Best Scalps Poems
A quote from "90 North" by Randall Jarrell:
"I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from darkness -- that the darkness flung me --
is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness.
And we call it wisdom. It is pain."
The first bike I ever owned --
when I was ten or eleven --
was a Christmas gift
from a friend. He was receiving a new one
and I was gifted with his old bike.
He had cleaned it up and brush painted it
with a nice coat of red paint.
It was the only gift I got that year,
one of my only gifts as a child.
I loved that bike:
it freed me to pedal around so
I could accompany my friend
as we rode anywhere in our tiny,
sandy, two-paved-road fishing town.
Before the bike, I ran alongside him.
I was quite accustomed to running everywhere,
especially in summer, barefoot, usually shirtless.
Most years from first grade
until we were about twelve,
we spent our time together,
at his house or in imaginary jungles
or on wild, indian-infested wagon train trails.
We defended those trails from apaches
intent on taking our scalps.
Sometimes, on pirate ships, we manned canons
or forced reluctant traitors and mutineers
to walk the plank for failures and misdeeds.
We were never bored, usually outdoors.
On jungle safaris we were frequently attacked
by ferocious lions and tigers and
often captured by cannibal head-hunters
who put us into large pots to cook us
while dancing all around and brandishing
their spears. They sang or chanted
amazing, invented language repetitive
verses overloaded with frequent "ughs'
and tongue-twisting nonsense phrases.
His mother served us gallons of Kool Aid,
gave us snacks we ate with relish.
With a child’s trusting nature,
I hoped this could never end –
I felt secure in friendship and
apparent acceptance by
my friend’s parents. Of course,
things did change.
But..........I did not.
Not for a long, long time.
Categories:
scalps, age, best friend, boy,
Form:
Narrative
We loved the land
We tilled the earth, under sun we toiled
We pledged our souls, to nature’s whim
The King of France none to pleased
We took the sacraments
We held our faith, mournful to fates embrace
The British demanded a new oath we take
And scalped we were, both sides did partake
Our villages burned, our fields afire
Our woman and children, in hunger perished
We feared Monckton, a hunter of death
And from him, to ships hold, deported at best
We preyed to Canada, to lend us a hand
Evangeline an angel of our land
The darkened forests, to where we fled
Became bloody in battles, and turned to red
For Redcoats wandered in search of scalps
As Father Le Loutre preached unheavenly deeds
He was bloodthirsty and in skirmishes his evil flourished
His Mikmaq warriors helped rivers flow to blood
We lived along the rivers edge
We fought them all, to no one did we pledge
As serfs we served, to whom did rule
In the end, the forest sang our quiet eulogy
The vessels sailed from Halifax
With their human cargo of Partisans
Off to the West Indies, and a new land
Disease triumphed where Lord Laurence failed
And so the voyage, onward went
The traditions of Grand Pre, to Louisiana was lent
And there they settled, peace at last
As angels of their battles, in sacrifice did rest
Categories:
scalps, history, philosophy,
Form:
Light Verse
The dawn spoke her name like a silken secret
carried carefree by the tradewinds of lust and larceny
imported from the traderoutes of paradise and pandemonium,
sequined with violet venom she venerates the virtue of volition
her love is unlawful, unequalled in unrest, righteous in conquest,
tender in temptation, torrid your surrender, her beauty a will bender,
Queen of Empire Passion, warrior unknown to submission
her kingdom was not inherited, glory and throne ungifted,
the treasures, stables and territories, battles and crown all won,
rich in intellect, endowed with rare resources, affluent in original passion
bejeweled in natural beauty, she bewitches beasts and men alike,
Poets pen her preciously as Woman Total, Priests implore her pardon,
male servants pander to her anger and ardor, satisfaction she commands,
Sisterhood the symbol and soul of her mission,
I was just a man, a wanderer wading through her reign,
from the unsubdued North I came, a curious traveler with ancient name,
my tribe unfamiliar, underestimated, a Chieftain of steady pulse,
tresspassing towards her roots my aim was direct knowledge of her
woman of renown cunning and learning, woman of exotic ability,
seeking teaching and romance, though I would not be her Subject or victim,
this she knew, this she abhorred, a challenge to her dominance,
I agreed to meet her alone in the open morning of war,
in an abeyounce of gliding fire she comes riding out of the sun
regalia of black roses against red tears flying above her shoulder,
our horses begin a battle tromp, breaths heavy with moist mania
she has leopards in her eyes
poinsettias and death's palms painted on thighs,
scalps of exlovers and enemies slung on sadle
we acknowledge one another with ritual yell
I exclaim, Warrior Poetess, she screams Poet Warrior!
dismounting with mutual vigor our combat erupts
cutting my cheek with her blade's lip
kicking me in the ribs
I clinch her collared throat
and heel trip us to the ground
she snarls, I growl,
a glimpse of rescue in eachother's eyes -
J.A.B.
Categories:
scalps, courage, desire, fantasy, gothic,
Form:
Epic
Draped and locked like a curtain in Guantanamo
I use my words to peel scalps like Geronimo
Just like a teen girl my mouth has a heavy flow
If arousal luminesces then I'll make you glow
They're calling me a villain cuz I steal girls like Bowser
Wowzer, think I just filled my trousers
Though unlike the lizard I don't lose them to Italians
Cuz after one night girls confuse me for a stallion
Heart of obsidian inlaid with gold
A tongue of adamantium that stays so cold
My life is a story that's never been told
And I'm hoping that the credits roll before I get old
Categories:
scalps, beautiful, celebration, death, future,
Form:
Alliteration
Riddles twisting through the scalps,
Trace the paths that wind about
Pouring out through the watery spout
Like waterfalls, inside and out
Possessed by a madness,
Sadness reaps my every thought
Isolated by my shadow, I’m laying in the dark
And the river flows faster as the ferry embarks,
Behind brown eyes, find a crimson spark
As your prayer begins,
He seeks the mark of a sin,
Let the silver sink in,
Embracing your skin
And while every breath escapes from your heart,
You ask him, “What makes thee force my depart?”
With a love so strong, “Till death do us apart”
Day after day, this phrase you’d impart.
But when all control is powered by a fiend,
Darkness meets light, and the two are convened.
The passion of one causes will to concede,
Even when sacrifice compels thee to bleed.
And nothingness gathers to deliver me downward
Live amongst souls, and regret begins to shower
Blind to your ravenous taste to devour
From the day we began, you’ve dwelled within power
But confusion arouses where you don’t understand
I continue to love you, beyond my command
Dare you to rid me, you think that you can
But I’ll linger in this stream, from now till your end.
Categories:
scalps, allegory, depression, love, passionprayer,
Form:
Free verse
elbow to elbow no room to breathe
in this place i once thought an escape
missing her more each day
and each passing moment
brown children with vaseline
greased scalps peer expectantly
at this strange newcomer
vampire handsome and strange intellect
my weakness must be apparent
fore they trust me
dancing with the devil isn't a tango
it's a tangle
our innocence ensnared
like a scared fragile rabbit
pulse racing
silken brown fur clamped
between iron rusty jaws
moving like the blood of the hare
between each strand of hair
i avoid their queries of life
after the dance
Categories:
scalps, introspection, life
Form:
Free verse
Two girls whisper something
I know they are talking about my hair
One of them has long straight sleek hair that reaches her mid back
The other has short hair that's smooth and silky
Of course I can tell that the long hair isn't real, neither is the short
I wonder what's the price tag on the long hair
Must be someone's else hair
Or must be from the factory
I bet she can't wait to take it off when she gets home, in her privacy, away from the adoring eyes of admirers of beauty
I bet she can't wait for the end of the month when she gets paid so she can spent the bigger portion of her cheque on new hair
And the short hair! Girl, I bet she spends uncountable hours on it
The amount of time and man power spend on bringing out that "magic" must be a fortune
And the amounts of chemicals dumped in that hair......if only scalps could talk!
Someone could be paying not just physical damage but also psychological one
Two girls whisper something
Two girls make fun of me
They make fun of my natural hair
My hair has many names kinky, nappy....etc
Some girls think I don't care
but I am proud of what I see in the mirror
"I AM NOT MY HAIR" Thank you India Arie
Categories:
scalps, beauty, irony, judgement, satire,
Form:
Free verse
Groves,
parallel patterned rows
(hardly higher than bushes),
dot and stretch up hillsides,
looking from a distance
much like cornrows
on the tight tan scalps
of hip young New York
subway riders.
Luscious fruits,
at closer range,
mimic setting suns
boldly drawn in crayon:
oranges evoke essence,
name their own color.
Categories:
scalps, allegory, fantasy, imagination, nature,
Form:
Epigram
They came with a Bible in their hands;
To pilage and steal sacred lands.
It wasn't enough to claim our ancestor's graves;
They also had to make us their slaves.
They teach that the pilgrims and Indians were friends:
But, in all honesty, that's when the Holocaust begins.
Burning our villages to the ground;
Killing any and all survivors that could be found.
Small pox blankets and rotted horse meat
Juan de Oñate cutting off our feet.
Our scalps taken for a bounty man's price;
Preferably from warriors but a child's would suffice.
Drive us out on a trail of death;
Auction off whatever we left.
Manifest Destiny and forced assimilation;
For us there was no Emancipation Proclamation.
Kidnapping children for missionary schools;
Beatings and starvation for breaking their rules.
Saying it was for our own benefit;
We should be grateful for what little we get.
They saw us as savages, heathens, and beasts;
Of all the races we were considered the least.
Still today they only see us as a spaghetti western;
So to them, I have but one question:
Upon their death when they return to the sky;
And they must look their Creator in the eyes.
What on Earth will they say and do;
When they realize that he is a red man too?
Categories:
scalps, abuse, america, creation, discrimination,
Form:
I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
I stumbled over things and stepped 'round clutter to make my way.
I looked for clocks, found none, but saw many things I could do without,
And those are the things that I propose to tell you all about.
There was an old buggy wheel - I could see no use for that.
I saw horse collars, washboards and someone's stuffed Angora cat.
On the wall was a photo of a Victorian guy glaring back at me.
Also displayed was a chamber pot and a scraggly Christmas tree!
What use have I for a manure fork or hubcaps for a '47 Dodge,
Or a shaggy buffalo robe or shriveled scalps from an Indian lodge?
Displayed were coffee grinders and old Prince Albert tobacco cans,
A portrait of Napoleon and a hood ornament for a '37 Mercedes Benz!
Hanging on a clothes rack was an old soldier's moth-eaten uniform.
I have no need for a hornet's nest that once held and angry swarm.
Though I found many things I could do without, not so my spouse!
She bought a cart full of gimcracks and trumpery to clutter up the house!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
First Place in Black Eyed Susan's "Antique" Contest - May 2014
Categories:
scalps, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
A devil in three-piece polyester
Sweaty jowls hanging over starched collar
Worker’s bane, savings account molester
Stalking your front door, try not to holler
Huntin’ for your cash; not all he will do
Piles of workers’ scalps under his front seat
Lambs to the slaughter for our Darthie-poo
Laundering funds for government elites
Business buys Washington, who buys the vote
Our tax dollars, the machine’s power source
IRS laws cut the middle class’ throat
Wall Street’s equal opportunity whores
Puts the “fun” in “fundraising” for the Man
Darthie’s knocking and he’s not here to beg
One measly pound of flesh, that’s not his plan
By law, he’s due at least one arm and leg
4/20/16
Categories:
scalps, america, money, society,
Form:
Quatrain
In the setting sun the Sioux Tepees look like vandalized pyramids,
the Tetons themselves appear as though angels raped
by the savagery of centuries yet noble in barbaric beauty and warrior ethos,
a Scalp Dance is begun, torches up high on the outside
a bonfire big and heavy be the center spirit,
the drums awaken from the caves of ancestral courage
and the voices of a thousand Mothers plead for the pride of their sons,
drumbeats raise the heartbeats into the heat of glory
as the rattles rake the mind with the cost of blood,
warriors enter the pit with bravery to prove and fate to appease
feet pound the earth and scalps shake on power rods
the currency of victories swing wide and thunder smacks the stars,
Afterwards, Chief Partisan presents us with squaws
pretty in young passion and fertile to the touch,
there is a custom of strength transfer through intercourse
they desire the seed of our spirit,
indulging in their spells of native kiss could leave us vulnerable
to capture or even assassination
we can't afford to be reckless in pleasure or mindless of morals,
I am unwilling to father a hybrid pioneer amongst a probable enemy,
embracing these temptresses gowned in scanty furs
could even politically bind us to the Teton against their traditional adversaries,
we must avoid inciting intertribal conflict at this juncture,
Morning has arrived with a think fast attitude
the messages between our nations is unequivocal
the Teton are intractable in their belief of invincible independence,
they have their arsenal, warriors, and horses,
feeling that they own the thunder and the fear of their neighbors,
the Chinese and New York fur markets
along with taxing river passage have to date guaranteed them wealth
and the British have armed them for profit,
however, the arrowheads of the United States are aimed to strike their arteries
and we won't stop until they bleed out into oblivion,
the Sioux shenanigans have resumed as we gather up and get ready to push off,
exasperated, we convince Black Buffalo that it behooves him
to persuade his people to let us leave without hostilities
and they do as we toss them some tobacco sticks,
once on Destiny, anchor up,
the southerly winds lift our vessels towards autumn's genesis,
J.A.B.
Categories:
scalps, adventure,
Form:
Epic
All aboard the Fantasy M/S of Carnival
for half a week’s vacation time of fun and falderal.
Hear greetings from your captain, his director and the crew.
Ready, set, get going. The Bahamas wait for you.
Bon Voyage! There’s Reggae music playing on the Lido.
Dinner is at 6 or 8. Hold off on that tuxedo!
You could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath to dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’.
Gamble or see comedy; reflect upon the ocean.
Late to bed; relax your head; sense the soothing motion.
Rise and shine in Freeport where the ship will dock all day.
You can disembark to take a tour, or you can stay.
On board the ship, take a dip; lounge or dance Calypso.
Get yourself massaged; work out, shop or play some bingo.
All day long, you can find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day two when you waken, you will be in Nassau.
There’s stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones may stay behind. Folks will entertain them,
or the kids can tag along with the adults. No problem!
If you like adventure, visit lovely Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat leaves right at noon.
You can pet some dolphins, but extra you should pay
if you want to swim with them. That’s one special day.
In town you might be nabbed by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids is all the rage, so people get their hair done.
Get back to the gangway before the ship sets sail.
If you‘re still not having fun, you must be a door nail!
“Day at Sea” arrives as your trip is winding down,
And the biggest night is coming; women wear a gown!
That final evening dining perhaps with a new friend,
you’ll wish instead of ending, it were starting all again.
Gals and guys with braided scalps; everyone looks nice.
Ah, that midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for leisure if you’re after more than snoozing’.
In the laid-back natives lingo: “Mon, you best be cruising!”
NOTE: (this describes a vacation I took about 12 years ago, my first
and probably last cruise ever, unless I come into money. haha.
I'd seen Europe in my youth but as vacations go,this truly was
the best one.)
For Carol Brown's Contest: "It's Time for a Vacation"
Categories:
scalps, holidaytime, vacation,
Form:
Rhyme
The wicked souls like gasoline light up
Afire without remorse sorrow and heat
As if Hiroshima Nagasaki
In bright atomic pillars of fire burn
Unquenched like a mad lunatic bonfire
The judged the condemned the damned all around
Without mercy are swallowed engulfed by
The supernatural fates and their white-hot
Enraged furies as if to disgrace men
And fallen angels at war against earth
As gamma-rays consume their calcified
Bones they cannot withstand resist before
Megiddo's Jesus Christ whose burning light
Flash-cooks their soft moist fleshy tongues in
Their mouths like steaks as the sight of him melts
And liquefies their eyeballs into ooze
In their sockets as heads and scalps ablaze
With radioactive fire's decay and heat
Whilst ashen clothes like death's sackcloth robes fall
From rude and roasting flesh such that even
Thews sinews ligaments and tendons of
Flesh melt in the wrath of the Next Advent
Until they are gently slain by his love
Without forgiveness hope or the grace of
Redemption and salvation and are thrown
Into the lake of fire forever where
The damned are “weeping and gnashing of teeth!”
Categories:
scalps, bible, future, imagery, jesus,
Form:
Blank verse
I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
I stumbled over things and stepped 'round clutter to make my way!
I looked for clocks - found none, but saw many things I could do without,
And those are the things that I propose to tell you all about!
There was an old buggy wheel - I could see no use for that!
I saw horse collars, washboards and someone's stuffed Angora cat.
Hanging on the wall was an austere Victorian guy glaring back at me.
Prominently displayed was a chamber pot and scraggly Christmas tree!
What use have I for a manure fork or hubcaps for a '47 Dodge,
Or a shaggy buffalo robe or shriveled scalps from an Indian lodge!
Displayed were empty cigar boxes and empty Prince Albert cans,
A portrait of Napoleon and hood ornament for a '27 Mercedes Benz!
I saw a set of 1920 Brittanica Encyclopedias and a Corona typewriter,
Well-worn snowshoes, a tuning fork and strangely, a bishop's mitre!
Hanging on a clothes rack was an old soldier's moth-eaten uniform.
What on earth would I do with a hornet's nest once hosting an angry swarm!
Leaning against a wall was a hood and bumper for a '37 Ford Tudor.
On a shelf was a gas mask and tin helmet from the First World War!
Though I found many things I could do without, not so with my spouse!
She bought a cart full of gimcracks and trumpery to clutter up the house!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
scalps, funny, old, old,
Form:
Rhyme