Short Slugging Poems
Short Slugging Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Slugging by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Slugging by length and keyword.
silly silent sheep
merrily munching in march
glittery green grass
slow slugging shepherd
crouches carefully nearby
wistfully wishing
Was it an argument
A scrimmage
A scuffle
A hair-pulling jaw-slugging fight
Or an all-out brawl?
Let’s ask the three dead people down the hall.
You start
the poem
but cannot end it
insoluble through teared eyes
A whipping wrecking ball swung, slugging your breast
striking a sharp chord of melancholy thought hidden
a random book, a random page, a random long-forgotten line; yet…
Drizzling down from irate clouds
Slugging the streets with force
But like a chirpy bird
A joy these sounds enforce
Outside the kids rejoice
As I reminisced my past
How long did those days last
Till these chirps started to sound like noise
I have time to do something and I have to roll my eyes.
Because there are sixteen ideas arguing among themselves.
If they could ever agree, it would be a miracle.
They are trying to outshout each other. On the verge of violence.
Don’t feel bad, a friend says.
My ideas are slapping and slugging each other now.
One of them killed another one yesterday.
I feel blessed.
It was not the robe flowing beanied
kind;
nor the ball batting
St. Louis slugging
variety.
I saw the shrill-
whistling flying
mr. proud to be a bird
red male looking for a
palomino-ed colored female kind of cardinal
come a calling not for me,
the earth-bound tin-eared
feather-free wingless woman
martian-looking
through a pair of Zeiss.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
June 21, 2012
Crypto beasts once roamed the earth
with all the other regular monsters.
Early man was still a fish-like slug,
which was a good thing,
because the fish-like slug was itself,
only slowly evolving.
Thus, all unknowing,
potential humanity
slithered around its thick alluvial ponds,
blissfully unaware
that for a few more million years,
Mother Nature
would still be running around
with Her hair on fire.
This is where I indeed, do live!
With many churches, to support and which to give.
Murder is a most rare occurrence here.
No riots, no drunks, walking about, slugging down a beer.
Trees are luscious green, all year round.
Flowers grow in lovely silence, not uttering a sound.
Bunnies, opossums, cats at happy play.
Would that our world were as sweet, as this peaceful valley Sunday!
3/21/2021
~1~