"skulk" poems
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
A ****** of crows, an ostentation of peacocks,
a parliament of owls, a knot of frogs,
a skulk of foxes, a siege of herons,
a paddling of ducks, a charm of finches.
This bevy of birds is a vocabulary find,
But what can it all mean,
In the world of human being?
A troop of toddlers, a slurry of students,
a gaggle of gentry, a bevy of boys.
I am of a mind that in naming of kind
Human being is best defined.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
SANDMAN
Can you see them?-lookin' for me to be them,
lookin' for my warmth to breath life to them,
the hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
no heart no mind-mindsick and eyeblind,
sheep talkin' like wolves that I find,
most despicable-Dis-gusting unpredictable,
following the wind as it blows on their wick they're all
candles in the strong wind gutterin',
snipes from a distance yeah they're all utterin'
Great threats from great hollow chests,
that up close-don't stand inspection,
empty vessels-makin great noise,
hard men behind keyboards hands -poised,
with the poisoned pen ready to dip in the deep well,
of hatred they bring from deep hell's,
inside,a void,avoid if you can please employ-
aversion tactics needed,don't need it,
vampyres that need pyres,yellow they bleed it
Yellow right down to the backbone believe it...
CHORUS
*the hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
Yes men Hollow men come follow men
Yes Men-Shallow men come follow men, the hollow men,
The hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
Yes men Fallow men come follow men
Yes Men-Shallow men come follow then
while I tell you bout the Hollow men*
JAY
Yeah, **** right I can see them.
Trolls in holes. I'm willin' to bleed 'em.
Society's detritis,
..delighted by the slightest sign of weakness.
Bleakness of their lives underlined by the lies they employ..
.. in their contrived..
..cyber sphere.
Scavengin' on carrion.
Peckin' at the carcass. Behind the veil of anonymity.
Sit in darkness as they hammer out calamity.
No nobility or amity. Cyber-highway poison.
I got the remedy.
Hollow husks skulk and lust..
..for coat-tails to ride on. Soon turn to dust.
Rusting hulks their disgusting bulk decaying on the shore.
Soon to be forgotten.
The Yes Men, the Hollow Men, the fallow men.
The everything is borrowed men.
The no tomorrow men.
The follow slowly to the gallows men.
*The Hollow Men, Yes men, fallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, shallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, Hollow Men.
Never follow them. The Hollow Men.
The Hollow Men, Yes men, fallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, shallow men, deal in sorrow men.
Yes men. Don't ever follow them.
A fool strolls to the gallows man.*
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
At the back of the cupboard
I skulk
You don't need me any more
So I sulk
Discarded and alone
Getting dusty
Hardly used any more
Smelling musty
There was a time long ago
When you loved me
You showed me off
When you made your friend's tea
You used to wash me and dry me
Make me feel smug
Now you've replaced me
With a tea bag in a mug
But today might be
My lucky day
I hear your Mother's
On her way
I know how fussy she can be
I know she'll insist
On a proper *** of tea
She'll turn up her nose
At your common mug
She'll want a nice tea ***
And a china cup
With some milk
From a proper milk jug
Nicki Tilston
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
You champion body kinetics like
Bend'd sentences playing played out words
Most foul animal howls crying out night
How I'd like to prowl and skulk around
Find out further great secret shames
To hide inside broken bone skull
Lulling me into security
A false paucity of pretty petty little
Nothings all coiled
Spoiled summer sausages
Rotten vermilion
carrion
Seeps
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
Me in my mirror, mirror
A ghoulish sight.
Awkward skulk
'A clay face'
As my nose says
'A dog snout'
As my eyes would say
Skin like a shelter
For bacterial catacombs
Rising up from under like undead
Screaming inside
I press my face into the right morph
Re-bend the crooked nose
Self-correct the bloated chin
I layer on more clay, then
Mold it again.
Re-mold some more.
Slice some off;
what am I now?
"Pretty." an ideal voice says
*********
My eyes are tired from staring
"They aren't lasers"
I tell myself
"They can't surgically correct you"
And So
goes another night.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
This world loses me, It is too much to bear,
The tornado wind and the butterfly, this mind and body are tired.
You are the crocodile in my nightmares, you snap at pride, you swallow my innocence, you killed the child inside me.
I survived.
I live on still and it is a wonder, though not the same; I am a skeleton in my own closet.
But I am many things:
A crook, a thief, a bandit,
a Grand-daughter,
and Easy Prey.
Will I love you? It screams to me, the blood of roses and fake promise of hope is poison.
I claw at my heart and the red wails at me,
like loving knives in my skin, the love is a lie and only pain.
Thorny tendrils of poison ivy wrap around my life and soul, the parasite that is You, ******* my light and vitality, piercing me, so I bleed slowly on your hands.
You killed the child inside me, and the Purgatory is there, as vivid in my dreams as the harsh sunlight, that exposing glare drowns my sleeves in red, my eyes in red, my hands in red.
The drug soothes me, warm fingers caressing my temples and bringing me a spinning numbness.
I sleep a restless sleep, memories that need to be remembered skulk in the darkness and torment me!
They hold my sanity in chains and I am blind...
Don't cry. Lift up your head. You are helpless,
your mother is not yours,
do not fail yourself.
The smell of blood, hot in the August night haunts me, it is metallic in my mouth,
and runs over my eyes;
so all I see is blood.
Sell your soul and seal it with blood, lose your innocence to karma.
The child within is dead, and you marry the empty shell.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Hunger-driven, you
skulk in the shadows,
waiting to prey upon
blissful souls.
Methodically you creep in unannounced
and deliver a painful, striking pierce from
your already blood-stained fang,
numbing all of my essence.
Skin swells. Muscles cramp. Bones ache.
My eyes fall dreary. I start to salivate,
desperately yearning to taste life again.
My heart races in fear of human contact.
Caught in a tangled web, I restlessly lay in bed for days.
The comforter is soaked
with sweat and tears. Screaming
into the pillow, I beg for relief.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Facing you, your reflection spins my vision
And I ask, but
Pupils dart with avoidance
Never fixing my gaze
Wanting you to link into me
To connect, look and meet my soul
No matter how intense or sublime
The pretence is mystifying, just know me
Wring out this beige appearance, then
Fetch the red carpet and roll it out
Wipe it clean
Stains shrinking into the pile of yesterday
Immerging free from the soundtrack of debris
Repeatedly spinning out your sorrow
I shoulder your pain and bear your shame
As you skulk and sink into oblivion
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
I’ll believe anything as long as it’s a lie
if I see a flash of falsehood
if you stumble over words that are freshly made up
if you wring your hands, play with your cuffs
impossibly arch those deep woven brows
I’ll be ****** in
compliant
desperately gullible
I’ll skulk around after you
forgive reprehensible actions
and just say “awww”
I’ll treat you like a god,
even better,
I need that **********
control from a higher being
I’ll worship you
make sacrifice
virginity, purity
body and soul
and then suddenly I’m at your door with a dead cat
and you’re wondering if it’s worth it.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
Slate skies
Stinging rain
No rainbows today.
Wicked laughter
from darkened houses
terrifies.
Defenestrated neighbors
Swing from ragged ropes
Tattered clothing
Exposes inhuman things
Soulless creatures
Skulk and lurk
patiently waiting
for beating hearts
Broken gravestones
hide terrified children
clutching iPads.
Fading light in a dark, dark
world
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Fantasy. Take a second look. This is literally one angle on the only fiance I've ever had. No joke. Mebbe see the sonnet titled "why did you hafta die?" next?
(sonnet # DCCCXXV)
We skidded round the corner and the p'lice
Were in our face. "Oh boy, we're out of space
Babe--just be brave, we're gonna win. Disgrace
Will keep them on our case 'til we decrease
Those ******** 'Til they skulk and beg for peace.
Now hang on tight"--(shifts in reverse)--"and brace
Yourself"--(tires squealing loudly)--"we'll retrace--
It might be hard--hold on--don't drop your piece!"
We ducked our heads, careening blythely through
A blockade, sending cars flying everywhere.
Out on the open road 'gain finally, too
Alert to miss a beat--"Get ready! Ere
You see them--fire! This is our rendezvous--"
We won at six. He's now their head. Take care.
05May12
D185c
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
But the view's fine from here,
they say, all carbon copy cloying concern.
They don't know that the sun doesn't rise
and set quite so exquisitely
when your sky
is on fire.
But the view's from fine here,
they maintain, as unsaid words skulk in the throat.
They don't notice the skin that burns and crackles
and stretches at a breaking point
that's been broken
for years.
But the view's fine from here,
they confirm. And then turn away.
They don't see what shouldn't be seen,
what eyes can't afford to shut
even as glass splinters
edge closer.
And they are right, really,
because their view truly is fine from here.
#BlackLivesMatter i
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
For every emotion songs have already been written:
poetries and sonnets,
angry beats and ****** ballads.
My more positive, happier self is an extra-terrestrial being
from galaxies far away:
No cutting off fins from sharks. Unlike lizards’ tails
fins don’t grow back.
Love. Respect.
No ceramic idols lining the windows
their empty gazes crawling up your spine.
No empty promises. No magic cures for baldness.
Phones on mute during class. Eat sensibly.
Take a breather – life is not a race
to the finish line. Have cleaner washrooms.
Less unwanted criticisms. Less trance.
Love thy country.
Pin-striped shorts
from M&S; Stronger will.
No slitting wrists or overdoses. Suspend disbelief.
No secret candy stashes. Do your laundry without being told.
Omit racism, misanthropy. Wilted flowers by the windowsill.
No secret phone calls in the middle of the night.
Who are you afraid of? Almost and nearly don’t count.
Come home.
Forgive favorite band for disappointing album.
Be kinder to puppies.
Brood, not rant. Skulk, not stalk.
Get my name right.
Don’t drink and drive.
There are no gays, no lesbians, only
people with feelings.
Fight, not flight.
Have more 24-hour pizza places.
Avoid politicians, traitors, lawyers.
No throwing around words like vociferance,
vociferate, vociferous.
Accept fate – don’t be a martyr;
One day everything fades
so hold on to
all your post-it memory
until every star
turns to dust.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
come let me lead you through my mind
where angels tremble in their sleep
for fear the waking makes them blind
within the darkness dank and deep
the shadows skulk and hiss and scream
and reach for me with outstretched hands
with greed they feast upon my dreams
and run amok in fallen sands
they know my name the one I keep
within a jar beside my bed
along with tears I've yet to weep
and words as yet I have not said
they'll come for me if er' I rest
and let my guard so foolish fall
but yet I have to pass the test
though mine own fear doth me appall
so walk my mind but be aware
to never stray from well worn path
for if you do your soul they'll snare
and you shall feel their pain and wrath
for broken minds ner' know no peace
no glue nor tape can ever mend
so run away my hand release
forsake me now I beg their friend.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
I thought,
I was impervious, armor
in place, attached to detachment
my pesky synapses
melted away in
a gray soup
protected,
pain exempt...
but **** you
come to me
in dreams
in Morpheus grip
you slip in, those menacing faces
I managed to block, return
to mock me
the jeers to which
I made myself deaf, are now soprano, alto, bass
in my nocturnal symphony
those who malign me
are free to walk on my grave:
to them and all others I am
but slumbering slave
I can not choose
when to wake, to end your reign
but if I could, you would then skulk
a bit in my skull's dark den
waiting for my weary eyes
to close again
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
what happens to an effluvium held in?
does it seep through minuscule pores in the skin?
or does it skulk out like the phrase, "silent but deadly"?
does it stink like choking sulfur mined?
or does just hang close to one’s behind?
perhaps it leaves a telltale mark
and even causes your dog to bark
does it tell the smeller’s olfactory
something revealing about thee?
or are effluvia all about the same
whether ‘tis prince or pauper to blame?
alas, all we hominids produce several pounds
of the aromatic elixir each day
making it fairly safe to say
that holding it in would be a ****** crime
and cutting a big one hardly makes one less sublime
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
that numb? it will waver.
that skulk? turn into droop
step. bent neck sunblasted
central park rowboat; gone.
i lost both oars
in one oafless rift
arcing through the purple air
sat stunned and helpless
as we drifted and you
laughed.
that’s kind of
what this
is like.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
in the corner
where giant walls join, he stares
at me, or the painting on the sky
of drywall behind me
if my mate spots him, she
will demand martial action
I am to skulk across the laminate field
and use the mighty broom
then, the dustpan
scooping his carcass up
for the grave, beside the cat
in the yard
squirrels, pestiferously perched
on my fence, teeth sharp courtesy of my
redwood trim, will watch
no, I won't listen to my spouse,
and execute an overgrown mouse
I'll let him squeeze through the planks
and go where royal rodents go
still, I may go hunting yet--my prey?
those furry tailed acorn chiselers, who ravage
my redwood with impunity...
(they think)
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
*
Wolves hide among the fragrant flowers
Skulk, stalk, pounce, and bite into their prey
****** their maws, their canine, their fang
Don the fleece of the white sheep
Rip out the innards
Garbed in white
Draped like a cloak of purity
*
Wolves hide in cathedrals
Stalk among the pews
Furs streaked with blood, coated
Defile sanctity
Impregnate
Virginity with something vile
Dark, putrid, and false
*
She sees the wolf in you
Hears it in words that you utter
Sees it in words that you write
Drunk, sober, aware, unaware
Smells the blood on your maw
Smells the pennies in your breath
Faint, odorous
*
Wolves like you
Hiding in fleece
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
There is a morgue in my bedroom.
Past all the happy memories,
Hidden in my closet,
The dead lie, waiting.
It contains deceased memories, relationships
Expired love.
In the form of stuffed animals, cards, notes, pictures
I hide my grief.
Some may call it a cemetery, but it is not.
It is not a resting place for the dead,
but a place for restless memories to skulk.
A haunting ground.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
Sits between twin bluffs burrowing into neon souls
long to be seen in a future frame of corpses and flipping
through the lenses of the kaleidoscope 1916 or there abouts.
Mr Edison took full advantage of the moment transitioning for all time the boundaries.Maybe Muybrige in1888.
The here and now. The real and surreal. the equation is now unbalanced.
Is seeing now believing? or is believing a reason to see.
The proof is in the putting.
Dead men long digested in soil and ground can still emit sound and point a blame-full finger
Linger if you dare in the baleful stare of the science.
quiet, silence, desist. No
even virtue can not still the burning light.
cellulose spirits on walkabout lookout from the past again and again
flickering things they be. conjure you as well as you conjure them.
The end is sight at the bottom of the hill
steel rails to nowhere still squeal to silence,
The riders swing free and lite on Italian loafers and
skulk away. padded shoulders conceal weak wills and
weaker hearts still.
Silver screen visual refraction
once there for all to admire must now bow deeply.
Curtsy?
Vanish and still remain at the pointed end of it.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
the skulk was mostly *****
hens were haunted by either gender
the farmer's wife also feared them
though small and they ran from most two-legged beasts
the farmer shot the foxes for sport--guarding chickens not his concern with a thousand acres in corn
the farmer's son had trapped a red Reynard
it perished in captivity, starving itself
the night of the caged fox's demise, the rooster crowed tirelessly
for good reason, since the leash gobbled a dozen hens under a waning gibbous moon
the creatures prosecuted a moral symmetry it seemed
while the farmer was febrile with the grippe, the son fast asleep, and the wife dared not make a peep
witnessing a crimson carnage she likened to war
in its aftermath, a naked sun rose on waves of white feathers and scarlet trails of blood
perhaps 'tis not good to trap a wild thing, the farmer's wife mused
then she made her way to the coops, fetching enough eggs for breakfast
all the while the skulk watched from the thick brush
watched and waited, without will as we know it
but with a red reckoning ready, should they again be victims
of man's folly and sin
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
I don't know you, --
That's the cold, sad fact, --
And most days
I suspect there isn't much to know.
I know this
Because I know how it feels to love you.
Because loving you
Is like looking out the window
Into the street
When it's far too late
And even the hoodlums are asleep.
Loving you
Is like looking into the street
At midnight
When everyone's asleep
And it isn't raining.
The wind just blows uselessly
Rustling leaves
Reminding you that you can still breathe.
Loving you
Is like looking out the window at midnight
And walking away
Only feeling that you need to go to sleep
Because all the world around you seems dead.
Because loving you
Is like watching a show
Where all the actors have perfected their craft
And love to wear masks.
Loving you
Is like going to watch a show
That you know you've seen a million times.
The actors could convince you that they were working themselves to the very bone
And all you'd want
Is to doze off in the theater's cushioned velvet seats.
Loving you
Is like seeing a play
That's so ****** familiar
It makes you sick to think of watching it again
And yet
You'll never know how it feels
To watch it from backstage --
Not that you'd ever want to.
Because loving you
Is like loving the void, --
A black hole, that sits and swallows up everything
At your dinner table.
You'll say that you hate it
Curse its name as it ***** up
Your beef roast
Your silverware
Your fine china
Begging for dessert
Just before it latches on to your arm.
But deep down, you know
You'll just keep feeding it
Mindlessly tossing useless solutions in its direction
To satiate its beastly appetite.
You'll hurl things at it
With ferocious anger
Sneer
At its revolting belch.
"Don't ask me for anything else," you'll mumble as you skulk away
Only to press the reset button
And start setting the table
For the next day.
But I'll never think any of these things
Because loving you
Is looking as deep as you can
And finding...
Nothing.
Nothing!
Nothing...
Truly
Loving you
Is like loving a black hole.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC