Long Sloth Poems
Long Sloth Poems. Below are the most popular long Sloth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sloth poems by poem length and keyword.
At early dawn solitude
surrounds all around.
Morning music starts prelude.
Shortly Sun will glow on east point in the sky.
boosting up a bird to fly.
The mother bird can fly high,
even it keeps a keen eye
on its nestling in the nest
taking rest
sitting indolent with half closed eyes.
dormant desire : when to fly !
Little birdie seeks comfort in cosy nest,
staying close to mother's breast.
also being aware of rising Sun doen't care at all.
Baby waits for mother’s call.
Red Sun comes up to bring
shiny rays falling on birdie's wing ,
alerting the drowsy fledgling.
Mild warmth thawed sloth
Snappy vigor came forth
Wings outstretching sharp
as bright morning Sun is up !
Mother bird descends diving profound
calling, whistling making shrill sound,
Little birdie flaps its wings
It responds with sweet chirping
Mother and baby swooped
Both reached the ground.
Mother puts its beak in hurry
On tender neck of cute birdie
with ardent ardor
in fervent fervour.
Sun feels proud to shower energy ray
Bird and chirpy birdie flew away.
It's the birdie's first try
feeling frolic to fly.
It's the doers that will do something in this world
The past it haunts with a heavy presence those idle souls
they sat back as the future of the next generation is stolen
The calling card boils down to those that breathe fresh air
remembering a quote which held me in thought
That peace was the enemy of memory
the wicked stand confounded framed by deeds
There is a spiritual war taking place backwards moving forward
how far down the ladder do we go before stepping up
Hate devours love examining the truth if it were to turn face
respect has lost all communication when fighting this beast
unrepentant it suffers the agony throwing bitterness to the fowl
When it crows it worms its way around sympathy
wicked it claws for acceptance never seeing guilty as justice
it hides with the sloth always seeking but never finding
On the tombstone carved once bitten twice shy
here lies the remains of a broken child
whom sold by actions a nation down the river
The Gunas three twirl us around
Hemmed in, all we may do is to respond
In waking, dream and deep sleep states
Mindful not to trauma bond
Tamas or sloth, a measure of our instinct
Stupor and inertia bogs us down
Yet if our heart be love inked
Transformed as light, we can never drown
Bemused by illusions, Rajas, fire of desire
Propels identity into action
But dwelling in stillness, eye of each storm
Feral urges gain no traction
Purity of Satva is the love and light of Self
A singularity wherefrom we chose to descend
Thus vaporising lower mind in surrender
We behold our inner being ascend
The see-saw battle of mind-body and senses
Manifests through the Gunas, that we may learn
That if God be the sconce within our heart
His flame of love and light in us will forever burn
You tell folks you’re as busy as a bee,
but I’ve been watching you. Here’s what I see:
you, sitting on the porch with book in hand
and dozing off. Is this the “work” you planned?
When I fly by your windows, I peek in.
Neglecting dirty dishes is a sin!
I’m shocked to see that messy, unmade bed!
You’re busy—like me? This is what you’ve said.
When you compare us two, I feel distressed.
Thus, in the name of fairness, I suggest
“I’m busy as a sloth” is apropos
for those like you. Let this be your motto!
June 13, 2022
entered in the Bee Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
At six o’clock in the morning
Upon the sixth of June
Came Michael-Paul O’Higgins
Into this bustling world.
At school he was but middling,
He never cut much ice
In English, Maths, Geography,
In Scripture, Sport or Art.
In early adolescence
On the back seat of a bus
He found a tract on how we must
Seek out Salvation’s path.
Soon at the local gospel hall
He preached with fire and zeal.
“Put all your trust in Jesus,
In no prelate, prince or priest.”
He learned a thousand texts by heart,
Knew the number of the Beast,
And having read the Bible through,
Turned back to Genesis.
His school performance soon shot up,
He banished ease and sloth.
No dirty jokes would pass his lips,
Like they might from other folks.
N this world, too, is virtue blessed.
His hard work soon bore fruit.
He gained a place at Oxford.
His ambition was the Church.
But lofty halls of learning
May stifle simple faith,
And Michael-Paul had fits of doubt
That caused his lapse from grace.
He switched to Economics
And flirted with Karl Marx.
To a secular millennium
He strove to find the path.
Soon active carrying banners,
Their colour deep-dyed red,
He got caught up in fisticuffs
And was bundled off to clink.
They noted his particulars,
Affiliations, too.
The magistrate just said “tut tut”
And he was free to go.
However minor was this brush,
He aimed to live it down.
He learned to mind his P’s and Q’s
And be just plain bourgeois.
Forgetting youth’s illusions,
For a salary safe and sure
Than ran into six figures
He sold Babylon his soul.
Up higher, ever higher,
He climbed each echelon
Until the plum job of his dreams
Was juggling on his nose.
But in some data memory bank
Was that record from his past,
The which, recalled in a routine check,
Gummed up his future plans.
He lost his job, his house, his wife,
He lost his heart and soul,
And now he’s palely loitering
In the long queue for the dole.
O wise man, give an answer,
O say what devil’s art
Has turned his world reformer,
This promising performer,
Into a mere statistic
On an economic chart?
Cast thy stones, cast thy stones,
Come ye one and all.
For ne’er were truer words than these:
“Pride cometh before the fall.”
Come ye saints, come ye church,
Let this be our creed:
“Despite the beams within our eyes,
This worn world was born to bleed.”
Come ye thieves, come ye whores,
Cast them if you may.
A martyr was I called to be,
So do so both brisk and gay.
What is sloth? What is greed?
All is vanity.
Have mercy priest and holy bride,
For sanity is my plea.
Take great heed, fellow saints!
For this is my creed:
“Forsake all pride and vanity,
Lest my cast stones make you bleed.”
Sidney sloth was so very very shy
He’d hide in the treetops way up high
Hanging upside down so no one could see
He’d painted his toes red like a ripe cherry
Sidney hid in the tree so silently
High in the branches where no one could see
But soon Sidney discovered a major snag
Ripe cherries were being picked and put in a bag
The cherry picker pulled at one of Sidney’s toes
Sidney was no longer in a state of sweet repose!
Wanting to maintain his privacy
Sidney climbed to the top of the tree
Soon autumn came and the leaves she did thieve
Forcing poor Sidney to hurriedly leave
Sidney sought sanctuary in a local zoo
Now he can’t be seen by me or you!
Fun write inspired by the idiom contest
07~29~16
New or Old 3 contest Sponsored by Eve Roper
Animal kingdom was invited to join the forest meadow
Band orchestrated by the deniable dictator, diabolical gorilla king
Causing loads of premature bragging from delighted grand-animals.
Deliriously enthusiastic orangutans began to show off their voice prowess.
Excited flocks, herds, and murders flooded to the pre-set sign up spot.
Furiously signing up offspring, and occasionally a non-mothered village orphan.
Giraffe’s heads appeared beside the treetops, sticking out willy-nilly.
Haphazardly, eagles, owls, and songbirds sat among the leafy, sparkly greening branches.
I was smoothly hidden high in the Sycamore tree with a few cardinals.
Jealous zebras began stomping and spitting, thinking they were not going to get their “due”.
Kind mother opossum tried in vain to do a little conflict mediation, wanting unity and peace.
Lackadaisical sloth took a seat in the branch ten feet above my head, making my branch shake.
Maestro Moran, the appointed organizer, a giant Mammoth gave out assigned places.
Newly arriving animals began choosing partners; not realizing band is solitary.
Old Timer Orangutans began donating band equipment they no longer used, mikes too.
Puma is not invited Brother Bear yelled, stating that Puma always caused trouble in night class
Quintessential beaver suggested we give baby Puma a chance and a few agreed.
Raccoons who disagreed began slapping each other upside the head, like the three stooges.
Sh! A few animal mothers began to hiss. Few of us heard them, as they were not loud enough.
Too many were speaking to hear, and animal chaos seemed to be the order of the day.
Unification nowhere in sight, I stayed put, hoping I was fully hidden. The Zebras were still grumbling.
Very intelligent leaders assess things quickly, and Maestro Mammoth was no dummy.
“Walrus, wolf, toad, and beaver will pick out instruments for students first through 6th,” he announced.
“Xylophones for all of the kindergarten students.” Cheers went all around the forest meadow.
Yippee for the music teacher! Someone yelled. I am not sure if it was a wolf or an orangutan.
“Zebra’s choice!” Maestro announced. Band practice had begun!
Poetic Delirium
In this most poetic holy state I now do live.
Whereof, my entire self, I most desire to give.
Raindrops of new feelings and divine, colorful thoughts.
Of these, like a storm, in a constant, pummeling onslaught.
Nay, nay..peaceful nights, doth this poetess ever have!
Both quill and parchment, be my saving salve!
One poem a day, my Muse cannot bear.
"Thou lazy, sloth of a poet, I shall pull out roots of your lazy, pitiful hair!"
Frightened wench that I am, I proffer,
"Alas, no great ideas do I have to offer!"
"What sheer nonsense, you lazy, liar you."
She's a stern taskmaster, 'this poem a day,'she strongly eschews.
Food, that masses normally eat, lies cold on the floor at my feet.
I cannot eat, before a new poem, is fed to her first, 'tis her Olympian
treat!
"Don't you even consider going to sleep!"
In protest, tears I cry from sheer exhaustion and yes, I do weep!
The sun greets me, with her,in Greek gown standing there.
A smile, so wonderfully bright, welcoming me to a day of writing poetry,
original, and hopefully touching and rare!
"Hide not behind words of beauty fair, an entertainer, you are not!
But do thou freely open your life and of your tender, beating, heart!"
Let your written melodic, celestial harmonies,
Bring love, hope and kindness to this orb, everywhere!"
With that mystical midnight message,an
opalescent chariot whisked her majestically away.
Imagining I wore Aphrodite's wise, sweet crown
to begin yet anew, a poetic,soul awakening day!
July 24, 2020
Contest: Strand Completely New (13)
Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Charles and I jog 5 or 6 miles every morning starting at 4:40am
before houses turn on their lights and traffic becomes a thing.
Paris is still, and thanks to twilight-vision, beautifully rendered
in noir-like black & white where red flowers look nearly black
against the slightly brighter green foliage - teals seem immune.
The dewy Champ de Mars grass reflects light in rainbows.
Our tandem steps seem to slap at damp cobblestones
but when we’re on pavement, we’re silent as ghosts
At this hour, the city’s reds are missing. Café awnings,
and the little red wounds of geraniums surrender to black.
Iron becomes charcoal and silhouetted people suspicious.
The Seine, edged by mist and passing by fast, looks like cold steel death
A lone cyclist cuts across the avenue, his face seemingly erased by shadow.
Electric buses glide silently past, announced only by their dim flickering lights.
A baker raises his shutter, and a warm gold leaks into the shadowed scene.
As we tack south, an hour and five miles later, a glow lights the horizon.
The tower’s black lattice softens toward brown, then blooms into a fiery bronze.
Roses recover their red, and the river loses its dark, menacing, criminal shine.
Just as we cross back over the river, the sun breaks the horizon as if in pursuit
- a half a block later we turn onto our cool, shaded home avenue.
The rest of the day I’m a practicing sloth.
So much so, that my Apple Watch reacts to my even standing up,
as if I’d won a medal - declaring me a bi-ped.
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A song for this:
Shimmer by Meghan Trainor