"slothful" poems
There are different types of women
As you may very well know
I am here to talk about her,
And her goodness I will show
A virtuous woman is
And talks of good things,
The joy of her love is strong,
And happiness it will bring
She works with her hands and
Takes good care of her home
She comforts her husband
When he is feeling alone.
She teaches her children and
Trains them very well
There is so much to be said
About a virtuous woman but
Not enough time to tell.
Proverb 18 and 22 said;
Whosoever finds a wife,
Which is a woman,
Find a good thing and obtain
Favor in the Lord;
They will remain together
Till death do them part.
A virtuous woman is not
Slothful in business
And serving the Lord
Doing wrong will not be
Found in her mind,
Or even in her heart.
Her husband trust her
Every step of the way,
He will never let her go
No matter what you say.
She dresses accordingly
To make her husband proud
She speaks with a gentle
Voice, not very loud.
She is always doing things to
Get her husband praise, sometimes
Just watching her
Will keep him so amazed.
A virtuous woman is strong
And worth more than
Rubies itself; and when
Her family hurt, she
Hurt more herself.
A woman shall be praised
If she is a woman that
Fear the Lord. A virtuous woman
Qualifies with mind, spirit,
Soul, and heart.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
I'm a murderer
I've stabbed my own heart.
I'm a thief
I've stolen my own happiness.
I'm a liar
I've told myself how much better things would be.
I'm a slothful woman
I fell asleep.
I'm greedy
I've eaten my own pain.
I'm hungry
Just not for sin again.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
The 3 toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him when she said
Wild things run fast
3 toed sloth, he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo and ***
Now sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Kind people fixed it with titanium
He resumes his slothful days
But now he's more careful with his loving ways
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 4:18 PM UTC
The three toed sloth
Rhymes with goth
Or is it oath
Moves slowly
Sometimes algae grows on his head
Joni Mitchell didn't mean him
when she said
Wild things run fast
Randy, three toed sloth,
he'd come last
Once a week he climbs down from his tree
And that's to have a poo
and ***
Now even sloths get amorous
But *** is tricky up a tree
He moves too quick, he's not used to it
And hits the ground involuntarily
Randy broke his arm
Some people fixed it
with titanium
So he can resume his slothful days
But he's more careful now
in his loving ways
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
**Waiting for the white paper
which underlies this writing
to loose a flow of words
finding Peace
in the facing-off:
a pumpkin and a purple cushion..
Henry David Thoreau chose
to sit on a solitary pumpkin
not a crowded purple cushion..
Many we know might charge him
with most slothful neglect..
Our venerable teachers
have exhorted us to
lift up the purple
with their assumption:
what is real is purple..
Yet we..startled by experience
find that very often
purple is pain..
We long to sit on that pumpkin
long since overgrown
with dead purple vines..
At last in our longing
the pumpkin may speak
of what lies in hiding
.. 'til just now..
with Peace emerging
the Pumpkin is Purple...**
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
......
In this edge of the end
Where simplicity flows
Through the straight river
The upstream songs
As the ****** sunshine of Lost spring
There today,
Exhausted Myna drying feathers
In the wet air
Sitting on the shade of the window
Steadfast attention on the distant horizon
Slothful day in a comfort bed
With a cup of tea
A longed cigarette,
Romanticism become struck
Outside the open window
Inside out
Light clouds of August
As if the "will" cradling to and fro
Dropping the ageless poetry
Filled with the words of dance
Rain comes down on the unleash field
Essence of mystic tunes flowing
From the tearful trots of rains
Moving, Flooding
The both sides of the river
..............
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
—Pity me?
Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
—Being—who?
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.
No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed—fight on, fare ever
There as here!”
2k
All sin begins
with ********
leading to ***
birth and life on
earth, but somehow
(if we believe the pew)
all but a single Jew
are born in sin while
forgiveness is reserved
for the picks of the herd
trampling slothful runts
beneath ***** and sweaty
***** on their way up the
Holy ladder to salvation's
elusive shore where matter
and spirit become one in
the Son's immaculate vision
of the united division of
imperfect man.
Meanwhile, we lesser beasts
are cursed with damnation
eternal both on earth and the
infernal regions until the season
of the Jew's expected return.
Burn it all...
It's ********
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:41 PM UTC
. revolution?!
what revolution?!
i can't see a guillotine!
****
hey! guys! there's no guillotine!
there's no talk
of a revolution
when there's no guillotine...
your talk of, a, "revolution"
would make Marquis de Sade
cringe,
and shout down a toilet
than out of window
of the Bastille..
this isn't a revolution,
it's on;ly 2018....
you have to wait!
why are tthe people so slothful,
yet at the same time,
eager, to work?
we're looking at "changes"
come 2045...
the year...
that apparently stabilized
the 2th0 century for
20 / 30 / 40 / 5...
no...
let's keep it with
sucker-punch Billy...
i love being a drunk...
makes all the sober
people look...
******* stupid;
and i don't even mean that....
it's just a military
fatigue...
it akin to:
coulrophobia...
yeah... big time... women making
excursions
for fatigued wool and silk
dresses...
one question does the job...
*honey, can i play the clown
at our honey- berry's birthday
party?*
do women go into
mascara parlors,
window shopping,
with a man tagging along?
honey...
do you really need me to tag along
while you shop for
make-up chemical
parade of tested adherents
for your beauty of your
expectation of fur...
Mike and Moany - the gerbils...
i thought you liked them?
no...
i can do the sheered
woolen artifacts...
when it comes to spreading
lipstick on frogs
and testing their
pyrotechnic susceptibility potential...
watching the Mike Myers' twins...
no... really...
count me out of
the necessity to make
an argument for a race...
i'm out...
done...
i never liked the English
existentialist argument to begin with...
too individualistic,
too finite...
too much of:
enjoying a hell
of a good time...
it's a simple economic logic
focus...
what you're selling?
i'm not buying.
it's that simple!
i don't have to buy what you're
selling!
stand with it all stacked up...
i'm not buying!
somehow i think
the English intellectuals
forgot the basic principles...
i'm, not, buying!
savvy?
god... ugh...
i know the French are bad...
about their oversee of diacritical
application,
and how they make no
sense when syllables
come into play...
and the Germans... yeah yeah...
i get their scrutiny of
method and dedication...
their teutonic charge within
the confines of ******** screws
into place...
but i'm still not seeing
an clearer...
there's talk of a revolution
in the English tongue...
so...
where's the guillotine?!
oh...
so...
what revolution?!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
Childhood friend,
comic(al) book hero,
humor in everything you do,
what happened?
Onset of adolescence,
hanging out in the backyard,
ultimate frisbee,
no thought for coming days.
Hours spent,
how content were we,
wasting away time like it grows on trees,
finite is time.
Then came marijuana,
there goes motivation,
don't let the door hit you on the way out,
look at how much fun you're having.
Controversy,
law in and law out,
a little different,
but more of the same.
Still the same kid lies somewhere inside,
suffocating under cloud and flame,
no negative consequences,
yea right,
I'm not so easily convinced.
Warm and healthy humor gone,
only morbid and ****** jokes remain,
silliness slept safe at night,
and in crept the pain of adulthood,
knife in hand.
Time heals all wounds,
looking glass,
kaleidoscope,
maybe you'll stop conforming someday,
au revoir mon ami.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
What do all these unread books mean,
a life that must move, but intends to someday have
more time to sit and ponder?
Or am I slothful from the smudged screen gleam?
Endless tool possibilities, you've become my lvl. 70 distraction
No capture, no defeating
just the monster in the cave
without an escape rope, or even matches
Go so crazy
I wanna light my shirt on fire in protest
and forget to take it off first
I wish for old days of street loitering gossip, and busking
How'd we lose it so fast?
You can't even find the picnic spot without a digital pamphlet
so excuse me as I lament
the dying days
I hardly lived
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
We are bound by gluttonous and crimson ties of political psychopathy where elected white-collar gangsters exercise their wrath in order to compel the masses towards a lustful calamity at the price of slothful convenience.
Absolute power is characterised by greed, and it corrupts to an absolute degree of nihilistic rhapsody.
Whatever happened to our prideful intelligence?
Lest we forget: the analysis of intimacy is enviable, as she is forfeited in the name of capital vice.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
I was a new-born when you promised
You would carry me anywhere I wanted
And at any time I wanted,
You promised me safety
You promised me freedom.
Dedicated and deceptive
You had teased me growing up
But I never would have predicted
How malicious you could be
You fooled everyone, even me.
Parts of you were destroyed
But you always found other ways
To stick out, ugly and obscene
You screamed at me, you harassed me
And everyone else recoiled.
You were ruthless, relentless,
I needed your permission to leave
On the worst days I could do nothing
But lie there and seethe.
You were always there waiting,
Until I was distracted, to capture me
Trapping me in a time loop dimension
Loop after loop after loop;
Like an elaborate knot.
My tongue no longer tasted
My humanity began to rust
Like a corpse and its restless ghost
I was dormant but deprived of sleep
How could I rest under your glare?
Like a deranged anaesthetist
You forced me to the very edge
I hung over that abyss, wondering
If you would let my hand go, or pull me up
Until boredom struck again
Amidst the beeping and droning machines
Serpentine, you still twisted around me
Pungent disinfectant; the white-room scent
And the pointed metal tips
Their shrieking tongues turned to monotone.
Well, organs and cells,
I had long outgrown you and
Your demented, slothful ways
What did we have in common
Anymore aside from me?
But we are bound like conjoined twins
As fused together as can be
I’d die without you, you’d die without me
I aim to live in harmony with you
And help you gain a much sunnier hue.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
These storybooks woven with leathery imbrication
Filling my palms with vile indication
Detailing such wickedness and strife
What ethereal threads cling to life?
Such labyrinthine desires scrapping in my mind
My soul from body; that body which isn’t kind
To delve deeper within the wounds that sever
To fellow wolves, demons and toothless beggars
Unholy martyrs preach from a podium underground
Ablaze in hellfire, monsters of the ravenous mound
Black tongues and cheeks full of worms and leeches
Coals flung and burning over deafening speeches
Sumptuous in eloquence, these tossers and man-boys
Evocative displays of violence, hushed by silence and toys
Beseeched, reprimanded in city squares with common folk
Feeding dogs in heat slop with a pail and tote
Children waving hi to people in cages, smiling indifferently
Don’t they know what this is? Yes and no, forever in shame
Don’t they know there be wickedness afoot?
There be shadows of molestation
And whips of industry
Eyes removed and replaced with bar-codes
There be devils amongst the valiant
And dark angels amongst us
The few and proud
Recite aloud:
“Darkness brings uninvited guests
And our bodies are bare
Give us a blessing, a crumb or drop
Of life that we all can share.”
Veins full of rubies and auburn sapphires
Creepers laced in the cowls of cadavers
Red water thicker than mud and spit
The fatherland sicker than a rotten ****
There be dark angels amongst us, telling tales deep-seated
They be grave and weary, their lives left defeated
Now in the wilderness they give slothful lectures
But it’s only fools who listen to these rambling specters
And soon no one listens
Save for the moon that glistens
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
A soft answer turneth
away wrath: but grievous
words stir up anger.
2 The tongue of the wise useth
knowledge aright: but the mouth
of fools poureth out foolishness.
3 The eyes of the Lord are
in every place beholding the evil
and the good.
4 A wholesome tongue is a tree
if life: but perverseness therein is
a breach in the spirit.
5 A fool despiseth his father's
instruction: but he the regardeth
reproof is prudent.
6 In the house of the righteous
is much treasure: but in the
revenues of the wicked is trouble.
7 The lips of the wise disperse
knowledge: but the heart of the
foolish doeth not so.
8 The sacrifice of the wicked
is an abomination to the Lord: but
the prayer of the upright is his delight.
9 The way of the wicked is an
abomination unto the Lord: but
he loveth him that followeth
after righteousness.
10 Correction is grievous unto
him that forsaketh the way: and
he that hateth reproof shall die.
11 Hell and destruction are
before the Lord: how much more
then the hearts of the children of
men?
12 A scorner loveth not one
that reproveth him: neither will he
go unto the wise.
13 A merry heart maketh a
cheerful countenance: but by
sorrow of the heart the spirit is
broken.
14 The heart of them that hath
understanding seeketh knowledge:
but the mouth of fools
feedeth on foolishness.
15 All the days of the afflicted
are evil: but he that is of a merry
heart hath a continual feast.
16 Better is little with the fear
of the Lord than great treasure
and trouble therewith.
17 Better is a dinner of herbs
where love is, than a stalled ox
and hatred therewith.
18 A wrathful man stirreth up
strife: but he that is slow to anger
appeaseth strife.
19 The way of the slothful man
is as an hedge of thorns: but the
way of the righteous is made
plain.
20 A wise son maketh a glad
father: but a foolish man
despiseth his mother.
21 Folly is joy to him that is
destitute of wisdom: but a man of
understanding walketh uprightly.
22 Without counsel purposes
are disappointed: but in the
multitude of counsellors they are
established.
23 A man hath joy by the
answer of his mouth: and a word
spoken in due season, how good
is it!
24 The way of life is above to
the wise, that he may depart from
hell beneath.
25 The Lord will destroy the
house of the proud: but he will
establish the border of the
widow.
26 The thoughts of the wicked
are an abomination to the Lord:
but the words of the pure are
pleasant words.
27 He that is greedy of gain
troubleth his own house; but he
that hateth gifts shall live.
28 The heart of the righteous
studieth to answer: but the
mouth of the wicked poureth out
evil things.
29 The Lord is far from the
wicked: but he heareth the
prayer of the righteous.
30 The light of the eyes rejoiceth
the heart: and a good report
maketh the bones fat.
31 The ear that heareth the
reproof of life abideth among the
wise.
32 He that refuseth instruction
despiseth his own soul: but he
that heareth reproof getteth
understanding.
33 The fear of the Lord is the
instruction of wisdom; and before
honour is humility.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Progress?
Past:
The days were ever beautiful,
Golden rays and singing waves,
Soothing were such greetings.
Enthusiasm fed by nature's gifts,
Birds dancing amid bright colors,
Spirits raised into heights aloft.
Cheerfulness embedded in goodwill gestures,
Happy steps among aromatic breezes,
Many smiling and giving greetings.
Encouraging words given freely,
Unselfish acts abounded the streets,
Calm nights bathed in twinkling stars.
Now :
Cursing mornings and frightful rays,
Rising to yet another day of misery,
Slothful and devious conspiracies weaved.
Curtains drawn... scared to open,
What new horrors to behold delayed,
The nights wrongs, no rush to behold.
Morning meal's meager if any at all,
Now out into this cruel reality to forage,
Bracing for what fate will now reveal.
The birds sing of sorrowful tales,
Their melodies seem sad and bleary,
Merchants washing fronts..is that blood?
Checking faces to see if any is missing,
Heads shaking hearts pumping in fear,
What next will be the news? Paradise hijacked.
© Perveiz Ali
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
Nobody Answers
When she walks into an empty,
dark house it hits her as a wind tunnel. It’s deafening,
as her hand places the key into the slot and turns
the **** to open the door. It used to be a lively place,
of kids and pets and toys
spewed all over the floor, chocolate stuck
to the couch, and little finger-prints, like art-work
coloring the walls. The television would be
singing in a sugar-coated voice
a rhyming silly song. Now it hardly gets
turned on. It’s only a black, plastic box sitting slothful,
as the logs in fireplace. Those logs are cold
as stone. There hasn’t been a fire in many years
to keep them warm. Her phone doesn’t ring much
anymore. And when it does it’s only a bill collector. Her
children are no longer living there; they have
their own lives. Her friends have divorced
and are in the dating pool. Now a day she spends
most of her time socializing on her computer. Silence
creeps in stealthy and grows like a cancer. You call out
his name. Nobody answers.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
I fell in love with the girl behind the screen. You were an ex-convict who spoke too sweetly of the way my legs looked in the exaggeratedly posed photos I would send you. In my state of false teen rebellion and defiance for society, I did the one thing you told me to never do; I fell in love with you. Thoughts of you sent me into a fourth dimension where sunrises did not signal the end of sleep but rather the beginning of a slothful day. I wanted to kiss every freckle I imagined would be on your face; imagined only because I never knew what your face held, and feared I never would. I fell in love with a faceless girl. Mirages of walking hand in hand through the streets were inevitable, until darkness came and those sweet mirages morphed to the pleasure of your whimpering body tied to the bed. Whilst I dreamt of being with you, you were enveloped with your girlfriend who spent too much time with others who were not you. I imagine I gave in to giving you everything you plead for all too easily, giving you too much. I gorged you with texts of compassion when you begged for relationships of sadism, a gorging of the type I did not wish to give you. I wanted to be the girl that caused your empty breaks in conversation when you would forget how to speak for the brevity of a moment. For weeks I incessantly checked my phone for your messages I would never receive, for you would never love me. No, never in the way I was in love with you. I fell in love with the one thing that could destroy me without ever laying eyes on me. I fell in love with a face I would never see.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
*Each day is a new day
Trials and temptations
come my way
Each day I battle my demons
Monsters clawing out my closet
I am not perfect, I am not divine
I can hardly claim to be sane
I can remotely proclaim
To be his true child
Yet the Father,
loves me for his own
For those who think
Religion is obfuscate
God knows no religion
HE IS LOVE ABOVE ALL
I know this eternal truth,
because in my heart it resounds
His eyes all seeing
Your sighs are not unnoticed
Your soul bare before him
Every threat and torment
Right from ground zero
He knows you so profound
Yet he chooses not to judge you
Your own makings often trap you
The guilt you feel in your soul
Is the longing to be restored
Reasons of your behaviour
To your may appear sound
To him your logic is profane
In human reality ground
Yet in all His omnipresence
Your free will to Him is sacred.
This Father alone is the one
Who knows to make you strong
His loving nature hands you tests
Life's precious lessons follow
He know experience is a great teacher
Else slothful you'll grow.
So when I know my Father's Heart
I'll put my heart and soul
To get up just once again
knowing my heavenly goal
His loving lessons I will learn
Bear the bruises on my soul
In the bargain stronger I'll become
His grace I will earn
My Saviour is my model
Thrice tripped He persevered
He kept forging up ahead.
Despite His enemies jeers
He beckons now with assurance
Don't give before your state
Heaven's shore is not far away
Just try once again!*
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
Off to the loo with the morning paper , the news of the day , his morning constitution . These silly , weak people , like spoiled little children , why pollute good hot coffee with cream and sugar ? Day is for sweat , labor and toil , not to malinger and forebode like a slothful buffoon ! Carve hard rock like master sculptor , punch the clock like a Union steel worker !
Cut Maple with axe like a tireless lumberjack , plow thirty acres with a mule like Daddy did ! Shovel coal like the Kentucky coal miner , labor at sea like Georgia shrimper ! Lights out at eight o'clock , wake up at five ! Red hots , biscuit , jam and black coffee . Fresh , full , stoked and alive !
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Lethargic nights flower in their beauty,
But dire mornings follow.
Light eventually spills from the foggy window.
Yet, slothful sleep seems better than life.
Hazy eyes burning red not white,
Austerely droop,
Numb fingers struggle to subdue,
And I wish for night,
To return and soothe.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
I live in an optimistic room.
A facade of shaped mirrors.
A shell that lingers, marked with scarred runes.
A hell where a demon lies
dreaming in his tomb.
Ambling about an amiss womb of ignorance
my nature is twisted.
I resisted a restless pessimist who has insisted
I entered into a house of horrors!
Where hubris is heavenly
and pain is pleasure.
Guilt is a given
and treachery means treasure.
My sins surround me.
Too slothful to even pluck the fruit
my gluttonous hunger devours
an empty hand.
In this way, pride and lust also follow suit.
My avarice is of envious repute,
but of the things I envy
I cannot refute.
One last forgotten folly.
An abandoned demand.
A deep,
abysmal
pit
is the seat of my soul.
Fiery wrath
now frigid.
Instead of a furnace
an empty
hole.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 5:52 PM UTC
Untitled
It's again open season
Yet there remains no vacancy
No rooms for rest
Salmon kite
Days of nostalgia
Free float
Pure trist
Illis quotes Amber
The fungus grows larger
A beast and a rifle to burden this momentum
Falling through a mother's pine
One thousand banes in the form of love
A mother's work is never done
Ninth dynamic
Four hours and this is forged again
Silver screams heard through golden temples
Dust settles, the bricks fall
A mile of bone penetrates the pyramid
Bringing new forma of energy
Satan's toothpick
And sharp fur for another
Ghost conductor entering messages
Down there, he eats in fits of a slothful rage
In fits of overdosed shrubbery
***** clocks
Each hollows and fades you
Advanced romance as strands won't return
Dirt searches for your face in the midnight hours
Artificial chains
Lead by burns
Idolatry commencement
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
morning
you cruelly who
in lust Springfully come
your mouth wet
feels in dew lathered
uncurling
brutish
pinkat
the fringes
cool steaming
in the jeer of rounding light
pierced at the aperture of closing
darkness by a ***** of slothful mounting earth upon earth
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC