Long Sidling Poems
Long Sidling Poems. Below are the most popular long Sidling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sidling poems by poem length and keyword.
Does the Sea
Suffuse...
Does the Sea
Perfuse...
the sponge?
Slipping, sidling
in:
the Great Outbreath
of the far forgot shore;
so small now as to be
Unimaginable,
upwells in swells the
Entirety of this sea -
and heaves these easy seas
from shore to shore
as
sure as the moon’s dim
light is gasped over
when its wax is over -
when full; when only moonlight
lights the matte blacknight.
Does the Sea,
enter, entirely,
the sponge
and, in doing
so
forget itself?
Does the Sea,
in its Perfusion
forget itself?
Does the Sea believe itself to be
a sponge?
Or does the see,
take up a demonym?
Or does the Sea remain the Sea
no matter no matter
no matter how
fully
it inhabits, it saturates, it permeates
the Sponge?
For that matter,
does the sponge,
in being infilled wholly by
the Sea, believe itself to be
The Sea?
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pappadopoulos
has circled back and plops down
on Fred's front porch, all tuckered out
So Fred cheerfully pulls up a chair
and together they sit and stare
openly ogling, gawking, gaping
because, as everyone knows-
it's not considered staring
if you're in a group of more than one
Miss Luby doesn't care about this rule
as she is inside, and thus it doesn't apply
she perches in a strategically placed
armchair, cat on lap, and munches
popcorn like she is at a movie
relishing the mystery of new neighbors
as well as the passing parade
“Welcome to the neighborhood!”
old Mr. Nicholson says
sidling across the lawn
toward the unsuspecting couple
unlike the other neighbors
who manage to maintain some sense
of pretense, the incorrigibly nosy
Mr. Nicholson comes right out
and interrogates the new neighbors
asking all the terribly inappropriate questions
everyone wants to know
but would never dare to ask
And as the new neighbors
stammer and stutter
taken aback, bewildered, bumfuzzled
by this brazen barrage
of curious queries
little fish-eyes blink behind
the little round spectacles
on his curiously boyish face
matter-of-fact, he is
utterly unfazed and unaware
of the discomfort he is creating
eventually, quota filled
he hobbles home
to share the wealth
As night begins to fall
the new neighbors finally finish unloading
and head back toward the house
In a last ditch effort at a closer look
Jake, the middle-aged man from next door
brings over his heartfelt housewarming gift
rich display of bachelor hospitality-
half a lukewarm pizza
in a greasy box
and a liter of cola
The kids are gone, I'm retired, I'm taking a long vacation,
To an island with sunny beaches - that's my destination!
I'll spend the days savoring a climate of seventy-two degrees,
Snoozing beneath the palms, fanned by an ocean breeze!
Each morn as I stretch and yawn to meet another gorgeous day,
A glorious sunrise greets me from across the shimmering bay!
I release the worries and frustrations from my languid soul,
As upon the beautiful, sandy strand I take my morning stroll!
'Tis soothing to the ear as the surf floods the pristine beach.
Beyond that there is heard only the terns' occasional screech.
Sandpipers and sidling crabs entertain me scurrying about.
I watch a ship across the aqua sea, plying its leisurely route!
'Tis relaxing to sip a rum swizzle when another day is done,
And just sit back to enjoy the grandeur of the setting sun!
Later, as though emerging from the sea, rises a brilliant moon,
And romantic music serenades me from across the lagoon!
I'll have a lobster dinner, then to bed because it's getting late,
Or maybe a dip in the surf! But hold on! Just a minute! Wait!
Gliding across the moonlit beach something makes my eyes gleam!
A bikini-clad beauty....! Alas, the missus pokes me shattering my dream!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Pale orb the bleary wake incites
Pallid streams procession ignites
Twilight's caravan gives last beams flight
Deep browns, oranges funerary pyre light
Glare from Day's spent hours moon's spawning rays spite
Day's face shares last glint then bier shutters tight
Into gray abyss Helios's flaming spirit doth kite
In ethereal corridor veiled remnants with chilling vapors slight
Night's doleful dirge; sprightly pallbearers shoulder blight
In vapid sanctuary, a jading stillness appends eerie rite
Nyx's strobe earth's dimmed floor with shadows doth requiet
Sidling tributaries in contrite cadence blink at earth's plight
Slow rhythms of Nyx's bleating requiem soul's sleep doth invite
A bloom of valor in the heat of summer
ushering me to the epitome of a deep inhale
she becomes by far my flower of the hour
velvet to the touch with red cherry ooze, she is perfect
and is always ready to permeate the air with her exhume
ushering me to the epitome of a deep inhale
she sets my senses reeling with her sweet perfume
this classy flower proud of stature claims my garden
and is always ready to permeate the air with her exhume
her summer spritz, traverses alongside my Doc Martens
I feel privy to her floral dance, as I advance
this classy flower proud of stature claims my garden
for she is unequaled to any bud of sidling stance
offering hope for a brighter tomorrow
I feel privy to her floral dance, as I advance
she takes away my every sorrow
a bloom of valor in the heat of summer
offering hope for a brighter tomorrow
she becomes by far my flower of the hour
In a dusty fleabit mining town
The kind you’d see on screen
The stranger rode down Main Street
Looking evil, looking mean
He packed a pair of six guns
And a sawn off in his vest
Those folks was mighty nervous
But that’s something you’d a guessed
The drug store shut the shutters
And the hotel did the same
The sky grew dark and cloudy, and
It looked like it might rain
The stranger in his poncho
He stayed sitting on his horse
He’d rode near fifty miles
He was saddle sore, of course
It took some time, but he got down
Then standing in the street
He opened up a well worn pouch
And rolled a cigareet
He struck a match across his chin
And in it’s dying flame
Some folks recognised him
Though, they didn’t know his name
Moving slowly down the boardwalk
Headin’ straight towards the bar
The light’ning flashed and all could see
The stranger wore a star
He pushed in through the bar room door
And silence filled the air
Those men was mean and moody
He could feel their hateful stare
Sidling slowly to a barstool, well
The mood, it sorta eased
For at last they had a starman
And they seemed like they was pleased
The starman drank his coffee
Ate some victuals and some bread
It had been a long hard day,and
He was ready for his bed
But then he saw the gunman
From the corner of his eye
He knew the man was faster
And he knew that he could die
Dressed in black all over
Staring deep into the room
The gunman, like a shadow
Almost hidden in the gloom
Though running short of time
The lawman hatched a cunning plan
He only had one chance to get
The better of this man
Moving quickly from his barstool
Heading straight toward the door
The sheriff hit the gunman
And, the gunman hit the floor
LITTLE WINGS
“No,” and they meant it. The dizzy seat
almost threw the 8 year old. He was swiveling
‘round and around and around, starting
to look green, ready to fly, free fall. Slip
of balance to the ground would have stopped
this silliness. So I had to save this big kid
with firmness and kindness. Had him sit
on the prop once more showing him how easy
he could have slipped off his solo merry-go-round.
“No,” one propped at the top with listless feet.
Vigor not wasted on swings, slides, hide n seek.
“Yes,” taking them by the hands, we walk to the bridge,
locate the side path to the sidling creek. Recent rain
filled its body. “Yes,” the oldest balances on a stretch
of log reaching into the water. I must let the future
middle-schooler stretch himself, but only so far,
for if he falls in this grandma with an arthritic leg
might find herself in an uncomfortable situation.
“Yes,” the youngest can cup his hands into the water,
stir it with small sticks…skip stones across its surface.
“No,” to creeping out onto the log with his brother.
Grandma knows there’s more potential for this guy
to fall in, and this grandma has no desire to go fishing.
Fine men in the making, tasting of life. Letting go,
little by little, sloughing away the silliness —
with grander and gratefulness,
as Grandma loves the antics and abandon
of their soaring souls. Love is swinging, sliding,
listening to the beating of heartfelt wings.
6/23/2021
Since my childhood, I love summer
It wakes up in me a dreamer.
The luring bells of the ice-cream seller,
Made me gaze for him at the street corner
Till noon, across the fields, used to wiggle
Enjoy lunch with granny’s spicy mango pickle
Sidling along the rows of swishing trees
Running after humming dragon- flies
Picking plums tactfully from thorny bushes
Wondering in the widespread lushes
Rolling on the dunes of soft sands
At tranquil brook, collecting shiny shells
Dancing merrily in pre-monsoon rains
Vying with friends for the white balls of hailstones
Sleeping in the midst of the lawn
Enjoying the sweet breezes of Night queen
Listening to the epic stories of mom
Under the canopy of stars that gleam
Eyes running through the maze of stars
Drooping slowly into deep slumbers
The Good Old Days Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Date: 16-01-2021
won: 8th position
The deep of night
In the city light,
Loses its height;
Silence, out of sight,
With sound of freights.
Wisdom ain't to seethers
who sees only through eyes,
Smitten by lies and lies that lies.
Judging one of rumor jives,
Truth soon withers...and dies.
Grasp the mind
Of this poet kind.
Known to many a blind;
Seeing naught behind;
Unfriend, a blight, unkind.
But this poet keen
Of using means,
By ears, then hears,
By look, then sees,
By search, then finds.
Though was a blind,
Sees more that sight.
Sees not behind,
But, too, walks beside
The unfriend, the blight,
and the unkind.
The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek
The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
as the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far peak
Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
like they had grown there
Dusty spurs jangled as he trotted into the sleepy town
A saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat was stained with sweat
from the hard ride
Reins dangled in the dirt
The horse hung his head, relieved to not
be moving anymore
A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory
He pulled a cigarillo out, and with one smooth
movement wiped a match on his pants, the tiny
flame igniting
He puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the night
Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door
The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch, the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back
He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time
Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and entered the saloon,
honky-tonk piano music played
The doors behind him whispered back and forth
The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman
The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze sidling away
Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked
Show me your coin, the barkeep growled
His days were numbered
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch would find
him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree