"screed" poems
I am a grave poetic hen
That lays poetic eggs
And to enhance my temperament
A little quiet begs.
We make the yolk philosophy,
True beauty the albumen.
And then gum on a shell of form
To make the screed sound human.
4.2k
The Maple with its tassell flowers of green
That turns to red, a stag horn shapèd seed
Just spreading out its scallopped leaves is seen,
Of yellowish hue yet beautifully green.
Bark ribb’d like corderoy in seamy screed
That farther up the stem is smoother seen,
Where the white hemlock with white umbel flowers
Up each spread stoven to the branches towers
And mossy round the stoven spread dark green
And blotched leaved orchis and the blue-bell flowers—
Thickly they grow and neath the leaves are seen.
I love to see them gemm’d with morning hours.
I love the lone green places where they be
And the sweet clothing of the Maple tree.
2.6k
The **** drops deep as does my plant.
I never love, 'cause to love is the girlfriend of scant.
Beyond the walls of drums, life is defined.
I think of happiness when I'm in a Berlin state of mind.
Hope the ant got some rant.
My scant don't like no ***** grant.
Run up to the aunt and get the cant.
In a Berlin state of mind.
What more could you ask for? The cool ****
You complain about the cold.
I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the screed.
I'm rappin' to the head,
And I'm gonna move your bed.
Smooth, beautiful, super, like a seed
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a screed.
I can't take the the cold, can't take the love.
I woulda tried to sleep I guess I got no glove.
I'm rappin' to the bed,
And I'm gonna move your head.
Yea, yaz, in a Berlin state of mind.
When I was young my girlfriend had a lead.
I waz kicked out without no screed.
I never thought I'd see that speed.
Ain't a soul alive that could take my girlfriend's breed.
A slippery teddy bear is quite the everywhere.
Thinking of happiness. Yaz, thinking of happiness (happiness).
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
I stood in the garden
In the still of the wet morning
And watched the leaves twitch
From the pounding of tiny droplets.
As if some small creature was racing for its life
From me.
The intruder.
A chickadee found its landing pad
Just in front of me
At my feet,
Unaware of my hulk.
A miracle unto its own.
Crows cawed,
And eagles screed,
Not breaking the silence
But contributing to it.
Rhododendrons,
Astilbes,
And wisps of grass
Missed in yesterday’s weeding venture
Waved in response.
And the only thought I could dare
To bring to my mouth,
Lest my puny effort to describe
This cacophony of beauty
Destroy it utterly,
Was “Amazing Grace.”
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
If I offered you blood,
The screed light of moon,
In tempest night of storm,
As nigh as my faint heart,
Would you pray penances,
Acknowledge new ablutions,
At creed, alter of strands,
Of oceans and seas alight,
Under a moon so struck,
With fires of salted water,
Tears that rain from within
And wrest your old troubles
In the beams on my love,
If I offered you blood?
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
Race-baiting covers for agit-prop agents
splitting white hairs in their dark distress;
with name-calling, bullying, lunch money payments
and shifting the blame for their people’s mess.
Reparations are due for your boring screed
that you scrawled at the helm of the Black Star Liner.
You owe it to those who were forced to read
your obtuse agitations (you Afro-whiner).
Poisonous shout-outs to fallen comrades:
holy Saint Michael in reaper’s hood—
endless blathering racial tirades
poor comrade—your dreams are misunderstood.
You’re obsessed with injustice. That’s nothing new.
You’re a David anointed to overthrow Saul—
(as long as he’s white and less rabid than you,
oh prophet and scribe of the activist call…)
Stay mad at the system. Revile all your foes
with raving, with preaching, with bitter bad words.
Insult all your enemies; list all your woes
as you document stink on your turds.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
.
When I fell, from you,
Into loves' violet eye,
Sea spray in my ears,
I was on the strands,
By the creeping seas.
Sky called, a tannoy,
Screed from seabirds
And the sands sunken,
Tapered me by footfall,
Such recurring dreams,
Air howling our names,
The horizon lit in flame,
We were twined in kelp
And arms rail embrace
On strands where I fell.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
The children wanted a puppy dog
But I always told them no,
We only had an apartment, with
No place for it to grow,
They groaned and wailed ‘til the wife had paled,
‘You’ll have to shut them up!
They’re driving me stone crazy,
All they want is a tiny pup.’
‘It can’t be done, they make a mess
And they’re always underfoot,
I’ll get them something inanimate
From the net, I’ll look it up.’
I finally found a Russian site
Where they sold some crystal seed,
‘Try growing your own Dorazamite,
It’s the only pet you’ll need!’
I sent away for a starter kit
And it took a week to come,
A couple of packets of crystals
So I bought an aquarium,
The screed said ‘Just add water, then
Sit back to watch it grow,’
The kids weren’t very impressed, they said:
‘It seems to grow so slow!’
‘It takes a while,’ I began to smile,
‘But Rome wasn’t built in a day!’
‘We only wanted a puppy dog
To take outside, and play.’
It had started forming crystals, but
I gradually forgot,
And failed to check the aquarium,
Whether it grew, or not.
One day the kids were excited, said:
‘It’s starting to move about,
It ate the couple of skinks we found,
And keeps on getting out,
I found it down on the kitchen rug
In its blues and greens and golds,
But cut my hands when I picked it up,
Too sharp for me to hold.
A week went by and I heard them cry
‘It’s taken a lizard shape,
Has run right under the microwave,
It’s trying to escape.’
‘It’s only a pile of crystals, it
Can’t walk, or snap its jaws…’
‘It can,’ they said, when they went to bed,
‘It’s become a Dorazasaur!’
That night, the sounds of a tinkling had
Prevented me from sleep,
Like chandeliers in the wind, the sound
Was making my flesh creep,
The door burst open at three o’clock
With a jangling-wrangling roar,
And there was a glittering lizard, standing
There at the shattered door.
With a crystal eye, and four foot high
Its teeth were red, and sharp,
Its claws were very like amethysts
That tore at me in the dark,
It chased me out to the balcony
When I stood aside, it leapt,
Down to the concrete driveway
Where it shattered across the steps.
We live in a dangerous neighbourhood
Where we have to be on guard,
Where crystal birds, and crystal rats
Run out in your own backyard,
There are crystal dogs and crystal cats
That attack, and eat, and fight,
All from that lousy crystal pack
They called Dorazamite!
David Lewis Paget
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
The moon is there
and yet we cannot see it
instead a grey black curtain
hangs its charcoal blush across the sky
impenetrable void
its subtle sheen is ominous
no word
it is an unwritten slate
for some anonymous scribe of night
if we could see the stars
their path describes its everlasting screed
in fits and starts of spinning light
such velvet darkness floats about
like some extraordinary cloak
of silent dust
Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th May 2016
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 2:04 PM UTC
He’s cruel and stupid, and ignores
His omened doom, pronounced, decreed,
And mine with his, no ranted screed.
Though I must speak, I pray it bores.
The direst warnings couldn’t save
My family, or those I loved.
When prophecy failed, I should have shoved
Them from the palace to some cave.
Now it’s too late to intervene,
And force can spare their murderer.
I should prevent, but I’ll demur,
And perish too. I’m just sixteen.
I’ve suffered, but don’t want to die,
Especially not matched with him.
Even so, I’ll meet my downfall prim,
Trojan royalty too brave to cry.
Feb 14, 2022
Feb 14, 2022 at 1:22 PM UTC
My car has got it’s brain back through
A trick automotive lobotomy hack
It was acting a little manic, the whacked
Human Machine Interface Module part
The screen was seen as a scary
Kerouac consciousness stream
An obscenity screed; a
Muddled fuddled car scene
HMIM installed anew—
Electroshock therapy
Zzzzzzhhhxt-phsssszzxt!
Initiating … initiating … initiating …
“Welcome!
Destination?”
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
Sunken screed below me as I run on the wooded path
The path guides me through the light and darkness
My footing is uncertain
Mucky soil below as I run through the copse
The path guides me through the ups and downs
My footing is more firm
Solid tarmac below me as I run on the pavement
The path guides me safely from oncoming harm
My footing is founded
The paths of life are there for us to take
The footings may be different
But the destination is the same
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 6:14 AM UTC
He kept them locked in a tower,
And I’ll let you guess the score,
The thirteen women that disappeared
To leave not a sign before.
We thought we would never find them,
There wasn’t a clue or trace,
They’d simply gone for a gentle stroll
And walked off the planet’s face.
And mine was the thirteenth woman,
To date, who had disappeared,
At first, I thought she had left me,
Or that was the thing I feared,
But I heard her voice coming back to me
As an echo, alone at night,
‘My love for you is a love that’s true,
Rolled up in a ball, and tight.’
She had such a way of smiling,
Of reaching, cuddling in,
She said we had such a special love,
A personal kind of sin.
So I knew she must have been kidnapped,
Was snatched as she crossed the street,
As all those others had gone before,
They hadn’t been indiscreet.
I haunted the railway station,
Went roaming abroad most nights,
I peeked in each cottage window
From valley to village heights,
When out on the edge of woodland
I came on the black stone tower,
A padlock bolt on a door of oak
I found at the midnight hour.
I hid in the trees and bushes,
Then waited and held my breath,
A figure came in from the rushes
Crept in, at the hour of death.
For they say at three in the morning
That our hearts will beat the least,
But mine was pounding and roaring
As I leapt, and captured the beast.
The women were chained to a railing,
To links in the cold, stone wall,
They shivered, without any clothing,
And cried, when they heard me call,
For some had been physically altered,
Each one for a different kink,
I chained the beast as their cries increased,
And then I undid each link.
I wrapped my girl in my shirt, then sent
The beast to his ****** fate,
I heard him scream as his manhood went,
For him, it was getting late.
He lay in pieces, spread through the trees
And no-one was ever charged,
The police in their wisdom wrote their screed,
‘There must be a wolf at large…’
David Lewis Paget
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 6:16 AM UTC
protean nucleic processes polemic yield
explosive diversification
punctuated diversification
Stephen Jay Gould
paleontological hypothesis
spawning sudden flora and fauna
competed against diametrically
opposed diatribe
pairing diehard religionists
versus doubting Thomists
which creationist advocates
threatened non-believers
with damnation and eternal punishment
brethren of god thru tongue did wield
pompous empiricists
fire and brimstone sermons
excruciating punishment of soul
claimants who refute
intelligent design theorists
will meet scimitar and invincible shield!
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
::::::Just a Poem::::::
The world will end
The Earth will bend
Waters will get thirsty
Ants will grow hefty
The sun will melt
No pain will be felt
The clouds will usurp the sky
Fishes will walk and fly
Trees will run and walk
Flowers will sing and talk
Animals will become wise
As with great heat the Moon will arise
Rivers will flow out from earth
Water will be the measuring unit of wealth
Stories will not be told
Not when old senile grasses will bear forth gold
And mountains will be heaved by valiant men
As they bore forth silvers and diamonds vomiting children
Famers will plant Crimson stones and harvest rubies
Ripping their husbands apart, and searching for crystals, would be feminine hobbies
Lions will be used for transportation, since their claws will turn wheels
Crocodiles will evacuate their aquatic tenements and head for the hills
After losing their flight, birds will trek to volcanic regions for recreation
As venoms of snakes will be used for mummification
Just when planetary bodies muss up after drinking muscatel
And Comets will go wiggling the Universe searching for Meteors to tell
Asteroids will be **** women
Visiting Earth on intervals to eat the luscious renascent three-legged men
Children will converged forging a bulwark with each fiery horn
Ones fixed by a one-tooth worm just about the time they were born
This is a gory war; it will commence when a star will fall
Exactly when vim-less monkeys will bellow a rehearsed rodomontade in the butchery hall
As venerated corpses of Rats receive posthumous worship
Those villains were holy miscreants, who sent many to death-sleep
Their posterities are honored; infamous miscreated Rats, with flagrant mien
But as foretold by the corpulent Prophets, shortened will be the tyrannous Gopheric reign
For they will be swallowed by gigantic-goliath gourmand Hippopotamuses
Their description are ineffable to words, they are of enormous sizes
And aeons from now those gourmets will swallow the earth! And oh! Unreal it will all seem
Because you think this screed is just a Poem!
Composed by SirKelvin
Poem 99, ©SirKel 2016
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Go back to where you came from
The President indelicately said
To those members of Congress
That have gotten in his head
The fact that they’re all female
Which he might like to bed
Is the additional information
That is better left unsaid
Go back to where you came from
Is an old familiar screed?
Which is the object of the subject
That the protagonist happens to need
To make someone feel less than
What they are indeed
By otherizing them
The protagonist hopes to succeed
Go back to where you came from
Some racist like to taunt
Others who are different
When they want to vaunt
Their status over them
Like the philosopher Kant
Or like a mother who has precedent
Over a favorite aunt
Go back to where you came from
As if they really knew
When nine times out to ten
They don’t even have a clue
When they issue that directive
As racist frequently do
But here's some cancer causing tobacco
That I wish that they would chew
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC