"cowers" poems
Dusk. I won't paint you another sunset,
another beautiful striped sea; no, not today.
Picture instead a smooth discolored surface
on which a firmly gripped stone was roughly
ground, causing a painful chalky screech; the
misemployed rock left vague yellow scars and
lavender bruises on the horizon; the sun cowers
behind them fearfully, distraught by the undue
violence; this is the sunset I experienced at
your fragrant side, and wondered - not unlike
that astre - what could possibly justify the
yellow, spectral scars in my heart, the bright,
undue violence brought upon my pride, and
the slighted sunset in my soul. This is Dusk.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
12-17-2013
The constant chatter
lowly, gathering attentions
apprehension--that's the matter
thoughts are shattered
the noise: rushing, crushing, bustling in
and flushing out all rationale
growing louder, shouting over morale
and one who can no
control it, cowers, trying hard not to
a persevering temperament, one
who silences the sounds of increasing volume
madness boomerangs again;
pain returns once again.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
In the hours of cold morning mist
Come schizophrenia and creativity's loving tryst
Their offspring
Irrational thoughts of course insist
Madness is preferable to reality
Often desired and endlessly pursued
Come forth
The golden hours of light
The nebulous darkness
Cowers with weakness and fright
Irrational thoughts laughing insist
After much consideration
Madness is preferable to reality
But the night must have its say
Its arrival announced by the falling of the day
Naughty children
Irrational thoughts unyielding insist
Madness is preferable to reality
@ copyright Tammy M Darby October 21, 2018.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
She strikes me across my face
blood seeps into my eyes and mouth
i have come to a conclusion
I raise the knife to my chest
and smile
I am happy
death is not a bright light
nothing at the end of a tunnel
it is peace
waking up is violent
my shoulders heave as i
***** blood mixed with water
i stare into her black eyes
fear ebbs through me
i am doomed
it has been seven years
i have not aged
death is a cycle of terror
life is not precious
life is wasted on us
life is nothing
until the world ends
humanity cowers
thinking unto infinity
another few billion years
anothers few generations
too little, too pitiful
going back in time
as i held that blade anew
i know
this will carry on
until negative infinity
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Please see me.
Not the person I appear to be.
Not the one you see walking isles,
The one who grins, who looks at you with those doggy eyes
Who apologizes, who cowers.
Please see me.
Not my skin. Not my hair.
Please don't call me something I'm not.
Please understand that I love your people
But I come from somewhere else.
Please understand me.
As I have come to understand you,
This place, these people,
These ways and the talk.
Please try, as I have tried countless times before.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
Hand softly against your cheek.
Lips pressed to your ear.
The whisper drifts into your consciousness, almost inaudible.
It's a request. A wish. A desire. A quench for passion.
The words tickle your canal as they enter.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall.
The speaker does not own these words but rather they own you.
Captivating, filled with desire, a yearning, wanting more.
As they trickle in, you process the slivering snakelike progression of words that just met your ear.
"Kiss me."
The very word "kiss" can set you on fire.
There's something about the word.
The way it's sharp and bold in the beginning...
Yet...electrifying at the end.
It is drawn out, poetic, tongue tying.
If you close your eyes, you can almost envision getting lost in the letters.
First, there's the K.
That crisp, clean K that is proud yet does not boast.
That K cuts like a knife, no not a knife, a kite, it cuts like a kite, soaring high into the sky. Never planning on coming down.
Then, you've got the I.
It stands tall but it's shy and sandwiched in the middle.
It cowers from the past and even more fearful of what is to come.
It is elusive, slightly **** coy, perhaps even unattainable.
Then you've got the electrifying, alliterative "ss."
Almost as if you're not ready for the word to end, holding, dare I say, clinging onto those last precious letters, dragging out every last sound.
Every last breath has come to this.
"Kiss."
It comes and then goes before you can say it.
Fearful of missing it.
You hang onto that "S" for it is the last thing that ties you to this.
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
Once you've said it, never stop saying it.
Kiss Kiss Kiss.
All good things, though, must go. Then the time comes to let it be.
So then you say,"Kiss me."
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
I don't want to be perfect
What an incorrect prospect
I like my defect
At least I'm not an object
My eyes do not resemble suns
My words are more like guns
Aimed at your sons
I've only just begun
My hair is not soft and fine
You simply cannot define
Or enshrine
Standby and do not whine
My thoughts are not innocent and pure
Nothing is secure
But I am certainly not your saviour
My behaviour brings danger
I am not your entertainer
My hands are not are not flowers
I have different powers
Which devours and towers
Over your mouth as he cowers
Nature is not just beautiful
And neither am I
How dare you belittle it with unsuitable lies
Save your goodbyes
I am not your demise, that would be unwise
Do you not realise I have a disguise?
I am not perfect
Yet you could never recreate and resurrect my imperfections
Save your affections
I need to find my own directions, away from your infectious reflections
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.)
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every night yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing.
Yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise.
The world called Canaanites ******
while they traded and toiled along the shores
of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer,
whose wife could give only love.
The world called Hebrews ******
while they raised Pharoah tombs
Provided respite from the eastern chariots
Stubborn in refusal of the living gods
Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape
That provides brief respite from his decrees
When delving deep in one's cups.
The world called Britons ******
When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell
To Roman spear and gladius
When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed
When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs
The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ******
when Caesar crossed the Rubicon
Pax Romana for Citizens born
Land for the wealthy, voting rights too
Taxes and tithes from their toil.
The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ******
From the VOC to fatal Apartheid
Up rose a man
The heart of the land
A man named Nelson Mandela.
The world called the Viet Minh ******
from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu
'till they slogged howitzers above
to reign Napoleonic terror below.
And to them it was just
The American War
After the world called them
Vietnamese.
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every day yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing
yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
'though it never watches its own rising
undoing raiment of fading embers
swimming naked in the royal blue
bathing all with daily newborn naked glory
chasing the celestial tidal tease
that seems to wander where it please
reminding that all are born free
but can grow into ignorance
and be called ******
Seek truths
that hold in unity;
that provide nourishment
beneath the lash
allowing one
to rise, to rise, to rise.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
Trumpets will play at the sound of your name
All of creation will echo the same
Angels will sing out the praise of the king
Victor over sin and death; let freedom ring!
Shining star, Lord of Lords and Prince of Peace,
We come to you now. Let hope arise and faith increase.
Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God of Hosts,
Sharing in perfect communion: Father Son and Holy Ghost.
Hail Mary our Mother, how great was your "Yes"
Through your faith, and we are blessed.
Comfort and protect us oh Mother of ours
Be near us and save us. Before you, evil cowers.
Oh Joseph most Holy, be with us this day;
In our obedience and adherence to do as Jesus says.
May our hands and our feet be gentle yet strong,
Guide us and teach us as we walk along!
AMEN!
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
Trudy.Lends her heart. Kind. You shouldn't mind. To a friend who's beyond distraught. She tries. Guides. Often lies. To protect herself from the world. Lord. The mask, she wears, it's a disguise. Inside, she cowers in fear. Oh dear. Layers. Trudy. Outside. All you'll see is Happiness. A joyful judy. Bright light. Inside. She's Fearless. Fighting. Completed and undefeated. Misleading. Deceiving. She cries, although she tries, she finds it hard to get by. Trudy. Trust. Happiness. She'll find it. Blinding. Guiding. A bright light. Find her. Don't mind me. You'll see. She needs. You. Under. What she hides. At first glance, she'll lie. A trance. You'll have to pry. Try. You'll see, she's not like you and me. Trudy.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
Darkness plots and plans in hiding.
Shadows whisper undisturbed.
The next room, below the floor;
It cowers behind all we can see.
But light!
A renegade strand of you,
finding but a keyhole
ignites the dark.
Dust dances with your touch...
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
As the cat meows and the dog barks
We see that they meet at last
Staring at each other face to face
Scared about what the other may do
The cat more scared as the dog is big
But its the cat the overcomes
And the dog that cowers in the corner by the cave.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
Quiet nights remind me of your voice.
The silence cut ever so delicately.
Blades of whispers.
Whispers of sweet nothings.
What keeps the fire in this heart alight.
Quiet nights remind me of your eyes.
The glint of a beautiful moon.
The hope of a million galaxies,
Twinkling.
As darkness cowers.
Hides.
Quiet nights remind me of you.
All the little things that you would do.
And though half a world away you may be from me.
Though once in a blue moon, you I get to see.
Quiet nights like these.
Will always remind me of you.
Emily
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
I am hearing rain for the first time
Like soft hurried footsteps,
The sounds of mice scuttering,
The creaking of an old house.
I am crying again in the darkness
Caressing my true self,
Feeling her ****** fur
As she flinches from my careful fingers
Her eyes are endless black pools
Her thin legs are injured
Curled up, she whimpers
And cowers in pain
I get too close and she scurries away
Into a shadow,
Leaving me alone with the rain
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
It's hard to exude the kind of confidence that makes people respect you.
I'm a grown woman, but I've yet to master it.
When I'm told no, when I'm told
"You can't do that," "Don't act like that," or "That's not okay," I can scream and argue in my head, but my body cowers.
My chin,
My shoulders,
My eyes,
They d
r
o
p
And I'm no longer the woman I thought I was-
Strong and independent.
I'm a withered flower that may have once been blooming but is now reduced to nothing.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
We reach the end, we close our eyes, we hold the blade to our throats, we wonder what's the point anymore? Why go on? The pain is so much more. He comes along, he takes our hands, he takes our pain, He keeps us sane.
(Chorus)
He takes away our fear, he wipes away our tears, he heals all our pain. Yet behind those child eyes, he cowers alone in fear; afraid of his own monster, lurking just beneath. He knows all our pain, he knows all our fears, he's the oldest child here.
Sister just was murdered, lover just ODd looking down the at the street, 50 stories under me. I take a breath and leap, but he is always there, he catches us when he falls, he loves us all so dearly, he's just one person though, how many can he save? He reaches out to all of us, anyone who bleeds, and that's why we all say to him, he just can't save the world. But still he tries to take it all away, to keep us all sane.
(Chorus)
He chases away the dark, reaches for our hands, even when grown men fall, still on he will stand. Never giving in, friends to everyone, yet still he stands alone. How long must he stand alone? Who will share the burden? Who else could be strong enough?
(Chorus)
Who takes away his fear, who wipes away his tears? Who heals all his pain? Who gets behind those child eyes, when he cowers alone in fear? afraid of his own monster, lurking just beneath. Who knows all his pain? who knows all his fears? he's just oldest child here.
And he takes this burden on alone.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
A heavy mist
chokes the hills
rolls and unfurls
down to an unsuspecting
tired little town
The beacon that shines
fails to penetrate
through the threatening folds
of the mist that strangles
the solemn chapel
A family sees the peril
and cowers in their home
fearful of this mysterious entity
as it climbs down
their chimney
The fathers seething cries
do nothing to dispel the spirit
for the mist holds no mercy
no prejudice
no opinion
no conviction
The mist
just consumes
in it's hazy
laisex fais way
......
By morning the mist has sunk
into the sewers
the graves
the very soul of the town itself
But it still lives
it's pulse felt
in every petrified heartbeat
The mist can still be seen
through the still eyes
of the villagers
Each tear shed
is symbolic
to emotion dead
And their eyes
Oh! Their sullen eyes
Have become dry.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 5:11 AM UTC
Sharp shrieks piercing night,
terror or pain, a mother’s worst fear.
Old husband bumbling, fumbling,
but a mother is vigilant.
Rush forth, answer quick.
There is no time when they cry.
What is it, what is it?
Monster, human, or worse?
Child’s chiding tone calms the heart,
but arouses it another way.
Why so difficult, so stubborn?
Unruly and cruel, but so beloved.
Door ****** open, lights flicked on.
There it is, sight not believed.
Glint of metal, shocked face.
A mother’s worst dream not understood.
Explanations falling out, knife hidden.
Less a plea and more an excuse.
“I wasn’t going to, it’s just a joke.”
Why such japes all the time?
The other cowers, child of womb,
cries and crawls back, still so shaken.
“It’s fine, Mom. Really,”
That’s what he says.
Can’t stop, won’t stop. A mother’s fury.
Simply unacceptable, so unthinkable.
“How could you, why would you?”
Scolding stings mothers more.
Knife is relinquished, hesitating, unwilling.
More excuses, more assurances and from both.
A sibling’s honor goes before all,
even one’s comfort, even one’s life.
Father arrives, so late, still grumbling.
Too late for this sort of thing.
Oh, what is even going on.
Shut up by realization. Oh God how?
Talk on the knee while father comforts son.
Scolding, molding, pleas and questions.
But still there’s a hug, and kiss, and tears so many.
A mother’s love so resolute. Always. Always.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
For an extra dollar
she wears the dog collar
lets him take the lead
she has kids to feed
The father’s her ****
beats her to a pulp
got her addicted to crack
made sure she’d never go back
She’s no choice but to be submissive
everything makes him aggressive
her clients wants a golden shower
over his face she cowers
I pity her life of vice
she’ll tell you she’s no choice
what chance of her kids got
in a vicious circle already caught
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Welcome to my magic show
Where only the brave dare to go;
Beyond the depths of reality
Hidden under lock and key.
There's not rabbit in a hat, no graceful dove,
Just an angel with broken wings, fallen from above.
There's no illusion, no trick of scorn;
Only a lonely girl, tattered and torn
Welcome to the freakshow, look through the glass.
She cowers in fear, gazing at the points and laughs.
They mock, they tease,
They bring her to her knees.
With a desperate plea she lifts her eyes
And everyone sees she's a devil in disguise.
The confusion is evident on every face
This girl has a side that caused her to fall from grace.
Assumptions are made, a decision reached
Everyone with an opinion they morbidly preached
The girl lifts her hands in absolute fear
And in a flash of smoke she disappeared.
I hope you enjoyed the show
Where she went, you may never know.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
BEYOND THE CLOUDS
He runs
for the sheer joy
of being
a little boy.
"Brian...Brian!"
I try to rein him in
with my voice but
he escapes even that.
"Watch out...watch out!"
I throw the words at him
"Or you'll hit
that cloud!"
Two clouds glower at him
and he stops in his tracks
suddenly uncertain if
that is possible.
And so perspective
cowers my little brother
and he runs back
holds my hand.
We tiptoe past
the threatening clouds
leaving them behind
he laughing nervously.
Now far far from that time
beyond even death
I call his name
and he runs and
takes my hand.
The clouds can only
look on.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
In the orphanage a child
cowers from cursing men outside.
She wants to climb back into
her dead mother’s womb
and hide inside its warm, soft,
un-edged safety,
where no explanation is needed
or reason to hide under splintered
staircases or run the gauntlet to basement
bomb shelters, existing minute to minute
with strangers until the dawn arrives with her
deliverance and she refuses to be born.
Michael J. Whelan
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
He found her hiding
In the cities cowers
And thought to befriend her
By offering a carrot
She wouldn’t take it
But she couldn’t leave it
Her eyes
Droopy half moons
Darting between him
And his offering
*The Scylla
And the Charybdis*
Knowing that if
She didn't starve to death
This fox would eat her.
But the fox was a Magnus
He knew her pain
*A Pea - hard as tuppence ha'penny
Under twenty mattresses*
And appealed to her sensitivity.
He too had been alone
- His rhombic truths
And scared
- A slant on the straight and narrow
And when it was time to leave
He asked her to dine with him
In his burrow.
But still she hesitated
So he scuttled away
Leaving her to follow
And apologize
For having vexed him so.
*If he had wanted to **** her
He would have done so already*
And she was very hungry.
So they talked of books
*Peter Rabbit
And the Velveteen Rabbit*
As he sharpened his knives
To dice potatoes
And chop carrots.
They were going to have
A German dish
-Hasenpfeffer.
-What does that mean
She asked
Sniffing the broth.
- Rabbit stew
He whispered.
And then he bit her
Hard
And held her
Until she stopped struggling.
He really did love rabbit.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC
There’s something about the lonely hours,
Just you and me, our space overlapping.
The sky a meadow, constellations, flowers.
No passion-filled debate, no vying powers,
Lazy destiny dreams, eschewing plans or mapping.
There’s something about the lonely hours.
Past today, the future glowers,
But reserve this sacred instant for reflection, recapping.
The sky a meadow, constellations, flowers.
The earth is straining, injustice towers,
Insidious corruption, pain and deceit chafing, chapping.
There’s something about the lonely hours.
The darkness consumes, seconds become hours,
Sorrow lurks at hand, irksome insecurities tapping.
The sky a meadow, constellations, flowers.
Yet, peace resounds, the evil cowers.
Hope, the thing with feathers, quietly, resiliently flapping.
There’s something about the lonely hours,
The sky a meadow, constellations, flowers.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC