"crawler" poems
I'm looking down watching what you do
As if i'm Uatu the Watcher
Or maybe I'm controlling you
Like the evil Puppet Master
See you have no control in life
This is my world and I'm just allowin you to live in it
It's like I'm eating up planets with Galactus
And creating chaos with Apocalypse
I'm in control of my actions
Choosing to do wrong
Only to wait until my redemption by the hands of the worthy
You're inside my head like Charles Xavier
Trying to find out my secrets
Only to discover that I keep my mental barriers on lock
With no key or code to unlock
Said passageway into my subconsious
Because I can block you without a helmet
Unlike Juggernaut or Magneto
I'm free to swing around with the good wall crawler known as
Scarlet Spider
Hah
And write up my own unique flows with no worries
I don't need the X-men or Avengers
Or my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man
To know that I have some great repsonsibilities on my shoulders
Weighing me down like a ton of bricks
And I don't need someone like Doom
Telling me how to be a leader
When we all know his leadership skills could use some attention
I'm an enigma
Close to what Deadpool would say is
Very unique
Before muttering towards the wall
As if it were his faithful audience
I know who I am
I know what I do
So simply put
I'm freaking awesome
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
catch me like a fish
everlasting supplier of light rays-
warming the soul like a cup of hot tea on a sleepy sunday afternoon
- melancholic -
swaying the universe
the mermaids sing in the mornings
mesmerizing the sailors
and i am the singer and the mesmerized
i am free. i am free from the ropes. free from the chains of a dreary existence. i can feel it i can feel it on the tip of my eyelashes with the swells of tears pouring out.
- renewal - - relief -
i am a good girl. listener of tall tales and fantasies. spur of the moment night crawler caller.
i spin a beautiful web of fantastical clouds. from ropes to cakes.
pick your poison.
i am a bad girl. keeper of secrets. silent truths bundled under creative happiness and weakly disguised love affairs.
- blink and it’s over -
i’ll lie in your lap and watch you write-
spinning fantastical tales of glorious awakenings. new beginnings.-
pull my hair up to attention. i am here. i am wanted. want want grab me.
want//need. clever disguises. silent truths. wispy truths.
childhood pencil marks. pig tail sneakers.
truth drops into heads.
eyes drop onto the floor.
teeth sink into lips.
heart drops into stomach.
limbs fold over limbs and the being falls slowly upon itself.
when i wasn’t mine.
she wanted me more than she could stand. stabbed me with a ************* pencil. made my heart drop into my ************* stomach.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Here Kitty, Kitty,, called aloud the man~relaxing in his Lounge chair~while sipping a Slightly-Sugared Iced tea. Here Kitty, Kitty,,He continued to call~wondering where the curious cat~might have have made off to~THIS TIME.. Perhaps to the New neighbors~where boxes of all shapes and colors~were carefully~Disarrayed in the back yard~Just waiting for the curious... Not getting any response from Kitty~the Man decided to PEER over ~the Neighborhood Alignment Fence~and Sure enough~There was Kitty! Kitty was Springing~Up and Down~Like a YO-YO and Jumping from Box to Box. Curiosity is an Amazing thing~Isn't it? The Man seemed to be caught in a Trance~As he watched Kitty~continue to jump and YO-YO ! What could be in those boxes?~that held such fascination? Was it a Creepy-crawler~a Slimy-Slitherer~a Wise-Wiggler~a Dashing-Dancer~an Awful-Awesome~a Yelping-Yeoman~an Energized-Egrit~an Ugly-Duckling~a Fast Frog~a Gorgeous-Gargantula~a Social Secret~a Horrible-hulk'a Raspy-Rascal~an Insensitive-Iguana~a Jumping-Jackal ? OR , was it simply the color of the Boxes ? Look at that Curios Kitty~Jumping and Jumping and Jumping ! SUDDENLY___the Man~Totally overcome by ~Lady Curiosity~Bounded over the Alignment Fence~Dashed Promptly to the Boxes~Scattering them all over the Yard~Trying to Discover ~ "THE SOURCE" .. Only ONE box remained ~after opening~All the Others! NOW he would find the ANSWER! He carefully approached the LAST BOX~Gently pulled it closer~looking for a way to Open~------- Lifting Lid carefully~Slowly~KITTY~came Bounding out~All claws~digging and clinging to His chest~Was that FEAR_~~__HE SAW in KITTY'S eyes?___ "AS His ALARM-CLOCK ,, Screamed out to Him___"AWAKEN______
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 4:15 AM UTC
Your Excellency
I salute thee
Oh! King
King of Gbomulero
Oh! King
I salute your mighty sword
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
Kabiyesi o!
I lift up my mouth
To praise your mighty-ness
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
Your Lordship
That no dares to question
No one dares
To look into your eyes
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
The fighter of the spirits
The king of the witches
The night crawler
That wrestled the spirits in the dark
The only addressee of the jury
The judge and the jury
The Alápatà of Gbomulero
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
The end and eternity
Of Gbomulero's existence
The mantle of Orunmila
The Royal Highness
Of the gods
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
Ki ade pelori
Ki bata na tu pele
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
May God bless the poets,
And our slice of paradise.
I think it goes to show just how far we go,
That no AI crawler will take our place,
Bill collectors to disgrace!
Oct 8, 2025
Oct 8, 2025 at 9:33 PM UTC
There's still a part of you that lingers in me; a myth I haunt and the ghost of every story I make.
The traces of my brokenness
are the lure of lullabies
As I am chasing shadows on the crowd
they're coming after you under the moonlight.
What was the best thing for being a sunshine if you are a star that night can only have?
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 8:40 AM UTC
By Sharday
"Old Fools"
Old crudes.. appearing as Fools gold. The Irony. When you offer joy and laughter.. and all the best to offer in kindly spoken joyful chatter.
When you only offered a sprinkle of smiles and sunshine's. A regular day by short easy breezes to fellow online unknowns you never ever met in the flesh and briefly known online.
shared with them smiles and sunshine of encouraging crispy apple finds. To wish they smile with glee and inwardly are filled with bitter unrest.. Unknown to most of us. We only see the clown painted hidden face. A true face of sunken holes filthy craters in mold. The corrupt soul waiting to unlease it's misery soon as the old fool see, your joyful positivity isn't gonna stay for the foolery.
How you can't be captured, in the web of rotten hell where the Old fool dwells. Just wash your hands wipe your virtual feet from where you ventured and never again there enter.
A fool full of liquor and utterly bitter all of its own. To whom you never did any wrong. Yet the fool will claim you have. Is a stalker web crawler, harassing fool.. Report the stalkers harassing's obsessing's words of hate. The fools mouth of polluted lies disguised as crafted blind leading the blind sorrows.
A brief encounter online in 14 days causes a fool to write so much **** poor chatter.
Obsessive, stalker, old fool, not your muse, move on fool.
Psalms 18:2 "A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion." psalms 18:2
Proverbs 29:2 If a wise man has an argument with a fool, the fool only rages and laughs, and there is no quiet.
Sounds like a abusive deranged so madly insane. Type foolish, type thang. Can't find a away to stop using you in written metaphors. Like his pictures of he wish he had ******
Keep virtual 911 on hit report speed dial,
this fool seems a virtual danger stranger chillld.
H.E.R_Poetry...#Over.It..
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 12:23 PM UTC
Why bother with a dollar when you can get down in the holler
play in the water with an otter and every other crawler
just like my father, who was half hillbilly half ***** collar
looking at a picture so much smaller, like a backwoods scholar
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
As I lay beside the pound the organic sounds mix with the industrial ones coming from the concrete structures not more than a few good pebble skips away; for someone who is an experience pebble skipper at least. I always envied my male friends at the river, grabbing a small rock and persuading it to transform into a water crawler as it made it’s way across the tea colored water. My stones never did that, they were determined to act like stones; sinking into the brown abyss with one big splash. The sound of the water filling the gap my stone fell into, the swift reminder I could not convince the matter to do as I please. The sounds around me now give me a peace as I hear them. The vague rustle of the leaves as a working bee buzzes through them, bravely determined to fight through the grass jungle to reach the sweet nectar on the flower that resides hidden inside.
Nature always has a way of projecting a determined spirit; I can see it in the weeds growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. No matter how many times they are damaged, torn, poisoned, or malnourished, they always strive to grow. They have never ceased. Not once have they given up, they have a natural hope they hang onto. That they can recover, no matter how much they’ve lost. Organic life, nature, brings hope; it brings the wish of recovery, the willingness to adapt, and the ability to change. Just as the rocks leap from my friends’ hands, and turn into something they’re not, choosing to become more than a stone, refusing to sink. This is what nature brings. It brings Hope.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
Grimly smiling
At this leg of the race how'd you think I got it made
Done had me some power but never got paid
I volunteered my hours while being mentally slayed
Brain slashed so I lashed out by never sleeping though life always layed me out
Knocked down, ears ringing
Is this my calling?
To stand up taller, am I meant to be a crawler?
I'm not a zombie, I'm just hurt
That you'd think I can't escape the fate set on me, I don't live in hell but I feel burnt
I don't watch burnt movies on the disc though, wouldn't fit in at the disco
I stream em online, I want to get fit but I'm too busy waiting for the video to load
Then the **** thing lags, maybe it's a sign
To use my legs and get buffer
But I didn't brace myself to be cast in this role
Done capped my knees durability and out came my knee cap
Then people finally noticed that I was hurt, but it wasn't my limb they should've been concerned about
But I'm not here to pout, hell I'm getting help
I'm just here to say
When you're ready to give up
Life hits you even harder
To remind you that you're tougher than any doubt you've ever had
You can handle more than even a hurt body, brain, or mind
You ain't dead till you die
You ain't high till you fly
You ain't ahead until you try
It's a lot like rugby, even when the magic rug be out of reach
You can still be a-lad-in joy
There's something about dodging and taking hits that's enthralling
Chaos is beauty
If you don't just let it be but let yourself succeed
A little sweat and blood to get the lead
In the rain wet and loud, passions what I bleed
And obstacles are what my slightly enlarged heart pumps, what it beats
But sometimes I'm choking on led
My lungs are the weapon that gave me a shot, and onlookers say "You're rhymes have no pattern B, so the way you write things is awk, see?
How's this for an ox-c *****
I'm suffocating on oxygen
Asthma attack at nine months old didn't stop me, a close call they said
But more like a call received
Because looking back now I know my purpose
Is to breathe
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
You lose a job
the lover you tied your life with drifts elsewhere
the place you grew root seems not home anymore
the days are vacuous and nights a crawler
your head echoes with the deafening groan
I deserve no love, even from me.
Surely it’s the worst portrait you drew of yourself
and an erroneous one.
The job was filling your purse but emptying your purpose
the lover was no fairy but a fair weather friend
the home was only a harbor you anchored before sail.
There’s a world at your doorstep begging your attention
withering without your love.
Pick up and hold them to your breast
see how quickly unburdens your chest
your spirits soar.
From thence you would never cease
to love yourself from the core!
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
baby, I’m a ********* for your love
baby, I’m a lover of your soul
baby, I’m a crawler to your door
baby, I’m a flier on your wings
I’m a crier of my tears
baby, I’m a sinner
I can’t win
baby, I’m addicted to your love
baby, I’m a lost soul
and baby, you’ve found me
baby, I’m an old woman
but baby, you know me
baby, I’m a crashed car
and baby, you’re my saving grace
I’m falling hard
and baby I’m hoping you’ll catch me
you already have a million times
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC
this doldrums,
it mediates between being something decent, a memory that holds leftover leaves
a sicly stomach for other purpose than than to remind the skeleto, or the bony crawler.. that midnight is approaching and it is the hour to find the next shadowy reserve
this doldrums is where I simply lay in the telephone machine, since it is ticking anyway and I don't see the use in following the clock, or the bunny rabbit, or the heart, or what have- you
painfully contented and jaded, is my cigarette thin enough yet?
my wrist watch has stopped ticking, too
and I wear it anway
on classy dinner dates
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
Across my path, skipping on air uplifting, yellow wings pulse erratic in fashion as they go about their flight of fancy. I think not much, yet smile for such lighthearted play before me.
Moments and miles pass, alas, yellow wings appear and arrive in the sigh of the wind. As if to capture me they whip wildly in every direction as I dodge and lean, avoiding collision in our dance of dare.
Like ticking hands of clever clockwork they point in my direction, and I wonder of the message scripted on the yellow wings of things seeking my attention.
I think not of random chance in meeting yellow wings so plenty, and I begin to see the glee in the creatures flight. The crawler once grounded is now the flyer free, to be everything it dreamt impossible. To relinquish what was and greet what is, with gusto and fervor in fever pitch.
I nod and acknowledge the message received, the butterfly and I affirm our mantra, “I am not he, tis merely me, morphed into spirit soaring.” I sense the change and feel the difference between what was hidden and that which magic has revealed, through eyes upon yellow wings.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
chainsaws **** zombies
on my movie screen
like a nightly terror
can't help but scream.
find the crawler by the doorstep
watch the creeper look your way
strike an arrow in a socket
bleed and make your lover lay.
In a thought in a cloud
in a word with no sound
fight the distance in between
seas of memories lost in dreams.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
Water
under
the bridge,
rolling
and tumbling,
kissing
the river's
edge.
Trees
bend
in the breeze.
The
lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars.
His *****
strikes
the earth,
overturning
a crawler's
night lunch.
A bottle
of ***
shared
by two
who steer
clear
of the fire's
orangey
fingers.
Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the night's
sky.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
It looks like this piece doesn't fit
fool it, force it to call it quits
weaken worse words with our wit
lashing out at the fire licks we lit
guard the ghost of glitter and gleam
drill it, draping the drastic dream
soldier seems so out of scheme
unsealed structure ******* steam
let lowlifes linger on the lines
mark it, make it meet our minds
**** the crawler, keep our kinds
because its better behind our blinds
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
the words were like poison
and they sat on my conscience like a weapon
like a desert landscape in the fair kingdom
the words that she laid at my door
just would not sit right with me
no matter how many of the guilty i ran to ground
no matter how many of the fears i cast aside
the history of it felt like a cold stone hall
and its midnight man running with his flickering torch
and his sweaty face filled with a thousand nameless terrors
he bears the tidings with a hesitant hand
a crumpled rag of paper with her words scrawled
with a desperate hand of ignorance
its history tastes like that to me
we rode far into the north country
trying to put some miles between us and the steady rain
trying to shake the pursuit that is more felt than seen
a chaser like a figure emerging from the heat haze in
the desert valley of tombs
we rode far into the trackless wood of the north
and camped up by the river
you became like a ***** hermit
and i became a bitter shadow of a creek crawler
cursed for not having drunk of the sweet nectar of her loves
one day announced you were fleeing this place
cause you had found god
so you went back to the lowlands
and preached to the crows in the pickers field
but when evening had flown it took your madness with it
so we had to begin again
so into the dark of night we ride
seeking the world
seeking the truth untainted by her lies
and in the fierce fire of her unforgiving eye
you finally see that you will know no peace till
you have set aright the fallen house
restore the mantle of the broken kingdom to its rightful heirs
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
i feel
like
space
given
shape,
a web
crawler
whose spinnerets
spit out
time,
leading toward
something
genuine and
whole and
present.
fear does not define me.
i am energy,
incarnating
now.
things can be silly.
i can allow myself
to feel
joyous
without stressing about
capturing the moment -
enjoying things as they come..
i am density
in hand with
fluidity.
i am
river rock
and rivulet -
i sit, center,
pool,
eddy
and
swim off
downstream.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
creepy little crawlers,
they have the audacity to push their slimy feelers on me,
i can already smell the stench from miles away,
their vile oil infested goo can stay away from my skin,
if only you were a creepy little crawler,
then I could squeeze your insides out,
mash your pathetic body into pulp,
but my chain is still too tight for me to run,
so I'll let you ooze yourself onto me.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
The ceiling ***** you in
And the rafters wrap around
and devour
While the daylight outside
begins to doze.
The corners of the room
Start to accuse with silent
phrases which they toss into your mouth.
Time to walk to the next one
Alone.
Single minded but softly, bluntly so.
Time to dare the world to judge you
'Cause you're forgetting; "frogs will jump...
by request or no."
Time to stumble to the next one
Bile summoned to your throat
Doors open and inhale you
As you think about your breathing
Far too hard and carefully.
Half heard conversations start to wrap around your neck
Time to loosen the belt
around your waist.
You step out for some air.
They're smoking--fancy that.
Time to fall into the next one
When you belch it tastes like soap.
The floor springs toward the ceiling
Drop a dollar in the cuss jar,
potty mouth...
And cinch your hat down tighter
Like you hope it eats your head.
Conversations yank you to the ************* floor
And the rafters chew you up
and spit what's left into your hungry hat.
The corners are done with you...
...so it's time...
So I'd like to see you try and crawl home.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
How do i lay this into you?
Eye with eyes and ears for naught,
yet i can not stop wondering.
The sun will never rise in the west.
Passed myself again to yearn.
I empty the cesspit and polished the edges, "good sir!"
Oh, i want to fill your treasure troves to the eye with ****
Empty my throat for promises; tongue forked to pussyfoot the bits at the zenith of your bone plates.
Out my throat a night-crawler pirouettes.
Up the spiral on waves ridden only by an igno-rant; terrified.
to say sorry for the plague.
Oh yes he OWES YOU!
Owes you only the pock and rust.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 10:37 PM UTC
We board on the lazy sea crawler,
us cowards, in tea and cream and glory.
Martha, hands in her hair, in her sweet age;
We lurch, cold, remaining in sweeter earth,
And I into Sam's cloud of august.
We are hearts only bent on fame,
While the ashes of our cousins —
A new lineage in lieu of dirt —
Begs us in their choral aching for a keening.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
Weariness of straining stress
In a bedchamber of thick darkness
Illumination drowned in the
darkfield of ******
Mysterious mole in the conclave
of concord
Crawler of cruelty crawling for prey
Eulogising gods of darkness for
caging light in the attic of
darkness.
Espionage goon of evil
Drenched in darkness to sell sorrow
Where are you migrating from?
Where are you swaggering to?
In bewilderment, my spirit watched
you
In astonishment, my soul monitored
you
But my body wallowed in deep-sea
of deep dreamless slumber.
Creeping like a poacher
In swarthiness of darkness
Habitant of evil you are
To sting
To ****
Denizen of death you are
To turn hubby to widow-man
Undertaker of tragedy you are
To turn wife to widow-woman
Envoy of hemlock of hell you are
Dweller of darkness
Agent of disaster
But suddenly!
And suddenly!!
Light engulfed the aura of darkness in
the cavity of Illumination
Lucidly l saw you
Clearly l heard you
Dangling proboscis of danger
Waggling poisonous *** end of death
You stuck on the wall
To sting
To ****
Helplessly you watched me
Now pray your last prayer
Clod of callousness
Vasoconstrictor of wastages
What is your real name?
Scorpion!
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 1:12 PM UTC