Long Shirking Poems
Long Shirking Poems. Below are the most popular long Shirking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shirking poems by poem length and keyword.
Starving stomach, food in the brain,
Some say disease, others say vain.
Her new friend Ana, showing the way,
Worshipping scales, twice a day.
To her, she is way more than fat
to others, way thinner than flat.
The built in rule, let food in,
And you will never be as thin.
Her friends find her weight an ordeal,
Ana’s at the sink ‘helping’, after a meal.
Pounds are lost, herself is lost,
Shirking her food at all cost.
As she dwindles, time deprived,
Remember before Ana arrived.
She eats through her eyes instead,
Frenzied with hunger, eyeing the spread.
She is a small ribbed frame,
She is a figure of worldly fame.
Meals alone, meals hidden,
Counting calories, craving the forbidden.
Lies to reassure, more lies to hide,
Concerns from loved ones, brushed aside.
No more than bones, too weak to fight,
She confronts her friend ‘Ana’.... Anorexia.
22/02/19
A nurse takes time
To hang a DNA rainbow strain
Of Christmas bulbs
Along my gray window ledge
He plugged them in
Bringing a campfire glow of embers
Under my lids
And to the shirking corners
And the inflating machines shushing the room
Below
In the cobblestone valley of downtown
Ballerinas of steam
Spin
From paper-pushed vents in the empty streets
Window shopping on Washington Square
Laces of faces and hands
Pressed to glass
Longing for suits at Kositcheks
Or gold and silver from Linn & Owen
Mists jaywalking
And flagging a cold evening of vacated taxis
I dream
Of taking my wife’s hand
Pirouetting her across a crowded floor
At the Green Door
To a band bellowing the flutes of Canned Heat
Flinging sweat again like bathers in an ocean
Kissing and hugging and ass grabbing
Elbows bent with Fireball shots
High-fiving
Imploring return to our basic instinct
The perfect gift
Of lust and love marked by our fingerprints.
Mr Dennis...grimace..what the Dickens is going on...the menace
Inevitability of a celebrity on every terrace at the tennis..
The profanity and insanity of rampant vanity..
The gist..a D list tryst to bathe in the narcissist mist..
Blame.. tame or maim same lame fame name game shame..
Rich pickings at.. every look at me.. Wimbledon balcony..
Phew..is it too late for me lanky mate Stew..
Can't be ignored...a SW19 ticket you scored..
Hard to beat....pip..a meet and greet with the cheat elite..
Don't scoff...hats do doff...before we skip off on a toff trip to Crete..
A bit cranky..give me a hanky...he's gone a bit swanky.. wa**y...
Great..hanging out...lurking on board with the flawed fraud..
Applaud the encored smirking adored or abhorred hoard
Bored.. tanned trolls..champagne sippers in velvet slippers
Vain planned inane scrolls..no proles lost souls or nippers
Just skanky Yankee dolls & spank me molls maraud..day trippers
My Lord..thought your were berserking..working class..
Not the farce of up its own a**e..shirking VIP pass..
P.S just for you Stew..an ickle fickle tickle josh.. off my trolley volley..rhyming sickle...about you at some jolly posh tosh.. in a golly gosh wally folly pickle..
But still.. luv you bruv..you are the Guv..
An Angel appears out of the mist
The trickling stream just now Sun kissed
A beacon in the morning dew
Awakens the stillness that God threw
Over the Mountain and down the Valley
How many times before only he can tally
As she smiles her radiance does elegantly bloom
To lift many a lonely Shepherds early morning gloom
As he watches his bleating flock with care
He never notice’s that she is there
Keeping him out of harm’s way
To help him make through the day
This lonely soul on whom others have lent
To bring them milk and supplement
Their meager lives, harrowing at best
Life is hard for him and the rest
But his beliefs will guide him through
His Lord will show him what to do
A saint full man who gives his all
To his flock so they may not fall
Into danger on the Mountain high
As he whistles and gives a sigh
To appreciate the life that he has received
From his Lord, what he has achieved
His spirit never bending or broken down
Though living miles above the town
People know him as Adam that’s all
No second name that they recall
He walks the Mountains with his flock
Never bothering to take stock
Of the words that others may
About his life he lives his way
The solitude and peace full existence
Has brought about stubborn resistance
To a life in the valley below
What he reaps he will sow
The sheep just wander here and there
As if they know they have no care
They are always safe from harm
No need to be upon a farm
As he goes about his daily life
The Angel watches him through the strife
Of bad weather and other dangers lurking
Unaware he continues without shirking
His duty to his Lord and flock you see
His faith a comfort and will always be
Forever to roam for a million years
No time for pity, no time for tears
The Angel watches, listens and takes stock
Of the Shepherd and his flock
She knows that her presence he always feels nearby by
Though he cannot see her and she knows why
He’s been dead for a hundred years or so
His flock disappeared long ago
But the Mountain he refuses to leave
To go to Heaven, not to grieve
His duty to him is quite clear
By his sheep he must be near
Only ever seen by the chosen few
Wandering amongst the early morning dew
A need-fed man with a blood-red glow,
Confusion writ high on a tension-knit brow,
Due to peer-pressure or sheer pleasure, somehow brought low,
To quench his thirsty stench, he'll beg, steal or borrow,
Laden with cares, he stares, as if there's no tomorrow,
In this foolish stance and dance, his debts only grow,
In squabbling and babbling, his words overflow,
In his illusions and delusions, nothing does he know,
Not knowing where to go, he reels to and fro,
Irking everyone by shirking his duty, saying no,
He's spurned and turned into his own foe,
Though he tries to learn and may yearn that it be not so,
Staggering in streets, he's triggering his death slow:
This is the gory story of the drunken man show.
Before… I beheld her quivering, shirking---
suffocation gripped her with my envelopment;
breaking free from the gentleness I exuded
she would scamper wailing…
as if scorched by my belongingness’ warmth.
After painstaking therapeutic sessions
offering my compassion-propelled embrace
I witnessed her, gradually yielding to me
succumbing to my love-blest invitation…
devoid of resistance.
Graciously overcoming
grievous traumatic hug-pressure
she confessed that she’s healed
from domestic violence, by the mercy of God*…
Who rescued her against lustful and incestuous hugs.
Now… with serenity's bliss
she’s cheerfully reaching out to others
letting them feel kindness-driven hugs
sealed by care, concern, and comfort...
precious blessings of earnest bonding.
*Psalm 52:8 ... I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever.
June 6, 2020
8th place, "Hugs" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish; judged on 6/14/2020.
Hangovers do fester as belly grumbles pester just before noon
Jesters off their head after night on the tiles painting toon red
Close to fainting need a feed must get some sustenance soon
Shirking the headache lurking adored blackboard’s been read
No takeovers.. leftovers get makeovers morning and afternoon
Grazing stable biker at formica table amazing fable we croon
Not naff no faff or fuss caffs for all us riff raffs got street cred
Within we maybe a Lord or Lady not just bumpkin or buffoon
Before you got stubble or into a lot trouble bubble were fed
No fraud smorgasbord for flawed horde who applaud swoon
In the clover.. a pig in poo.. a cat with nip skip over the moon
Working class gets a VIP pass for a scoff then it is off to bed
PVC chairs in maroon & bottomless milky sugary tea a boon
Irking folks saying that the culture to which we are wed‘s dead
Won’t let become another ruin don’t impugn like Sting in Dune
Will last as hewn from the past for cast of many a loon and goon
Whichever combo folks bacon & eggs begs for a bit of fried bread
Tireless toast stacking yokes cracking the wireless a backing tune
Raiding yesteryear clips & dips in fading memory lane trips instead
Proustian rushes sprinkle gush us luxuriating in a lush laden lagoon
Savour as kids blushes twinkle with elderly who wrinkle like a prune
The history is not really a mystery as clearly is salary and calorie led
No tycoon flush on capitalist balloon spewn from a cliched cartoon
Flavour is not as posh or plush as that tosh we see over in the Med
Not cheesy or sleazy don’t tease me lampoon our cultural cocoon
Saviour for brave knave where good behaviour does favour fortune
Are batty if thrills of a patty or natty fatty spread fills you with dread
Park your ar*e ignore Worldly farce & take it easy in a Greasy Spoon
This is Graduate School
What do you expect?!!
This is graduate school!!
The girl, glowed in her importance!!
This work was important!!
And who did he think he was, shirking work!
Our importance is pivotal.
For without importance, we’d have no artifacts.
And our importance oozes from smokestacks and chokes the very breath we breathe!
And our importance keeps us safe from the Jones’ below us, those miscreants!!
And our importance makes us real!!
We put a man on the moon!
I am that I am! I am MAN!!!
And my towers reach to heaven and scream, “I no longer have need of you!”
But at night, some nights at least.
I look up to the sky,
And realize that I am stuck on a spinning rock, with no way out, and I have no idea where
I came from or where I am going?
And I know panic!
There should be an idle Olympics,
one where you don't cycle or run,
and instead of diving, there's synchronised skiving
where teams of four get nothing done.
A training camp for doing little
would certainly pick up my vote,
full of amateur loafers sprawled out on the sofas
not caring about where's the remote.
Gold medals for staring at ceilings
that have needed repainting for years,
a silver for shirking, a bronze for not working
with an audience too idle to cheer.
No sports fitness coaches to nag you,
or physios to massage your joints,
starting gun's in the drawer
should you need it- what for?
As we all shrug, and say 'what's the point?'
I'll put my name down for team GB,
her indoors says 'you've nothing to prove,
you're already a winner' as she makes my dinner
and I can't be bothered to move.
The powers that be, undefined, ruthless, opaque authority
Shapeless, bodiless, upstanding folk, coercing the majority
Overseeing applications, supplications, ensuring conformity
Specialists in quagmires, minefields, esoteric bureaucracy.
The powers that be, model citizens, high ranking royalty
Peerless above the law, protected from a droned society
Scratching each other’s back, freeloaders, freemasonry
Funny hand shakes, codes, wink wink nudge nudge faculty.
The powers that be, puppet masters, answering to nobody
Church going pagans, planted within god fearing laities
Penchants for young hookers, high class swinging orgies
Masters of the universe, demigods, self serving deities.
The powers that be, off the radar, shirking accountability
Magnates, judges, ministers, businessmen, your attorneys
The A listed, elite, endemic, prevalent, shrouded in mystery
Wrong side of these people, you’ll disappear no conspiracy
The powers that be, yet another victim, where’s Khashoggi,
Are his killers really in prison, more likely given new identity
Some ask too many questions, Maltese journalist Daphne,
Blown up in a car, getting too close, unsettling the fraternity
The powers that be, its not possible I’m losing it completely
Because I believe a certain ilk, walk amongst us with impunity
Live behind walled estates, big donations for political parties
In return, yes sir three bags full sir, here’s to your anonymity.
By
David kavanagh