"scavenger" poems
Throw rocks at my window,
Hold the boom box up high.
Send me on scavenger hunts,
Make me search far and wide.
Let me be your favorite song,
A tune you can never get out of your head.
Recall your fondest memories,
Those of when we first met.
Take me out to ball games,
Introduce me to all your friends.
I want to be your now and forever,
I want the cheesy moments to last a lifetime.
Take me in now and never look back,
We can have a life we create out of whack.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
My mother should be an author
She carves her soul into millions of pieces
Leaving it behind all of the family photos
When I see my mother
I see a woman
Who wants to hide her soul in a needle
Just so the screaming can stop in her mind,
These bottles are rattling in the living room
You see they have put shackles on her heart,
She can't love anymore
Without having ***** in her water bottle.
Where is she hiding her beer?
I feel like my mother is giving me a scavenger hunt
From the shards of glass that were left on the baseball fields
My mother used to take me to.
You know she always wasn't like this
She was strong minded and had a big heart
Tonight I will tell you the story of a woman
Who lost her soul to the Keystones to the Miller Lites
To the ****** Mary’s.
Let's rewind time
See how to **** the soul in ten years
10- I look into my mother's eyes and I start to cry
Because I'm looking at a woman who I don't know anymore
9- I refused to bail her out of jail again
Because I'm afraid her kidney will fail if she drinks again
8- My mother staggered into the theater and disrupted the whole play,
My cast mates turned to me and asked, isn't that your mother?
7- I had to hold my mothers hand
Because she was throwing up the cocktail of drugs and alcohol
6- Daddy had to get mom out of jail she was drinking again
5- My mother throws the bottle across the room
And told me the reason why she drinks is because I'm Autistic
4- My mother overslept for my piano recital,
I didn't think it was a big deal
But I remember she spent the whole night crying
With a wine glass in her hand.
3- Mommy I didn't know your prescription came in a needle
2- Mommy the prescription say 2 pills a day
why are you taking 6?
1- My mother went to the doctor
Found out that she has Rheumatoid Arthritis
I don't know what that means,
But I know she will still be strong right?
0- She took me to a Dodger game for my birthday.
I remember Sammy Sosa hitting a home run that game
She told me that the only person that can **** your soul is yourself
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
We, the voice of the most oppressed,
Work in the profession remaining the most humble,
Throughout histories, as slaves our lives still remain tumble,
With our strangled necks, we are deliberately suppressed
For the centuries, our voices remain unheard,
Like a weeping fish at the sea,
We are treated zombies at the rush of a blood,
Collecting by hand, the human society’s poops & pea
Things for us got intensely worse,
We work as a group with an isolated curse,
For our livelihood, go into manholes as bare-bodies
Mostly get out as dead-bodies
From pathology to oncology,
We are treated untouchables, even by the modern technology
We are the oxygen-offering trees that remain green
Hurting ourselves, collecting excreta making this world neat &clean
With our hand-cuffs we shout and fight,
Rulers remain drunken-deafs to our plight,
Hell with your knowledge, to those who go to college
And keep pushing us to the drainage,
We remain living dead and frustrated, to get our right
When asked about work, we remain dumb and blind,
Fearing the responses to our ***** revelations,
Because humans are unemphathetic and unkind
To get our life some elevations.
Our mind said us “Please think! Please Think!”
When we revolt not to work, societies stink,
We warn, Witness your locality *****
To our sufferings, if you keep blank & empty.
We are a collective voice,
Representing inhuman humanity,
That keeps the society on a poise,
So raise your voice, with a clarity of choice
To get us work with the utmost dignity!
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
My family is a bunch of animals.
My mother is a lioness,
strong, brave, and full of pride,
with claws sharp as knives,
for anyone that harms her cub she will strike.
my father is a hyena,
foolish, never serious, and a lazy scavenger,
that doesn't do anything but eat the crap that he creates.
My grand parents are elephants,
big and strong during the day,
blind and helpless during the night.
My aunts and uncles are the herd of gazelles,
they graze when they can,
but when the lioness comes they silence and run away with fear.
My dogs are the shade that comforts me from the burning sun of life.
The day has come when the lioness shall not roam the tall grasses of the Serengeti.
Without the lioness the gazelles are persistently grazing,
depleting the grass,
grazing and depleting until there was no grass left for me to hide in,
they rammed and bucked at me like I had no right to grieve.
I was a helpless cub on that day and I still am,
wondering when the lioness will show up to be my heroine again.
But as the gazelles buck and ram,
a kangaroo and a zebra rush in,
embrace me,
and take me in,
I now have a second family with:
a savage tiger,
Italian chipmunks,
boxing kangaroos,
kick-ass monkeys,
elderly turtles,
burly bears,
religious zebras,
and untimely rabbits.
My second family is diverse,
but they never do the worst just as my first.
This is a story that I usually don't tell,
but this my past life so I must tell, tell, tell...
This is what God raised me to be,
This for me and only me.
One day the light will show for me,
and me and the lioness will forever again be free,
to roam the plains in the skies above,
just like a dove.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
I found myself missing
someone who used to
like all the little things
about me, so I went on
a little scavenger hunt
picking up bobby pins
and crunched up leaves;
a couple old CDs and
a bunch of little words
left unsaid; a tiny music
box and a ton of old
pictures that are the only
pieces left as proof and
all the little things were
laid out and added up
only to disappear in an
instant because they do
not even resemble who I
am anymore —
who am i
who
am
i
gd
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
In parlance of the street he's a dumpster-diver,
scavenger of non-losing wager or proposition tickets.
You'd see his fragile frame each night
walking the isles of the race and sports books,
a condor's aerial eye trained on the floor,
back visible only to casino surveillance cameras.
Seated atop a barstool at the back,
I watch him bend, examine and discard,
through the prism of my scotch glass.
Every food chain has its bottom-feeders,
he brings efficiency to the gambling ecosystem.
Likely not the life that you or I would chose,
but then he has no monthly credit card to pay.
Just now, I saw him straighten and smile,
a parlay ticket will pay for tonight's meal
with just enough left for a brown-bag.
He does not go uninvited to misfortune,
the streets tonight are lined with chance's down.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
scavenger bride,
she counted periods
before the children came along,
but never suspected
eyes like bottles
beginning to blue,
a tangle of scars
hermetically sealed,
the new order of
a broken romance,
dead love cassettes
in the glove compartment,
her cold and empty
constellations,
like cold breath
passing through a beam of sunlight,
grid of points, pendulums,
the ratio of freckles to stars,
no subtle countenance,
martinis and bikinis,
soft ******* and ice cream,
slight, elusive things, on a beach
with no more meaning,
the repeating pattern of
her mistakes and reliefs,
a preservation of decay,
sustained by the tiny
human fault line
in that oneiric hinterland,
between dreaming and waking,
she draws around the noise
and the clearings,
she creates within that sightline
the way her sadness can feel
comfortable,
an extension of loss that turns
her ruins into a home.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 2:48 PM UTC
Little raven
In your nest
Scorned at
Laughed at
Little raven
In your nest
They don't see
You're beauty
All they see
Is a squawking scavenger
With sharp talons
And disgusting eyes
Little raven
In your nest
Don't leave
Let me love you
Your plumage
Is beautiful
And shining
To me
Your voice brings me
Joy
And memories
Of homes long gone
Little raven
In your nest
They may revile you
But I love you
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
I come here as much as I can
Love the sounds and smells that surround me
It is just so peaceful and I love to people watch
I try and imagine how their lives are
Are they happy or in pain
Do they, like me, yell out their lies and frustrations
to be carried out swiftly in the wind
Are their disappointments and regrets
washed away by the waves as well...
Do they draw pictures in the sand of broken hearts
Do they become a beach scavenger
Searching for discarded treasures
I wonder if they come here as an escape
To renew oneself and just be
One with this constant ...our constant the sea
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
A fluff of feathers
Black and white,
Hide the scrawny scavenger
Whose "Rick, Rick, Rick!"
Identify some place of death,
This careful bandit's visiting.
He leaves outright robbery
To his cousin jay,
And flits,
One disaster to the next,
To see how he may capitalize.
Dead carrion, his usual fodder...
Yet one subzero winter day
I saw a magpie perched
Upon a shivering cow
Belly deep in snow, and
Chilled in minus 30 air,
Peck-scratching through a healing scab
And pulling living flesh away.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
Pretzel Logic
always counter intuitive
with a twisted sense of fate
explicitly constructed
how much longer will you wait
the axiom of choice
the scenario of doubt
with random intervention
how can you bring about
a clear and precise result
with no deviance in action
probability of predictions
spinning wheels with no traction
the answers so concise
in udder chaos results you find
without collaboration
such an eery creepy mind
a scavenger of darkness
deep down thoughts somewhat toxic
no wavering in directions
manipulative pretzel logic
Gomer Lepoet...
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
A man poses at a dimly lit table,
a light hangs directly overhead
with a cobweb ribbon-wrapped around
the steel wire escaping the ceiling.
An inverted roulette table,
a man betting against the house:
It is always this way.
Light flickers, flipped on,
and off, and on,
without a switch
with which to assert control.
He is alone in the squeaking chair,
sipping tea and dipping his crumb-covered
hands into the napkin-covered basket
of water crackers and salted peanuts.
Sitting, he poses for practice, but for now,
he practices for no one.
The house is empty.
In the back of his mind, there is no worry
of what one will find upon entering
the kitchen: A scarecrow at a table,
full of straw and teeth dulled down
from night grinding,
sitting in, what could be mistaken
as, a pensive position.
The scavenger hand makes him look wanting.
It's partner is propped on chin,
accompanied by his half-sculpted smile
and the dark-light contrast of his hair and eyes
with yellow shining off of his two front teeth.
The color is not the fault of stumbling home
too late to care for the mouth, but of the old
incandescent staring him down
and the obsessively clean, marble surface
at which he puckers his face.
A tapping in the hall stirs his bones
and his body darts up.
A crow, it seems, with small grey beak
has wandered in from the overgrown fields,
the fields that haven't been tended to
since this boy began taking himself too seriously.
The both of them with stilts for legs
and no breeze of running feet
from scream to sway the pair of pairs.
Their eyes connect and neither moves.
Who should place the first bet,
black or red,
and who will set the ball in motion?
The light goes off.
Denoument is a bad time
for a bulb to die.
As calm as a hand
with razorblade against skin,
the scarecrow sits down once again
and poses.
The bird observes his motion,
calls, and waits,
but the man moves no more,
overjoyed with an invisible audience,
a full stomach.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
. what's the difference between
thieves, and magicians?
not much...
both have quick hands...
and an awake,
yet asleep public communal
presence...
the thief has a public of
the victim,
and the c.c.t.v. "stage"...
the magician?
has a public of the crowd,
and the "dajjal" stage of
a camera replenishing
a concept of:
not enough public...
thieves and magicians are
bedfellows...
you allow one to flourish...
the antithesis will come
along, and in an indiscriminate
fashion...
allow the "magic" / "thieving"
to take place...
what is a magician,
a public figure... compared...
to a thief?
i can't see the difference...
the audience was fooled
by the magician...
the individual was fooled
by the thief...
are they... so much unlike
each other?
magicians can own
a theater stage...
thieves, sometimes... just sometimes...
own the, basic...
pointlessness of english
c.c.t.v. mechanics,
to make police officers make:
a follow-up investigation...
oh, but i have genius
interrogation practices...
no one wants to listen to...
like 10 hours straights of listening
to stefan molyneux...
or 48 hours, sleep deprived...
listening to BBC 24 hour news reels...
that **** could crack anyone...
what the americans did to the Iraqis?
last time i heard...
they blasted the slayer oeuvre
down headphones into their ears...
Americans... feeding conquered
Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre?
BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE!
and didn't the encore come?
******* retards...
crows feeding seagull chicks
with sinew and
regurgitated scavenger meat!
if only they played them some
Bach...
i'm pretty sure...
the Iraqis would still be left...
disorientated...
but the American army "interrogators"...
ha ha!
played them the slayer oeuvre!
WEE-TARDS!
anyone... and i mean anyone:
will relieve themselves as being
"tortured": doubly charged up,
and ready to ingest hyper-coffee
in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic
of ingesting amphetamines
(pervitin) -
night-raids... the londoonoirnischt
blitz, sloth krieg...
ya ya yawn...
urgh... burp...
and always... those poncy -
english, gay, aristocratic men...
and their... psychotropic women...
so what's the difference between
a common thief...
and a spectacle magician?
one "owns" cctv footage,
the other owns a stage...
yet both share a: quicksilver
take on, what cannot be
interpreted in either handwriting
or stenography...
hmm...
can't be sure whether
both could be considered legal.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
I move through the woods in ritual
The trees have shed their leaves like
Third sons and eldest daughters,
They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands
and bears them away from home.
A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb,
Their last embrace.
Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch,
melded amber and crimson,
the dregs of sun in their veins,
offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat.
At home, I press them between pages,
tiny spells of weight and gravity
cast to keep their color.
I know this magic,
Autumn and I are kindred in this,
Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth
cradles of remembrance,
nets always cast back into memory.
Like all memories
There are a thousand useless,
The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot,
the seconds that dripped by unmarked.
But we hold the fragile, happy few,
High upon a shelf
the glowing phosphorus of laughter
The currant red of a last kiss
Returned to and returned to
Like an unanswered prayer.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition
Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
You see me Hurrying and scurrying
Gathering my food cautiously,
Looking around constantly worrying
Sneaking around precociously.
Weaving; bobbing, always dodging
Bushy tailed little scavenger I am,
So may despise me as I dwell in their lodging
But all I want is a home so don't give a dam.
Climbing my tree like a famous mountaineer
Old and young will wave or sit and say hello,
Quickly I think it's time to evacuate from here
The all clear I see and again on the ground I go.
Fluffy and Grey sometimes even Red
Speeding around among the leaves,
Time to nest and put my children to bed
Until once more the summer itself retrieves.
Grant Dickson 04/09/2017
This poem was inspired by a Squirrel
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
I am emotional, but I am fearless
I am stronger among the pack,
yet I prefer to be on my own path
Sometimes I am the swift hunter,
sometimes I am the cowardly scavenger
I can be loud and ferocious,
I can be quiet and submissive
If I wish, I can make my presence known in an instant,
or I may stay invisible.
I avoid conflict when I can, yet I am fiercely territorial
By day I am the lazy dog,
at night I am the vicious predator
I am your best friend, I am your worst nightmare
I'm not always a monster, but I will **** for what I love
It is possible to discipline me, but its no easy task
And you'll never take the wild out of me
My soft fur hides my fangs
I am the Wolf
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
I was told by my peers
That honor and valor
Could be found in a far-off field,
As if war was a scavenger hunt
Wherein men of all ages
Fought to the death
Looking for little baubles
And adjectives.
I was told to return
With my shield or on it,
And how different those words sound
When you listen to the shells, shouts, and screams
In a far-off field.
But when this land sleeps in silence,
The locals can be grateful
That all the young boys
Looking for adjectives and baubles
Have made a far-off field
Full of daisies,
Beautiful in the sun
And graceful on the breeze.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
prey tracked
relentlessly pursued
mass of zebra
whacked
pulverized
to the ground
powerful jaws of lion
employed
in the gruesome ****
throat of prey
exposed
oozing scarlet ****
lion consumes
a bloating portion
for himself
deference shown to lion
an uninvited hyena
joins in
snarls and snappy retorts
go between the two
hyena knows
the borders
at nature's table
with
lion king
both delight
in the zebra's
ample flesh
and its sweet
warm entrails
they savor
every morsel
above in stark
glared filled skies
anticipating crows
circle
frenzy intense
hungering craw
needing
needing
squawking
to announce
arrival
descending in unison
blanketing the zebra's carcass
beaks tearing
the meager scraps
from the bones
welcome
sustenance
at natures
all too sparse table
each creature know its place
crow has a place reserved
scavenger on the rim
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
You found me
Heart of abuse turned peaceful
Eyes of disgust enlightened
You winged me into security,
then played off my vulnerability like a scavenger
Peeling my walls down like flesh from a carcass
You reeled me in like the catch of the day
hook attached, you left me dangling with the hope of repair
As you caught a one way to California
The days that followed brought your beasts with them
Gloomy deceitful minions of broken trust
Your "love" had evaporated just as quick as the oregon wind blows
Making me regret every ounce of compassion I'd given you
despising the sincerity I had offered
Regurgitating every lie you'd bestowed upon me
However, with every passing day my memory of you fades
No longer do I cry over your cowardly decisions
There is no hate or grudge held within my soul
Soon enough I realised I'd never loved you
I was faking contempt with every kiss, every hug, every word
& my heart secretly craved your absence
months have passed without heartache
I've doused my wounds in gasoline and set your memory ablaze
regained that fire in my eyes that you once so carelessly saturated with tears
There are many that patiently waited for my return
Finally my golden emeralds are cleaned of deceit and deception
I'm done searching, waiting, and hoping for my happily ever after
I am my happy ending
I'm the best architect and gardener I know
Continuously rebuilding myself after demolition
& Replanting my roots to fit my desires
Repairing cracks, sowing holes, stemming leaves from ashes
I've been reborn.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
You could say you're
Still a juvenile
All you lies are spread
With a vicious guilty smile
Just wanna stay up late
But it's time for bed
All the boys and girls
Have their own share,
And if I don't get any
Then I'll think it's unfair.
Now I'm gonna throw a fit
So everyone can stare.
When I'm gonna fall asleep
That's when it comes in handy;
Sweet tooth is gonna cry
Unless I get candy.
Gimme some lipstick
And I'll makeup my mind.
Only working part time,
But my nose is to the grind.
Sick scavenger hunt,
Take what I can find.
Your path is in the clouds,
Doesn't mean its the high road.
No reading involved,
But you live between the lines.
You're playing in a field,
Dancing by the landmines..
I've told you a thousand times.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
Is it these petty imperfections that make us whole?
See forth the future, at which the past is unrecognized.
Steer clear of troubles and regrets and know you can only be humanistic.
A withered heart deals great with a deserving smile.
Take pride in yourself my friends for we have come too far not to.
Do not fill voids with downfalls and accusations, we were made whole for some reason worth searching for.
Now go find it.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
The speckled puffer fish was a greedy scavenger
a greedy thing with no agenda but to grab the hook
I used to hate to touch them.Big black eyes staring
Huge gopher teeth bare and sharp.
I was Huck Fin Carribean
Bare foot and rural as heck
Dirt ring around my neck
The dusty roads
humid.
The sweltering heat and the river would meet us
in the mangrove Forrest as we walked the
Picado road to river's edge.
A cranky dory sat tied of
for our convenience with a paddle or two.
We pushed of and fought the tide
to get us safe to the other side.
Aunt Doris would stand with'
arm akimbo a cigarette burning
between index and middle
a tiny smile stayed put.
The Muttruce , as we named it
Flourished because no one would eat it
so the river teemed with catfish and puffy.
we did not eat catfish either some cultural bias. Lucky cat
but that bias died when the market for him found Belize.
Scary little blacked eyed buck toothed *******
Dont know if they are on someones menu now.
They seemed a bit scarce last time i fished.
high priced export on the orient express I guess.
Price of popularity is no privacy
eaten to extinction.
Head up , eyes open
mouth closed.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC