Slumps Poems | Examples

Where Intention Once Stood

My thoughts walk barefoot on gravel roads—aching, slow, and scattershot.

My mind drifts like dusk in worn linen—frayed, faded, and folding in on itself.

My mind, grown tired of its tidy metaphors, slumps like a clerk at closing hour—unnoticed, necessary, numb.

My brain, vast as prairie land at sunset, lies fallow—dreaming the hush between thunderclaps.

My brain has taken the quiet path through woods not quite snowy nor lovely—just worn, and wondering where it last turned.

My brain, a lantern gutted of oil, flickers faintly beneath the architecture of centuries—it remembers too much.

My brain, a parched cathedral steeped in sermons long forgotten, weighs the dust in its own procession.

My brain, a faded lyre, trembles with thoughts too tender to hold—each one a ghost of once-bright song.

My brain, like Arthur's helm at gloaming, rests—dented by thought, dulled by long crusade.

My brain, a theater haunted by a thousand borrowed tongues, performs rituals where intention once stood.

Its voice speaks as though the soul were sharp as steel—blunt not by age, but by silence.


Copyright © 2018 by Mickey Grubb

Jousting

Medieval times
A time of splendour
With gallant Knights
Ladies so slender

Jousting tournaments
The ladies all squeal
Exploding of hoofs
The clash of steel

Enter the Black Knight
To a round of jeers
The White Knight enters
To resounding cheers

First pass no foul
They try it once more
The Knight in White
Slumps to the floor

They carry him off
And tend to his wounds
A Blue Knight appears
The ladies all swoon

The maidens favourite
Known far and wide
Lord Richard of Leeds
His lance by his side

They ready for battle
Shields are in place
Masks of armour
Covering their face

Towards each other
They gallop full speed
Lances held high
The snorting of steeds

The Black Knight falls
The hero wins out
Blue Knight celebrates
Victory in the joust

Approaching the King
Horse and rider bow
The people go wild
Allegiance they vow

Medieval times
Hail to the King
Jousting tournaments
What glory they bring

Sisyphus Silence

Sisyphus’ Silence

I sit, a silent, carved-out zone,

A soul entrapped, unlit, unwhole,

The majority’s tide grinds flesh to bone,

While others’ feelings wallow, roll

In mud that clings, a river’s drone.

Sisyphus slumps at mountain’s base,

Scowls at the stone, then dares a smile,

“Nevermore” hums through empty space,

The gods, once loud, now mute, exiled.

Jousting

Medieval times
A time of splendour
With gallant Knights
Ladies so slender

Jousting tournaments
The ladies all squeal
Exploding of hoofs
The clash of steel

Enter the Black Knight
To a round of jeers
The White Knight enters
To resounding cheers

First pass no foul
They try it once more
The Knight in White
Slumps to the floor

They carry him off
And tend to his wounds
A Blue Knight appears
The ladies all swoon

The maidens favourite
Known far and wide
Lord Richard of Leeds
His lance by his side

They ready for battle
Shields are in place
Masks of armour
Covering their face

Towards each other
They gallop full speed
Lances held high
The snorting of steeds

The Black Knight falls
The hero wins out
Blue Knight celebrates
Victory in the joust

Approaching the King
Horse and rider bow
The people go wild
Allegiance they vow

Medieval times
Hail to the King
Jousting tournaments
What glory they bring

007 over-the-edge

Brit's spy guy from Ian Fleming
Is Bond who goes chaos stemming!
When the web of life slumps
See how quickly he jumps 
Sadly to die like a lemming

orange ginger twirl

atop
a garden wall

striped marmalade throw

feline
lazy time
under sunshine

interlaced visions
a weaving

paws dangle in indolent ease
reach
underlay deep

whiskers sense sparrows
muscles tense in their plush
carpet shag
then
drowsy textile head slumps

sun-drying kitty-mat
basking

2 textured images twilled
to fade together forever

later

cat-rug carried away ~

sun settles in a deckchair

Holiday Limericks

Written for the contest: Holiday Humor- Limerick Set
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Contest Judged:  11/17/2024 11:17:00 AM
Placement: 2nd





Our Halloween cat finally brought home,
Cuteness on display like models in Rome,
Even it shines so nice,
Like jewels of good price.
Fun smiles when it's allowed to freely roam.

Two cat buddies thought they had a new friend,
This big-eyed stranger toy cat could not bend,
Having a sway motion,
With no emotion.
To all their cat plays its mood could not blend.

Its curious hosts never saw its jumps,
Like a drunkard its walk is full of slumps,
So smittened so bad,
To make it feel sad,
But when it got shattered they both felt trumped.










30th, October, 2024

Too Close To The Edge

While my head slumps low, on both crouching knees,
my meek soul doesn't know, rhyme nor reason seize,
on both crouching knees, while my head slumps low,
rhyme nor reason seize, my meek soul doesn't know.

There'd be a stake-knife, that choice heightened soul,
dreams larger-than-life completes source cores whole,
that choice heightened soul, there'd be a stake-knife,
completes source cores whole, dreams larger-than-life.

Disclosures concede strength raised benchmarks high,
stay the course, succeed, proud guides, worth third-eye,
strength raised benchmarks high, disclosures concede,
proud guides, worth third-eye, stay the course, succeed.

No man's land--command, rare form sights take charge,
performed cash-in-hand, zoomed measures discharge,
rare form sights take charge, no man's land--command,
zoomed measures discharge, performed cash-in-hand.

the gray of today in the long yawn of awakening

each sleight is the haunt 
of some evicted ghost.
grieving me a life of greater pain;
I see pieces of people passing, 
drifting into the footsteps 
of another's future. 

I feel the rough sandpaper surface 
of the concrete bridge 
as I  prepare to jump. 
For a moment my heart slumps.  
It takes the smallest of memories 
to interrupt a courage. 

I thought each flower finer 
in a different way, 
if there’s a word for that, 
I cannot say.  

Far more acute 
than any thing precise,  
far more astute 
than scholarly advice. 

Is there a right kind of poetry?  

In a room far away 
behind a desk in an office, 
someone else decides.

alcides

Slide, barrel, firing
My life expiring

Carve peace into a bullet so its the last thing on my mind
'Cause what remains in the sky is our stars misaligned
The shrapnel from the meplat dissects my insides
My emotional integrity, treat like it was Alcides

I submit to you my mag of hatred
You load your gun and leave me berated
The echoes of metallic disparage on the concrete
Discard the magazine, rest it on my grave and replete

Disengage the safety, make your grip pirouette
In my mind you're already dead, your ballade des
Your body slumps, no longer recepts, self-sabotaged
The thoughts of us never escaped your mind, constantly collaged

Dark and Ordinary

Dark and ordinary mornings start,
with haptic taps from my Apple watch,
and a yawning stretch, way before dawn.

I glance out my window, to check,
the weather because that’s the spec,
that decides whether, we’re outside,
or we’re down to the gym inside.

“Alexa, brew,” I compel my AI
thank God, she understands,
and my Keurig gurgles to life.

I brush the ‘ol tusks and wash my face,
before wiggling into spandex and taking a place
on the bench by the door where our shoes are stored.

When Lisa comes out, stout coffee in hand,
she slumps on the bench, with a sleepy pout.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confides with a yawn,
“I barely closed my eyes - then it was dawn!”

Checking my watch, I haven’t the heart,
to say ‘dawn’s a half hour after we start.’
Every morning we rise and jog a five K,
we decided, last year, that it’s the best way,
to jump-start our brains and start our day.

Poets write about love, pure and chaste,
and less about morning alarms and toothpaste
but in these moments, the ways we start our day,
can influence our lives in interesting ways.

The Black Quiet

You can not see them
Not prove they are there
Shadows that creep, shadows that stare
You sink into your bed
Cover on your head
Beginning to sweat 
something moved across the floor
Then you hear it
The black quiet at your door
Stronger than ever
It’s been many days
It knows who you are
There’s no escape
You tell yourself 
Your not afraid
Your soul needs you to be brave
But beyond your witty charm
The black quiet touches your arm
Mortified, your blood runs cold
Your heart, it stops
Your shoulders sink, your body slumps
You try to scream but no sound comes
And in the window…
I am watching you!

Returning Home

Born
         Baby
     Raises head
 Crawls everywhere
 Starts to walk 'n talk...
   ...Old age sets in
   Wheelchair-bound
     Slumps down
          Dies...

Lazy

My
bask in
July sun,
turns into yawns,
slumps in a long nap,
I wake up half asleep,
I want to blame someone else,
Is it the shade under the sun?
Is it my retired life and old age?
Why blame anyone, I had lots of fun.

Love, Always

speech derailed
tipped off balance
a world in fragments
when loss follows its own narrative 

secured to his hospital chair
the man
stroke weary
slumps, ungainly as reeds
she caresses his hands
dependent touching
poised intimacy

her words:
 "I will love you always.
   please say after me,
  I will love you always."
her spoken meditation on love's loyalty
words that beg remembrance 

he nods
wide eyed faith
caught in sunless seclusion
does he know love by looking at now?

in the white room
there are puzzles that fog the brain
that can't unravel clues
"Try
  try
  just once more"
splintered words
healable vows
"I will love you, all ways."



Poem composed April 9, 2023

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