Long Slicks Poems
Long Slicks Poems. Below are the most popular long Slicks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slicks poems by poem length and keyword.
Flailing tendrils upon the waves;
an ancient sailor’s fear;
Leviathan rises from the watery abyss.
Red morning skies warn,
of Neptune’s wrath;
his siren daughters,
captivate and destroy the lonely seamen.
Skeletal wings beat the empty air;
foreboding shadows overhead;
the Wyvern, hunting prey.
Old legends never die;
they just shape shift,
to fit the times.
Oily, black tendrils swirl upwards,
from the ocean floor,
to poison and eradicate,
thousands of species.
Leviathan-slicks;
annihilating the oceans.
Modern day Wyverns sail the techno-skies;
drones seeking prey, who take all lives;
intentional and accidental;
no one is exempt from their appetites.
Red skies in the morning;
HAARP’s song of warning;
red tides obliterate life.
Old legends in new guises,
are easy, lethal deceit.
I’m living in those same lavender days,
Where the glaze of the morning dew is the only water we receive,
And its sweetness slicks poignance over your potent petals.
I fill my clear crystal cup at the table till it quivers,
Spill the shimmer of your essence until I overflow,
Then I drink you, like sharp and searing, sherry.
Your lips pressed on mine sting like nettles;
They grip and settle on me, festering inside until they’re cold,
Like ponds of soured cherry juice—so crimson and cruel.
I found art in your bitter taste,
Like well-aged whiskey in the glass of a young intellect.
What girl would pass on a man who promised everything,
And lived up to at least half of his words?
A man who’d lay her in his bed and ravish her like a body made of twilight,
Treat her as a feast, a spread sweeter than honey,
Yet musky like wood and steam.
A man who says she’s hot like fire, yet also mild like cream.
Certainly, it was unfair to expect me to resist.
When I tasted his kiss and I knew what he’d be
A madman, crazy, but not just with love,
But sick in his soul, and dead from his head to his knees
I see it clear, and I repeat the actions of my youth,
Hiding in floral, subtle fantasies brought on from the scent of his perfume.
But the thinness of the air, and the line that I walk,
Makes me afraid every time he breathes,
Or scowls, or talks.
The aesthetics of love are much more appealing
Than the feeling of your flesh being used as his warmth.
A wolf in the wild, not pure or docile—
But still expecting to be coddled
Like an innocent, soft child.
I’m living in those same lavender days,
Where at least the haze of the fog protects me from the fear.
But here I sit, and I plan every way that he will kill me,
And every way that I will have to pay
For indulging in our shared need to flee.
Oh you know the type—
the orchid woman
a cosmopolitan who cosmo sips
between snips of gist
her charisma a starship —collides
with your star-full eyes
supernova for Casanova
her pouty lips knit a glamour-mag smile
rows of sugar-white pearls
strung shiny straight
behind wet-red slicks of a Revlon stick
—cherry-juice bait dilates your want to taste
orchid woman’s glamorized mouth
for the masses to idolize
for many to fantasize
for her to tantalize
and advertise
there’s no need to compromise
with you
or your penny-candy conversation—
when beauty is legal tender
why invest in a waste of words?
ooh, orchid woman is w-i-l-d
an exotic sun-tanned narcotic
erotic her despotic bloom
quixotic your contemplation;
your entangled-limbs-expectation
that this frilly filly blooms just for you
and oh! just look how the honey makers buzz
watch the money-makers spend their sums—
worker bees blinded by her blonde neon
fall in her wake…
or maybe ‘diamond pro’s’ bling
stings and wrings their eyes
…who cares who falls..
when mere red rose adorations
and sticky sap Hallmark incantations
bear not the fruits of 24-karat donations—
Mmm! Mmm!
her traipse does shake like mango jelly sweet
orchid woman’s long-stemmed catwalk walk
full-rounded bouncy-buoyant racy-lacy-ecstasy
yup.. a thoroughbred— she’ll have you ridin’ high
to your credit and blame
you won’t feel her stiletto tips
when she diva-gold-digs ya
as nothing more than a runway-ramp
all slinky-strut-hips
and stay-the-night-vamp
till fly girl wields her strappy high-heels
in a rhythmical click-clack
all over the next middle-age stage
indeed! orchid woman
a hot-house hottie
fussy stuffy lil hussy—
...too much water?
….not enough water?!
oh no! she’s wilted—
sniffle.. snivel.. “where did I go wrong?!!”
mm-hmm.. high maintenance is s-u-c-h a turn on…
yeah… orchid woman is w-i-l-d (eye roll..)
Man's fate weighs heavily upon His soul,
exploiting the Earth; ego in control.
For as resources shrink, demand inflates,
indicating that disaster awaits.
A sullied sun traverses skies of blue;
as rusty rays: color a poison brew.
And the mountains are stripped bare of their trees;
while their topsoil's blown away with each breeze.
Oil slicks spread out like a blanket of death
while slowly stealing the sea otter's breath.
And fish are ravaged by commercial nets;
their habitats, uprooted by dragnets.
Trusted with Gaia's health, we've let Her down;
Her oceans are rising: we may all drown.
For both the Earth's poles are melting away;
as vast sheets of ice, split off every day.
As plates shift, Gaia's crust begins to quake,
and long-dormant volcanoes soon awake.
For being raped by the seed of Her womb:
She weaves a new Earth on a magma loom.
The boy gave a pass after sip.
The connection lame - lost my grip.
The fountain of suds
around my sole floods.
The humor and fear as I slip.
On pause, as I wait for a towel.
Aloof, as I cry and I howl.
Surrounded, I'm stuck
in pond like a duck.
This murderous flip's not too foul.
The youth, he's ashamed and he hides.
and knowingly, I do not chide.
I find and I hug,
I smile and I shrug.
This Gram thus takes slicks all in stride.
8/18/2019
*All too true of a story! One sip, then an entire can of sprite
spills out of the can. A scary accident! Thankfully I'm fine
and the four year old was not hurt!
The crowbar rattled at the clattering noise,
In the yard, against the hulls and hoys,
A Cloud of tar smoke rose through the green,
Large oil slicks floating on the lake sheen.
Inconsistent hills throughout the landscape,
The sunlight was a deep purple color shape,
Similar to the finishes of Florentine bronze,
That's it for the day, no real swans.
Overwhelming sadness now needs our song,
From death, an awful lot of sadness sprung,
What type of tears? What heart's grief arrest,
What sighs on sighs lobs the mom's breast?
With faint homes to brilliant ethereal light,
The enchanted guiltless has taken flight,
On the liberal bosom of undying love,
We find a concealed elevation above.
Warden, I realize you both mourn her loss,
She no longer feels the hold of pain across,
The regulations of elegance are without bias,
You can turn your pain into grace and praise.
The dread of the interminable assault,
The arrival of gizmos has long been sought,
All these notions had a major effect on history,
Each was a frightening age-related mystery.
The attack on slavery was nonsense,
Designed to hide the ambitions for pretense,
Never before has a tiny beast attacked so hard,
It just bites its horns and hides with its tiny shard.
Thoughts on webcasts, phone calls, Facebook,
Rising vitality contains attacks and an ebook,
Both were made by teenagers in their twenties
Bounty drives and precious realities.
Do not shed tears in the flowing river,
No real pain in the dark pits to deliver,
The first light was magnificently bright,
It was soon covered by the haze of the night.
This eliminates spontaneity, love, and anxiety,
It steals time and hides physical and moral piety,
Concept, politics, creation, and profit come first,
A blitzing slave was a lie to hide the curst.
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: September 08, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 32 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Those who live in the city
hightail it out to the country
to worship Nature with adoration
for them, a breathtaking vacation…
While those who dwell out in the sticks
drive in to see the city slicks
towering skyscrapers, endless shopping
keeps them hopping and be-bopping…
As for – yawn – me: Been there, done all that
Time to curl up with my fluffy housecat
Switch on the tube for the next moronic spat
‘tween MAGA-men and livid Democrats *
______________________________________
*'MAGA' stands for 'Make America Great Again,'
which was Donald Trump's campaign slogan.
Rumbles of boredom lead the mouth to eat
but then there are the unwashed,
the residue of the crumbling
and smeared. Greasy utensils
sneaking like sharks amongst the soaking dishes.
A need now to refresh this domestic pond
with chemical bubbles
yet hands are too dilatory
to be daubed by yesterday’s food.
One has to judge with perfect timing
whether to wash the plates or
leave them to poison the sink
for another hour or two.
The essential factors are smell
and guilt.
When the sludge of the once edible
blossoms rudely in an untidy kitchen
or the shredded rinds of a latent rigor mortis
coat themselves with the pimpled oils
of former slicks
only then is it time to reassess
just how peckish we are for leftovers.
Dust of the desert, a sailor's lost soul
Sun burns the truth and oil slicks unfold
Once brave, now broken and scarred
By the whispers of a love that fell apart
Left it all, faked his end, a tragic tale
Became Ron Fiori, beyond the pale
Whut-tay-mala’s embrace, a land of the free
The past fades away with the setting sea
Ron's Bar, a haven for the damned
Whiskey flows, secrets are slammed
With Zoe, the nights come alive
Her dark eyes hide a story to survive
Zoe Marroquín, jaded and worn
Her beauty a beacon, in a life forlorn
Cashier's grin, a mask of despair
But in Ron's shadow, she starts to dare
The strength of her weary eyes
Sparks of a fighter, ready to rise
Dances on the edge of the night
Love a currency, hearts take flight
DEA shadows, a deal in vain
Take down a monster, a new name to claim
Victor De LaRosa, the gold king's reign
A target for Ron, his Visa to sustain
Bullets fly, in the green embrace
Where a cartel's grip has no grace
Mission's clear, the price is high
Betrayal's shadow, always lies
Ron's Bar, a stage for the final act
Love and deceit intertwine and react
Zoe by his side, they're ready to flee
Panama, where they might live free
Run in the cover of night
Run for their lives with all their might
Hearts beating, a rhythm so stark
Their love, a beacon in the dark
In the chaos, they find their way
Green of the jungle a path to stray
Ron and Zoe, bound by fate's decree
Never truly free, in a world of misery
Dreary day, dreary day,
the gray hangs thick and deep;
why is it on dreary days
that I just want to sleep?
The rain’s coming steady,
rolls off of the roof steep,
fills the gutters high enough
that you could float a fleet,
drips off pine-green needles
so that the branches weep,
slicks the kitchen garden
and small herbs we shall reap,
annoys those out walking,
soaking shoes, socks, and feet,
driving most of them inside
for a dry place to meet,
but, alas, I work at home,
and though I’m feeling beat,
I get up and do the job…
There are contracts to keep.
Dreary day, dreary day,
the gray hangs thick and deep...
why is it these dreary days
just make me want to sleep?