Best Slog Poems
They are walking! Walking, walking, walking!
Long stretches of walk - hundreds of miles of impossible uncertainty,
in blazing sun, in sweltering, muggy, heat - running away from an Inferno.
Home, sweet home! Villages with shady trees!
Destination!
Thirst, hunger, bleeding.
They trudge, fatigued babies hanging on their shoulders like sandbags,
starving infants clutching hands, tears dry on their cheeks.
Men and women - walk, walk, walk!
Leave cities where cruelty is the only language,
Villages with shady trees -
Home, sweet home, far away.
Burning sun, sweating bodies, dry throat, growling tummies.
Slog beside railroads - follow tracks,
no trains, no buses, no trucks, no vehicles,
only two weary feet to carry them to their destination,
plodding with all their might until the body can not move a step further.
Lie on the tracks - it’s hard, it’s cold, it’s comforting!
Come rest, come sleep, come death -
Blood-stained tracks-
Destination never came.
Existence
World is a drama stage,
which has a dwimmer screen,
that can trap you with a
net of desires.
Several stories, diverse roles,
pretending folks, everything is fake!
So why do you shed tears
for these ungrateful peeps?
Love is a phantasm,
which starts with a thirst
and ends up in a despair!
Life turns out a desert,
if you are not alert.
Do you want to put an effort,
or slog fruitlessly and revert?
A fleeting moment in time,
Is all I need for this rhyme,
Perhaps 10 minutes, no more
Sit in your armchair, close your eyes,
And to your utmost surprise,
Your life flashes past like an express train,
Happy moments with unimaginable joy,
Horribly sad ones, like the day
I lost my baby boy.
Where does each year go, life is greedy,
And definitely always needy,
Progress demands youth takes over the reins,
What will become of us,
Next week you or I are forty,
And in a decade we will be fifty,
Birthday cards sent to us,
Inappropriately witty,
You’re on the downhill now sis or bro,
You have to settle for second best,
Along with all of the rest.
You work you slog, but at sixty five
You are retired, what to do with each day,
Such a drag, but we all love poetry,
So we will never be solitary.
Soon we will be 3 score year and ten,
Our lifetime over, says The Book of Psalms
Psalm 90 verse 10, this is an older translation.
Today’s verse 10, has been adapted
Into many a version.
We wonder, how did we become so vulnerable,
We reach eighty,
And then ninety,
We could have dementia, our minds quite muddled
The way forward, every day a sad venture,
Or we could be arthritic or have Parkinson’s,
Chronic pneumonia, had an accident and
Broke our back,
At this age the cards stack,
Against us.
One day we can’t breath, rushed to hospital,
The family, children and grandchildren abound
No regrets, life has been profound,
We heave an accepting sigh,
As a tear rolls down from our eye,
Have we any regrets, is this that
Moment in time, you, means all of us,
And we and us, means as it does,
So you, us and we,
Means also my and me.
My husband, also sick, whispers, let go
My love, I’ll see you soon.
He lies next to me,
I feel cold, the clock strikes three,
It is mid afternoon,
Finally, my spirit leaves my spent body,
Hovering above my bed,
I wish I could tell them hey, stop crying,
Life is a journey,
And so is dying.
Demon in disguise with captivating dark-brown eyes,
He is gentle and focused, for you are his prize.
Hypnotic smile across his lips, with thrust of hips and eloquence,
He has broken your defence with confidence.
His trophy, your heart, he has won!
Candlelit dinners, flowers, romance
Passionate sex, holidays in the sun
Rings on the fingers you are now one.
Traditional promise and a couple of kids
It's all that matters, they have first dibs
A home, a car, and a dog,
Your life has begun as one hard slog.
Welcome to your life's routine
You are no longer sixteen
Are you still his queen?
What evil will his time bring?
Compliments ushered out the door
What are you thinking mopping the floor
Wiping up vomit, stumbling over toys
Is this what life is with all its joys?
What evil promise did his time bring?
Sex is a job, no longer a pleasure,
Your kids are precious your life's treasure,
He is always late, arrogant and rude,
You thought it was your fault for being such a prude.
So you take a few drinks to feel better,
While is off on business like a trend setter.
He is always failing at what he does,
You have lost it, the incredible buzz.
Venomous insults, frequent and rapid they leak
Like a demon possessed allow him to speak
Scarlet embarrassment paints your cheeks,
He has become an uncontrollable freak.
When the kids get older you promise to leave,
In order to feel better, your lie you believe,
you think he will change? are you so naive?
It is only yourself you begin to deceive.
A few nightly slaps, and a couple of bruises,
When for no reason his temper he loses.
The demon in disguise has brought about a promise of hell.
Nowhere to run to, no one to tell.
Nocturnal nerds now Priests of Power
Crank out the code grim and dour
Grimace and groan, grind it like stone
O, you miserable dim ones and zeroes
Bite your nails and pull out your hair
Finish that program ere the sun can stare
At your flushed cheeks and ghastly complexion
At the look on your face of utter dejection
Pop some speed, another amphetamine
Tap out binary digits, massage that machine
Pent up in your cubicle tight as a knot
The screen bristling with tension, electronic rot
Your brain's slowing down, your mind's in a fog
Your heart pounds ever-louder as onward you slog
Curse your damn curser and slam down your mouse
Your soul fairly screams: "Get out of this house!"
You come up for air and you shrink from the light
The daytime for you feels like darkness and blight
Back to your dungeon, where digits are heroes
Back to your miserable dim ones and zeroes
Submitted for "All Dim Ones and Zeros - Programming Contest"
Sponsor: Brahn Bailey
Friday night's here at last ...lets have a blast.
Teenagers dash to discos ...ready to dance
to throbbing beats and combo drums
rythm and blues....kicked off shoes
as rock and roll pours out the heat..
Swaying along... couples dance and sing
swinging to the beat ...that's everything.
reggae to hip hop....... rap and soul
stir up emotions but take its toll.
Kissing and necking .....lips close around bottle necks
draining the draft.....drowning the thought of dreary days gone by
no thought of days to come...or care about outcome.
Older women start weekend cleaning.
Scouring cupboards, doing laundry,
dusting tops... flying mops
vacuming carpets...putting out garbage
no end in sight for the chores to be done
till the night is come and work is done
they slog and clean... till everything gleams.
Old men hurry to the corner bars
for a drink, a chat and a meeting with pals
to watch the wrestling match.....on the TV screen.
Till mignight they stay.. drinking their way through
bottles of beer, whiskey and rum
till their eyes water...and tongues grow numb.
Home to their wives they weave a crooked path
can't even see their way in the dark
Cursing themselves for drinking too much
now sitting ducks for thugs on the watch.
They wake up next morning asleep on the couch
shoes in their pockets ......stale breath in their mouths.
Money's gone...so too are wife and sons.
yet never has there been a house so clean.
Have they learnt a lesson...we shall never know
for the habits continue every Friday night
No one seems to get it right
Enjoy your weekends....but maintain self - repect
for when that is lost...what comes next.?
treading inwards indicates an
embrace of valour
knowing one is held ——
a journey strewn with jagged edges
unknown detours
once on a straight narrow path
turnarounds disappear
jungles untamed appear
lame sometimes becomes our resolve
though forging beyond crags or rags
one cannot sag or lag _____
perseverance becomes no severance
seventh heaven with salvation usurps
starvation
luminosity at end of slog holds steady
in solitude we need make no haste
knowingness, as Heart’s compass
keep us safe
hazards or hurdles cannot curdle
an inward journey ~
Spirit of destined fate never late
turns burnished key into Home to be
w i t h i n is
M A J E S T Y
Dad, why are those men carrying flags?
Because it's a parade
To honor our country
Then the little boy asked,
Were you an Army man?
Yes, I was.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Why do the Army men in wheelchairs
Have ribbons on their chests?
They're for bravery son
Do you have any?
I wasn't as brave as them.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Can I be a soldier one day?
Only if you grow up big and strong
Stand tall and straight
Have a steady hand
With good eyes
And aren't afraid
Then you can be a soldier.
Sitting around the kitchen table
Listening to their fathers and uncles talk of the days when they were young
Boys grow up
Listening to the glories of war
Adventure and camaraderie
And guns and things.
Years later another war begins
From old wounds never healed
Young boys become men
And answer the call
During the war
Soldiers slog on
Mired in mud
Deep in fight
They obey this
And do that
But no one wants
To see a soldier
On his back.
Politicians will say
The outcome of war
Rests with the people
But once the war starts
And the killings begin
Politics becomes business
Dirty tricks a diversion
And truth a casualty.
People ask
Who is in charge?
No one answers
Reasons not given
Only lies and
Pointed fingers
And the voice at the top
Has no blame.
But one thing is certain
When all is said
There will be bloodshed and
Many dead.
Ask the old men
Who know about war
And drink to memories of long ago
Boys were led to believe
Stories made of lies
The simple truth
Never told
Is fathers lied
And soldiers died.
Argentina's son, a lineage to immigrants
shaped by boyhood aspirations
diminutive left foot striker
taunted "dwarf" in childhood
his growth hormone deficiency
overcome through meds and workouts
a counter to foes physically imposing
Messi's daily slog of skills
agility and balance
slow grind of mastery to mesh the skills to speed
on the football field, Messi dribbles through opponents
pivots round defenders, takes an opposite direction
accelerates
de-accelerates
takes stock of field positions
awareness like a lordly hawk that calculates its prey
a kick triggered whittles through the air
the ball's stinging centre,
flight controlled
at a goal keeper spiralling to the ground
this FIFA World Cup champion
devout in faith
celebrates goals by a gaze upward
a pointed hand to the heavens
another field of his embracing
790 - Messi's career goals for Barcelona clubs and
Argentinean glory
football awards that roll on like credits on a movie screen
on field moves that burrow into memory
through the entanglement of limbs
Messi's footwork, like a dancer's gift
his sprints to fill the field with unheeding power
midst the bulging roar of fans
a homage to glorify the footballer
before he fades
to legend
Poem written January 4, 2023
Trackers follow the animals,
herd them towards the waiting guns.
Big money paid by lazy hunters
who just want some trophies.
Not for them the slog through bush
they want an easy kill.
A bit or two taken to hang on walls
meat left where they fell.
Uncaring if they are endangered
they drink their beers in the hides.
Not wanting to get dirty or sweaty
they picnic on delicacies and wine.
Bodies of the slain beasts pile up
to be dragged away by scavengers.
While the men toast each other
proud of the day's work.
Tomorrow it will all be repeated
who I ask are the real beasts here?
Ethan, did you fix that fence?
and strip that door?
you're losing your sense.
you've hit the floor.
so, how do you feel?
so far from home.
like a complete unknown.
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......ethan?
George, did you finish that fence?
or paint the door?
you're a bit tense.
you can't take anymore.
so, how do you feel?
all alone at home
like a complete unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......George?
Jim, did you look after your dog?
and get some work done?
it was a real slog
it's okay for some
so, how do you feel?
inside your own home
like a complete unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Jim?
Mum, did you feed your dogs?
and make some income?
it is nice with some grog.
it's worse for another mums.
so, how do you feel?
not always at home alone.
liked and well known.
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Mum?
Kelly, did you relax and rest?
and cook some munja?
i'm your pest.
it's okay, have some gunja.
so, how do you feel?
having to stay home
as it is known
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel.....Kelly?
Johnny, did you use your axe out south-west?
and how's that scar?
i'll help you with the rest
it's okay, you have firewood bizarre.
so, how do you feel?
getting away from home
and to be completely unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......johnny?
Daniel, did you have a ceremoney?
and smell some flowers?
I think you're a bit boney
and you need a shower
so, how do you feel?
so far from any home
known as an unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Daniel?
Emily, did you cook some macaroni
and feed willow for hours?
i think you should try rigatoni.
and not have to scour.
so, how do you feel?
so so stuck at home.
unknown to the known.
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Emily?
Willow, did you moan and groan?
and also laugh and smile?
you need talk to deddo on the telephone.
and take that bus a mile.
so, how do you feel?
also stuck at home
well grown, it is known
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......willow?
yes, yes, how do you all feel?
how do you all feel?
in this complete unknown
making your next deal
like a rolling stone.
how does it feel?
how does it feel?
how does it feel, my family?
The machine is king
Making money is god
Selfishness is the religion
The underdog is the new third estate
The backbone of society
Is the modern slave
As he gets only the minimum wage
Up we arise in the morning
And off to work we go
We might not be home
In time for dinner
As work is all we know
To the boss we will be productive eventually
To our family we are never there
We have become so numb
That we done even care
Wages are low
Our pensions are cut
Our hearts are filled with rage
We long not for the good old days
For they never existed in any age
What should we do?
Economic gains benefit the country they claim
Yet we wish the hard slog
Of the factory floor
Wasn’t such a right drain
When we rise up they complain
Productivity is lost they claim
Businesses want excessive profits
And managers global fame
No one cares about our desperate poverty
Downing tools does not help
We just bring home a lot less
We buy the basics with our pittance
And rage at what we will never get
Forever lambasted for inefficiency
We never get the chance to prove our might
No wonder the economy is in such blight
Is there no salary increase insight?
We are to the bosses
Robots clothed in skin
That must be pushed harder and harder
So his bonus can be bigger
We always comply
Despite getting none of the pie
One day our hard work will pay off
One day we will retire
Until then we will work hard
For no wage makes life dire
More than twelve hundred souls
Meet their watery grave.
German U-boat patrols
Spark a fatal shockwave.
This echo of the past
Resounds throughout history.
Rousing war unsurpassed,
Deadly shroud of mystery.
The empire aids Cunard,
Loaning millions in pounds.
Lord Inverclyde toils hard
On deceptions unsound.
They hide admiralty
Within their merchant fleet,
And in reality
War barons plot deceit.
Famed cruiser so agile
Brings home the Blue Riband.
Propellers prove fragile,
New designs would respond.
While retooling the craft,
Gun mountings are installed.
Hidden away most daft
Down where the ropes are hauled.
However they decide
To switch their new design.
Large cargo holds shall hide
Munitions in her spine.
War with Germany starts
With land mines and blockades.
America builds parts
While Britain launches raids.
The Isles become war zones
With no sure passage back.
Submarines would throw stones
To sink the Union Jack.
So Daniel Dow protests
This British smuggling ring.
The prior chief suggests
Attacks these loads will bring.
A German message warns:
"Huge risk at British sea!
If allied flags adorn,
They'll be hacked to debris!"
Captain Turner is picked
To lead the merchant ship.
"Speed shall avoid conflict
On this momentous trip."
Voyage two hundred-one
Departs Pier 54
Under a watchful sun,
Fresh ammo in her store.
Steaming toward Fastnet Rock,
Bowler Bill seeks advice.
Three ships are sunk in shock,
Warnings are confirmed twice.
Posting double look-outs,
They ready the lifeboats.
Bill secures a black out
While taking careful notes.
Thirty miles from Cape Clear,
The vessel enters fog.
Weather thwarts so severe
The captain slows their slog.
The periscope spots them
As orders are passed down.
One button shall condemn,
Destruction all around.
The Old Head of Kinsale
Watches the missile glide.
The bomb shreds to assail
Those weapons stowed inside.
I told her I would walk her dog,
She had been ill, was in a fog.
So off we went on our little jog
When Fido spied a pesky frog.
Off at a sprint, over a log,
And the two of us landed in a bog.
Clothing's wet, it's all a-sog
Because of this here blasted dog.
Neighbours eyes are all agog
As back up the street the two of us slog.
So the next time she offers a cup of grog
I'll not be suckered into walking the dog.
for Dane Ann Smith Johnsen's "good Deeds" contest
What have you got to say for yourselves
as I sit here at the stoplight
and watch snow fall on your headstones?
I laugh to think that you could
be so kind, so solicitous,
so full of mirth and merry making
as the rest of us slog our way
through winter while you rest in peace.
Shall I be jealous of your peace?
Not in the least.
I, too, sleep--not in hallowed ground--
but in the sweet repose
of love's hot embers
that burn with endless blessings
of a heart set free.
Shall we dance in the moonlight at dawn?
Shall we clap to the trumpet's chill-blast?
I think we should hope for a circular tune
that we'll all sing together at last.
(Mount Hope Cemetery, located in Upstate New York.)