Best Scours Poems
To seek a twist that turns a soul, toward two open hands,
A street wise urchin scours the lanes, where likewise understands,
And so the circle quickly spins, back to the gutter place,
Where there’s no need of feeling, or chance of saving face.
This wandering a dreary trail, soon drags the body down
For these folks with daily lives, who’ve never known renown.
Where wayside stop agenda’s, offer nil but one day hope,
And little chance of learning, or a vision how to cope.
Of course the word of ‘open house’, is known and known so well
Amongst the fiery feel let down, whose marching’s been to hell.
So now the wish of life has changed, from down beat getting by.
Some choose to find a Christian peace. Then for God here am I.
Talking straight and being fair, through lessons soon decide,
The pendulum won’t always swing, to seek the other side,
So method swings to meet the mood. Find tracks thought overgrown.
Trust begins to grow in strength, and friendship seeds are sown.
Put to the mind are simple tasks, that most don’t even dream,
Like having faith in human kind, or be part of a team,
So not surprised the answer, from a simple questionnaire,
Would you rather have my wisdom, or be a millionaire?
Of course the answers simple, money buys the world for you,
And like you were in days gone by, do what you want to do.
But tell me were you happy, with what you did without this gold!
I’m sure you’ll find my wisdom, gave warmth to stimulate your cold.
I’ve watched your feeling’s change, for the betterment no doubt.
To see you itching for the world, and wanting to get out
To face the challenge’s on offer, with your heart set on tradition,
And honesty within your soul, for a lifetime of ambition.
Faith the timeless healer, once again has conquered all.
Where once a ceaseless tempest grew, is now a minute squall.
I know there will be tempting times, I’ve seen this all before
In the glow of being proud, there’s a knock upon the door.
No better child stands near me now, although the worse for wear.
‘Tis I that holds the privilege when, I’m offering my care.
It hurt’s to see old spirit broke; I must build on this chance,
For there are no bad children. Just bad circumstance.
Categories:
scours, caregiving,
Form:
Rhyme
The restless mind needs a break
I wait and seek my tired berate
She slowly climbs into my mind
And cowardly reminds me of her kind
She lights a fire from within her sin
It starts so small and the vision begins
My eyes now shut in pondering stare
My cries now out while I feel her near
The web she weaves into my spine
Allows deceit to spin around
She climbs onto my visions of proud
And lays her eggs to spawn out loud
They seek and slither into my brain
Allowing the light to cause searing pain
I cry for her to stop her vein
She laughs and spins her web again
For hours this battle sees no end
Our scours believe their harm will mend
As she relieves my mind of torn
Her pain turns to numb my mind is born
A new
A new
She dies within you
Categories:
scours, depression, sad
Form:
Rhyme
Her ears point forward to a sound she hears.
A sound beyond a pitch to my ears.
Her legs now crouch to attend the fears
Of the twitching nose that scours the airs.
She runs like a bullet shot from a gun.
I'm following behind on the run.
She corners and traps her small bale,
While I stoop and lift it by the tail.
Don't worry. I set it free.
Categories:
scours, animal, cat,
Form:
Rhyme
the rapture of a souls song plays out inside the mind
as she sits quietly reading in a late fall moonlight
trading the falling leaves for the keys to the kingdom of pain
she scours the printed page for flaws to crow about in the dawn
but she fails to see the falling tears and the raging snowstorm
she feels but refuses to see
all our childhood dreams lined up as toy soldiers
on a battlefield of right and wrong
of love and despair
with one absent minded finger dancing in her hair
she fumbles for the meanings in the steady rain
she feels out the sentences written in summer skies
the novella there in between the covers are the story she reads
but its the long silence in the room between two people
that shapes her fate
writes her tears
the rapture of souls song plays out
with a beautiful melody
and such heartfelt lyrics
but no beautiful song lasts forever
anywhere but in the heart
and her song still plays for me
Categories:
scours, beautiful, beauty, sea, snow,
Form:
Free verse
Glancing down from breathless heights,
Amidst climey sighs,
The looming colossus awakens from slumber
And stretches across Thelwalls linear skies.
The hot engines hissing steam -
Recalled from fond memories long back -
Tumbling like huffing little rain clouds
Down from the lofty metal track;
Wherein brightly painted carriages:
The publicans daughter, the verger,
The magistrate, the chief executive -
Seated first class, all habitually sat.
Swift grandiose arches, a celebration
Trumpeting the artful masons cunning devise,
Boast loudly of the great towers
Parallelogram of terrific forces:
Crossing over in giant leaping strides.
Here below, like Hercules reclining,
The stoic gates of Latchfords black fortress locks
Lift to brace against the immense swell
Far and beyond the chimming remarks
Of Greenhalls absolute, mechanically proven,
Georgian bell;
When, ensconced within a purpose-built,
Purple brick tower:
Strikes the centuries old brewery clock
On the twelfth
Of every God given hour.
A rich bankers cantilever
Pushes doggedly against opposing, sheer,
Red Sandstone walls;
Again the mauve and azure rock pigeon claps...
And then...coo, coo, cooingly calls.
Dry buzzing heat blurs over
The hum of a high noons imcumbent midday;
The coup-de-gras scimitar wing stoops -
To fasten onto its slower-witted prey!
Steeped sides slipping amidst tumbling yellow
Gorse and sporadic flowers
Balk at the foreboding waters edge,
Where, over the denizens swirling bowers,
The resolute little rusting lugger,
Puffing and chugging,
relentlessly dredges and scours;
Churning the murky Eastham silts
That drab Manchester draw:
Into the vast hollowing quays
On beachless, concrete Salfords industrialized,
High-rise dockland shore.
Through the deepest part of the black
Channel
A salt grimed hulk smoothly slips...
Attached by a twisted hemp to the tugboat
That hauls the great ships.
Stirred by the bow waves
Flowing and ebbing like currents in time:
From the trough to the peak
The jettison and flotsam climbs -
Before succumbing to powerful undercurrents
Of irresistible designs!
Categories:
scours, history, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
COMANCHE
My mounts and I are one.
Across the plains we fly
Like the wind that scours
Like the sun that burns,
The cold that kills.
The Buffalo Spirit thunders in my blood,
Guides my way through the featurelesss land:
I draw the bow
Strike and move on.
My ways are old
As the ways of Earth;
A harshness you have all forgotten.
Know this, White Man From The East:
If the Soul of this place
Doesn't lay you straight
To feed the soil with your bones,
I will.
Categories:
scours, america, hate, native american,
Form:
Free verse
Tongue twister poem is a self created form. In this form every line has a tongue twisting
effect with ample usage of Onomatopoeia...
~~~
Swishy swashy waves washing sea shores..
Splattering spluttering slowly foam scours..
Rumbling rambling whooshing, wave roars..
Cackling clashes cracking rocky cores..
Gushing winds growl, grumbling giddy..
Thumping tumbles every trembling tree..
Slashing splashing rushes rain..
Whizzing whooping plunking on window pane…
Sitting on stairs, staring stars at night..
Melting mellow in murmuring moonlight..
~~~
The rhyme-scheme used here is aabbccdd
Categories:
scours, nature
Form:
Alliteration
THE BRIDLE OF LOVE
Put on the bridle of love, or the dark places
Will inhabit your soul like a dream of plunder:
Put on the bit of desire, lest the old faces
Merge in passionate moments and betray wonder.
You pledge only with the combat of the hours
Your words fall in the silence, like coins jingling
Into the hand of the fortune-teller, who scours
Your reverie of love on your palm, tingling
Of a stranger. You are an actuary where a shadow
Turns fascination to death. Put on the bridle
Of tenderness - forgiveness, sad and low,
Can whistle with the raindrops, idle
As witnesses of profound truth. Curs
Snap at gentleness when their hunger stirs.
Categories:
scours, allegory, animal, love,
Form:
Sonnet
a lonesome hermit
scours the beach for a new shell
no longer homeless
Rual's 'Journey' Haiku
Categories:
scours, nature
Form:
Haiku
Tiny screams come wafting up and then just drift away,
As she scours down her bathroom, on a busy cleaning day.
Small voices in a panic; she hears them yell and screech,
While scrubbing down the place they live with smelly chlorine bleach.
She bends an ear to listen close, then hears a teensy voice.
“Mercy mercy, show us please. We know you have a choice.”
She thinks of spidey in her bath only days before.
She’d coaxed him up the shower stall and gently to the floor.
A paper cup left standing near, to trap all errant bugs,
She often shooed them out the door with everything but hugs.
Spiders, moths and aphids; one time a little mouse,
All were free to live their lives, but not within her house.
Just yesterday the life she saved was but a lowly worm.
Traveling misbegotten trails; his doom was her concern.
And now these many little cries implore her to be kind.
To put away her chlorine bleach and give them all more time.
Their pleading falls on ears gone deaf and sadly each will learn;
She’d rather give a bug a break, than spare one filthy germ.
Categories:
scours, humor, insect, nature, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
Tonight I farm,
Four seasons to nurture in one.
Animals are asleep, equipment in the shed,
All gates are locked and done.
The land needs stripping of weeds,
All slopes and valleys are clear.
Trees from the highest hill
From the ground they grow and appear.
A scent, a good year, the glen is rich.
I perspire, am hot and dry
Leaning forward I sip from the oasis before me
The world moves it seems and I sigh.
My body tills, ploughs, rips and scours
And there’s hours of moans, oh the noise.
Finally millions of seeds are sown in rows
Now to rest, this warn out boy.
Categories:
scours, appreciation, creation, farm, growth,
Form:
Rhyme
Heroism dwells not in mind but acts;
Show me your hero of resolve and will,
Not yield by tragedy or a great name;
But an honest worker that shoves courage.
Don’t be rash telling me your ill motives.
Hero is neither money, guns nor wits;
A hero can heal an unhappy land.
He creates, defends, and sustains morals;
Heroism is produced by good soul.
A hero is an ordinary man.
He rebels against those repulsive souls;
Doubts and weakness may consume his desire,
But perseverance falters not his goal.
Arising from defeat, he scours triumph;
We are heroes of our life story.
by Mark "Makmak" Enem
Categories:
scours, courage, dream, hero,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
She scours the globe
With a culturally diverse appetite
Her lustful journey
Juan…Vino…Butch…Jacque...Rami...Pierre
No country is off limits
No country is safe
Her lustful journey
*For David's Dish contest
Categories:
scours, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
Treading along the avenues of iniquity
The downbeat of mollifying choruses alleviate my ears
Ambivalent logic scours my cerebellum
A frown composed of disdain surfaces
Whilst I seek a hero amongst such strange clouds
I covet to taste of the superlative pleasures ‘tis Mother Earth
Though I am left to contemplate when next my happenings
Categories:
scours, life,
Form:
Verse
What is fear?
It clutches and binds you;
Its clinch constricts your conscience and gestures.
It degrades and damages you;
Its triumph abolishes your own proficiency to prosper.
It stops and holds you;
Its impeccable knack of holding you still is impassable.
It overcomes and you surrender;
Its will to thwart your approach has you anxious to ensue.
It is burdensome and palpable;
Its load weighs you down and disables your efforts.
It is real and ever present;
Its nearness is felt in your existence as it hides in wait.
It is debilitating;
It is maddening;
It is caustic;
What is fear?
It is controllable and facilitated;
You can clamber over the hindrances it extends you.
It is fallible and erratic;
You can perceive its shifting deeds as it scours for a way.
It is provisional and remedial;
You can tolerate its manifestation or expel it into a void.
It is daunting and probable;
You can be valiant and foretell its vain efforts against you.
It is frail and cognizant;
You can be assured that fear fears itself; it is casually ended.
It is short lived and perpetual;
You can sustain longer than fear, you can evolve as it ruins.
It is ignorance;
It is a curtain;
It is cowardly;
Fear is crushed with the knowledge of the entirety of a state. In these periods of terror we must cast fear in its just position, behind us, and trudge headlong against those who intimidate and threaten the beliefs for which we have battled arduously to safeguard, preserve, and be tolerant of.
Fear is…
Not an option today!
Categories:
scours, fear, power, war,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue