Best Scudding Poems
Ah! To be adrift upon the boundless sea sailing, sailing, sailing!
Alone with the sea and pristine sky with southerly winds prevailing.
No particular destination in mind as upon the surging sea I plod,
Nor is there another soul in view as I quietly commune with God!
Ah! To be alone at night in the desert pondering, pondering, pondering!
I lie to refresh my weary bones after a day of vagabond wandering,
Savoring the soothing quietude with gentle zephyrs caressing my face,
Gazing heavenward as constellations wink at me from outer space!
Ah! To scale the highest mountain where even eagles dare not fly!
The precious solitude of it all! I can reach out and touch the sky.
Such divine inspiration it brings to this mere mortal's languid soul,
As God's Creation beyond is revealed for me to relish and extol!
Ah! To amble down a forest path when autumn leaves adorn the trees!
Gold and crimson leaves waft about me, stirred by an occasional breeze.
I'm awed by the Master Artist's handiwork no mere artist dare portray.
This priceless solitude and beauty I shall treasure forever and a day!
Ah! To lie 'neath a shade by a rippling stream and dream, dream, dream!
Watching vagabond clouds scudding across the sky in solitude supreme!
I suppose there are folks who prefer to mingle with the multitude,
But I treasure time alone to muse and write in peaceful solitude!
Entry for Line Gauthier's "The Beauty of Solitude" Contest
Categories:
scudding, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
Upon the waters waiting still,, a scudding duck decends.!
Dragonflies hover over blossoms and leeches deep,
Geese shake their heads, as they are passing the fronded willows, in verdant pleats
Hissy hiss is all they say,with their blatant contempt for the lush summers day!
The ganders enjoying their swaggering time on this fecund month of may.
While on meadow banks are waxing longer the source of septembers hay
Near lily pads
A gaggle of goslings go
Deep yellow fluffing they bob
Eyes on mom stay (close)
Egrets stream like banners
( Art white) on aqua skies.
Joe Maverick for Constance La France's four beautiful birds contest.
copyright may 2011
Categories:
scudding, animals
Form:
Free verse
part 1
We bend low under over-hanging branches
lit by reflected river-light gently shifting.
Our boots suck the muddy bank.
We wade into clear water
the dappled up-light playing
on our serious faces.
Intent on our task
hands plunge.
Cold-shocked I gasp.
You hold your jar steady.
I scoop mine.
Triumphant in a shower of icy prisms
we hold our prizes aloft,
laughing and shouting,
water streaming down our arms,
jars teeming with tadpoles.
Faces pressed close
to these underwater worlds,
we stand transfixed.
Each reflects a small disc
of sparkling sky.
part 2
April trees rake scudding clouds.
Far away farm dogs bark
at wind-snatched shouts
of bird-nesting boys.
Somewhere, a cuckoo calls.
In the back garden
a blackbird stakes out his territory.
Ignoring him the cat purrs,
yawning in the sun.
While unnoticed
on the garden table
beside a upturned jar,
a sprinkling
of flattened tadpoles
commas
drying in the sun.
The bored cat
saunters by,
her tail held high
in the shape
of a question mark.
Categories:
scudding, childhood, friendship, happiness, nature,
Form:
Free verse
A brilliant harvest moon hangs beneath the ebon Colorado sky.
Scudding clouds dare not darken its lustrous glow - tho' they often try!
Silhouetted against the moon are geese winging to warmer destinations,
Mysteriously guided by That Master Compass in perfect V formations!
The moon spreads a coat of silver on lakes and rushing streams below.
Yonder, majestic Pikes Peak gleams with a crown of freshly fallen snow!
White tail deer peer shyly from the shadows of golden aspen groves.
Magnificent elk graze in yon valley 'neath the harvest moon in droves!
Lovers, young and old are spellbound by the harvest moonlight's trance.
Mr. Moon has a special knack for setting the tone for love and romance!
They hold hands strolling along moonlit trails to reminisce and dream,
Their glowing faces brightened by the harvest moon's mellow beam!
Families bundle up against the chill to enjoy hay rides and wiener roasts,
And toast marshmallows over roaring fires, telling tales of scary ghosts!
Wizened "hooty" owls emit their throaty moans adding to the eerie scene!
The moon beams benignly o'er Colorful Colorado giving to all a sheen!
When autumn winds begin to blow and trees stand bare and so austere,
We welcome the warming glow of the harvest moon in our hemisphere!
Alas, tho' the harvest moon graces our skies only in the autumn of the year,
The Creator will delight us again come next October - that you need not fear!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
scudding, autumn, moon,
Form:
Rhyme
Light and shade are vital to life's beauty, charm, and richness. By Poet.
sun
sunshine
dawn to dusk
nature supplies
vivacious hues clash
cumulonimbus cloud
sprouts expanse toward the sun
every day, it swells keen and vast
as crocus sprouts muzzle widespread breeze
in stark peacefulness through the strides of verve
Melted gold gleams in the thoughts of moonbeams.
As light wanes, faint stars tackle to glow.
they shimmer like zillions of studs
while embedded to sunbeams
Scudding blue-purple swarms.
soar through azure sky.
gazed birch leaf buds
and clean grass
spring's rays
warmth.
scour
the bliss
tweaked and deep
blue fades to mauve
humped at hearts of stem
stream heavenly keenness
as waterway of sheer praise
sequent the path of least toughness
same as a flower's smell loads the air
linked to bode love, uttering lease to flow
Written: February 15, 2022
1st place contest winner
E Forms- Etheree - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Categories:
scudding, analogy, appreciation, beauty, creation,
Form:
Etheree
UFOs have been sighted in Yorkshire,
a global hotspot it appears,
witnesses, mostly sober
to the moors and up over
have regularly seen them for years.
They all give them various descriptions,
some were captured on video tapes,
as they hovered and zoomed, no jet sound
or smoke plume,
and they come in a variety of shapes.
Several saw an enormous black cylinder
it slowly climbed up, then moved faster,
through the clouds it went scudding
like a giant black pudding
could it be Bolton has it's own NASA?
One arrived with three coloured lights, flashing,
seems like ET had finally phoned home,
as it buzzed the landscape
a triangular shape, maybe from the planet Toblerone.
Whatever these visual conundra,
their existence must convey some meaning,
I've seen them, a lot
mine are little black dots
and they tell me my glasses need cleaning.
Categories:
scudding, humor, space,
Form:
Rhyme
Where nature the artist has dipped her brush
A myriad of shapes and colours I see,
I cannot but be touched by the beauty
Of life’s canvas spread out before me.
Trees decked out in greens and yellows,
Crowning glories framed against a sky
Of soft pastel blue/pink colour wash
With small patch of cloud scudding by.
As I look out now over the river
I see the water ripple in gentle flow.
Soon we will be in the heart of London
So I’ll enjoy this peace now then watch it go.....
Horns beeping.
Fists shaking.
Cursing under breath.
Cars dodging,
Heart thumping.
Dicing with death.
People scurrying,
Pushing,squashing,
Hot stifling air.
Buildings crowding.
Noise deafening,
Hubbub everywhere.
And yet.....
Trees on the pavement,flowers in a window box,
There in the midst of the cities din
Are subtle traces of nature the artist.
Bringing me back to myself and that peace within.
Categories:
scudding, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Eleven horses traipsed single file toward home
The scudding clouds threw a snowflake now and then
A Brown bear sniffed the air and looked toward his den
the mountain emptied
The accumulation is but a handful
Shallow depth pushed against a pine tree base
But the flakes grew bigger as the skies darkened
a whiteness emerged
A wind from nowhere pushed the flakes sideways
The first blizzard of the year was in full blow
As inches turn to feet in no time at all
the world disappeared
Soon the sun arose and then the wind vanished
Silence ruled the whiteness without and within
As the blizzard had roared of its displeasure
the universe slept
7-11-20
Contest: Strand Completely new (8)
Sponsor:Brian Strand
Categories:
scudding, snow,
Form:
Sapphic stanza
Fair winds and following seas.
May full sails surge with scudding breeze.
May peaceful moorings host your craft
wherever indulgent winds waft.
A toast now to your safe return.
May choppy seas be left astern.
May evening offer pleasing berth
to ensconce in halcyon firth.
Categories:
scudding, boat, goodbye, sea, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
I was a mere lad of ten living on a prairie farm in Hoosier land,
Roaming the fields in my old straw hat, barefoot, carefree and tanned.
My faithful dog, Spooks, was always with me chasing rabbits,
(And rabbits were very plentiful due to their prolific habits!)
We had no inside facilities such as running water or a bath.
Our privy, as it was called, was located at the end of a winding path!
A Saturday night ritual was taking a sitz bath in a metal washing tub,
Then we'd pile in Dad's '35 Dodge and head for town after my scrub.
There was no TV in those days and my ears were glued to the radio,
Following the adventures of my heroes, filtered through static-filled audio!
I spent my meager allowance buying model planes and crafting the things.
Dozens hung from the ceiling of my room floating on gossamer wings.
I used a supple willow branch for a rod and a safety pin for a hook,
Angling for crawdads and wily crappie in the cool and flowing brook.
The Great Depression was ending way back then when I was ten.
Alas, World War Two began and things were never the same again.
On languid summer afternoons on a limb of the old oak tree I'd stretch,
And watch the scudding clouds as boyhood dreams I'd sketch.
Those were some of the things I did way back then when I was ten.
I'm four score and five now, but how I cherish memories of way back then!
Entry for Kelly Deschler's "Way Back When I Was Ten" Contest
Categories:
scudding, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme
Many are the boyhood fantasies gazing into a cozy winter's blaze,
Or watching vagabond clouds scudding on lazy summer days,
Or in deep reverie with glazed eyes holding his fishing pole,
As he idles away a summer afternoon at his favorite fishing hole!
Building myriad model airplanes from tissue paper and balsa wood,
Dreaming of becoming the ace of aces, oh, if he only could!
Lying in bed hearing the plaintive whistle of the midnight freight;
Engineering that huffing, chuffing monster - wouldn't that be great!
Yearning desperately be a gallant soldier defending his nation.
Maybe even becoming a famous general receiving great adulation.
Perhaps a humble pastor ministering to his beloved flock,
Or a famous scientist finding cures for rare diseases to unlock!
Oh, to become a winning Indy five-hundred mile race driver,
Or explore the ocean depths as a daring deep-sea diver.
"Do you suppose", he muses, "that I could become a movie star,
Or strum my way to fame and fortune on the classical guitar?"
A notion is joining the circus to become a trainer of wild beasts.
Possibly a renowned chef preparing tasty delights for exotic feasts.
Ah, so many things he aspires as he ponders his many visions!
Dream on lad - you've plenty of time for weighing your decisions!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
scudding, childhoodsummer, fishing, summer, boy,
Form:
Rhyme
The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small crabs patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.
By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more,
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …
Categories:
scudding, beach, education, environment, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
Haiku 113
waxing gibbous moon scudding chiffonclouds drifting downwind
Categories:
scudding, summer,
Form:
Haiku
In the fall of the golden year
scudding clouds sometimes conceal my pale face, silent and serene
then lift revealing big and bright , orange and eerie
the moon of harvest fall and Halloween
Spring time comes dark and silent ,
I pass quietly thru cool , clear nights
while flowers bloom and the rains warm the earth
preparing the fertile soil for my pure white light
On warm summer evenings,
rising huge in the east, all orange and yellow
I set sail over starry fields and follow the path of the milky way
feeling young and mellow
As I float among the cicadas and crickets
weaving their magical songs of harmony and grace
In winter I glide brightly thru endless sparkling diamonds
set against the velvet black sky
creating lovely scenes of frosted fields
and snow covered forests
Sleeping quietly and peacefully
while the earth is at rest
Thru four seasons I cloak my mother in warmth
and pale shades of color and light
lifting the darkness and lighting the way
as I race swiftly thru the darkest nights
Categories:
scudding, earth, halloween, light, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Carefree in leisure time, one blasé tourist,
almost happy, I once had collected a complicated stone;
after the sunny hours had ended and last opportunity
for keepsakes began.
In my hand the stone had kept all of its mouths sewn shut,
holding its amalgamated story, and likewise in the car,
on the plane, through US Customs where it was not
in the least suspected.
A thumbnail identity I now should guess at, marking an old date,
and fixing it to, with reasonable estimate, a map location:
Plot No. 243, East end of the island, slave sugar plantation,
the stone from the corner of a ruined windmill stair—
broken free by my criminal hand, having liberated a vine.
The stone looked like a bleached out mini-monolith, square-rectangular,
able to be stood on end, leaning back and swollen at its center
like a pulled cork.
What could have moved this sequestered world to opening?
That was not for me to discover, except what came on Christmas Day,
two days after my returning.
Slave watercourses, the sight of innumerable Dutch ships,
ballasted with human flesh and hewn rock for sugar works buildings.
The drop at arms swish of the Driver’s bullwhip.
Flecks of spirit splayed on vegetation.
A mongrel dog barked beyond the windless wall of sugarcane
in centipede and mosquito heat.
Seaside, beautiful seaside impressions;
distant coral light shadows, etched deep azure;
snowy colored breakers that pencil-marked the sea.
The staid, vibrant, mocking power
of visual symphony backdrop.
So little of aid for the slaves, but for those dangerous secrets,
unhoused in the fallen coolness of the night:
demonstratively crystalline heaven of stars;
a ragged moon, clouds scudding eastward toward Africa
before freshwater rainsqualls came. And there
Orion’s Belt, mid-sky, illustrious bright, with its three
centering star points in rational line, as if
Hope could have flung such a rope anchor onto Life
engendering sanctified resistance.
Christmas morning, 5 a.m.
I had awakened from a stuck place, shapeless and dark,
half in dreaming and half in knowing I was in no dream.
I was sobbing, yet strangely, because there were no tears.
I had only put the stone inside my pajama top onto my heart.
Categories:
scudding, africa, dream, faith, freedom,
Form:
Free verse