Long Slimes Poems
Long Slimes Poems. Below are the most popular long Slimes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slimes poems by poem length and keyword.
There is everything ugly about the little creepy snail
he delivers the slime scraping his foot. Maybe it’s his small,
pea size shrunken brain or those tiny eyes, or the way
he slinks on his flat foot that squirms underneath
his round tubular body with black eyes on the tips
of the long tentacles two, on his cold little head.
Two more short tentacles are upon the pointed head.
with the shorter pair for feeling around the park. The snail
has two long tentacles that hold his eyes on the tips.
At three years old they lay white eggs so white and small
which stick to them and are buried in the ground underneath.
Holes he digs to hide his body safely tucked away
from foes who know he’s tasty, so he goes on his way.
Piercing black eyes on top of his loathsome head,
s/he is a hermaphrodite with equipment underneath.
The shell reproduces itself, alone like other snails.
His radula is rough and grainy but still, a foot very small
with a row of tiny teeth which eats leaves on the tips.
If he falls over, struggling, his whole world tips.
Unfortunately he can’t get up having no legs anyway.
So what could be worse than to live life as a snail?
There are African snails who are 15 inches toe to head,
while the body is 2lbs of protein we boil and eat snails
who are harvested by hand in the ground underneath.
He flourishes as a pest in the dirty ground underneath.
The shell slimes along without instruction or tips.
What could be worse than to live life as a snail?
Destroying crops he eats root, stems and fruit on his way,
but if a dog eats the snail there’s death to his head.
A mythical figure and a symbol of deadly sin, so small
he has small dreams, but at church he generously tips,
with holy expectations, underneath he knows the way
to his heart and his head as a martyr enduring life as a snail.
She stood before his silent stare alone
Behind her howled the frantic arms of death
That once subdued her will, besmerged her bone
With the rancid ravaging of their breath.
She felt transparent as their condemning tongue
Shifted the weight of guilt to her for crimes
That senseless passions savaged reeked. She hung
Her eyes upon his face of love, the slimes
Of sin indulgent wage demand his justice
But he ignoring them wrote in the sand,
And she to his mercy bowed, eyes in mist
She touched her Creator's kind, tender hand.
And in the putrid purity of heart she
Pined to pour him oil and serve his mercy.
ii
The years, itinerant moments, fled fast
Along the dusty ways the marked preacher past
And many heard him, and many feared him
Shackled to the lucre vain, future grim
In the mission since eternity set
To ransome all the world through savage death
And one from his audience bait her breath
Her love flowering for him that met
Her condemnation with mercy most kind
And so at Bethany's feast she knelt bare
Feet to touch, devotion unspooled her hair
To mop them, moistened with tears and oil. Find
In history's annals an act more divine:
Mary's love preparing the Christ for his shrine.
Fungi, fungus, funguses thousand fold,
eukaryotic life kingdom of yeast and mold.
Ancient legends and myths from many times,
beginnings and ends through mulching slimes.
Egyptians sensed the connection in fungi to gods,
only Pharaohs allowed to have them as foods.
Consuming the fungi to become immortal static,
Mushroom stones in Mesoamerica enigmatic.
The Rig Veda describes the juice of Soma,
considered as precious liquid of stardust and earth aroma.
Indispensable in all worships and ritual,
similar to Greek deities of cognate ambrosia.
Consumed in Shamanic sessions to contact spirits of the dead,
fortifying long hunting trips an dreams thread.
Penicillin antibiotics against bacterial infection,
surviving the war with needed invention.
Psilocybin and psilocin magic shrooms,
DMT, acid blotters magic truffles booms.
Alice in wonderland and the philosopher’s stone,
introspective hallucination and psychosis throne.
Natures secret language by mildews organisms,
earths everlasting fungi dew compost prism.
Grapes of wrath despite the fire
In your bosom they burn
Can’t coalesce or coerce pressing problems to retire
Alongside frustrations and disappointments in the urn
That your world turns upside down
In lean times
That your pillow eiderdown
Limes in slimes
Raining from your eyes tears
Like fast running river water
Currents whose spears
In their sharpness batter
Your self esteem
To smithereens
Screaming and bouncing in stream
Screens and pins
From your delightful past
Have swollen
Doubt bouts cast
In stolen, crestfallen
Seesaws when your morale squeals
In its full span
Deals and reels
A regret van and pan
Floating and showboating
Restraining the anger
Clear, ***** and nearby flying and floating
Pangs and gangs of hunger
Wrath can’t cure
Your dilemma conundrum despite its cruelty
Skewer, pure and sure
Peace of mind of the variety
That a level head
Without raising temperatures
Or ruffling feathers on a boisterous bed
Achieves in brand new conflict resolution cultures.
Across the floor it slithers
Black tendrils creeping in
Searching for the beings
That revel in their sin
It spreads across the floorboards
Engulfs the carpets too
Gets in every single corner
Then makes its way to you
It gathers round the bed legs
Then slowly slimes it way
Feeding on your misdemeanours
As in your bed you lay
Then in a rush it heads for skin
Sinks into every pore
As it sets your skin on fire
Makes your muscles sore
Your heart begins to race
As it thickens up your blood
Pushing through your veins
Like lava through a flood
You won't know its happening
Until you feel your throat restrict
Then it leaves you in no doubt
That its your sins that it picked
Then finally it comes to rest
In the place your sins all start
It pierces its way through
Just like a poison dart
And when the darkness gets there
To the centre of your brain
It turns your sins against you
You join the army of insane
Form:
Onward then does Time ascend the eons it does build
Within the endless void of space which never shall be filled
Deep within the eons past, a Potency there compels
Horrors be extended from Evils which are Hells’
And herein do I dwell within Hell’s castle keep
With keys I do open doors and let the evils creep
Avarice and malfeasance let loose to run amuck
Despair and sorrow following, causing their havoc
Slimes that ooze and glisten with names that you know well
Cultivate and incubate the tribulations that are Hells’
I unleash the Hounds of Hell, in silence do I watch
Devoutly do they search - for souls they will debauch
Hounds of Hell cause someone to bid their soul adieu …
And now, my festered eyes await the soul they’ll bring from YOU!
My Snailippo Herd
Have you ever seen a snail go a crawling up a leaf
and wonder how it eats without some tiny teeth?
My back yard hosts the sailippo that grew from such a cause
without the need of feet nor hoofs, nor tail, or tiny claws?
He carries his house upon his back like any other snail
And slimes along the garden path wagging his short tail.
His eyes are set back in his head, his mouth is large & pale.
His call to other sailippos sounds like a tiny, siren’s wail.
He only appears in morning light among the fresh grown dew
or early evening’s fading light when night begins to brew.
My back yard hosts a herd of these that people want to see;
they come in droves and stare awhile, then give their coins to me.
6x6
6 x 6 on my way
to 6 feet down...
I live in a tent on the sidewalk,
near main and 7th.
Just down the street there are courthouses.
That is where they dispense the law.
They tell people what is right and what is wrong,
and how to follow along.
Yet the story does not end
but bends around and twists back.
The summer of love gone wrong.
It is an old song, sung by trolls,
that live in high towers,
and eat well.
None can spell or even read,
but they do know how to feed.
Votes for better times,
eaten up by slimes,
that live in the garden
turned to a desert,
but not a dessert for any.
Just a penny,
in the can to buy beans
again.
Loving them, despite the lies, despite the tears;
In spite of horrors, nightmares, fears.
We sing and laugh during our beginnings
Then fire the daff who helped our winnings.
Lay in wait, we cry, we take
Till we just can’t take no more.
They spin unholy tales and name the love they make
In the belly of their contaminated whore.
Survival, dear, who hears our cries, our lonely sighs?
The nights are full of longing.
Miss the good times, miss the bad,
Tearful slimes, make up songs. Sleep.
Get laid.
Miss the whore, we miss the madness.
Somehow we find time to clean the blade,
The weapon used to rid the badness;
The bloody, killing knife we keep,
We made.
There are mini-bunnies in between my fleshy toes
They live there in miniature rose bush that glows.
I watch them sometimes, amazed at their grimes.
Hopping between my big toe with green slimes.
Carrying passels of baby bunnies on their warm backs.
They visit each other, and laugh with tiny little hacks.
I sleep with my feet reposing in lettuce and worse.
Wanting them to eat up, and there are carrots in my purse.
Rewarding them for their yard work, glad that they glow.
Happy that their favorite thing in summer is to mow.
For they get out their lawn mowers and get all of the hair.
Off of my legs, that has been growing down there.