Long Slippy Poems
Long Slippy Poems. Below are the most popular long Slippy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slippy poems by poem length and keyword.
Yes, I didn’t come here; I didn’t touch this soft body
I didn’t consume the wine where you were sleepy
It’s a long grassy lawn; splendid roof of the violet sky
Where the bed of roses kissed the bared lusty eyes
Long; for long time of my absence made all over void
Before the presence of me heard scattered annoyed
No chariot of knowledge crossed your scandalous lips
Dripping of bloody ink watered your roots of the nibs
I was not dead but lost everything on the planet of youth
As delirious now the footsteps find out the vagrant booth
Burned stars slough off on the door-sill of derelict poet
No classical singer comes to celebrate the letter of duet
Where you are living there I’m living also as the voice of song
The slippy tongue kills our harmony living without sturdy bone
© Mahtab Bangalee
27 January, 2022
Chattogram
Five Beginnings
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do next.”
Loveless, we sat down together to our evening meal.
It wasn’t until I collect by bag at the airport that I realised I didn’t love him anymore.
The fridge started to gurgle.
He let me stroke his hair, unlike my daughter who enjoyed my attention and touch.
with one of these Five Middles
He knew it as well as I did that we hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I just can’t wake to another day of the mundane.
“You really are the spitting image of him” I said, whilst straightening his tie and top button.
Bang.
Five years ago, I never would have predicted that this would have been my life.
could lead up to which of these Fives Endings?
I mean, the obituary in the newspaper didn’t even get the date that she died correct.
All was well now.
In hindsight, I just should not have said that I would.
He faltered, like a new born calf taking its first slippy steps.
“This is what it’s all been leading up to.”
Looking up at the light
As i am now down in the drain
Being cosy and warm
Its not quite the same
I'm in a channel floating on my back
Something brown brushed me
" Yuchers " what was that!!
Its so dark i couldn't see
An uneaten sandwich
Och, now I'm hungry
It seems I've gone miles
In the darkness and smell
If it was not for the dream
Life would be real swell
Floating under houses
I've gone under streets
Brights eyes in the dark
Blimey, i hope we don't meet
Its seem like i've come to another end
I pity these spiders
Who are washed round the bend
Hey! up ahead i see dry land
I feel cunning now, have to think of a plan
I need to navigate, and use my nose
But down in these drains
Its suffered some blows
I reach the point where i climb the wall
With two little legs, I'm sure to fall
I laugh because they can't climb the bath
I'm struggling with, their basic path
Its grimy, slippy, smelly and sticky
This aroma of us, is very sickly
So to all you spiders, who are washed down the drain
I can understand, why life's never the same
Repost
Walking alone in this world
not knowing right step to take
the surface can be very slippy
indeed you can fall if you brake
We all need a solid foundation
one that is trustful and true
holding you close and real secure
having calm and peace forever new
This is found only in God almighty
strong to save the beacon of light
shining forcefully in your life
makes you standing strong to fight
In His mercy and abiding grace
your footsteps don’t slip or slide
they are held fast in His grip
you can truly in your Lord confide
This is your abiding true testimony
that your anchor is eternally sure
trust and obey your sure foundation
so in Christ you’ll always endure
('My steps have held fast to your paths;
my feet have not slipped.') Psalm 17: 5 (ESV)
I marvel at the hope found in evolution,
The message of newness everyday;
The ancestry, use of strength, genetics,
The honouring of sex and life’s sway.
The knowledge that behaviour matters,
What I do daily determines my genes,
That I pass on to my children, grandkids,
And influences my relationship scenes.
To take belief out with its fine context,
Is cruel, dangerous and unnecessary,
Makes the body clock jeer at the text,
Introduces a slippy catch, not arbitrary.
I can be made happy by visiting the zoo,
By interacting with monkeys which thrill,
Which save me from my introversion wazoo,
Apes, giraffes, camels with expression fill.
I don’t know if god exists, but am sure not,
So if I talk to him, it’s a different experience,
So I’d rather, if in doubt, when I’m fraught,
Speak to animals who have no diffidence.
There is one job I could never do
ever since leaving school this was a no
never felt any real direction at that time
but a fish shop job was never ever so
The smell of fish always put me off
even from a early age to smell
I just couldn't stand this aroma
fish and me would not ever gel
Today when I walk past a fish shop
just have to move on up my speed
so glad to reach another store
for to any other shop I'll take lead
The thought of handling these creatures
so slippy, slimy, and lengthy things
my answer would be an immediate no
foreboding fish thoughts mindfully brings
Fishy smell is not at all me
its funny as I don't cause a fuss
most foods I like even some I love
but take away fish or I'll get the bus
( This is written about the one job I could never do for the smell would make me run away)
O’ fluid friend,—
—O’ liquid lover, please
embrace me, soothe my sootheless, stranded soul—,
—caress my restless thoughts, and set them still.—
O’ sap of spirit,—
—sweet sip of ambrose!
O’ potent potion,—
—O’ magic mixture, daze
me, dazzle me, nuzzle me, numb my frill
fringes |— —| Droll Dame, find me a drooling fool.—
O’ nectar of the night,—
—dose me for a doze…
Keep me cohere,nt and comp,osed—‘sxcu,se me—
I’m stumblin’ on your slippy words,(I meant
mine,—ours?)and now you sweep me to the flo,or.
…
O’ fluke of fortune!, wicked whiskey’s woe!,
why wrong you me thus?, morn’s scalding sun askant
breaks blaring through my window,— head — aches — …sore.
Caged magnetic daydreams of lucid migration;
I’ve been there before. It’s forbidden:
Orchard carved calligraphy crisply cut -
Spiraled surface-scratched immortality
Dimly azure, aglow on videotape,
Red, blue, green. Nature’s baby grand.
An organic player-piano ceaseless
In mellow tone, perched potpourri hillside,
Plucking raspberry notes of beautiful song;
Translucent aches nestled by slippy wake
That ricochet ripples, careening whispers
Through rendezvous dreams.
Seductive susurrus, sentient, shadowy,
Teasing temptation longed to taste;
Siren’s breathiness gurgles in devilish dive,
Swooshes, swoops, swallows. Tickles.
Siren’s breathless gurgle chokes drowned lies.
But…so serene. Feather soft tranquility.
Lyrical folly forbidden. Salmon pink.
2/3/2017
_____________________________________________
Writer’s note:
Told as a pet parakeet (while his owner listens to Radiohead’s song Videotape) whose cage is hung in the window of a cottage overlooking a stream through an orchard while the sun goes down who was a fish in a past life but, sadly, drowned due to a mental disorder which caused him to believe he was a bird and, consequently, spend all day trying to fly out of the water…until the day he refused to use his gills to breathe since, after all, birds don’t have gills.
The scuffling duo sparred in the park
Their screams and shouts so very marked
A bag was clutched in the woman's hand
A man had grabbed it while he harangued
"Let go!" He shrilled and tugged it more
"Tis mine, not yours!" The woman swore
The strap tore his hand, he released his grip
The woman fell back in one mighty trip
Another spoke out with voice strong and stern
"It belongs to her, so it must be returned."
The other placated the poor fallen lass
He showed her the bag with gold coloured hasp
The woman leapt up, grabbed the bag and was gone
"It belonged to my wife." Said the man all forlorn
"Oh I'm sorry." Said the other, watching her go
Laughing and jeering, bag firmly in tow
She headed toward a blue, murky pond
The path, alongside, was slippy beyond
Now her footing was lost to the slime and the mud
As she sallied forth into furthermore sludge
The man strode swiftly to view her demise
With a duck on her head holding its prize
The little red bag was firm in its beak
So the man took it back and the duck said quack quack.
On a cold, chilly October autumn street,
One can watch bright coloured twirling leafs,
and the prompt urban wanders who walk on them,
you’d yearn to engage with these throngs at least,
how they might unravel a facade or two in sequence,
quite often on many occasions I imagine their stories,
If I only had the gumption to speak to them,
whirl pool rain and storms indeed might be a hindrance,
wind allied to drizzle an incentive to cafe caper refuge,
a general overall dampness, wet, drizzle, grey skies,
Predictable intrusion of the normal outlet that rambling obviously is,
instant topic to dwell on covering a wide range therein,
seasons have such insole penchant for moulding outlook,
symbolism is mine to grasp and expand on foot,
pavement as a slippy shivery theatrical perilous stage,
It can be perceived as home to the shrewd adaptable speaker,
actor, actress, character, playwright,
audience,
will the earnest crisp daylight morning fall fodder dominate?
as I boldly essay an impromptu unrehearsed passage in situ,
yet silent thoughtful conversation has already composed the script