"scuttling" poems
All around me, I see endless fear.
Fear of heights, sure, fear of scuttling things
Fear of darkness, fear of bites
Fear of brightness, fear of fights.
This is the fear we can display
Because it’s little, simple, understandable.
But the fear I really fear
That we all let consume us
Is deeper,
Darker,
Cold.
It’s the fear of friendship, fear of love,
Fear of what’s ahead of us
But even more of what’s behind us
Fear to see what’s really beyond
The faces we all fake.
Fear of the unknowable
Fear of what we know
Fear of speaking out or up or for
Fear of conforming to something more
Fear to test the limits
Fear to taste the truth
Fear of what’s uncomfortable
Rather than the deception of comfort
Fear of what to do
Fear of striving for perfection
When perfection’s so unattainable.
Fear of to leave what has been known
Fear of what has been done
Fear to see past fabrication,
Fear to show the truth.
I’m talking fear of emotion
Or fear of not feeling enough
Fear of silence, but worse,
The fear of candid words.
Fear to look someone in the eye
And say, “I know you,
And I care for you.”
Fear to let someone see the darkness that comes with your light
Fear of rebelling though it’s time someone did
Fear of doing what you want and know
Because of what someone told you you should
Fear of being who you are
Because every day everyone is telling you
What to do and who to be
And what is acceptable
And what is not.
I’m talking fear of having an opinion
Because someone will shoot it down
Fear of defense or service or selflessness
Because someone won’t approve.
Fear to accept because of fear of acceptance
Fear to truly love someone
Because it’s risky,
And you never know
What someone else really feels.
I cry for the fear of
Every person who can’t be
Who they are and who can’t
Let people see them in their entirety
Because after all everyone urges
And persuades and demands and values
And idolizes and expects,
You don’t even know yourself,
Because you've been too busy
With trying to be so many different
“Someone Else"s.
I ache for this relentless fear.
I mourn the stagnancy of the condition
Of the human soul who is so afraid
To let go of fear
And BE somebody,
To do something or say something, or simply believe,
That the only thing they truly trust
Is the familiarity
Of fear itself.
That’s why fear is frightening
That’s why we should be afraid of fear
Because it stops us, cages us,
Bars us behind the façade we display
And muffles the words of our heart.
I see these things and wonder
Why can’t they change?
Why can’t this need to fear be erased
From the human condition?
And I realize it’s because everyone
Is afraid.
And I’m so afraid too.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
hist whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe
little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-nob hob-a-nob
little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy mousies
with scuttling
eyes rustle and run and
hidehidehide
whisk
whisk look out for the old woman
with the wart on her nose
what she’ll do to yer
nobody knows
for she knows the devil ooch
the devil ouch
the devil
ach the great
green
dancing
devil
devil
devil
devil
wheeEEE
10.3k
Slumming.
Slumming around downtown.
Slumming around downtown St. Paul.
A broke high school student.
A broke student with perpetual down time.
A broken down senior student letting go of time.
Slumming.
Slumming down to Raspberry.
Slumming down to Raspberry Island.
Walking across the Mississippi River.
The bridge had been raided.
Marching.
Marching down teal and raspberry stairs.
Icycle nose hairs.
Seeing my breath as my chest shivers.
I found my heart trapped under the solid river.
Teenagers ******** about freshmen that got the bridge raided,
Teenagers ******** about artists they've always hated
and artists ******** about things they've created.
Underagers slowly letting out smoke.
Underagers letting out what keeps their lungs beating.
Underagers slowly letting out steam, cheating.
Me.
letting out smoke that came from the ice.
Smoke of below zero temperature, freezing my insides.
Mindless.
Mindlessly walking.
Mindlessly walking through endless skyways.
Mindless.
Mindlessly talking.
Mindlessly talking about things I don't remember.
Until we've arrived at We-Be-Smokin'.
Huddling.
Huddling in a group.
Admiring the art that claimed the spot before we did.
Scuttling.
Feet scuttling.
Feet scuttling in place to outrun the cold.
Reminiscing of months before when I was sitting alone in Starbucks with my
venti white chocolate mocha listening to crazy George yell at his imaginary
wife. Not being bothered. Not being cold.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
There is a Mouse in this House.
Insatiable,
He keeps me up at night,
thin fine claws on metal stove tops,
whispering to the birds what a fool he's made of me,
because I couldn't make the fibers of my home work with me.
There is a Mouse in this House,
Immortal,
I've fished him drowned out of drains,
fed him bleach on silver trays,
listened to him choke in air vents,
his chestnut jacket perpetually in the corners of my eye,
leaving reminders in my cereal,
this rodent he refuses to die.
There is a Mouse in this House,
Intangible,
he is not slipping through my fingers he's dancing on them,
quick petite feet tapping on my counters,
fleet and fast like smoke,
I've seen him seep through a clenched fist and still escape with wedding bands,
There is a Mouse in this House.
Impish,
he waits 'till I'm alone to play his music,
the crack and chew,
too early with the morning dew,
he will not play his song for you, it'd be too easy to be seen.
There is a Mouse in this House,
primeval,
he's been waiting,
mapped the walls and painted my flaws,
tactician skilled and iron willed,
this beast knows war far more than my militia mind was ready for,
plotting out insurgencies for restless and anxieties,
There is a Mouse in this House,
emaciated,
what's his is his,
what's mine is his,
there is no sacred to things with tails.
clearing out my pantry,
his jaws now tasting for my sanity,
finished with the:
Rye,
White,
and Sourdough,
he's fixed his tongue on sweat breads,
scuttling with unnatural flow,
There is a Mouse in this House.
Charming,
too handsome a creature to ever be singed,
he peddles on the burners simply too strut,
scampering through flames to test his luck,
There is a Mouse in this House,
Insomniac,
from now until each evening hour,
his paws touch turns time sour.
Ivory teeth clanging out a new ink-printed deed,
he owns the tenant and never even had to rent it,
There is a Mouse in this House,
arrogant,
too self-assured and clever,
cunning, devilish a creature he may be,
but he has yet to get a load of me,
holed away within his den,
his first mistake was not letting me win,
setting aria's on fly's wings to declare his victory,
this furry phantasm is all too aware of what he did to me.
There is a Mouse in This House,
sleeper,
I'm plotting my comeback,
sure-footed,
slow breathes,
and savage hands,
I'm ready,
silent and steady;
this beautiful monstrous mouse had best prepare for battle.
There is a Mouse in this House.
But it's my House.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
tropical breeze waves washed upon a
soothsayer sand beach whispering love poems between each sigh
seagull clouds baying from above
lustrous sunshine massaging with temperate beams
beneath the waves, turtles twist in tubular turnabouts
bright coral and jaded fish teem in the reef
shimmering sunshine shining through waves
casting shadows and light amongst an oceanic spectrum
we flit through the ocean as foreigners and locals
tiny air bubbles pressing from our lips
unlike the denizens filtering through the reef
we press up to the surface and break through for breath
exiting the ocean of life, we wash upon the shore
driftboards sewn together in matrimony
our clam shelled hands interwoven in the fabric of our souls
sand pressed between to make a glistening pearl
i sit up while you lay down on our thin towels
falling asleep with an upward curve on your lips
i trace my finger down your back like pencil to paper
drawing each crevice, perfection, and blemish
on the landscape of your body
a faint breeze ghosts through the swaying palm trees
dolphins nonchalantly diving through the air and ocean
***** scuttling along the precipice of the sea and sand
waves washing the crooked edges of stones
amongst this equilibrium we are infinite
soaking up this portrait life like a sea sponge
in these moments we are infinite
moments we imagined we had
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
I wish I was a ladybird
Scuttling on a ledge,
Never thinking, never worrying,
Just living on the edge.
Free to stay or free to fly,
Whatever I decide,
The world is what I make of it,
I simply ride the tide
But I am like that ladybird,
Free to fly and go.
Do I need to get the timing right?
No!
Jump! Fly! Go!
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
In the moonlight, high in the Lemon Gum,
perched under the arching ghostly branches
two eyes of jet peer from a snow-white mask.
Tyto Alba, the Barn Owl, with heart shaped
****** disc, edged with ruff of stiff feathers.
Mottled pearl-grey body feathers above
the moth like plumage, purest white beneath
her slim legs are bare on the lower half,
with small feet that end with deadly talons.
Nocturnal, she roosts in the heat of day.
You will hear her screeching in the cold night
hear the scream before you ever see her.
She can see in the half light of humans
night vision even in total darkness
pinpoints her prey by listening to each sound
the desperate, scuttling little creatures make.
She is a well designed killing machine
with hooked beak, powerful feet and sharp claws.
Her flight feathers have softened edges
to make her deadly flight near soundless
She swoops silently down without warning
seizing victims with her claws, biting deep
into their neck arteries, puncturing
their most precious organs for a quick death.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
scuttling across the valley,
the trench was deep and steep
scorching heat of the dry sun,
dried blemishes on the weathered skin.
Settling along the rocky facades,
hackneyed by the haunting past.
Sleepless nights of the perching predators,
Hibernating in aloof worlds .
Stymied by the wind in the barren land ,
Harnessed by the futile fears.
Simone Melchoir of the sinking ship ,
would not you go down with the fault.
Shunning away from natures affection ,
for every rose does share its thorn .
Sunny ends are reached ,
when the raging ravines fade away.
Slithering away the swirling serpent ,
The sun lurks in the brewing storm .
Sanctity of the witheld winds ,
sapping away the deathly darkness.
Serene air of the seraphic angel,
brought the plighting dreams to the refugees repose
Smelting ores and melting poles,
brimming with brightness the cradled cirque .
Summons of the exalted virtue ,
To burn the lizard and fly away like the phoenix
Succumbing to the wilderness,
to soaring heights and rising spirits .
Swanking in the soothing winds,
the phoenix looked down on the plundering valley.
Scorning at the downtrodden spirits,
The fraternity of the Desert lizard
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
you tended to parasites,
thinking they were blossoms.
you expected them
to grow around
and into
the person
i used to be.
you expected something beautiful.
but now,
vines are constricting me,
growing around me,
curling inside me.
insects are scuttling on me,
through me,
they are a part of me.
i am made up
of parasites,
of weeds,
and wilted flowers.
everything good in me
has been devoured by
everything bad you've cultivated.
(i reach out to you,
hoping you will feed me
with praises,
with smiles,
with gentle intentions.)
but you water me
with hurtful words,
disappointed gazes,
and angry actions.
you expect
a paradise
in me,
and you are disappointed
when you see a barren wasteland
in the person
i was supposed to be.
and i am disappointed
because i cannot grow
the way you want me to
with the way
you nurture me.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
Tonight I dream of spiders
Hair spun, fat filled, scuttling legs
Quiver over my body and thighs
Eyes, ears, mouth, a tongue
A taste perforates through my eyes
Spills into my skull
Splat, Slash, Splot
Scuttle
Tonight I dream of Isolation
My footsteps fall on empty ears
Searching for life
Fearful, Tearful
Ripe with Strife
What does this matter?
I cannot be seen.
Unhear my own quiet screams
Please,
I want to
I need to
unhear.
Tonight I dream of running
An unseen assailant
I know, wishes to
attempt on me harm
You can't be calm
I can't, You can't
I Must
You mustn't provoke me.
I wake reaching
Reaching
Reaching
I find nothing
But empty solace.
Tonight I dream of fighting
Clockwork childhood
Figures slicing at my
face, racing me
to death.
A metal axe, a clawed
arm, walls with eyes,
a broken staircase,
distorted laugh, a
past repeated.
'Treated' to terror
remember me
dismember me
tenderly
race me
erase
me
I can't seem to wake up.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
It smells like loneliness outside.
The smell of a hot dog on a grill after a storm,
mingled with propane and cigarettes.
The smell of solitary.
A string of “cold and broken hallelujahs”
no longer dulls the senses.
It’s senseless anyway.
I eat my brown rice in front of the sink
and I am reminded of the taste of Play-Doh.
It’s funny how loneliness creeps in on the wind,
the cars’ wheels in the rain,
the braking of the bus,
scuttling of squirrels...
Maybe a hot tea or toddy
(maybe something stronger)
will keep this autumn-ness at bay.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
Trolling Amazon I found my inner Kurtz
Harrison foreswore my bear totem: darkness
Lady gal pal taught me soul-mating hurts
Martha Muffins vinyl v. Kirby’s Agatha Harkness
Saved my twins made them productive
Mutating FF X to Avengers indie 80s on me take
Man-starring all the boogie children say code this grandpa
Gaiman Miller Moore Morrison invade Waid
Wrightson Kaluta Jones Smith put bronze to paint
McKean Sienkiewicz Mack Maleev mimic The Studio
Now let’s gallery our portals strung from kid dimensions
Makers engaging history NOW NEW 52 intervals starstruck
Spread indie throughout known multiverse in craft crooks
While nursing nannies coddle light corners scuttling roaches
Bell & Schrödinger's cat transport trainspotting to a fine art
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
When you look me in the eyes
Loneliness unfurls inside of me
Like a scorpions tail
And stings the soft belly of my heart.
A deep pain
Spreads throughout my body,
Clutching my bones,
Taking me hostage.
I feel my heart swell.
It’s much too big for its cage.
It’s the bird screeching protests
When you try to put it back in.
The sweating begins almost immediately.
I feel like I’m melting onto the dirt road
And you,
You are laughing.
Your smile splitting your lips,
Your teeth snapping like claws,
Distracting me from your molten black eyes.
I ***** my loneliness.
It dribbles out of my mouth in red ropes.
You are already scuttling away,
Already moving onto the next threat.
As I watch your eight legs
Carry your shell of a body away
From my shell of a body
I remember why
I’ve always been afraid of scorpions.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
washing on the shores,
the rustling winds in
the palms, the caws
of birds and scuttling
of ***** the silence
in the mornings, and
the quiet in the night
echoing, soothing,
playing, evolving
the sounds of the ocean
sound like some ancient
composers song
there is life in this music
human life, animal life,
plant life, sea life, life
of the air, life of the
earth, life of the tiny
and life of the big
we feel it more than we
hear it
and we smile
the bass hum of the trees
the melody of the seagulls
the harmony of the wind
the crescendos of the waves
it is the song of the sea
the music of the ocean
the soundtrack of life
I feel my muscles unclench
and relax
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 5:49 AM UTC
Everything stops when I see the blur
hear the low, vibrating buzz
RIGHT IN MY EAR
Flinch
spasm
FREEZE
My muscles
every last one
tense and rigid
Don't
Move
An
Inch
My head snaps to my shoulder
My hands fly to my neck
my signature tic
protect my ears protect my head
or the monster
the horror
the bee
will fly into my skull and-
I feel its legs covered in short fibrous tendrils oh god no
scuttling inside my head an itch I can't scratch
a whimper lodges in my throat
threatens to turn into a
SCREAM
-into my brain
the blur flashes by
as sweat r
o
l
l
s
down my back
MY SKIN IS BURNING EVERYTHING IS BURNING
the wasp in my head is
STINGING ME EVERYWHERE AT ONCE
Tears sting
Arms sting
everything stings
**** this phobia!*
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
the first thing I notice is the jetty
the waves littered with little feet and bouncing foam and
bobbing buoys of women, two of which
call me to remove my boots
and let water lick clean
old clammy toes
but I walk out on the jetty
past the rock where scuttling children fear their mothers will forget them
past the crop of young fishermen, smiling between tides of beer and
counting the fish they have yet to catch by the worms they have
in their new tackle boxes
past an empty can of Budweiser
past an old bucket of bait that even the gulls wont touch
deeper into the bird **** that paints this rock thumb
pock marked with bowls of orange soup-
carapace and minnow bones
denying a smoke in favor of the ocean’s oyster breath
trading the cooling molten gold of a California beach
for something I was sure would only be found
where this putrid jetty purged into the sea
and I was close
even as you drove me home
I couldn’t forgive you for following me there
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
Writing
about writing
is pathetic,
so instead
I’ll write about that time
in March when we went
hiking along ridgetops and
firetrails, and the sun
baked the rocks hard and impassive
to our boots. The orange-and-white tracks
folded back upon
themselves and seemed
so illogical that we thought
somehow we were going
in circles
(round the Sun we missed
that one it felt like we
weren’t moving)
For lunch you had squished
peanut butter and
sardine sandwiches because
you’re odd and idiosyncratic
like that, and I had apples
and muesli bars because I’m
too lazy to make lunch
at 6 in the morning.
We ate on a huge rock
overlooking trees and *Lucy
in the Sky with Diamonds* was
playing on the radio.
It felt as if we were two
enclosed in a small
self-erected hazecloud
where birds and lizards
and just breeze mingles
surprisingly well with John Lennon’s
recollections.
I remember the sun-scored rocks
had stored up warmth
from years of Marchdays like
today, they stayed warm slightly
longer than the air did.
We tasted each other’s
post-lunch mouths (you were
sardine and kind of gross)
and pretended like
our hands were ants,
scuttling aimlessly
(we had an aim)
I liked to think my fingers
were all elegant and smooth
as the moon.
I love you and I want
to make you happy here,
I love you and I want you
to make me happy here,
i should sleep – you should sleep –
we should sleep together.
I still remember that Marchday
when we went hiking and I’ve
written about it
dozens of times before in different
modes with other characters
but
to be honest I
don’t want to write about
anything else.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Hello, this is my missing Mistress
Always she is for catching buses
Only for me its a physical stress
Clearly, she and me, 'musing bugs.
She handles it all on her own ways
Blooming face lighting little smileys
Like moonlit shining water waves
Laughter lighten her burdened dailies
A master lonely in friendly choirs
Shuttles merely from workplace to home
A king for cooking and child cares
Scuttling honey bee, nectar to comb.
Fancies mesmerize her failing frame
Work energizes her smiling game
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 1:16 PM UTC
They claim I can lead, that they can look up to me.
That in a time so bleak, it's nice to see someone so strong.
I am a very weak person.
I am fragile.
My immune system is shot.
Any passing pathogen is free to stir me up.
My walls are cracked and peeling, they are a poor defense.
I've lost control over my feelings, and nothing makes sense.
The world ends every day, yet, I remain in tact.
I'm a cockroach scuttling through the motions, taking orders from rats.
No one seems to think about the life of the insect, that putrid little pest,
After the fact...
After the blast, conflict is presumed to have passed,
But life is not as we're taught it is in History class.
Sure, I can survive; I've gotten by.
Haven't I prevailed over all of the ants and all of the flies?
Still, I wonder why...
Why? wonder...why?
I don't feel like I've tried?
At points on the line I thought I had died, or at least wasted my life.
Still, I stand here, watching the others pass by.
Expressionless faces filled with blood that's run dry.
The only reason I'm not floating on is because my hands were not tied.
I'd have drowned with the rest of them if it weren't for where I lie.
The ground on which I was born is comparatively high,
Though the guilt instilled upon me is pushing me lower to the scene of the crime.
Their lungs filled with water,
Mine with wasted time.
With feet barely wet, and my knees still dry, the guilt presses harder...but I still haven't tried.
If I am strong, then this world must be wrong.
Oh, so wrong. And for how long? How long must a man pretend to be a king when he is Kong?
My legs trembling...twitching...I can barely move.
I've been broken, burned, battered, and bruised.
Don't look up to me as if I peer down on you.
My friends, my enemies, you're all becoming confused.
If it is my help you seek, I'm sorry, you fool.
Can you not see? I am no better than you.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
The ugliest person is a monster.
His talons taunt and tease.
He waits for a hint of weeping.
He cackles at your misery.
The ugliest person is a scuttling bug.
She sneaks and snoops and snarls
She's just too close and just too far
To resolve her started quarrels.
The ugliest person doesn't think
The others need to eat and drink
His only concern is his own name in ink.
The ugliest person feeds you a stew
With a drip of her and a drip of you
Stirs and simmers until you want it too.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
When I heard the words that I had never hoped to hear,
"I'm on a path that you did not imagine,"
I trembled in the darkness growing near;
A green and deathly sickness grew within.
I can sense the Sirens' call to prayers unholy:
"Come dance the daring dances;
Sing the songs the sinners sing,
Defy the order of the stars to fling your flings,
And shake your ***** fists in pent-up rages,
Deny the structures of eternal ages;
Pervert the holy orders present at the birthing of the universe."
Does saying what is real is not or what is not is real
Change anything beyond the choice of action?
(Some would argue that the proof is in the consequence.)
Can mass opinion or the way a person feels
Change laws immutable: gravity's pull or magnetic attraction?
(Even theologians teeter now upon a wobbly fence).
If mass opinion moral laws can change
(Some critical percent of all believers
Taken in a poll believe the cannibals were right;
Please pass John's head there on that platter),
Then nothing stable really can exist.
When data-driven compasses redefine the laws,
When best practice comes from mass opinions,
We lose abilities to know ourselves as climbing up
Or scuttling down the ladders of Existence,
Confuse the benefits or dooms of consequential Ends.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
I lay ****** on the beach
curling
my
toes
in the sand,
my hands shadow
over my face,
as the lapping sea's sound
flowed by old toothless fishermen
playing dominoes over the only shaded ground.
I watched an ant
climbing grains,
and thought how the soft yellow
that surrounded my soft trance
must have seemed endless,
and the soft
ruffle of the waves like a roaring bellow
for his
scuttling legs and faceless head.
I watched the women's bodies,
the firm
flabby
all salty and wet,
bikinis hiding secrets
I desperately wanted to learn
and keep just for myself,
a cheap pleasure
left denied
as I lay
aroused in ****** unrest.
And then a boat shored up.
Four fishermen
dropped
a
shark
in the shallows
and took to it with a blade.
Off with its head to
retrieve the hook,
fade red into blue
like smoke exhaling out,
a clean slice from headless neck
to already fin-less stub.
In less than five minutes
they left,
and their ****** mess
stirred up all the woman,
who I had
already mentally undressed.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:51 PM UTC
on the lake goes scuttling all the sanity
miracle frolicking tingles jaunty sails spread
as do the pink bits of *** splashing in the shallows
shiny toys why do you have to move like that?
plucking the young cords in my head with your
long skin sweating correctly oils that bitter sweetly
in my mouth. i can't keep from the rude giggling of
your heavy ******* my eyes to wonder on the ether
of their succulent tiny hills. sharply ***** the absence
of my lady and bleed away my devotions mouth watering
lilies watering in the mouth of my cerebrum. but so comes
the touch of her polk-a-dot lacey correspondence on my nape
and forgotten are the little delicacies as enveloped in the sugar
of her cinnamon wrists glad hands grasping about my knotted
tissues i am drawn into the unbearable perfection of her metal
lips.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC