Best Sloe Poems
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Categories:
sloe, anger, grief, heartbreak, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Puritans gather in Congress' hallowed halls, faces glum
Trampling truth, blowing horns, banging drums
Of blazing envy, wrath, and sloe-eyed sleaze
Pelosi-Schumer's moralizing minions on their knees
Digging up dirt on disapproved-of nominees
Judgment fled to Pandora-box divorce decrees
Careful, all you righteous pols, so sure the public will be pleased
Most voters care about the economy, not investigative sleaze
-- And whenever decent folks flee, the door opens for the military
Categories:
sloe, america, judgement, leadership, leaving,
Form:
Rhyme
Claws step over ear bones,
tap on the tin roof. The cabin
creaks like an ark.
All day winding along
a Kentucky ridge line,
to lodge a night
in a bow-beamed shack.
I fry bacon and bread
on a smoke-licked skillet
as black as a fossil;
then settle down to listen
to April starlight
sweeping timbers.
Dark pelts pace moon trails.
Night birds hunt;
sloe washed wings flick shadows
through briery pines.
I sip an amber glass of bourbon
eavesdrop,
on my sleep-walking soul.
Categories:
sloe, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse
A chill of Autumn in the air
and spider’s webs are everywhere
these delicate exquisite works of art
such beauty and joy fills my heart
Old Man’s beard has just appeared
weaving its way through blackberry bushes
loved that name when I was small
to touch ~ so furry
to see ~ enthralled
Blackberries plump and succulent
awaiting to be picked
evoking memories of Mum’s fruit crumbles
blackberries and apples mixed
Sloes ~ a rich dark purple fruit
ripe and ready to bathe in Gin
patiently waiting
sloes luxuriating
tempted to taste
but must not haste
for to sip a Sloe Gin on a cold winters night
leaves a feeling of warmth
and another ~ well I might...
Written 12th September 2020
Contest COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE 8
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Categories:
sloe, autumn, drink, food, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
It’s wrong to judge people by appearance
So when he approached me with that grimace
I tried to see what’s inside
Perhaps a sweet prince did hide
Behind scaly green skin on the surface
He offered his lips, I felt revolted
And through the door I just might have bolted
If I had not made a vow
To be less judgmental now
So we kissed and my heartstrings he jolted
Such heaven we found on his lily pad
Till he turned into a horny-toad cad
Now my mouth is filled with warts
And no more bliss he transports
I just look at him and shout out “Egad!”
Sometimes a book’s cover shows what’s within
And I’ve surely learned much to my chagrin
This frog will not be a prince
When I look at him I wince
And just belt down a few chugs of sloe gin
This entry for the happily ever after contest is based on the fairy tale about the frog
prince.
Categories:
sloe, funny, love
Form:
Limerick
Scorpios are known for their passion
Their resourcefulness and compassion
Since a Scorpio I is
Here's a toast with sloe gin fizz
May our traits always be in fashion
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 6 in LeeAnn's "Zodiac Race" Contest - September 2010
Categories:
sloe, funny
Form:
Limerick
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
Shadows come creeping, silence grows trepid
Twilight so stark, not ‘beam of pale lunar
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
My thoughts become smart as my wisdom fades
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
I lone am the wolf whose fangs turned to stone
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Barren confines for this degrade machine
No solace comes for a soul like me..... so
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
I spied too late what I chose to forgo
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
No solace comes for a soul like me….. so
Shadows come creeping….. silence grows trepid.
Categories:
sloe, bereavement, dark, emotions, grave,
Form:
Terzanelle
Feb-ru-ary –
Snow-white blossom,
Winter hedgerow shining.
Now September –
Hedgerow harvest:
Sloe-black, slow, black,
Black fruit with purple bloom.
Sloe gin, slow, gin,
Let the alchemy begin.
Blackthorn, black fruit,
Steeped in finest London gin.
Locked in Kilner
In dark cupboard.
Wait till dark December ......
Ruby colour,
Rich aroma.
Delicious sip,
Post-prandial
Christmas dinner nip.
Mike Jones
25 August 2014
Categories:
sloe, drink, fruit, september,
Form:
Free verse
first,
it was a single entity
an unbrilliant black charcoal sloe female by identity
faded shadowy shades of stygian dark
slipping in and flitting flower to flower making mark
second,
two came dancing like onyx layers
colors changed sabled ebony players
deep dark obsidian pitch male
pipeline swallowtails spotty blue indigo sails
The final dance
black butterflies
in the last summer cries
separate goodbyes.
In apartheid-torn South Africa, poet Ingrid Jonker struggled tragically in search of love and a sense of home. Portrayed in the 2011 movie Black Butterflies
Categories:
sloe, color, dark, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
Absolut a total blackout
Baileys a trifle sweet with a big kick
Courvoisier won't make you an expert
Drams of spirits to up lift you
Echelon for wining and dining
Fireball wow that was hot
Gin maybe a Sloe to help you sleep
Hpnotic will have you in a trance
Irish Car Bomb most explosive
Jack Daniels a old favourite
Kamikaze is hot so watch out
Lady Godiva drink it but remember to dress
Margaritas make your head spin
Negroni phew this one's hot enough to blow you up
****** only not too many or you will pass out
Panther a real sleek subtle drink
Quarter Deck don't fall off
Royce just don't forget the Rolls
Sake Bomb puts hairs on your chest
Tequila make mine a sunrise
UFO just don't get carried away
Vampire too many you will have nightmares
Wolfram creeps up on you keep a lookout
Xeres Cocktail a treat for goddess's
Yorsh too many you won't get home
Zombie over indulge its walking dead you will be
Categories:
sloe, drink, humorous, wine,
Form:
Abecedarian
Open to suggestion I’ve always been
Single gals were called as I sipped sloe gin
Roses wilting in the heat
Why did they land at MY feet?
Catching the bridal bouquet did me in
The garter was tossed high into the air
A swarm of men scrambled, I eyed the stairs
I said, “Keep an open mind”
The catcher was twenty-five!
Despite my age, he proposed then and there
He slid the garter quite far up my thigh
I didn’t realize; the booze made me high
Sloe gin I’ll ne’er touch again
‘Cause I forgot to say, “When!”
And now I’m still getting calls from this guy
True story – caught the bouquet at my nephew’s wedding. My nephew’s YOUNG friend
caught the garter and proposed while my family broke out into laughter. I later gave it back
to him and told him that although “I’m Open to Suggestion,” I thought he deserved a
younger bride.
For Joe’s “In Other Words” contest.
Categories:
sloe, funny, weddingme,
Form:
Limerick
JACK DANIELS met JIM BEAM at the CANADIAN CLUB
to discuss their upcoming trip on the CUTTY SARK.
They were planning a vacation to a Caribbean cove
to get some SOUTHERN COMFORT.
JOHNNY WALKER, who had a disagreement with
them over their SLOE GIN game, wanted to
give them a SAKI. "VODKA ya think you're doing?"
chimed in GIBSON, who was a BEEFEATER sitting nearby.
"It's not like EARLY TIMES...so just wipe that
SMIRNOFF your face." A brawl would have started,
but a beautiful woman came in. "Look at them
COURVOISIERs," said the MARTIN MILLERs.
They noticed her ring with the BLUE SAPHIRE from
BOMBAY.
JACK DANIELS immediately lost interest in the argument,
and asked if he could sit with her. She agreed and he sat
down. He noticed that she had a B & B monogram on her blouse.
"I've not seen you here before...what's your name and where
are you from?" he asked.
In a charming southern accent she replied, "Ma name is
MARGARITA, Ahm new in town, and Ahm from HENNESSY."
When the waiter came over, they ordered two MINT JULEPS.
It was the start of a relationship that the DEWARS of them
enjoyed, especially when they bowled SCOTCH doubles together.
Categories:
sloe, drink, fantasy, humor,
Form:
Free verse
October now is on its way;
November mists are here to stay.
With mornings dark and damp and drear
The wintry blast is ever near.
Welcome to November.
A mournful mist entombs the trees.
All is still – no hint of breeze.
Like soup the mist lies in the vale;
All colours bleached, pastel and pale.
Mysterious November.
A melancholy haunts the wood
As desperate thrushes hunt for food.
Sadness drips from skeletal twigs
And blackbird in the dead leaves, digs.
Deep and dark November.
But sunbeams slanting through the mist
Bring joy and hope of Spring, I wist.
Three months to bear the Winter's worst
Before the first Spring blossoms burst.
Hopeful in November.
The “dainty lady's” lost her gown,
For every leaf there's only down.
The beech mast on the forest floor
And hedgerow bright with hip and haw.
Time of change, November.
Such stunning colours, rich and mellow :
Deep red and orange, brown and yellow.
With “mellow fruitfulness” aglow –
Sweet chestnut, hawthorn, spindle, sloe.
Colourful November.
Categories:
sloe, autumn, nature, november,
Form:
Rhyme
mallards... a pair
koi carp can't compete... duck feet
strang orange shapes
~
sunshine... summertime
fickle spring... climate changing
muted cuckoos
~
Jenny wren... begging
let summer have its way
seasons confound spring
~
first orange tip
fluttered by... seeking partners
tortoiseshell denied
~
sloe... blackthorn blossoms
cover branches... bumper crop
sloe gin... matures
~
the rose of love... red
a plantation... perfumed peace
goodwill offerings
~
small cabbage white...
large cabbage white... survivors
man persecutes all
~
badger road kills... lies...
badger baiting kill... no thought
chucked onto roads
~
the gardening
red squirrels... setting acorns
galleons can thank
~
a twinkle... a star
no... the magic in your eyes
casting true love spells
~
the smell of cut grass
tossed... laid out to dry... fodder
winter sustenance
~
the wolf calls... howling...
you will not hear one cry
only man cries wolf
saffron... stamens
a tasty orange surprise
sunshine on a plate
~
why do we cut grass
clip our hedges... keep them neat
habitat destroyed
~
a speckled wood
dappled shadows dancing
no... a butterfly
~
kew gardens... flora
dandelions... speedwell... moss...
natures eye candy
~
leaf cutter bees
slugs... snails... caterpillars...
unpaid gardeners
~
tulips fading... done
bluebells charming... chiming on
grateful are the bees
~
koi carp now feeding
mallard ducks most welcomed
a pond to ponder
~
pond skaters... a joy...
blackbird bathing... pigeon drinks
hark... a dusk solo
~
darkness enhanced
glowworms... fireflies... fairies
natural raves... fun
~
dive into the depths
swim with dolphin... surf the waves
sunset calling time
~
kelp forest... waves...
syncronised perfection...
fry sanctuary...
Categories:
sloe, nature,
Form:
Haiku
Round and ready
Fit to burst
They grow like grapes here
Cheek to cheek they bend the bones of the branches
Every year
Two daughters
A mother
A grandmother
Rid the jewels of their armour
Delicately balancing beauty between thumb and forefinger
Tough
Like compacted snow
I know
I know that one swift squeeze and summer would seep
Right through its purple skin
In the basket that lays on the ground
Their silver crowns reflect the sun
Straight up to our thighs and hips and cheeks
They proudly await their fate.
A drop in the deep
Bitter liquid
Three months of bleeding sweetness in the dark
The end.
Categories:
sloe, childhood, family, nature,
Form:
Free verse