Long Slumped Poems
Long Slumped Poems. Below are the most popular long Slumped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slumped poems by poem length and keyword.
Lower food and gas prices
The lies you tell.
No cuts to medicaid
The lies you tell.
The war has been won
The lies you tell.
Transparency for the Epstein files
The lies you tell.
The deal with Iran
The lies you tell.
Why is everything that come out of your mouth a lie?
It's a shame that people don't practice what they preach.
And for that this idiot should be impeached.
No compassion for the soldiers who risked their lives
For a president whose told the world nothing but lies.
But some will follow this nut to the end, and with that some will vote for him again.
Are you that demonic, blind to the fact
That hatred is expensive and we witnessing that.
How many more have to die before enough is enough?
Before this idiot is removed and placed in handcuffs.
Held accountable for all the crimes
that congress has turned a blind eye.
It's sickening that so many more have to die.
But that's how you voted so thats what you get. What you reap is what you sow. And so the shoe fits.
So there's no need for crying
Cause we sitting back chillin
Not trying to be bothered with this tyrannical villain.
The world is in chaos the economy has slumped, but yall believes the lies that were promised by Trump????????????????????
It was a righteous hit and the silky smooth euphoric familiar feeling was racing through her veins to her encephalon.
It was an energetic stimulation to her central nervous system.
Her whole body fell back onto the foul-smelling and heavily stained mattress.
Her mind slumped into oblivion.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
The last thing she remembers seeing was a vivid shadow.
A shadow of a housefly on the ceiling.
It appeared to be eating something.
Through a purple haze, she wonders about the filthy creature.
In nonsensical supposition, she could feel the beastly fly attack.
Scissoring meticulously against the flesh of her forehead.
Scissoring against the hard connective tissue of her skull.
Systematically and relentlessly thrusting its cutting blades.
Regurgitating its vile acid fluid onto the soft tissue of her cerebrum.
Imaginable pain and reverberation of the piercing sound were consistent.
And then, the morning light faded.
She saw luminous colors of red, yellow, and different shades of blue, like cyan and turquoise.
She felt her body floating around in a large kaleidoscope.
copyright 2016 Torsional Storm
The hypnotic thrum of the wheels
Drumming smoothly along the tracks
Inside the early morning hush
Broken by the rare stifled cough
The casual rustling of a newspaper
And the whisper of sporadic conversation.
A body slumped against the window
Business papers being scanned
Earpieces inviting oblivion to the outside world
Anxious glances thrown at watches.
The driver whistles quietly to himself
Glad that soon his shift will be over
Trees ,bushes,houses and bridges
Slide past,silent observers of the passing scene.
What is that?He stiffens
The crucifixion shape on the parapet
The manual did spell out such eventualities.
Uselessly he slams on the brakes
He glimpses the inward looking eyes
The body glances off the windscreen
The brakes screech and squeal
And the acrid stench of burning flesh fills the air.
The sickening jolt throws
Everyone awake.
Time grinds to a halt.
When I closed the door one last time
Turning to say my last good byes
You lay slumped in silence as I cried;
Where once you sparkled with honor and pride
Now, sadly, I leave you behind, alone
Destined for places unknown
Gathering the pieces of my shattered heart
Each a reminder of the hope we would never part
All the adventures we would take, on highways
And winding country roads over mountains that led to the sea
Through rainstorms and blizzards and hot blistery days
In daylight and darkness we were free
Then, on that fateful Sunday morning,
As we drove along happily in song
Our relationship stricken and irreparably torn
By a reckless incident that now, I morn.
Written for my daughter, whose sadness I share.
.
Gifted souls with tender touch
and morning dew
Slumped forward with pen and slip
eager to share what God to us
did bless
Rhyming and flowing
serving those who crave
the passion and desire
of the poets mind
A sip of the goblet
and an extra word
to keep the hearts
of the excited
in burn
There I go again
Dropping the ball
Hoping, praying
it will bounce back into awkward hands
I stumble upon my rubbered legs
Falling beyond athletic aspirations
Never much for teamworks disappointments
I listen as the opposition cheers
One step closer to their dreams
My shoulders slumped
Inside my head I want to scream
I was never part of this team
My frustration erupts from my eyes
Nothing but disdain from bigger guys
I drop my glove, head off the field
Perhaps some distance will be a shield
Then one guy walks over to me
He says, "dont worry it's okay.
They're just a bunch of jerks anyway.
With more practice you'll learn to play,
we can get together another day."
With that he gives me a smile
I say "I'll be okay in a while"
He is cool and now my friend
At least I hope it's not pretend
...With that he kicked his horse in the flanks
and charged towards Thompson and the men,
not expecting it, two of them went down
before they realized he was no longer Friend.
Now it was just Thompson and Stomping Bird
who returned fire as he charged their way.
He felt two bullets hit, but he did not fall,
he bulled his tired horse into the fray!
Stomping Bird appeared suddenly in front of him,
anders fired at him without respite,
their horses collided and he was thrown clear,
then landed hard upon his right side.
Bleeding from wounds, his ribs broken,
he turned over and saw Black Thompson
seated on his horse, wounded in one arm,
but in the other held his Smith & Wesson.
“Damn fool I was to ever trust a mad man,”
the thug snarled as he gazed on down.
“You shoot up my men, and for that act
I’m leaving your body to rot on this ground!”
Anders just smiled at his former partner,
said,”Go ahead and use that big gun.
Better I die the man I once was,
then live as the monster I’ve become.”
Thompson took aim, Anders jolted his wrist,
sliding out a two-barrel Derringer,
gunshots rang out across the prairie,
an echoing report of their fire.
Thompson slumped low, pitched off his mount,
two slugs gone straight through his head,
Anders struggled hard to catch his breath,
his chest home to a new piece of lead.
His vision was fading, but he swore he saw,
standing a short way away in the grass,
his dear sweet Rosa, smiling so gently...
he could feel the pain started to pass.
He closed his eyes, felt her gentle touch,
and felt no fear that moment because
for all of his sins he’d meet his maker
having died as the man he once was.
I slide into the seat across from her,
her head slumped in her hands.
As the needle ticks down to her last breath,
I eagerly await my claim.
The coffee under her hanging head is untouched,
as cold as the blood in her veins.
Her last teardrop splashes into her cup,
and the sounds of a thousand oceans collide on every shore.
There it is.
The teardrop of hope containing her hearts last cry.
Though I death, have come this night to take,
I choose to abate.
I reach inside and flip the switch on her damaged soul,
where memories of loved ones were buried when she ran away.
She lifts her now clear head into a radiant new light,
and drinks her coffee and orders more.
I move on for the next soul ready to go.
Oh, was there ever a tale of such woe,
a tale of music, lust, and revelry!
Of Juliet and her mad Romeo
when the reggae drums put a spell on me.
In his yen for Herbs and thirst for the vine
Romeo joined the queue full as a tick –
and drank the poison, the sweet feijoa wine
but it was like a mule with twice the kick.
On the grapes of wrath I was a tragic fool,
and I felt that kick of that angry mule.
All I want when I from
this world am gone
is that men say he died with his boots on.
In the hot sun and spinning clouds above
his heart quickened for her underbreath.
Their destiny a cursed forbidden love
and sweet wine a taste of bitter death.
On leaving he rolled flatlining in a ditch -
“I beg you, leave me here…I wanna die!”.
Later with a skinful too numb to twitch
slumped in a bathtub hungover to dry.
On the grapes of wrath I was a tragic fool,
and I felt that kick of that angry mule.
All I want when I from
this world am gone
is that men say he died with his boots on.
Written: July 2008
Oh- given the choice I would- restore it,
the derelict house in need of repair;
yes, I realize it is a big money pit,
the ad- a fixer upper if your dare!
A grand facade once it had,
now, it has tipped and slumped bad;
it's towers and turrets sad,
but, after all it was built in 1893!
If I had the cash,
I'd fix that house in a flash;
and soon 'cause the house is about to crash.
Oh, I see a wrap around porch in my mind,
a great entrance with wrought iron that shined;
to the fact that, the house is falling down- BLIND,
'cause, after all it was built in 1893!
_____________________________
August 16, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Given The Choice I Would
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1052-654-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Pick A Theme
sponsor, Viv Wigley, Theme chosen #3- Given the choice, I would
Seventh Place