"scupper" poems
scupper the dawn
with curtains redrawn
a self made mourning
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 2, 2024 at 11:28 PM UTC
We’ve accomplished grace
In the eternal august night
To unchain a soul that is contrite
Her soft touch gave men a pleasurable fright
She made me endless dry nights
With a twist of the forthright sunrise.
I’m wondering
I’m wandering
In your vast spacious eyes
I’ll find exile in your fragrant dream
I’ll watch your promises steam
In the waning night
I felt the lunging freedom by the touch of your hand
To the glimmering dusk
We’ve failed to alternate
To the passing bliss
We reasserted
To your musky perfume
Angels tried to elaborate
Frozen words of wonder you maimed
A love hitherto acclaimed
Wintertime is upon us
Memorabilia
Worn dour faces
Grazed by memories
Wintertime is upon us
Lenient breaths
Defying the freezing weather
Like white cotton bursting into the air
Numbed fingertips
And cold lips
Winter was the season of you heart
Winter became the season of my life
Now loneliness is my last supper
The ice for my heart will scupper
I’m alone amidst the feral waves of sobbing
And my heart is drunk with its salt
The crescendo will exalt
Now I must repent
For the placid lament
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
It is better to try and fail,
Better to give it your best shot,
Than it is to let fear prevail,
To scupper the chance you have got.
To be afraid is natural;
Fears are real let us not forget.
But what you should fear most of all
Is a whole lifetime of regret.
All those chances you did not take,
Opportunities slipped away,
Those changes you chose not to make
Because you let fear rule the day.
But you can change in the future,
Many chances will come your way.
And even if you are unsure
Feel the fear, Do it anyway!
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
The bitter pills and the ruins of cotton mills where dreams where played out on looms and woven in the semi gloom of a half lit room by children so old,who were told to do as was told or don't do at all.
Some escaped to the drudgery of the great hall where Lord Diddlywhat would squat and pass praises like water to some lacklustre daughter of a man in the town,
half a crown a month and eighteen hours a day,threepence in the offertory on a Sunday to pray for deliverance.
Though none would come for the sun didn't shine on me and mine,only on them,
lardy arsed gentlemen,willowy ladies with squawking fat babies and nannies,grannies in every nook and cranny who fed on the fat of the land,
took the bread from our hands
took the love out of life and the life of our loves,
iron fists in silken gloves.
Now finished,
the thoughts of those times diminish with age but the rage still holds true against the blue stockinged brigade
who would raid on us,put the shade on us,despise and degrade us,use and then beat us,contused and confused we would still go and labour,
wrap ourselves in the looms and in half lit bits of the day,we thought it was the only way,
'til the war came
changed the rules of the game
it was never the same after that little spat
and we spat at the gentry
who stayed behind to do sentry duty as their duty demanded.
We branded them
the landed men
wouldn't work for them no more.
Let them go hang and sing for their supper
we'll scupper them yet,
but I forget
the fat don't get wet
they float.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
Today, I’m well.
Yes.
Good.
I’m good,
I should say.
God?
God, no!
Good God!
Good.
Up-welling of wellness.
Bow tied:
A bow-tie-kind-of-day day.
Sun furtive.
Won’t be long.
Shouldn’t expect she’ll be long.
Yes, she.
Ephemeral.
Resplendent.
Sheer she-ness.
Just a Walkers crisp of a bit longer.
It is possible, I might add,
She’ll appear a fraction different
To what one can reasonably be expected to remember.
Good!
I’m good.
That is how it is said, in these parts, isn’t it?
Are you good?
Are you…
Competent?
Up to the task, I mean.
Fit to fly.
Work-ready.
Which sort?
Wearing odd socks, again.
Accentuate the good.
Try to.
Left and right; or the other way around:
Right and left.
Or could be both… fancy that!
Cream and chocolate, hey, superb!
Today is a wooly-hat-kind-of-a-day day, is it not?
Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.
Lest there be gales.
What? No! Disaster!
Now, wouldn’t that be…
Wouldn’t that scupper things? Do you think not?
I love my wooly hat.
He’s got a name, you know.
Ru-pert.
Stitched with love.
Pompom-topped.
So warm, it is.
Ready for jaunts.
With Rupert.
Up Horsenden Hill.
Too hot, soon.
Best to toss it in the bushes.
-------
Perhaps I am under-dressed?
Am I?
Hard to know.
I’ll wear my bow tie again.
Yes, I’ll wear my bow tie when, that is to say, Assuming
The rules permit it.
God permits us
To revel a bit. Kick back.
Do you think God likes to laugh?
God, grant me the gift to laugh.
-------
Oh,
Now,
Did you hear that?
Heating broken,
Not a peep.
Closed valve cylinder, limited warranty,
Manual unfathomable.
But,
No viable option.
‘Northfields Community Library Welcomes You.’
The toilets better be warm!
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 6:02 PM UTC
is this is some kind of nocturnal dance ?
one to tune the world to whim
it's spun around our column
you saturate into the night purple and staining
unrestrained beaming in your hostility and blue as wishes i approach
rude as great depth you supper on my motion
scupper me whilst looking as bleached as surrender
or behave
so i charge after you inflated and the moonlight is revealed
moon mewling and fully realized
now for illuminated clouds to have their bellies torn at
the earth charges with gymnastic prat
you go at witchcraft in a pranky manner
girling and ferning your thrift score gown
you drag this disco into the greeting forest
the treating darkness fills in
like furniture addition
and the beats quicken to encourage
i tail you with athletic mammalian stride
whilst you whip your expressions
weaponized at my pursuit
but both of us have nature on our side
germing with merit
every hunter every heat
there's teeth between those tree
and we dance oscillate with grins
and battling antics
wiving the night music
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 9:02 PM UTC
Don't **** me pleads the turkey.
I may not be pretty.
Let me still be living.
I'm not coming to tea.
Or lunch or even Christmas supper.
If I had half a chance,
All your plans I'd scupper.
If I give up gobbling.
Your special day be wobbling.
The Christmas cheer be sweet meat.
As mince pies fruity.
Bring good cheer
Custard and fresh cream.
Its just the time of year.
** ** **
Hell lets be jolly.
Around his head a crown of holly.
Mistletoe kisses are better than none.
Christmas season's just begun.
(c)LIVVI
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
sat b’twixt a ghoulish plight.
Will it scupper? Will it sow?
Will it flash amidst the snow?
Born a’time a’lost in wonder,
Plundered foolish lines a sunder;
Hot cross buns peer and sigh,
For Tiger Tiger caught their eye.
Louie Louie what d’ya do?
Made a mess with peep and view.
Did they ask? Did they beg?
Why’d ya need to flash third leg?
Seems to me, “just jokes and fun”
is man’s excuse for crime of stun,
For Louie Louie, clutching stick,
Will he exposed? (well obvs if *****
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
Has a petrol-head called Clarkson
run out of speedy road to park on?
Because of his late meal,
his producer got a weal.
Now his fans wail: “Oh Dear!
It’s a dead end for “TOP GEAR.”
Seems the wheels have come off
for this brazen non-PC toff.
Is it the end of the ride
for Chipping Norton’s pride
and no clear Right of Way
for chums Hammond and May?
No sensible man would scupper,
his own TV slot for a cold supper.
Yet there’s alpha males who dread,
TOP GEAR’S due for a feminist retread.
Go girls! Vroom! Vroom! Time for you instead.
TOBIAS
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC