Long Slough Poems
Long Slough Poems. Below are the most popular long Slough by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slough poems by poem length and keyword.
Potential cause célèbre dermatological solution
to stem palmar hyperhidrosis,
which medical break thru a last ditch effort
if Glycopyrrolate ineffective
to stave off sweaty hands.
Venerable Doctor Harold Milstein
an acclaimed dermatologist
possesses over 45 years
experience with Dermatologic Care,
Cosmetic Dermatology, and
Mohs Surgery than other specialists in his area.
Since adolescence (mine)
yours truly disabled
by aforementioned physiological symptoms,
just recently sought treatment
concerning above identified malady
with same specialist
who removed prominent benign moles
(mostly peppered shoulders to lower back,
whereby spouse used
colored indelible marker
to play connect the dots).
Initially yours truly underwent
regarding mole removal,
(albeit surgical excision)
herewith another free plug
courtesy Marlene J. Mash Associates
545 West Germantown Pike #100,
Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania 19462
approximately two dozens
earth orbitz round the sun ago.
State of the art biomedical, gastrointestinal
pharmacological, et cetera treatments
to allow, enable, and provide
relief from significant health issues
that plagued one mortal man
who feels grateful (before being dead)
Medicare picks up tab
what would otherwise be exorbitant costs
if yours truly (me)
lacked health insurance.
After very recent passing of dear ole dad
he provided more than basic needs,
when this here reasonably rhyming
gadabout goodfella just a lad
though yes..., when I happened
to slough off responsibility,
he (and mama, she be gone
to netherlands for ages)
father quick to exhibit anger mad
as a raging bull,
but in all respects
our well being (his dependents in general,
plus Georgie the
mixed breed Boxer/Dalmation
and Twinkles the cat
gave top notch priority
to kit and caboodle.
Drown.
It happens a pace imperceptible,
It is lost only at the moment it was perceived the
The aqua alta
Carved out an embayment in my heart
No rivers made room for the sea,
Tidal floods by the tumbling silver moonlight, sweeps in the silky waters as an insidious creeping, pending doom inexorably sweeps over,
The rise is slow, the water is murky,
Oh to be like a Venetian! Slough off the inconvenience of death,
Shall I look to the past as contretemps?
Shall I rearrange fate with a retrospective perspective?
Shall I reinterpret your fait accompli?
And the portent is grim—eustasy is is certain
And the weight of the life giving substance— extinguishes life.
I come to you from Greater Sudbury.
My mayor greater too.
I offer you a greater pleasure.
Our natter greater too.
We're all about a greater mission.
Our hope is greater too.
We'll look for you as greater tourists.
The pamphlets greater too.
We'll see you have a greater time.
Our scenery's greatest view.
We'll put you in a great hotel;
you're comfort greater through.
We'll sell you all our greatest goods.
The merchant's greatest woo.
You'll travel all our greater roads.
The potholes greater too.
We'll show you all our greatest things.
A slag dump baring slough.
Then aww you with our great big nickel;
a chimney and ah-choo.
We'll miss you when you go to leave.
You're absence greater too.
And think of you again
when next year's season's due.
it hurts to flail you
on a hill
stood her foot
eyes of chill
hairs of soot
my wicked witch
befalls all
with her *****
and booty call
i was one
to face her gall
and dungeon
of nightly enthrall
she bound me
to ropes
and ecstasy
pills to cope
two whites
does tricks
cure of night
pokes and pricks
my back
whip lashed
attacked
and gashed
the blood
spurted out
every thud
i re-shouted
i cried
candle wax
that fried
wounds max
i cried
she kissed
i defied
her bliss
smitten
more whips
and bitten
with clips
i re-cried
more candle wax
that fried
more wounds max
she eyes
her prize
between thighs
as it rise
i cringe
her rough
fringe
of slough
as she rode
the train
so bold
without refrain
on top
she sang
no stop
from bang
that night
wore on
crying sight
eyes are gone
mindless
of pain
and her bliss
and gain
duet again
she shouted
in vain
as i pouted
when done
hurt and defiled
i was stunned
at how wild
she became
under surface
flailing her game
with purpose
connie pachecho
2/9/17
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang back into the womb
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
haint got any got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
To live each day with mindfulness and poise
one needs to calm the noises of this world
and slough the needless moments of worry
that come from negative patterns and traits
Take a positive approach to life, fill it with
gratitude and hope, for a better tomorrow
When you are listening, truly listen do none else
When you are eating, bite it slowly and enjoy it
When you are seeing, see only the beauty behind
Live a life of purpose, take an open minded tour
Slow it down, clean it up, sort it out, make it count
Life is not to be rushed its to be tasted with joy
Send a message to your brain, "do it mindfully"
Take a positive approach to life, fill it with
gratitude and hope, for a better tomorrow
A Therianthrope’s Harsh Winter (Alternative Ending)
Snowflakes sunk into my soft fur
I purred as my fur began to puff
the puff wetting my once so soft fur.
I fluttered as my fur began to puff.
During the Nightengale, when its cold,
When my head is filled in the slough
tarnished in scuff making me less bold.
My lips shuddered in the freezing snow,
flakes flowed and i decided to bring my body to a fold
from hind legs to long legs nestled in snow
wallow in the warmth, losing my wool
soft skin leaving me in a soft glow
I run against the snow and its cool
running back to my home and no longer being a fool
With 365 days of mourning
we'll never need the news.
Or even read the paper
for any kind of clues.
We'll always have our mission
to bury all the dead.
And never stray from suffering
to make the trip ahead.
We'll always feel the shame
we didn't do enough.
and never need to blame
another for our slough.
We'll always see no choice;
the end was coming near.
And take the time to pray
foresaking all the fear.
We'll swallow all our tears
for what we didn't do.
Accepting all our fates
for what's aqquainted to.
And relive all our past
for what's been print to view.
Accepting what the term
obit has claimed for you.
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang
back into the womb
versus being threatened
courtesy beastie boy gang
beating me to a pulp
after accurately discerning
being scared less pang
suddenly imagining myself
buffered, and buttressed
within zen Sibyl
prophet table Chinese philosophy
known as Yin and Yang.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
haint got any got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
One of the feelings that I love most, is feeling the sand between my toes.
One of the smells that is precious to me, is the smell of the salt and the sand and
the sea.
Oh how I love feeling the wind, and the sound of waves crashing against the sand.
I close my eyes and still me inside, and just become one with these things.
I yearn most for a heavy forest, with towering tree's and gurgling streams.
I want nothing more than to run with the deer, be friends with the wolf, away from
people, no such thing as cities.
I close my eyes and I am there.
I love nothing more than to tromp through a slough, waist high in mud, and being
warmed by the sun.
To see foxes and and birds and snakes and bugs, those sights and those smells are
things that I love.
Be it ocean, or forest, or slough, those things mean nothing if it means loosing you.
So I stay in this city, a tainted caged place. You're what I love most, and where you
are is my perfect place.