Best Crawling Poems
Description: This piece deals with lies and deception...really....I am actually
quite serious here.
You are twenty years older than me, yet so captivating, but yesterday is too close
and tomorrow...
full
of
regret,
as I am caught between your deception and the warmth between your thighs.
You know that I am a creature of the wind...
Wild.
Tame.
Free.
But honest.
Your playground is a battlefield where you conquer...defeat...destroy self-respect
with shattered glass and discontent.
I say goodbye with a straight face, although I feel as a ghost; no one will know
about the gashes that will long remain on my spine, or the muddy secrets
concealed within the lines of my hand.
My black eyes silently scream from your indifference, especially when I lie in bed
at night...
alone.
After all, if you don't want me; then, please...
stop climbing on top of me.
Categories:
crawling, confusion, lost love, passion,
Form:
Free verse
"Romance in the Time of Crawling"
We wait in hibernation
for the great release
into a 2nd coming maybe
a 3rd, a 4th, a 5th
it’s a joyful death
the pain on entry
where oceans break
the certainty of all
that is shore
the harbour opens
we sail forward
through bloody waters
into a new territory
the washing machine
cycle, load and dry
the vacuuming of floor
grounded, we are
lustily put to bed
lusciously all wrapt up
in those hot little deaths
stimulus to create
something better
of ourselves
borne again
it’s like looking
into the eyes
of a mirror
for a little while
the distant sound
of seagulls waiting
for their feed
crying loudly
to be fed
milk and honey
in the let down
drawn back in through
tiny sharp succubous lips
adored little vampires
that suck the life out of you
like air to breathe
you hold in your arms,
you hold your breath
for a little sleep,
you no longer sleep
you’d do it
all over again
romance in the time
of crawling
like an infant
crossing the line
learning to let go
the lessons
in the value of repeat
no open casket viewing
high 5 requiem me
Lavendar street
swimming again
diving into the deep end
with bathers at Balmoral
ashes like snow
falling into the ocean
moving against your skin
to live the dream again
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
dimensions.
Categories:
crawling, muse, passion, romance,
Form:
Narrative
Crawling Snake or Insect
Why is it so many people may create waves?
While wanting all of us to be their slaves
Because they can control, lie, cheat and steal
Around them uncomfortable we forever feel.
Most of us are mature as well as fully grown,
And always enjoy living lives on our own
In ourselves seldom do we have any doubt
Are willing to give while helping others out.
Maybe some, by me, they feel forced upon
And along their same way I have not gone
Because I was being and became independent
People became against me feeling vehement.
Guess these days that is the way things go
On TV are receiving an account blow by blow
Not at all and no way can crawling snake or insect
Ever, ever be able to gain any of my respect.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Categories:
crawling, allegory, analogy, depression,
Form:
Couplet
is there a little premeditation ~ to scratch an irritation
or a bit of an itch ~ to tackle a rash without hesitation
said a flea to a hive ~ it’s only my lousy interpretation
By
David Kavanagh
Categories:
crawling, imagination, insect, perspective,
Form:
Monoku
Do I understand what love is?
Have I fallen into it before?
Convincing myself I knew not
Possibly I tried in my youth
Now younger days have passed me by
Still I know nothing of love
Walking towards it
At a mere crawl
I write pages of it
But all turn to a scrawl
Giving of myself, selfless to be
Can I love another past the faults
Like I tried to love you all
Wanting to be open inside
Barren heart fill up with joys
Oh, how I try, then I feel to die
Will I ever feel love?
Attempt to make you smile
Do I really want love?
Or just the idea if it?
Categories:
crawling, love hurts,
Form:
Romanticism
words
crawl
out
of
an
exhausted
brain
collide
onto
a
virtual
page
sigh
on
a
vicious
stage
Categories:
crawling, dark, society, words, writing,
Form:
Free verse
LOOK AT EM CRAWLING...
At the old Darreel pub out near Mungindi....
Trapper Joe he rode up, he come from Boggabri...
The DTs were bad with this poor old bugger Jack...
Look at em crawling he did mutter ...
And his rolling eyes were slack....
Joe wandered to a sandhill caught six mulga snakes for fun... (mulga snakes most deadly
poisonous)...
The tie wire tied their mouths shut, all in the bag cept one...
Joe White went back to the pub with a plan to help old bugger Jack....
As he dropped the snakes upon him they slithered out the sack...(millions of mulga snakes
in Australia)...
Jack he rose up a screaming casting snakes about the bar...
And he ran into the timber swearing off the beer hurrah.....
(Jack was cured that day )....
The undertaker said to Joe sell me a black horse....
I have one said old Joe all black yes of course...
A bit of white on Josies face boot polish it would do...
A week later she came back and the undertaker too...
I need another black horse Joe,... this white star ones for you...
Shes just a little flawed i'll sell her cheap to you...
Joe said
So she buried 13 Platts at Mungindi....Don Johnson...
Joe White my GGrandfather had a special ointment , ...a mixture of...
arsenic bluestone and axle grease..
In the early 1900s medicine was touch and go , poisons nasty drugs so deadly all were used
by the medico, not the knife for big ball billy 50-50 die that way,
Bettere get another keg stop the murrays chanting hey...
see big ball billy on youtube /johnsondon2
They'd ask Joe is it any good Joe the ointment? Joe said not much good ...only that it
would heal up a dorgs ass in 2 days and grow hair on it in the 3rd day
If you got swamp cancer on your horse you smeared the ointment on it and it cleared
up...Would kill a cancer growth on a horse...
Nickabilla Bob asked Joe White what he had for old Lumpy, Lumpy had a cancer on his nose .
So Joe gave some ointment in a tobacco tin Bob came back later and said the cancer was
gone now
Categories:
crawling, funnyold, horse, old, cancer,
Form:
Rhyme
I had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled me to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking my heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
My aching back, reminds me of a night of stooped typing
And my dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening my eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, I meet the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
My tongue dampened, I lean back to remember the reason
Why did I need to be shaken from my unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain my existence
Would I be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to my feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, I kiss my sleeping wife's brow
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting my suspenders, my wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
I evaluate my current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In my castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in my ears, about debt and health
Watching my wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
I laugh, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During my day, I continue to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of my eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of my cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
My loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
I freshen my drink and am silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Categories:
crawling, lifewife, me, high school,
Form:
Quatrain
Words, Like Crawling Babies, Creep
By Rick Rucker
Words, like crawling babies, creep,
Through my mind, as I sleep,
They roam around, and then depart,
Leaving me to finish what they start,
Sometimes, not an easy task,
I must don my “poet” mask,
It helps me to summon my Muse,
Whose talents I can sorely use!
Words and phrases race inside my skull,
Leave me wishing for a lull,
That would allow me the Time,
To fit them in some form of Rhyme,
Another almost sleepless night,
Perhaps one day, I shall get this right.
Categories:
crawling, introspection, me, me,
Form:
Couplet
When I start to tear up I think of a ladybug crawling and how It must be fooled to think
there's really raindrops falling. So I store my tears away to save that ladybug from the rain.
Now when I want to smile I think of a forgotten nation were children always starve and
they've got no education then I think of how silly It must be to smile just for me so I
close my eyes bow my head and pray then I give my smile away.
Now when I get really mad and yes I sometimes do, I think of a mother who lost her child
to violence. I think of a dog beaten to death because he simply couldn't protest I put my
anger away thinking how there's already enough and I might just overflow the cup then I
make a friend I smile again so everything's okay I let anger go for a cloudy day somewhere
far away.
I think back to how I saved a ladybug from the rain and realize I made a hero Into me today.
Categories:
crawling, animals, childhood, happiness, hope,
Form:
Letting It fade into the palm.
if only I scrubbed with greased elbow.
Why do I entertain such scorpions
with ebony reflective shells.
I walk to the car looking
excepting to see the previous.
Always seeing it, always believing it.
Time is to heal, but time is the infirmity.
Talking on the phone is pathetic
for this toxic hermitage.
Talking nostalgic day dreams
As you stand dead in front.
Little faith. this medicine can penetrate
I just sit and Slowdrag.
The fly mind, should just sit,
Web kills in struggle.
Sticking to butterfly bones
Killing me softly with my memories.
Look at the chaff palm green.
Some how that does not scare you.
The wiggling insects are force feeding
the fly should just sit.
web of rainbow, but tarring wings.
Categories:
crawling, art,
Form:
Free verse
He had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled him to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking his heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
His aching back, reminds him of a night of stooped typing
And his dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening his eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, he meets the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
His tongue dampened, he leans back to remember the reason
Why did he need to be shaken from his unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain his existence
Would he be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to his feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, he kisses his sleeping wife
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting his suspenders, his wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
He evaluates his current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In his castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in his ears, about debt and health
Watching his wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
He laughs, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During his day, he continues to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of his eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of his cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
His loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
He freshens his drink and is silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Categories:
crawling, life, wife, high school,
Form:
Quatrain
My four chambered heart wants you
Make up, your capital mind babe,
For I'm begging u
'Cause your lips are a medication.
#TmTs
Categories:
crawling, longing,
Form:
Free verse
I feel the time is creeping like a vine,
upon the trellis of another day.
Creeping, Crawling, Leaping;
A trumpet honeysuckle climbing,
inviting hummingbirds and butterflies,
to indulge beauty of another day.
a red flowering climbing vine
Creeping, Crawling, Leaping;
as time quietly slips away.
While perching songbirds serenade
ruby-throated hummingbirds toast the day.
sweetly sipping fruit nectar from a vine;
Creeping, Crawling, Leaping;
sharing the sweet taste of red trumpet wine
Categories:
crawling, animal, beautiful, bird, dream,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The Crawling…
The quiet night
crawls on—a snail’s pace.
Likewise the lazy snow flakes
seduced by the pull of gravity.
During the day—humility
gracefully exited; power seduced
a whining tyrannical soul: Robbing
it of its sacred humanity.
Forecasted for tomorrow
is uncertain uncertainty.
The quiet night
crawls on:
With insomnia—We
prepare for dawn.
Categories:
crawling, allegory, analogy, anxiety, imagery,
Form:
Prose Poetry