Okay, here are my submissions. For the seven deadly sins, I followed the terms used on Wiki. Each has its own title and I tried not to use the terms in the poems but tried to show them through the poems. Hope I did this right 
Lust
When the Whalers Returned
On a cloudy November day,
a whaling ship returned to the bay,
after a year-long voyage and a belly full of oil,
and with sailors eager to touch home soil.
Women and children, the town’s mayor, and the priest on the docks
were gathering like seagulls over crumbs flocked.
And all craned their heads over each other
to glimpse a brave husband, father, or brother,
who braved the unforgiving seas for right whales,
and returned safely to tell the tales.
When the first boot thumped upon the docks,
not a beat too late the townsfolk flock
began to wave handkerchiefs, and shout and cheer
until the whalers’ faces became clear.
Each sailor’s eyes were wild and dark,
hair was a frenzy and bones were stark
against pale, veiny skin.
Their bodies like skeletons, unhealthily thin.
Silence fell upon the crowd.
Hush…
A dark craving lurked, tugging the whalers’ hearts,
consuming their sanity and making them yearn
the lady with the serpent’s tail
they thought they parted with,
but to no avail.
For once they let her touch their souls,
they became her sailor bold.
A silky voice reverberated in their heads,
as the lady of the ocean said,
“Hush now, come to me,
fulfill your desire under the sea.”
The whalers’ chests burned at the sound of her voice.
They had to return, they thought, they had no choice.
Her grip was strong and burning hot,
and even the worried faces of wives and children could not
save them from the aching spell.
And so, they fell.
“Hush now, come to me,
fulfill your desire under the sea.”
The crowd watched in stunned shock,
as the whalers jumped off the dock,
with unmentionable thoughts coating their minds,
and their sanity left behind.
And to this day their ghosts will wander
upon every whaling ship going across ocean yonder,
to whisper the lullaby into curious ears,
until whaling ships ceded over the years.
“Hush now, come to me,
fulfill your desire under the sea.”
Gluttony
A Quartet of Hungry Sirs
Sir Triston Giffard Charish,
would like to order the butter-based fish,
and the tomato and prosciutto salad with eggs,
and the basket of fried squid and octopus’ legs.
For dessert he ordered the strawberry tarte,
and said that is where he shall start.
Sir Reynaud Claribald Wicken,
ordered the grilled garlic pepper chicken,
and the parmesan meatloaf with corn and potato,
and the cheesy pasta with scallops and tomatoes,
and the fried shrimp with pancetta and cream cheese,
and for dessert he would like the chef’s special, please.
Sir Archibold Jaques Barkey
ordered sautéed vegetables and turkey,
with a side of salad, but hold the onions,
and he said to find a turkey as big as Paul Bunyan,
claiming he can eat an entire tree and still have room left for three
chocolate cakes and then coffee and tea.
Yes, all that for Sir Archibold Jaques Barkey.
The last was young Sir Arthur Weston Barré,
who ordered the porkchop and peppermint sauté,
and the grilled scallops and fried clams with garlic butter sauce,
and the cheesiest cheese with some spicey hot
peppers, he said, to burn his tongue dead,
so that he may enjoy a gallon of ice cream right before bed.
And then he ordered the caramel custard pudding,
and then for ten minutes through the menu he was looking.
At last, he declared he wanted a cake,
which he said could be whatever the chef wants to make.
Greed
His Golden Whiskey
In an ancient story for years told,
a man discovered the first sparkling gold.
It’s yellow-orange shimmer and shine,
soon made him dig up the entire gold mine,
and begin to keep it all to himself,
filling his cupboards and all his shelves.
Friends and family would come to chat,
but he would turn them away, hissing like a cat,
accusing them of wanting to steal his gold,
and not believing them when they said it controlled
every part of his life now, taking up his bed,
that now he slept in a casket like the dead.
Day in and day out the man spent time with his hoard,
and in many golden glass, golden whiskey was poured.
With all the gold he had he wanted to get more, yet
he couldn’t leave his house, afraid of theft.
Soon, the man had nothing left to eat,
so, he decided now he had to leave.
He opened the door to go to the market,
but what he saw outside was many a spark that
came from the golden jewels the people now wore,
and the man stood gaping then crudely swore.
All the gold in the world belonged to him and his hoard!
He ran into his house,
took his sword and dagger out,
then plotted to kill everyone with his gold,
and didn’t matter young or old.
In the day and the night,
no one could stop his might.
At last, he took what he believed was his,
and began to laugh in utter bliss.
The bloodied gold was now part of his hoard,
and then in many golden glass, golden whiskey was poured.
Sloth
Summer Stillness
Noon shoves sunlight into our windows.
The fan is broken.
The air conditioner repairer is booked tight.
I glare at the phone as if this is all its fault.
“I’ve had it,” I say and sit on the couch.
I rest my head on the pillow.
She still paints on the floor.
The brush strokes gently across canvas.
I close my eyes.
A blanket of warmth numbs my brain.
“I can’t,” she says, voice breathy.
From where my head slouches against the pillow,
I see her spread out on the floor on her stomach.
Her eyes are drooping,
her lips are in a loose pout,
and on her bare arms sweat glistens.
Moving slow, I turn my head,
hope flickering in and out as my eyes graze the curtain.
Although the window is open,
no outside force moves the beige material.
No relief.
Stillness suffocates me.
She lets out a groan, flopping onto her back.
Beside her, a paintbrush.
It had fallen from her fingers.
She doesn’t pick it up.
Black paint smears onto the floor.
“It’ll stain,” I say.
“Later,” she groans.
A fly buzzes past my face.
Little wings beating fast.
So busy.
If I could move that fast now,
I could repair the fan.
I know where the screwdriver is.
I move.
Then…I don’t.
“Yeah,” I say, “later.”
Sweat dampens my shirt.
I shall melt instead.
Wrath
Fire Soldier
When the soldier, he thought of his mother,
a fire would threaten to leap.
So, tonight he stood over his father
who was in bed sound asleep,
and thought again and again of his mother
who died at the sword of this monster.
The night crept on in silence,
and in the house was not a peep,
for the soldier’s sisters were sleeping,
unaware of what did creep
inside the house from the window
in the room where their father did sleep.
The soldier stood over the monster
who was in bed sound asleep.
The soldier, he thought of his mother,
and was unable to keep
the fire at bay.
So, his father he slayed.
Envy
Birthday Wish
My sister was born a minute before me,
and that’s why I’m the younger thirteen.
Our birthday party had ten of her friends,
and none of mine could make it in the end.
We opened our presents to brand new dolls,
but mine wasn’t cute at all.
My sister’s doll had golden hair and a pretty crown,
but mine was a pouty mouth with hair a muddy brown.
When the two cakes arrived and we made our wishes,
my sister had pranked me with a cake full of fish heads.
Her friends laughed as I sat speechless and shocked,
and my sister didn’t share her cake and continued to mock
me and that I would get all her hand-me-downs,
and always be the family clown.
For thirteen years I put up with her antics,
and always wanted to see her frantic,
so, I went to my room to make my birthday wish,
that her body would smell like a fish,
and that she would tear her favorite dress,
and bump into someone at lunch, making a mess.
I wished all her things were mine,
because it was my time to shine.
The next day my sister smelled like fish,
confirming the magic of a birthday wish.
Then she ripped her favorite dress,
and bumped into her crush, making a mess.
Everyone laughed at her plight
and when we got home, to my delight,
all her things were mine,
and from now on, I will shine.
Pride
The Toxic Influencer
High above the people,
standing on a cloud.
Look at all those ants below,
scurrying about living a life lower than mine.
There nothing more intoxicating than seeing the tiny souls
rummaging for a bit of accolade,
and scavenging for any sparkles left in my wake.
High above the people,
standing on a cloud,
and whatever I do, they follow.
They listen to me for I am their ruler.
I do no wrong.
So, don’t accuse me of such idiotic claims.
What proof to you have?
Show receipts!
I figured out my life.
So, here’s my advice,
listen to me or be ruined!
I am the expert.
I am your teacher.
Listen to me or be ruined!
High above the people,
standing on a cloud.
Look at the ants scurrying below me,
always below.
Why do you think you can be as good as me?
I can do no wrong.
But look at you with all your failures.
Be ruined and scavenge for my sparkles.
Eat my dust.
