Slither
Slither.
If you're a fellow sufferer,
you'll know exactly what I mean.
Is it worse for those who live by the word,
or those who hope to avoid it?
It's that pile of papers, CDs, books, leaflets,
sitting beside the PC, vital at the time
when time was of the essence;
soon covered like a game of impatient patience
with another vital document...
file everything after use? Who's that anal?
It's that pile of mail on the kitchen table
with a touch of marmalade between some items, that
you opened during many breakfasts (it's a cereal story, this)
and hope will answer itself.
Above all, it's the pile of mail-order catalogues
that come in cellophane wrappers
which you haven't taken off of course,
knowing that you will, one day, be grateful
(as so you thought about the previous editions of same,
further down the pile...)
And the pile of folders, which obey that law of nature -
that spines of folders are thicker than
the other edge - they're the first to
slither. And you should know by now -
there are demons in them thar piles:
if there's a page or two
which you need right now as you fly out the door: abracadabra! -
five minutes ago when your right hand and eye put it right there
(who's taken it, c'mon, quick...?)
in two seconds flat, your left hand and eye
slipped something else on top of it..
left brain, right brain co-ordination? ha!
RH reason put it there; LH emotion said, hate work, hide it....
and then, one day -
slither! And
you hate yourself, look around for someone else to blame,
blood-pressure goes up - again -
your day's ruined and it's still breakfast time...
Slither. Moses didn't have that problem.
It's yet another giant step
sideways - damn - in the evolution of the human mind.
Maybe marmalade is the answer, after all.
You've suffered, too?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Slither
1
slither here and slither their
he slides and glides every where
when he hississ the enemy pissess
with an unsteady zig zizga motion
where ever he goes he makes a comotion
2
slither slither come hither like a snake on his belly he movess
making his trackes on the surface of the moon
he is not an ordinary man this creature
he on the canvass of life paints his own feature
3
slither slither come to me
you are not yet as smart as you could be
respnosible for mans fall from grace
gliding thru the desert at his own pace
your ungainly walk is a silght to behold
you have so many stories which are untold
4
slither slither come hither
as he walks towrds an unknwon path
some times not even taking a bath
lord shivs's mala he becomes
the enemey shudders when he comes
5
slither slither come hither
in day and in night he trods a path unseen
as if for a morning walk he has been
he is the one who persuded eve to eat the fruit
he was involved in adam and eves dimise
he is the symbol of lucifier
6
slither slither come hither
gliding on the hevens gate
he is the one who gave adam the bait
he is the symobl of eveil and distrction
but with out him the biblical stories are incomplete
7
slither slither come hither
his venom so lithal his skin so slippery
it's difficult to hold him as he whisks away
using the night as his shield and armour as his day
8
slither sliter come hither
if you love him he can be your friend
but if you disturb him you just might meet your end
he rests in the shades for a while
moving around only in the dead of night
he will give any enemy a mighty fight
9
slither slithe come hither
some worship him like a demigod
some feed him milk with out a secod thought
he is unpridictable when disturbed
fighting tooth and nail to save his turf
10
slither slither come hither
he adorn the head of madusaa the gorgan woman
who could turn mortals into stone with a single gaze
he moves around in shrubs and maze
they are the interpreters of heavens words on earth
sheeding their skin as if taking a re birth
11
slither slither come hither
symbols of firtility in some cultures they become
some regard them as the symbo ofl wisdom
some say they have aphrodisiac qualities
they are prevelant in evey cultural myth
12
slither slither come hither
walk with me this is no time to dither
constantly the devils companion
you find them in back yards and in holes
people pull them out with pointy poles
if they bite you, you are in trouble
some come with heads that are doublel
come hither come hither my slither....................................
poem by Anuj Tikku
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Eureka Pile
I seem to find myself each time I run away
Dont give me vivid in some yester body (selling) days ?
Sometimes they reappear just like the sands of time
Or dya like some quick sand baby running off my summer wine
Same faces broken homes
Those memories have fled
All tears within me now are dormant or dead
My viens are bursting with a thirst that you cannot ignore
Alright eurekas pile
Now my saviour, or my whore
Theres a lot that they dont mind when things arent what they seem
I always wake up baby cos I always wake up me
My life may aint come to much
Ignore my history
Least my eureka pile can see some way I feel
Aint the way I see (* 2)
My eureka pile and me.
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gone =(
My dad is gone off to work once more
My mom is staying indoors
Helping a friend late one night
Got caught and filled with fright
Next morning anger still fills me
It's buzzing in my head
Like an angry bee
Phew, finally home
I thought it was time to let go
But instead more stress, oh no
Mother says its time
To say goodbye for awhile
All i did that night was cry
On my pillows pile upon pile
I wrote you a love filled letter
Thinking it would be for the better
But in my heart I know
It's pain and not just a game
We both were taken apart
Hoping it would go on and on
But then reality hit
And now its all
GONE
poem by Margaret Smith Vail
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Grass
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Dragons
well im watching the dragons as they make another claim
he used to be a friend of mine, i called him by his name
well theres nothing you can say to nirvana when its packed up in a syringe
we'll call up your mama and bus in all your friends
well im watching the dragons
as they slither out of sight
and i wonder who'll be sleeping alone tonight
beth lost her sister, they came and they took her away
and there aint enough pills in the world and nothing i can say
so i tell her i love her and that shes a friend
and each time i leave her, i wonder if i'll see her again
well im watching the dragons
as they slither out of sight
and i wonder who'll be sleeping alone tonight
then i look in the mirror
the dragon has many forms
i wonder if hes coming for me
because i have been forewarned
well im wathing the dragons
as they slither out of sight
and i wonder who'll be sleeping alone tonight
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2ND Hand...
Combing through the mess you left behind...
I dig for remanants of attitude...
For aspects,
Hidden...
In loose socks and
Wadded-up efforts
Of penned prose
To me...
Of empty wrappers,
The labels of your taste...
The essence of you...
Surrounding and within your
Pile
Of left over
Dreams...
Your throw ways-
Of meaninglessness...
That still haunt me
In the corners of
My mind
2nd hand treasures, once
Worthless now...
As the fading day
Dies slowly in the west...
Realization that there
Is nothing worthwhile left-
Of what once was
Our cozy love nest...!
poem by Theodora Onken
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Horse Manure, A Pile Of It
horse manure
a pile of it
avoid it
and walk around it
spray perfume
to cover it
remove it
or complain about it
step in it
then curse it
shovel it
bury it.
Horse manure
a pile of it
collect it
grow flowers
horse manure
make use of it.
poem by Frances May
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An Arrangement Of Priorities
i got a cup of hot
green tea
on top of a pile of
legal folders
i got a window
made of glass
up the second floor
and i could see
what is happening
down the road
i got a closed door
a dusty floor
and a shining pen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Are Old Now.
when i step into the room
i could have told you
but you are the one always speaking
'the king can do no wrong'
i look at the pile of books
silent damn books
i am following your footsteps
into that
hateful anonymity
when time brings us all here
we are told
we have not really done anything great
the books of our lives
will be consisting of empty pages
you were so engrossed in speaking
and i am lost in my
boredom
i was thinking of those that have not arrived here
those who have also given
hope like me but they are still in some unknown places
i turned off my cell phone
this time i must confront the void
into speechlessness
into my failures
for what i have not done
before i left the room i took one book
it is not that the king can do no wrong
there is no king.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don't Make It Long
yes, very short.
do not prolong the
agony of
waiting. a queue
a line, a traffic jam,
a pile of folders,
horns, an hour
more. your poem
to read tonight.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Budget or Bud-jet
When you see it, it is just a pile of numbers or a graph or a grip or a table.
When you feel it, it metamorphoses into a monster or an elephant or a bird or a fish or a tiger or a eel or a dog or a shark or a bug or a snake or a hawk or a vulture or a rat or a whale or an ant or a cat or a.......
When you use it, it is just a machine.
when you lose it, it is a hell.
When you win it, it is just a heaven.
When you die, it is just a pile of numbers.
Piles Of Books
on the table
the books pile up
i am a reader
of its content
who feels that
there is no time
anymore
that time is a small
child
on the lap of the books
that look
like mothers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.
quote by Antoine De Saint-Exupery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Mom's prolific University
Mom came with a pile of books
Kept on the table and removed her shoes.
And said; ' Hello! Sonny still time to learn,
Jump into an University dear.'
'Mom! I am not a boy and already fifty eight.
How do they enroll me when the graveyard too refuses?
Also they have locked the gate for holidays.' I said angrily.
' I have the Master key if you get ready at anytime.' She said smilingly.
It's a dream I know but my poor Mom still holds that innocent hope
And I felt very sorry for her when I see other Moms on my way to work.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Leggett’s Monument
Yes, pile the marble o'er him! It is well
That ye who mocked him in his long stern strife,
And planted in the pathway of his life
The ploughshares of your hatred hot from hell,
Who clamored down the bold reformer when
He pleaded for his captive fellow-men,
Who spurned him in the market-place, and sought
Within thy walls, St. Tammany, to bind
In party chains the free and honest thought,
The angel utterance of an upright mind,
Well is it now that o'er his grave ye raise
The stony tribute of your tardy praise,
For not alone that pile shall tell to Fame
Of the brave heart beneath, but of the builders' shame!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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There Are No Finishing Touches
in reality no matter what
the usual work is always undone
you want to finish it?
it finishes you instead
look at the pile of books
don't you see the fangs on
every page? the blood on
every chapter
each word the taker of the
little flesh left in your mind?
you try putting the finishing touches
like a varnish on the well sanded chair
you blow your breath
and stand at a distance to look at
what a finished product should look
shiny, yes too shiny
and then you miss the sun
because what you see is always the
mirage beyond
your feet still are no master
as paths move away
as distance stretches itself like
light to infinity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Set The Fire!
tear down the house!
throw all of your possessions
on the pile...
the possessions that owned you!
all of your memories,
your prejudices, your acts of
vengeance and greed...
all the things you think you needed...
your rights, your wrongs,
your halo, your guns...
your patriotism, your pride,
and the doors you locked...
all on the pile,
without looking back...
set the fire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pale September
Pale september, I wore the time like a dress that year
The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin
But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared
My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within
But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full
And sank in the burrows of my keep
And all my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as Im singing him to sleep
He goes along just as a water lily
Gentle on the surface of his thoughts his body floats
Unweighted down by passion or intensity
Yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts
And he finds a home in me
For what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap
And all my armour failing down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as Im singing him to sleep
All my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as Im singing him to sleep
song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking Through The Window
I try to look away. I'm trying to forget those days, when the lights were a little more bright, when the sun smiled down upon me. I was so happy. But not now, not even with a pen. To write it away. What a game I play. Work to forget. Party with no regrets. Such a hypocrite, with all the words said. No going back. Their is no contract. I set them a fire so long ago. Do remember 96 and all the snow. We built our castles, with no idea of the hassles. It took so much so we could live comfortably. We didn't, we didn't, we didn't know. I wonder how it would have changed if I did. Could of, should of, would of is utter nonsense. Theirs a pile over there. Try not to stare or compare. So what if life isn't fair. Don't you dare. Such a hypocrite. Do the best you can. Damn them all. Don't let this be the cause of your fall. Walk that tight rope. Never look down. So full of hope. Hope gives the less fortunate the power to change everything. A voice is heard over, under societies reach. Tell me, tell me have you been here before? Tell me, tell me whats the score? How much is too much? Greed is factored by the necessity to live beyond ones means. What do you need to give. Everyone costantly is taking shots at you. Like you really know what your doing. Chooseing the forsaken over the forgiven. So be it. I hope one day you see it.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Awful Silence
Let us talk of hornworms
And butterflies
Of crisp asters and deer still fat
From this voluptuous season
Let us be silent
For at least this moment
Of the pile of steel girders
Of concrete dust
Of body parts
And human ash
Can we
Even here, miles from there
Watching the horses graze
The cows resting under the trees
Sheltered from the noontime sun
With the leaves turning golden
With the air still soft
Can we be silent
For even this moment
Of the pile of steel girders
Of concrete dust
Of body parts
And human ash
Troubling the air
Scratching our eyes
Tearing our hearts
Making anger and hate
Companions
To love and compassion
September 18,2001
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
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