Best Famous Slackly Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Slackly poems. This is a select list of the best famous Slackly poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Slackly poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of slackly poems.

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• All Famous Slackly Poems

Written by Stephen Vincent Benet | The Fiddling Wood Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron, Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked Over the rough crest of the hairy wood In angry scorn; the grey road twisted, kinked, Like a sick serpent, seeming to environ The trees with magic. All the wood was still -- Cracked, crannied pines bent like malicious cripples Before the gusty wind; they seemed to nose, Nudge, poke each other, cackling with ill mirth -- Enchantment's days were over -- sh! -- Suppose That crouching log there, where the white light stipples Should -- break its quiet! WAS THAT CRIMSON -- EARTH? It smirched the ground like a lewd whisper, "Danger!" -- I hunched my cloak about me -- then, appalled, Turned ice and fire by turns -- for -- someone stirred The brown, dry needles sharply! Terror crawled Along my spine, as forth there stepped -- a Stranger! And all the pines crooned like a drowsy bird! His stock was black. His great shoe-buckles glistened. His fur cuffs ended in a sheen of rings. And underneath his coat a case bulged blackly -- He swept his beaver in a rush of wings! Then took the fiddle out, and, as I listened, Tightened and tuned the yellowed strings, hung slackly. Ping! Pang! The clear notes swooped and curved and darted, Rising like gulls. Then, with a finger skinny, He rubbed the bow with rosin, said, "Your pardon Signor! -- Maestro Nicolo Paganini They used to call me! Tchk! -- The cold grips hard on A poor musician's fingers!" -- His lips parted. A tortured soul screamed suddenly and loud, From the brown, quivering case! Then, faster, faster, Dancing in flame-like whorls, wild, beating, screaming, The music wailed unutterable disaster; Heartbroken murmurs from pale lips once proud, Dead, choking moans from hearts once nobly dreaming. Till all resolved in anguish -- died away Upon one minor chord, and was resumed In anguish; fell again to a low cry, Then rose triumphant where the white fires fumed, Terrible, marching, trampling, reeling, gay, Hurling mad, broken legions down to die Through everlasting hells -- The tears were salt Upon my fingers -- Then, I saw, behind The fury of the player, all the trees Crouched like violinists, boughs crooked, jerking, blind, Sweeping mad bows to music without fault, Grey cheeks to greyer fiddles, withered knees. Gasping, I fled! -- but still that devilish tune Stunned ears and brain alike -- till clouds of dust Blotted the picture, and the noise grew dim -- Shaking, I reached the town -- and turned -- in trust -- Wind-smitten, dread, against the sky-line's rim, Black, dragon branches whipped below a moon!

Written by Rg Gregory | damsel flies certain creatures it seems are never seen straight on - they occupy the corner of the eye once sensed (a second look) they're gone the damsel even more so than the dragon-fly she's a tough cookie for all her slender flutters huge eyes strong jaws belie her evanescence the kind of female to leave love's lisps in tatters don't get sucked in by her immaculate pretence if she's a she - she's there not there so quickly no time to check - a female whisper or in drag mosquitoes daren't treat such presence slackly a wispy whoosh - the poor sods are in the bag satan's emissaries (the devil's darning needles) mischief makers - tell lies they stitch you lip to lip they're elusive (haunting) as the best of riddles forcing you to sense the eternal as a blip illusion change - stuff timelessness is made of beauty allure - life's compulsive invitations what's wanted's lost - it's always on the move the damsel fly enraptures such predations

Written by George Meredith | Modern Love XVI: In Our Old Shipwrecked Days In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour, When in the firelight steadily aglow, Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat As lovers to whom Time is whispering. From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing: The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat. Well knew we that Life's greatest treasure lay With us, and of it was our talk. "Ah, yes! Love dies!" I said: I never thought it less. She yearned to me that sentence to unsay. Then when the fire domed blackening, I found Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift:-- Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound!

Written by George Meredith | Modern Love: XVI In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour, When in the firelight steadily aglow, Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat As lovers to whom Time is whispering. From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing: The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat. Well knew we that Life's greatest treasure lay With us, and of it was our talk. "Ah, yes! Love dies!" I said: I never thought it less. She yearned to me that sentence to unsay. Then when the fire domed blackening, I found Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift:-- Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound!