Best Scurries Poems
Upon glimpse of horizon when rainbow colors sprout
A tiny fawn scurries, emerging from its stealth hideout
Strolling beneath falling petals of crepe-myrtle flowers
Glinting rays of ruby-sun through waning rain showers.
Illuminating breezing prairies golden twilight thrills
As eventide’s amber beams glimmer verdant hills
Rustling green foothills in summer’s sparkling appeal
Quivering shamrock leaves in evening’s tranquil zeal.
Scintillating purple canvas sunset’s marigold hues vie
Donning spirited crimson vibes on blazing orange sky
While bluebirds twitter joy, as robins trill zesty reply
Where sparrows hop, and fly, bidding the day goodbye.
Tender dusk unfolds slowly, revealing mauve insights
As gentle winds sigh, caressing stone color heights
Where peeking moon enlightens face of dreamy night
Mesmerizing smitten sights, sprinkling astral delight.
Quietude reigns now, setting stage for celestial dance
Hypnotizing doting visions, mesmerizing riveting stance
Where constellations woo romance glinting Milky Way
As nightingale’s song serenades joviality of blissful day.
August 10, 2020
Placed 1st: Your best un-acclaimed poem
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide
Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops
A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp
You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud
Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016
It's summer, and it's the time
to take the train to old Saint Ives
and visit my Aunt Clementine
who lives alone by an old salt mine.
Aunt Clementine, she likes to dine
on mac and cheese at half past nine
then eats big slices of strawberry pie
while she sits and watches the fire flies.
Aunt Clementine loves polka dots
mostly orange, there's quite a lot
on walls and rugs, on kitchen tops
on her clothes and her dog named "Spot".
Aunt Clementine has crazy hair
that flies around most everywhere
while she hurries and scurries
here and there, and likes to say,
"Well, I declare!"
When she puts her lipstick on
Aunt Clementine breaks out in song
and tells me I should sing along
even if I forget or flub or FLOB
she tells me I am never wrong.
My Aunt Clementine is really fun
she certainly is not a nun
and so full of mischief
I just love to come
to be with her is double fun
in my book she is number one!
~
The fog, it clings the heavens low,
a damp and murky sight
Where creaking branch and fears bestow,
this chilly autumn night
The path it winds, a serpentine,
a' slither 'long the way
As shadows dance a drastic scene,
in silhouette array
My heart now beats a rapid pace,
cold shivers grip my spine
Escaping breath, no steps to trace,
don't even know what's mine
A rustle neath the thicket dense,
it scurries past my feet
I stop and turn, in my defense,
now praying for retreat
Oh why, I wonder, have I strode,
this eerie, ghostly way
A shortcut to my own abode,
I’ve traveled on by day
When then above, the faintest glow,
appears behind the mist,
The moon, now full, begins to show,
“Not now,” my screams insist
My skin it rips, expanding burn,
I howl through sharpened teeth
Long scraggy hair, a hungry yearn,
my soul of no relief
With eyes, now such a larger size,
much easier to see
And ears so huge, it's no surprise,
I'm hearing perfectly
On fours, I crawl, through forest thick
when then, a blanket thrown
A trap, I yell, a dirty trick,
come out, I say, be shown
A granny's quilt, that's how it feels,
so heavy, woven tight
It's thick with dust, it now reveals
that something isn't right
I toss the cover from my head,
a ripping, tearing, scream
Its then I tumble out of bed,
my word, it’s just a dream
Well, that’ll teach me, teach me good,
this thought I’ll have to keep,
Do not read, “Little Red Riding Hood”
before I go to sleep
Written for: Scary Stories Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
WEASEL
Tiny little weasel,
Sneaking `round the house,
Searching for a midnight snack,
A chick, a kit or mouse.
Crafty little rascal,
Scurries here and there,
Must find enough to feed the brood,
A bird, a pup or hare.
Nocturnal little scavenger,
Omnivorous opportunist,
Relentless once he spots his prey,
A formidable impugnist.
Cute little weasel,
Can be really sweet,
Cut the little guy some slack,
We all have got to eat.
Judy Ball
(Just make sure your pets and live stock are protected.)
Nothing stirs the blood more than lies
I stand upon sacred ground of honor
Defend the truth with my soul's honest sword
I'll hold character before dishonor
And cut away at any lies discord
Face with an angry voice, all lies that creep
That hides inside minds of a human throng
Who scurries from the truth, for lies are cheap
They sell each lie in darker shades of wrong
This line so sacrosanct cannot be crossed
Nor tossed aside a quaint and ancient rite
I'll face the ugly truth and pay its cost
And live or die indeed, for its true light
I find that lies betray a chosen dearth
And will leave a tarnished stain on your self-worth
5/1/18 contest Emotions that Rock You
I am a Burn’s Night baby
(named after the Ayrshire bard)
So we’re off to hunt a haggis
locating one is extremely hard
We scour the hills of Scotland
and have dull and rainy weather
There’s not a haggis to be seen …
they’re all hiding in the heather!
All of a sudden we spot a rare haggis
So hubby fires his gun into the gorse
The haggis scurries into the undergrowth
Hubby missed the wee beastie of course!
We spend hours out there on the hills
All the little haggis are all lying low
I scour the land with my binoculars
But not a hair of one is on show
The sky is getting really dark
we are tired and soaked to the skin
so we descend the slopes to the village
we see a butchers, and swiftly walk in
Hundreds of haggis are on display
With gaping mouth I stare in surprise
Their orange hair is so beautiful
I cannot believe my own eyes
I tell him we’ve been on a haggis hunt
And he glowers at me in shock and alarm
says the one’s on the hills are protected
He gets his stock from a breeding farm
I choose a wee haggis from the shop
When it’s baked we both have a slice
Haggis is a Scottish delicacy
I’ve got to say it tastes 'offally'* nice!
* Haggis, the national dish of Scotland, composed of the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep minced and mixed with beef or mutton suet and oatmeal and seasoned with onion, cayenne pepper, and other spices. The mixture is packed into a sheep's stomach and boiled. Information sourced from google.
01/24/18
I face the final test of nature's truth.
The nights coming fast, I travel unheard.
The reverence I feel, was born in my youth,
tempered by sage, burnt offerings for birds.
Tormented by brambles whose thorns I collect
I come to remains of struggles long gone,
feathers and crushed bone, on these I reflect.
I'm hoping once more, my arms are still strong.
A pine marten scurries, close to my step,
the sweet scent of birch gum, his claws unearth.
My arrow's still sheathed, for creeks I have leapt.
Though I grow cold, my spirit is re-birthed.
Tracks at the creek, the water I savor
the thicket moves, my aim must not waver.
01/25/14
lazily the waves
lap the pebbles on the beach
a crab scurries by
to burrow beneath wet sand
a prisoner of the tides
I wrap my pillow tightly
around my shivering head
To drown out the hiss and shuffle
neath my rickety old bed
Whispers coming from the dark shadows
Speak my gloom and Impending doom
And the creaking floor echos wildly
throughout this cold dark room
My breath mists like a ghostly apparition
Ready to claim my battered soul
And my hearts beating like a kettle
boiling out of control.
My bodys now quaking like an earthquake
as all fears put a stranglehold on me.
My brain says to run far away
but im locked up in a deep deep freeze.
The sun blasts morning beams
through my dusty window shades
The monster scurries far away
Until the dark returns then he comes back to play.
August 28/ 2016
If you go downtown early morning
You can see the shopkeepers setting
Old treasures on the sidewalk,
Writing their welcomes with chalk
On little standing blackboards,
Inviting you inside their stores.
Honeysuckle Antiques has its window
Filled with newfound things to show,
Local crafts and the latest junk,
A fringed lampshade and leather trunks.
Its storefront arranged with trifle clutter,
Metal lawn chairs and wooden ladders.
A rusted garden rake’s crooked grin
Begs you to come shop within.
A copper cowbell rings above the door
As dust scurries across a creaking floor.
Greetings from a curvy dressmaker’s bodice,
Empty coke bottles sold by the case.
The moment you enter you’re lost in time.
You never know what you may find;
A stack of old suitcases eager to travel,
Tiny dishes all the way from China,
A basket full of skeleton keys
Or an old black Singer sewing machine.
So many things lost and forgotten;
A lady’s hat pin, hundreds of buttons
Peer through the green glass of Mason jars,
A boy’s prize collection of toy metal cars,
Polaroid cameras and a reel to reel,
A pair of broken red wagon wheels.
Everyone’s favorite, a brown Teddy bear,
A no-longer-needed baby high chair,
Piles of silver spoons, a tarnished pocket watch;
Its workings inside have ground to a halt.
Someone’s keepsake once shiny and new,
Time of death; twelve thirty-two.
Overhead, a beautiful lead chandelier
Sparkles “I don’t belong here.
Take me with you when you go.”
Shelves lined with items needing a home.
Cramped, dusty isles you wander around
Through all the lost and all the found.
Then persuasive orphans catch your eye;
A porcelain doll sitting way up high,
Sad, in her torn and faded dress
Next to some pink Depression glass.
“Take me with you when you go.”
Beg the doll and the bowl.
Vast dust bowls surrounding the land
barren barely supporting any life
Stark and so bleak, just sand
sand as far as you can see
Wicked winds churning up
forever changing canvass
reforming the dune hills
maps little use to you here
Watch the Grecko lizard
as he dashes over the sand
his feet barely touching, as he
scurries then dives down deep
Harsh and Relentless
yet with a stark beauty
that some how pacifies
Life needs these adversities
It is on them that nature thrives
all we can do is onwards strive
stark dangerous and life threatening
yet holding a promise of life restarting
written 08/02/2013
contest PD's submit a poem any theme will do
Leveret scurries
Trained ears, panoramic sight
Saved - by a hare's breath.
Easter Bunny blinks
Burrows the deep undergrowth
Close shave this morning
So many years have gone by since the day
Came for my broken heart to start mending.
Carefully, a kind spirit came lending
A star that reigns high in the Milky Way.
She shines here too, but soon scurries away-
Always to keep the mystery pending.
Far reaching for the time you'll be spending.
Forever here her sacred name shall stay.
Now, continue to search, and search again;
But, in these lines, she will always remain.
Keep searching for her name; I cannot yield.
You shall find her; keep asking yourself how.
Review the clues you've been given; and now,
With this ink, our eternal kiss is sealed.
© 2017
A fallen angel
Scurries into cocaine self
Lucifer dances