Best Slumped Poems
A hardened and disciplined man drove to the grocery store lost in thought,
with setting of sun, the long day's work almost found it's end.
Hoisting his daughter to shoulder, he walked from the parking lot,
and barely noticed her hair smelled of shampoo and pool chlorine blend.
He searched for fresh loaf of bread, and pound of peaches,
careful to tally up each purchase with well-honed skill.
With family's dinner waiting, and worn wallet short on wages,
thinking, that tank of gas will have to wait, and hoped it will.
Looking up from the myriad of baby food jars in the next aisle,
slowly he became aware, as a dense fog clears on a whim.
Now noticed a woman with mouth played in a strange smile,
her instinctive gaze fixed on something behind him.
He turned to see what elicited her quizzical beam,
and his heart melted at the sight in the shopping cart.
A straw haired helper, fast asleep, slumped over in a girl's charmed dream,
her little head now resting against his arm.
The day's worries quickly fled, tough exterior, now stripped senseless,
life's hard lesson and true measure of a man's love now shown.
Left wondering how a resting child could leave one so defenseless,
and that, which a man holds important..,could be so wrong.
Epilogue
I live the rest of my days wiser and more carefree.
For my darling little one, it wasn't I that carried you,
but you that carried me.
In a room that once commanded great respect,
stage lights began to hiss with heated anticipation.
There were sounds of alcohol infused rumblings
and laughter rolling through the rows of seats
from the tongues of young fancies whose foibles
await the reverence paid to tales that may last
a lifetime.
A baritone voice boomed in imposing prominence
that demanded attention. With such articulation,
trained by years of experience spent in circus tents
and speakeasies, the once proud barker's monologue
cracked from age and fifty years of bad whisky.
He had a past filled with evil deeds and dashed hopes,
but on he stumbled as the introduction to tonight's
show surged from his lips.
A young lady emerged mid-stage from behind a curtain.
A single spotlight bathed her every titillation,
perfectly choregraphed to a pulsing rhythm.
All eyes were fixated as imaginations were provoked
beyond reality. The white feathers of her costume
teased senses and libidos raged while she strutted,
ending with a peek that would even give a preacher
reason to pause.
As the lights dimmed and the cat calls subsided,
backstage an old women picked up her broom and slumped
upon a stool. A tear fell, caressing her weathered cheek.
Breathless, after performing the dance she'd practiced
a thousand times, the young women took her final
curtain call to an uproarious standing ovation.
As she dashed toward the dressing room,
the old woman rose from her stool and the two embraced.
The joyful exuberance was that of a child at Christmas.
Her voice cracked as she exclaimed,
"I haven't felt this alive .
in fifty years!
"My dear sister, may I wear this enchanted costume
again after your next show?" "May I, May I,"
the young girl implored.
"Of course", the old woman replied,
"twins share everything."
C.W.S.
03/25/2020
It’s not enough to have a Dragon plus his penguins and pigeons, too?
Darn it! I had a limit, until a cute Cuddling Cricket found my shoe.
He was just a little baby, who saw the pigeons and decided to hide.
Now, he won’t let go of my pants leg; he’s definitely along for the ride.
The first time I saw him, I Eeekk’ed and I jumped, yep, about to pounce.
But at my response he sighed, and slumped, and he began to cry, at once!
At first I couldn’t believe it, so I pulled out my magnifying glass.
What I found were soulful eyes, and a face, so very cute, but sad.
So now when I stand, A Cuddling Cricket, comes along for the ride.
Yeah, he’s now part of the family… Well, of course! Sigh! I replied…
He sleeps in a cute little plastic bug box, with a matchbox for a bed.
But it’s hard to explain, to others found, in my life, which have fled.
I bring a magnifying glass, so they can see him bow so proper and nice.
But carrying my Cuddling Cricket around, does have a certain price!
Food stores aren’t very understanding, and restaurants, Not At All! Truly!
But the paparazzi seem to understand a Cuddling Cricket, completely!
He does have his own type of novelty as he carries around his blankie!
And he’s just a baby, who needs a Mom, and of course, his little binkie!
Honestly, I’m not kidding! There’ve been a few, strange turns, in my life.
But, if I have Trolls and Dragon, then a Cuddling Cricket seems, so right!
Ferdinand the frog was as mute as a swan
as his friends hopped to school one by one
he would sit on the rocks and silently cry
as the rest of the frogs sang a sweet lullaby
His sister and brother both had a fine voice
While Ferdinand just watched; he had no choice
they would choose the best spot and harmonise
serenading the group brought tears to his eyes
He puckered his mouth and pursed his lips
alas nothing came out except silence in drips
he stood on his back legs and tried to scream
but it was all in vain as he fell in the stream
It made him quite sad and his skin went pale
he broke out in warts, his health started to fail
his friends all gathered and laughed and joked
as Ferdinand slumped… then he finally croaked.
© 10/2/2014
Slowly the curtains parted a head peeps out
Dressed as a small child so lifelike
Can see the strings working the arms
In a disjointed fashion
But the eyes.....
the eyes looked dead
The puppet danced.
Drummed...played keyboard
So lifelike it was scary
The show had been running about half hour
When the strings slumped
The puppet slid effortlessly to the floor
Legs askew and arms folded
The puppeteer, made some comment
Slid the curtains closed something made me look
To my horror, could see the man
Slapping the puppet shouting loudly
Then the puppets eyes opened
He looked straight at me
Could see the pain in its eyes
The pleading for help.
When the police arrested the puppeteer
They found this dwarf figure of a man
He was the puppet.
Locked away were half a dozen more
Drugged into a deep sleep.
So next time you watch a puppet show
The puppets may look lifelike
Take a closer look, cos it just might be
They are.
Shawled against
the damp night chill,
she waits
slumped low,
crumbled
in her favorite chair.
Old and tired
she waits.
Eyes, once bright,
cast a milky stare
blind to all
but distant memories
and moments carved
treasured wooden dolls
faces and form
now whittled away
unrecognizable.
Lines and furrows etch
the frail countenance
struggling in vain to see
a fast approaching
destiny.
Daylight dims as twilight fades,
and lurking in the corner there,
A Dark Shadow
smiles. . . . .
as the old woman waits
Alone.
An Empty Kingdom
The news did spread, a kingdom’s will
For sorrow placed its shadowed hand
‘Pon castle steps the crowd did fill
As heart break took a firm command
The skies, a darkened clouded stain
As children wept in mother’s fold
Now lost amidst a dismal rain
This hour of sadness frigid cold
How could it be, their precious queen
Had fallen to a woeful stead
A tethered seed, nightmarish deem
Her majesty this day is dead
The knight, of shining armor might
Her lifeless body cradled deep
Staring straight to heaven’s light
Then bowed his head, began to weep
He raised her body ever strong
Carried her through chambered door
An empty hallway wide as long
Depleted by this mournful chore
The villagers of forlorn feel
Gathered in the dampened street
The plight of loss in full reveal
Disconsolate of death’s defeat
When then upon horizon’s glare
A silhouette of staggered steed
Towards the kingdoms stricken stare
In slow methodic steps proceed
This figure slumped of saddle ride
And weary strains of wistful yearns
Through gates of iron, wandered stride
A shout rings out, “Our king returns”
I was sitting on a bench, by the sunshine being drenched
When a strange situation took place
Someone sat next to me; from where he came I didn’t see
And I couldn’t get a good look at his face
Then he whispered in my ear, “Do you know why I am here”
And strangely, I thought that I might
I sensed his presence once before, standing in the bedroom door
When my father passed away in the night
I listened to a distant drum, knowing that my time had come
And asked if I could just bask a little longer
He said, “That beating is your heart, the journey we did start”
And I felt his grasp get a little stronger
They found me slumped on that bench and in my hand I had clenched
The pocket watch I inherited from Dad
Time means nothing more to me, now that I am history
Now my son has the watch we once had
You have given me a gift
It is always wrapped
I perpetually open it with a smile
It is a never empty tin of freshly baked cookies
It is an elixir to fill my empty cup
even when it is not my birthday.
You have given me a gift
I have not earned it, but I can cash it in anytime I need it
You have dug deep and found
The very thing that touches my soul.
It is the perfectly personalized present
It tells me you know me and you care
It is both old and new
like us.
I have often come with shoulders slumped
To drink from this well
And have walked away with a song in my heart
When I look at this gift I see your face
When I ponder its rhythms I hear your voice
I have drunk briefly from the spring of eternal youth
I have been fed manna that does not spoil
My heart is refreshed over and over
For you have written me
a poem.
2018 - nothing new here
He sits
slumped in his corner
weary, battered, bruised,
but not beaten.
He has survived,
studied this craft,
this art of living,
these cycles of change.
He has tasted the acrid,
bitter sting of defeat,
soft warmth
of victory’s vanity,
both fleeting plateaus.
He sees
through puffy eyes
another adversary
youthful, inexperienced,
unblemished by struggle.
He taps gloves,
nods to this new opponent,
knows that the object
is not to defeat him,
but to teach him,
that victory is a feeble friend,
defeat a melancholy mistress.
The bell will ring,
the ball will fall
the crowd will roar
the dance begin anew.
John G. Lawless
©12/29/2017
The talentless, envious, plagiarist’s dream
Was to find someone’s ‘Works’ on a shelf or a beam
In a Pub, in a folder, alone and ignored
As the author lay slumped and as drunk as a lord
Stealthily taking those coveted sheets
He rushes off home via dimly lit streets
When his doors were all locked and the curtains drawn tight
He copied his windfall well into the night
First thing next day, not long after he’d phoned
He went to his agent with the stuff that he’d cloned
Dreaming of royalties and acclaim by his peers
But for him it was destined to end up in tears
There’s some gentlemen waiting for him in the hall
(His agent had asked two policemen to call)
“These poems aren’t yours, they’ve already been done
By that drunk in the pub, who is also my Son!”
So, if you aspire to a literary style
You should write your own poems or books but meanwhile
Twixt penning a story, blank verse or a rhyme
Keep your hands off my stuff or be Shamed for your Crime!
Rather lost, they stare over the divide,
how best to circumnavigate this obstacle?
They can see a path gently sloping down
but it is far off to the north two days ride.
West is back from whence they had come,
east is an impassable cliff of sheer rocks.
They can not see far to the south but maybe,
they talk it over and head into the unknown.
Tumble weed rolling by pushed by the wind
as playfully it blows them into their path.
Miniscule trees dot the flat plateau
and small shrubs popping up here and there.
In a hurry they head on swiftly southwards
and soon start to descend to the valley below.
Billy is pale with anxiety as they push on
his wife Betty is due to give birth.
Sammy casts worried looks at his friend knowing
there is little he can say that will help.
At last they reach the valley and gallop on
Just another five miles will they make it in time?
Their horses now struggling, sweat pouring off them.
Billy's homestead comes into view cattle scattering
as they gallop through the herd and into the yard.
Sammy hangs back as Billy dashes in to Betty.
In full labour she screams "Where have you been?"
"The preacher is here to wed us. Did you get the ring?"
"I have it here" said Billy and without delay they were married.
And within minutes the twins arrived a boy and girl both bawling.
"Geezers you cut that close Billy" said Sammy
as they slumped on the front porch drinking beer.
"We made it in the nick of time" replied Billy
flushed with the joy and fulfilment of life.
written 17/09/2014
contest: Cowboys in the Badlands
sponsor Isaiah
A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to own temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity not allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -
J.A.B.
I've focused on this evening
For near a fortnight now
Each element planned to perfection
Every detail intended to wow
I admit that in the past
My efforts have been wanting
To pack my feelings to a single night
At the very least was daunting
But not this time I was proud to say
I would dazzle her every sense
A night complete with all her favorites
Sparing no expense
With a rose in my teeth, two goblets in hand
and attired in a rented tux
She passed me bye, slumped on the couch
and rambled of how her job sucks
I offered some wine, she said "not tonight
This day has left me too tired
I must review these reports, then get some rest
Or tomorrow I'll surely be fired"
As I watched her wearily climb the stairs
I felt a wave of somber dismay
I extinguished all the candle light
and sent the cellist away.
As I gazed at all my wasted effort
I felt an angry rush
She didn't acknowledge the time I had spent
Just left me alone in the hush
As hours passed I realized
My anger was surely misplaced
I remembered that smile she shows only to me
and all of my pain was erased
I went upstairs to check on my sweet.
and give what support I could
If I could reach inside and relieve her stress
God knows I certainly would
Atop our pedal covered bed
In a state of grace she slept
Clutching the poem I had left on her pillow
still soaked with the tears she had wept
I placed a blanket upon her
and wiped away her tear
then closed my eyes to imagine
How to dazzle my love next year.
*
It happened in a moment, during my 7th grade English class *
As we studied classic literature; “Evangeline”, the poem
A substitute teacher, wearing shoes of polished coal *
His soft style, hair neatly combed, engrossed in reading poetry…
Pubescence slumped around me, nodding off, slowly being lulled...
Young minds. filled with clutter, gathering dust, from ancient stories
With glittering eyes, he read each verse * *
The soft, eager voice, that stroked each word…
He would wait, on occasion, to look around the room *
With wistful hope, I would suppose, to reach one heart, one soul
At the start of the class, I had been watching the clock
But, as I sat more enraptured, time just seemed to stop…
I turned the pages, one by one …and slowly fell in love
The beauty of old words, drifted through the stuffy air
Like the gathering of dust motes, glittered, hanging in suspension
Filtered in the angled light, of the afternoon’s warm detention
Sun filtered through window glass,…while voice of bliss droned on….
My heartbeat sped, with growing passion
I restrained my hands from reaching,… grabbing *
To catch each word, and keep them captive…
Dust motes, and words, were spinning around *
I was head over heels…for my substitute teacher…
I was head over heels for an old man named Longfellow….
Thirteen years old, I loved two older men….
Fell in love with the classics,....on a mid-day afternoon
While gathering dust, and the magic of words
……………………………………….
For the Contest: "Gathering Dust"
Sponsored by John Lawless