Long Slicked Poems
Long Slicked Poems. Below are the most popular long Slicked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slicked poems by poem length and keyword.
They're once in a lifetime
These moments of joy
The first time you rattle
That colorful new toy
Your first day at school
With the rest of the kids
Your hair all slicked down
Bad smells Mom got rid
The ultimate joy
Of your first tender kiss
The shock when she tells you
Her period she missed
A puff from a cigarette
Makes you dizzy and ill
The beer in the closet
I remember it still
The joy of a first child
The smell of their skin
The softness of touch
Their sweet tiny grin
Your first big promotion
The raise that you get
The first time you notice
A grey hair NO NOT YET!
Middle age quickly follows
With a sickening thud
It's all over now
Your life is pure crud
The sixties are next
And retirement awaits
Where did it go
You're in a hell of a state
Then someone says wryly
You've had a good life
'Whatcha crabbing about?'
But it still cuts like a knife
These tender sweet moments
You experience through time
You'll remember them fondly
And treasure the climb
Hold on to them tightly
They won't come again
They're once in a lifetime
They're to treasure my friend
Or, always a quandary the perpetual choices
the delight of suggestion pales with the anxiety necessary
Or, often a dichotomy, balanced like the scales of justice
matched with //either// this mere two letter word makes quite a stir.
Or. what? Some ask in tones ripe, rancid, with belligerence
brimming with the vitriol evident in slicked-back hair.
The fate of the world can balance on an OR
the continued existence of a proposed reality can fall OR...
I would not want the pivotal pressure or continued strain
of being an OR for I would stretch and choose never to let go.
Contest: Do Due or Dew
"Choose one of the above words and write a poem." I chose OR
They're once in a lifetime
These moments of joy
The first time you rattle
That colourful new toy
Your first day at school
With the rest of the kids
Your hair all slicked down
Bad smells Mom got rid
The ultimate joy
Of your first tender kiss
The shock when she tells you
Her period she missed
A puff from a cigarette
Makes you dizzy and ill
The beer in the closet
I remember it still
The joy of first child
The smell of their skin
The softness of touch
Their sweet tiny grin
Your first big promotion
The raise that you get
The first time you notice
A grey hair NO NOT YET!
Middle age quickly follows
With a sickening thud
It's all over now
Your life is pure crud
The sixties are next
And retirement awaits
Where did it go
You're in a hell of a state
Then someone says wryly
You've had a good life
'Whatcha crabbing about?'
But it still cuts like a knife
These tender sweet moments
You experience through time
You'll remember them fondly
And treasure the climb
Hold on to them tightly
They won't come again
They're once in a lifetime
They're to treasure my friend
They laid him out on the steel slab,
the fluorescents buzzing like static hymns.
The bones, thin and tired of holding,
spoke nothing, just rattled faint rebellion,
their song, a hollow percussion.
The scalpel whispered across his skin,
revealing meat, sinew, the red labor
of existence. Somewhere inside, a soul
was rumored to linger, stubborn and silent,
buried under twenty years of bad decisions.
They stripped his brain next,
a gray hive thick with drowned memories.
It twitched even as they lifted it free,
spitting sparks like a dying streetlamp.
The room reeked of copper and inevitability.
A machine chirped, awaiting its call.
They slotted wires where neurons faltered,
replaced guilt with circuits, doubt with code,
and the machine didn’t flinch.
It wore his stolen truths like an old cloak.
God watched, somewhere above or below,
fingers trembling on eternity’s pulse.
There was no wrath left, only pity,
as if clay could complain when molded wrong.
Free will tasted like gasoline and ash.
But that soulless hulk still breathed,
its chest a cage with nothing inside,
flesh slicked down to pixel and spark.
Another body, damn near human,
more ghost than grace, humming cold.
I'm squirming in my chair of oak
with narrow arms, and folks lined up
in two long rows of growing thirst
and hunger for a breath of air
Like sardines in a can of worms
we are strange, unlikely shipmates torn
between one salesman's limped plea --
the other shark who disagrees
Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt
with slicked down hair, accusing words
persuading few with his hot air
The black suit spews his declaration
a quite contrary explanation
Until my mind is torn in two
and in a room we must decide
Confined inside, a dozen votes
where six say yay, six more say nope
We're hanging by a thread for days
and rumor spreads, with dreadful words
He has finally coped with deadlocked folks
But sternly looks a bit provoked
We sit there like a row of stones
of wounded souls. We are excused!
We grope for keys, and leave our thrones
And as I'm walking out the door
No longer needed any more
I see the face of one accused
Then count the blessings in my life
and take a breath of freedom's air
So glad to know some welcome arms
are waiting there, at home
_____________________________________________
"Person"
Baseball cards and hula hoops
Baloney sandwich, Campbell’s soup
Howdy Doody and Mickey Mouse
Mamie and Ike in the White House
American Bandstand, Rock 'n Roll
Elvis the Pelvis, Nat King Cole
Pez Dispensers and Kool-Aid
Bedtime for Bonzo, Panty Raids
Oscar Mayer’s Wienermobile
Superman was the ‘Man of Steel’
Archie & Veronica, Mad Magazine
Skirts and Bobby-Sox, Jukebox Scenes
The Roadrunner, Tom and Jerry
Durward Kirby and a Moore named Gary
The Price is Right, Let’s Make a Deal
Hostess Twinkies – b & w newsreels
A Dog named Lassie and Rin Tin Tin
Yankees and Celtics always win
Mickey Mantle, Ernie Banks
Whitey Ford, Hammerin' Hank
Joe McCarthy and the Red Scare
Semi-Crewcuts or Slicked-back hair
The 1950’s weren’t built to last
Still and all ~ quite a cast!
A low sun that’s still fighting through the trees,
light wisps of vapor above dew-slicked grass,
hangs for a moment, the light cuts through fast,
so quick I wonder, did I even see?
Yes, there is still haze amongst quiet trees.
A small and scared rabbit scampers on past,
his peaceful breakfast was not meant to last,
my blunt approach made the cute critter flee.
There are few enough who are awake now,
it’s a silence that I’ve come to value,
only the high chirping of some bird sound,
the squeaking of chipmunks hugging the ground,
and chittering squirrels, far more than a few,
a short requiem only morning allows.
It was two minutes until doomsday
and she struggled to finish her text.
it was an awkward time to break it off
but she couldn’t plunge into eternity
with her lover, still attached to her wrist.
And he waited patiently as he looked
at the clock, hoping for x’s and o’s,
deluded and hopelessly clueless.
when the bomb dropped,
they’d be engaged — for sure, he thought.
With edward-scissorhands, the minutes cut precariously
like darkened shadows upon a frozen tundra,
and the hour will strike like an asp,
the sting will melt the counterfeit humans.
one last cloud of dust, for angels to sweep
into the dustbin, after eternity is settled.
Two minutes before, politicians try to knock
each other out, shouting down the seconds,
with loud colors in dresses and ties, pretty hair
in permanent dye and handsomely slicked back.
they very much doubt the veracity of the doomsday note.
Only one human cries, tears falling upon a seed
that would never rise, a form that turned in her belly
with protruding arms and legs. she would lay hands
on him and love him with her palm until the clock struck
Midnight. and Cinderella will never again lose
her glass slipper, no prince will anxiously search for her,
a pumpkin carriage will vanish without any inhabitants.
Two minutes, enough time to chew off fingernails,
to unwind your tattletail tongue, down shots,
drive yourself into a wall, to call your mother —
now that you have nothing to lose. humans
Before extinction, collaboratively can produce
many sins before they cut the earth’s crust loose
Countdown...starts...now
Emile Pinet’s Doomsday Clock Contest
2/4/2018
Ramparts of the castle?
Slicked well with rain or blood?
Ask the master's vassal.
His veins have caused a flood...
Well. Is that so? Don't you know?
Steady as we go.
Carrion, feed well each crow!
Falling down, O foe...
Wilting is a part of life?
Dance upon, O strife.
Circumstances, red raw rife.
Krokus, knead the knife.
Thought-spark, ignite in the dark!
Covenant and Ark!
Ocean deep, seen many a shark?
Gloss well thy fair bark...
Silent are the gods of death?
More talkative than some.
Cradle well, O sea of Tethys!
Seth, the storm may come...
Causality chaotic!
Grind them with thy wheel!
Current events make all sick!
Enemy teach to steal!
Feeling well, O Fates a-Three?
Close thy eyes and see.
Doom, bequeath! Most desperately!
Sun god, fortune, fee...
Erasing half of you into another
Merging like flour into water
Swaddled in comforting love.
When alone damp and bone chilled
Staring through rain slicked woodland
Alone with the unknown world
Of leaves and fungus and dark earth.
I am something I was not alone.
There is no fear just grief,
I have forgotten my face, my voice
Is half of you and none of me.
A dogs muddy paw stamped on my calf,
A red robed monk speaks to me
Carrying a bucket, a pot?
My version of reality crumbles
If alone I cannot retain a self.
Crumpling embarrassment,
Effacement of self, of I .
This was me before and now minus half
A soul, a face, a brain, a body.
Your hands that know my body
Better than I do are like my hands,
Used to hold back darkness and fear.
The death of an internal monologue
And safety in solitude or selfishness,
Be consumed by another body,
A Siamese twin.. I never wanted agency.
Alone I forget to eat my mind
Wanders, I make fires, cat lazy
I walk, I doze, I shower,
Warmth is comfort, safety.
Unending rain is a reminder of
Loneliness and others rained on,
Stuck inside. The dogs shuffle
Rearrange their beds, the cat follows
Me, sleeps in my bed.
You cannot live alone for yourself
You cannot live for others forever.