As the sun arcs from East to West,
a snail embarks upon his quest -
a shining orb flies through the air,
a slowpoke goes from here to there.
sandy has a smaller heart than an artichoke
emotionally a quintessential slowpoke
stomping on others feelings with army boots
ripping out hearts straight from their roots
leaving broken and battered in her wake
as dangerous as any typhoon or earthquake
King of Sky
Regal
Eagle
Robin in Mourning
Sobbin’
Robin
Bird Snatcher
Robbin’
Robin
The Oldster
Blue Jay
grew gray
The Slowpoke
Wood Thrush
should rush!
Out of Nowhere
Pa saw
Macaw
Bird Encouragement
You CAN,
Toucan
Nocturnal Hunt
Go prowl,
Snow Owl
Advice for a Proud, Sick Bird
See Doc,
Peacock
Such a Dear!
Darling
Starling
The pink honeycomb provided a mysterious grace,
Warrior with a sloth-purse unclosed wound.
Sargassum, barefoot hollow woman,
As if such an object could meet my canonic sound.
Soak my feet in cool moist sand,
And juncture to the purple sunset over the sea-bound.
Slowpoke chucklehead hump and heave its swarm,
Create a hole in the caliginous maroon of the unfound.
Until she's done and back to the ocean,
I set and bout her unreal breath with the ground.
This sea a ford motor stimulates altitudinous,
It evokes in me how all designs breathe and drown.
Ocean waves are noisy
like the rain dexterously pours down.
Written: October 10, 2022
slow to eat, crawl, climb
sloth exemplifies slowness
mindfulness on show
The man in a hurry does everything fast
Make him slow down, his verve will not last
The slowpoke takes his time, he's in no special rush
Tell him 'Speed up,' and his spirit you'll crush
Man's nature early on, in cement is set
Nothing will change it, not even a threat
Dad was forever in a hurry
His life filled with tension and worry
He always had to be right on time
If not, he preferred ten minutes early
A terror behind the wheel of his car
He cursed at Heaven and the stars
He'd ride the tail of a slowpoke
Here are names that he'd invoke
You moron, you idiot, you jerk!
You're making me late for work
Nincompoop, numbskull, and pea-brain
You're slower than a worn-out freight train
Dad, of course, was 100% right
And always ready for a fight
'Til the day this came out from my little brother
~ 'That moron drives like my friggin grandmother!'
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the little boy to his dad. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice on 2nd Street”
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the boy, who was now a teenager, to his girlfriend. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice up on the avenue.”
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the teenager, who was now a father, to his son. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice just off the bypass.”
“Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand”, said the father, who was now a grandfather, to his grandson. “Wait until you taste the cherry water ice at the community center.
One day, the grandfather felt like having a little cherry water ice, then he heard a voice say: “Hurry up slowpoke-take my hand. Wait until you taste the water ice in Heaven.”
To be literate makes us cock of the hoop.
If we cannot read we’re out of the loop,
but can a slowpoke,
and illiterate folk,
learn to read eating alphabet soup.
Birds shed their feathers;
Trees, they change with the weather.
But I have seen heaven; I have seen hell.
Felt all of life slowly, stuck in my shell.
Hundred years, I have spent in my mobile home,
Made friends saw them fade with age, then felt alone.
They think boredom is my hobby but they don’t know,
That time likes to moves fast and I like to move slow.
Slowly savoring the taste of life, slowly climbing to higher ground.
Slowly coming out of the maze of lies, slowly truth is found.
Wisdom listens while knowledge makes noise,
And this is the way of life for a tortoise.
You shouldn’t take the bus unless
You aren’t in a rush
‘Cause if you are, frustration
May burst forth and start to gush.
The line of people inches up,
Embarking one by one;
At every stop the minutes pass
Until the boarding’s done.
One person cannot swipe his card;
Another looks for change,
While exiters go out the front,
Which seems both rude and strange.
The drive doesn’t seem to mind
This snail-like slowpoke pace.
He gets his pay no matter what
And this is not a race.
But when you’re in a hurry
You can rage and rail and curse,
Though it’s better to calm down
Or your next ride will be a hearse!
I'm in a constant race against Father time.
You can bet I'll be last crossing the finish line.
If I must tell someone a time and date,
I'll make it there, but I'll be late.
At home the clocks are running fast.
But when I arrive, I'm always last.
The harder I try, the later it gets.
Be it early sunrise or late at sunset.
My friends are always laughing, they think it's a joke.
I don't think it's very funny that I'm a chronic slowpoke.
If I start getting ready three hours prior.
I'll forget something, like putting my clothes in the dryer.
So, while you wait, there's no need to worry.
If I'm going to be late, I'll let you know early.
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