"scowl" poems
*you to go to him,
you're throwing yourself in danger,
to dream of such dangerous dream,
stop now,
let your heart rest,
my heart shreads to pieces watching you grieve.*
*you smile to me,
as if nothing had happened,
in reality,
you tremble, wither, scowl away,
come to me,
rest yourself in the arms of mine,
by dawn,
fly to the moon.*
*a place where we can't be together,
a place where I can't go,
that's okay,
as long as you are safe.*
*my sad story,
can never be fulfilled in bliss,
but instead,
just this once,
stop.*
Your wings will get wet
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
The void
Or the scowl.
Are you sure you know which you’d pick.
When the right hand that feeds you,
Succulent wisdom,
While the left hand kills the next breed.
You see the void on sundays,
in time that is only passing seconds.
in moments where you scream silently.
When precious life is the cold bone you hold.
Down the path you walk, you long to be led.
Submission
Is the game for so long,
Catch a ball, avoid a fall
Until you chase it when rolls
Off the edge
And you follow it in faith
Rather than in fear
Keeping your white collar near.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
A chance
All that I ask for is a chance
A chance to meet and not divide
We’ve played this game,
Time and again
And throughout it all
we still remained friends
But to write off someone
based on what _you_ lack
Is a sorry thing
that you have a knack
Of repeating again and again.
I’m not begging for you
to be chummy ole pals
Only I plead for you to meet
without a judgmental scowl.
Though a childish endeavor
I know it to be,
For once I just wish
You could see what I see.
With out the taint of jealousy.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
Do you want
to hear
a story droll?
About a dog
with a kind
soul
Outside,
that night,
I heard the winds howl
Inside
was the sound
of an intermittent growl
I opened the door and he
slipped out
Some time later, he
came back with a pout
Reprimanded he was
for coming back
with a muddy taint.
Remorseless,
head raised, he
stood there defiant.
“Okay, Scot!
Let’s see what you got”
He gently
dropped
his big scowl
and Out fell,
in my palms,
a baby owl!
Apparently he had
peeped far
from his tree hole
When Scot was
beneath that tree
sniffing a mole
Frightened but fine,
the owlet
was a bit choosy
So we went,
to put him back,
in his tree hole cosy!
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
Busy people…
Oh so busy people….
You step real hard when you walk real fast
With your busy scowls on your busy faces
Making busy wrinkles in your busy forehead
From thinking all those
Wondrous… and
Special…
Busy thoughts…
**** sho too busy to
Make small talk… or
Ask about… or
Even be pleasant to
Us regular people…
Oh so busy…
Would make an old man wait for 6 hours
For the answer to a 5 minute question…
Cuz you busy…
Too busy to even answer the phone
Especially… If you know who’s callin’…
Sho too busy…Way too busy…
To answer
For the likes of me… or even him… cuz
That’s not what you busy people do…
We should all
Just be happy
To have your
Wondrous… and
Special… and
Busy self
To be
Ignored by
But Oh Mr. Busy…
One day…
Mayhap…
You will look up from your busy-ness… and
Find that there are
No more some bodies
To step past real hard… or
To dismiss… as unimportant
With your busy scowl and busy wrinkled forehead
No more callers
To ignore… or un-pleasantries to share
Cuz you, yourself, have gotten
Unpleasantly old
And every body else
Is just too busy…
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
And so it seems I sleep with the enemy
We walk in propetual summers glow
And so it seems I'm somewhat ahead of me
The world has still yet to know
Of calm the sea and Hades wreath
Wild followers of goat skinned sweets
Claim the bow to complex and scowl
To side with such Trojans or companion Greeks?
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
i was told not to read that book
it said right there on the cover
that if i did
i would become a scourge
like a hidden genies dagger
the sight of which would terrorize some
and draw others to me
those strange few
who cry to feel it wound their flesh
and crave its rupturing cold edge
an obsession in motion
demanding they lose themselves in the rapture
of dangerous weapons of pleasure and pain
their kiss an obscenity
sure i thought
and as i read it anyway
it's words
where like a cocked gun blasting
a slow-motion bullet
like a bomb in the skull
shattering brains
with a storm of licking tongues
and kicking feet
my death scattered me
into a great light that casts a long shadow
of headless prancing nymphs
their menstruum,
kaleidoscopic winding red ribbons
fruits of both heaven and nightmares
like a river of elastic mouths
shifting form like chewed gum
thunder filled the house
a dark paradise found
lost in the realm of the senses
quaking and torn
from
this gleaming blade
its caress a sanctuary
pulled tight
over searching fingers
that roam for damp places
in a flickering daze
hiding a frozen scowl
in
impossible times
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid
And a beverage clearly divine
It matches the holiest spirit
And most blessed communion wine
But it's not to be found at the altar
Of the temple, the mosque or the church
You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar
Wherever the pensioners perch
Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin
Finest concoction there ever has bin
A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin
To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin
I had a great aunty called Floris
Each morning she'd sternly arise
With a fire in the pit of her stomach
And a merciless scowl in her eyes
But thanks to a magical fluid
By the end she was quite the reverse
And her face was serene and so tranquil
As they bundled her into the hearse
Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin
Remover of troubles and varnish and skin
There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin
If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin
Edith was crippled with cramp of the back
And terrible gout of the thighs
Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled
To a rather astonishing size
But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night
She was right as proverbial rain
She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk
So no one could hear her complain
Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin
Bracing your face with a permanent grin
Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin
Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin
Tis a regular modern elixir
And a kick in the liver to boot
It's companion for many a mixer
To the tonic or blending of fruit
Instilling a mighty contentment
And removing all traces of rage
Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies
Those of a particular age...
Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin
Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin
Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin
Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Betwixt the shrub and hubabubb
'neath bracken's shadowed scowl
came a Wren pop-hopping when
arrested by a yowl
He spied another grovely bird
chattering with the gloom
realising it had been observed
it screeked with spittled spume
*Stay back, stay back
alack, alack
I've nothing left to give
and should you shake the life from me
unhappy you shall live*
Like him the grovely had a one leg
and too the veshy eye
and when he flexed his deeker wings
he knew this bird must die.
The unctuous Wren popped back and forth
as did the groveley bird
and there they stood 'twix shrub and earth
exchanging not a word.
Just this once I'll let you go
announced the cautious Wren
he turned his fractious beak to blow
and was never seen again.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
spikes and chains
i enjoy the pain
frilly lace
and satin space
you’ve got quite a pretty face
especially when it twists into a scowl
when you put me in my place
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
You scowl, I run.
You step back, I run.
You let go, I run.
You doubt us, I run.
You doubt me, I run.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
The Camel’s **** is an ugly lump
Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the **** we get
From having too little to do.
Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
We get the ****
Cameelious ****
The **** that is black and blue!
We climb out of bed with a frouzly head
And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
At our bath and our boots and our toys!
And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
When we get the ****
Cameelious ****
The **** that is black and blue!
The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large *** and a shovel also,
And dig till you gently perspire.
And then you will find that the sun and the wind
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
Have lifted the ****
The horrible ****
The **** that is black and blue!
I get it as well as you-oo-oo,
If I haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
We all get ****
Cameelious ****
Kiddies and grown-ups too!
3.4k
If the person that I
once was
Met the person I
am
now
I am sure the two would
argue up
a storm
Or stare at each other with
a
scowl.
If the person I
once knew
Met the person he
is
today
They would laugh and get along
just
fine
And watch as I
wasted
away.
If he met the person you
will love,
That person you
love
now,
He'd feel unworthy of a girl
like
you
And that awe would elicit
a
wow.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
lucid-dreamer society will never hold your hand,
or carry you fondly over the cracks and areas with spills and immense damage,
instead society will watch you fall, get back up and fall again,
never once giving you a helping hand,
you determine your destiny,
you determine whether or not you want to go flaccid or with force into the world we live in,
get back up every time you fall,
for all society wants is for you to give up and fall prey to the dangers,
for you to cower in the face of fear and scowl at the mere mention of the names of those who made it,
be thankful always and humble yourself at the first sight of turmoil,
for you are your own creator of the small part we play in fulfilling our destiny,
go forth and do so, willingly with an open minded spirit
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
I held the height of human industry aloft in my left hand,
A polymer all of your children's great-grandchildren won't outlive.
And some old stranger glared at me, so I yelled at her "I litter!"
Her scowl grew, the old biddy knew I was a liar, and a kidder
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Tomorrow is today is tomorrow
A never ending saga of emotional turbulence
Breaking through the cloud of judgement and whispers
My feet are aching and in pain me so.
My heart is shattering as we speak.
My love is almost nonexistent.
He looks at me through intoxicated, glazed eyes
Angry again, yelling at me for something I did or didn't do.
I go to my happy place, my self-destructive shelter.
Why? Why do I do this to myself?
What makes me stay a prisoner within these walls...?
When I am a free spirit that wants to fly with the eagles.
So I did something to myself,
That only I can do.
I hurt myself today to see if I still feel.
I had to use that line from a song about pain.
That's my reality today, tomorrow and yesterday.
Forcing my mouth to form words I simply don't mean anymore.
You fell for my tricks and devices.
You were a mark, but it's all turned around.
Now I'm the one in shackles and peering through the window.
Not able to breathe fresh air and make decisions for myself.
The shackles around my feet have cut into my flesh, dripping fresh crimson blood;.
My beautiful smile has been replaced with an angry scowl of sorrow.
I'm crumbling into a million pieces
That will never again fit together.
Something marred and broken, ugly on the inside.
Can't anyone see the signs?
The emotional abuse that causes me to run to danger.
Because it's better than the surreal cause of all my anger.
Lick my wounds,
Salty sweat burning the fresh scars, you have caused.
One day, I keep saying, but it will have to be tomorrow.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Tai-kong.
The only story I have of you is when dad told me
You used to be so cheap,
That you used newspaper to wipe your ***
When I made the trek to
Abad Santos to visit your grave,
I found myself staring upward at
Brows knotted permanently
In a scowl.
I associate your scent with
The smell of incense and
Burning candles,
Your touch like that of
Cold marble.
Even in death,
You eclipse my grandfather.
He has your eyebrows.
I hope you noticed.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
With Body pretzled up, skins converged to form
branches of rivers, mouth slack and frozen to
a permanent scowl of delirium and manners-gone,
as many swears dripped from those dry, cracked lips.
One of my mothers – gumshoed from the alley’s way of family.
“Get gumption, girlie, because everybody is full of ****
I remember that lullaby, “A tiny turned-up nose, two lips just like a rose. She sits upon my knee, she means to the world to me.”
I spy the scar on my pinky finger from her cigarette.
Could the King be witness in the Room?
Were those buttons of hollow wood over her eyelids?
Wrung of cries – we didn’t see that coming,
though we heard the flies.
And Age’s stumbling rattle through the hallway.
Do you know who I am?
Do you remember me?
Should the window washer come another day?
This stubborn sovereignty over what is reality – the root beneath the porch, the fog on the windshield.
Loosen the grip on this natural plane,
Please --
Woman of my Childhood, harvester of my manners.
Stand until the grown-ups sit.
Look away and bow your neck.
This was called the boxing match between Industry verses Inferiority.
Not child through birth – no –
but life spawned by those
strung-high fists.
There’s finality in this phone-call.
I heard it happened an hour ago.
Treading grievances and grimaces, picking through a flowerbed only to stroke the weeds.
Lifting boxes of Lead from reality to the Bridge of Dreams.
Frankly, I stole the gumption from your knotted mouth and
still cannot cry.
In a splinter of reason – I cast out the fundamental jibes of sacred hope.
That promise held between dog and owner during business hours.
Except there can be no homecoming.
The sickest liquor on the alleyway fence.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
It felt as though the humidity itself
carried a hint of liquor as we walked
out into the night, wanting only to escape
our lives for a little.
Deep down in Vieux Carre
twisted brass clashed with a piano
running half step from the crowded clubs
on Frenchman Street.
We filled our lungs with the city
and found her to be like certain kinds
of dangerous doses--
intoxicating.
It was our second night
and the more we drank
the more I began to see glimpses
of the specters spoken of by locals.
They linger in my peripheral,
watching me with their sunken eyes.
You could faintly hear them moan,
only in defeated tones
and their collective scowl danced
in the heavy air of summer
as though it were a part from
all that jazz.
In the stranger hours of morn
I was approached by a ghost
a few blocks off Bourbon.
He offered up nothing but his ***** palms
in hopes of some false salvation.
I wrestled a dollar from my pocket
and passed it on to him,
only to watch him fruitlessly grasp at it
before it slide through his ghostly hands
to the floor below.
He looked down at the dollar
all helpless-like and he said
"It’s been slipping through my fingers
like dat for years now
and ain't nobody help’n me."
I walked from him, realizing then
why I had needed this trip,
I needed to remember all the love in my life
because the only difference between
me and the ghosts of N'awlins
was someone cared about me,
and I cared enough about them
not to destroy myself.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
This scent of you, it clings to my skin,
it clings like a rash that's boiled over from within.
I scratch at this poison that has marked my flesh,
the scent of you, at your very ****** best.
I throw off the covers and hit the wall with my fist;
should lust be a sin, if lust is like this?
And no matter what with who, how, what or where,
everytime i sleep i can feel your ****** stare.
And the weight of your fingers on the back of my neck
drives me to nightmares, and meaningless ***
Tinged by the moment and forgotten by the hue,
my arms are brusied easily by the scent of you.
I'm running wildly through bracken and fire,
i'm running as a beast would run from apathy and desire.
I, the lone wolf, i'm moonlit, i scratch and i howl,
at the memory of your face, and your sneering sharp scowl.
I, the lone rider, in flight fearless, reckless and abused,
I jump fields, catch branches, torn, bleeding and bruised.
I hide in the woods, and float in the sea
I'm hiding myself from the deepest memory of me.
You're the poision ivy to my deepest forest of bark,
You're the drifting snow to my deepest vision of dark.
This scent of you, it clings to my lips
and i bite my tongue as i stretch my fingertips.
There is no sense in this dirt that flies through my hands
my thoughts are lost as stone is lost in beached sands.
I rip at my skin and i tear at my voice
I made this my dealing, at my beck, at my choice.
I draw upon my body like a breeze skims the ground,
there is no more wanton whimper, than there is my sound.
And at night when the nightmares come and i scream in my sleep,
the scent of you overwhelms my body, and i sow what i reap.
I lightly collect my feelings and throw them in a box,
I wrap in chains and cover it in locks.
I have been fooled, i have been fooled and blinded by you
and this scent lingers, in a memory of a distant bluish hue.
I watch as you walk away, your hips sway, tail high
And i howl and i scream and i sit and i cry.
And whilst i linger alongside this sharp vivid movie scene,
i count my bruises and feel quietly serene.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
Juliet said to Romeo
‘I don’t like your hair!’
And Romeo said to Juliet
‘Well I don’t really care!’
Then Juliet said to Romeo
‘Don’t talk to me like that!’
And Romeo said to Juliet
‘Sorry baby J, I’ll buy myself a hat!’
Juliet smiled all sweetly
‘That would be a start’
Romeo replied to Juliet
‘You have evil in your heart!’
Juliet gave him a scowl
‘You know that isn’t true!’
Romeo looked all sheepish
‘I know thats not true too’
Juliet kissed his cheek
‘Your a dream, that’s what you are’
Romeo went red faced
‘I’m embarrassed, my little star’
Juliet gave him a hug
‘You’ll definitely do for me’
Romeo squeezed her all lovingly
‘Make us a cup of tea’
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 8:58 PM UTC
It sketched and slapped an ombre
of crimson reds
& tangerine oranges
until it carved a comfortable atmosphere
amongst the void blacks
and howling navy blues.
Her sun bleached hair dangled over her forehead.
They were the vines that tangled
into wispy curls of tiger's eye gold that
hung lavishly in front of the youngest
temple.
Her eyes were sour,
a Blink and a whistle.
Someone coughing on the last bus outta town.
Those powerful cheek bones,
that she obtained through her
constant "according to" accordion smile,
fell off into a pair of lips
that were just pronounced enough
to make her look like she would laugh & ****
tempt or incinerate.
Intellect winked from her every word
like a whip of cold water and eggnog.
The Campfire was an artist.
It delicately plucked a scene
ripe with confidence and relaxed alcohol.
A tone that made her amazonian scowl
seem intimate and gentle.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
she told me she knew the truth;
about heaven
and hell
she leaned in, like she had a secret to tell
then lit her cigarette with a scowl
she opened her mouth to speak
and her words sprung a leak
as she tilted her head back to laugh
I heard a collective gasp
what came out of her mouth had scared us all;
she said, there can't be a heaven ;
if we're already in hell
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
It came upon a Christmas eve not so long ago
A beast deformed in stature, walked out from the snow
It’s eyes were sharp and wild, jagged teeth like shards
It went from house to house leaving hoof prints in the yards.
Glancing into windows warm with light and life
It was here to reconcile an old and bitter strife
It had a bag that screamed and cried as it dragged it on the ground
An awful thing just an awful thing, to have to hear that sound
It threw its nose into the air and began to sniff and snort
This demon was on to something but what I can’t report
In the bitter cold, you could smell it’s breath of rot and discontent
The chains that draped its frame, made its spine look broke and bent
The wind it howled in vain to warn the people of this beast
It’s cries went unregarded as people sat before their feast
The demon ceased its searching when it came upon my house
I did my best to hide and stay as quiet as a mouse
I walked back into the shadows in the corner of my room
Voiceless, breathless, terrified what was this thing of gloom
I heard it leap onto the deck and drop its sack upon the floor
A resounding thud caked in mud, it wasn’t crying anymore
I left my room and crept down the stairs to see if it got in
Hoping it wasn’t that demon who they said would eat my skin
It stood before the fireplace, the front door was opened wide
I don’t know how this thing got in but I had nowhere left to hide
It turned its face from the fire with a scowl you’d have to see
The demon had a quarrel alright and the quarrel was with me
It pulled out from the pocket of its robe all blacked and charred
A burning piece of paper then it handed me its card
The card read only “Krampus” before I felt it’s claws upon my throat
Now I’m in a bag with other kids set for some other place remote
We were bad and didn’t listen to our parents and their orders
We broke a lot of rules and disrespected borders
Now ole Krampus has us and he’ll probably sell us off as food
This is what you get if you’re whiny, mean, or rude
Now have a merry Christmas and do as you’ve been told
Lest you wind up in a demons bag being dragged upon the road
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC