"scud" poems
anonymous winds
bend tall Timothy grasses,
wake rabbits napping
in the brush
they ripple the surface
of the stock tanks, tickle the haunches
of the beasts who wade there
to slurp the tepid waters
they birth red dust devils
for my eyes to follow, as they scud
through mesquite, and hopscotch over canyons
older than time
one day, soon, they will blow
over a shallow earth bed; I will not hear
their sibilant song, but my sleep will be deep,
unperturbed by their mystic music
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
When first I saw you,
you were lying on a green bank laughing at the sky
as you watched the clouds scud by
and you saw all kinds of shapes in those clouds
and gasped in awe as the myriad of birds
soared and wheeled through the clouds.
Your laugh skipped across the distance between us
like magical notes from a faery harp.
The sunlight lit up your golden hair
making diamonds out of the shafts of sunlight
as you turned your head to and fro
making the sunbeams dance to your tune.
And about your head was a halo of white lilies …
When next I saw you
you were hand in hand with your love
walking into the sunlight from the grey stone church.
Your brocade of white entwined with golden thread
sparkled like a million gems.
Your face was bright and alive with smiling eyes
and your golden hair fell down around your face
catching the sunbeams.
And ringing out their joy, the church bells pealed for you.
And in your hand was a bouquet of white lilies …
I saw you again
on that same green bank laughing with joy
as your golden child frolicked in the warm summer sun,
her childish laugh mingling with your own in angelic harmony.
You grasped her up and, wheeling her skyward,
faces upturned, letting the sunbeams play around you
and then, holding her close, you sank to your knees
cradling the babe, letting the love flow out and around you both.
And in the child’s small hand was grasped a single white lily …
The next time I saw you
you were quietly sitting in the late summer sun
comfortable in your chair watching the golden sun flame red
as it sank below the distant horizon.
Your golden hair now not so vibrant
and your face etched with the many years of your long life
yet when you smiled at the glory of the setting sun, the sparkle of your eyes
was not dimmed at all.
And around your feet grew a field of white lilies …
The last time I saw you
I gave you my hand and, with fingers entwined,
we walked away from the sombre crowd whose tears flowed like pearls
as the stark white coffin was lowered into the ground.
And looking into your face I saw you again
as you were that first time,
your golden hair that fell as rivulets
around your now pale, sad face.
I took that face in my hands and gently kissed your lips,
no more than a whisper, like a gentle spring breeze teasing the blossoms.
Still hand in hand, we looked back at the sad scene and then turned and walked into the light.
And all about your grave lay white lilies.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again!
Over, ****** her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards aback and full—
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love—
Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee;
For the wind has come to say:
“You must take me while you may,
If you’d go to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we’re bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!”
Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah, break it out o’ that!
Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear!
Port—port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her foot,
And that’s the last o’ bottom we shall see this year!
Well, ah, fare you well, for we’ve got to take her out again—
Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo-free.
And it’s time to clear and quit
When the hawser grips the bitt,
So we’ll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from the sea!
Heh! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her!
Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the fall!
Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!
Well, ah, fare you well, for the Channel wind’s took hold of us,
Choking down our voices as we ****** the gaskets free.
And it’s blowing up for night,
And she’s dropping light on light,
And she’s snorting under bonnets for a breath of open sea,
Wheel, full and by; but she’ll smell her road alone to-night.
Sick she is and harbour-sick—Oh, sick to clear the land!
Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us—
Carry on and thrash her out with all she’ll stand!
Well, ah, fare you well, and it’s Ushant slams the door on us,
Whirling like a windmill through the ***** scud to lee:
Till the last, last flicker goes
From the tumbling water-rows,
And we’re off to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we’re bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!
2.8k
at dusk above,
clouds scud like loose teeth in upper gums
purple-pink in twilight. a deep night, seemingly ' on pause '
as all dust tumbles from bare skin
into the naked cause... our minds defunct. our minds undone.
our soul's law
at the very heart
like all
gods
where the birch and elm keep
lean rabbits, and stab at thee with long shadows with ashy knees
and bramble rabble; a riotous acreage of predation and escapeful providence
far beyond fences and subdivisions
where men add
by dividing
and knit with schisms...
where the earth has fangs in the ocean
and long nights.
your
answer is sovereign
and hunts
foxes
with your
eyes
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
I've trekked across the deserts 'til there was sand beneath my skin,
And I've swam under the oceans 'til I started growing fins.
I've found myself in perils from which none before could escape.
From frozen caves to scorching skies; from rolling sands to sinking mud.
And, after all my travels, I've decided to go back into the Blood.
I have scaled so many mountains, my hands began to take their shape.
I've fallen victim to the dangers of all natures of landscape.
But through it all there was not a single war I couldn't win.
You see, I was born of far worse; birthed from a visceral flood,
And, after all my travels, I've decided to go back into the Blood.
A product of the darkness, I am proud to wear my sin,
Like a badge to prove my source to every place I've been.
And, though I am immortal, I'll wear my cape upon the cape,
When the End of Times arrives to carry all into the Scud.
But on this day my travels wish me to go back into the Blood.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
will come unpredictably
not surprisingly
the ultimate hardship to be
weathered
luffed through
mercilessness
and squall
and scud
and a nearly drowning
wave
subtle as the
undertow
though weren’t hardships
named this way—
to be sailed?
what would my first breath
have drawn
had I never felt
my own breath now teetering
upon the thread of
disappearance?
what light would my birth
have shone upon me
had I never come to
execrate it
like an immolation?
the ultimate will wedge itself
beating repetitions into you deep
as the deepest—timelessness
remember when you told yourself
remember this?
pounding your chest?
remember it
you were right
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
anonymous winds
bend tall Timothy grasses,
wake rabbits napping
in the brush
they ripple the surface
of the stock tanks, tickle the haunches
of the beasts who wade there
to slurp the tepid waters
they birth red dust devils
for my eyes to follow, as they scud
through mesquite, and hopscotch over canyons
older than time
one day, soon, they will blow
over a shallow earth bed; I will not hear
their sibilant song, but my sleep will be deep,
unperturbed by their mystic music
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 12:54 AM UTC
Loose clouds, sink dreams of sunny days and sunny ways,
They are the front runners the fore tellers, driven
before the wind of the next wave of water falling
from the sky and from my eye.
It is a SIGN, It is a SIGN, I tell you don't wear a target out
when Scuds are about, It is a sign of bad weather and my doom.
DOOM I say! Falls fool and Winters wimp, blown in my haggard face!
Seeing Scuds (a loose vapory missile, leading the bad weather)
at my doorsteps, dampening my foot falls, scud after scud,
more bad weather, dark clouds, I bend into the wind
head down so I won't drown and the Scuds can't see my eyes,
That I have given up, hide oh hooded head
and given in, I use my umbrella to hide behind,
will I or it survive the wind?
until spring rings in, with summer.
.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Clouds, a grey dull today
That’s better than yesterday
Or twas it the day, before,
Or even the day before, the day before
The clouds a ***** shade of coal
Threatening Thor’s thunder,
Urging the dogs to bark
The birds to scuttle for hedges
Maybe tomorrow the clouds
Will be less intent
On thunderous outbursts
Instead scud lightly across the brightest
Of blue, like all good clouds should
To please the eye, behind the shades
I’ve told myself it can’t rain forever
Despite Saint Swithern’s curses
That the fifty shades of grey felt pens
Will run out of rainy ink tomorrow
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
They'll check my wrist
They'll look me in the eyes
I'll throw in a twist
They won't check my thighs
It'll be easier to cover
My ***** little secret
So easily hidden
No one will ever know
I've done the forbidden
I don't need a jacket
I wear pants everyday
When they see the blood
I'll blame it on my time
The blood will scud
My scars will be sublime
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
52 Weeks: Whitman
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
52 Weeks: Mullein
The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape.
I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered,
And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed.
The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress,
My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer,
I am coaxed into existence once again.
I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you,
It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain,
To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense.
I won’t depart, I dig in my heels,
And I turn my back on the organized.
I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother …
And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely.
I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day),
But I am good for you none the less,
As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle.
And always I wait patiently,
for me for you,
for us.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
I'm masterfully crafted
and tactfully wrath-fed.
I’m attractive in bed,
but not in your head.
I've tragically bled
and I've practically been dead.
My brain has painfully exploded;
I've basically imploded
a million times again,
a billion times in pain,
it has made me insane
and has made me less vain.
I've paid to be the same,
but I'm so full of shame
that I can't live again.
I've been trying to train
to figure out this brain
to not feel so ashamed
so I can live again
so I can love again
so I can feel again
anything but this pain,
so I can treat a man
as best as I can.
Caught between amazing and crazy,
could seem dazing and hazy;
could have been brazen, but I'm lazy.
I'm not phased, it's just me,
not all that I can be;
I'm just too unhappy
with my lack of identity.
I'm stacking up pity
for the ****** up activities;
all the ******* tragedies
that have happened to me,
that darkened me,
and hardened me.
It's not your ******* fault
so why do you get an assault
every time I get salt
in a wound, I attack;
afraid to go back,
I tend to lose track
of when my words turn black
and there's no going back;
if I let my voice leak
and accidentally speak
while upset and weak;
under pressure, I freak.
*What the **** does that mean?*
Am I not who I seemed?
Am I no longer a dream?
Sorry I break at the seams
because I'm sadly an empathic
and I know it’s pathetic,
it doesn’t fit the aesthetic;
I guess it’s genetic,
but madness is poetic.
My chaos is magnetic
yet I’m not apologetic
because I’ve done my time
just read this rhyme
and you will find
this deranged mind
is a product of the grind
of falling behind,
because I was pushed down
instead of helped up
now I’m trying to come around.
fighting against my genes
to accomplish my dreams
and stop the screams
that are behind the scenes
that flow and stream
glisten and gleam
as if soaked in blood.
They come in floods
and do not scud
they’re thick like mud
and hold me hostage
and are essentially caustic.
I know I’ll find my way
through the pain one day
then I’ll be able to say
that I can stay
instead of running away
and do I ever pray
that later on you may
forgive my crazy play
and I will continue to pay
for the mistakes I’ve made
that will forever weigh
on my conscious, it’ll lay
like a cloud, dark grey.
God help me, some way.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
upside-down,
my life Turns.
tHings falling like a scud missile.
i nErvously clench my sweaty hands.
chaos.
smOke
clears around my dust-covered body
and everything is placed perfectly...............
she has placed them --- perfectly, perfectly, perfect.
coNfusion
standing
strong, stronger than ever.
who is she? an angel? a demon?
finally, i already had my seatbelt on.
lovE.
my life
begins again, finally began.
happiness overwhelms like an overflowing sink
"i love you"s fall out of my mouth
"thank you"s enter my brain
IT begins
...
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
The battlefield long now cleared
of corpse, blood and gore.
Belay the epic truth they tell,
knee deep in history and wars.
Dead stacked like cords of wood,
burnt on unsanctified fires.
Log by log of rigored souls
sent the flames up higher.
years later make shift morgues sat 'bout
to hold the fallen heroes.
Kept in dungeons and deeper colds,
till springtime thaw for burials.
Those that live on to build
and keep recording life.
Never thought once and all
war would end their daily strife.
So it goes, axe to sword,
Cannon to machine gun.
Scud missles to nuclear.
Who will be left to say they won?
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
I was just a kid
It was first grade
I knew we were at war
Saw it on the news
We stood a lot longer in the mornings now
We always said the pledge
But now we sang
"Proud to Be An American"
Every day for about a month
I really liked singing it
Once I got in trouble because I was walking down the hall back to class when it was on
I was told I should have stopped until it was over
Chris and I used to make Scud and Patriot missiles during indoor recess with our Legos
We did our part
I hurt my eye one day and had to wear a patch
I had to stay inside and play a game with Mr. K
"Do you want to play Scud Missiles?" I asked
He looked at me with an eyebrow arched
smirked a little bit and said
"How about we play checkers instead?"
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
brighter than a thousand suns...
Helicopters scud the night. Syllables penetrate deeply.
Mulch has no value. Fingers curled softly in sleep.
Style marks the spot. Weapons hidden beneath kilts.
Pinpoint errors. Know where you are. Charlie Parker got lost.
You're a little teapot. The cat ponders these things.
Glamour a kind of architecture. National Enquirer a house.
Her only idea disastrous. He entered from behind. Stealth.
Take it any way you want it. ****** distillations of poison.
Something longer perhaps? Squash blossoms lovely. Preferences.
Ferns are not intentional. He wants a mulligan. Sentences question.
Ahead engorged. The color purple. Glance. Not quite wet.
Humpty-Dumpty the primary archetype. Master Coder. Triple Helix.
If this gum be stale: do not chew it;
If you are a window: draw the blinds.
Or writhe in orgasms of meaningful.
Come along to Carthage and Burn.
~mce
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
the hills roll; they mirror the clouds
that lazily scud across the sky,
muffling the sun, tearing wisps
into the powder-blue above my eyes
I am trapped inside, grass growing faster
than I will ever be free; time passing
in shadows, gasps, and pulsing hours:
bruise-black night will seem everlasting
when it comes to hold me once again,
inside a house, inside my mind I decay
and I rot, waiting for something, some
unknown glory in the light of day
but day breaks and burns me once more:
the sun too strong for my pale skin,
trees swaying, and I envy them;
I long to emulate their calm within
I am a storm-cloud which cannot soar,
my precipitation weighs me down
I long to fly, everything itches like the
scars littering my skin; my solitary frown
reflects the curvature of the fields,
meandering dandelion-speckled, corn-rowed
they become the entire worlds of
grass-chewing cows, horses alone
we watch over them, I dream through panes
of glass keeping me from fresh air;
I long to feel its breath, soak in
the sun; weave flowers in my hair.
© Tara India.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
In concrete jungle I laying was-
A frozen body, nearly corpse.
For yet for me unknown cause,
Though I have heard so many warps.
I pant for air , I really tried,
When gloomy silhouette arrived
For so long waited clement strike.
My mind and flesh got dead alike.
She teared my skull and knocked on it,
The sound was dull and empty.
And brains appeared just in a fit,-
She said - "You will have plenty"
My vision almost lost and muddy
She fixed with her own eyes -
I sow even the smallest body,
And how a star with suffer dies.
Then strangled I of poison
Filled in my butchered throat.
With it my heart been moisten
Oh Gods , how did she gloat!
She cut our veins and mixed blood.
Thought mine looked as the ***** mud,
But her was like a lava flood,
And them something in me did scud.
With sense extinct and face composed
She touched my lips with last goodbye.
Her term of life was nearly closed
And then the silhouette did die.
For many years after that day
With truth I poisoned minds of people,
With burning heart I light the way
I shouted thoughts from highest steeple.
But no one's life forever draws-
Mine also never was exception
I gathered myself up, because
I have to pay my last redemption
So in concrete jungle I walking was,
When sow right body, nearly corpse...
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
It's blue outside, tinted
in the colors of the rain-
bow, some bold, some not.
The flowers are nodding,
back and forth, like a sea of
violets and reds and oranges
and green stalks. The wind Is
blowing.
It's dark in here, all the lamps
turned way down, all the candles
gone out. Sweet smoke curls up
from the stumps and swirls around
in the darkness; the cloying scent
makes me sleepy.
I look out through a crack in the
curtains, my eyes are dazzled by
the light; spots floating beneath my
lids. When I look back, I can't see.
Drawn, I stare out, the sun hidden
by a passing cloud, glowing orange
behind the white, and watch.
The pines are sighing, alone in their
thicket, a favorite pastime of theirs,
as they watch the flowers in their
sway.
Clouds scud past, gold and red
with the sunset. The crickets
are chirping. Birds sing to one
another in the trees, light and
sweet. The flapping of wings
resounds and echoes throughout
the meadow, as a flock of tired
geese glide down to rest. The grass
is rustling.
I turn and let the curtains fall
closed. I look at the dim and
cluttered room that surrounds
me, I smell the dust and the
mold and the thinning candle
smoke. I sigh, once. And I walk
out, out the door, into the light
and the sunset. And I don't look
back.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
To bring us to the end of our year
The Time of rest is here at least for a while
Thoughtful journeys of discovery
Has us enjoying new places
In each stop we gave a heartfelt thanks
For helping us travel to this place of joy
October winds scud across caravan grey skies
Leaving a montage of images flooding our heads
Dangerous narrow lanes formulate hand held maps
Dancing on the edge of troupes of clowns or farmers
Giving the land its final tidy before winter slips its icy fingers
Around nature's final gasp of warmth
Your stone like toes in steel toe capped boots
Are no protection from the freezing rime.
Suddenly the sun breaks through the tiniest
Break in the battleship grey overcast
All too soon it is gone as the cloud heals
To keep the weak orange light from destroying the
Blanket of darkness on the cosmic washing line
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
Light
is everywhere,
it is everything
mirroring off rock,
demolishing
ambit
cat pawed with downdraft,
blustered by gale
the channels scud havocs
of pyrite,
The sky, huge
an impossibility
of blue, defies
description
words are formed
tried and retired
tossed
on a blather
of gust,
unlistened.
A syrup of larks tongue,
-an ash of a song-,
Is all that is heard
on the day..
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC
A viaduct looms over my daily commute; trains rattle above.
I pass through its belly each day.
A canal ambles beneath one armpit,
Scrubland loiters under the other.
In the belly , glaring headlights inch forward towards their kin;
Metal, rubber and glass jostle for place,
Engines thrumming.
Shiny shoes pinch and stiff collars tighten;
Fingers start drumming.
Deadlock.
Gridlock.
On the indolent canal a barge floats serenely, fat fish meander and
Skinny - legged moor hens tiptoe through the reeds.
An old man in rough tweeds pokes his stick through the scrub land on the other side,
Searching for blackberries.
Lights change futilely; amber, green and red.
Engines rev and teeth grit.
The belly rumbles.
Ducks fly in and land on the still water of the canal.
They swim in formation under the bridge.
On the other side the old man sits to eat his fill
His fingers purple with juice.
Clouds scud, a breeze cools and the sun appears.
Collars stiffen, indicators tick, nails are bitten
As the cars inch forward.
The bloated belly heaves
As a few cars cross the border to meet another impasse.
Concentric circles appear on the surface of the water
And gnats flicker above it.
A family of coots sets out for a morning outing
And a kestrel hovers above.
Deep in the undergrowth field mice
Scurry away from the old man's boots.
Dry sticks snap under his heel
and the sun warms his thinning pate.
He takes the slow path through the undergrowth,
Meets an ancient lane
And strolls the familiar path home.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
If the sky was the ocean I would dive into the horizon, only to be known as an underwater pilot
See this is how I think of it this is how it rises, it bubbles to the top only to crumble in the climate
I'm a rebel in this human race, you're a pebble to a Titan.
My flow stays negative zero, see on the periodic table I'm element hero.
My element of surprise is like the federal bureaus, I always keep it sweet not short like churros
My thoughts are very crunchy like Pickles or pretzels
I shoot from my booth like two scud missiles, when I'm in class I just call dismissal
I never go for the gold only for the diamonds
I shine like the crooked eyes of the dead pirates
I might just adjust to the norm only to fight the righteous...this is a real flight I get hype off my own excitement..hype man hype it.
I feel old school reebok jumpsuit and some white kicks...every time I think of words I think priceless
My stylish words are furious..see they will get you high off their dopeness..don't sleep just enter psychosis..it's a new stage of awake, it keeps you focused...let's laugh...I'm joking...instead of reading this you should be choking
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Clouds scud,
Just the way they always do.
Wind rustles through trees,
As it always does.
Sky turning shades of blue beneath yellowing sun.
Just today the world seems a litter sadder,
This place a little smaller,
Now your voice no longer heard.
© Nick Strong 2014
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
careful with the measure but still short
of what was needed to assure the mind
that we moved forward certain and not blind
grounded in reason never to abort
without good cause ours not the plan to thwart
but to complete the task we were assigned
tie up the knots and leave others to find
what judgment they would in the final court
instead we tread the boards in heady dance
uncertain of the beat and of the cure
while far above us scud the autumn clouds
driven by winds we know not ruled by chance
under a law that is far less than pure
that leads us all towards the cold grey shrouds
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC