Best Scowls Poems
Shaken birds shrill cry across darkened sky,
Awaken to the biting cold wind howls.
Taken by flash of lighting pulsing heart,
Forsaken stretch of night as thunder scowls.
Lost in the darkness, of pounding chill rain,
Tossed round from the flicker of leaves and trees.
Accost the meager unvarying light.
Frost thins to a slight glimmer quick to seize.
6/21/2021
The mischievous Sandman runs a con game each night
After all the youngsters are safely tucked away
He dances into my room like an elfin sprite
He seizes my hand, tries to lure me outside to play
Then he’s bored on my shoulder at the computer
Threatens to throw pixie dust into sleepy eyes
Quells my muse like a discourteous intruder
I’ve attempted to handle him with a compromise
Just let my muse roam free for a couple of hours
For at this time of night, fantasies flow smoothly
But he feels the need to boast of superpowers
And when I ask for time, he glares gloomily
It’s three in the morning and I should be asleep
This nightly visitor has grown to be a pest
Distaste continues to grow for this pesky creep
And the sandman scowls when I say, “Give it a rest!”
*Entry for Deb’s Fantasy Land Contest
April 29, 2011
Furious scowls reveal marked displeasure
Void of joy, she pointed her finger
Muddling through a decayed existance
Cloaked in hostility she sputtered and hissed
While keeping her life clenched tight in a fist
The goddess of war reigns pained indignance
Afraid of losing control, she tightens her grip
Unable to unlock the secret of this spiritual disease
The angry spirit of menacing flesh has thrown away the key
KA 2003
Rain slipped in
sliding on the din
just passed dark
came midnight sparks
before the light of morning sun,
spits and spats, tips and taps,
lulls and dulls,
sputtered mutters culls,
on the shutters closed,
clammy, dank, and damp,
click-clack, stamped,
pitter-patter tones,
on the walk path stones;
soft and harsh,
wind blowing scowls along the tarps
glistening glows
misting the grassy rows,
October doom looms,
harvests wells consumed
rain falls
as autumn calls.
Back To That Beauty, In World's Dear Blue Sky
I exist, despite world's dark, angry scowls
In my dreams as a panther on the prowl
In tune with Nature, hunted by mankind
Living as a beast, of another kind
Absent, the deep darkness once within me
Fearlessly tread path, setting my soul free!
I exist, truth is I do not know why
I see such gleaming beauty in blue sky
And black rage festering within mankind
Racing into oblivion so blind!
I exist, world's powers oft I deny
When alone, 'tis true often tears I cry
In future happiness upward I fly
Back to that beauty, in world's dear blue sky!
Robert J. Lindley, July 5th, 1977
Sonnet,
( Wherein Briefly, A Heart And Soul Can Clearly See )
Note:
A dear poet friend asked me yesterday to post something not so dark.
Maybe write a new more beautiful and optimistic poem.
Well, I tried but my mood would not allow one to come that I felt measured up. So, I searched in my chest of old poems that had never yet seen the light of day and found this one. Present it, hoping that it measures up to meet the request. I was a very young 23 years old when I composed it--" many ages ago it now so seems".. Presented now with no edits.
My son -
no fun
Distress
to dress
Thinks rocks
in socks
His view
not true
Won’t put
one foot
in shoes
I choose
and so
we go
to let
him get
new pair
to wear.
He tries
each size.
It seems
he beams.
Okay
I say.
Those shoes
we’ll choose.
But oh,
the woe.
Again -
with pain
to use
new shoes!
He tries
and cries,
then howls
and scowls.
This stuff-
enough!
Just please
use these:
Flip flops.
Gripe stops!
May 20, 2023
For A Brian Strand Premiere No 1218 Poetry Contest
“Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”
John Keats Ode to a Nightingale
“Strange to find a sea captain quoting Keats.”
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
She knows nothing
about the sea,
the sails or thee,
your perilous tongue
swimming with the sharks.
The captain dies
by suicide -
nay.
stupidity -
aye.
She’s protected,
captured
by his salty speech.
Oft the wind
carries
its scent of aftershave -
nay, again,
for the bearded captain
scowls,
transcends
with this blasted widow
scores
a poetic love.
11/19/2019
In the lobby of the courthouse
People’s demeanor
Are such a telltale
Casual and comfortable
The secretaries
Determined and debonair
The lawyers
Focused and unperturbed
The judges
And then the others
With scowls on their faces
Nervousness and concern
The weight of accusation
The slow ominous pace
Of being led directly
To the slaughterhouse
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Tic Toc I watch nonchalant
arms of the clock
Shift and rock
Grandfathers hands join-unlock
Conducting my living room symphonies
Horns and strings mingle in streams
Blending with screams
Torn from dreams
Nothing here's quite as it seems
Parading illusions own infantry
Unified steps for countless miles
Drum major smiles
All the while
Mr. Chaos with his wiles
Pounds balled fist to the ground and the world shakes
Soldiers black boots slip and fail
Legs become frail
march derails
From it's tracks and over the hill
Organized spectacle dropped by the quakes
Sister Order peaks through the clouds
Peeling the shroud
Eyes the crowd
Thunderous voice screams aloud
"AT ONCE I DEMAND TO SEE DISCIPLINE!"
Pick yourselves up and dust your boots
Stand tall recruits
Firm salutes
Rank- file assemble the troops
These logical patterns are systemic
Lines her pockets left over notes
Sly witty quotes
Inked and wrote
Folded origami boats
Set adrift on the Lyrical Ocean
Mr. Chaos from shadows sees
Bounds from the trees
Dives in sea
Swims to bottom- pulls plug free
Once calm waters now swirling commotion
Sister Order turns back around
Spectacle found
Scowls a frown
All was perfect- safe and sound
Til that trickster Chaos came and messed it
Removes her sandals- drives ahead
soles of feet tread
Dry sea bed
Picks up the plug-shakes her head
As she curses her brother- "THAT MISFIT!!!"
Oh! I wish I could spell “weirdo”! It really bothers me.
Is it the “e” before the “i”, or the “i” before the “e”?
Now, if it was a German word, I wouldn’t have to try.
I know “ie” is always eee, and “ei”’s always eye.
It doesn’t have a Latin root, so that rule won’t apply …
It really has no hook at all that I can grab it by.
Yes! It’s good old Anglo-Saxon, full of grunts and mangled vowels.
They didn’t have to write it- they’d communicate with scowls.
No! I really can’t spell “weirdo”! Not to write, or speak, or sing …
So the only answer I can find is ... don’t use the bloomin’ thing!
...........................................................................................................
This problem cropped up when I wrote"Mum's Advice Ignored" ...
I'm usually quite a good speller!
Entered in Susan Burch's contest, "Ridiculous Self- exaggerations"
There’s a lady dressed in white.
She smiles in the morning light.
There’s a man who’s dressed in brown.
He scowls as the sun goes down.
There’s a girl who’s dressed in blue
Who got her hands stuck in glue.
There’s a boy who’s dressed in red.
It’s not his clothes, he’s just dead.
Tara would be the bee in any woman’s bonnet,
incessantly whining, “Buy me this, buy me that.”
Manipulating
Selfish
Rude
She knew all the tricks to inflict guilt
in her divorced father who thought he failed her.
Just 12 years old, she’d call at 2 a.m.,
“Daddy, I’m stuck at Walmart.”
Without hesitation, Tom would rush to pick her up,
never suggesting she stayed out too late.
Although she liked to swim in my lake,
at no other time did I see Tara smile.
Just scowls
Taunts
Threats
I was touched by Tom’s devotion to his daughter,
but was more than concerned for her future.
After failing seventh grade twice,
she demanded to be home schooled.
I offered to tutor;
she declined.
Tara claimed there were courses on the internet,
so Tom showed his weakness when he agreed.
Tom’s good qualities were many
Generous
Reliable
Kind
It was Tara who drove the wedge between us
and she never did pass seventh grade.
Tom’s baggage only weighed about a hundred pounds,
but he might as well have carried the world on his shoulders.
January 31, 2017
This antique house has old bowels
An attack could give us the scowls
The toilet must flow
And we want you to know
It’s bad if you flush paper towels!
It's the midnight dance, last call before the lights go out and the harvest moon glows brightly in the darkness. The room is full with partners sweeping close, hand in hand, floating liltly across the floor, snug and tightly wrapped in each others arms, lips upon their necks. Eyes drift up slow gorged yet wanting then frantic, eyeing every masked face searching for another partner.
Witches grin,
envied green flowing into the arms of passion burned red devils.
Pumpkins glow,
with eerie lanterns waltzing with the Headless Horseman's horse.
Pale ghostly sheeted ethereal spectres,
gently clasp skeletal fingers with dainty delicacy.
Superman tingles the webbing of Spiderman,
with Wonder Woman caught between them.
Batman scowls
at Robin's teenage angst closeted tights.
Scary menacing clowns
throw punches at pocked faced zombies.
A frail wall flower pretty in soft and elegant pink
into the arms of the muscular strong Huntsman.
A piano player plucks the keys in black and white
as the debutante swoons, falling graceful into his arms
and the dance comes to an end.
Where do I turn for comfort?
Tell me, where can I go?
Shame is all I find
Whispers behind wisteria
scowls masked in smiles
sneak attack
Caught unawares
the "stares"
Where do I turn for comfort?
gossip on the grapevine
souls dine
on troubled mind
everyone blind...
too blind to be kind
Where do I turn for comfort?
No friend in the end
None to defend
No one hears the cries
they have their "somewhere else" alibis
.......
they smile
and converse
exchange pleasantries
unaware of the pain
synonymous of insane
normalcy's delusion
they play "Illusion"
not knowing
the state of their hearts
how it smarts!
they smile
and belie
their own little jibes
More civilized
less "in your face"
They don't leave a trace
Nothing to DISGRACE!
they smile....
halo slipping
wings charred
heart seared
I reel
they don't feel
the pain
It's REAL...
Where do I turn for comfort?
When the comforter is gone...
Where do I go?
Surely, you know
YOU…
K N O W
Eileen Manassian
Disclaimer: This poem was written a FEW MONTHS BACK, when there was a painful episode here on the soup. I deleted it, but I find that these same situations come back again. Perhaps from now on every poem needs a disclaimer.....or is that only MY poems?