"slouching" poems
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
i saw the veins on your hands as you carried me to safety
I saw you slouching with your back as you waited patiently for the doctor's words
I saw you feeding me rice when I could barely say 'grandmother'
And now I'm watching you sleep on the hospital bed
I am as worried as you were when I was too sick to breathe
Your inconsistent heartbeats brought my mama to tears
But I'm still here
remembering how much you told me to stay strong
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
I have been going to the track for so
long that
all the employees know
me,
and now with winter here
it's dark before the last
race.
as I walk to the parking lot
the valet recognizes my
slouching gait
and before I reach him
my car is waiting for me,
lights on, engine warm.
the other patrons
(still waiting)
ask,
"who the hell is that
guy?"
I slip the valet a
tip, the size depending upon the
luck of the
day (and my luck has been amazingly
good lately)
and I then am in the machine and out on
the street
as the horses break
from the gate.
I drive east down Century Blvd.
turning on the radio to get the result of that
last race.
at first the announcer is concerned only with
bad weather and poor freeway
conditions.
we are old friends: I have listened to his
voice for decades but,
of course, the time will finally come
when neither one of us will need to
clip our toenails or
heed the complaints of our
women any longer.
meanwhile, there is a certain rhythm
to the essentials that now need
attending to.
I light my cigarette
check the dashboard
adjust the seat and
weave between a Volks and a Fiat.
as flecks of rain spatter the
windshield
I decide not to die just
yet:
this good life just smells too
sweet.
9k
They're there, slouching slightly, tall and lean, their eyes like lapis
Who can't fall in love with them? I feel like it's impossible
Hair cut so so short, almost looking like a fairy
Their light voice and face dappled with small freckles
They can't see it, but they're absolutely beautiful
Literally everything about them, they're amazing
They are literally the best person in the world, they're perfect
I could describe them endlessly
They feel like dying every day and it physically hurts me
No one that nice or brave should feel like that
Why would someone so perfect want to end their own life?
How did they come to hate themself this way?
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
We were equally matched
Until a plan was hatched
You became the subtle aggressor
By making appearances lesser
Using your passion aggression
To steer a passive direction
You perform a vanishing act
By canvassing flak
Balancing black
Against a sky so blue
Teaching me that which is true
Is different from what I knew
So my anxiety naturally grew
You launch a resistance
By remaining silent
On this plane of existence
Where you're the pilot
Not taking the right angle
Into the Bermuda Triangle
That is your social sphere
Where you disappear
From committal fear
Of love being near
So I throw a search party
But your presence is tardy
Because you're departing
On the journey you're starting
Without me
Slouching
From my submission
To your anti-admission
Splitting our position
Like nuclear fission
The air has become radioactive
Through light that is refractive
Through ways which are retractive
Living this ugly way to live
Sharpening my shiv
To escape this cell of decay
Where flowers bloom and fray
But can't see the light of day
Not one ray
Stuck in the marked moor
Of this dark war
I use parkour
To avoid aggressor attacks
Never cutting me any slack
Bringing pain back
Until I crack
Lost in your blank expression
I make a grave concession
Enslaved to your impression
Yet afraid of your aggression
Caught between
Taking heed
And fulfilling needs
Born from greed
I'll only impede
You scream aggressively
Like you're ********** me
Just by addressing me
After making a mess of me
With deafening quiet
You attack with a diet
Of a steady riot
And I won't buy it
You left when you were here
But stayed once you weren't near
You switched to a guillotine gear
Based on how you wanted to appear
Striking me from the equation
By utilizing deflation
For a sinister elation
You removed our relation
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
Skinny feels
Not like people think,
Bony, awkward, too lean
Bones protruding,
No more curves
Thin limbs, skinny hurts
Eat like a bottomless pit
Look in a mirror
Feel like ****
Skinny means no *****
No **** no hips
Skinny isn't muscular
It's the opposite if ripped
It's slouching in the hall
Pointy elbows and knees
Loose pants, shirts
No matter how much you eat
Skinny means
Feeling like a stick
Skinny can make anyone
Look small and sick
Skinny gives the impression
Of weak, shaky frames
Skinny makes me regret
The middle school nicknames
Skinny shouldn't be a goal
Thank God
If you look full and whole
Making feel as good as dirt
Everyone out there,
I promise. skinny hurts
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
same old black t shirt,
first day of school ID.
buzzed hair starting to grow in,
glimmering from lamination.
slinking slouching sliding,
stumbling betwixt the desks.
the man, the myth, the legend,
just nobody knows he exists
Aug 31, 2023
Aug 31, 2023 at 11:47 AM UTC
who, US?
by Michael R. Burch
jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild
... and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn ...
under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same —
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:
“who’s to blame?”
What is happening to Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank is a crime against humanity, financed by American taxpayer dollars. Keywords/Tags: Palestine, Palestinian, children, Gaza, West Bank, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Jesus, Christ, meek, mild, lamb, lambs, kids, Herod, Trump, Bibi, slouching, Beast, American, Christians, shame, blame
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 2:08 AM UTC
My dearest love,
You have to be strong. You can't break down. When all the troubles and burdens of the world pile onto your shoulders, do not let your knees buckle. Remember proper posture, you must keep your back straight. Slouching adds to back ache. Remember my darling that no task is too mighty for you. For if it was given to you to do then that is what you must do. Don't forget about your heartaches my love, because that pain will become a dull reminder that you can always do better. See boys are nothing special until they notice that my, you certainly are special. And remember honey, don't drink with your friends. You must be the sober one to hold their hair back. I know that sounds like no fun but when it's a matter of life or death, you'll be glad that you are.
-c.a.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
I see an angel slouching,
In the sky, as if heaven
Were so heavy.
Seabird, where do you come
From? Is the earth too much,
To take all in?
I know how you feel sailing,
Above it all yet drawn too,
As I am drawn.
Wraith, I want to feel that place
You are winging from here,
As now, forgetting.
*But it's so hard to fly,
Unlike you, just easily,
I will close my blind eyes
And trail your mission starry.*
I will tread in air backwards,
Deep into sky heavens,
Sloughing all the way.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
Can't you feel my screaming heart?
I feel all yours and it's unbearable
To know everyone's intention may seem ineffable
Though my passion is emotion and empathy my art
Dwelling silent in a crowded room
To the right a pursuit of lust
And my left a lack of trust
Empty grins with their facade and doom
Another item has been stolen
My peers in an unknowing uproar
I see the culprits guilt pour
From his weary eye and coven
The ***** swoons the love of an unworthy patron
She gazes at me with a tempting question
Attempting to construct my envy and affection
My will is stronger than that seducing notion
The lonely man makes a joking inquisition
All the rest see it as a laughable gesture
I look with sad eyes to see his slouching posture
He wants to die in his pathetic position
The muscle bound dunce smacks his lips
Glorified as the acrobatic conversationalist
Strapped men in shackles and girls can't resist
His compensated shortage of yays and yips
A quiet smile looks on with a perfect mask
Playing pretend with an inglorious burden
Faking a life inside of her chaotic garden
Of hollow theatrics in which she basks
There goes the lad with his flippy hair
The little ladies want a picture with the fellow
Oh you're so rad the flocking lasses bellow
And, you wonder why I don't seem to care?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
that tree on the hill, in the midday sun unfurled
a majestic gnarl of old glory, sustained by a bounty of Time
a thing full of slow thoughts, thoughts that precede our asking
whose branches have forsaken hands
in favor of open arms
that have no word
for love
and
yet
that’s all it does
we sat beneath it’s wholesome fuss of ripe fruit, sinking in.
you in your yoga pants, poaching a dragons egg
in thick blue grass
i in my cups, sipping vineyards of brandy from a deerskin champagne glass
staring at your beautiful joy
the both of us slouching on the couch of Creation
each
with our own
remote.
we were up-close
noses pressed against pollen parasols parading in heat mirage camouflage
holding a moment without pause
we picnic in the thicket of an endless gift
like ants on a blanket
the width of the
world.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:37 PM UTC
as the bus pulls along the lazy river on Main,
a slouching mind and pressed cheek is a swimmer,
dipping toes
and meanwhile
the gentle murmur of pool-goers living inaudibly,
like hunched bunches
in shawls of shade
(interrupted only
by the occasional l-urch)
nodding, nodding
off and on and off and
into the water,
the swimmer slips in
...
Here, it is heaven on earth
an oasis
...
and the mind swims ever so far
ever so deep
...
i wonder...
...
and outside
a boy, barefoot
runs upstream
a shimmering second
an apparition of summer?
and out of sight
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
Most of all. it's the truculent desire hardly shielded,
creating whirlwind, shaking the woods of my mind,
then insistent fingers in an ****** day dream,touch
intimately to arouse my hood, those robust waves
inch forward to my shores, I shudder,again and again,
like a sea swell, in an intense want, we are engorged,
a mania for the moon, slouching behind the clouds,
your eyes had always spoken gently, yet brewed storms.
I sense a wish that yearns culmination in my invasion,
full luscious red lips, smeared with the spices of amour,
their own symbolism eloquent, as wet they are, whispering yes, yes
coal black eyes can't hide the eagerness, they peer,
your body, now so tender has a tremor,anticipating my touch,
you are ready for a journey together, to the far deeper ends
an impatient waterway, aren't you,awaiting my row boat,
for a fervorous exploration together, through the watery canals
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
A flatulent king sits
Slouching, scratching,
Congealing to his throne of gold.
His army of a billion men
Are clad in ****** bibs
And grins.
Equipped with hate
And hollow eyes
They stand redily assembled.
The king is a miser.
His face is a lie.
His motives are equally clear.
Royal subjects within the walls
Respect only of weakness and fear.
They are taxed and harassed.
For knowledge they're knived.
The wisest of Wiseman
Are forced to take bribes.
Their children are taken and
Hidden away
At the mechanized dawn
That announces each day
To learn to be
Ruthless and cruel.
To take advantage of fools.
Greed and malice are tools to be used
At their s and m brainwashing schools.
So their eyes turn jade
And their words turn black
As they cut up their hands
Stabbing themselves in the back.
They're just being taught
How to buy and be bought.
To serve the king;
A gear in his machine.
The ones who concede,
Buy into the greed
But their weakening teeth snap!
One by one
As they go round the vicious circle.
So they end up
Defunct,
Sunken eyed.
They dangle their
Dot spangled
Hands at their sides.
And although they loose,
Somehow they win.
They end up running
The world we live in.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
parked like a limping jalopy on an amputee park bench.
watching young soft girls sell hard against the boulevard
so they can do smack out back with the white trash boys
who size me up.
hats crooked and backward like their mothers teeth and their own beliefs.
slouching and leaning in their stride like two drunken penguins
shuffling home from the ice bar, fighting over fish sticks--no real threat to any one but themselves.
their drawn out skinny arms with bad backs and barroom tattoos already turning blue.
this is our future--or part of it.
while a young couple breezes by both with their noses buried in iphones.
oblivious to anything outside their happy little bubble.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
The president of the horticulture club
thumbs the violet leaves of a aconite
ignoring the shooting pain crawling on her skin.
The other members glare at her,
waiting for the reaction-
touch the frail plant
and your mouth is sure to set on fire.
The contact she has on the flower
is insanely dangerous.
Potent alkaloids bloom overhead
and she continues to breathe in deeply as if she is trying to swallow
the strong, acrid taste of the atmosphere,
which should have sent her into a frenzy of disorientation
and seizures of her small limbs
but at last, she glances
at the frozen treasurer and spoke calmly, her mouth slouching,
"Are you writing this down?
I want the future of this club
to know to never touch plants
without doing their research."
Then she blinks,
slumps against the bench,
undeterred.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
It’s a holiday weekend, all of the ‘fellows’ have Monday off.
At lunch Wednesday, Lisa said, “We need a throw-down.”
So, we made some invites and started spreading word around.
“You know, we all work hard enough, we need to get down!”
We asked for RSVPs, and got 43, for the effort, a decent payoff.
My sister’s apartment has a balcony and plenty of space.
We spent Saturday shopping and rearranging the place.
Early Sunday, we hid all the breakables and decorated,
As people settled in, things took off - as we’d anticipated.
I was surprised when I saw Quinn come in
I quietly turned to Lisa, mouthing, “Who invited him?”
The blush on her face, gave her instantly away,
“We couldn’t NOT invite him, we see him every day.”
More people were arriving, laughing and smiling, the party was thriving.
Everyone seemed to bring something, a bottle of Canadian goose,
a bucket of KFC, another of Popeyes, some glowing aurora jungle juice,
taco dip and chips, a Boston Creme pie and a cake with purple icing.
When you feel right, you let the music ignite you,
the beat seems to drive you, the vibe helps excite you,
the bass starts to thump and, well, you’re only young once,
you forget all your cares, for a delirium that’s shared.
In this ocean of joy, I saw a sad and reserved boy.
It was Quinn, in the corner, slouching on the couch.
a model of insecurity, watching the party self consciously,
I looked at Lisa, rolled my eyes, and said, “Why ME?”
I maneuvered over and took Quinn gently by the shoulders,
“Come ON, Quinn, you’re among friends, so embrace the funk,
these GIRLS wanna dance, give ‘em a chance, you’re not a monk!”
I pulled him to his feet, and dragged him over to Monique.
“Quinn, Monique - Monique, Quinn - let the dancing begin!”
By the end of the night Quinn was doing all right.
He has a quirky, awkward style, reconciled by a nice smile,
he’d danced with every girl, leaving them a little beguiled.
“Do it Quin, DO IT!” A girl, at one point, had laughed.
“Oh,” he’d said, gyrating in his herky-jerkily away, “It’s being DONE!”
Who could have known our stuffy, Harvard Quinn could be fun?!
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 9:02 PM UTC
Aphrodite - Queen *****
Slouching.
Elbows resting on glass countertop -
Go **** yourself.
All you are -
Is beautiful.
All you are -
Is perfection.
Can't touch you baby,
No, not again.
Smiled and cooed,
Then playing the role of dog in heat,
Snapped and snarled -
Like I was the crazy one.
You asked for it.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
baby butch in the bathroom, splotched with shaving cream
using dad's razor to shave what's barely even there on their jaw
baby butch in the bathroom, shirt off and defiant
(though alone who's there to see it)
(them that's who)
washing his feet and their armpits and her face
baby butch on the sidewalk, leather jacket wrapped around them/him, internal bravado daring everyone
not to look at him/them
baby butch in the hallway at school, laughing loud and pitching voice low
no one can know
but why not act how you want to
baby butch in the classroom, slouching in their seat, knees braced against opposite legs of the desk
carefully lazy
legs so tense
baby butch on the internet
finally telling
saying CALL ME THIS CALL ME THEY CALL ME HE
AND THEN CALL ME YOURS
she did. he is.
it's too soon. but he is.
baby butch in the background, scrawling out words
they. he. xavier. baby butch. king ****
alive.
alive.
alive and living.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
I sit in a flimsy plastic chair that squeaks at the slightest movement,
Ana stands because it burns more calories and says I should do the same
My arms are folded over my chest, slouching and brooding
The bracelet Ana bought me sounds like shackles when I move
The wedding band on my finger weights more than I do
"Why are you here today?" Our therapist asks
"She's been cheating on me with that **** Mia!" Ana yells
"I already told you it didn't mean anything. We were broken up then."
My explanation makes her angrier though and she snaps,
"You just can't handle commitment!"
I've heard her use this voice multiple times and a list of all the insult circumnavigates my brain
*Stupid
Ugly
Worthless
Never good enough
Unlovable
Pathetic
Fat
Fat
FAT*
"You call this uncommitted?" I point to my stomach which growls on cue
Our therapist asks how long we've been together
I say over 2 years
Ana says we've been together my whole life
I tell him she's abusive
"It doesn't look like she's done that much damage" He notes
When the hours up Ana walks to the door
I tell her I just need a minute
I turn to our therapist who's already packing up
"Please help me. I need to get our of this relationship now!"
He ***** his head up as if it's the simplest answer in the world,
"Then why don't you just eat?"
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
I'm fatally dancing advancing with and toward
a slow zoom through hallways to the dark room
trying to shorten my strides or grip the walls at my sides gouging
a fingernail fear of mortality that makes out the shape
of the cursive-signed names of everyone or thing ever in a
not-so clever attempt to accept the thief that's in and is the night
I breathe heavily and wide to prove that I'm alive until my ribs
touch the white-walls rubbing along in a washboard song
that peels paint like turpentine with a rank smell wafting
from the room at the end of the line and time knuckling under
the backs of my knees scraping off of the floorboards slouching across
the adjacent door frames where exit signs should read thee
forehead pulsating expelling sweat to absolve me and for moments
the room might shine and I am still
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
I.
He carried the weight of his World on his back.
Backpacking from the house to the oven
to the house to the oven
to the house to the oven
to the broken house he called his own.
His World was a paranoid wife,
a broken son,
and a heartbroken daughter.
No one ever offered to carry his cross.
II.
She paces back and forth
in the confines of the kitchen
and finally breaks down,
slouching down against the cabinets.
The pills inch their way down her throat,
and her tears wash them down
to the very depths of her soul.
III.
His eyes are bloodshot and glazed
as he holds the blue glass that burns with
the smell of illegal freedom.
He exhales a sigh of smogrelief,
letting the real world disintegrate
and entering the Hallucination world,
where nothing can pierce his skin.
IV.
She stares at the face on the computer screen.
A young boy - blond hair and green eyes.
He stares at another girl in the photo,
her hair blond and her eyes green.
The computer screen starts to crack,
and she realizes that so is this youngheart love.
If only she knew how love really hurt.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:51 AM UTC
There was little left,
On the fields.
The rain had come and gone and it was dry again.
Dusty hands and dusty faces frowned.
Dusty shoes kicked the powder ground,
Heads hung low in the slouching and shaded doorway.
Squinting eyes looked up at the yellow bowl,
Hands covered creased foreheads,
Mouths chewed tobacco in the thin shade of a dying tree.
There was little left to talk about and little less to see.
Children lost marbles in the heavy dust,
And mothers take deep breaths.
The sky turns the colour of dirt and rust.
Another day gone and there is little left to love.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC