Short Sloe Poems
Short Sloe Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sloe by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sloe by length and keyword.
there was an old man named McGuinn
who liked his women and his sloe gin
one night it was said
he took both to bed
and woke up next day with a sly grin
Categories:
sloe, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Awakened dreams, nightmarish quips
Jaundiced tear drops, blooded thrips
Winter's sloe, wrathful mourn
Howled wails, petalled thorn
Fingers touch, perusing caress
Sullen smile, blackened finesse
Categories:
sloe, death, depression, lonely, loss, lost love, pain,
Form:
Rhyme
the
bass,
the
treble,
the
high,
high
hat,
rat
a
tat
tat,
throb
and
pull,
a
mad,
mad
pulse,
match
the
slow
pour
of
a
sloe
gin,
and
I
never
clap
for
the
rude
crescendo
of
her
tin
ear
and
his
last
call...
Categories:
sloe, women,
Form:
Free verse
Now I see it black,
black with a tinge of plum
hinting at sloe fruit
to come.
Soon it will be white,
white blossom dazzling
from roadside and woods
telling us of spring.
It offers hope,
hope of hosting
many creatures
within its thicket home,
well defended by its
black thorns.
Categories:
sloe, flower, fruit, hope, nature, spring,
Form:
Free verse
lizardly he slithers in
nursing his sloe glass of gin
lightning flashing from his eyes
functioning to disguise
who and what he really is
rolling pairs of snake-eyes
in the air a venomous hissing
is there something I am missing
Categories:
sloe, drink, fear, mystery,
Form:
Couplet
Scorpios are known for their passion
Their resourcefulness and compassion
Since a Scorpio I is
Here's a toast with sloe gin fizz
May our traits always be in fashion
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 6 in LeeAnn's "Zodiac Race" Contest - September 2010
Categories:
sloe, funny
Form:
Limerick
Feb-ru-ary –
Snow-white blossom,
Winter hedgerow shining.
Now September –
Hedgerow harvest:
Sloe-black, slow, black,
Black fruit with purple bloom.
Sloe gin, slow, gin,
Let the alchemy begin.
Blackthorn, black fruit,
Steeped in finest London gin.
Locked in Kilner
In dark cupboard.
Wait till dark December ......
Ruby colour,
Rich aroma.
Delicious sip,
Post-prandial
Christmas dinner nip.
Mike Jones
25 August 2014
Categories:
sloe, drink, fruit, september,
Form:
Free verse
Claws step over ear bones,
tap on the tin roof. The cabin
creaks like an ark.
All day winding along
a Kentucky ridge line,
to lodge a night
in a bow-beamed shack.
I fry bacon and bread
on a smoke-licked skillet
as black as a fossil;
then settle down to listen
to April starlight
sweeping timbers.
Dark pelts pace moon trails.
Night birds hunt;
sloe washed wings flick shadows
through briery pines.
I sip an amber glass of bourbon
eavesdrop,
on my sleep-walking soul.
Categories:
sloe, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse