"asymmetrical" poems
Perhaps the zombie,
in all his uncanniness,
is truly the definition
of asymmetrical anthropomorphism.
Perhaps the zombie,
with his slow shuffling gait,
is really the word
when it comes to unbridled determination.
And perhaps the zombie,
his hunger bottomless,
is indeed the very picture
of a man who can have it all.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 5:59 PM UTC
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, tell me what suits,
Soft natural highlights, or strong punk roots?
Auburn red or beach blonde hair,
Brunette with greens, or short blunt rare?
Mermaid midnight old balayage blues,
Grey ombré curled with lilac hues?
Lemon yellow paint or neon spice,
Purple color that matches my hazel eyes!
Tousled, textured, twirled and twined,
We could take it to the front, or let it all behind.
Black hair with beautiful mahogany dye,
Fringes looking pretty every day passing by.
Straight hair with an asymmetrical bob,
Lips painted red, formal and hot.
Tie buns and bows with colorful clips,
Grow pink hair long, till they reach my hips.
Fish tail braid like a Boho chic,
All pastel shades spread, across the width.
Blonde and bright, they are in my sight,
Soon to be a celebrity, wearing them uptight.
Burgundy wine perm, crazy long,
Every hair color has a song.
There are chances that they may look all wrong,
But hey! I'm not scared to just play along!
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
I am 6.3 miles from home on an 11:30 night stuck worrying about the same thing of perspective.
The way I feel about you has driven deeper than casket nails in the past 10 hours. I know 3 weeks of my time will be a Friday night to you. Maybe it's more lopsided than my asymmetrical eyes, but these emotions go unrequited because of someone who is not me.
It's nothing of your persona, only your perfect idea. A philosopher doesn't fall for the thinker, only the thought. You're the vessel of my one flawless mental creation that came as a broken jar in an antique clay shop. I could have been born decades earlier and I still wouldn't have made it in time to tear you from something you never had to be attached to.
But now as I clarify my final statement on engineers and metal pieces, does the idea of me linger more heavily in her mind than yours in mine? I need a new appraisal and I've got 3 weeks and 18 miles. I have no expectations but I expect the world from you.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Verdant eyes, translucent pearls
speak in silent witness,
wounds unfurl
meaning revealed,
interrupted girl.
Safe in solidarity
prolific eccentricity,
the scandal of particularity.
Pouting mouth
grief - filled lips
alluring, set sail a thousand ships;
tempt me to leave harbor.
Arousing euphoria as such,
resistance, amity and distance
amour sans touch
her sense of humor transcends,
appeasing the mind’s thirst
a vogue sultana,
seasoned swagger
hair resplendent flame,
alternating cool, black
asymmetrical coiffure;
nonconforming demure
the renegade metaphor -
singular for sure, no cure.
Muted vanity, bathos piercing
the jaded circumference of banality;
pale protagonist servitude
the sapient palaver of the urbane,
covered patina of pretense,
induced coercion,
the commodity self
appearing abased
wearing lesions of lassitude.
Artistic chattel - eminent domain
preempting genius,
subsidiary of consuming narcissism
external locus of control;
surrender to the tentative,
fettered pendant, Venus in chains
arrested visionary bane
sterile savant, edifice of pain.
The soubrette, dubious incarnation
gravid ingénue of prevarication
imperceptible venue -
theatre of the absurd;
withdrawn siren,
solitude of necessity -
skin - slender veil of shame,
nearness loitering redemption;
moments envisage
the appointment with the soul;
ambiguity eschews clarity
awareness; ineluctable anxiety,
imago - centric confession
sacred pardon, seraphic venation
intravenous textures presume,
the tactile margins of liberty.
Therapeutic retrieval,
Sanguine,
beneath the portico of
individuation;
Your smile I hear,
recovered autonomy
blessed emancipation,
The scandal of particularity;
peculiar treasure
ironically captured
film, canvas,
prose profundity.
Ciphering as an ambling book,
I peruse you,
rendered captive
hypnotic avant-garde fiction,
spectator of denuded opacity
analogous reflection, I Mirror you.
A modest proposal - pontificate the imperative,
forgo the disposal, adapt your narrative,
the scandal of particularity -
resonate the echo, cogitate our propinquity
Love, imagination and destiny.
©2008 & 2011 W.S Warner
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 1:20 AM UTC
,,,"---"",,"",,---,,,"""
palpable piquant
pastel scream
surrounded by
portentous
dream
seafoam and symmetry
loquacious land
shuddering snow
and
sibilant sand
caustic, cocaphonous
calypso clouds
awed by the
eloquent
elongated
shrouds
burnt to mere
nothingness
negated, naught
turbulent
truculent
trickling
thought
dense and dowdy
docile and dubious
rousing and rowdy
quiet and studious
grating, gallumphing
gruesome
ground
supine and succulent
*asymmetrical
sound*
soulsurvivor
(C) 6/22/2015
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
Go broken:
Succumb, surrender.
Who knows why you’re broken?
Maybe an accident
Slipped from clumsy, drunken hands
Maybe you were broken intentionally
only so one day you’d be fixed.
But none-the-less,
Go broken.
Your color is dull
and your shape asymmetrical.
You’re untouchable.
The clutch that dropped you into the tortuous waves of the night
trails blood down its fragile fingers
As they curse you for what you have done.
Go shattered:
Forget why; as she will when she finds you.
No one will see your story,
only your beauty
Once left shattered.
The light will reflect off your surface:
beautiful, translucent, and pastel.
Your color now sun kissed and weathered.
But the most beautiful of all is your touch.
When she finds you,
resting where the white crashing foam meets the dark hardened sand,
her finger can trace your once lethal edges
over and over.
She can seal her hand around you,
as she closes her eyes and breathes in the ocean air,
the sun kissing her pale face as it once kissed yours,
feeling only smoothness in that hand.
Can you feel the warmth,
where you were once cursed at and discarded?
Go:
Go to a new life
Where she can see your beauty
and feel your beauty.
Go:
And thank the sea as you go
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Typically mentally asymmetrical
Epiphany integrated Abigale's extremities initially
critical seconds few with my tongue tied mind denied guidance
verbose fractal matrix scrambling sacredly
searching solely for English vocabulary
mouth full of sand like id swallowed the Nile
dreams had shown me we as epoch scenes long prior, still
inside it, to live it, to feel it......
I missed it.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 8:40 AM UTC
They punch me in the face
Until it is apparently asymmetrical
They call me human waste
And tell me not to be sentimental
When they're insistent
On our difference
I begin to see asymmetry
In the way they're treating me
Does anybody remember or even care
About what happened in Nisour Square?
A Blackwater slaughter
Killing sons and daughters
An unprovoked
Macabre joke
The militants were convicted
The victims remained deceased
The locals were livid
When the problem would repeat
We don't mind taking innocent lives intentionally
When we see their value asymmetrically
Does anyone remember when the city of Fallujah
Smoked like a hookah?
Thermobaric rocket launchers
That used depleted uranium
To melt insurgent craniums
Left behind waste
That is radioactive
The citizens could taste
The shame of being passive
When they couldn't reject
The spike in birth defects
A child is born with its heart protruding from its chest
So we can more easily grab it
That child was born with an asymmetrical breast
Because of our capitalist habit
Contractor corpses hang from a bridge
While we stand on a ridge
Separating chaos and order
A symmetrical border
Order oppresses
Chaos undresses
Both cause messes
We need to see each other equally
Or we'll continue seeing sequel sprees
We need to stop seeing asymmetrically
And adopt a completely loving creed
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:24 AM UTC
A pile of human teeth,
that which does not belong to itself but to the night and the moon
and the lock and the hook, that which once did belong to itself,
or to me,
a murmur and little more,
something you shake in the hope that answers to the questions
you want or some reasons you've yet to find
will come falling out,
an inhabitant in a house that becomes a crime scene during their absence and they cannot be an eyewitness,
she who wanders along the beach by the sea,
in search of shells,
to listen in for the sound of old echoes,
the unreal, suspended, irrelevant,
the night-time fragments leftover after
daylight gets its teeth in,
a rule-bender in asymmetrical glasses,
one of a family of confused clowns, juggling dreams
that were once in trees, struggling
and underestimating distance,
a cracked window in November that seems out of place,
a Tuesday afternoon, and specifically not a Friday sunse
or Sunday dawning,
a wishful **** belonging in the boneyard,
housing an ocean of unspeakables in
attic mind,
greenhouse heart,
cavern mouth full of sea,
the container of many unspeakables,
a cup, profoundly sad for being always a touch too empty,
contained inside a small glass bottle,
a paperweight.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
like a seesaw, there is a nonexistant stable foundation, only yes and no answers
you are a rhetorical question and an untested hypothesis, but this is all wrong
this army wasn't meant to stir in it's wake, and this was a natural homecoming
that could only end in some complex disaster, and my roots were torn from home,
swiftly kidnapped, finding eagerness in the idea of you and the solace you bring
i am acutely aware that you could bend me into whatever you wished, a bow on your tree
something proud that you can show everyone, but i'm scared of being treated less than deserved
like a crumpled up idea on paper that was never meant to be shown with the answer, solution, counterclaim written in permanent black marker, forevermore never changed in my eyes, i merely forgotten about the acid reflex i'd get after i was given a finalized ultimatum, forgotten how to see in color because my brain can only remember you in monochrome, but you're so vivid in my head, there's no way someone like you could be just smoke and mirrors, i've read and folded every page of your autobiography to save for later whenever i needed some peace of mind.
- kra
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
when i write about other people
frantically scribbling words on a page
to express love
or hate
or something at all
why can't i write the same way for myself
the intense verses and elaborate wording
all used to express a feeling that no combination of words will
ever explain
perhaps if i stare in the mirror long enough
my body will begin to feel like my own,
my face won't distort to a disfigured mess
i'll learn to love my long golden hair
my eyes that look like the earth from outer space
the soft jawline i've always hated
asymmetry embodied
maybe then i'll realize that even scribbles are beautiful too.
Nov 7, 2022
Nov 7, 2022 at 11:40 PM UTC
A world of desolation
And romancing sewers:
Rotting animal carcass
Asymmetrical,
Compacted in art
Galleries
And praised for its realism,
Curators drawn to its
Intricate textures and
Cobblestoned streets—
They sprawl,
Like a cannibal's playground.
Twisted-
A street map
Spilling over
Like their stomachs.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
Nestled
in a gyroscope
of allotment, haybail and heath
is the scenery of
my solemn country.
The skyrise, hollows. the
dripping
fat of the land.
The cities have boomed
and they're beautiful.
Like open roses they're
garlands of wire,
pylons and street-lights.
A thorny crown
on a girl in a nightclub. They're
blistering
they drink, kiss and drink.
And all the while
we live with whispers
splashed like
blood in a gutter.
As murmurs
pumped
through the strip-lit veins
of an office block.
Its a life where
prayers
are mist on train windows.
When we walk
we check our
reflection in car windows
and we're beautiful
we run
our hands
through our hair
knowing
we were babies born with
horns for this.
When we ride
its over
railroad boneyards,
the sleepers are
metal teeth locked in
asymmetrical laughter
at everything
at everyone
at nothing.
The skies are a
psychosis of sunlight, clouds,
vapour trails,
it's heaven
and
we're bent at the alter,
our shadow on
the crypt
has horns.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
Prerogative presumptive judicature, cantankerous cantilever capacity. Paradoxical dichotomy greaves, gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts, asymmetrical symmetry. Objectified manifest's dimensional delineation, intrinsic endemic innate opaque opulence. Protractive analyses accidence ambience acoustics. Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant.
Prophylaxis protocol annex annul. Kinesiology kleptomaniac extraversion embezzlement euthanasia extortion, embark embargo extradition. Aura roan's rainbow mare's nimbus nimiety exorcism. Corporeally preternatural's existential exigence exodus. Cerebral cortex's ****** matrix's carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma, apex axis crux, exponentially extemporaneous manumission. Categorical imperative hubris, hectic duty deontological probity.
Astral projection's clairaudience clairvoyance. Tenets and principles, maxims and axioms, and doctrinal mandates. Exserted protuberance's edifice ******** Exotically ****** ethereally sublime xylem Xanadu sails. Erotica erectile errantry.
Fulham nuance ***** Formidable foundry of a foyer fracas. Harpy harsh hast, atrium attrition seditious. Oak tree ****** nails swarthy ******** swath swizzles and unicorn railway sails. Anchor pin tachometer troll wood harlotry's root clod rudiments, lightning bow hat pick. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Transpicuous translucence alluvium aloof impunity.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
An Orchid
Simply ****** arresting petals
I'm drawn and intrigued by the asymmetrical
Expressions that gave me this breathless impression.
How do I retrieve a demon so beautiful that the angels in heaven
Forgive and forget
The day I cursed such a corolla
.......................I want you...........................
..................I want to free you....................
pollinate your mind, so in time, you will forget the crime we confide
To never remember such a slow chlorophyllian life... with such little strife...
Falling petals
Never die
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 6:46 PM UTC
like pieces of a jigsaw
their faces were joined
interlocked in places
overlapping at others
like Picasso himself
had painted them
with linocut or oils
an imperfect portrait
harmoniously
asymmetrical
created by these two
fragmented profiles
lips interdependent
remaining in want
fulfilled for a moment
in this "their moment"
a cubist vision of beauty
not in appearance
or form necessarily
but in what it shows
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 1:04 PM UTC
ever had those days of nagging
the ears are punch drunk
taking lefts rights and upper cuts
the retinue of blows are countless
this follows that
it's punching bag material
you know how Joe Frazier felt
when he left the ring
stunned to stupification
ever had those days of bagging
nothing you attempt to do for people
turns out as it should
everything ends up pear shaped
and asymmetrical
the best is done to fix the problems
without the proper tools
a jack of trades
is a cunning fool
a master
is a pilot ace
who do they think you are
some super hero
ever had those days of ragging
*** shot are taken
keeping you on your feet
like Ginger and Fred
doing a four two step
you hope a ****** doesn't lay in wait
hitting the all important red dot
notice how rabbits
dart and dance
not wanting to take up the spot light
ever had those days of slagging
the words are directed
like hacking scissors
chopping a crooked edge
at your sleeve
leaving you at the whim of humiliation
you dignity left in tattered shreds
where's a seamstress
when you want one
at a stop work meeting
shop stewards are thugs
and stand over merchants
no one comes to your rescue
have you ever had those days
none of us are immune
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
Eyes wide open, glancing around
left-right-left-right.
Deserted, dark, pitch-black hallway.
Scar on her left eye
asymmetrical bangs, reminder of the past.
Petite hands reaching the glass ****
Mahogany cracking,
pale white paint peeling off...
SHE. HAS. RETURN
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
she remains a fuzzy memory mystery once a fountain of laughter joy *** intimacy camaraderie now a myth gone for many years old ****** box waiting deep on bathroom shelf unused le creuset pots asleep inside kitchen cabinet in her absence i became her my hair as long as hers what shall we do today i ask myself dry throat tries to swallow raspy voice concurs birds outside my window chirp harassing sounds where is she if only i had known every day i think of her willowy physique tomboy titlessness asymmetrical exotic ******* knobbiest knees i’ve ever seen i guess what i miss most is our trust in each other
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
we are the vertex that opens up an asymmetrical parabola
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
After exams in 2012
-My darling,
I
Lost all our friends because I don't keep my promises.
I try to convince us, both
-You and me, it's for the better,
-I mean
They were all too self-obsessed, annoying, frustrating, sprayed with
So much perfume that you'd see plastic
Flowers and kiss your pain-free head
Goodbye (to them.)
And I told them (except one)
-I love you.
I loved them.
She said I had nice curves that I
Had a nice
****
And for that day I didn't starve
But she still did.
-Please.
When I left him, after his
Vow of eternal silence and
Infuriating stubbornness and
the way he misused words like
blood, nightmares, hell
In an effort to conjure suspense to
-Get me to care
I didn't.
I didn't care about him, I
Couldn't care about him.
-That
And the fact that he now acts as if I humiliated him,
Slept with his friends (you were his friend)
Clawed his shirts, killed the family cat, ran a
Neat black sharpie down the line of his ribs and sliced, then
Red-handed, copper-scented,
Plucked his heart out
And
-I
Dress it in a top hat, then
Divorce him.
He wrecked it for himself he
-Wrecked
Something I never felt.
She chose him, my,
-Our
Best friend with the asymmetrical hair chose him and
You chose me, thank you.
Thank you,
I'm scared of being alone again, I'm scared of neat sunny
-Comfortable
Rooms
Of the lonely summers of
Me facing myself just me and no
You.
^Give me hope.
-Group
(s)
May be better for prancing
Frolicking
******* off the owners
-Of
Luxury cars.
You are better for kissing,
Loving, listening,
Cuddling on the side of the
Hill.
They were our
Partners in action when we
Defiled
The David Schwimmer tape and
they were our
-Friends.
When we mooched off you and they
Brought
Me out of a
(dark)
Place but
(No buts)
I know you won't say it
-I wrecked it.
-I am sorry
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
BLANK CLEAN WHITE SHEET OF PAPER YOU THINK YOU’RE
BETTER REMEMBER YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD TREE,
WHO’S BEEN PUSHED AROUND A LOT BY OTHERS BUT
I THINK IT’S BETTER TO BE AN OLD TREE, ACTUALLY…
MAYBE THE COPY PAPER STANDS OUT BETTER IN A FOREST
FULL OF WRINKLED BARK, BUT IT’S STILL A COPY. OTHERS MIGHT SAY:
“WHO CARES IF IT’S A COPY LOOK AT IT IT IS SO **** CLEAN AND PERECT”
BUT **** THOSE OTHERS, THEY’VE PROBABLY NEVER CRIED IN A BATHROOM
YOU AND I BOTH KNOW IT’S MUCH MORE BEAUTIFUL TO HUG ASYMMETRICAL
THERE’S ALWAYS A SPACE TO FILL AND THE LINES ARE LANDMARKS OF LIVING
PEELING BARK TELLS MUCH BETTER STORIES THAN A FLAT DULL SHEET
IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT NOBODY COUNTS TREES BY HOW MANY RINGS IT HASN’T,
THE BEST PART ABOUT THE BRANCHES IS THEY’RE NEVER THE EXACT SAME
that way every single leaf falls somewhere new.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
They tease only because they like what is true.
That is why you call them friends.
So when, in avocado skies,
With the fragrance of fuchsias,
And perhaps even focaccia,
And other salty, honest facts of life,
Droning like blue hummingbirds
And Manuka bees,
You seep through my weak and ailing
Ego, out onto the blotting paper of my conscious mind,
I shall consider what it is they cherish,
And come, perhaps, to feel the same.
And do not berate me when I do,
I tease you only because I like what's true!
But here's a precursory thought or two,
Already noted on bibulous blue...
While I write a bottle’s worth
Of evasive attempts at articulation,
The following transpires:
That I have more in common with Van Gogh
Than most care to know, or notice.
That some called him Vincent.
That all I’ve ever written does not sum me up now,
And that the whereabouts of Brighton really doesn’t matter.
That you are the closest I will ever come
To understanding the stars,
And candidness is more attractive
And captivating
Than anyone cares to admit.
That lousy house parties
Are sometimes better than expected.
And you are braver than me,
And I thank you for it.
That speech is, more often than not,
Inadequate, and
Words seldom do justice
(However hard I battle with them.)
And that self-confessing,
Asymmetrical smiles
Are secretly my favorite kind.
That some songs have a hold on me,
That I could never explain much,
And photographs are not my favorite medium.
That poems are often incredibly hard to write,
And it’s all your fault.
(That you’re forgiven.)
And that even the spectrum
Of browns, golden and dusty,
Azul, virescent and viridescent,
Warm and hazy, igneous-red,
Flushed in sunset,
Curled in blazing amber;
The hue of gloriously tawny,
Shaggy apertures
Of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers
Are no match
For the honeyed morning's
Beams of light
Dancing on your head.
'But how can words express the feel of sunlight in the morning...'
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC