Slaking Poems | Examples

Let It Pour

From a gentle sprinkling
That keeps the garden fresh and green
To a raging summer storm
Where lightening cracks and thunder roars
From a tiny little stream
Right up to an awesome flood
Constant is the flow of our Lord’s love!

Some might pray the Lord to bless 
The desert’s heat and aridness.
Looking for the Savior’s pow’r
Their heart and soul to bloom and flow’r.
Nourishing their tiny seed
So, it grows and bears much fruit
Slaking every thirst with grace and truth.

Do not fear the darkened clouds
Or the distant thunder’s sound.
Nor the rain that you might hear
For it shows that our Lord’s grace is near.
While we wait to be refreshed
And be cleansed of every stain
His love already falls on us like rain…

God’s grace is falling from heaven above.
A precipitation of infinite love.
A gift undeserved but, God, grant us more!
Some might say, Lord, let it rain…
I say, let it pour!

Coconuts

Hand on thy hand, no walking distance
Under the yellow sun wandering glance
Silence of pebbles with the striding sea
Snail pace towards the soaked shore tree

The thirst grips the tongue of our mute love
Shadow of the coconut tree greets the dove
The rhythm of the streaming water notes hum
Swinging green coconuts clip the poetic balm
 
Flying Swallow gazes at the black cloud for slaking
Albatross shows infinity in the harmonious ring
Coconut leaves frolic for the whistling breeze
Our love is so centripetal like the coconuts fizz 

Let’s drink the coconuts with the soul of poetic verse
Drink all so alike that none do slacken none can farce

To Be a Root Vegetable

have you ever
wondered what life
could be if you
never had to sweep
another hardwood floor?
never had to fold
another fitted sheet?

i had a dream
where i was
a carrot; wrapped 
in loamy love,
green leaves slaking
their thirst on sunlight.
i don't wonder anymore

when i close my human
eyes, earth worms tickle
my orange stomach,
& i laugh my new
vegetable laugh.

Springtime Rhapsody

the
flowers
are blooming
hallelujah! 
nightingales abound
go "tweet! tweet! tweet!"
at long last, 
healing 
rain
falls, 
slaking
nature's thirst
petrichor wafts
through the lush verdure
beautiful earth
young again
spring is...
here



Springtime Ninette Poetry Contest
Sponsored by M.L. Kiser
Date written: 02/20/2022

Fish and Chips

We used to travel to the beach,
Fish and chip shops in our reach,
Fish so fresh and flaking,
Fanta orange our thirst slaking,
In newspaper, chips were wrapped,
Bayside trips, us kids were rapt!

Bread Glorious Bread

Croissant making
Bread baking
Yeast slaking
Crust caking
Bread

Potato
Pumpernickel
Whole wheat
Enriched white
Bread

The smell of it
You will have a fit
Fresh from the oven
Your Grandma’s apron
Your mother’s way of buttering it
There is nothing more heavenly-tasting in the world.
Bread!

Man of Adventure

Ahhh to these new beginnings on the horizon,
Bridging so sweetly into something new to dive in,

I look upon the next chapter in life,
Does it involve a job? Car? Maybe a wife?

All these things can bring joy and excitement,
While at the same time bring up anxious frightment,

Its ok because i like to relish in the fact,
That these emotions are what bring me back,

Back to the man on this life long adventure,
Slaking my thirst for exploration, my quencher,

The next chapter  is something i cant wait to pursue,
Its something a man of adventure must do!

-Downed Jester

Joe Licon 1904-1920

Joe Licon

1904-1920

Who was that coughing at my side?

Which of my manly pallbearers

Leaned upon my casket

On that distant funeral day?

Who was it that yawned,

Loudly, sleepily, lazily,

On the day they covered my bones with dry dirt,

Here in the comfortable darkness,

Of shadowy Mt. Olive Cemetery?

Who was it that said: “I will miss him,”

Even when he began tapping his restless fingers,

One after the other,

Upon the wonderful mohogany finish,

Of my well-made polished coffin?

To whom do I credit for

The distilled drops of sated tears,

Which fell noisily upon the buttercups,

Dotting my newly-made grave?

My friends, don’t ever imagine that we, 

the dead are dead,

When you, the living, bury us.

For we can hear your plaintive cries of “O,” moaning;

We can feel your grieving hearts, breaking;

We can taste your “tempest-tossed” tears, slaking.

So, my friends, 

Who was that coughing at my side?

Kindly lend him a handkerchief, if you please.

Captive

Here I am, captive to your charms,
Dreaming of embracing in your arms
Enslaved by sweet addiction, 
Gazing at a ceiling of satiation,
Slaking our thirsts of timeless fire,
of each other we never seem to tire,
Captured by the love light in your eyes,
Laughs together, no sad sighs,
Is this compatibility? I ask,
Is loving you a futile task,
or is it our mutual delight,
Like years of endless nights,
I reflect on a man and romance,
I share in your endless dance,
Dreaming of embracing in your arms,
So, here I am, captive to your charms........

Curdled Milk

so, this is what life is about
no use to scream
no use to shout
this is what life is about

the cream floats to the top
the top to taste
first
slaking the thirst
of what life is about

but the cream
is but a whisper
the thinnest layer
the body yet good
is mere staple food

and if not used 
quickly, quickly
it curdles and splits
knowledge and wits
yet curdled life
is not spoiled
it is an acquired taste
nothing to waste

so don’t pinch your face
at this thickened grace
enjoy every bit
not knowledge but wit
for wisdom lies
where milk spiller cries

Only Provident

Blot out the whole emerging gesture
To demonstrate leading astray thy pace;
Don't rebound to toil and wrestle,
Be temperate tilt not at any rate!

Outrun ne'er surpass in celebrity quartan,
Submission ties settle better productive gain;
Prepare to ignite flame of fixed canon
Must evade excruciate feeble in vain;

Riches give delight yet defend not,
Slaking thirst aqua less attract rabies;
Pride of sagacity weak riot crazy spot,
Mere contentment if alive relay miseries;

Deny not troth behave alike recuperation
Spurt what ambition turn amative thee;
Man! thou hold energy to alter cultivation
Please the almighty by culminating blemish free;

Only provident would give certain dexterity
With vigour, venture, assume design marvelous;
Where its sacred light confirm privity:
Personality seems observing rare not fabulous.

Slaking the Grail

Roiling,simmering,boiling while quivering.This toiling ,this Maddening Lust;Gifted Hard;this thing in Me.Til dawns light first breaks,feel a Rage,Pure so Freely.Bended knee;drink deeply.Fill the Cup:Satiaite me.With Glistened Lips ,lick them sweetly.A ton of Ash.Burned Hot ,Completely.When looking up ,so sweetly .Naming My Sangreal;Whom I just FELT:My Soul and Self was the Quested Completion;Of a Daemons True Nature.Fulfilled in The Grail,The One Cup That Cups Me.So Comely,I LOVE THEE. James Patrick Kail Saturday October 20 2012.

Its Good To Do Good

IT’S GOOD TO DO GOOD

There is freshness and an echoing of joy and peace in doing good.
The rewards are beyond any earthly values.  If you could and would, I suggest you daily do some good.

Birth it, teach it, and even preach it. The world is slaking, and participating in too much relaxing.  Restore its name and fame. We must let good reign.

There is a drum call for us to heed. Listen, can you see what’s missing. Look around. Avoid other sounds. Good should not be silenced.  It’s time to start a revolution. Enlist, resist and persist.

Let good flow, worldly people. I know that you know. Sorry bad! We can’t take you anymore. Sign up today, don’t delay. Pledge to do good daily.  Life depends on this trend.

Make Mother Good happy, allow her to live long, as life goes on. Shine on good, shine on long. Your day has come.  Celebrate the four letter word  “good”  as you refresh in its goodness.

Dr. “G”

Reparte

I spent days like this before
You made a difference at age three
Coming in the room
Directly to climb my knee.
It is my best hour of memory
When sunset sinks my shadow
Into the deep sea of salt loneliness.
Besides what I give away
I knew birth had no time special
To celebrate bundled clay
I was always bereft of loyal minds
Who cared to say what you said
Again today - your gift of ritual
Cannot make the bland the first
Slaking of a father's thirst;
Thanks anyway - I love you more.

Dust From Her Feet

She walks like a traveller in her home 
a once familiar thing, lost to her
And bright-eyed watches the same night sky 
that demonstrates new things to her,
orchestrating new patterns for her in the stars to find 
and paving beams of light across leaves 
that were strewn for her
by the dawn wind slaking the limbs of her own trees
for whatever thing lost that still is,
She searches the dust from her own feet 
that she's brought from another land in a dream

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