"sluggish" poems
"I can’t figure it out.” She said.
“I like cigars,
and pretty dresses and crossing my legs.”
She paused,
then continued,
“And I like smoking cigars in pretty dresses while crossing my legs.”
She uncrossed them,
then crossed them again.
One smooth limb over the other.
Just like that.
“But I never seem to have a lighter on hand.
Could you— sir,
please light my cigar?”
“You see, I have no pockets to hold such things and my purse…
Well,
You’ve confiscated that, haven’t you?”
“Thanks.” She breathed,
and inhaled,
and exhaled;
Sluggish wisps of smoke dissipating into the air.
Just. like .that.
“I didn’t know L'homme was into women who smoke cigars in pretty dresses while crossing their legs", She said.
“I mean, how was I to know?
I only noticed him noticing me.
It was probably the way my hair was tousled like so,
Or how my lipstick shone a deep, dangerous rogue,
Or the way I sipped at my champagne…
That made him walk over.”
“But I never asked him to light my cigar
Or comment on my dress…
Or stroke my legs.
So when I whacked him up top over the head with my glass,
I bet he never expected it to shatter and split his skull like so.
He dropped so sudden, sir. I…”
Another ringlet of smoke, a sigh, an uncrossing and crossing of legs again.
“I had no clue,
what else to do,
But to sit still in my pretty dress, with my legs crossed, smoking my cigar trying to figure out...
Just how I'd committed ******
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
It is a land with neither night nor day,
Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain,
Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plain
Stretches thro' long unbroken miles away:
While thro' the sluggish air a twilight grey
Broodeth; no moons or seasons wax and wane,
No ebb and flow are there among the main,
No bud-time no leaf-falling there for aye,
No ripple on the sea, no shifting sand,
No beat of wings to stir the stagnant space,
And loveless sea: no trace of days before,
No guarded home, no time-worn restingplace
No future hope no fear forevermore.
15.4k
In the murky depths of muck and mire
hope flickers in hearts
courageous enough to believe;
sending out ripples in the waters
like a domino effect rewound.
Insignificant seedlings to the cruel eye
filled with light and promise
as yet unseen turned
Fragile sprouts in healing green
reaching up and out
to rest hopes on the water front,
as if to console one another -
we are not alone.
Against all odds, bean of India,
Keep going –
Power through the sluggish resistance
Of this darkened plane.
Though life seems lost in loneliness
Listen closely,
Hear the Whispering rumours of life beyond the deep
Of basking in light and life
beneath the welcoming heat
of a dancing sun.
A triumphant act of faith indeed,
to content oneself with growing,
never really knowing
what lies beyond the darkness.
I weep for you
with joy, O little pocket of hope
as you propel yourself forward -
such strength, such courage
for one who as yet knows not
of that rosey happiness,
that snow white purity
that lies beneath your shell.
I stand in awe of you;
You with your absurd elegant beauty
tracing your journey
accepting it as part of yourself
embracing who you once were.
The original rags to riches tale;
Roots in putrid, ravenous foundations
yet you yourself remain unstained.
The journey every bit as beautiful
as your glorious destination –
a testimony to your essential self.
I see you take up your stance
Front and centre, finally ready
to declare yourself to the world.
Budding beauty of new life
awake! open your eyes, your heart,
you dont have to hide anymore
the world is missing who you are.
And time births healing and growth.
Every flower blooms at her own pace;
Tentatively unfolding - delicate and fragile still
with gentle colours begging will I do?
Caught up in a lighter life
becoming bolder, blessed, nurtured
blooming bright, opened out
hello world, here I am.
Your wary days drowned, you claim your space,
Fill your space,
Make it your own.
The ethereal splendour of your gentle petals
Succeeded only by the loveliness within,
As you build up your legacy of hope
So wonder will not be lost in the falling petals
but made more beautiful still
in the healing gifts,
in nourishing others,
in the gifts you give of yourself
back to the world.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
You put garbage in you get garbage out
Health food fanatics know what I am talking about
McDonalds, Arby’s and all those Buffets
Sluggish citizens working Twelve to ten
And to cover up their poor nutrition
We soup up the brackish black brew
Killing ourselves with more caffeine till
We collapse
You put garbage in you get garbage out
Good teachers with years of experience
Know what I am talking about
The tweet, the face book
Are superficial connections
Binge watching brain-dead reality show people
Speed reading unverified Articles
Peer reviewed paper by academic writers
Don’t get the press the talking heads
With party lines and hateful sentiments get
You put garbage in you get garbage out
Any poet philosopher knows what I am talking about
Flashing screens switching scenes while twitching teens
Sit texting banal and ephemeral things
No grand dreams but to be normal
No expansion of the human potential
Just block and block of picket fence prisons
Dreams are limited to advertised fantasies
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
I wish I could run with you
in your silent packs
I have done my share of howling
a prisoner of this sluggish, two legged species
that cannot chase down prey
or take flight, without the crafted creations
of others,
I can, if I wade warily through
waves of wind, and time,
dance with you,
on moon grazed prairies
but only until the sun cracks the dawn
and exposes me, for the vain actor I am
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Three sang of love together: one with lips
Crimson, with cheeks and ***** in a glow,
Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips;
And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow
Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show;
And one was blue with famine after love,
Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low
The burden of what those were singing of.
One shamed herself in love; one temperately
Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife;
One famished died for love. Thus two of three
Took death for love and won him after strife;
One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee:
All on the threshold, yet all short of life.
5.3k
I wait for you to come closer,
To draw closer and tell me
That you can't deal with me
Any more. Not with my
Insane, bordering on
Psychotic, behavior, and
My bipolar mood swings.
But, you draw closer
And you smile right at me,
And draw me into a hug
For a second, that little voice,
Which I am always aware of,
Which tells me I'm never
Going to be good enough
For anyone to accept or like,
Let alone love,
Fades to the back of my mind.
I let myself relax
Into your warm embrace and
I let myself be and believe.
I turn to smile at you...
Before I can see your face,
Your features, I am woken up
From my daydream
By the bell signalling the
End of school. I pack my bag
And head towards my carpool,
My movements sluggish-
Even cheerily wave goodbye to
A few stragglers.
I reach home and eat lunch alone.
I go for tuition, let myself
Become numb to everything
But learning and understanding.
It becomes darker and it's almost 8,
I come back home again.
I had been out from 7 in the morning.
This time, my family's there and
We eat dinner together, though,
I am barely there with them.
They're discussing important
Things like business and will
Talk to me later. I finish eating
And go sleep. Tomorrow's going to
Be the exact robotic same.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Since...
Terrain was ridged
In blinding grime
Sluggish ride devoured darling time
It was dark
Now...
A velvety way
Crisp air purifying the lungs
Time feel scarce
It still dark, but there is luminous light along the way
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
'i'm tired,'
i say,
and my mother asks me how, and why;
tells me i haven't been doing that much today.
i don't know how to tell her
that the exhaustion goes deeper than bone,
how the weariness takes my heart in its hold,
seeps into my skull
and settles there.
my art is slow, sluggish;
my writing is a dying fire.
my body is a sunken ship upon my bed
half the time.
my lungs do not breathe, only rattle;
and i?
i am simply tired,
tired,
tired.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
you see i am very very hungry, so much in fact
i burp very weirdly, yeah i feel so weird
i burp loud and i burp soft when i have a nice cream bun or a nice beef nachos
and i feel like a nice packet of chocolate biscuits
ya know to have with my coca cola
i was watching ellen degenerous and i felt like eating the pie that went in the contestants face
yeah i feel like a bag of popcorn as well as choctop at the movies
because my mouth is burping very weirdly
i don’t want to have this burping feeling
i feel like a strawberry milk and i am fighting myself saying, no, i don’t need it
the strawberry milk says yes, i do, but i don’t want a strawberry milk, it’ll just make me fat
i wanna lose weight but the burping is making me want food, i want a nice chocolate bar
and i want a bag of marshmallows, i want to have more energy
so i can be a cool person, that i am,
i know the burping really is bugging me
and i do want it to stop, STOP, making me feel this way, i want to an artist and a writer and not an eater
please leave me alone strawberry milk and leave me alone chocolate biscuits, i don’t want to eat you
i feel like a chocolate biscuit, but then i say, i will grow fat, ya know keep the fat on me
i don’t want to be fat, i want to lose weight, so leave me alone ya ****** strawberry milk and coke
i want to feel fit in my mind, so i can write and be creative
please leave me alone, junk food, i don’t want to eat you
but the junk food gets in my mind and makes me smell the nice chocolate
i know coke used to be a medicine, but i don’t wanna drink ya
i like to have a healthy lifestyle, and i want to lose this burping because
it’s the medication making me wanna eat, like donuts and vanilla slices and cream buns
and dewok chinese stir fry’s and chocolate biscuits and chocolate desserts and strawberry milk
and a large bottle of coca cola, as my medicine, I DON’T WANT THAT
i had a garden salad for lunch as well as a few glasses of water
i hate being fat, so that means at 2-30 pm, i will go for another walk, whether i feel like it or not
because i must get rid of all this food from my body, so i don’t get diabetes
so if you feel fat, because you eat too much food, push yourself into walking
and walk a regular pace, so you don’t feel sluggish
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
Ah!
She's latina thigh
Ice cream
With shining blank
Teeth, skin, and soul
She gazes fiercely
Though terrified
At this sluggish life
Her quiet cotton voice
Stabs me in the chest
Baby, take my blood
Take my eyes
And whatever morsel of soul
You can **** from my body
I'm on fire
Forever burning lust
Like gasoline
For you
I clench my fists
And want to scream
You are inspiring
Honey, you look
So good
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
I am the quill that marks
The water-walled history
Of the sea as it may -
A swan, be it, or a black-backed
Gull.
I am the pariah who
Failed to posit his load on
A hill that hung low, like a
Sunless moon, but who can still
hark the dark
Rumbling of repetition.
I am the Quixote who took
On the wind who made the mill
Sob like a bronze leaf in grief,
Seared by the passage of
A sluggish summer.
I am the pariah, the
Quixote, and the historian
Of the rainbow runner.
©LazharBouazzi, August 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
Metallic heart,
Savor what you can
While you can
And rest where you lie
Rain.
Sanguine flesh,
I will pierce thee
To feverishly rip, and tear
At these rusted-over heartstrings
Rust.
Sluggish pulse,
Hand over calloused hand
Wipe the luster from her brow
And drown me in the clamor
Pain.
Dangerous dreams,
I smell the rain from years away
I recede, and believe
That time won't repair this erosion
Lust.
.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
I go to a gym to run and lift.
After I feel weaker rather than stronger.
I eat for nutrition.
After the meal I feel sluggish and sleepy.
Weakness is a prerequisite of Strength.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
The caterpillar was raised by worms.
The worms loved the caterpillar,
But the worms didn't know much
About the caterpillar's nature.
They tried to understand,
And they tried to help as best they could,
But when the caterpillar got really hungry,
All they could understand was that
They had never been so hungry,
And they were happy,
And if the caterpillar wasn't careful,
He would become corpulent and fat.
So in their kind, ignorant, wormy way,
The wonderful worm family
Discouraged the caterpillar from eating too much,
And being too hungry.
The caterpillar was confused,
But he loved his worm family
So he tried his best to eat less and
Not get too hungry.
But the less the caterpillar ate,
The more hungry he got,
Until he was so starving,
He didn't even feel like himself.
He felt sad and sluggish and purposeless.
Then, in the middle of the night,
The caterpillar snuck up to he favourite leafy tree,
To just get a small midnight snack.
Before he knew it though, he had eaten
An entire branch of leaves.
And the caterpillar was still hungry.
He couldn't get enough.
He ate all through the night, and into the next day.
When his worm family awoke,
They saw the caterpillar up in the tree
Eating away.
They tried their best to get the caterpillar to stop,
But it was too late.
Soon with tears in their eyes,
The worms saw they're dear brother
Become sluggish and
Tired.
Until finally
The caterpillar wrapped himself up in a whitened
Casket, and hang motionless in a leafy
Grave.
The worm family mourned the loss of their beloved caterpillar brother,
And once again warned the other children about the dangers
Of being too hungry.
A few days later,
One of the wormy sisters went to visit her brother's grave.
But when she arrived she saw the most miraculous thing!
A butterfly was emerging from her brother's tomb.
The caterpillar-butterfly
Was not angry at the worms for trying to stop him from becoming a butterfly,
They didn't know he would be able to
Be a butterfly after all,
And they were just trying to keep the caterpillar from harm.
After the family had a beautiful reunion,
The butterfly flew away to somewhere
He could be hungry, and beautiful. And
Somewhere he could fly.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely mood
I’ve seen the winter floods their gambols play
Through each old arch that trembled while I stood
Bent o’er its wall to watch the dashing spray
As their old stations would be washed away
Crash came the ice against the jambs and then
A shudder jarred the arches—yet once more
It breasted raving waves and stood agen
To wait the shock as stubborn as before
—White foam brown crested with the russet soil
As washed from new plough lands would dart beneath
Then round and round a thousand eddies boil
On tother side—then pause as if for breath
One minute—and engulphed—like life in death
Whose wrecky stains dart on the floods away
More swift than shadows in a stormy day
Straws trail and turn and steady—all in vain
The engulfing arches shoot them quickly through
The feather dances flutters and again
Darts through the deepest dangers still afloat
Seeming as faireys whisked it from the view
And danced it o’er the waves as pleasures boat
Light hearted as a thought in May—
Trays—uptorn bushes—fence demolished rails
Loaded with weeds in sluggish motions stray
Like water monsters lost each winds and trails
Till near the arches—then as in affright
It plunges—reels—and shudders out of sight
Waves trough—rebound—and fury boil again
Like plunging monsters rising underneath
Who at the top curl up a shaggy main
A moment catching at a surer breath
Then plunging headlong down and down—and on
Each following boil the shadow of the last
And other monsters rise when those are gone
Crest their fringed waves—plunge onward and are past
—The chill air comes around me ocean blea
From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread
Strange birds like snow spots o’er the huzzing sea
Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled
On roars the flood—all restless to be free
Like trouble wandering to eternity
3.7k
And after the sun had set and the kitten was sleeping, I’d lie awake dreaming of a me I could never be. I’d lie awake promising a change I would fail to make as the days went by - As I marked my calendar June 29. I lied awake hoping for a chance I would fail to take because somewhere along the way I lost sight of my strengths, I switched paths on who I really wanted to be. But one day I hope I lie awake at night only dreaming of beautiful sunflowers of yellow and sluggish greens. I hope one day I wake up in the morning greeted with warm tea and an overcasting shadow of soft pinks and purples in the sky. I hope one day it’s you and me instead of just me. Just me
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
Eros
In my soul
Taking my breath
Thrumming in my heart
Eros
In your touch
The flitting-fondness of skin to skin
Sweat, beaded-trickle down
Salted flesh
Curly topped, flayed on satin
Eros
In your taste
The sweet tangle of tongue
Twisted-cheeky
Raspberried laughter
Eros
In the presence of your wit
The clever-confines of your mind
Depressed-displacement of your thought
Sophia
Eros
From one being to another
Thundering
Chaotic in my breast
Burning my throat
Scalding-stinging
Across the distance
Eros
In the silence of contentment
With arms wrapped
Smooth
Held close to the rhythm of your light
The hammering of blood
Pacing
Pitter
Patter
Sluggish-slowing
Lull of sleep
Eros, even in my dreams
Σε στιγμές σαν και αυτές που φέρνουν μου όλου του κόσμου για να γονατίσει
(In moments like these you bring my whole world to its knees.)
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
Texting somebody close to you,
Gossiping,
Chatting,
OMGees are all flying around,
LoLs flooding your tiny box,
Yet you're determined to stay aground.
I always have wondered why to limit,
Why to cap English or inhibit,
Replacing good ol’ words with some wicked text,
Emoticons they call,
Insipid, dull, and sluggish,
Emoticons they’re called.
Although indolence has reached its bounds,
And although my vote is utterly trifling,
Admit it,
Concede it,
Conclude it,
Emoticons’ presence should be abolished.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 7:30 AM UTC
a rifle fires a bullet into the night
its sonic boom shakes my bones
and rings in my ears
i watched it fly across the sky
its metal glinting like a shooting star
yet my eyes were too sluggish
unable to see where it might have hit
whatever it may have killed, lies in silence now
a corpse for me to find when i am older.
Feb 4, 2023
Feb 4, 2023 at 6:39 AM UTC
After decades and decades of distance
I've found you
The sluggish, torturous moments of the laps
have finally passed.
Time has bruised me, pounded me, bled me
to the core.
Hours spent as a pack of wolves,
howling for a soul.
I've hunted, starving in my travels.
Searching for you.
Me, a pack of hunting dogs not just stalking
quietly through still woods....
but bolting with snarling furled lips....
exposing razor sharp fangs to sink deep within
the throat of the love I long for.
Hold tight until the struggling gazelle gasps its last.
The hunt is over,
the heart full from the gorging.
Purring in each others company.
While resting tranquilly on the aromatic clover.
Riffles unable to focus, our stripes blending,
as our bodies merge.
The great cats we are, no predator to fear.
We slumber and bask in our regal glory.
Our cat eyes fixed on each other!
© Crystal Erickson 12/14/07
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
The sight of rain,
of wet clothes, wet plants,
wet doorsteps, wet hopes and dreams,
and, that known scent of sadness and grief
all these...create soggy, sluggish minds
we just lost two dogs to the virus
the glum of monsoon rains affects the moods
the "yays" from cancelled classes
have all passed...
sun is shining, not too bright, though,
peeps like a tease, but,
enough to dry the ground...
i see vacant lots...almost naked now
motor's droning hum is a lullaby
that lulls the mind
a strong smell stirs the nostrils and
defines a welcome pleasance...
i sniff....and chase away sadness,
with this intriguing scent
.....of freshly cut grass....
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
If you wonder why I only stay for hours,
and pull out of your drive at midnight..
Its because I don't want you to see me
pulling at my skin and
clawing at my face.
I don't want you to see me
snap rubber bands on my wrists to
hide the lines the next morning.
I don't want you to see me,
Tear streaked,
Red faced,
Screaming out at everything inside of me,
Trying to cut the broken pieces out of myself,
Tongue black from the smoke
and sluggish from the bottle.
Have you ever noticed that you've necer seen me cry?
You've never seen me bleed?
No.
Because once I start, I can't stop.
I'm going from bad to worse,
and I refuse to take you with me.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
I’m not a hideous wall flower;
school girl steam pleat, designer girl,
Nike or Jordon’s silly Preteen, air heads
I’m gifted, provocative,
I am the teen princess.
I able to fuss, blush and rebel,
I’m awkward, backward,
I am Peppy long stocking;
I’m all that!
I am teen of the pack;
I am not likely to turn back
I am your commercial, billboard cover story
Smarter than you can imagine,
I am passionate,
but a little old fashion, yet modern,
bold and witty,
Oh yes!
I’m so ambitious, super delicious, super fly
with an upbeat modernize Hollywood red carpet style
I speak in a youthful way;
that’s my urban thesaurus
I am not curse, the curse that invades your privacy,
sometimes, I am sluggish and downright lazy?
I am mommy baby and Daddy maybe
However, I’m no wall flower
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 7:11 AM UTC
Let the flowers make a journey
on Monday so that I can see
ten daisies in a blue vase
with perhaps one red ant
crawling to the gold center.
A bit of the field on my table,
close to the worms
who struggle blinding,
moving deep into their slime,
moving deep into God's abdomen,
moving like oil through water,
sliding through the good brown.
The daisies grow wild
like popcorn.
They are God's promise to the field.
How happy I am, daisies, to love you.
How happy you are to be loved
and found magical, like a secret
from the sluggish field.
If all the world picked daisies
wars would end, the common cold would stop,
unemployment would end, the monetary market
would hold steady and no money would float.
Listen world.
if you'd just take the time to pick
the white flowers, the penny heart,
all would be well.
They are so unexpected.
They are as good as salt.
If someone had brought them
to van Gogh's room daily
his ear would have stayed on.
I would like to think that no one would die anymore
if we all believed in daisies
but the worms know better, don't they?
They slide into the ear of a corpse
and listen to his great sigh.
2.7k