Famous Scuttling Poems by Famous Poets

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...dly

muscular. We cannot
know what his fantastic
legs were like--

though evidence
suggests eight
complexly folded

scuttling works
of armament, crowned
by the foreclaws'

gesture of menace
and power. A gull's
gobbled the center,

leaving this chamber
--size of a demitasse--
open to reveal

a shocking, Giotto blue.
Though it smells
of seaweed and ruin,

this little traveling case
comes with such lavish lining!
Imagine breathing

surrounded by
the brilliant rinse
o...Read More

...and those with money
and lakefront homes would open
their verandas and offer trays

of cucumber sandwiches to the poor
scuttling along the fringes of their lawns
looking for holes in the concertina wire.
Of course I had to share this ocean
of acceptance and was soon on the phone
with a woman from Nogales whose hips

had gone steady with mine. I told her
I was over her by pretending I was just
a friend calling to say the Snow Drops
had nuzzled through dirt to shake
th...Read More

...l have a more reverberant ado
About her than about another one
Who seems to have decoyed him, married him,
And sent him scuttling on his way to London, -- 
With much already learned, and more to learn,
And more to follow. Lord! how I see him now,
Pretending, maybe trying, to be like us.
Whatever he may have meant, we never had him;
He failed us, or escaped, or what you will, -- 
And there was that about him (God knows what, -- 
We'd flayed another had he tried it on u...Read More

...ds the end of the
avenue of course,
one hand on his chest,
one flung out to the side as he dances,
 taps, sings,
on his scuttling toes, now humming a little,
now closing his eyes as he twirls, growing smaller,
why does the sun rise? remember me always
 dear for I will
return -- 
liberty spooring in the evening air,
into which the lilacs open, the skirts uplift,
liberty and the blood-eye careening gently over 
 the giant earth,
and the cat in the doorway who does not
 mistake ...Read More

...en floor
my legs waving upwards like the fronds of ferns
and in my mind
gigantic screaming monsters
or the mystery ship
scuttling crablike to the shore

i am lost to the spell of words
the enchantment of sea in the silent shell
i hear nothing apart from that racing world
alive in this room through my staring eyes
and the hush of my stifled breath
i miss the passing of time
the gale outside
and the very loud knock at the door...Read More

...s are unrivalled:
The fat garden spider sits motionless, amidst or at the heart
Of the orb of its web: other kinds run,
Scuttling across the floor, falling into bathtubs,
Trapped in the path of its own wrath, by overconfidence
 drowned and undone.

Other kinds - more and more kinds under the stars and
 the sun -
Are carnivores: all are relentless, ruthless
Enemies of insects. Their methods of getting food
Are unconventional, numerous, various and sometimes
 hilarious:...Read More

...rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its cri...Read More

...ginning to sparkle like sand 
Pulling out the tarred poles we slept propped-up on leaning to sea 
As in land-wind crabs scuttling from under the floor as we took runs about 
Two more porch-pillars and looked out and saw something a fish-flash 
An almighty fin in trouble a moiling of secret forces a false start 
Of water a round wave growing in the whole of Cumberland Sound the one ripple. 
Payton took off without a word I could not hold him either 

But clung to the rope ...Read More

...with you it's different. You can go away,
And oh, what a fool you'd be to stay.

XLVIII 
Rabbits in the park, 
Scuttling as we pass, 
Little white tails 
Against the green grass. 
'Next time, Mother, 
I must really bring a gun, 
I know you don't like shooting, 
But—!' John's own son, 
That blond bowed face, 
Those clear steady eyes, 
Hard to be certain 
That the dead don't rise.
Jogging on his pony
Through the autumn day,
'Bad year for fruit, Mother,
But good...Read More

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