Best Slushing Poems
For my muse, I choose the euphoric source
Of my most transcendent -
Lovely
- Muddy
Memories.
Perceptual flashes? slosh slushing
Approaching an untamed blue-green pond
Just your average amphibian gone blonde.
In sunshine or windward shower.
Loitering around the grassy brim,
On that one slick rock, I stood up
Catch a fish. oooooh, you swift ~
Let it back in?
Or you could...
Run screaming like the flaming river rumbling down the mountain.
To the lunulate lagoon?? in the front yard
Hop & stand
Fish in hand You. Have. To. Make. It.
But the gargantuan estate. . . it's too late.
That tiny t-rex gait, might just seal
That golden guppies fate.
Cause you sprung like spring
And set that little sucker free.
I insisted the jubilee amiability
to stir up with twilight-ed spirit
zeal of desires aroused
as the silverly rays crowned me
to pour out the gilded spirit.
Earstwhile crimson years
With some bichrome days
My glazed tumbler seems to reflect
those moments
as the sound of slopping gilded spirit
sloshed the bottom spattering the glazed ambiance.
I greeted the slushing club soda
to blend with its own felicity of bubbles
dribbling over the gilded spirit
to rebel the jubilee amiability.
Invidious comparisions of consequences experienced
now the encumbrance of responsibility that blazes
as I perished my own dreams.
I acompanied the thought lighting my cig
Smokes drifted alike my reveries.
I held my gilded spirit inclining to my thirsty lips
The gilded sip boosted me
Out from those obsessed incumbency.
I accompanied with a prepraration of pomfret tandoori shrimp
to spice up the gilded spirit
with slurp sounds that spieled again and again.
The jubilee amiability acquainted with
some imagery hot babes
keeping aside my eternal love for few moments.
My vision evinced bit of dizziness
As I imbibed the whole gilded peg.
The zeal of the twilght-ed spirit
That crowned me against my solitude passing jubilee
I was inspired by my own amiability
As if I was adorned with my Gilded Silver Jubilee Peg.
FLASH
Frenzy flash of feelings forgotten
long lost, hidden, faded frozen
yet thawing slushing
crushing , blushing
on sudden sensation
of mystic exclamation!
Reminisces: Blurred vision.
Confusion or misconception.
Appeared instant !
Perceived significant.
Tried to place.
Vanished ! No trace.
Weird happenstance:
Far fetched fragrance
with faint redolence
Intuitive innocence,
flashed,
crashed !
Deja Vu ! Old view ?
Or new ? Review.
03/06/23
A Brian Strand Premiere no. 1202
Contest by Brian Strand.
At birds' eye view, from an icy frosty windowsill,
8 stories high: I see a city forest full of snowy powdery
pillow packs stacked
These are spread out making a white-out
of black streets lanes
Then piles of pearly ivory fluffy flakes
cascading into tall white iceberg mounds;
greatly abounding in an isolated city that is fully bound
Trees huddled and cover themselves in
white parkas; this of snowflake designed fleeces creating
a blanket white newly made canvas for me the delighted Artist
People are frozen in their village,
neighborhoods being effectuated with the
season's frigid chilly chilled cooled air;
nipping at many red young and old numb ears
Ice vapors of a foggy mist
does tint white car's windowsills
The City sidewalks and streets has
transparently merged into one white snow sheet
Snow summits also rise high with
white zenith peak tops
People are enjoying forming
snow tunnels and igloos and
snow men and snow angels
And some people sculpt ice statues
These come into being at just below
zero temperatures of freezing
Icicles are nature's cold calling cards;
this having a very slick and cold feel touch
At this time youngsters are receiving their
reddish noses and pink red rose cheeks
Black boots, snow shoes sink in a
foot deep of snow slushing to race home
A flurry of snow scene experiences
are how most winters are known back home
The tossing of powder with frost-bite
fingers and colorful blue hue toes that are ice cold
This season has its celebration of the Christmas day: this
the time of “Christ Birth,” the reason why I and others do pray
The theme of all things each and every day; in a heart that is very merry,
light hearted and amazed for the many wonders given to us yesterday,
today and years to come every glorious day
Distinctly extinct, the last mink is on the brink, toes curled round a spring board over an ice rink.. the warm blood of his family slushing the surface and resembling candy, no way out but down, or can he shuffle his limited vocabulary eloquently to achieve a level of adequacy resulting in he being allowed to see more days but the onlookers have retreated behind a soundproof pane, his cries in vain, years of torment, once congealed in his brain start to liquidize and flow down his face like heavy rain.. his clan below have stopped squirmin' , death has set in and now aims for his sternum, he still can't get a word in and it's so unnerving that his knees snap back and he feels the ice burnin'.
Harvey
I sit in my chair
Lovely music playing;
Afternoon sun shining;
Birds filling up to roost.
I look out my sliding doors;
The ferns are lush.
I hear a baby cry,
There is a sloshing sound,
Muscle sore boatmen
Never giving up.
Just a short way south,
Could I but see through the trees.
Last night fell.
Wet ladies from a nursing home,
May have to battle pneumonia.
Children’s new backpacks drowned.
Soon there will be silence and slushing,
Hovering people in shelters bewildered.
Families clinging.
No work today, except to survive.
When all is lost.
Politicians doing what they do.
And yet, Harvey has not died, nor does he sleep.
Soon again, it will be dark.
It is an impressive break up.
The maestro conducts a symphony that
crushes eardrums with locomotive rumbling,
thumping, bumping, and dumping
of large chunks of cracking, crackling
crystalline ice pushing down river.
Hundreds of tons of ice come together –
hopefully without devastation.
It is an environment of change.
In soto voce, soft rippling rivulets,
icicles dribbling, dripping droplets,
the slushing of crusted, melting snow.
Snowshoe hares, squirrels, and wolverine
emerge into full Spring activity.
Mush dogs’ serenades ride the winds,
yipping and campaigning for dinner.
Time to secure Winter’s store of firewood,
move boats and fish wheels to higher ground.
Time to hunt and gather fresh food for stores.
Time to begin restocking fresh meats of
muskrat, beaver, duck, goose, and swan.
Time to rebuild and repair.
Break up –
one of the best times of the year.
Walking home, late at night
Heels clicking dully on the pavement, muted by the snow
Softly falling flakes, silent cold shroud
Even the passing cars are reduced to no more than a slushing sound
Pools of streelight serving only to remind one of remembered light
Then, an odd noise; a low dark growling
Pick up the pace, heart beating like a small frightened bird
Hurrying now, but something's faster
A flash of movement in the eye's corner
Blood, so bright against the softly falling snow
The softly falling snow
Where the cold winds come tramping through the woods
And leaves fall like dandruff from the woodland hair
Where memory retraced broken stems and seared buds
And white mist meanders more than mist upon the air
Where the roads have parted and never meet again
And what is so seldom is joy, and what might have been
Like a pendulum swings from moon to moon. The rain
Makes rivers in valleys along side the sniffling nose, keen
As birdsong, through the slushing heart, eyes wet still
With the wonder of all we take over the stubborn hill
All this, all this, the man, the child, clankering thought
Life is a promise, and love a wonder so little wrought.
Sunken to the bottom in the snap of blue delight
to simply bathe in glittering and crystal slushing ice
Silt and streaks of sunlight blowing through the gills of fish
sneak their skin upon my lips to usher in a kiss
Winter wilts and stutters as I shine my surface eyes
bubbles slipping upward toward the warmth of summer skies
Hold my breath to silver while I listen to the flow
Giltter lake alive my pulse until I start to glow
I thought of you but did not know how to write
All the things collecting dust inside a heart
Since the walls of boyhood crumbled, and we apart
No longer come slushing through the mud tonight.
I have kept naseberry seasons with juice sweet
As an old man's passion, running down the cheeks
I have chewed cold joints of sugarcane, the feet
Of old empires grown proud where new mercy seeks
My peace. And this different from the day's quiet
End when on beds of sand we woke our dreams, met
The coming of our hope in the eyes of girls yet
Blooming like mangoes in may. Life is today a diet
Of choices, and we are doom unless we obey; and I
Should obey those inner voices for seasons dry
Longing now: and that was when orange rind made
The only tears that two young extroverts displayed.
Shoulder to sturdy shoulder
solid white workhorses
soak, whirl and twirl
water whooshing
suds slushing
Gleaming metal centrifuges
tumble, toss and turn stiff rags
their wild ride ended
~ soft now, they're tossed in a bag
Weather respite
Now just winds and minor flooding
SLUSH!
The human animal begins to believe
There is a God after all
Oil and dirt soaked snow outside doesn't look so bad
After all a spell indoors has restored
Pride in living
Floors swept
Everything meets the eye dusted
Hot tub after
Hot tub
So? gained a few pounds over
The holidays
Hell! One feels like walking
The mall
Grocery store
Yes!
Restore depleted stock
And more.....
After sales
And after after after
After maneuvering the aisles
After slushing through streets parking lots
After the impersonal experience renews
So?
What's new -
Same old adrenalin surge
Same rejection after
Same morbid insecurity
2009
Back in the hole again
One Hundred And Fifty Eskimos.
.
A hundred and fifty Eskimos in town
It’s freezing cold and throwing it down
Hands in pockets heads down to the ground
The cars rush by with a slushing sound
.
The river is flowing a mucky brown
The tide is high
As trillions of tears
Fall from the sky
.
Oh boy
I’m getting wet through
And I’ve got so much shopping to do
While the Eskimos gather supplies
I’m wiping raindrops from my eyes
.
Little ponds grown
With ripples the naughty wind has blown
Get your Khak’s ready
And your wet suit
And your wader boots
.
It’s Friday it’s five to five
I’m so thankful
I’m still alive.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
vErY if often those of the Vogan after often:
Very variously visions mouth earrings on the feet;
Of the crushing ones;
ViCtoRy is never loss, trials won;
Various cillimeters away craning moduals restrains;
Vogan pass word is VU
cin-computerized tenure;
Of the slushing drones, Vvzzzzzrd, vzzzzzzzzzz
zzz
7/17/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©