Long Slippery Poems
Long Slippery Poems. Below are the most popular long Slippery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slippery poems by poem length and keyword.
Weary Is My Mind
I promise, I swear, I will never, I will always
That blaring sentiment of a pattering ghost that I detest
Among the empty hollowing of her mouth and eyelids
There lies darkness deep and unending that I fell into once,
never again.
Baffled and naked, afraid and convinced I was nearing my hearse
She runs screaming, yelping in madness as her body falls dead
Once I thought I knew, but as fate would incline
The truth would be only a weapon and shield–vulnerable. . .
never again.
The prating sound squawks as death marks before her squalid breathy voice
Her pupils' contract like a viper’s hint at prey, pouncing, and then devouring
The blood is left spattering and spurting among my grey, hollow walls
Only her wedded can clean out the muck as I have given up,
never again.
Coiling around me with her slippery scales, the precipice of my demise
The sword and the shield once though best, were only cardboard copies
My soul is shattered, and my will is blank, giving into her sweet, nectary venom
The forefront of my being is gone. . . crushed under a blanket of rue
For Weary Is My Mind
WINTER
Winter showing snowy splendor
elating elegant whiteness
in calm cold and chilly wonder.
Silvery snow shines to impress.
Chilled cold breeze blowing much no less.
Snow falling as droplets of rain.
Sledges slide on slippery snow.
Snow caps on sky kissing mountain.
Placid sky holds Sun in pale glow
White panorama to follow.
Birch displays ivory white bark
Boxwood hedges hide shy snowdrops
Nesting success by bird sky lark.
Snow flakes slipping on most roof tops.
Frosty waves hitting winter crops.
12/31/21
"Vibrationary Roadkill High Beam "
You look at a screen,
it’s like you’re driving
you know, full speed,
there you are planted
firmly
behind the wheel,
the windscreen wipers
are swiping bugs and crap
off the page and there
for once in your life,
you focus
full beam on
driving down a dark road
praying the ghouls, like deer,
will wander out into the
middle of it all;
you just know,
without hesitation,
instead of hitting the breaks
you’ll bust the story
slick,
like a
hardened ice puckey
slides to hell,
deliverance slides
into slippery gear...
written into the scene
the f-team flounder
clustering into full view
like a dream,
you move
your best hand in
an upward motion
shifting towards 5th gear
you press
the exalerator
like some Revelator
foot to the floor
lights on
all the way up
up high beam
messages of the driven
what’s written
and it’s
so very
cool
in the shade,
you ride the bumps,
like hiccups
you eventually stop,
you alight, get out
and close
the door.
you stand
for what you’re worth,
you walk the walk
forward
talking the talk
to yourself,
you don’t
look back
you think,
you feel,
and then you say
to what’s gone before,
9. 9. 9.
9 to reversing
9 to rehearsing
9 to bugs on a screen
vibrationary roadkill high beam
you're all
4
je t’adore.
Revelations.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
7.
the leaf of jack-fruit is luxuriant
i can’t remember whether i ever notice
the portrait of your face on it
there are so many words
that are slippery
how much rustic is the dust of the legs
of the young person is known to the road of the city
daubing green on both palms
i call for rain …oh rain ..oh rain
and into that rain i let my wrist-watch float
thus the great rainbow unfolds its wise mirror
on the scaffold of bottle-gourd
from the bright cloth-end falling down
the odour of detergent
thus the applied mathematics of the diesel
is learnt to a greater extent
8.
behind the change of colour of the swelled wind
the samovar plays no role
though you know it you tear off tears
from your eyes
and the merry biscuits that are kept in the jar
raise a joint demand to serve them
after wrapping with new banana-leaves
and the funny thing is that no accounts is found out
of the expenditure on the lip-stick that was used
by the fishes in the aquarium at the time of illness
of the antenna
by the hands of the clock stretching their shanks apart
is it possible to know the actual age of a comb
either it’s costly or cheap
Vicious thirsty hunting winds,
Chasing always down,
Emotion's infinite unchained vortex,
Thought claws raking bloody trails,
The wild silent scream disappears,
Upon leaving your speechless mouth.
Walls of cyclical caged fire,
Slippery mouth of Venus,
Slavering fangs hungry,
Ready to swallow the fly,
All else lost in moment's loss,
Sense confusion,
arrogance of intellect, curiosity;
The silent killers.
Falling deeper,
Hollow chasms of despair,
Black walls,
Ceiling and floor;
All greased with missed perception.
To late within forgotten prisons,
Bitter thought of the key;
You left outside the hole,
By the open doors of sanity,
Teasing jealous memory.
Material brooding led you here,
With grim abstraction of purpose,
To show you opaque headstones;
Of what was once visceral thought,
In the graveyard of your mind.
©David Nickle Read 2014
What whispering, wandering worries
Wash through your mind at night,
When sleep stays slippery and distant,
And stars strain softly for sight?
Do your thoughts surge and scatter,
Like restless, roaming seas,
A mind in tidal free-fall,
Pulled deep by unseen degrees?
Maybe the moments you managed that day,
Maybe the sentences said,
Like shells and soft shattered memories,
Still shifting inside of your head.
For me, it’s simple and certain,
No secrets, no stormy disguise,
My mind moves moon drawn and drifting
To the girl gently gracing my side.
She is my shore and still water,
My harbour from heavy waves,
Her legs, her laughter, her lips
Are the calm my current craves.
So I turn like a tide toward home,
Let the world wane and withdraw,
Held fast in her warm, waiting arms,
I sink into sleep’s soft shore.
The thing I must do’s just the thing I can’t.
It’s my artistic nature, I suppose.
Impatient, volatile and – heaven knows –
disposed to overthrow, subvert, supplant,
less drawn to things that are than those that aren’t.
A deft, exquisite ode trumps plodding prose;
four hours of labour, twenty of repose.
An acquerello, limber, quick, you’ll grant
is more attractive than your slippery oils,
since easier to manipulate. You see,
I’m not the turgid type that, tortured, toils
for excellence unshaped, illusory.
I’ll take it if it surges, fizzles, boils
and masters me. If not, I’ll let it be.
In Yorkshire, a bit of bacon-butty
in a greasy cafe -
could have had blood sausage.
My breaches are squeaking,
mice are leaving deposits.
Somehow a few do applaud
my slippery tongue.
Beer in Belfast
gray foaming weather
kept the damp town breezy.
Recite my crap.
Pub talk,
fist fights in the carpark,
I miss a missing train.
Read poems to smug buggers
in Birmingham,
drip out of there
and good riddance.
Back to London
and the mold riddled dump
that keeps me from
an old cranking typewriter.
Mind-ghosts slither
around its keys.
A poets life begins
haphazardly,
conflicted as it is
with the right to be
or not to be.
Exile prophet, seer of Patmos,
peering through a time yet future,
saw your rising, not from waters,
but from the bowels of the earth.
Lamb-like beast adorned with two horns,
destined by God’s grace for greatness.
Chosen while not yet a nation,
to be His servant in the world.
As the world’s Dark Age was ending,
you were rising like a beacon.
Luring Christians who were fleeing,
persecution in other lands.
On your shores, they built a nation,
on the bedrock of God’s laws.
Civil and religious freedom,
were the hallmarks of their compact.
Relying on God’s providence,
This nation rose to prominence.
Defying history’s outsized odds
She survived, grew, prospered, and thrived.
Though flawed, she proudly honored God,
opposing godless philosophies.
Her newspapers and magazines
were genial to her Christian views.
The children in her schools were taught,
the principles of Holy Writ.
The virtues that made humans good
were woven in her warp and woof.
The secret of her greatness was
the goodness of her principles.
Her founders warned of her decline
if she to evil would incline.
Then like a soul bewitched and cursed,
she started down a slippery slope.
This nation turned her back on God,
despised the good, lauded the bad.
The seeds she sowed have produced trees,
whose evil fruits have ripened fast.
The baleful results of the crop,
has led to her colossal drop.
The vacuum left by ousting God,
has now been filled by man-made gods.
The Baals, Venus, Ashtoreth,
and sundry gods now rule her land.
Consumed by materialism,
obsessed with sex, drunk with pleasure,
ruled by passion, confused, debauched,
her subjects worship at their shrines.
Life is not valued anymore,
mass killings are so commonplace.
The substances used for pleasure,
destroy and kill instead of thrill.
The tales of civilizations past,
predict the future that awaits,
to greet a nation that was great,
but who became an apostate
Now in the shadows a figure hides
Unmerciful rain collapses on my rooftops
The mind struggles to recollect lost senses
You take me on a victorious voyage to the Island of Paradise
Riding the waves of my intuition, I call for it
“Bring us the light at the end of the tunnel,”
I holler in the shade with Niagara Falls of hope
I hear you call to me gently in the dead of night
Why hide in the dust in the shame of frivolous defeat?
We graze in fields of forever gracious flowers as we lock hands
Don’t you worry—my patience is instilled in the dark
You elevate me higher than the clouds drifting wistfully
I trace your outline as my eyes acquaint with mystery
We have a slippery escape—a ride on a dolphin’s back
Staring…filled by the watery cadence
We sing merrily as we approach the trail of vitality
Trampled that you cannot accept my trust
The waves of the ocean bubbles us up with rare grace
I trace a detailed picture of you in the air
We ran faster than the breeze, rapidly brewing
I sketch in your panic eyes, furrowed gaze—and sigh
Give us words of wisdom to uplift our troubled souls
Not a cringe of movement, yet still I wait to create
We have to leap into the ring of fire—but how?
Imagination brought us together—now shadow, come out!
Let us be brave like the lion in the prairie…send us strength
Collaboration by Laura and David Breidenthal
*note: We wrote line after line without seeing the others' lines, and it actually came out quite nicely I think. : ) *
April 28, 2014