"scurries" poems
*in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day
a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived
at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness
my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind
i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore
an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal
my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
Hedgehog
Something in my garden,
Small dark stout.
Is it coming in?
Or maybe going out?
Hidden in the long grass,
Almost out of sight.
Edging in slowly ,
In case it gets a fright.
Little beady eyes,
Long thin nose.
Sharp bent clause,
On little hairy toes.
As it scurries off quickly,
To winter hibernate.
I see the snow is coming,
Hope he's not too late.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:10 AM UTC
I wish you detox from drunken heights,
I’m jesus for today until my current shift ends
and the next one begins, after many nights,
in the garden centre of fallen south coast eden.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
People’s faces glitter as I go by,
memories of sinless youth,
for my hands blind with nostalgia,
that my being resurrects.
The child Lazarus scurries past my side,
to his home with his future in his hands,
in my hands, cupped wide.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
I can love the unfortunate,
for my fortune is golden.
Delivered in letters
from North, West, East.
My trinity circle who join me at my supper,
breaking the garlic bread and sipping the borello,
to top crab ravioli baptised in the stream of sauce.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
The gates of heaven are open,
unblocked by the deaths of Keats, Shelley and Williams,
their souls not blocking the exit with an Underground Queue.
I give my blessings to
Livingstone and Charles Gordon
The one native he changed and the others’ sacrifice at Khartoum
Gained me my crown to modestly flaunt.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
I float down the hall, to His Mighty Voice,
as my gold becomes a donation on the alter,
to gain the choral hymns of Mercury gilded rock gods
that will brighten my days
for now,
oh glorious moments.
Amen.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
We are evenly matched
Or so I thought
So I let down my guard
Thinking I'm alright.
But I placed my bishop
Diagonal three spaces
Perfect position to
put you in check
Realizing that
I've made a mistake
You move your knight
Two spaces forward,
one to the right
Halting my advances
Leaving only my queen
To defend the pride of her king
I defend from your every move
Until you capture her.
Leaving my king exposed
And defenseless
You marvel at it but
Are quick to place her
with the others you have
Captured and controlled
My king scurries
Space by space
Anxious to avoid
The inevitable capture
I am exhausted
Avoidance of you
is utterly impossible
So I give in
I tip over my king
in total surrender
How quick you are
to ****** it into your hands
You revel in your victory
Clinging to my king
My last piece
My last hope
But how quick you are
to discard it
How quickly you let it
tumble down onto the pile
But I forgot..
To you
This is just a game of chess
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
Crack some fire
everywhere
on the way heaven.
Light the shadow
light a candle
down the moon.
The sun in fact
does it every day.
Scurries towards
the last dark room
down the moon.
With the colour plate
intact and full
passes by shining on
every corner and nook
every untouched end in the day
the rainbows peep on the way.
Sneaks its way through
the deep forests of orbs
up and down the passages
in the mountains of stars
even after nightingales
and robins go deep silent
the sun tiptoes on the go
lights a candle on the moon.
Moments after the sunset
facing its true north in the West
only to find in heaven
the way The Queen of Heaven
puts her footprint less step
it's the sun's true West
shows up the new crescent.
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 9:10 PM UTC
Nightmares bring forth my minds deepest worries
They unleash unknown evil I want not
Dark demons, an evil creature scurries
A beasts breath is on me and it burns hot
As I feel myself sink into dreamland
Terrors in the night wake and walk about
Afraid evil will touch me with its hand
I feel fear well up and I start to shout
Weight of emptiness crushing me to tears
A shadow of death looks down so vivid
Lurid evil feeds on my minds worst fears
A sharp faced demon bares teeth so livid
As I slowly begin to awaken
I see relieved, my life isn't taken
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Don't be late
dip your toes fast.
It's up to you
if you want to do it
at the same time
when the day too
melts down into
one more pith dark
finishing line.
The twilight has a
lot to digest then
as one more day
cools off into it's bold
deep painting splash
make sure you go first.
Before the waxing moon
scurries to the sea
looking for it's mirror
on the deep shady water
only to discover
zillions overlooking stars
are already there!
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 11:02 PM UTC
The wee hours late night
in a blink of an eye
blows her Niqab (veil) away.
Oh, that folds springs in style
in the chalice of rose flower
never gone with the rainbow
splash of the first light!
Stunned broad daylight
rather looses for words
punting in sleek brook of twilight
scurries back into the night.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 6:40 PM UTC
Pastels and pretty pictures,
I lean back in the couch,
The elephant in the room,
She'll never know about,
How the critics wail over the way the paint falls off her brush.
I would rather drop-dead,
Than ever talk about
That night back in 07'
Teeth flying out my mouth,
But I think you would've liked me better then anyhow,
I'm curious...
I'm curious...
...I'm curious....
..Cause
I
just
wanna
see
what
makes
you
tick
Each year he writes a note
and leaves it in his room,
Key lime pie, Saturdays at the zoo,
Reminiscing flashbacks of better fast food,
Dead the day,
He scurries home in the dead of night,
Dragging his will, whats left, shaking off the frostbite,
Volunteers to play drunken clown for another night,
I think of their eyes and everything that they've seen,
Nothing that I see could ever be unique,
So don't you lie and say you see it shining in me.
I'm curious...
I'm curious...
...I'm curious....
..Cause
I
just
wanna
see
what
makes
you
tick
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
In the languid flow of eight in the morning
she scurries beneath the lethargic settling
of the chill of great October
Learning much
teaching everything
and saying nothing
she hasn't heard before
The dull encroachment of winter
pulls our eyes down
like the flowers come to wilt
under the heavy frosts
In summer!
Summer!
We were alive
and now it is a fight to move our legs
oh we of the winter mountains
and sweaters drawn tight around ourselves
awaiting the spring again with baited breath
The savage runners
beneath the snow
waiting with painted faces
behind classroom walls
spears of longing
for longer days
and Chopin plunking desperately
on a piano played two hundred years ago.
I am a child of Saturn,
of death and the winter months
but so too am I a keeper of this earth
freezing over like the stones in the ground
and begging for some warmth to touch me
This thaw cannot come soon enough,
for i fear that we shall all die alone in the snow
with hardly the energy to punch through the ice
to see the sun again.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Death called your name, you said
Not from the periphery
But right here
Right now
And it requires bloodshed
Eyes glazing over
The tracks before you
Dreaming of being
Splayed
For the length of a mile
I laugh nervously
When you tell me
Because it was me
Your son
Who handed you the phone
“For death, press 1”
You’re at the crossing now
From the pedal
Your foot lifts
The train’s horn
Bellowing
As into its path
You drift
The brakeman screams
As your body disjoints
Your shame for me reduced
To scarlet exclamation points
A nearby sparrow
Witnesses the scene
“Sad”, she thinks
Hatchlings cozy
Underneath her wing
It’s a bit cruel
To pile your ****
On my shoulders
As if I were a mule
And it’s a bit wicked
To claim my
Unchangeable
Existence
As sin committed
The enigma of stigma
Is yours to explore
I slide you a key
I’ll be right here
On the other side of the door
A mouse creeps
Across the threshold
Seeing both sides
“Too bad”, he thinks
As he scurries by
You named me Christopher
After a boy killed
By a train
And now you say I’m to blame
Like an unfortunate stain
On the hem
Of our family’s pain
The truth is
I couldn’t keep living a lie
And I’m sorry, dad
I’m the reason you want to die
Sep 3, 2022
Sep 3, 2022 at 8:23 PM UTC
Teacher: Alright Panda what are your Favorite colors?
Me: My favorite colors are Red and Black
Teacher: Interesting colors Panda, why are those your colors?
Me: I honestly doubt you want to hear the answer to that.
Teacher: Come on Panda, tell the class why those are your colors.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In my head the decision warred to tell but then my life was already hard enough as it was......More and more my demons wanted release so finally I gave in prepared for the looks, name calling, and lonely life again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Me: you really want to know why?
Teacher: Very much yes, we would
Me: Ok then, Red and black are my favorite colors for their meanings.
Teacher: And what are their meanings?
Me: Red, stands for The blood that is shed during death, The blood that I shed when the knife glides over my skin, The blood that can be heard rushing through your veins when the fear becomes to great....The blood that your heart leaks from the poorly covered cracks from being shattered so many times....
Teacher: (Gulps) And what about black Panda?
Me: *Black.....My true color.....Black, stands for the darkness and destruction warring in my mind, body, and soul, The darkness after death, The darkness in my heart from all the hatred thrown at me, The Darkness and destruction from my inner demons who keep warm and safe at night, The Darkness that one day we will all see, because nobody can escape death....Hes one bad-ass Mother ****** who always gets his way....Those are my colors....The colors that make me and I stand for...*
Teacher: Ummm....Very...Very Interesting Panda (Gulps and steps away) You know I think it's time for lunch why don't we all go to lunch yea? ( Scurries away)
Other students: I told you she was a freak......Crazy......Belongs with the dead if you ask me.....She talks about demons so much I would be surprised if she wasn't one.....
Me: Smirks You guys should learn to keep your opinions to your self, they might get you hurt one day.... (Get's up and walks out the door leaving a note for the others)
Note- "Roses are Red, Violates are blue, Red like your blood, blue like the sea....Keep on talking soon you will all see who the true demon is and hey it just might be me." Yours truly Panda <3
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
#1-- Legacy
This city was my ancestors' town.
We have laid tar on your horse-paths-
a university grew from Riverview roots-
you chopped firewood from the
great-great grandfathers
of these trees.
#2-- saint cloud sounds like
midnight, shoemaker: haunted cries.
munsinger's melody: scurries & chirps.
when TNT shatters granite at the quarry.
pucks' percussion at the brooks center.
buzz of summers on lake george's shore.
somalia & scandinavia, singing.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
she goes to the beach with her shoes on -
yet longs to dip her feet in the water
the waves come crashing towards the shore, with open arms inviting her
but afraid, she steps away
only allowing the water to ever-so-slightly
kiss the tip of her shoe
a little more than the tip, and she scurries back panicked
though never turning away from the water,
she gazes still, pining with regret
oh she’s so tempted ~
as the wave ebbs, she inches towards the receding boundary
though unable to cross her own.
the wave, patient as ever, gives her another chance
and another,
lovingly,
incessantly,
it moves closer, extending its welcome
but she scurries back again
thinking about damp socks, or even worse
wet, sandy feet.
how was she supposed to get home with ease?
distracting herself, she looks up at the night sky
though not the stars, she remembers instead their counterparts
the stars twinkling within those almond eyes -
smile brighter than the sunshine, aura peaceful like moonlight
laughter louder than crashing waves
but presence fleeting like butterflies.
what would happen if she acted too late?
unlike the waves, the smile would fade
those eyes would turn away, leaving her in the shade ~
driven with the fear of loss, she finally plunges, unafraid.
she’s in the moment, one with the sea
she can think about how to get home, only when she needs to be.
Dec 31, 2023
Dec 31, 2023 at 1:10 AM UTC
A con artist scurries
In white shadows
Fickle grooves she casts
In sequences
Imprinted by vainglory
Swift she fleets
Veiled with scars that
Were sequin rich
She spoke of ideologies
Subdued by violet myths
Exuding colorful flavors
Of classic deception
Her tattoos spelled
the wistful vowels of sin
Vexed by the onslaught
Of egregious inceptions
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
feets of snow
building
quiet muffled walk
high red rubber boots
sinking deep into
freshly falling snow
wind whips snowflakes
swirling about
stinging bare face
a local police suv
scurries by
sign the road is passable
no other movement
bright lights all about
soft white sky
dark bare trees
sillhouetted
against encroaching
building
white backdrop
bushes bend
heavily under
boughs laden
with many many
little snowflakes
hovering on branches
together
it is a blizzard celebration!
wind dances
swirling and singing
roaring and biting
snowflakes spiraling
and dancing
so so very free
racing across
the sky and the
earth
happy to be out
happy to be free
the dark night
owned by the
ones who
live free & wild
in ever eternal delight!
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC
I stick my fingers in my throat
and throw up a basket of swallowed suns;
under it, my tongue is parched and pinned in place
like a dried house moth on an entomologist’s hand
that nurses it back to life
and demands devotion in return,
a poem in return.
But I have purged the feeling being out of me
like a cold, cold man now averse to the ways of his younger lover
who is alive for all of it — the lust and the starving kisses
and the quiet deaths in the morning only to haunt at night.
I leave letters for my bitten nails without meaning a single word,
and go to lie with the superficiality, the hypocrisy nesting under my tongue.
I have started writing poems again — see where they take me this time
and find myself here, once more
where a fool unpacks her baggage and out I come rolling
like a dead body with a foaming mouth, a brown moth burning under the sun,
a leech that scurries under salt and needles,
slowly eroding like sanity.
She thinks, therefore, she is, they say,
but at what cost? She looks on and pens this poem
with a tiny smile on her lips.
Jul 18, 2022
Jul 18, 2022 at 8:24 PM UTC
There's silence in the room
There's silence in the house
There's silence in the closet
There's silence in the mouse
There's silence on the broom,
in the room,
in the house,
where the closet holds
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in the books,
in the nooks
in the room,
in the house,
where the closet holds
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in the photos,
in the rooms,
in the house,
where the closet holds
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in the room
where the music used to play.
and the kids who slept inside it,
would be gone all day.
there's silence in the room
in the house
where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in the house,
where the family would walk,
and where the family,
would always want to talk.
the silence in the house
where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in the closet
where the clothes are there to sit,
and wait for someone to put them on
and have a deal of wit.
there's silence where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in the mouse,
who scurries through the walls,
and eats all the crumbs,
but no one sees at all,
the silence in the mouse.
There's silence in room,
where the music used to play,
there's silence in the house,
where it would be empty
all the day,
there's silence in the closet,
where the clothes all like to keep,
there's silence in the mouse,
who doesn't dare make a peep.
There's silence in the room,
in the house,
where the closet holds,
the silence in the mouse.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
tight are the waxers
with gelatin scrub
their alcove smiles paired
on a check-board slate
dive jackets
and coveralls
mark the blue persuaders
stuffed lockers
and lattice straps
for a cold
pilgrim's stare
cork boots
and poly rot
rest in the C block
rank and file
mask a heavily
worn charade
windows wide
and curtains
thread bare
greasers
and **** rats
pardoned
on principle
chain link and
tether held
firm in the grasp
bead bites and
castle tops
slip in the **** steam
chants and speakers
blast from the back wall
elements stacked wide
for tainted leaners
strummers and pickers
held high on the jimmy jack
a chilled base breeze
at the ****** hole
rogues and hatters
stir at the mixer
an imitation face
closing in on the feast
maiden hands clasp
hard at the inseam
scuffed heals shuffle
on the peripheral scene
a cloaked man scurries
(chilled in his double sock)
moonshine
and mickeys
turned up in the jar
light streams blind
the paranoid eyes
laggards peeled
from the wretched
framework
veneer shattered
on a point strip groove
an overwhelming trauma
from slaughter
harbor
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 3:16 PM UTC
Tea time
And I sit alone
At the table
Hearing cicadas drone
Seeing roses climb the gable
Steam coming from my small mug burns
And without you here, I am now able
To focus on much bigger concerns
Like what color to paint the picket fence
Or where to place this quaint birdhouse
Or what to name the new little field mouse
That scurries outside where the magnolias bloom
right next to the headstone where the leaves are strewn
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
It is the same garden that holds,
Prickly rose bushes,
Healing basil and spritely marigolds.
It is here the bees fly, birds rest their wings,
It is here every morning the nightingale sings.
It is here the hare scampers, the squirrel scurries,
The snake slithers, the rodent hurries.
It is here the gecko hides, the worm crawls,
The bat flies when darkness falls.
In the mud and the dirt, the soil and the gravel,
In coarse little stones, smooth little pebbles,
In topaz skies, in waters azure,
In a lotus that blossoms in a world impure.
In the siesta of flowers, the fiesta of leaves,
In the dance of raindrops serenaded by a breeze.
In summer's golden glare, autumns russet finger
In the green breath of spring, the white hand of winter..
Beauty in His creations, in every season,
In every color for a rainbow of reasons.
Each special and each rare,
Each, in a bough or burrow,
Has a niche somewhere.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
empty hallways, forgotten voices
pictures hang, dusty and off balanced
cobwebs spread from door to mirror
a young rat scurries past the broken floor
his picture still hangs over the fireplace
a spider runs down his well-shaped nose
each brush stroke is thick and sculptured
the dust collects as sand dunes
the whole room seems mysterious
books of occult line the paint-chipped walls
the windows cracked the night air blows
dead trees peer down on slamming shutters
the old house creeks and cracks
howling doge are echos of past crickets sing songs of last dreams
this house, this ledgend infinte
captures one's mind as lonley and hideous
remembers it's myths fools false illusions
under the now dim light of the moon
spooks creep silent footsteps
his spirit surrounds the acre
truth and lies untested question
of how he lived alone from living
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Soaring on the updrafts
From the canyon far below
My silhouette is made a shadow
by the evening sun’s red glow.
Between heaven and earth suspended
I hover in the sky
My eyes searching intently
as my dinner scurries by.
I pitch myself into a dive
My talons slash and ****
Hunting from the evening sky
Has never lost its thrill
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 9:05 PM UTC
The gentle lines of the coarsest neck
Where the vitals fall in line,
Where breath is held so restlessly,
The first sip of chilly wine.
The shaky fingertips that graze,
Calloused, but seeking gospel
Leaving me covered in the words of
Your author and your novel.
Knobby knees that knock when
Worry scurries through your blood.
That hallow place behind
Where no one thinks to touch.
The portion of your foot that feels
The extremity of the ground.
How fast you're going will always tell
How long you stick around.
(Our souls are where we find them.)
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
I am hearing rain for the first time
Like soft hurried footsteps,
The sounds of mice scuttering,
The creaking of an old house.
I am crying again in the darkness
Caressing my true self,
Feeling her ****** fur
As she flinches from my careful fingers
Her eyes are endless black pools
Her thin legs are injured
Curled up, she whimpers
And cowers in pain
I get too close and she scurries away
Into a shadow,
Leaving me alone with the rain
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC