Short Slugging Poems

silly silent sheep
merrily munching in march
glittery green grass

slow slugging shepherd
crouches carefully nearby
wistfully wishing...

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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....

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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…...

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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...

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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....

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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...

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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....

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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~...

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