Long Topsy turvy Poems
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Are You Skew-Whiff?
Are you feeling rather skew-whiff?
Awkwardly placed and standing?
upside-down
back to front
inside out
topsy - turvy
Are your senses damp and unresponsive,
Beckoning confusion and despair?
Does your heart pound even when there’s nothing exciting there?
Forlorn, sorrowful, despondent,
You patronise your grief,
Focus on your problem,
To attain some relief;
You keep flitting to your pleasures,
Lack, for contemplation, a quiet place,
Force your troubles into the backroom,
You’re not to dignify your face.
Tomorrow is for thinking,
Will exist to accommodate,
The glumness and the wretchedness,
That seems to obliqueness and gloom proliferate.
Rhoda Monihan
13th October 2015
For the contest Creative Layouts, sponsor Broken Wings
Two young souls greet with eyes along the way,
A gentle light begins to glow outright,
No simple words can really convey
The solace they experience with delight.
A flaming feel flows from their cheerful glance,
An unseen thread binds from depth of their heart,
Weaving dazzling day dreams as in a trance,
A promise from each other not to part.
The world may turn topsy-turvy and sway,
But here a trusted truth truly resides;
They share together the task of the day
Where unfaltering love fails not, but hides.
Such soulful love, the world may rarely see,
A perfect fit for all eternity.
I am wretched, I am divine.
Dance the line that connects the two.
To know myself is to know you too.
Do the work then reflect it in actions
then sit in peace and dissect the fractions
to make them whole.
Pole to pole.
Make a gift of the love you stole
and give you more.
It wont be like before.
I have found a new direction,
a light inside to offer protection.
Self reflection, good thought and deed
to gently gather all that I need
and with practise and time,
strengthen this power line
to my infinite nature,
the great adventure, the love,
the still between the push and shove,
a righteous lightness of kindness and flow.
Free to go below
and not get caught in the undertow.
Not get bought or sold or trapped in glue,
down there where the light struggles to get through.
I'll hold a space for you.
We can share it.
My love for you makes it easy to bare it
and when sadness lingers and I cant see the sun
I'll put fingers on fingers and thumb to thumb
cultivate love for those who hate,
who steal the food from off my plate
that I might replace the food that they ate
and we will eat
until we are no longer
topsy turvy and driven by hunger,
hidden in anger not living in wonder.
Let this be that which sets me free for the giving
so that I can go on living this way,
giving it away
without the losing.
Where have all the seasons gone?
The seasons of long ago
When summers were filled with sunshine,
The winters white with snow.
We now get snow at Easter,
Blistering hot days in September
Jack Frost whitens the days of May
There’s rain and floods in December.
The seasons are all topsy-turvy
Not just here at home, but abroad,
Scientists blame holes in the ozone layer
Christians, they say “it’s the lord”.
Are the winds of change due to rockets in space
And the building of hyper-stations
Or is it the hell, fire and brimstone
As foretold in the book of Revelations?
Whoever has the answer
There’s one more question needs asked
If the weather and seasons keep changing,
How much longer is man going to last?
Ofttimes yours truly assiduously tries to adlib,
but blubbers like a landlubber
at sea treading water donned with bib
(that doubles as yellow
spongy bobbing life jacket)
furiously doing doggy paddle
riding the next tidal wave
hoop fully washing me ashore to crib
if need be to dig an underwater channel
painstakingly slow drabs and drib.
The English language I simply adore
though offtimes methinks waxing eloquent
affects listeners as yours truly a bore
in record time flapping waxed lips
beholds one gordian
tongue tied knot major chore,
whereby I wanna bolt out figurative door
feeling deplorable and stuck
analogous to Eeyore.
Ache 'n to launch into a monologue
or chime into ongoing dialogue
me noggin off times generates brain fog
mental state mimicking one,
who quaffed an over abundance of grog,
which for this teetotaler would constitute
a mere thimble full of drink,
perhaps rum enhanced eggnog
just one sip and boing I go
topsy turvy as if a felled log
hit me over the head
rendering me unconscious.
Thus wood explain mine altered state
though unsightly gash on pate
battle scar leveled playing field
with the missus, 't other significant primate
supplementing and complementing
one aging long haired
pencil (vane ya) necked geek
being caged, yet free
to roam within human zoo
both, (née all) of us captive
on carousel of time
nsync with every other *****sapien
begot to participate in circle game.
All superfluous joking aside,
I strive to groom conversation,
whereby uninterrupted flow of words
(versus fumfering, hemming, hawing,
stammering, stuttering...), thine
general oral feedback paradigmatic guide
ever diligent to think
before I speak with pride
else I heep discourtesy
upon myself and chide
yours truly with harsh rebukes,
which maybe tantamount
going off the mountainside
plummeting into the abyss
engenders an unpleasant
metaphoric roller coaster ride,
and if crash test dummy doth survive -
upon gibbet he will be tried
punishment broadcast world wide
for flagrant horrendous verbal
egregiousness (waywardness) he belied.
Wakey, wakey, shakey, shakey, earth is quakey, quicky, quicky, git up head down feet up turn round, then do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around, then turn your inside out -- Far Out!
Shakey, shakey, wakey, wakey, bakey, bakey, shake and bakey. Lakey lady lava cover, spilling over pithy pity.
Lady lava Lava Lady is Liquid Dating, with backyard barbeques getting her dance card filled up down at the Jam Bury your town hold down slow glow from no-town favorites, Let Us Nights end in pits, singing "On and On." See her glowing revues.
Come 'on 'ear duh noize, gurlz rock' 'em boize, make sure you use the real McCoys, oh, whoa, yeah, yeah--NOIZE!
You know they come in threes, you can feel it in the breeze, you see coconut fall off the trees, oh, whoa, yeah, yeah.
Quakey wakey mighty tidy, surf you jerks, the waves are crazy, topsy turvy--move away curvey. Itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-bikini'--OOPS (pass your bedtime)
Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
.....................................................
Behold the emperor who all revere.
He walks around naked, as his followers cheer,
With every lie he utters they nod and believe,
The idiocy of it all - they fail to perceive!
Watch him as he stands up so bold and bare,
All grades are a sham, but who would care?
For with confidence, he struts along with pride,
As his presence commands attention far and wide!
In this ludicrous era where logic is defied,
Science is but a joke, and reason is cast aside.
Gravity? What’s that? when the emperor can fly,
With invisible wings, in the bright blue sky.
The cats and dogs hover – oh yes, they can -
For he says so, waving the rainbow as a fan!
Denying gravity, they navigate around with grace,
The clouds form their streets, in this insane space.
Donkeys fly around in a sky that is not blue,
Their skin so multicoloured – a vibrant hue,
Fish swim in the air, and birds live under the sea,
In this topsy - turvy world, where absurdity runs free!
In the emperor’s world, reason has no sway,
The ‘laws of nature’, defined by him, are here to stay!
In every twist and turn, inanity is in sight,
In this carnival of chaos, surreal delights ignite!
Oh, clap your hands as the emperor looks grand,
Strutting as the symbol of wisdom in every land!
All his followers worship him with blind devotion,
Believing the preposterous, sunk in their delusion.
So let us all carousal in this circuit of deceit.
Where truth and reason sleep in the backseat.
In this realm of mockery, fools are crowned -
And the emperor reigns all naked and renowned!
For there is no honest little boy who would scream,
“The emperor is naked; this is real, not a dream!”
Copyright © 2023 by Crystal David John
A brand-new pyramid’s been built,
Which might give us conniptions,
But this one’s made by just one man
Instead of the Egyptians.
Unlike the older version, which
Endorsed a healthy diet,
This time we’re pushed to eat red meat,
Though vegans may not buy it.
Aside from steak and burgers,
Whole milk cheese and foods like that,
We’re being told we should indulge
In saturated fat.
The Heart Association thinks
This puts us on the track
For many more Americans
To have a heart attack.
But hey – this is our country now,
A topsy-turvy land,
With lunatics and blowhards
And their minions in command.
The howling winds of March
Furious gusts of air
mightily blow bestirring anchored poet
sitting comfortably numb
securely strapped in his hard to maneuver
easy bath chair
while all around him debris
strewn helter skelter everywhere
heavy objects unmoored
pirouetting topsy turvy
defying laws of physics
cue Adam Smith
courtesy his invisible hand
eulogizing, kickstarting, and regulating
unseen cogs and gear
in order to avoid being plucked up
analogous to whirling dervish
ye dear reader best don
top of the line name brand ironware
to fend off soundcloud
analogous to webbed
whirled wide rooky banshee
hounding kingly bishopric
inducing royal knightmare
whereat pawns called play
as damage control representatives
ultimately linkedin to medicare
for bodily harm suffered
and property destruction
doled out courtesy Nationwide Insurance,
nevertheless yours truly
experienced heightened anxiety
cuz I accidentally, casually, easily,
et cetera eavesdropped,
though a polite gentleman (boot no scholar)
loud talking policyholder
anyone could easily overhear
their strident vocalizations
and they owned chutzpah to *****
re: me for listening to conversation
threatening with abominable language to scare
living daylights, which nearly caused
writer of these words
to soil his underwear
such vociferous threats
wrought quick thinking defense posture,
whereby my ordinary shy demeanor
empowered after downing
powder milk biscuits
(cuz heaven's their tasty)
and declaring warfare
against being bullied
versus suffering as token scapegoat
most every year
from boyhood until emerging adulthood.
After crafting above lines
current generated via whoosh;
I sat mine hind quarters
(otherwise referred to the tush),
which signalled to Doctor Quackenbush,
(id est Groucho Marx)
not deficient with quick wit
whose hook, line and sinker
word of the day namaycush
helped one environmental seaman
high (fish) tail to Hindu Kush
where removal from madding crowd
spiritually inoculated one
with a profound hush.