"slouch" poems
To be a princess you must:
never be impolite
never slouch
never turn your back
never show who you are
always do whats right
always follow a scheduled
always wake up early
always always always
Well i'm glad i'm not a princess
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
With white frost gone
And all green dreams not worth much,
After a lean day's work
Time comes round for that foul ****
Mere bruit of her takes our street
Until every man,
Red, pale or dark,
Veers to her slouch.
Mark, I cry, that mouth
Made to do violence on,
That seamed face
Askew with blotch, dint, scar
Struck by each dour year.
Walks there not some such one man
As can spare breath
To patch with brand of love this rank grimace
Which out from black tarn, ditch and cup
Into my most chaste own eyes
Looks up.
8.2k
He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary
Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas
Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape
Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)
Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair
Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam
It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
5.5k
staring at the blank page
i find myself thinking
quite low of myself.
wondering to myself
absently muttering out loud
as if adding more sound
to the white noise
will give me a sense of validation
that i still exist.
the hum of the laptop
and turquoise hexagon sun
mixes with the sound
of the car doors closing outside
and the people sitting
in their chairs, lazing about
staring at the television screens
what else can i hear?
closing my eyes, i stop
taking a moment
to let my worried mind rest
forgetting about my financial crisis
to bathe in the sound
of my silence.
with my eyes closed
i type with confidence
i don't fear my words
when i can't see them
my eyes feel hot
under my dark eyelids
as heavy as they are
i am surprised i don't
slouch and fall into slumber
right here in my chair.
in the second it takes
to flutter open my eyes
and reread the words i just wrote
i have to remember
to stop myself before i nitpick
and change what came
from my heart
and at the time felt right.
if only
i went through life like this more often
then maybe i wouldn't feel so down
or hard on myself
because honestly i'm not that bad
nor am i as dumb
or silly as i feel
and maybe next time
when i go ice skating
i won't be such a little *****
about how i look to other people.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
Dear you,
I want you to come closer
Although I try to push you away
I am awkward
And the awkwardness only keeps growing
The more I have, the more you loose
But the more you have, the more I get
The equation is complicated
I don’t expect you to understand
After all
You never understood me either.
I am there
Beside you and behind you
All you have to do is turn
turn stealthily enough
So I don’t have time to run
I told you
I am awkward
And the awkwardness only grows
I slouch, I ******* I squeak
just like your bedroom door I creak
unopened for centuries
Unheard for decades
Unseen for years
Not because I’m weak but because
I am awkward
And the awkwardness only grows
i live in a pineapple under the sea
or you could say I hide
Hide from you, hide from me
Hide from the rest of the reality
but I am always there
I always will
For I have to be
Don’t acknowledge me
Validation is not my need
But don’t forget me either
For I have this hidden greed
Never leave your own side
I need to follow
Never leave my side either
But know
To me,
Ignorance is a bliss
For I am awkward
And the awkwardness only grows
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:43 AM UTC
I've seen you in striped white,
I've seen you in black wrap-around tops,
I've seen you in stilettos,
I've seen you in Fitflops.
I've seen you in the bluest of days,
I've seen you in the rainiest of nights,
I've seen you in the face of the sun,
I've seen you in the wind-full of kites.
I've seen you in the trajectory of life,
I've seen you stare at me with care,
I've seen you in the droplets of water,
I've seen you in every castle in the air.
I've seen you dreaming,
I've seen you back in reality,
I've seen you physically Earthy,
I've seen you emotionally Mars-y,
I've seen you sad and jubilant,
I've seen you troubled, but kept a smile,
I've seen you doubled - in poker,
I've seen you gone crazily wild.
I've seen you in green-blinking nails,
I've seen you return my stutters,
I've seen you stand tall - confident,
I've seen you slouch - don't matter.
I've seen you looking into empty spaces,
I've seen you looking into a tasty plate,
I've seen you doubt yourself,
I've seen you believing in fate.
I've seen you in the bakery,
I've seen you in a factory,
I've seen you in your beauty,
I've seen you in your most ball-sy.
I've seen you in the bus,
I've seen you read,
I've seen you pick up a microphone,
I've seen you speaking with speed.
I've seen you with a newspaper,
I've seen you with an iPad,
I've seen you with a t-shirt,
I've seen you stylishly clad.
I've seen you work hard,
I've seen you studied irresponsibly,
I've seen you proud,
I've seen you flicker embarrassingly.
I've seen you here,
I've seen you there,
I've seen you near,
I've seen you everywhere.
I've seen enough,
I've seen you in extremes,
I've seen you thorough,
I've seen you in teams.
I've seen you verily,
I've seen you truly,
I've seen so much inspiration,
I've seen you guilty.
I've seen "I've seen" 58 times,
I've seen you more than that few.
But I would've seen nothing more,
If I've seen none of you.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
My flights come and go,
But the bench records my slouch
As I’ve already grown wings.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
Sit up straight
chest out
Legs together
DON'T SLOUCH
smile,
Smile,
YOU SHOULD SMILE MORE
you'd look prettier
Brush your hair,
tight bun,
no stray hairs,
you'll look sloppy
no Man wants a girl like that
you should eat less
no Man wants a girl who eats too much
don't eat that
that's the reason for your stretch marks
you'll get fat
don't be fat
No Man wants a fat girl.
don't wear short skirts we don't want to see that...cellulite
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
...she's too skinny
"she looks anorexic haha"
Ew pimples,
dark circles under your eyes!
COVER THEM UP.
"Why are you wearing make up?
I only like girls with "natural" makeup",
don't wear that red lipstick
you'll look like a *****
"Dude she is such a **** look how short her dress is"
"She's such a ***** show some leg, you're not a nun"
"She should loosen up, take a few shots, she's so up tight"
"Look at how much she has had to drink, she's so loose"
Men don't like girls who...yell
Men don't like girls who...swear
Men don't like girls who...drink
Men don't like girls who...smoke
Men don't like girls who...wear too much
Men don;t like girls who...wear too little
Men don't like girls who...play hard to get
Men don't like girls who...are too easy
Men don't like girls who...eat too much
Men don't like girls who...don't eat
Men don't like girls who...are too clingy
Men don't like girls who...don't give them attention
Men don't like girls who...
Men don't like girls who...
Men don't like girls who...
STOP
I am a WOMEN.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:57 AM UTC
I hope you know that I'll always hold you;
always catch you when you fall.
You're so strong, with your proud chin hoisted upwards.
No one would ever see the slouch in your shoulders,
unless you wanted them to.
The tiredness of your eyes;
deep purple smudges on your eyelids.
Your smile may settle in a delightful curve
but it doesn't set in your eyes like the sun.
I will catch you, I promise;
If you should choose to fall, do not be wary.
You won't hit the hard ground, the cold earth.
But you will hit my arms.
And you can just rest there.
Rest there, my dear.
And don't worry about anything.
You don't have to speak;
I will listen to the way your voice sounds,
sincere or not;
I will catch you, darling.
If you should ever fall.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Once I watched a waterfall
Wash all my fears away
And then I thought I saw some
Happy tears of yesterday.
The moment brought aromas
Of the ocean and the sea
I lost my taste to reminisce
And started feeling free.
Around and round the bubbles seemed to rise
To bring my life today before my eyes
And as I watched the ripples rearrange.
I loved this place no less after each change.
A breeze played near my face
And put some patience in my hair
My shoulders settled back
Where once a worried slouch was there.
I might have missed this resting spot
Had I not heard the call.
The voice of sound in silence.
The peaceful waterfall.
I am not meant to swim in empty streams
Things I cannot see now must be dreams.
I knew the past as ripples which were gone.
The future is the river further on.
Once I watched a waterfall
Wash all my fears away
And then I thought I saw some
Happy tears of yesterday.
The moment brought aromas
Of the ocean and the sea
I lost my taste to reminisce
And started feeling free.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
Come, sit beside me
Grab a chair, a stool, a couch
Bring coffee and conversation
we’ll slump, chill and slouch
It matters not on where you sit
nor on, where you stand as well
As long as you come in peace
with things to share and tell
It’s of little concern what you look like
or the accent that you leak
as long as you make a good coffee
and we listen when each speak
on a matter of personal opinion
maybe another point of view
So let’s enjoy each others perspective
and feel free to express them too
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 2:04 PM UTC
I went for an X-Ray the other day. My name was called
and after the expected delay, I heard a nurse say
Right knee? I said Yep! She said “Come this way…
Can you get your trouser leg up to your thigh"?
I said “No… these skinny jeans don’t go that high”.
“In that case” she said looking me up & down... with a frown
Pop in that cubicle… and put on this gown!
For a start…it took me ages to get these trousers off…
and force the rest of my stuff into the carrier bag supplied
and then, when I saw the gown, I very nearly died!
It would have fitted me just fine if I’d been 18 again
but the gaps and bulges in the thing were a farce...
and allowed everyone in the corridor to see my fat 71 year old ****
I said out loud when I sat down again in the queue
“You know…I had an inferiority complex before I met any of you.
But this has definitely taken me down a notch. And I apologise about the view”.
However, inside the X-Ray room with all the techie kit and Radiographer Rob,
I felt better… The pain in my knee had almost gone apart from a distant throb.
Then he said “You’re completely safe, just lie back calm, quite still…serene”.
Whilst he clicked the shutter from the other side of his lead lined screen. (So he was alright then!)
Well, I’m home again now, hobbling about… It’s bearable (not like childbirth ladies) but not great.
I’m sitting here with my leg up waiting for the letter that will let me know my fate.
Ah yes… men and pain! There is a well know fact about the differences between the sexes.
It’s proven that, with men, colds become flu…and ailments:- epidemics… (No really!)
So, here’s the letter… Now...will it be Ointment? Physio, to transform a permanent slouch?
Or a keyhole flush with a catheter? Or - Oh no!…
For me - it’s a titanium replacement knee!… Ouch!
Somebody pass me that gown!!!
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
Sometimes face painting
another persona
becomes plain,
her exaggerated giggles
don't slouch right
upon the rose buds,
(Mama noted them first -
cherishing her eleven winter's
awaited delivery)
so readily pruned
of actuality and truthfulness
ravaging an inner shadow -
still Eight Christmases young
playing on her fruit's swing,
running dough fingers across
tangerine bars.
Before memories
commence their chorus,
pleading forgiveness and
forget-me nots,
'No Vacancies'
is rehung within
her windows
moss embroidered.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 2:07 PM UTC
I gained weight
my shoulde(r)s slouch(e)d
at the burden
I am carrying
that'(s) increasing
with my age
as time piles
my waist ex(p)ands
fertility is just an adjective
with(o)ut a part(n)er
sen(sib)ly carry(i)ng
(li)fe's weigh(t)
(y)ou
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:14 AM UTC
They squirm inside their clothes
tweed, chiffon tiered skirts, and bows
of their grandmothers’ sepia, halcyon days
with lumberjack flannel and Kerouac quotes,
but it’s more a matter of age than size,
these charging, listless, candid creatures
with hairstyles that can only be described
as gravity readily defied and self-cut,
frequently dyed to shades that swing
between black coffee and New York poetry
deep imagism and social realism against the backdrop
of American Apparel ads on scratched up Macs.
They slouch up and down trafficked Newbury,
dropping names like Morrissey and Bukowski
pausing now and then to pick up on the ennui
of twenty-three, and how they will one day live la vie
Dharhimian, running on American Spirits,
James Dean, Truffaut chic,
a monthly check from their parents,
an apathetic sneer at holding anything too dearly
and how they hate that word—hip-ster.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:44 PM UTC
**The glass bowl stands-a fragile shell
For puny, puffing orange swimmers
Flimsy as the frosting on a wedding cake
You, an endearing fool care too much
For goldfish- that on a bleak Sunday evening
When the weather’s offbeat and the curtains
Appear especially dull- and you slouch back on
Your favorite divan regretting the choice of
Wall-color and some slightly more cardinal matters
Will die on you-
All you asked was for the dumb goldfish to keep
Scurrying about- but no, today’s not your day.
Your heart is a shore pebble and your lips are
As twisted as a winding hill road
As you regret ever having brought in the goldfish that die.**
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
High ground
I concede to you
in the disproportion of a time allotted to you
for the choice of robe to grace
a glorified cameo around your flesh
like a sheet designated for an overthrowing
in an honorary statue's unveiling
Liturgy is looming in the bathroom
already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's
mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles
I have settled comfortably into in wait
High ground
awaits your hallowed prance
into the concealed languish of your man's
dangling imagination
I salute you with incentive
through a lowering of eyes made necessary
by your towering above my horizontal soak
I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway
over the humility of my reclined posture
with the hidden scepter of your body
fated to dictate the pace of my
anticipated knighting
The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum
incites a turning of my head to take in
the litany of parts available to my
frenetic feels and jumbled focus
Stationary in your naked smile of proximity
you extend to me excessive time to entertain options
as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities
and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness
I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries
sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery
The wall is cold and you protrude
haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame
Warmth is of the essence
Fingers split your hair in celebration
of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch
signalling our first hint of friction
and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth
Do you realize you now rescind creative license?
Or have you filled the snare of your intentions?
Now your balance shivers in the mercy
of my curled leg of leverage
and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes
like an ice cream scoop
Uniform heights allowing eye contact
makes optional the visual acknowledgment
of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast
with a dancing thumb
I connect and latch onto what is now
our binding axis and shuffle eye contact
with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
The girl in the black
bathing suit swims
through my dreams;
her orange eyes warn
me that summer
is coming.
An inescapable
swelter of air
threads itself
through the slats
of picket fences,
crisping insects
and terrifying
an army of black birds
bivouacked in the trees.
I hear the soft explosion
of hibiscus, red petals as
bright as belly wounds,
and the heartbeat
of the dog panting,
stupefied by the heat
of a relentless star.
Up and down the street,
abandoned children call
out from the bottom of
empty swimming pools.
I slouch in an aluminum chair,
trying to get black-out drunk
on warm gin and tonics.
The tidy rectangle
of grass around me
ignites in a legion
of slender flames.
I remember the dark room
and my father’s deathbed,
his whispered, final words:
dying is thirsty work.
I strip to my underwear
and fantasize about ice.
I pray for the neighborhood
sprinklers to spring to life.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
I try hard at all I do
Yet I always fail
I try to pay attention
Yet I still doze off
I try to walk proud
Yet I slouch in pain
I try to be composed
Yet I break down
I feel worthless now
No value left in me
I am a wasted soul
Walking amongst the world
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Through the miracle of meteorology, up high - little by little
parts of me was made, without form within a clouds middle,
and eventually, formed in unique designs, lighter than feathers,
temperature and water work together to produce, a period of weather.
When shapes, never repeated - but in approximation, begin to fall, as snow,
feasibly forecasted, sometimes not so, down on to the surface below.
And so as blanket laid, across town and countryside, fields and city mews,
changing the familiar, smoothing contours, into new landscape views.
The material soft, white glistening snow so miraculously delivered,
at earliest opportunity is introduced to excited shouts, laughter, and shivers.
Fittingly gathered by adult and children's hand, with the goal - to build a man.
midst joyful sounds, travellers moans and snowball fights, the creators plan,
By rolled ball pile and heaped snow I was born, created by many in several places,
some small and really, lovingly made. Others large with various, curious, hats and faces.
All - to stand appreciatively of of the makers time, to create me and proudly put on show.
Winter feeds our lifetime span with cold wind, colder nights and, temperatures low,
we stand as white statuary, where children play, soon - will come the expected day
a thaw, will take our sustainability of cool, and so little by little I, and others go away,
with saddened countenance creators watch as we bend, wither and slouch,
stoically accepting this is, as is. Snowy days will return, snowmen too, I can vouch.
It’s a happy sadness for snowman builders and snowmen too, who together
wait in anticipation for fun and creativity, the joyful side of snowy weather.
From a Snowman
Michael C Crowder 23rd January 2019
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 5:09 AM UTC
When you feel like quitting,
When life becomes hard to live,
Remember this simple poem
And give all you’ve got to give.
Greatness doesn’t come easy,
And neither does being strong
But you’ve got to LIVE your life
Rather than just get on.
When you feel like quitting,
And your worries got you stuck
Remember why you started
And know you won’t give up
Pick your *** off the couch
And follow these three steps
Look ahead, focus the mind, don’t slouch.
When you feel like quitting,
Remember, life’s too short
To spend it worrying, about
Problems of any sort
Your life is yours and yours alone
So make it the best you can
Live every day as if it’s your last
Don’t always follow the plan.
When you feel like quitting,
When all you want is rest,
Remember this simple quote,
Do good, want better, be best.
- Kayla Lynn
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC
I get home.
tired and hungry and so sick of school
shoulders slouch with comfort, crossing the threshold
between the public and my home.
It's snack time.
open the fridge and what do I find?
what marvelous things, upon which to dine?
a leg of chicken and a big *** of beans,
say what you will, moms can be queens
I chop up an onion splash! in the pan
a dollop of oil [extra ****** man]
add half a pepper, minus its seeds
yum! I think I know what this needs
A large pinch of cumin, a whole chicken leg
and so many beans, if beer twould be keg
then add some turmeric for fusion and flair
splash of red wine, kids: we're almost there!
I check in the freezer and Yes! I was right!
almost a dozen tortillas in sight.
I take out two, cuz they're pretty big
I yodel with pleasure, as if at a shindig
warm up the flatbreadz, and pile it on
all of that chicken and beans and herbs from the lawn
get in my tummy, get in there so fast
that I dont realize I'm eating until I'm holding the last.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.
felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.
a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough, slowly
to your beast
of a couch:
there, to remain unholy and due South.
there, to remain unknowing
by all account.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Ordinary words in ordinary order
Slouch across the page unnoticed
Mundane metaphors and trite observations
Destroy catch phrases with every old saw
Memes are dragged behind overused hashtags
Until they morph into yesterday’s news
Dusty and bent and soiled on the edges
Same ole rehash of the same ole crap
Whitewashing the fence of involvement
The old wive’s tales are alternative facts
That dance to the tune of an illiterate piper
In a boring routine choreographed by
A sullen pre-teen who finds herself grounded.
Wherever you’re going,
You can’t get there from here.
ljm
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC