Best Scurrying Poems
When leaves in whispers say goodbye
With a hint of autumn’s sun rise
Once of vibrant life to mutate
In combat with the chilling eve.
Soon to waltz within heartless breath
When leaves in whispers say goodbye
From mighty mother trees shaking
In fall’s perpetual cycle.
No more gathering of morns dew
Within the mist that spoils the view
When leaves in whispers say goodbye
Dressed in colours of red and gold.
Another seasonal imprint
Scurrying along woodland’s chase
Driven by swirling artful winds
When leaves in whispers say goodbye.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Categories:
scurrying, nature,
Form:
Quatern
If I have the time, I’ll wait eons, to greet you in scarlet dawn
As you marvel its vermillion garb embossing marigold arc
Emanating golden sparks, piercing hazy contours of dark
While gilded ripples glisten pond, where floats a snazzy swan.
Listen I’ll, to the music of morn, in songs of gentle breeze
Quivering new growth on barren trees where chickadees sing
Shedding dread of winter, in adoration of vibrant spring
As you thrill in waltzing hills, where green conifers wheeze.
Ambling through idyllic meadows of my coveted dreams
I’ll emerge in gilt-sunshine on silken petals glinting dew
Where pink and purple rosy blooms enliven to enchant you--
Meeting you where giggling streams glitter in amber beams.
By your side in a quiet spot, I’ll watch the sparrows fly by
Hopping from branch to branch in euphoric random dance
Scurrying suddenly in curvy flight, inviting your glance
Celebrating freedom, flying high, into expansive blue sky,
And compose a chapter of doting allegory in romantic glory
Lingering in hearts where cadent verses of desires sway
Turning up the tempo, letting life’s ravishing rhythms play
As hours and days accumulate slowly, into eternal love-story.
December 17, 2019
Placed 1st: If you have the time for an enclosed rhyme poetry contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
HM: Strand select 10 contest by Brian Strand
Categories:
scurrying, imagery, love, nature,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
i gather my thoughts
like a squirrel
scurrying to find nuts
as it rustles
through leaves
on crisp lawns
the air is warm
as am i
when wrapped
in thoughts of you
i can almost feel your touch
press against me
a breath of air
touches there
as autumn breathes
slightly cooler
then you
memories twirl
in my mind
like these little leaves
as they spiral down
suddenly i am blushed
more than the trees
as i remember
our first kiss
i look at the branches
slightly quivering in the wind
as did i back then
as i watch the sun fade
slightly redder than i
the ground and trees
mirror her reflection
i marvel at the beauty
and wonder
why does everything
so beautiful have to end
soon these trees
will be stripped of color
stand naked
in blankets of white
autumn breathes again
somewhat cooler than before
i shiver beneath her touch
and my thoughts fade
with the night...
the scent of autumn fills the air
as i head back home
i can hear the crackle
of fresh burning wood
you await by the fire
your lips reach towards mine
i tremble within
i feel your breath
against my flesh
and i remember
autumn's breath
and blush as i think
perhaps there is beauty
in being naked
beneath blankets of white
Categories:
scurrying, autumn, love, romance,
Form:
Free verse
ebony edges
twilight blackens sketched shadows~
scarlet-stained sunset
dusk dribbles dewdrops
flower petals atrophied~
evening primrose, bloom
pinwheel galaxies
swirling stars orbit black holes~
bats shadow the night
dawn pierces night's heart
scarlet wounds bleed crimson light~
a hummingbird's hum
day resurrected
scurrying shadows scatter~
colors coalesce
Categories:
scurrying, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Haiku
Lost -
Through an Eagle's eye
Over Fields of plenty
Where rivers and creeks
Never run dry
But I can't feel it
Mountains rising up
Touching the pink, blue,
And rustic orange skies.
I just don't know why
… I just can't feel it
I am a lost page within the novel
No one knows my inner battles
Entering another day
Of constant trials and prattles
Lost –
Through the ears
Of a Great Horned Owl
Where life's creation falls silent
Scurrying about
But I can't feel it
Forests of trees where an
Acappella choir resounds
Magically starting the day
Reverberating all around.
I just can't feel it
And the sea sprites dance
To a rhythm of time
Reaching out to my soul
Touching my heart
Seeking to free and unbind…
I cry, for I can't feel it
No, I just can't feel it
For morning becomes noon
Noon becomes day
For everything has its place
With a time to work
And a time to play
I give up, for I can't feel it
I will never feel it
I look to the four corners
Seeking answers,
But the wind is motionless
And the world, unfeeling
For such are the plans
I never made
So I turn the page….
Categories:
scurrying, depression, lost, mental health,
Form:
Free verse
He toddles toward the pebbles, tumbling the smooth stones over
in his four year old palms, rubbing them like Aladdin’s lamp, tossing
them back into the mix, impishly shining with the zest of a boy.
He sees the overflow of snowy petals, finds the lowest hanging
stem, the gardenia bends to touch his greenhorn nose. Forever
that scent will remind him of grandma’s garden like she remembers
the tubes of trumpet petals in her own grandparents’ backyard. A
twinkle of tremulous joy impacting the fingers of her and her siblings.
The rare treat of parties, the round table laughter, heartfelt antiquity.
The boy explodes from the bottom of the driveway into the steep
mossy front yard, feeling each measured bounce, ne’er a straight
path to the door, exploring the red and yellow roses, the crumbling
timbers, walking the wall, following scurrying lizards, stepping on
ants, a roving eye for the fearful red, yet no thought of turtle monsters
nor copperheads that have precariously occupied my property,
nor coyotes that have encroached the boundaries. Unboundless energy,
nerve, verve of a courageous man in the making, trampling his feet,
owning the property then oh so gently snapping a stem, handing
his childhood princess a gift, pulling strings of a puppet’s heart,
winding the twine like pulling in a windswept kite, ever learning
nuances of my mind, tucked away to love, rebell and trust.
6/1/19
Categories:
scurrying, child,
Form:
Free verse
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
Scurrying through the tops of trees,
it begins as a gentle breeze.
Not enough to discourage bees,
it is only brisk; it isn't much.
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
It is only brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
And yet, birds still escape its clutch;
it is only brisk; it isn't much.
It topples garbage cans and such,
gathering up a cloud of dust.
It is only brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
that soon blocks the Sun's sullied light.
And proceeds, with increasing thrust;
gathering up a cloud of dust.
When the sky turns orangey rust,
twirling tornadoes evoke fright.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
that soon blocks the Sun's sullied light.
Twirling tornadoes evoke fright,
with debris flying through the air.
Morphing into objects of might,
twirling tornadoes evoke fright.
Finding cover, we hang on tight,
for flying shrapnel packs a scare.
Twirling tornadoes evoke fright,
with debris flying through the air.
Categories:
scurrying, hyperbole, imagery, imagination, nature,
Form:
Triolet
How much do I love thee
Let me tabulate all the ways
I bought you a new Mercedes
With gold plated tire rims
I bought you a humongous diamond ring
The size fit for all Royals and King
I bought you a store of the finest lingerie
Secrets still held at the door by decree
I bought you a garden of roses so red
My love was surely in bloom, or so they all said
I bought you a ticket to heavens pearly gates
So that in paradise you’d have not to even wait
I bought you your very own private Lear jet
To see the world through champagne eyes
My love was a vault and you emptied it dry
My heart has now learned to never cry
How much do you love me?
Your lawyer seems to know
You claimed mental duress
Suffering under such stress
The Mercedes was the wrong color so I am told
I should have known, pink, not gold
The diamond ring was too heavy to wear
Your back injuries caused you painful despair
The lingerie didn’t cover you just right
So medical ailments kept you up many a nights
The roses in bloom where not the right flower
Your allergies they caused, thus making you sour
The ticket to heaven you plain out refused
Said it was one way, and that just wouldn’t do!
You had no issues riding my Lear jet
You rode the pilot as well, a mile high kinda bet
My love you tossed into the bin out in back
The divorce lawyer smiles at me, saying she sure is great in the sack
The moral of the Story is this!
If you are sitting at the table, and
You see a few beetles scurrying about
Maybe even whistling a tune or two
Listen carefully to what they say
Categories:
scurrying, betrayal, divorce, freedom, money,
Form:
Light Verse
Pick a Title – Wild Is the Night – Sponsor: Edward Ibeh 1-9-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wild Is the Night
Night wakes
In atonality of imploding infernos
Stretches,
Tossing matted tresses,
Throws off serene quilts
Of winter’s full golden moonlight
To thrash about with bare feet
On icy floors,
Tripping over the remains of dawn
Where shreds of crumpled thoughts,
Like shards of icy hailstones,
Claw at windowpanes
Clothed in nakedness.
Night shivers
As jumbled fangs of hunger
Rattle chimes and unbroken stares
When gusts of darkness ravage lullabies,
Gnaw on jawbones of savaged dreamscapes,
To race through hairpin curls of obsession
Night huddles
In tempests of dead ends,
Decorated by fixations,
By graffiti of the grotesque,
Where despair masquerades in cyclones of deception,
Storms of mania as solutions.
Whispers of wind driven earworms hatch,
Step in front of Heaven’s voice,
Cutting into Heaven’s heart
With blades of infected gales;
As the blood of angels stains doves
Anxiety floods in downpours
When the litany of the hours tosses and turns
In explosions of black noise;
Wild night paces in midnight,
Caught by scurrying tornedos,
Waiting
For the first light of resurrection.
Categories:
scurrying, angst, night, storm, wind,
Form:
Free verse
Nightgowns on at 9:01
Adrenal induced delerium
Santa’s journey has surly begun
To our beds, we were a scurrying
Closed eyes, at 9:05
But sleep would not come easy
We’d twist and turn, side to side
At least til 5 past 3
Then somewhere before, 3:44
Sleep would come, by chance
Til little sis would creep through the door
Ready to sneak a glance
Prowling the stairs, side by side
And past the grandfather clock
Which, by now, was reading 4:55
Five ticks before each tock
Around the bin and into the den
Stood our sparkling 8 foot tree
Palms were there, to catch our chins
We’d gaze til 5:03
Up the stairs, new teddy bear
Little sister, close behind
Sound asleep, to prepare
For the alarm at 6:59
Categories:
scurrying, childhood, christmas, night, sister,
Form:
Rhyme
Life is a smile of a newborn in mother's arms
Arts and crafts of stained glass from grains of sand
Freedom of a chick on its very first flight
Love of a mother scurrying beside a young fawn
Float on a lotus pond in style of white swans
Lyrics of nature scripted in nightingale's song
Painting in vermilion tints rising on meadows of fall
Rivers rushing down from spring mountaintops
Romance in lover's eyes watching a new dawn
Wonder in breath of a single-celled amoeba
September 14, 2019
HM: Strand special 5 by Brian Strand
Life poetry contest; Sponsor: Ironic Zink
Categories:
scurrying, life, metaphor,
Form:
Imagism
~ I am a Conservative
Here is who I am
and what I stand for ~
C onserving what is worth preserving
O pen to changing what's not working
N ot willing to throw out the baby with the bathwater
S teadfast when those around me are scurrying
E nabling my children and relatives to succeed
R eligious in the ecumenical sense of the word
V itally interested in my community's welfare
A larmed by the rise in incivility in public discourse
T ender-hearted and giving to the stranger, the widow, the orphan
I nterested in politics, but not obsessed with it
V oracious reader of classical fiction and non-fiction
E nduring privation graciously, with faith and trust in God
Categories:
scurrying, identity, perspective, philosophy,
Form:
Acrostic
amid scurrying feet,
in the whirling humanity,
with divided aims,
and sizzling brains,
she paused with singularity of purpose.
never in a hurry, more at peace,
on a park bench, alone,
bent and weird, she sat.
when she moved,
her bones creaked,
on rusty hinges!
ragged in dress, torn in body,
face scourged by Time,
its contours deep like ravines.
her withered breasts,
hanging like nests of tailor birds.
hair lying disheveled,
with eyes shrouded in mist,
she looked out into the sinking sun,
never dreading the darkness that falls.
the park bench was her temporary halt.
she sat there every evening
determined to live on,
with the coins habitually dropped,
into her outstretched hands,
by those sailing past her,
unobtrusive self.
like a monument of patience
she sat.
sat, so alone!
~ First Place Trophy Win~
Dec.16.2022
Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest. No.55
Categories:
scurrying, angst, destiny, lonely,
Form:
Free verse
The daylight doesn't seem as bright as before,
as if the sun is fast fading away.
And gathering grey clouds fuel rains that pour:
sending kids scurrying inside to play.
Autumn's pretentious colors fade from sight,
until no trace remains; their beauty brief.
And short days relinquish their length to Night,
the trees stripped naked, not a single leaf.
The honking geese have all migrated south,
along with most of our precious songbirds.
And, daunting rumors, spread by word of mouth:
whisper Winter's here in so many words.
Winter's wailing winds will start whistling soon,
and we all must learn to dance to Her tune.
Categories:
scurrying, 10th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Sonnet
If I could but feel!
I would feel the warmth
of the sun upon my old,
cold, featureless face....
If I could but touch,
I'd touch the grass I lay on
and revel in its texture like
a little happy king....
If I could but smell,
all the flowers of the world
would be mine: roses and
daisies and even orchids
would be endless delight....
If I could but hear,
then all nature would be
my own symphony--
the birds rejoicing,
the bees buzzing,
dogs barking, even
rolling thunder, all
a continuous music
to my soul....
If I could but see-- ah,
what would a stone see?
The ever breathing beauty
of a world of color and life?
Or would I see its slow and
merciless unraveling by that
other sentient being, burning
its forests and dumping what
cannot be dissolved in eons
into proud, awesome oceans?
But I would treasure my
newfound mind and seek
to thank the Being that
could make even a stone
see and feel and hear and
think and even, in time,
perhaps love....
O, how then I would pity those
born with eyes and ears yet
unable to see Life or hear God,
living their lives scurrying about
like blind, deaf and dumb rats
while the eternal Light bathes all.
[posted February, 2020]
Categories:
scurrying, analogy, appreciation, beauty, god,
Form:
Free verse