"scurried" poems
Congratulations, you now have a sweet *** ride
It was really my own fault for leaving it outside.
I have to say, I’m almost impressed,
because stealing a bike must have been quite the test.
In broad daylight, no less, you snuck up to my house,
snatched up my bike and scurried off,
quiet
as a mouse.
My neighbors must have been distracted, you picked a great time,
to steal that bike right off my lawn, the perfect crime.
I hope that you took it because you loved it a lot,
not so you could sell it, get some money,
and buy,
lots of ***
But I’m sure that’s not the case, you wouldn’t do that,
I’m sure that you’re just borrowing it to bike off some fat.
Or you took it because you couldn’t afford one for your kids,
if that’s the case don’t worry,
I’m glad,
that you did.
Regardless of the reason it was taken for,
I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll leave my bike out no more!
Anyway, I hope that you’re now really happy.
Good day to you.
Sincerely,
Me
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC
It was a lovely afternoon
When I felt dizzy and soon
Started to feel as if my chair's moving
I looked up at the pendant hanging
Freely and also dancing
Back and forth
It wasn't just me who was moved
It was the earth and the whole building hoofed
Back and forth
One slip of plate
And it moved the whole earth.
It was mild
I hoped it won't go wild
Calling for my loved ones
I ran to the ground
People hustling, steps making a panic sound
From the eighth floor I felt it stopped
But as if it read my mind, earth again rocked
More than I've ever felt before
We all hustled downstairs in case it got wilder more
Old people, children running,
Mothers, scared, panicked, scooting.
Down the building everyone waited
Till the earth slowy bated
And stopped in a sudden motion
We were glad it wasn't that strong
Back to home, we all scurried
Switched on our televisions in a hurry.
Though the earth was soft on us
There were places where everything was crushed,
Homes, offices, families destroyed
Everything because of simple but strong
Back and forth
What is happening in the world?
Is it the human being which the earth loaths?
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
She was only a child, the summer of '15
she had the world on a string, her heart
so enclosed in a boys hands, she could never
touch it.
She had dreams, flailing around at the seams,
when it was time to follow a new endeavor
her string seemed to tear, along the middle.
She had insecurities, tall enough to
reach out and choke her dead.
She had no idea,
her heart would have scurried at the first
sight of lust,
and forget the first
one she had.
She had insecurities, enough to crack her
porcelain skin.
She showed them off, like a new
depressing outfit, like a filthy rag.
But when she did, you told her,
"You're a *****
She had insecurities, enough to **** you off.
Luckily, enough to **** her off too.
My insecurities aren't something
to determine my charisma by,
try again.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
THERE is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw meat ... and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me ... a silver-gray fox ... I sniff and guess ... I pick things out of the wind and air ... I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers ... I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me ... a snout and a belly ... a machinery for eating and grunting ... a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun-I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me ... I know I came from saltblue water-gates ... I scurried with shoals of herring ... I blew waterspouts with porpoises ... before land was ... before the water went down ... before Noah ... before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me ... clambering-clawed ... dog-faced ... yawping a galoot's hunger ... hairy under the armpits ... here are the hawk-eyed hankering men ... here are the blond and blue-eyed women ... here they hide curled asleep waiting ... ready to snarl and **** ... ready to sing and give milk ... waiting-I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird ... and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want ... and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes-And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart-and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where-For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and **** and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
7k
All the ants have scurried away,
leaving the unstable mud anthill to crumble.
The other older ants are slowly turning grey,
From grey to black,non poisonous and feeble.
Crimson red ants bursting with colorless blood,
Driven by pure prejudiced hunger.
to carry heavier loads,more food ,till they collapse under the burden,
Their ambition ,now,more fiercer.
The grey ants peculiarly fat,dumb and happy,
Oblivious to the scurrying soldiers.
Waiting to be submerged under the fall,to be perished entirely,
Paving way for the red running dots to disperse.
A solitary ant suddenly stops scurrying,
to WAIT
for,they say,patience will conquer all worrying.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 4:34 AM UTC
Deep brown color, messy as it’s eaten.
Like something that failed to crunch.
Brittle yet soft, rough and delicate.
It can be fudgy, chewy or cake-like, topped with walnuts or apricot glaze.
A heavy horse failing to hike the high mountain of crisp.
Hard on the outside, but not as taut as chocolate-chip cookies, or M&M;’s,
A fragile strength that breaks with subtle touch.
Smooth and moist inside, melted chocolate held together.
Created solely for a royal’s mouth to taste,
Slowly dissolving, sea foam ****** by the damp sand,
A guilty pleasure I cannot live without.
The brownie becoming a beautiful bouquet blossoming
In my chocolate tinted mouth.
It cures whatever ails you,
The flavor empowering any mist of dullness or bitterness.
Forgetting about everything, as he mixed the batter
Creating the perfect combination of smoothness, sweetness,
And the creamy after-taste.
Our favorite thing to bake together.
Friday evening we scurried to the kitchen, creating our own baking contest.
His hazel eyes, swirling with the batter poured in circles,
His lips, whistling to the beautiful sight of brownies, plumping as they bake.
Days later, we would come back to that kitchen,
With the scent of freshly baked brownies still lingering in the air.
We would look at each other’s deep brown eyes
Like the brownies we baked and enjoyed together.
His lips, a wallop of sweetness.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
tiny elves in my backyard on my stoop -
“PLEASE SIR, MAY WE HAVE SOME SOUP?”
running out from between blades of grass,
they shouted in unison with a burly crass:
“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, IT'S A TUESDAY NIGHT,”
“AND TUESDAYS ARE SPECIAL IN ELVEN LIFE!”
“sorry sir, soup is not for elves; mommy said!”
“DON'T LISTEN TO THAT OLD BAT,
IT'S LATE AND SHE'S IN BED…
...WE COME TO YOU IN NEED OF NOURISHMENT!”
“but, I’m just a kid and mommy discourages it!”
i said in my biggest voice, for the 900th time
as they threw up their arms, like I’d committed a crime!
running around in a mass,
they ran back, with such sass,
through the leaves in a big hurry -
on a hunt for soup they scurried...
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.
They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.
Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.
Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.
Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
that we are more together than we are apart
Listen up, America! This is the music of community.
We are more together than we are apart.
© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
This is a story of a very loving girl who let her love take her all over the world. A man once convinced her that she was unworthy, and when he threw her out, she left in a hurry. She never looked back and scurried through the states until she found home at her families gates.
Once that man hurt her, she wanted to help others. She gave nothing but love and she nurtured as a mother. Some people accepted the love that she gave and they seemed to love her back so she decided to stay.
The girl fell in love with being loved and got carried away. She ran around experiencing love - every second, each day. Eventually she got herself into a pickle; her heart was strong but her mind, very fickle. She could never belong to only one because she felt she should be there for everyone.
After all of the people that came and went, she never once forgot the time that was spent. The stories, those moments, the love that was shared; she gave out so much love that her heart became bare. She endured great amounts of emotional ware, with some physical injuries that gave doctors a scare. She became very careless with everyone soon and discarded them after they'd been in her bedroom.
Please don't be mislead, the ending is bad, it's another love story with an ending quite sad. After all of the loving and hurting was done, she took a step back to see what she'd become. Much to her dismay she was seemingly **** for the lovers she loved once, had all come undone.
An ugly society, to which she'd finally succumb, molded her into the person from which all this begun. Who knows if you're reading or listening now, but she wants you to know what you've done. Take a bow.
kd
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
There was an army of ants in the plastic plants
So I poured light through a magnifying glass
And I created a fire on the artificial grass
They scurried and hurried
with flames on their backs
Like soldiers on a hopeless plain,
searching for invisible barracks
And I sighed as they died,
because we are all the same:
Scurrying and hurrying from invisible pain
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
He was up late again, reading one of his many comic books, when he heard the usual scratching at the back porch. So engrossed in his title, the youth ****** from his chair and crept toward the window. A band of large masked creatures scurried off into the gloomy, moonless night. The boy thew on his coat and grabbed a flashlight and camera as he headed out onto the back porch. He glanced at one of the raccoons just as he scampered into the gigantic black berry bush below his field. The boy decided to take a closer look. He started to move toward the giant bush below his field when he suddenly tripped over something on the ground. As he across to his feet, he noticed a small door covered with branches and dirt. He brushed away the ******* and stared at the small door in the ground. With out much thought, he put his shacking hand to the handle and slowly opened the door. Hundreds of tiny stairs led their way to a huge room, miles wide and long, but only about four feet high. The room was quiet, he was about to scream when he heard the same scratching noise that was at his back porch, only this sound was louder. The boy slowly turned. His heart pounding in his chest; his body like steel iron. Then, a sudden hush goes over the whole room. He opened his eyes to meet a four foot raccoon staring at him. The animal lifted his head to the boy and whispered, "tag, your it!"
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
How had he found himself in this dungeon
a knight thrown in here.
Sent by his king on his first secret mission
true he was dressed as a peasant.
Harshly he'd been treated a new experience
but not regretting being sent.
This awful place never inside one before
an eye opener for him.
Here he couldn't stay had to escape
report back to the king.
Noticed a sharp piece of wood at hand
shouting out a demand.
The jailer angrily came to the cell door
he banged on the grill.
In a temper the snarling man entered
within seconds he was dead!
Silently falling on to the dank stone
the knight left alone!
Few humans scurried about in passageways
of the castles lower depths.
Coming upon a sentry post a guard stood
soon his life had expired!
Putting on the uniform he was going home
with a sword he would roam.
Very lax security the knight slowly walked
into the alien countryside.
Luckily not challenged he saw a lone soldier
getting off his horse.
Never feeling the blow now homeward bound
with the information found!
Indeed the Barron was a traitor to his king
the knight an army would bring!
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
A thought of you crosses my mind
never knew it would treat
my midday blues that wild.
Banished it in a blink of an eye
in less than a swift mo
the rose sway at the first light.
The day was long though
but gone before the rainbow
touches the butterfly.
Scurried to the night
back into the half veiled Niqab.
The waxing moon is on the open half
down the far-fetched sun's half eye.
When will you come by
before my eyes?
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 12:06 AM UTC
A red crow came to visit today
He asked for which treasure I seek
I told him Walton's Gold, buried a few clicks past the creek
His eyes were void and he spoke real low: be careful for which you say
I scurried him away and proceeded down the worn out mountain path
An eagle landed on a tree stump and told me to turn back
While I appreciated the laugh, I continued along with his feathers on my back
When I reached the creek, only then did I understand the eagles wrath
A man stood tall with a suit of white
He said "I'll give you all the gold in this clay, if you can answer one question for me today"
I asked for what he had to say
he said "how many times have you seen a crow and an eagle fight?"
A blue crow came to visit today
He asked for which treasure I seek
I told him Rudford's Gold, buried a few clicks past the creek
His eyes were void and he spoke real low: be careful for which you say
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 8:49 PM UTC
After we used to call you piglet
And after you liked celery,
After the eighth of December at eight o'clock
And after you were eight pounds eight ounces,
They took a photo of when I first held you.
You were crying your eyes out,
Like your mum was in the living room
After she found out,
Before I scurried away.
But you've grown up
In your old *** Pistols t-shirts
And your scribblings screenprinted onto new ones.
Copper hair loyally trailing behind you,
You glide around the house en pointe,
In between embroidery at noon and fashion design after lunch.
Too cool to have sushi at ten years old,
And nearly too old
To hug your big cousin without reluctance.
Like an ordinary kid.
Minding your know-it-all brother
With his resounding echos of 'youknowwhatyouknowwhat'
Making sure he doesn't burn a hole through the floor
With his new chemistry set, that he won't admit
He doesn't quite know how to use,
But will continue on nevertheless.
And you will roll your eyes.
Like an ordinary kid.
But your adenosine triphosphate,
Can barely lift it's own molecular weight
Nevermind the energy you ask it to carry.
In comparison, the ordinary ATP
Of your ordinary classmates,
Is a strongman next to your weakling cluster of N, H, C and O.
So you take your small grey spheres.
And don't drink full fat milk
And your father's taught you how to cook
And value food.
And use your nebuliser
And clean and dust and sterilise
So your glass lungs
Which clatter when you cough
Don't shatter.
And after all that
You twist your hair up in a bun
And carry on.
Not falling down the rabbit hole,
But bounding gracefully.
Like the extraordinary kid that you are, Alice.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
Squint scurried.
From rooftop to rooftop,
He skipped and he flipped as he
Scrambled amongst the tiles,
The blur of slate was his domain,
As, through the haze of reckless speed,
The slowly revolving City
Did imprint upon his vision.
So that as his sly lids descended
Its outline he admired;
Its screaming centre he desired.
In the end even Squint cannot run forever.
So he will slow, and shade his eyes,
Catch his breath and gaze and sigh.
And when he’s had his fill of the sights and the smog.
Down he slides amongst the pipes
Of better folk; of harder folk,
Of those with Proper Names
Like ‘Welder’ and ‘Melder’
And ‘Roland’ and ‘Fairer’.
Names that came after a ‘Mr’,
A ‘Lord’ or a ‘Sister’.
Names that one Day he would have for his Own.
For in the Glass City, Names were always changin’ hands.
Squint.
Not much of a Name,
Even for one so young as he
It would seem he would deserve
A Name of much more worth
Than simple, humble ‘Squint’.
But Squint lived up to his Name.
He may look young and full of fun,
But crouch on a wall and you might just
Be appalled to see that not a moment after
Squint is left alone, his eyes will glitter.
And if any Man’s flesh could ever express such malicious scheming,
It was the writhing face of our humble Squint,
Once his eyeballs set to gleaming.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
I had slept for too long, I know, for my eyes crusted over,
and when I rubbed them I felt relief from sleep.
Walking into my kitchen undiscovered, like a mars rover
I stumbled towards the counter in a bumbling flesh jeep.
the fruit bowl overflowed with bananas and mangoes
and they were beyond their years, wrinkled and hot
from the heat of today, and yesterday, their death grows
towards a beginning only a fly could know, but not.
their fermenting skin was armied in fruit flies,
they had built quite a formidable force and I
wondered had I slept so long? Their fleeting red eyes
scurried in my presence without a question of why.
opening the cherry tomato container unleashed an army like Agamemnon’s,
I feared I had slept that long, in a house of Aegisthus,
a deceptive horse unleashed
flies about my cheeks and eyes-
I feared their anger, only in that moment though,
I hadn’t even thought about it before.
a cider vinegar trap was the plan,
with a plastic wrap coffin,
and in some hours a cider vinegar graveyard
full of crimson eyed drowners.
A brash plan, yes-
or maybe an overthrow of a sluggish ruler
with a small army of energetic soldiers,
my crushing hand slicing like a scythe,
only to be matched by a putrid hatred of a kitchen subjugator,
a hatred the ruler understood himself-
a fear of waking up to it left the fruit
bruising in the basket
in
the
first place.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
The mental obsession--
It won't go away,
It won't let me go,
It leads me astray…
Help me o' lord, I need to be strong!
The days are so short, my nights are long.
Do for me lord what I can't do for myself;
Put me away on some high moral shelf.
I fall on my face and I curl up to pray,
Please take it lord, please keep it at bay.
The mind is locked in, nothing else can I think;
The evil inside gives a laugh and a wink.
I have no control--there is nowhere to run!
The thorn in my side gives off heat like the sun;
I look for some answer, a proverb, a verse--
As the darkness surrounds me a prayer I rehearse.
Then finally it’s plain that release must be had;
My soul deep in sadness my addiction so bad.
My fist pounds the table--why can't I let go?
The thorn in my side makes a prisoner my soul.
The morning sun breaks to yet one more day,
My heart drops like a rock, my senses astray,
The black hole is deep and it's end can't be found,
The thorn in my side--in my misery I'll drowned.
The darkness returns and the demonic beast,
My flesh is destroyed my soul is its feast,
The heart is no matter my prayers go unheard,
The lord has abandoned—I've scoffed at his word!
I awoke in the night to bright light rushing in;
The demons all scurried as they ran from within;
Lighting and thunder, trumpets and wind;
Angelic beings came and took all my sin!
The Lord God Almighty sits high on his throne,
He never forsakes us we are never alone;
No matter how deep or how far or how wide;
The Lord and his mercy took the thorn from my side.
© William Power (2011) All rights reserved
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
I once scurried through a jungle of tomes
From the languid turf of hazy hagglers
To the esoteric sphere of cryptic connoisseurs
The jagged rhythm pulsating with a staccato of pebbles
Not a placid clime but a wonky wilderness
Where your eyes rove for honey of rising cadence
Only to decelerate
From an alien territory to a corny scenery
The voyage of discovery must continue...
As sojourners of change
Onuchi Mark © 2010
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:51 AM UTC
We take a mains water supply and proper drainage for granted now,
but not so long ago they were new things, and not everybody had them.
My old boss told me about the time they turned up for work at a cottage where a woman lived alone, just in time to see her empty her **** *** out of the bedroom window onto the tiles of the lean-to.
Half way through the morning she asked if they would like a glass of home-made lemonade, and dipped a jug into the water **** saying
" I like to use soft water. "
Having noticed that the lean-to tiles emptied into the water ****
they found themselves in a slightly awkward position.
When the woman appeared proudly offering the full glasses of lemonade,
my old boss said " I think I heard someone at the front door. "
Off she scurried and the lemonade was quickly disposed of in the flower bed.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
Children scurried ***** as rats
From the long dead smouldering
of rocks and boulders
To watch captivated
Enraptured by the sight
Of tiny parachutes floated from the sky.
Tiny handkerchiefs of hope
Descended as gently as leaves in a breeze
As the candy bomber
Wiggled his wings
And presented sweet things
Packaged as hope
Delivered with love
To let those know that though
They may be woe begotten
To some at least they were not forgotten.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
the moon was chasing the shadows of the forest,
while the night scurried into the black fields,
placing a small toe into a sorrowful grey cloud
the wind hardly more than a whisper.
and then midnight unwound, blue shadows on grass,
the fields green as dark emeralds,
the clouds dreaming of a soft moon,
and the eye drawn skywards,
filled with forgotten dreams
the wind began to hurry
birds crammed into a bucketful of sky
like flapping pages hinged to a spine.
welcome then to the stomach of night
to moonflower and the bright light that spins
uncovering the stones that lie in the dark moss
revealing the surreal landscape to a broken moon.
welcome then to our love, even more surreal,
as we hold each other close, and shiver like
strange plants wrapped into the black ink of the night
as the world unfolds to kisses and wilderness.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
the glass cliffs of the city
echo to the sound of an adrenalin rush
motor cars, buses and trucks
all in the fast lane
hectic the movement on the streets
not a second goes by without a noise filled beat
the scurried hurry
of pedestrians
all of whom are bound
to a full on gait
the quietness of a bush landscape
is a locale slow in time
there a soul can unwind
walking at leisure
through a wood of countless trees
taking a pause along the way
to listen to the hum of bees
birds twittering
their caramel tunes
catching sight of a squirrel
nibbling on an acorn husk
the glistering sun upon the river's trace
nothing can beat
the countryside's space
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
I felt the warmth caress my cheek like
the light of heaven radiating down
on me. Looking up I saw my mother,
with eyes blue, and a dress smudged by her youth.
Laughter and love streaked down my face and it
could be said this moment was infinite
in all of its grandeur. But we knew of
this falsehood, for god left for the stars and
you were my angel, but the men took you
too. They marched in; their tin guns rattling
to a tune I didn't know. The storm grew
on until finally, I looked and saw
mother taken into its gaping maw.
My limp retreat, hastened by the need to
escape the reality laid before
me.
As the sad scurried escape continued,
I felt my most intimate seams begin
to tear. The contents of my creator spilling
onto the cold ground. Those tin toy soldiers
surrounded me, and I realized something.
“A ragdoll can't flee”
With an air of vengeance, I took their bait;
biting down on the cursed fruit bestowed
to me by our nonexistent savior.
With a smile I split my seam and screamed out
to all the fallen toys, and fallen joys.
“Hush now men, mother, and me this is life;
this is love, and can't you see what it doe-”
My thought grew dark as a cold tin soldier
finished the job, and I joined my mother
within the ash.
I felt the warmth caress my cheek like
the light of heaven radiating down
on me. Looking up I saw my mother,
with eyes blue, and a dress smudged by her youth.
Laughter and love streaked down my face and it
could be said this moment was infinite
in all of its grandeur. But we knew of
this falsehood, for god left for the stars and
you were my angel, but the men took you
too. They marched in; their tin guns rattling
to a tune I didn't know. The storm grew
on until finally, I looked and saw
mother taken into its gaping maw.
My limp retreat, hastened by the need to
escape the reality laid before
me.
As the sad scurried escape continued,
I felt my most intimate seams begin
to tear. The contents of my creator spilling
onto the cold ground. Those tin toy soldiers
surrounded me, and I realized something.
“A ragdoll can't flee”
With an air of vengeance, I took their bait;
biting down on the cursed fruit bestowed
to me by our nonexistent savior.
With a smile I split my seam and screamed out
to all the fallen toys, and fallen joys.
“Hush now men, mother, and me this is life;
this is love, and can't you see what it doe-”
My thought grew dark as a cold tin soldier
finished the job, and I joined my mother
within the ash.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC