Long Slipshod Poems
Long Slipshod Poems. Below are the most popular long Slipshod by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slipshod poems by poem length and keyword.
Fall leaves tumble to their slipshod decay,
oozing from the crowns of tedious trees.
A mephitic scrunch with their latter sway,
as they are raked into wide whisking seas.
Coral-hued yew berries grace the yard's path,
late hollyhocks, and sunflowers shine bright.
Marigolds adorn door homes with gold lath,
thorn twigs in crimson holes dapple faxed sight.
As the bounty of nature sparks strange start,
saffron periwinkle countless bright shades.
Giving a boost to the Fall grandeur art;
the hues of oak trees fluctuate by glades.
Topaz leaves stuck in a sapphire whisk breeze;
fall reveals deep facts, a sprint ember squeeze.
Morality and self-fulfillment
attainable without belief in God
similarly yours truly
would figuratively crane
his credulity to ascertain Ichabod
mentioned in first Book of Samuel
as purported son of Phinehas,
I reject entire Biblical text,
and prefer to remain sacrilegious
eschewing faith no more,
(cuz doctrinaire versus
epistemological paradigm)
disagreeable, thus essentially
resigning yours truly
as token scapegoat gussied
up as heretical nimrod
metaphorically winkin blinkin
nonverbally giving nod
even if deaf mute blatherskite
reduced in one sentence as an odd
ditty, I spout gibberish
while travelling finite orbitz,
whereby one metrical foot
in front of thee other hide doth plod
me along tried and
true value schlemiel totally slipshod
thru and through,
though no po' tightwad!
Growing up amidst paternal
skeptical and cynical dad
in retrospect, I feel moral less glad
to avoid orthodox precepts
foisted when juiced a wee lad,
who peculiarly enough
resembled Alfred E. Neuman
if only yours truly
a figment of imagination,
rather than experiencing being sad
sack these days purposelessly
shuffling within ma rented pad
i.e. one bedroom apartment
listening to spouse more'n tad
annoying if oft times
knows exactly what childlike behavior
finds me getting stark raving mad.
Familiarity breeds contempt,
and the missus (unlike other gals)
unconditionally accepts her sir
vile counterpart (me) unkempt,
where neither of us
once upon a time dreamt
that each the other
would survive foreign attempt
to pledge troth (courtesy
justice of the peace
also known as
Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson of Lower Merion
nsync with fame of Kobe Bryant
Written: August 02, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
***************
In the slipshod cradle beneath the apple tree,
a bruised fruit folds ajar—
molten sweet sapidity pooling
through velvet skin.
Eviscerated grace, they say,
but I grasp the quiddity of life unmasked.
A burnt sienna kiss of aurora—
flesh undulating with fungal bloom,
wispy gossamer threads that stitch
the inevitable return to the earth.
It is not ruined.
It is a transformation:
a diaphanous ballet
between death and what dreams may grow.
We ogle brightness,
but rot is brighter still—iridescent with purpose,
alabaster spores pirouetting as sylphlike specters
on a sacred odyssey to placate
the starving soil.
It is seraphic.
It is a panacea.
It is quintessence made humble.
Rapture lies in this ineffable nexus—
decay whispers loud as a lullaby.
The rakish grubs maunder through
a velvet pyre of rind and memory,
and the loquacious beetle sermonizes
on endings as beginnings,
as though time had a gullet
And rot was its sweetest wine.
Call it grotesque.
Call it abhorrent.
But beauty—true, ineffable beauty—
wears many masks.
And in these nebulous throes of perishing,
I watch a face burnished by truth,
smiling with roots in its eyes.
As every cassock is enough to tell
You are a minister
Either a chorister or a pastor
To grace well and impel
Is seeing you become only God's toastmaker
Every sunset gives us one day less to live
Count your seeds of the spirit
Spread through undaunted love
And not the course of service's bigot
But testimonies of brethren who enjoy your patency
But every sunrise give us one day more to hope
Most time making all observations dumbstruck
Replying each and every with a thunderstruck
It is no near to count a botch
If its effects work like a troche
Hope for the best for we are all human
Flaws are inevitable but can be abandon
No one has ever achieve chancery with God
That has ever live on earth a slipshod being
But clinching His dictates can make you ratherish well-bred
Good Luck
Get strong
Beefing do suck
Flee off wrong
It gets growth abating
Be the David's type Shepherd
Familiar with the said story
Not needed to be re-established
Failure needs no sorry
Be up and doing...
Written: August 16, 2025, for contest by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
"conjoined with the whole - we play our life role
exuding a scent - granting love consent"
************
Conjoined with the Whole
Not as sovereigns,
but as sylphlike strands,
woven into a ductile tapestry—
Each act of kindness forges
a bond within the communal consciousness.
Love is not a shadowy incantation,
nor a glamour to inveigle us into isolation.
It is hortatory, beckoning forth...
a rosy summons to convene,
amid the clangor of squalor and sojourn
to supplant the slipshod ache
with a warm intention.
We are not mere wanderers
adrift in nebulous vacuum—
We are emulous embers,
thirsting for the amaranthine,
avid to imbue our days,
with seraphic resonance.
Community is not a chimera,
It is pavonine in its iridescent truth,
multivocal in its sweet sorrow,
edacious for connection
but never laden with avarice.
We do not dismiss the burden—
We collocate it, we share it
withdraw from silence,
and cast aside the Icarus myth,
a tale of solitary flight,
Even the untamed child.
crumbles for the quest of kinship—
Even the weary elder winnows,
the soothing balm of a neighbor’s touch.
Love sanctions its courtliness—
not merely a whispered sigh,
but as a philanthropic deed,
a calyx protruding,
amid the clamor of desire.
To love is to be an iconoclast
to find solace in a gentle embrace—
to forbear the yearning
to anathematize others
to witness the evocative elysian—
in the eyes of the distraught.
We are not aphonic.
We are harmonious,
even in our disconsolate times.
We are evocative, full of meaning,
even when our souls feel drained.
And when we reflect,
We accomplish this together—
in the emollient of shared grief,
in the soothing touch of shared joy.
So let us frolic with abandon,
Let us explore the hidden meadows of our lives.
Let us gather in our joy,
transcendent in our understanding,
Our sense of self is transient.
Let us be love—
not as an elusive dream,
but a tangible act.
Let us be united with the whole.
And play our life roles.
with eloquence
vibrancy,
and grace.
One lady waits
for her long dead mother to visit,
another, earnestly informs her husband
that she is far too young to marry him.
One guy stumbles up to a care-worker,
his tongue drooling rakishly.
He wants her badly
but his pick-up lines
are clogged between gums and dentures.
A green leaf hangs from a dying tree.
“Put that away Mr. Fanshaw”!
They come and go
through holes in their memories.
These, the old and put away,
in their careless and slipshod way,
remind us that autumnal brains
wither of living stems.
As I near the last dance
I wonder
how green my sap will be
when it dangles over
the edge of the unknown.
FRAMING THE PIN-UP GIRL
His hands, they frame and catch, the pin-up girl.
Tanned hands, they're hot - he drops his sweaty palms.
Her lips - plum succulence. Hair’s suavely curl ~
a brilliant cinnamon. He has some qualms.
Approaches beauty queen with plastered smile.
She feigns to look away ~ that’s just her way.
Performance broken by his slipshod style.
Turns out, they're moon and sun ~ like night and day.
The opposite attract of belle and nerd,
A curative for broken-hearted ~ bliss.
A certain bit of trouble is assured.
Before the final curtain falls ~ love’s kiss.
He’s coy and lovable and kind of dreamy.
She’s brash and pushy but she’s rather steamy.
9/28/2017
Sirens sounded secretly securing source. Strait sacks swooshed scamps scaling sensitive sentries (simply spayed seals) surveying surrounding staked spy sotted sham semicircular slipshod shelter. Snappy, Snippy, Snoopy suited Skyhawks surprisingly swooped somnambulant senseless scriveners. Sargent Salemander slipped shiny shimmering shellacked Sheppards Shutterfly sidearms sized simulated small skyscraper slinky, soapy, spooky squarely summoned, sentenced, sacrificed see swarthy Samsonite satraps Section SpecialOps.
Sometime soon savior snuck stealthily stealing sinful schleppers. sundown syzygy saw serendipitous, surreptitious, surreptitious segue-way shuttled safely Scottish shoals. Stigmatization stayed steady. Supplication statements swatted. Sole survivor swiftly spun self shaming sesquipedalian soliloquy. Sea side serenade soon spewed solipsism saving Slim Shady.
Sayonara seminal surfer swirling scarily sans sinister serpentine silent space.
The day is conceived,
tossed bedsheets birth landscapes.
Apelike, a grin gawps.
In the backroom of a slow thought
I dress for breakfast -
recall the tropics,
sticky rice, coconut milk and
one huge river prawn,
all wrapped in a banana leaf.
Slipshod I slip away from that world
adjusting my internal optics.
A blueberry muffin with honey
on a checkered tablecloth,
lashings of watery sunshine.
That was yesterday or last year.
time can be as allusive
as a bottomless eggcup.
This absolute and irrevocable morning,
my gut burns from cheap Canadian whisky.
A mirror implanted into a watching mind
reflects only my belly flop
as I leg crawl into pants.
Less feral creatures than we castaway suburbanites,
gather to forage as the sky climbs
over the hedgerow.
I had a strange dream,
It could have been last night
or a faraway fear
returning from a place no-where near.
Maybe it was only a shadowland
cast upon a cranial wall,
a peeling mural
upon which sermons and bibles
were hung like bats
from dead apple trees.
The kitchen counter
has a note on it:
“Gone to church, there’s
bread in the toaster
we have run out of butter – love you.”
There is an over-ripe banana
by the coffeemaker.
I eat it.
Coltrane with Giant Steps coming downstairs, feeling A Love Supreme after two weeks
King going up the mountain and dreaming as he speaks
Miles said, So What... Kind of Blue
Malcolm, By Any Means Necessary, sees it through
Michael, a Dancing Machine, getting Off the Wall for a Thriller
Ali's Rope-a-Dope and Thrilla in Manila
Hank hammering the big 715
Prince's Sign O' the Times in Purple Rain seems
Your work is yours, so get on up and complete your earthly chores
Hansberry's Raisin in the Sun
Madame Walker with her pellucid vision
Aretha's Respect of a Natural Woman
Maya poetically teaches about a Phenomenal Woman
Claudette Colvin on the bus refusing to stand
Angela Davis' incessant fight for the civil rights of "Hue-Man."
Zora Neale Hurston saw "Their Eyes Were Watching God."
"Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Cole Porter Song Book" is no slipshod
Your work is yours; get on up now and complete your earthly chores
Dr. Sebi confidently professes the essence of sea moss
Dr. Cress-Welsing released 'The Isis Papers' like a queen boss
Mae Jemison is traveling into outer space
Wendell Scott blazed through NASCAR without a trace
Ooooooh! When I say your work is yours...
You'd better be getting up and completing your earthly chores