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Nat Lipstadt May 2014
then I am wearing black suit,
white shirt, black tie,
pockets full of tissues,
most crumpled, mostly used,
like my spirits

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in a baptist church,
a nice jewish boy,
fixing his askewed tie,
doing what
The Lord commanded of him

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
sunny and 72 Farenheit,
inside of me its a different forecast,
y'all decide the condition,
the condition I'm in

I'm in the way back row,
humming so softly,
me and Johnny C.
nobody hears,
nobody cares,

She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night when the cold wind moans
In a long black veil she cries over my bones

She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave where the night winds wail
Nobody knows, no and nobody sees
Nobody knows but me


nobody knows, I am there,
nobody sees, nobody believes,
but god only knows I am here

my spirit taken here
unasked, unaided, unabated
did not have to fly,
the ship that was to take me,
busted on the rocks

for
the words that are used
to get the ship confused
will not be understood as they’re spoken
for the chains of the sea
will have busted in the night,
will be buried at
the bottom of the ocean


still
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
at a funeral,
my words gone silent,
even store bought stock phrases,
so sorry for your loss,
not for sale, all gone, all aloft,
all sold out on
this Sabbath day

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in some form of which
not readily acquainted,
my new context a riddle,
never knew this morphosis
till now, until
it was needed,
all on that day

If it's 2:45pm
can't understand
all these people standing
over me, and the sidewalk
taste in my my mouth

it appears I appeared
on east 57th street
in my New York City,
it appears I appeared
to have
fainted dead away,
asking me not where how or when,
only why,
and I have no answers for
them or me or anybody who dare asks
a quest,
commencing and ending in
why

must have been the heat,
but decide then and there
maybe go visit
my Jordan and
my grand children
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long_Black_Veil_(song)

http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/when-ship-comes

2:00pm for Maria
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
There's a great owl
outside
my closed window,
hooting
to the rhythm
of air conditioners
kicking on and off.
It's melody seems askewed,
as if it's toxicated
on the technology
of finely tuned thermostats,
seemingly
out of whack.
And when I think
about those places without
controlled climates,
I wonder if the songbirds there
sound better than a drunken
bird of prey here.
ryn Oct 2017
This time I have,
is but a gift.

Meant to heal
broken skin
and fractured bone.

But I realise
that there's more...

•••

What if,
repairing physical damage
is but a facet of
unanticipated tribulation?

What about...
Shattered thoughts?
Disjointed ideals?
Misplaced hopes?
Askewed trajectories?

•••

Maybe...
This time too is meant
to get my stars in alignment.

But right now there just aren't any...
Corbin Major Feb 2014
I hate everything that the world's become
Whizz, flash, bang, and nobody's interested.
Bore me with banter, **** me with complaints,
Trap me in timelines, and wrap me in restraints.

Nobody ponders anymore, when it's done for them.
Nobody wonders anymore where things come from.
Accept what you expect, and leave,
Respect what you detest, and believe.

Why must it be that what's in front of you is more real than what is far away?

Emotions have no motions,
Opinions cause commotions,
Just wake up, follow the line, and end up where you think you should be.

But….

On the off chance you feel a askewed,
that the true you hold dear has been yet to be trued,
On the hope that there might be some more,
On the whim that we're not keeping score,
Who's to say what is true and what is false?

Is a collective answer automatically right?
But what about what lies out of sight?
The objects hidden far from light,
That make us believe we're not in the right?

When deep enough down, you'll find the truth,
That that is the truth, no need of the proof.
You'll realize that from dusk until dawn,
the world is written on the life that you've drawn.

The picture you make is as true as it gets
And the past is ghost that swallows regrets
And Your body is an empty shell of scars,
That decomposes and returns to the stars.
But you are different,
You are unique,
You give the blind sight,
And the mute, you let speak.
You are anything but an empty well of wishes you promised to fulfill,
A pit, a grave, an overflowing landfill.
You are a consciousness,
and to that you are different,
and to that you are unique.

If you relax and let it flow through you,
Let it pass as if they all knew you,
You'll feel the oneness,
and not the numbness,
And you'll understand that there is no death, no fear of death
there's no hope, no pain of one's last breath.

We've always been one thing, one person, one entity, one consciousness.
Judgement was created by those who too harshly judge themselves.

Love, it seems was too easy to ignore,
When love's the answer we've been looking for.
why keep it to ourselves,
A mind of twisted hells?
why boast of our prophets,
of golden rain droplets,
why boast of those who we  hold most dear?
Let them consume us with fear?
Eat our soft skin with their yellow teeth,
rip our muscles from bone,
and tear into the white frame to find our marrow peaceful with no barriers to protect it.

We become them until they are us,
Our oxygen turns their gleam to rust,
We envelope and become, the pulsating light,
that pushes through all on a sightless flight.

Our being dragged along, leaving behind just our shell,
Through time and space, not heaven and hell.
Each turn is a question, each pause is a worry,
Our reception is fine, but the picture is blurry.
Each hole that we've filled is with another hole's dirt,

The line in the sand has been redistricted,
"Everything left loose has been restricted,"
said the **** to the *****,
"When it all falls away, let's watch them squirm."
And it all takes shape, in some other form,
Rough, flat, and salted, soft yet firm.

The earth will allow you to sink into it forever,
Until you become a pool of dirt and minerals,
And realize that light and darkness are the same,
Be it a shadow, be it a flame.

When instead of a part, you feel as a whole,
You'll finally know that you're out of control.
tom krutilla Mar 2014
as I pick up this guitar, and wonder were you are
I'm hoping this melody will take me far
cause deep in my mind, my thoughts, all askewed
and the words I write are only for you
can I tantilize you with my clever prose,or perhaps
indulge you in our afternoon naps
while we listen to dylan, in all his poetic verse
and try to rid ourselfs of our brought on curse
then we can walk the fields, frolick in their colors
mix and match, till we love again with each other
ZWS May 2014
I never knew myself till I met you
Because I noticed how much of me has become a part of you
I loved connecting with a person so different
Until I realized the difference became the same
And the frame became askewed
And I saw that you weren't you, but a part of me was inside of you
And that's why I wandered away so long ago, with out a clue
Suresh Gupta Jan 2019
Teach me how to communicate
01/12/2019


It's not enough to know the letters
Or even how to form words or sentences
Nor the meaning of these tools
Teach me how to communicate

I know what I want to say
And even how to say it
But then why am I not understood
Teach me how to communicate

If what I am saying is shrouded
In ulterior motives and misconceptions
Then the meaning is already askewed
Teach me how to communicate

When the relationship is estranged
Then no matter how it is stated
The meaning gets convoluted
Teach me how to communicate

When the intention is compassion
And one wants to be harmonious
Then how does one maintain their cool
Teach me how to communicate

We speak the same language
And form the same sentences
Then why is the conclusion so different
Teach me how to communicate

Why can I not make myself understood
It's not the letters, words or sentences
But how they are perceived
Teach me how to communicate

I know all the alphabets
And even how to form words
I learnt what they mean
And how to use them in a sentence
Then how come I am still misunderstood
Teach me how to communicate
We have lost the art of communication. Instead of talking to each other, we are talking over each other. We feel the only way to get our message across is by shouting the loudest, using profanities or becoming foul-mouthed.
byron Johnson jr Aug 2020
The point of view
Is that it is pointed at you
of which your perspective is askewed
They will point to their point of view
demand that you start anew
Muddy the waters till it looks like a stew
murky and obtuse
gory and smelling of refuse
Lacking scenery the perfect image of destitute.
No refuge just excuse
one right after another
Soon all the words come together
Musty dusty and covered in leather
it all changes right before your eyes
now it looks right because your thruth started to die
now your whole life is just a big ole lie
That is the whole point of this
Your point of view
Is pointed at you
Now they are all the same
Your point of view is a point of view
It just isn't the same
tom krutilla Sep 2016
A thousand letters to write
Yet no words to make it right
Drowning in sorrows my lament tonight
Bekon the mind relive those times
Have another glass of wine
Pen another line hope it ryhmes
The past is a reflection
A futile attempt at recollection
That becomes an askewed deception
Let it decay be swept away
Tomorrows a gift if he lets us stay
Make each day act one of a new play
tom krutilla Sep 2014
this thin line between the mind and the soul
can become askewed
with all the whirlpool of thoughts
bout things we knew
yet anticipation runs wild with all that is new

the soothing sonnet of the humming bird's song
reminds the heart that the past is long gone
and realize that it's here I belong

the trepidation of the future quietly goes away
fears and uncertainties have gone astray
waiting on the illumination of better days

in this valley, tween the rolling hills
the echos of promise is instilled
perhaps now I can find the will
Ash Slade Jul 2017
On top of road near Lakewood
Park
stands an old, tarnished
cross.
Takes fresh bent
to discern
if your sightless
I don't place blame
'cause you cannot see.
Fractured it can be made clear
Supreme omnipotence resides there.
I presume you've by no means surveyed
as you've went along
all that you affirm might be
askewed.

— The End —