"sleak" poems - Hello Poetry

My grandma is an old woman With shiny silver hair Like the queen's hat I go to visit her on Sundays Her face lights up like Night sky from the old moon She smiles the most gorgeous smile Her teeth make a little window To her heart Love finding its way back My grandma prepares All the dishes that make my mouth water She begins at Saturday morning And finishes by evening Slowly, bit by bit My grandma is aged but her love is like wine; The older, the more intense She feeds me with her fragile, shaky hands The paneer tastes creamy The jalebis are like her skin, Brown and sleak It has been 6 weeks Since I have been meeting her Every Sunday Today when I checked my weight The machine pointed at Sixty four point five From fifty eight point seven It is her love that has found home Within me.

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Apr 2, 2019

Apr 2, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC

kavyamukhija

My Grandma

My grandma is an old woman With shiny silver hair Like the queen's hat I go to visit her on Sundays Her face lights up like Night sky from the old moon She smiles the most gorgeous smile Her teeth make a little window To her heart Love finding its way back My grandma prepares All the dishes that make my mouth water She begins at Saturday morning And finishes by evening Slowly, bit by bit My grandma is aged but her love is like wine; The older, the more intense She feeds me with her fragile, shaky hands The paneer tastes creamy The jalebis are like her skin, Brown and sleak It has been 6 weeks Since I have been meeting her Every Sunday Today when I checked my weight The machine pointed at Sixty four point five From fifty eight point seven It is her love that has found home Within me.

31

Standing in the tunnel at Eighth and Pine station, I survey westbound commuters waiting across the tracks - standing arms akimbo or leaning on marble walls. A well-suited young man paces the platform - cell phone pressed to his cheek. [Passengers stand clear of the edge of the platform at all times] Rushing in from the east, a gleaming white chariot arrives - pauses - resumes leaving the far platform vacated as if by alien abduction From the left a blazing light pierces the tunnel and the Shiloh – Scott eastbound halts and snaps open its doors. crossing the threshold., I claim a seat by the aisle. [Please stand clear! Doors are closing] With eyes half shut I scan the crowd: uniformed workers wearing ID's, a toddler’s arms and legs dangling off his mother's lap, An elderly couple talking softly. The soft clatter of wheels and the gentle side-to-side sway rocks us like a cradle - memories of the long day melting into thoughts of home. [Fairview Heights Station. Doors open to my right] The lady with the toddler steps off. A trio of teenage girls fresh from the mall seek and find empty seats - filling the rear of the car with the music of their chatter. Streetlamps scatter shadows over parking lots. The unseen country side slips by under cover of darkness. Headlights gleam like jewels waiting for crossing gates to lift [Next stop Belleville Station Doors open to my left] I clutch my lap top, work my way to the door and wait for the train’s full stop Stepping out into the frost filled air I pause to watch the sleak white chariot vanish on the eastern horizon. September, 2006

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Nov 13, 2015

Nov 13, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC

robert-c-howard

Shiloh-Scott Eastbound

Standing in the tunnel at Eighth and Pine station, I survey westbound commuters waiting across the tracks - standing arms akimbo or leaning on marble walls. A well-suited young man paces the platform - cell phone pressed to his cheek. [Passengers stand clear of the edge of the platform at all times] Rushing in from the east, a gleaming white chariot arrives - pauses - resumes leaving the far platform vacated as if by alien abduction From the left a blazing light pierces the tunnel and the Shiloh – Scott eastbound halts and snaps open its doors. crossing the threshold., I claim a seat by the aisle. [Please stand clear! Doors are closing] With eyes half shut I scan the crowd: uniformed workers wearing ID's, a toddler’s arms and legs dangling off his mother's lap, An elderly couple talking softly. The soft clatter of wheels and the gentle side-to-side sway rocks us like a cradle - memories of the long day melting into thoughts of home. [Fairview Heights Station. Doors open to my right] The lady with the toddler steps off. A trio of teenage girls fresh from the mall seek and find empty seats - filling the rear of the car with the music of their chatter. Streetlamps scatter shadows over parking lots. The unseen country side slips by under cover of darkness. Headlights gleam like jewels waiting for crossing gates to lift [Next stop Belleville Station Doors open to my left] I clutch my lap top, work my way to the door and wait for the train’s full stop Stepping out into the frost filled air I pause to watch the sleak white chariot vanish on the eastern horizon. September, 2006

55

Spoken Feathers on a crows back are black and sleak He wears a proud long billed beak When he goes hunting far and wide and deep You know the squawk that someone else is ever weak The colour of the leaves are green and brown and red to me to seep My mind is out their trying to reach the animal that was caught but no one can never ever speak I watch the birds on tops of trees to see their prey they have to eat but isn't it horrid to be preyed upon when one moment you're alive then suddenly you are gone and my eyes can see to weep.

0

Apr 24, 2016

Apr 24, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC

peter-kiggin

Spoken

Spoken Feathers on a crows back are black and sleak He wears a proud long billed beak When he goes hunting far and wide and deep You know the squawk that someone else is ever weak The colour of the leaves are green and brown and red to me to seep My mind is out their trying to reach the animal that was caught but no one can never ever speak I watch the birds on tops of trees to see their prey they have to eat but isn't it horrid to be preyed upon when one moment you're alive then suddenly you are gone and my eyes can see to weep.

8