"skulks" poems
Under the orange
street lights
it's 3am
Longing to find him,
she skulks alone
in the dark
And as London sleeps
her cries go unheard
by all but one
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
I.
Mistletoe kisses
for the hordes of giddy folk
alcohol in blood
--------------------
II.
Presents covered up
just to be unwrapped again
a colourful waste
--------------------
III.
Evening skulks along
terrible television
Quality Street tin
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
Jar of my teeth
Sitting on the windowsill
Where I sip matcha tea
Rejuvenate maturity
Hear Him rap the door
Tok tik tok
Sixth time this week
Why am I in shock?
Thrives off fossils like me,
Dust in the crevices
Paper for skin
For thirty years
Dead ********
I let Him in
Skulks around the place
Morbid clothes and beard
But a welcoming face.
I sip matcha tea
Last drop in my cup
Shakes his head in pity
Pouring new life
On my infancy
Never any luck,
Offers me lily tea
Resist no more
Brews life inside of me
Fills my lungs with streams
Freeing to not breathe
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
I have a most insistent cat
who skulks unseen into my den,
hides until the moment that
I start to write. Precisely then
she figure-eights around my feet,
nudging nose beneath my thigh.
Next jumps upon the desk, competes
for my complete attention by
a feline strut across the keys
with tail furled proudly in the air.
She then descends upon my knees;
her work done, nests without a care.
Just showing me her catty side,
or budding poet? You decide.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
An irrational animal gets high
From the ravenous pump of its own tongue,
Nursing wounds of a disease untreated.
His fat meat skulks through marbled corridors
Around eyes that assign value to worth,
Fixated on transactions to be paid.
The ring and flash of victory courses
Through his silken veins and opens his mouth
To swallow the pride of the defeated
Reflection in a puddle of his own
Drool, clinging shakily from toothless dogs,
Addicted to the peak and crash of trade.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
As I wander down, twisting paths,
Low leaden skies, threatening rain,
Leaves drift down like confetti,
As winter awakens, once again.
Trees, their branches almost bare,
Rake and claw, at a heavy sky,
Thrashing impotently to be free,
As searching winds, rustle on by.
Bracken, faded yellow and brown,
So cloying with the scent of death,
A decaying, withering, tangled mass,
Autumn steals a last, silent breath.
Frost creeps in, coating the ground,
Painting trees and hedgerows white.
Woodland life, skulks and hides,
Avoiding the snap of winter’s bite.
Shortening days: lengthening nights,
Are forcing temperatures to fall,
A babbling brook becomes silenced,
The Ice-queen spreads her shawl.
Rain soon becomes transmogrified,
Within raging blizzards of snow,
Winter heralding an early arrival,
With a cool, breath-taking show.
Oh so cold, but I won’t complain,
For merciless winter simply laughs,
My breath pants in foggy plumes,
As I wander down, twisting paths.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 6:48 AM UTC
The lady shuffles,
spindly feet across the wooden fence.
A blood red bug
flecked with dark black circles.
It’s as though a child
has painted her flimsy wings.
White marks
on her head like lights on a dark road.
Sunlight skulks up
to where she now stands.
I blink
and she chooses to whizz away.
A minute crimson blur
against the forget-me-not sky.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
Quarter past midnight she silently skulks the forsaken streets
Dressed in a jet black trench coat cloaked by horrific flashbacks
Suppressed within a harrowing masquerade of profound sorrows
Daunting tears of shame gently ooze from the roots of her tear ducts
Uncontrollably they trickle down the surface of her somber cheeks
A majestic shadow of fear trails behind her in the swift breeze
Stalking her every breath, her every word her every move
And every quirky little rhythm of her eccentric groove
You see in this woman's eyes love was such a rare concept
Every night she gave away what men thought was true love
Yet in reality their imaginations were running away with the wind
Every word that was said, every emotion that was bled all fake
This kind hearted woman was loved for someone who she wasn't
Around her town she was labeled the queen of the mattresses
But underneath is it really worth sacrificing her integrity?
Is it worth ruining her identity, her dignity, her self esteem?
Tell me where is the sense in selling herself to the dogs?
And giving them permission to violate her rightful privacy
Her cranium had blatantly been rocked too hard against those sheets
And now she has lost herself along with the rest of the harlots
All because she sold her soul to the shaft of Satan's *****
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 4:40 AM UTC
I.
A glimm'ring rainbow greets a saint
flown that frigid morn.
Heaven's gained another darling
but Earth's adoring hearts are torn.
II.
Upon the solemn school descends a bitter pall;
sadness skulks about the classrooms
and drifts about each hall.
Carpets, desks, paper, tests
are marked by tears that freely fall.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
*Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines.....
The blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene,
the rats make themselves at home,
feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades.....
the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery....
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and our unholiest of homes......
"The tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....*
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
wake up, in a mood
feeling like dog ****
after a night of restlessness
stumble out of bed,
to the bathroom
to relieve yourself,
the dog comes up
with his “good morning” stretch
and a gentle bump from his muzzle
then its over to the kitchen
for a glass of water, or OJ,
whatever is more convenient
then to the wood stove
re-start the fire from the
embers of yesterday
realising there isn’t
enough wood and then
have to go to the shed
the raccoon that has made
the shed his home
skulks near the back
trying not to be seen
by the flashlight
or the over excited dog
who knows it’s there
fill the bag with wood
picking pieces that will
keep the fire going all day
some smaller lighter fir
mixed with heavier arbutus
haul it back inside
dog ever at heels
crumple up pieces of the
free newspaper
arrange embers, fresh wood
and paper to allow quick re-lighting
leave door open a quarter inch
to allow adequate airflow
head to office in basement
check email
not that anything of use ever arrives
check news
not that anything of relevance
happened overnight
head back upstairs to
check on fire
dog ever at heels
close wood stove door
head back downstairs
put on shoes, coat, hat
grab leashes
take dogs on morning walk
return,
make breakfast
eat while making lunch
usually tempeh with steamed veg,
or tofu with rice/noodles
or something similar
pack lunch
get fresh underwear, socks
and shirt for work
head to basement bathroom
shower
think of how easy life is
when there is no one around
to complicate it
life alone would be ideal
you get things done
on time
there’s no interruptions
no one else to consider
just you and the tasks at hand
get dressed
still thinking of how
well suited you are to life alone
walk into bedroom
dog ever at heel
see her sleeping
hear the silence punctuated
only by her slow steady breathing
realise that without her
you would be lost
nothing
kiss her cheek
tell her you love her
trudge out into the world
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 6:43 AM UTC
Curtain up on cardboard courtyard, spotlight moon frames first figure seated
Logeverchy ~ Ache not solemn heart for solitude of beat tears night asunder,
leaving my breast a hollow soul, as I alone am left to wonder.
Wait whom skulks in shadows midst and pry's on secret pain,
come hither phantom make intention known or as my heart be slain.
Vanalausch ~ Tis I my lord your honoured bondsman see my hand a letter,
scented with a hint of promise, from the Maiden of Valetta.
Logeverchy ~ Can it be nay be away foul night vapours of fetid cheese
and with your words and false hopes another may ye tease.
oh if but for a chance halt, again to me and may in truth
Thy proffered offering give unto doubtful mind unreputed proof.
Curtain falls and again rises on silk draped bed chamber where a maid attends her lady
Anvibility ~ If er' heaven blest so sweet a union let it be this night
and may his heart on feathered wings be given up to flight.
Nuxominal ~ Hush lest your words meet with unwelcome ears
and give voice to tongue to speak aloud my fears.
Hast thou not heard the footfalls upon yonder stair,
I know not what evil deed awaits my true love there.
Anvibility ~ I will away and light a lamp and place it by the door,
if only now to settle thee and to guide to thee amour.
Curtain closes and reopens painted canvas corridor with candle flickering
Logeverchy ~ Be it ever thus that so simple a light could herald me such hope
for two in stolen moments steal away and into night elope.
Door is opened by Anvibility and Logeverchy enters bed chamber as Nuxominal looks up
Anvibility ~ Harken my words and be away let not this moment bind you,
the horses and provisions wait lest now her father find you.
exit stage left lights fade curtain falls and all is quiet..
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:46 AM UTC
I have been living on a diet
of cigarettes and digestive biscuits.
My bowels empty into the System
and my hunger concedes
to the supermarket glow;
bigger names
under surgical lights.
The operation was not successful.
You can see it in the grey faces,
upturned collars;
that manic headphone stare.
The lone smoker skulks a bus-stop
like angry eczema
on a bride's upper lip.
I see it for myself now.
How crowds congregate by light,
stamens of fat and sachets of salt,
then separate as sadness
cuts through the delusion;
working poverty and panic attacks
on the hard kitchen floor.
The ache of anxiety
caught up with you again.
Self-imposed catastrophes pile up
as you find yourself walking against
the grain of lunatics passing your way.
The pupae gather and slaver
at their freedom;
you broke through The Promise.
I followed the path of your recovery.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
The shadow hangs behind me
Stalks me, skulks around me in the brilliant sunlight.
Not even attempting to hide from me.
It's always hanging around, pressed to the sidewalk.
I become accustomed to its constant presence,
Forgetting that it still lingers at my feet.
But when it makes itself known to me again,
I freeze.
The knowledge that he is always there,
Fills me with dread.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
For every knight, an adventure awaits.
He traverses through the perilous chasms
of the demons of his reality,
Even the slog of Belphegor's swamp,
or the field of chivalry
where other knights dare challenge him,
Nothing will impede the quest for his princess.
His confidence: his steed,
His willpower: his armor,
but his Excalibur is nothing more than his desire,
to which cuts down everything that obstructs his way.
The fire blazing in his heart
immolates his entire being,
The trailblazer will charge toward his princess.
But quietly, the silver snake rattles behind him.
With each link, it constricts:
tightening, choking, draining,
Frantic he turns,
desperately reaching to find this adversary.
The scaly one skulks through unnoticed
but ever present it stalks his pray,
And finally after binding his beloved freedom,
His princess is left waiting
Metallic wheezes of his steed
scratch through the air like nails on a chalkboard,
littered on the bloodstained grass
lay shattered remains of his breastplate torn asunder.
His most treasured blade now dulled,
incapable of cutting through the thirst of his ambition
The knight is draped across the floor,
a doormat to an abandoned home,
With his final breath his last thoughts are of his Rapunzel,
as his torch finally extinguishes.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Adorned by crimson attire
Fangs bared a woman skulks
her designated target
engraved within her mind
though the framework of her bones
ensnares the prey of which she seeks
the universal populace
she yearns to vitiate
by way of the libidinous tones
radiating from betwixt her lips
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
You are allowed to guffaw at me, considering what came before this.
(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXXI)
Snow. Likeas if what, eh? mists' fragile veil
Haunts gathring darkness as white caps from hence
That thought of April in the wings, suspense
Put back to sleep with frozen kisses' scale
Of niceness was't? Rain's tripping through t'avail
Culled naked lawns in yellowed Death, which thence
Are tucked 'neath that chill coverlid, and whence
Straps on its boots 'gainst crunching forth, hope pale?
Nah. It is Janry still, and violets' tour
Shall not be guaranteed until the dew
Once more rests silver on green carpets fer
Soft light and warmer hours lost under blue
Skies nary iciness skulks in as twere.
Tonight we'll shiver, glad the furnace knew.
14Jan18c
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
*Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines and the blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene, the rats
make themselves at home feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades while the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and unholiest of homes, "the tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
constantly by our commanders
but on the contrary
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....*
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
A hunk of bakelite
Clothed in dusty silk
Skulks in the basement,
Silently shrilling
In disconnected tones.
Beside it, on the shelf,
A well-worn Polaroid,
Neatly boxed in original packaging,
Wonky tripod pointedly retracted.
A faded leather wrist-strap
Clings to a yellow stained face,
Where bent fingers forever recall
Three-thirty-eight-and-seventeen-seconds.
Products of a generation
That raced off to chase the ever new,
Never standing still,
Onwards and onwards, until
One day when they come
To sit upon the shelf,
And to reminisce
Of all that might have been.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
Deep inside, he can feel it.
A deficiency of hope lives within him.
It skulks about his heart effortlessly.
He's become all too familiar with the feeling of loneliness.
It hides behind his humble smile.
Although ever present, it will never rob him of his kindness.
Deep inside, he can feel it.
That he may never be whole again.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
This is what can happen if you let the fragment of a suggestion play itself out. Dangerous? Perhaps.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLX)
One dead leaf that October left fr'intents
Behind for old time's sake, 'non dances, pale
And lonely 'cross the naked blacktop, frail
Or homeless where snow skulks in cold suspense,
(To hunker down like yielding is pretense)
Its fragile essence like ours as th'exhale
Drives it on forward, March' winds chill detail
As our iniquities til Death. Ah, whence?
I had this notion there was more as twere.
Like, if we bide our time, Spring shall 'gain woo
As wont. But if you hear the Scriptures fer
Lo, even this dead leaf, all pales. The crew
Of happy souls on Instagram, and poor
Lil me none knows, will answer, LORD, to...You.
10Mar19b
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
He skulks around late at night, all hollow
innocence to swallow, beast within burns
his fire - demonic Dorian Gray, an infinity
of void, reflecting through mirrors of lead
The blood is the lifeforce of the words, it flows
it's the rhythm that keeps on flowing, crimson --
Lifeforce within, flowing, like rivers in some
******* babylon, baby, pregnancy of the earth boom boom
vampire bite, what a fright, burned eyes boo boo --
trapped in this zoo, man - caged beast, man.
Every man is a caged beast, controlled and
tied up, flawed creature, bashing head against the bars
and poets? They are the most flawed of all, dreaming of
escape, no hope, scraping the claws against the wall.
Red crimson lifeforce flows, big bang bachelors
drinking in noir nights, feeling the fright of the
big girls against the ceilings, their dreaming lips
which siren lust and *** screaming in the night
siren. Bountiful **** *******
Sirens of *** burning in the night, hemp smoking in
the corner, drink more, smoke more, **** more, feel more -
red - red - red - red
blood / blood / blood
Give it in, keep it burning in your veins, through the heart
that brain, it needs something to keep on ticking
like the grandfather clock, tick tock tick tock
feed your **** red crimson moon, find a girl
treat her right, be tight with the devine
that feline moma won't wait around forever
so don't expect her too, just treat her right
be tight, and hold her in the night, out of sight
nebula dreams with your love, sozzled right.
Wasted and burnt by your eyes.
Seal her red within with your tears of divinity
and bleed for her too when you need to.
Red, like the colour of a rose,
or at least the bleeding of a moon.
Bada bing, bada boosh.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
The goddess of the spent moon skulks to her feathery bed of fiery dawn.
Wrens through the uplands wend the fence weft with piecemeal straw.
Lips painted like pomegranate groves, dashed with fructifying sweets.
A kiss is a far-off and warm opening of lips like the sun into forest gleams.
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
Torture skulks around in thought
When it grows constant.
However sweet or illogical,
The mind will groan under the weight of it’s presence.
And when remembering on continually
Becomes habitual,
Comfort can be found
In the harsh throb of reminiscence.
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 11:18 AM UTC
Love the sentiment of fools I concede
By betrayal it was banished from my breast
It is absent from my soul
Replaced by a cool dissecting glance
One of acknowledgement
But offered only by chance
I cannot love
Barely acknowledging affection
More likely my response to approach
Rejection
And upon deep penetrative reflection
'I have no desire to be worshiped or admired from near or afar
As they say my soul lit afire in exhilaration
With a flame that will never be quenched
To grasp for a star that is beyond my reach
An unending yearning that will never cease
A spirit that will find no peace
I will not love
Swearing my oath to he who is good above
And to he who skulks below
For to them it is already known
I will not love
All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Oct.12, 2017.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC