Slogging Poems

my muse

finally shut her trap,
did the job
of being herself,
letting me
observe
in the quiet—
god, 
the yapping
made her, 
too human
it's like she thought
she was the artist.
now look:

line breaks
sharp again—

enough to keep
breaking
backs, morale, 
slogging 
the ten-ton-taken-for-granted 
stones
up-up-up
Sisyphean hills,
still—
 
I miss her 
jibber jabber.

Cauht Under a Fallin Sky

A scything rain crops the high reeds.
Never saw the storm coming,
too busy rowing my mind
through its own river.

The ducks and herons have all gone
they have not flown away,
they have closed their eyes,
and like children have become invisible.

My rowboat is taking on water,
mouth open, I think I am crying the sky.
A small rickety landing
crouches from the downpour
maybe, ten slogging minutes away.

I make the torrent torn bank,
the battered truck I arrived in
has a cold,
its engine coughs, as sodden boots
pump a blind escape route
beyond its drowning windscreen.

I Resolve

**not to start lying in wait to exact revenge on those
who cruise down my little street late at night
playing outrageously loud rap music, 
jarring me awake and sorely testing my Christianity~~

**not to check out a 500-page library book,
read 50 pages, lay the book aside for two weeks,
then have to start over because I forgot what I read~~

**to start systematically throwing some things away
and organizing what I keep so that, when I’m gone,
my folks won’t be forced to spend six months 
slogging through reams and stacks of STUFF 
wondering Why did she keep THIS? . . .  How could
she do this to us?!  . . . I REALLY need to toss my old
diaries. (I haven’t always been a sedate old lady!)

**to stop falling asleep sitting almost straight up in my
rocker recliner, causing me to awaken three hours later
temporarily paralyzed from head to toe

**to stop staying up too late on Saturday nights,
causing me to get so sleepy at church on Sunday
that my head droops forward or~~even worse~~back,
then jerks violently into place, mortifying me.

Hemmed In

The sky has climbed over
its usual low cloud cover,
today it is high, blue and vertical
with no hand holds,
those places for the eye to cling to.

In the city we don't get 'big sky'
we get pencil thin shafts
that sweep the dust off ledges,
we have foot-slogging
staircases and elevations.
where the sky cannot rise beyond
one last viewless window.

Far below
upon those hemmed-in streets
some seem forced to grow
into hybrid creatures
that must suck upon
each other's fears.

There are trees, a few stretch and reach
like mountain climbers,
yet all that high air above us is not reassuring,
it creates a feeling of smallness,
our arms too paltry to grasp the infinite.

Mostly we give no thought
to the sheer narrowness of it all,
and so with only these
manmade clifftops to jump from
it's no wonder some choose to leap.

Waking Up

A distressed soul
Rising from the grave
Slogging through the morning mist

10/04/2023

No Way Out

Slogging swampy bogs, suction at the feet
Like pushing through molasses with a spoon
No evidence of forward progress made

Mired in a morass of foul decay
Vile filth closing in on what once was
Trapped in horrid ever-present now

Who can say what tomorrow brings?
What does tomorrow even mean?
The hands of time are bound up tight

Fetid vapors rushing up
Senses overwhelmed, recoil
Oppressive, suffocating

Forward has no meaning
No option for retreat
The world is closing in

Rudderless and lost
Disoriented
Every way is down

Such heaviness
Stoops the shoulders
Buckles the knees

Despairing
Silent screams
Go unheard

Hopeless
Endless
Nightmare

No
Way
Out

—————

For the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Written 07/13/2022

Sonic Sonnet

Sonorous, saporous symphonies: strong;
soothingly spirited, sublime sweet songs.
Satisfied sigh, sees salubrious springs;
sharp, sizzling sunburn scream: saltwater stings.

Searing sharp satirists, snarkily snide;
subtle smart sophists show soft, specious side.
Skimpy, salacious shows sell sexy spice;
somber, sad serials scarcely suffice.

Seismic'ly sensitive subsurface screens;
substandard systems: severe shakes scarce seen.
Scaling slick surfaces, snow-scented slides;
slogging sludge swamps, smelling stinky sulfides.

Sans similarities, superimposed;
sequencing syllables, simple supposed.


----------

for the Begin with a Letter Poetry Contest
sponsored by Angela Tune
written 06/28/2022

an alliterative 'sonnet', with aabb pattern and 10 syllable lines
updated/extended from a shorter, earlier poem

Tricky Maneuver

Which is trickier, slipping or sliding?
The ice out there is a hard quarter inch. 
Which is riskier, gripping or gliding?
  
  I'm digging down deep in the workroom bench;
  I remember they are in here somewhere.
  The ice out there is a hard quarter inch.

   I've got grip thingies for my boots to wear -
   those with the sharp metal points underneath.
   I remember they are in here somewhere.

   Voila!  they still have more than half their teeth!
   I recall there's a trick  - slogging in spikes.
   those with the sharp metal points underneath.

    With one step forward, I let out  a "Yikes!"
    as my keister says "hello" to the floor.
    I recall there's a trick  - slogging in spikes

A few steps more and I'll open the door, 
Which is trickier, slipping or sliding?
as my keister says "hello" to the floor.
Which is riskier, gripping or gliding?

April 8, 2022

Beyond ice and snow, consider this trope
With smiles on your faces, hold on to hope.

Keola - Rubaiyat

 Hidden quote by: Jesse Jackson


As the daze lifts, dirge ogling at blurring.
Squalls can still be stifled by soft roving.
Heaven's pinions may rattle the birdcage.
If tame grip, end up spotting candor wing. 

Conveying of the most critical stage.
Toe-to-toe quicksand slogging on the rage
We aught stark faith in our dominant muse.
Shut eyelids bury the day's grin assuage.

We, a whiff of peace, must be shining wise.
Naught deems but that you go forward to rise.
In its purest awe, love with hope bestow.
Our scheme provides a zingy gap in size.

Grin never sink out, and not backward show.
Allow it to rise, by wings swell hefts grow.
Fear and division are ousting cross-glare.
Close fetch key vibrations to the shallow.

Written: January 28, 2022

Keola Secret Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula 

Syllables: HMS
Rhymezone

Fans and Swindlers Issues

It barely vanquishes my quenchless spirit of inquiry.
To what exactly reason have I sledded so wildly?
Boasters and swindlers sprang up a treaty vigorously.
People are queuing to sway slated on a promontory.

It's plodding to incite thugs by misleading people.
Your genuine assertion is both witless and guileful.
By discerning purport, you may be pioneering.
As though a doleful mistrust was typically unfurling.

Why is it crucial to recur an idyllic shade?
It's time to hoard the dart and glittering blade.
Valorous braves are slogging toward the staid.
Everlasting zest is not a squib and never fades.

Yet we must swither in waging truth and moral virtue.
Truth and equity can't alter insight on specific bestow. 

Written: December 24, 2021

Traveler Without Rucksack

Traveler Without Rucksack
By Sy Roth

Aloneness, the traveler without rucksack
Beats the miles into your feet
A bare necessity for the nomad
For there are morns and sinking suns to see
In the endless desert of our lives.

The arroyo quickly fills, 
Water tearing at its sides
Soon only a vestige of itself
Leaving a vacuity within.

It lingers there like a smug cat 
Who only hisses at your approach,
Razor-sharp teeth a frightening calligraphy
Of life well-worn along its edges
Slogging through unshared moments 
Pining for those who made 
The last attempt to bamboozle Beelzebub.

We are all the omnivores who came before us
A marching parade of victims of inanities
Searching for silent answers
To the mystery on a congress of slime
That metastasizes into beings of promise
Who lose it ultimately in the miasma of time.

Build a brocade of flesh
Soon to be assimilated into nothingness
Await the temporal
For the intemperate readies to swallow you whole
No Bhagavad Gita guides you,
No ethical core to take you anywhere
Except to revel in a morn
And settle into a final, waning sun.

Is His To Find

The monks line of sight, 
lays low upon the horizon, 
multi-shifting clouds 
cast long glances,
upon the land, longing 
to stretch its calloused feet, 
relieving the earthy itch;
like a salty brine water,
saturates, maybe invigorates, 
as it commiserates in sobs,
casting broad for its sister,
the osmotic sea. 

His naked eyes
blur the dark outlines, 
as he pencils In an 
apt impressionistic
frown, of which he
caught mindfully open; 
the door to the soul, he 
intuits is his to find,
alone In the crowd;
like slogging through time;
as when walking through 
the wet craggy bogs
of his woes; 
as the line of site fades
in trance, not forgotten,
his myths encircle 
his way.

The Walk

Walking becoming overcoming.
Orion becomes Jesus walking on water.
Trek trudge and stumble, taking it in stride.
Bearing a cross of torment and torture.
Struggling slogging shepherding,
slaving in blood mixed tears. 

Walking through light and shadow.
Sleep meandering, dreams seamlessly
mingle with stumbling lumbering,
slumbering shamble, ambling ramble.
Roving roaming range, radius reached,
realms always remembered.   

Walking the footpath through rainforest.
Sizzling amour fou ardor, fevered fervor.
Lascivious among the leaves,
captive to carnality. 
Fleshly forbidden found only 
in the taboo soil of impulses.

Walking in the aurora of first light.
Sprinting agape beneath spectral wavy prismatic sky.
Darting dashing driving toward a new day.
Racing rushing for radiant rays wrapping the horizon.
Igniting the dark, blazing the trail in a neonate morning,
advancing the awaiting adventure.

Walking with friends and lovers.
Parading promenading propelled plantigrade.
Globetrotting every continent, every consideration,
every awareness and attentiveness. 
The common blanket sweeping overall.
Let the celebration of being begin.

Winged Time Declines To Halt

When I try adjusting with situation..
Time is displeasing.
When I attempt being on my own..
People are disagreeing.
When I wish to be near my loved ones..
Circumstances are pushing us to distance.
When I pray to forget baneful incidents..
Memories are un aiding.
When I seek complete relaxation..
Unfinished tasks keeps me slogging.
When I desire revamping my mind..
Inputs are non viable.
When I aim for peaceful life..
Dilemmas encroach me.
When I yearned for liberty ..
Domination incarcerated me.

Time keeps flying in the air..
Cannot be tethered..!!

10-6-2020

Note1:Time Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke

Placed as Honorable Mention in the Contest.
Note2:BRIAN'S SELECT C,any form,any theme
Sponsored by Brian Strand

Hugging the Cool

Tap dance through life if you must
munch all the gum drops that it offers
paint a million roses on misty mirrors
denial always tap-taps along rainbows
but never roots the truth from darkness.

You frolic in waters different than mine
a fantasy stream always half smiling
what you call living life to the fullest
is really a life filled with half a shine-
Most everyday my heart is eclipsed 
as I sip the brackish waters of truth 
for it's the only cure for societal blindness
but I don't like ugly anymore than you do-

I prefer slogging slowly through thorn and grist
while you tap tap a path of fools gold and petal
but when life closes the blackest of curtains
we'll be hugging the same cool breast of death-  



5/31/20
Craig Sponsor
Hugs contest

• Short Slogging Poems
• Famous Slogging Poems
• Best Slogging Poems
• Read Slogging Poems
• Long Slogging Poems
• Slogging Quotes