint truths suddenly uncoiling
Forming in me a clearer perspective of life
At the end of my incessant search
I chanced to meet him within my own self
Peering into my depths, I saw him, his face veiled
And a balance held obliquely in his hands
When the veil was lifted from his countenance
I saw him clear, clear as in a mirror
Someone with such commanding air
And so stern with an impassive demeanor
In the still pool of humid silence
I heard him introduce himself
His sound ringing distinct and clear
Leaving echoes in the caverns of stillness
“I am CON- SCI-ENCE, your alter ego
Listen to me, you shall not stray’’!
When he thus revealed himself before me, I stood
Wonderstruck staring into the face that eluded me for long
Honorable Mention
'Wonderstruck' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by
Robert James Liguori