"zounds" poems
Animals in Antarctica
All drinking liquor
Ice on the flow of water
Some snow there as well
Zounds of baby walrus shrimp
The have big beards, they are so weird
The baby walrus shrimp!
William James
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
A quiet night,
a windy night,
a night...
for battle
I stalk the corners,
scan the windows,
watching...
for battle
My keeper sleeps,
safe in his dreams,
confident...
he will survive the night
A sound...
Zounds!
A foe in the dark!
He attacks!
Dodge! Jump! Roll!
We tumble and grapple,
my master wakes!
A light stuns my foe,
I deal the killing blow,
he stood no chance...
This string shall hurt my master no more!
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
I can't stand
I can't like
I can't stomach
Shakespeare
It turns my tummy
And sickens me
"o'er" the toilet I *****
God, I hate Shakespeare
"'Sblood!" they shout in his plays
"'Zounds!" they may say
But nay say they may say
For may be, no, nay be.
And you might wonder
What the heck have I written above
And I respond "I know not"
Because Shakespearean writing *****
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
I love
the way
zounds
rhymes with
hounds.
Sadly,
it is not
the sixteenth
century,
and I don't
own dogs.
- mce
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
Silenced stories of restless scythe,
They broke the swarms, drove through the night.
Contagious wound, shrapnel and bite;
Friend now foe, come morning light.
Blood-stained walls of every height,
Repressing zounds of res extensa wight.
Bar up the exits, show no light;
They hide in shadow, starve themselves at night.
Hell's devilish approach, we face God's wrath;
An alliance we form, an escape we path.
Betrayal a necessity, fight for our own.
A dozen to ten, ten cuts me alone.
Tread lightly, tread lightly,
Shelter in fear.
No God and no hope,
There's no one left here.
They ambush me now, ten thousand to one,
I've found a companion, just me and my gun.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
Ive lost track of time,
the hours slip by
for near an eternity,
there as been no sign...
Of movement
The Thing is...
Zounds! It stirs!
Crawling, pushing, squirming;
it disgusts me
I feel my mind race,
muscles tense,
Weapons at the ready...
I attack!
The beast retreats,
as I strike
Coward...
I think to myself
crouching down once more
Yet it puzzles me
whenever The Thing and I met
He always hides...
Under my masters Feet
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC
Bouncing bubbles, thin dew stands jubilant
Atop Poppie’s vibrant, happy colour.
Poppies in summer time are in a trance,
Smiling rapturously: scarlet music!
C notes rise on a breeze, crimson follows
In a waltz, a samba- zounds, Fiddlesticks!
The garden would be desperately hollow,
Daffodils mope until crimson rhythm
Bursts spontaneous, famous elation
Ricochets, the hanging baskets fathom,
The chain braking freedom born stagnation.
Poppies will dance for the rest of their lives
And drink the sweet nectar, high as a kite.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 4:33 AM UTC
Sinful and sticky among the shadows
I confound brilliant devils beyond the water
Ahhh! The ***** will vanish
Dark and sensuous against the shadows
I transform dull witches above the mist
Zounds! The thought is done
Sinful and green before the fog
We confound glowing flames beneath the mud
Awaken! The stink was hard
scared tired
saying goodbye
a sense of danger
Where in the end
the lost man
come singing
not knowing why
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC