Slo Poems | Examples

Baby Platy

In the tank are eighteen fish,
Or maybe there are twenty.
It’s hard to count them, but to me,
It seems that there are plenty.

The tank is not too spacious
But with pebbles and live plants,
The black and orange platys 
Do their slo-mo floaty dance.

Yet I was shown a baby
Hiding underneath the leaves
And there might be another one,
Or so my son believes.

It’s cool to see how creatures
Have their instincts kicking in,
Doing what they can to stay away
From hungry next-of-kin.

Dream On Shakespeare

Dream on Shakespeare, to be or not to be
That is the question, you are always asking me
Like a slo-mo record, that goes on and on
You bore me with your Guru quotes
Oh universal one!
Dream on Shakespeare, just like the Caliban
Are you an academic beast
 Or just a real  hue-man
Your high brow takes
On life’s mistakes are just because you can.
So dream on Shakespeare, you may have the same name
But nothing in your soliloquy, is as high as William’s game
And so I leave a little note, to say that I am gone
So dream on Shakespeare
Dream on.

The Rainshade

The
voice of spring rain
It’s darkly etched, in the sky face, 
rainshade in the main, I don't complain.
lyrical steps falling, frothing seductively, slo-flowing
rain that they are strained. The weather vane's
become inane, when every day it rains again. It's plain
to
see
for
you
and
me
it
has
to
be
the
   end    *
   of play.

Slo Mo Closure

Bumpin' on Life's street's little surprises
leaves us too few---------------compromises
we filter our choices
through various voices my 
Lightness of being harmonizing.

Holiday Songs

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Or Hannukah, Quanza—It’s really your choice!
Live, love, laugh—be happy
I’ll be home for Christmastime to rejoice!
Deck the halls—Let’s be of good cheer
And all together we will wish
You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


Santa Claus is coming to
Oslo, L.A. and London town
Now is the time to hang the holly
Glow! Shine! Laugh! Shout! 
Silver bells joyfully chime “Let’s be jolly!”

Slow Time

We move too fast.
in the wrong clock of time.

Slow classic vocal music way,way down
it becomes angelic, a flowing harmony
not travelling anywhere.

In extreme slo-mo the leap of a tiger, is a ballet,
a study of eternal becoming.

Imagine an ordinary day
reduced to moving pictures so stretched
that every expression is a silent language of grace.
See your hands at work in slow time,
fashioning waterfalls, and towers
of endless instants,
every gesture a prayerful offering.

There is a wrongness in the pace of time
as we experience it,
a blurring of a reality
that commands us to keep running
for the delight of screaming devils.

Occasionally practice slow-being.
Let the time-demons know
that you know their ticks,
and for a little while
don’t run at their speed.

I Will Write What Everer the When Dislike I

SOo
oo
oon
Bre
ak line whe
re i  wan'tFo
llo
low slo      wly
Have sum f
un  finished
miss ing
L....os............................ ................................... ..
In the rabbit hole
i seam to
Bee Imp pressed 
Impression never given
Respect strippened
Dragon head clouds fade to tails
as blue blissed moon
cuts the summer haze face

Hiber Nation

i took her paw
in mine as we
lumbered

having been
fattening for
what we knew

was too fast
coming upon
but must on

us as we
sleepily
agreed

that cave over
there has nice
decor with lots

of lichen of
  different
    colors

so not saying 
that we stretched
a mile but we

stretched out in
style
each finding our

own
comfort
zone where

our
bones
became

one
with
the

frozen
slowly
breath

in g

not fro
Zen
slo

w ly
brie
thing

yum
that
french

cheese
paired
with

a two
thous
and

fif
teen
bore

doe
now
she's

aged and
laying so
near me

in a
bare
dream

her hair
had ex
tent

ions but
i rem
ember

the
spark
starting

this poem
when i
took

but
should've
asked for her 

paw and she 
placing hers 

in mine but not
a mine but a
cave where

i need to
remember
when the bed

springs wake
us to always
say to her

i love you

Bordeaux 'N Escargot

BORDEAUX & ESCARGOT



Slo
Tiptoe
Mistletoe
Bravissimo
Rainbow audio
Sappho & Romeo
Indigo scenario
Sublimo Michelangelo
Magnifico oboe adagio



AP:  3rd place 2020

Submitted on November 1, 2019 for contest RHYMING NONET sponsored by CHARLES MESSINA  -  RANKED 1ST

Parachutes

Wet leaves glisten 
     on the bough.

Crystal dewdrops drip 
     down, fall slo-mo,

each parachuting
     on a tiny halo

to kiss the damp 
     grass below!

A Candy Wrapper Story

We were a group of Nerds, there was Kit Kat,
Mike and Ike, I'll never forget handsome Heath ;
           and Slo Poke and I was Lemonhead cause I had,
blonde hair, and there was Whatchamacallit who always;
                       had Goobers.

     One Pay Day we won 100 Grand gambling,
at a casino machine called, Milky Way and went on a Spree;
          it was a Marathon and we were spending Mounds,
of Skittles until I said, Take 5 before we have;
                        like Zero. 

     So me and those Airheads each took our own paths,
for me it was a Rocky Road to happiness until Henry;
           O Henry is my Starburst and dream,
he loves me Now and Later and not just because of the;
                        big money Skor.
                       

_______________________________
October 5, 2018


Poetry/Verse/A Candy Wrapper Story
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1069-313-01
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.

How Sweet It Is

As I went with my friends MIKE and IKE 
Like THREE MUSKETEERS we went for a hike 
Down a ROCKY ROAD we watched for birds 
Down 5TH AVENUE...we all looked like NERDS
 
To find a DOVE - it paid 100 GRAND
But we stopped to watch a MARATHON band 
They looked like AIR-HEADS, they all had some zits 
They call themselves the WATCHAMACALITS
 
My friend the SLO-POKE he's a little bit funky 
He ate too many BOSTON BAKED BEANS...now he is CHUNKY 
My other friend HEATH left Henry and me 
In search for some SKITTLES...his sweet tooth SPREE
 
But all that he found, were KIT KAT and SNOW CAPS 
And some sticky LIFESAVERS he threw down on our laps 
My name that they call me..is MR. GOOD BAR
I'm an old JOLLY RANCHER with a GALAXY car 

How Sweet It Is Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carol Connell 
9/24/2018

How Sweet It Is

O' HENRY'S my name and me and my dog CHUNKY, the SLO POKE dog, wanted to go on a shopping spree on 5th AVENUE since it was PAYDAY. It was a nice ride and the scenery was beautiful, especially the SNOW CAPS in the distance. 

However, our trip was cut short when we broke the WHATCHAMACALLIT on the car when we hit a patch of ROCKY ROAD. BAR NONE, that was the worst road I have ever driven.

We were broke down on a remote country road and we could see ZERO help in any direction. I was worried that we were stranded but just then a JOLLY RANCHER with his two NERD sons, MIKE and IKE, pulled up and asked if they could help.

I explained our dilemma and I heard Mike and Ike SNICKER and say we were AIR HEADS with BUTTERFINGERS. They towed us to a garage and the repair estimate was 100 GRAND, after all we were driving a Lamborghini. The mechanic fixed the car and I promised I would pay NOW AND LATER.

That didn't go over so well and the sheriff has me serving HOT TAMALES and BOSTON BAKED BEANS in the county jail. The moral of this story is don't be a SMARTIE and tell a bunch of WHOPPERS.

How sweet it is poetry contest
Sponsored by: Carol Connell

Perfect Storm

from the forest, deep, she came
      like a jaguar, quietly prowling
         drawn there by my late-day flame
   typhoon in the distance howling

black hair with a coal-blue sheen
      eyes like ink and faultless gold
         linen sun dress, white and clean
   tawdry tan, with charms, untold

white-cap sea foam licked the sun
      then softly tasted sweet, its bright
         slo-melting on that briny tongue
   and sav'ring still, the fading light

there beside the aqua ocean
      palm fronds laid in proper form
         with sublime and torrid motion
   we let loose our perfect storm

high above, the Perseids streaming
      wept the sky, with tears of fire
         wishes granted - we, so dreaming
   meant for fools to thus inspire

flightless angel birthed in darkness
      wrapped me in her pinions, warm
         sacred embers, cold and sparkless
   burning for that summer storm ...

lost in her - my perfect storm.

Seashake Jake

seashake jake


headlights blinding 
screeching yellow eyed owls 

ran me over 
I washed up with anchors cut in 
whiskey drenched promises 
holy swans humming hymns of sun-god gratitude on ole beach 

mashing sweet tooth’s hungry bone dry night 
madame itch invisible escorts me to her
scarlet’s pistol packed slo boat ride

shadow stained fingers fire blank heart bullets
across splattering bug--eye screens 
funeral strip-tease captains blow the rapture foghorn

pools of energy
teetering like a nasty wind waltz
playing jackrabbit on the wayward buoys

passing grotto tombs
seashake jake toss that quiff.. get out to that sweet mean drift..again

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