Long Slurs Poems
Long Slurs Poems. Below are the most popular long Slurs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slurs poems by poem length and keyword.
Whittled skittled Bazball skint
Belittled lost the glint of Clint
Have a dig make my day big hint
Whatever they say never skinflint
In every stint we will always sprint
Hope dope blueprint trope's mint
The jibber jabber about the Gabba
White knights or ghoulish frights
Stagefright day night under lights
Highlights or more foolish flights
In the ascendancy have that tendency
Heresy or do they deserve clemency
Jealously let them preserve their legacy
Lose again barricaded in the Embassy
Stokes blokes smokes with their high jinx
Ben’s mens sneaky kinks find the chinks
Bazball minx in sync with cheeky winks
Glasses clinks as fans sinks their drinks
Nearly boys ploys bring us back from the brink
What do you think ..will our envoys annoy shrink
Another pity ditty in a sweltering city.. sh**ty stink
Or blink ignore the noise....spurred on by the slurs
Purrs like the Psychedelic Furs..joys of Pretty in Pink?
Jackie Robinson and I go way way back
To the spring of nineteen forty-six
A Montreal ballpark on a April afternoon
The day the world was transfixed
The colour barrier that existed in baseball
Was about to come crashing down
After many decades of ugly discrimination
Jackie would become renowned
It would take a special kind of individual
To withstand all the slurs and abuse
Young Jackie knew what he'd have to endure
But it was not his nature to refuse
Having a strong and tenacious personality
Not known for giving up a fight
Jackie settled in for a long tough struggle
On which he had long set his sights
It's a time in history I'll always hold dear
That momentous day back then
Forever after ingrained in my psyche
I witnessed this champion of men!
My Dad and I were late arriving at the ballpark.
When we arrived, it was the bottom of the first.
As we entered from the passage way to the
left field bleachers, the crowd was cheering wildly!
I looked to my right and believe it or not
Jackie Robinson was stealing home!!!
This image is ingrained in my memory!
I’ve just moved
to the next screen
after another dollar
and I’m a hero
a man looks
over my shoulder
he slurs his speech
he falls down
the front steps
and takes a swing
at the person
who helps him
to the apartment
across the street
where he lives
for his convenience
after his fifth DUI
(he says he has
a house somewhere
and a mail order bride)
another gulps
a twenty-four ounce beer
and says the other
is as good as gold
when he isn’t drunk
and the bartender says
his tab pays the light bill
but sitting at the screen
I match
numbers and colors
in patterns
clear the screen
as if a world
collapses
making way
for another
and I can live
another life
if I chose
another game
I can be anything
and a lady hugs
another patron
and is gone
before he can
respond
while neon lights
tint a window
red and blue
FIVE
She carries the repentant over the floss…
As little children, wrapped in swaddling clothes,
She comforts them and helps them bear their loss
As gently as a shadow, so she goes…
Forgives the one who stole her golden coin,
Forbears to hurt the bullies who hurt her,
Forswears revenge, invites them all to join
Her in a jolly round-dance, ‘neath a fir…
For Heaven is a happy place where all
Our slips, and stabs, and slurs, and stares lie down,
Forgotten, while we deck the merry hall,
And everyone forgets to wear a frown!
And so, arrive the sojourners at last
To join the angels in joyful repast!
Impish Legacy
by Odin Roark
He was like you and me
Arms
Legs
Regrets
Passions
With little that stood out
Save his church-Sunday handshake
His calloused palms
Telling much of
This no-nonsense man
His plaid shirt
Always starting off clean
But wrinkled
Hating to bother anyone
To iron
Wafted oil and soil by midday
The kind sometimes tied
To grease monkey slurs
Labor-ravaged pants
Covered legs of hardlife-stamina
Where given his bumless backside
Help was always needed
But
Snap-of-his-thumbs suspenders
Imprinted proudly with Monroe’s famous
Skirt-blowing pinup
Kept shortcomings intact
Here was an everyday man
With time galloping by
Waiting for no one
He rose at 6
Quick coffee
Out the door
Down the road
8 at the yard
Change this one’s oil
Replace that one’s brakes
Add up the receipts
Take home the earnings
Make another deposit
College won’t be cheap
Leave front door open
Son’s out late
Comfort frail wife
Crawl into bed
Labor’s hand gentle
Jergen’s hand longing
Spooning together
Smiles and pain
Always slow to slumber
So went this life
Until it didn’t
The funeral brought
Many more wafts of oil and grease
Friends of a feather
Still flocking together
With tears and sadness
While upon his face
A subtle smile well known
Belied the crossed hand atop his chest
Some of us knew
He was dreaming
Just one more snap of the suspenders
One last reminder of life
Such became an impish legacy
One who acquired so much
Yet took so little
Written: June 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
********************
The Phantom Choir
In the quiescence of last Sunday,
Prophecy heralded the hour past two,
I heard a whisper at hibiscus dawn—
a seamless voice I swore I always knew.
In blissful flutter—it said night was wide,
Chrysalis sorrow stirs a bed for fools,
that in the hush, when hearts collide,
The lost willows are left to wade in pools.
Facing the kernel until the street thinned,
And my shadow’s sepals bled away,
Rusted voice strings within me spoke again—
It's hymn frills poised for slow decay.
The Hollow Pact
Will I wake to descry my cracked mind,
emptied of all its sharpened teeth?
Will murky echoes break their binds,
Or gnaw beneath the sheath?
The alchemy battle sparks, but I am dust—
wispy strands, a soldier tied in flimsy chains.
Each idea erodes the periwinkle ones I trust,
while the weight of stress remains.
You graze me with a maze—why do I stand so still?
Resurrection of the soul—so why shake your hands?
But dread can have its way to fulfill—
The transcendence of love is lost in vicious demands.
The Third Mourning
Wise chakras buried beneath the walls I built,
the zen voice still scrawls its wordless plea.
It concedes my yantra’s vulnerability, my guilt,
peers where peacock pleadings wane into a spree.
It hums inside the tremors of sapphire light,
I close my eyes as it runs over lily-filled shorelines.
Bits of lunar-glazed silver dust grow in quiet nights,
and procrastinated pledges become lies.
In my dour dreams, it tells me not to resist—
“You know that silken shivers favor sound.”
Amid cyan azure peace, I learn misery persists,
for flickers of love fear the burial mound.
The Acoustic Waltz
In nocturnal dryness—sing soft verses in the dark,
claims the enamored inked words are not hers.
She plucks cerulean hymns without leaving a mark,
The tune of her carved kohl was lost in slurs.
She sways in the russet yarns of neon glow,
bows beneath the ricochet’s wild haze—
a phantom waltz in katabatic motion, moving slow.
a cosmic voice garden, too faint to truly be a maze.
Her pocket holds a ring of black gem glass,
won as a child’s dare, a piece of smitten ink.
She warms it, sighs, and watches it pass
through flaming flecks—hands that fight to sink.
From my balcony, I watch children play:
their color blindness encourages me.
They do not let skin shades stand in their way;
playing games together, for all to see.
I hear laughter, with no sarcastic sting:
there are no racial slurs slung to degrade.
As I observe these fledgling birds take wing:
my worries for our future slowly fade.
A culturally closed society
is like a wound, in need of a suture.
It bleeds out, pressured by anxiety,
and yet, these children can change their future.
Watching these kids play, I don't feel sorrow;
I feel hope for a better tomorrow.
A racist is an individual who believes
that people are a varied group of human sub species,
based on the fact that we all appear so differently.
A racist is most ignorant definitely.
They use derogatory terms like the N word,
but so called proper terms have also been heard.
Black and white and other similar so called respectable terms
are also all racial slurs as far as I'm concerned.
All such terms do, good or bad, is to strongly reinforce
the differences of one humanity worldwide across.
Science has proved that there's no such thing as race.
We are all the same specie. We are all *****sapiens.
We are all the same. The One And Only Human Race.
What's more is that we're all related you and me.
Our genetic lineage connects us all with common ancestry.
We are not separate races. We are not separate sub species.
We're one big dysfunctional planetary family literally.
This too has been proved scientifically.
You may truly be good but if you're prone to using racial terms
like black or white, hopefully one day you'll learn
that even though you are good and moral too,
I'm afraid my friend that in the end you're an ignorant racist too.
Today the world is crazy wrong,
Upside down and sideways long.
Political strife in a voting year
Brings about a heightened fear.
Red or Blue the fine line blurs
with Blue and Red casting slurs.
Casting slurs instead of ballots
Masks the issues and wreaks havoc.
What is fair and what is right
Lost within the coming fight.
Who may win and who may lose;
A ballot cast makes the news.
Media headlines of this morning
Change with afternoon reporting.
Opinions here, opinions there;
Think for yourself, taking care.
Tomorrow promises more of the same.
Let’s not continue as if insane.
Three more months till voting day.
Please cast your vote, have your say.
Acorns and golden leaves dotted the path before us,
your hand cradling mine like a mug around warm tea.
The steam was our breath, hot and kissing. A hidden
walkway just for us in those woods behind your house.
“…I was so stoned…”
But the school hallway trod a different path, stained in
peer footprints and slurs from the acquaintances you
shunned when alone with me but high-fived when passing
on the football field. I carved your name into my desk.
“…I don’t remember a thing…”
You built a wall in those woods where we walked - erected
it with bricks made from shame and cement that turned my
giddy mouth into a well of stones, grey. The stream that runs
at the bottom of your garden still holds those stones we skimmed.
“…I was so drunk…”
It became a eulogy, a refrain you told me after we stared too
longingly or our faces caressed; a mantra you lived by publicly
when privately your walls were invisible to me. My thornless
vines wanted only to shore up the cracks you felt inside yourself.
“…I don’t remember even seeing you at the party…”
Years later at the reunion the auditorium still smells the same.
A scent of sweat and plastic chairs hovers in the air, mingling with
the memories of your lips upon mine. You turned my sun upside down.
My moon was no longer white but painted the kaleidoscope of a clown.
“…I can’t feel this way about you, not right now…”
The porchlight flickers outside your house still, a firefly’s
electricity dimming. I wonder what would have happened if we
had just been together, been free to be together. Yesterday,
I walked back amongst those dropped acorns and autumn leaves.
Your wall was gone.