"slider" poems
Slithery, slider, scaly old snake,
surely your body must be a mistake.
Your eyes, mouth and tongue wisely stay on your head.
It seems that your body is all tail instead.
You gobble your dinner, you swallow it whole--
a mouse or a frog or a turtle or mole.
Ugh!
Why don't you eat ice cream or chocolate cake!
Oh slithery, slider, scaly old snake.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
some times I believe,
not think,
but believe,
that there are indeed little figures in the grass,
brushing my ankles with tickles and laughs
sometimes in mid of velvet black,
can see them waving their six fingered hands
in front of the lights across the bay,
for the twinkles are different, their winkles,
semaphoric, euphoric, random but patterned
every know and every then,
could they be inside me,
inciting riots, sugar sharp pains,
in places where pain has no place purposed,
feel them lifting my-back-of-the-neck hairs,
at scary movies, making an ear itchy, why?
these elusives
are fairie godmothers,
personal angels,
hobgoblins,
shoulder sitters,
amusing muses
ear whisperers,
of new poem titles
sock stealers,
shoelace knoters,
giggling self-amusers,
ever present, ever invisible,
hat hiders, wet spot slider installers
you say you know them too?
cousins perhaps, for my elusives,
could not be here and there,
for they are:
as I write,
as I speak,
this very second
fluttering my eyelids,
those rascals,
to lay me down to sleep,
in cherishing tenderness me to keep
for they know too well,
sleep,
is an elusive of a different kind,
like peace of mind,
but they do their best,
to distract me unto rest
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Warmed sand from the hot day slides between her slider toes,
Her soft delicate ankles flex so tenderly with each step,
Smooth calves pull taut with petite strength, yet so frailly,
The falling sun dances on her hip and thigh seductively,
(A woman of complete ****** power, yet seemingly helpless,
Only as fragile as the tip of the golden dagger she bares,
Her greatest power is in your pleasures pleasingly fulfilled,
For once she has you clasped then her bidding can begin,)
Widening hips well versed in shifting her gently pooched belly,
A belly, so sensual, adored with melted elemental perfections,
Colorful beads to draws eyes to skin like petals of a newly bloomed rose,
A belly that when shaking releases all your heart's troubles and woes,
(When she loves, her warmth is ten times the sun on a cold night,
But if you were to oppose her, you are the prey to the panther's delight,
She will give you everything your heart could ever desire,
A kindness that burns inside her for her lover like a bellowed fire,)
Fluid, water like hands tell a story of enchantment as they slice through air,
Caressing a ***** so supple in form, a tear drop design of sexiness shown,
Gentle and smooth as her beasts gyrate with motion as her body moves like waves,
Her hands the constant agonist starting a seductive chain reaction through her body,
(A passionate heart awaiting a love so true, searching for her warrior poet,
She controls her world with her feminine wile but craves a life that is true,
A man that values and respects her intellect, equally as much as the view,
And look into her eyes to see the beautiful goddess that await him,)
Long flowing black hair loved by the wind, teasing her curls as she spins,
The beauty of her face only second to Nefertiti, but her eyes that of a goddess,
Eyes reminiscent of a feline capturing the attention of the strongest man,
Emerald green, deep with passion like the ocean, and rival its beauty infinitely,
A dream that I see her in and long for her intimately......
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Quiet are the fields
with ghosts
from pennants past
the aces
and cutters
set idly away
from the maple
spread fall
soft sounds
of Sunday
(chilling on the boneyard)
telling tales of
validated stars
and wheel house legends
the rally cap sluggers
with mahogany eyes
Mustard colors
in floating mists
give a hallowed glow
to sublime skies
scattered walkers
trip to the hole
their spit buckets
and spigots
pressed loosely into
pure life form
bikers and loners
and curious coffee goers
mill about the horn
whispering numbers
from an old
Keelman heaving
Alley lookers
and Mendoza lines
screachers, bleachers
from years gone by
dancing fingers
and cracks at the bat
moonshots
(from the big time Timmy Jim)
the 9th inning gunner
with sinker
and slider
and imposing
brush back ballz
the game day citizen
and dugout warrior
who lit it all up
in Rockwell fame
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
There is a beetle on the high street,
pushing the sun along at a fraction-
0f-a-mile-per-hour. He is pondering
his plans for the summer.
Perhaps different venues?
Perhaps different dung?
But he knows it's all foolishness.
He never goes anywhere.
Then a god falls out of the sky.
Not a particularly large one,
a medium-sized god as far as
they go. Roughly human-
shaped. Not counting those
streaming banners of fire
that pour from his eyes.
Few humans have burning eyes.
A dagger drips from an open
wound and he clenches his
blood (it is his own blood) in his hand.
More are coming he realizes.
All of them. And he's quite
correct. Without trumpets or
lights or choruses or bowls or
scrolls, it starts to rain.
The beetle pauses in his
pilgrimage to survey the
man underneath the god's feet.
A hand in a crater of asphalt
with a keen, nigh-inaudible
wheeze of breath. A cough
and a choke.
And the beetle scuttles on.
They fall from clouds that aren't,
I mean, actually in the sky. They crush
buildings and businessmen, They
eat fountains. They descend into an
unthinkable and unthinking
age like a dizzied chorus that cannot
pick up on the beat. Purple sash
and green helm, They build mountains.
Teeth chip around the clay- the men
and women- like fireworks.
The gods' great works resolve
like a finished slider puzzle, like the
back of the sun. Mannequins watch
the moving marble for a moment.
But the Mutes eventually find a voice,
they shout, they run into the fray.
Tantalus' mouth fills with
wine. The beetle walks around his
head. Sisyphus' back was broken
by a boulder. The poor little fellow
descends into an inferno and
climbs the devil's back like a
Purgative mountaineer. Such struggle,
thinks he, to have to take a detour.
Sky sets fire to the shell pink
sun at night.
The liquid spheres engulf ideas
on a dry stretch of ocean.
Clouds splinter in a victor's hands,
are frozen shut.
and everything sinks back home
in the middle of a wor
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
It was hot,
so ******* hot.
My house was hotter than *** with a wool sock.
Of course,
there was only one course of action I could take,
get naked.
And so I was naked.
Later that day,
I was walking to the kitchen,
when suddenly,
my belly button started to itch.
I looked down,
and out of my bell button,
crawled an enormous, hairy tarantula.
I immediately slapped the tarantula off my stomach,
and crushed it with my bare foot.
It crunched beneath my foot,
and its slimy being squirted everywhere.
Then, my ear started to itch,
and out crawled,
another tarantula.
Soon,
my throat began to itch,
and my nose began to itch,
and my ******* began to itch..
I don't know why my ******* were itchy,
but,
anyway,
tarantulas began crawling out of all the holes my body had.
Then,
my **** began to itch.
"NO!!" I screamed.
But my words had no power,
and out crawled more tarantulas from my ****
I slowly fell to my knees,
as the tarantulas poured out of my lifeless body.
I did not know what to do,
so I ran to the back of my house,
opened the glass slider,
ran onto the back deck,
and jumped off.
Sadly,
this did not **** me,
and I only broke both my legs.
The bones were sticking straight out of my knees,
and tarantulas began crawling out of my open wounds.
I soon began to choke on the tarantulas,
suffocated,
and died.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 2:24 AM UTC
The tribes trapped by a paradigm pair
A parasitic co-dependent braid
Ever dance the hate minuet so fair
And the dank hollowed halls drink the noise made
Cast as evil those who would break the spell
Powers fell curse upon you whom it rules
In patience we await the dead hand tell
They bank on that ancient snare, kindly cruel
To one day break that bank is our intent
To see freedom ever free is our goal
Too much control is our most fond lament
With bread and butter you would steal our soul
The mob owns the mules & they their riders
A ball peen hammer, still the anvil rings
For each Goliath there comes a slider
Tho’ framing hammers bang the 16’s sing
Since only you matter, then here’s the deal:
If it’s all relative, nothing is real
… including you.
Floyd Alsbach
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
the sky lightens gradually
as if from nowhere, as if someone
in the sky is slowly rising,
blinking sleep from his eyes
and sitting lazily up onto his elbow,
casually ********* the brightness slider
on the universe as if he's done it
every day, he must have.
before the pink can hit it the checker
pattern of clouds fades away,
promising a casually clear blue
day but this one is more
personal now, his gift to me,
because on the concrete looking up
i can see the sun before it rises,
i know what it's like to wake
with the sun there on the other
side of the bed, to see her slowly
blinking the stars from her skies.
yawning, stretching, morning breath,
to see her rolling up her sleeves
and tying back her hair
and scattering her dreams of death
with a shake of her tired head.
and yet even before she is fully awake
she is so radiant.
the moon, shooting stars, even the perseids
step back to let her shine.
i feel as though when the sun
hides behind storms some days,
each day i will know why.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
Adam4's acquaintances who frequent
Foxholes as salivary soliloquy,
Usually suspected no second helpings
A dim ambience for an active bedroom
On battery powered candles
Concorde lighting
The carpet's edges chewed thin
Receding hairlines
And he uses me as bait..?
Our neglected puppy's teething
Nesting under California
King Mojo's hollowed cushions
Keeps him gnawing these nights
Misters and oil burners
I was mistaken, there are those
That revisit--reacquainted with him,
Must of shared a Starbucks,
As his Sasquatch hands
Rub wet platinum on his old fellow
Bears and their Cubs
Silicon smooth pets, house boys
Fished from the deep web,
Plagiarizing with their eyes the pleasures
Of Eurocreme
Bare back dreams, hours heave
The subtitled felatio scenes
I tell the old man, they only ***
After and mostly when
Most of the guest leave,
There is one hovering quick
To accommodate his
Ginger manly girth
I'll be out in the smoking section
At the side of the house
Through the slider door
From off the kitchen dining area
Where he had once
Replaced the table with billiards
For a Lenny and his troop...
His Samsung vibrates every time
I take a five to breathe
Chain smoke and self defocations grief
He posts another ad.
If only you heard
The vagrant shout
A banchee in my skull
For these off the street urchins
Plugged in to the internet's latest
For a place to squat
For winter will be cold
For them to just
****** off
And here I go again,
Assuming that these were decent folk
Come for the holidays
Between taint and pocket rocket
Wallets drain
When one lets the desperate
Indigents
Free range...
"What's there for dinner?"
**** chicken heads again?
Same ole same old dope...
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
White chocolate suicide
This drizzle’s ****** ***
Hard whipped, it tantalizes
Steals air from her lungs
Five scoops of velvet flesh
Slight hint of cherries, bruised
This pleasure grows amidst
Flushed cheeks so rosy hued
Toss in a little cyan-dye
Sweet taste of passion blue
If dessert could **** she’d die
To savor something new
It’s time to take a bite
Before it melts away
Might just take all night
It’s kidnapped her days
Searing as it warms her thighs
Wintry as it chills her bones
Soft-shell too hard to hide
Each taste’s a lustful moan
What’s better than her sweets
Covered in delightful gems?
Unparalleled this frozen treat
Even to her thoughts of him
© 2014
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
febrilsk stilhed
te og treoer
i skole og
fremlæggelser med 38 i feber, stoffet
der omringer min krop gør ondt
en syg pige,
et sygt samfund,
et sygt uddannelsessystem som konsekvens
giv mig bare fuld narkose,
eller et koma? kunne det ikke gavne lidt
med at slappe af, koble fra
fatal uvidenhed; dørene lukker
giver stress over de fremadrettede adgangskrav
slider sig selv ned i et desperat forsøg på
at overleve, at drømme
av
og øv
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
Hey, sometimes Bob Dylan changes your mind.
Like how you're thinking' Cohen and then you
Go to the closet where the records are hid and
Face-high you're being stared at by that man
On the cover of
"Bringing It All Back Home"
And you quietly apologize
And wish him a belated happy birthday
And light a cig
And turn the world on
Outside your open slider door
For what always feels like the first time.
Hey, sometimes it takes a whole poem to give you something to do.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
du bad mig om at vente her
på hjørnet af frederiksberg allé
mens du gik den modsatte vej
og du så dig aldrig tilbage som om du ikke var i tvivl
men alligevel
tog du mine hænder og sagde at jeg bare
skulle stole på dig og dit (sidste) kys brænder
stadig på mine frost kolde læber
jeg har ventet i en menneskealder og
jeg har set en verden af københavn som ellers
bare ville have passeret mine øjne som små
ubetydelige skygger
vejret har skiftet mere end før
og jeg ligner mest af alt en der har gået sit
livs walk of shame
for jeg er stadig klædt i den sorte kjole
og de små sko med hæl som du forærede
mig dengang
læbestiften er intakt endnu
og jeg smager af daggamle cigaretter
og whisky
og luften blandes af duften af
chanel og vores søde minder
den københavnske vinter slider ikke
så meget på mit sind når jeg tænker på det
og mine følelser smelter
jeg kan nok godt vente fem minutter endnu
men du kom aldrig forbi frederiksberg allé igen og
du afleverede aldrig mit hjerte tilbage selvom
du havde lovet det da du tog mine hænder og kyssede
mig (for sidste gang)
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Ted Williamse's head sits frozen
In a cryo chamber in Arizona to be
Thawed and reanimated at a later date.
The splendid splinter. Set in eternal winter
After all said and done. Thumper.
THE INTERVIEW
Theodore, was that a curve or slider ?.
"Can't say for sure sport. I picked up the seams but it busted in
high and tight
Ted, what exactly was the plan ?
"Couldn't say for sure ace
I'm all in. they froze my head to a
cat food tin"
Ted When do you plan on coming back
"Well, I have no real timetable as such, you
know science moves forward in starts and lurches.
Reanimation and a cure would go real swell.
You know."
Well we all here are praying hard for a cure
You hang on in there. A century or so and your good as new.
By the way Ted ,who signed the papers?
" Couldn't rightly say chum but this meat locker
is sure for the birds"
All right buddy. Thaw
you later.
Well, keep your chin up Teddy and your powder dry
Just think good thoughts and the time will fly.
What's a hundred years to
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
Oh little thing
beeping on my hip...
where are you?
did you find me,
green slider, and
tentative ring?
even your numbers
shiny 9 and 5
with 1s, zeros
QWERTY...an
entire alphabet
to love.
How is it
that without your
invisible electronic
leash, whispered
messages and
brilliant, **** screen
I would stand on
the street
lost in my own
neighborhoood...
It is the solved mystery
of the 21st Century.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 10:42 PM UTC
Living in this home is like being a blue bird trapped in a cage.
Surrounded by restrictions in every direction,
always yearning to spread your wings.
Your inner spirit endlessly begging to be as free
as the wind breezing above every sea.
Living in this home is like living in the deepest, darkest misery.
Constantly consumed by sadness and depression.
Everyday a little more slider like a venomous snake into your soul;
extinguishing your burning flame of happiness and joy.
Leaving your heart freezing cold,
and a chill is now within your soul.
After living in this home,
you lose all sight of any brighter days to come.
With every passing moment a bitterly salty tear trickles down your cheek, descending into a puddle of lost hopes and dreams.
After living in this home,
you realize you do not have to die to know what death is like.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 5:05 PM UTC
Little white rusty door
I wonder, what are you for?
Secret passage to other lands
With golden seas and blackened sands
Or tiny stairs to a grey cloud sky
Where music sleeps and dreams drip-dry
Or slider tunnel down below
Delving deep where creatures glow
Or a stronghold for precious hearts
After the crimson sky fallout starts
Little white rusty door
I wonder, what are you for?
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
When, as a child, I thought about
a future to be planned,
I saw myself upon the mound
with a baseball in my hand.
I’d fantasize about the game
throwing at our garage door.
Fearlessly I toed the rubber
and reached down for something more.
I learned the basics of control,
a fastball and a slider.
If I could only get my curve to break
I’d really be on fire.
Through long summer afternoons
From sixty feet, six inches.
I’d shake off imaginary signs
and called my own dammed pitches.
There was a problem, I confess,
one troubling me greatly.
My fastball wasn’t all that fast-
It topped out about eighty.
I also stand at Five foot eight
and, even then, was hefty.
But I think I could have made “The Show”
if I had been born a Lefty.
Published today 09.12
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
Eat some chocolate
Drink some wine
And the night is mighty fine
Grab some shortbread
And some cider
And a roasted turkey slider
Have some eggnog
And some cake
Disregard the stomach ache
Dip some fruit in crème anglaise
And enjoy the holidays
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
My momma is better than your momma
She cook better she look better
She can make flowers grow
She can beat yo daddy with tae kwon do My momma is the best there is
Pass any test there is Had to in order to raise us kids She can take
some bread and fish And a thang if water. She can make Any dish and
feed us with enuff For seconds. Thank you, Lord!
Cuz even tho we can't afford
Somehow my momma got us everything we asked for
My momma is better than your momma
She the cool momma on the block
Have my friends askin could we pls switch spots She can turn rain into
sun Turn a belt into a gun Carry a burden that weighs a ton And keep
her hair and her nails done My momma is number 1 Ain't no competition
You may think yo momma is great But my momma make yo momma Wanna slap
her momma for not Bein my momma
My momma is better than your momma
You can't tell me she ain't
My momma can fix pipes electronics
Change tires mix paint
She can preach to preacher
Out drink a drinker
Throw a curve slider and a sinker
She can make somethin outta nothin
And if you give her somethin...
She can double that somethin give you
Your somethin flip somethin and have 2 stacks double or nothin
My momma is better than your momma
I think everyone can agree
My momma is better than your momma
She is the best ever you see
She is the village that raise the kids Can't nobody attempt the things
she did She can run like the wind She is the most caring most lovin
Woman ever. Long as yo **** is home by 10.
You mite think your mom is better
But I'm a tell ya she don't compare
Cuz my momma got your momma beat from her feet to her hair
My momma is better than your momma
For this I love her so
I am the plant she nurtured
I am the flower that she made grow
Her voice calms me and takes me
Back to the days when she would hold me Close to her and protect me
Especially when I was afraid I know there are many mothers They all
love with a love that only God knows They are compassionate caring
loving and it shows But those moms are cool but I can't put them above
the Woman that I call mother hopefully 1 day I can show her the way
she loves me
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
It looks like I'll never get my hands on those obliques. He walked out of my sights and into a steel press; I have had dreams straddling a lathe, ************ with anything I could find because my hands were borrowed late at night by a phony jesus. I wish, ultimately, that I was still a waitress living in a tiny trailer with two toy poodles; nails hot pink, bathtub shrine to flame, a psuedo dictator/drug lord. I could have touched him then, then nobody held my fingers to the slider, to the faucet. Better, though, to do better. A block of ice for my heat, and fiction. He wrote fiction. A sensible person would understand when I say shipwreck, my bled, my bed. Like wakoski-sex obsessed; shoulders and ribs instead of leather boots, mustaches. What nonfiction breadth, and seams. My teeth have ridges, says any spelunker thinking of oral. Its scary when disease settles in. Thats scary, making me sliver next to this scenic route, this ship-width. I'm sure I won't remember him tomorrow.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Everything is right where I left it. It's been so long, I feel the weight in my palm. Cool metal, and plastic against hot, cold, clammy hands. Hearing the slider click to open.
Click
Click
Click
Waves of nostalgia ripple, like waves in the ocean. While it's just in my hand, I can feel the Peace of being split open. So many years being clean, want to fall out of the window and drown in the ocean. I want to know, does it help the same? Will it dull the pain? It's calling out to me, it knows what I've done. I wonder if I can stop at just one?
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
Orange beams, flood through morning fog and wet leaves,
stop signs and whispered phone-calls echo through our minds,
"Was it a good idea to leave the house tonight?"
Running up and down the streets, hearts beating, shadows leading us,
"Was it a good idea to leave the house tonight?"
quietly open the slider, such a warm embrace of light,
We had been out for lifetimes, yet it only read 3:00 on the clock.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
Slider, this
Cellular vestibule
Pink-yellow capillarium
**** sack, wretched thump sump
Stuffed with sauce and rind
“I was always meant to go”
He said on the way out of his mind
The *** Runner and his misbehaving
Alchemy, of blood stunted
By the soot of
Planetary catastrophe
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC