Best Scarab Poems
"Fata Morgana"
feet hardly touch the ocean
when silent stars of no voice
transmit words to pay the ferryman
on the water no reflection
gently the sun waves smiling as if to say
feel that, the warmth of waking sleep
no fear of what remains hidden
it will unravel from inside that which is all too deep
walking towards you across the briny mist
from ancient stories forgotten
a halo of St Elmo’s Fire surrounds
it stands still for a short while before you
watching
you,
walking water with your bare feet
faith in dreams consistent in their constancy
that visit you when you are complete yet incomplete
holds out its hand to lead the way across
sharp burning rocks, now a desert, climbing mountains that are steep
a small life crumbles to powdered sand
more than 40 days silent gone astray
years the turning of untimed tides pretence
meets a haunting vision beckoning, new horizon, odd unclear
safe harbour left long ago,
lost in that ornery time, cursed by flying monkeys' bellows
of bloodletting and betrayal, stock still, standing amidst the shallows
somewhere along the way dark narcissus followed
what breaks over the bow
washes all stern fear away
sacred wings of albatross
ne’er to be sacrificed, no more night nor day
souls of ancient mariners
forever follow me, even when I stray
the rich baritone of bedtime stories
messages in code conveyed, I hear them still today
now swallows spooning spinnakers
running directly before wind and sea
the water turns to wine, much stranger the belief,
all manna of trust it feeds
bells tolling
no man’s an island entire of itself
in unusual reckonings
observing swimming hearts, that hear and see
the eyes that melt, this more curiously
in truth, the dream defends
messages eternal
life it never ends
tides move in and out
never alone when we begin
fata morgana
softly the moon ascends
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
VCB
Lux Vitae
5.5.10
"Under a splintered mast,
torn from ship and cast
near her hull,
a stumbling shepherd found
embedded in the ground,
a sea-gull
of lapis lazuli,
a scarab of the sea,
with wings spread—
curling its coral feet,
parting its beak to greet
men long dead."
("Talisman", Marianne Moore)
She vibrates, a chassis minus shock absorption.
A painting, the nude descends a staircase,
rings of Saturn etched in a vacuum tube.
Or Eniac of twisted cords and switchboards.
She isn't programmed to see light beams
spraying through the trees,
nor silver bearings of morning dew.
There are no bees plunging like pistons
in the flowers, no circuit board on the step.
She climbs the jamb as a bot returning to its task.
Monitors flicker as nanoseconds pass unnoticed,
but the galaxy ends at the lintel.
She's a child of Mir, suspended upside down
in a universe where falling isn't death,
but the failure of electrodes.
Then silent as a dead star she descends.
All drives cease functioning.
She is still as a scarab,
the light years casting sand dunes on sphinxes,
until legs spasm as though coding
a final matrix for iron butterflies waiting to be born.
In a dark, dark room,
an eerie aura surrounds;
deathly whispers crawl in the air,
sounding like incantations.
A sarcophagus lays still in the room,
whispers oozing out of it; no one knows
that the sarcophagus is a portal to the Underworld,
where Anubis and his cohorts reign.
Only the Book of Ra; its jacket containing the symbol
of the Scarab Beatle, that can chase away the whispers,
and curses from the whispers.
The evil dead continue to be undead, 'til when the Destined One
finds Ra's Book, and chants the verses that he sees.......
…………………………………………………………………………………
''Dark things happened there....''
they say, with fading tones,
almost reaching their vanishing point,
due to unhidden fright.
Sometimes they hear eerie moans;
see dancing shadows on the space
between the door and floor; other times
whispers that make them feel as though
they will shatter like hollow glass tubes.
To stop the haunting,
they hired spiritualists to seal
the room's door with their divine will.
Candles flicker in the night,
as voices of the undead wander across the corridors.....
(The first verse is a poem titled “Whispers of Anubis”, which was published on 8/9/2014. The second verse is a poem titled “The Locked Room”, which was published on 25/4/2014. I have divided both poems with a dotted line.)
Sacred and mythical
Healer and whimsical
Beetle of majestic history
Needle of intrinsic glittery
In a dark, dark room,
an eerie aura sorrounds;
deathly whispers crawl in the air,
sounding like incantations.
A sarcophagus lays still in the room,
whispers oozing out of it; no one knows
that the sarcophagus is a portal to the Underworld,
where Anubis and his cohorts reign.
Only the Book of Ra; its jacket containing the symbol
of the Scarab Beatle, that can chase away the whispers,
and curses from the whispers.
The evil dead continue to be undead, 'til when the Destined One
finds Ra's Book, and chants the verses that he sees.......
By silver starlight
and unconquerable spirit
unicorn autumn
adventures
lay before.
Piliferous beast of field, away!
A midnight outing
of an enchanted weave
is for my destiny tonight…
and thou, I’ll have
for my steed.
The Phoenix in flight
immaculate guiding light
as we forge over
grassland fare
and mountainous plain.
We’ll know naught of death
by dragon breath
for ne’er shall we view
o darkened lair
nor in the gleam of treasured guild
embrace that forbidden dream.
Piliferous beast of field away!
the sphinx riddles o’er
our passage rare.
Beyond all the sand
of the dune-covered land,
enchanted our sojourn
seem.
Tranquil the moonbeams
adrift on the streams
and carried along in
a mystical song, from the deep
where solemn merfolk
hoard the superfluous rays
of our night.
Emerald green silk and golden weft woven,
by carpet one takes to the sky!
As Solomon whispers
the winds follow by
as well on this fantasy flight
shalt thou do for I.
Piliferous beast of field away!
The scarab is hissing
a hex.
We owe not a singular breath
to reality’s strangle-hold
nor have we a gamble to spare.
Our Autumn shall wane
and my breathing the same
in the chill of the frosty new
cold.
And lo, should our quest
by some dawning undo.
Indebted I’ll sleep in my grave.
I’ll ne’er find you fading
you'll ever stand waiting
Together we'll conquer the day.
Beneath heaven sparkling,
triumphant, I’ll say once more:
Piliferous beast of field, away!
Where at my calling,
we’ll voyage the dreamscape
and Death will wonder and rage!
By clenched bony jaw and fists
he, under his cowl,
will marvel our escape.
When by silver starlight and
unconquerable spirit
unicorn winter
adventures
shall lay before.
06/14/15
Sumptuous feasts enchanted float on by,
as I peer into an opulent expanse,
garnet clad entrance aglow,
imagine august beauty at its mise en scène peak,
ingress to celestial nirvana’s Laurel-ridden charm,
iridescent veil of cirrus nebula,
window blind ephemeral in situ,
rapid inkling’s meteoric shower,
harvest for the milk and honey bard,
goes beyond elysium horizons,
flight of fancy totem, utter breathless oath,
unearthly surreal lustrous cache,
burst of universal zenith trumpeting,
exalted plot as moonbeam step stair,
just imagine for a spell psalmodic Meccas,
to a hue-laden whirlpool vortex,
that sequesters sun-drenched harbours,
gurgling stream meanders, moss-fleck tides,
mesmerizing shroud of lambent bayou,
hazy plume on silver waterfall,
scarab mountain chain at sapphire dawn,
whose jewel-rich seams glisten enigmatically,
indigo blue species, bold passerine upsweep,
wayfarer halcyon Xanadu bound,
urban forest blackcap’s luscious throb,
snowbird glee club ear chant for
sprightly day-peep first rank,
amber leaf cascade a sequined duvet on barren playground,
rainbow eucalyptus but a foil for sylvan zephyr,
crystal ball elixir knows no quench or glut,
imagine life eternal in my wonder world cocoon
Date written and posted ; Second of March 2023
Contest ; Writing Challenge - I Words - ‘ Poetry Contest
Sponsor ; Constance La France
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in adoration
tore a wake through the ink stains
but not from satisfaction
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
parked way out in Kokomo
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so have a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third Reich fell from bad music
I spat like a backwards vampire
the swelling is an obstacle
I added for evidence I mean emphasis
the King of the Scarabs was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great rectum of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
with their many novel effects and manifestations
such as hugely distended penises
not at all like the computer club
fart gigglers and Balaam anointed
who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
to use a dirty semaphore
for the male power hug
cracking walnuts with hydraulics
the Scarab King was a backhanded guy
strung out on endless platitudes
this is a spit shine day men
do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going got tough
and it seemed to often
for your present narrator
they allocate security personnel
in my case a comic endorphin gigolo
the hand of a spell upon his brow
good lord not another eccentric botanist
bedecked with the fabled Trinkets of Mouthgate
traffic fines double in poet zone
former servant of the hypno-avatar
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hI I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
screaming on the rack
my one line in the play
whatever will I do now
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
scarab beatles crawl everywhere
a sacorphagus has been disturbed
In front of the vestibule the dragon slumbers
Atop a skeletal heap of unfathomable numbers
Like the despair that guards my fatigued core
Surrounded by the ruin of all that I implore
Beside the parlor bearing my unadorned diadem
Broods a scorned and jealous leviathan
As the scarab pushes the sun across the sky
My worry and anxiety continue to ramify
The imprisoned kraken waits with ominous patience
Beneath the bedrock and the foundations
The primeval serpent slithers around the apple of my eye
As my vigor wanes and my dread intensifies
However, I will never yield, I will fight forever, with my sword, with my shield
I reach for Excalibur, I reach for Mjolnir, I reach for Moses' Rod
And I summon the power that comes only from the true God
I wrestle my demons, I fight my fiends, and I clash with my foes
And I reclaim back from their greedy tendrils my hard-won repose
Thus is the plight of recovery
With each new height and discovery
Comes a new battle to wage
That I might enter my "golden age"
An artifact juts from the dirt
with glib glyphs and weird words
A man holding a snake
and the outline of a lake
Seem to warn present day man
with scrawl from a caveman
Is it cryptic scribble-scrabble?
Is it ancient psycho-babble?
One finger points to the sky
Does it mean the time is nigh?
A broken ankh and a scarab
And an angry looking cherub
Seem to say, "Don't forget,
You came from the One who begets.."
Or maybe it's just a prehistoric cartoon
Drawn by some crazy loon
Due to his callous disregard, he divided her intent
Wanting to be loved was rapidly replaced
With needing to be nurtured
Windscreen scorch, midday duco seared her palms
A lost Christmas scarab lurid green beetle
Gripped Flora's taut forearm
Future she craved wavered toward steely necessity
Untitled as lucre of lake illusion luminous
Looming in her frontal lobe
Angel held urns runneth over, soma sportula pour
Treacle tips intoxicating as cherry kirsch
Accommodation on aileron
Conveyed from kookaburra sarcasm to city suzerain
Mirror tower monuments collide in clouds
Encourage worldwide rivalry
Flora's inclination for comfort drives acute delirium
Arid Arab cobalt coast melts cultures mosaic
Gamey gourmet, cutlery gleam
Her new wrist cuffed, convict of antique timepiece
Lost Duat archived exchange rate temporal
Khepra hands kissed henceforth
12th March 2023
Written for Contest: 'K' Word Challenge
Sponsor: Constance La France
scarab
glinting indigo and peacock
symbol of resurrection
desert phoenix
you are a jackal
waiting, traitorous,
by my grave
to lunge and devour me,
licking my blood from your snout
you cannot consume my heart,
organ of my soul
for it has been weighed and measured
and I am gone to Osiris
but – see there
peeking out,
brilliant with the sun,
a tiny hint of emerald
glimmers in my smile
We drove ourselves and it hurts to sit down in wheelchairs
outside by the greasy road where Mannequins wave our way
from inside genetically modified
insects; my lover drives a blue scarab
across the desert land and leaves the most surreal tracks
of disturbed dirt.
Perhaps someone creative has an ice tea I can sip to quell my
parched heart.
Inevitable. Please, can I have a drink to inflate my aching
heart?
And those hot air balloons are too low toward the grounds
& watching Golem reaching upward
to knock them like geeks out of the Royal Azure skies -- and
they call me a freak//i believe the G.O.D. forgot his umbrella
before he fell from our skies\\ and
so who is the freak?
UNSUPPORTED CODE
:: 08-23-2016 ::
The hieroglyphics around the ankh tells a magnificent story
About how one can first achieve life’s eternal glory.
Not only is it a forgotten language but it presents quite a riddle
Whose answer has a thing or two to do with the scarab in the middle.
The cross with a circular head rises up above the stone,
The characters that tell the story were carved with an animal bone.
Many thought the magic that gives long life was achieved through its possession,
But immortality was only received by answering the question.
How do I know the facts surrounding this ancient relic?
Because I solved the riddle then and live today to tell it.
People who know me now wonder why I never seem to age,
Well, back in another time I was an Egyptian sage.
I was the only one back in time who figured out the quandary
And for three thousand years since then my life has known no boundary.
I travel all around the earth never staying too long in one place,
People from every land and every century have often seen my face.
The ankh itself is the only item that has survived as long as I,
And its answer I will never tell and here’s the reason why;
Life eternal sounds like a gift you want but I know that’s not true,
Passing into the spiritual world is the real gift gods gave to you.