Short Sloshing Poems
Short Sloshing Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sloshing by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sloshing by length and keyword.
Rain dripping, dropping down
Water splashing, muddy ground
We're slipping, sloshing round
Rain dripping, dropping down
shower shoes sloshing, soapy, slippery,
and teeming with colossal cleanliness,
toweled,
culpable
walking in the sand
rising tide sloshing my feet
vacation over
thoughts of home wave over me
leaving the beach tomorrow
written June 29, 2021
A king fisher swooped down
into the silent waters at the noon
a flash of amber and blue
bobbed up sloshing- whoo
a silver fish dangling from its beak
like an ornate pendant, from that creek
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum~
Paul the squirrel beat his acorn drum.
He swung through the pines with a raucous cheer,
rum sloshing wild as he commandeered the pier~
the boldest little buccaneer ever to come.
Piggies Pinky, Poinky, and Puck
were sloshing in the summery farmyard's murky muck.
It was the day before slaughter,
and they were enjoying the lukewarm water,
and the chorus of the cackly goose and the quaky duck.
Cradled in a crib
Twine whiskers and spit
A fissure between
every footstep
nails impaled
into wrinkled palms
As I gesture in the
stiffend stance
of “I don’t know”
And ran crucified
like martyred puppets
on invisible string
At a horrifying pace,
shoes sloshing with blood
beneath the lace
The sadness is amazing:
How wide its shores,
How long its darkness,
How high its' cries-
How it engulfs me,
Pins me to the board,
How exacting its' target.
Then
How right is its moor,
Tied to the dock,
Settling,
No longer breathing,
Just staying
In its white and gray waves,
Just bobbing, sloshing,
Staying.
Mountains all around , the sea glimmering ahead.
A dolphin's fin swimming sloshing near the shore
This chilly sunny Winters day on a low tide beach
Lazy waves roll in slowly , quietly rumbling to a fizz.
The dophin jumps out of the cleansing blue water
focusing intently midair just meters from the beach.
Its shiny grey fin and smooth body playfully diving.
Sinking into the soil of his egocentric ocean
Snarled and sniveled the cephalopod mollusk
Since to be worthy of his charming prey
Sensation beaming from his passion blasting
Suspending her from being aware of drowning
Stunning to sight her lapse into squandering
Sloshing in intense sadness and deceitfulness
Written: April: 03, 2022
the small splashes begin ripples
the pool shifts as new fluid is added to it
it grows, expands, lives
her life now lives on the floor
it slides from the end of her little finger
and falls along with its mates on the floor
pooling
sloshing
living
i watch as it slithers between the tiles toward me
it falls into my life
that spreads itself over the white tiles between us
Form:
Center>Blooms bow their heads
in their terracotta bomb-shelters.
Distant thunderstorms nibble
at thin, bare-boned stems.
At last rain falls out of a booming air.
Yesterday nailed its skin to the sky,
now it sloughs in sloshing shreds.
This morning, mourning doves clatter
and roof-dance on wet tin.
The air has even revived my fat dog,
it chases its stubby tail
for the first time this summer.
Like a mouth full to drooling,
the day sucks boots and tires
sloshing remnants of Winter debris
beside the slush filled paths.
Dreary beyond hope of snowballs
Dangerous beyond the pristine slip of skate.
No possible good emotion can come
would dare revel in the mess.
With half frozen tears the sky drapes
the barren maples striving without hope.
Longing for a more lucid day where
upturned lips hold tulip kisses.
I am running the Sconset bluff path.
I go past darkened houses,
black out curtains hanging,
past Linda Thomas and Jolene Baer
who are chasing rabbits into the privet hedges.
Their fathers call out to them-
“Careful girls!”-
drinks sloshing, ice tinkling
as I go by invisible,
yet sensed.
A summer later,
I will be gone.
Starched, ironed khakis
in a trunk wait ahead in my room.
The beginning and end
of a life never started.
Blooms in their terracotta bomb-shelters,
bow their heads, but now
a distant thunderstorm nibbles
at my bare-boned flower bed.
The heat has crushed the clouds at last.
Rain falls out of a booming air.
Yesterday nailed its dry skin to the sky,
later it sloughed in sloshing shreds.
This morning, mourning doves clatter,
and roof-dance.
The air even revives my fat dog,
who now chases a stubby tail
for the first time this summer.
Drinking, looking for a life raft.
Juke box broken,
everyone here broken.
An ocean washed us up,
turbulent sea’s snatched us away.
Captain courage has abandoned ship,
he now sails icebergs
over sloshing margarita’s.
It’s a typical tropical hour here
where the shipwrecked gather.
We are a club, each of us
an island of splendid isolation.
Empty boats we are
drifting in and out of silence.
We leave only hollow footprints
on these windblown sands.
I saw the pig and the clown coming my way with their drink.
They were well into their cups. I had this quick ugly think.
I jumped into a bush and tried to become invisible to them.
They were crazed with alcohol, two silly old men.
Slap happy and nutty, they were sloshing their words.
I rolled my eyes at their inebriation; both were quite absurd.
Where is that giant fork and that delightful silver spoon?
I ignored their laughter, as they howled at the moon.
Fire he screamed…
From the lookout tower
Sloshing buckets arrived in the angst of men
Fire he wailed…
From his ghastly nightmares
In came his friends with those comforting words
Fire he jested…
In the crowded celebration chamber
Psychiatrists came running with pencils and pads
Fire he directed…
As a flat and distant playwright
Columnists praised on the papers front page
Fire he cried…
All buckled in a straightjacket
And no one cared to pay attention