Best Scuttles Poems
the raspy whisper
finally
gets my full attention -
wistfully I smile
..for its persistence reminds me of you..
the crisp red leaf
scuttles scrapingly
across the gray pavement
to and fro
like a dancing crab
moving with the whims of the winds
chasing me
as it seemed like I had once chased my dreams;
blown in directions left up to chance
..until I met you..
..is it now, as it was then
Destiny?
for in this instant, my sense of direction
seems predestined..
a smoky scent
spices the chilled blue air
reminding me of our cozy nights
curled with the fire
..entranced
as we were
with our warmth
and our flame..
could it be
love signals from the hearth
calling me home..?
..my soul
feels akin to the red leaf,
the wafting smoke
and I am ready to follow..
Would the cold atmosphere be so cruel
as to play capricious tricks upon my eyes... or
..is that really
YOU
standing there..?
Oh!
my beloved,
how my broken spirit
has suffered
in my pining desire to be with you -
I run to you!
years of yearning prayers answered
fingertips straining - stretching further
reaching out to touch you,
the whole of my being aching
to hold you and enfold you
..ah, I feel your heat
so very close to me..
Alas!
I fall to my knees,
my arms empty
but for the loss I carry..
your warm breath
on the nape of my neck
only my hot want
brewed with a cool wisp of the breeze
..Oh, God! Please!
just let it be
let me go..!
my forsaken flame less than a dying ember;
I but ashes in my grief
withered
in my autumn season
without you
still...
I’m slow to realize...
that your fading glow just the sun slanting low
blurring wicked whimsy with my wild sorrow
in the burning of these bitter tears.
Susan Ashley
December 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: NA the day away
Sponsor: Lu Loo
*N/A’d: Best Free Verse 2019 Poetry Contest*
~ Honorable Mention ~
Contest: Your Choice (2) Any Theme, Form
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ Poem Of The Day ~
December 4, 2018
september slips in
as asters wave in the breeze . . .
farewell to summer
october’s crisp days
mountains’ gold and crimson blaze . . .
my marveling gaze
november’s wind wails
a lone leaf scuttles away . . .
the fall’s first snow flake
Hell breaks loose through the trusting door
Whining its splintering, wooden hinges
Claws wrapping onto the arches beyond
Gnarled feet pressed on the threshold
Lower limbs jingling with sparky anklets
Ready to catapult and kick with spitting mouth
To shove its shine like a worthy prick
It was time for her daily purges
Peace is slapped about in her fickle hands and made ragged
Turmoil in her pedicured toes erodes the smoothed surfaces
Of the fashions’ must, into dusty rust of sick disgust
Her coral lips curve in delight
At the sight of confused and crazy creatures
Staring numbly at her hell-bent sight
She is always laughing, snarling or lying low
Waiting for the climatic blow
Bottom dwelling, blush smearer
Eyeliner runner, nail-biting binger
Her lies tease and her eyes see a perfect she will never be
As her large, curved nails glimmer
She scuttles her way like a crab in a salty delirium
She hides her hiss like a snake ready to miss for a chase
Challenging practicality,
“Dear Prudence,
Won’t you come out to play?”
But we are silent to the accursed
The wise are wary and rehearsed
We all slip right through as she intrudes an empty room
Waiting for a reaction, screwing with the lights to assert a distraction
She wreaks havoc in the dark,
“Dear Prudence!”
She screams,
As we softly walk down the path, nomads against the crabs
She doesn’t realize she is her worst fear—alone
Her mask melting and her anklets snapping
Collapsing, the tears she squeezed for her high
Were emptied, vindicated and dried
Angrily she must realize
In her twisted, stubborn way
It’s a beautiful day…
A crazy collab with my brother David Breidenthal [J.W Earnings]
A most unfortunate event
has occurred at our house.
It's embarrassing to admit,
We have a resident mouse.
The elusive little devil
has avoided every trap.
Though set in various places,
we've yet to hear a snap.
We have a playful tomcat
who loves his toy mouse,
carries it clutched in his teeth
to flip, toss and pounce.
Unfortunately, he performs
the same with a live one.
I'm urging, "Get it, kill it,"
he's too busy having fun.
Again and again he turns
it loose, enjoying the chase.
The mouse runs for his life,
hopeful of winning the race.
The crafty little victim
eludes the slothful brute,
scuttles down a heat vent,
leaves Tom to other pursuits.
Whereupon he saunters around,
searching for his toy mouse.
We're left with a useless cat
and a mouse in the house.
The little thrill as the wave’s ripple in
Making the hairs stand up, on the surface of my skin.
The kiss of the sun with its warm breath so light
As it soothes my skin with warmth and delight.
The sand rolls around where my hands touch it soft.
The water rolls back and forth carrying pebbles aloft.
Setting shells down with rolling grains of sand
Making minute rivers run from the fingers of my hand.
The blue of the sky so pale and so pretty
On the horizon I can see the outline of the city.
Birds bob on by walking in the sand,
Not caring that I’m there lying on their land.
Curiously watching me, little eyes darting here and there
Watching for what, I don’t know or care.
A tiny emerald green beetle scuttles on past
Taking no notice of me, but from the birds, rushes on fast.
The sun is setting; it’s time to go back
The tide has come in but it needs to get back
The coastguard come out and asks so polite
Please can you move, the tide needs to leave tonight.
You have laid there so long, blocking the way
Can you please go back - so the water can flow away?
The ships need to sail and the trawlers come in
But you are blocking the way as you are not that thin.
I need to fix this broken thing.
It is hungry and wants to
come out to play but
its bones have become
brittle with defeat;
they have
turned to
ash.
I need to fix this broken thing.
When it sees the light,
it scuttles back
into the shadows
that have become home.
Licking wounds has never
been so satisfying.
Or
more terrifying.
It is afraid of strangers.
It is afraid of mirrors.
It is afraid of
e v e r y t h i n g.
People walk by its rusted cage
to wonder what went wrong.
This broken thing
shouldn’t be here, but
it is dangerous.
It shouldn’t be allowed
in public anymore.
It shouldn’t be left alone
anymore.
I should put a yellow sign on it
that says,
“Come in, but be cautious”
for it has been known to
gnaw on flesh
and feelings
when attacked.
This broken thing once bloomed.
It once belonged to a
solitary daughter of the moon.
Its laugh once shook the room.
This thing was once never a broken thing.
But, certain things can only take so much
before evolving into
something
broken.
Oh, how we watch a town go by!
Pieces of life
wrapped against the elements,
going somewhere,
always going somewhere.
From this upper window,
my eye is a searchlight,
sweeping the streetscape.
I celebrate my stillness
by remaining still,
stiller,
and stiller still,
holding my breath,
stilling my eyes till they sting.
I will my stillness
to fill me, envelop me,
hold me still from within and without,
a force pushing out and in,
creating an equilibrium for my soul.
And still the life below
scurries, scampers,
scuttles, skitters,
fizzes, bubbles, lives,
the quick and undead,
each destined
to be still one day.
(September 2021)
I
O hasty zephyr blindly scuttles past,
O’er dry forsaken mounds with tarnished grass;
Between a pillared mountain weak but vast.
A force that bends and fashions broken glass,
Reflecting in advance, recorded path;
Stirring fervent as it rises to pass.
Transporting active seedlings gone with wrath,
Existent flora blankets naked floor;
Serenely downcast holds the aftermath.
Disruptive wind that blows forever more,
Invokes tenacity for longer life;
Upon engaged terrain to salty shore.
Melodiously blow away lifeless air,
With wild direction - breathe - devoid of flair.
II
Invading wind complains with beasts of night,
With howling moan that steals away a kiss;
Until the dawn that takes thee from fine sight.
Encroaching wind that sends away the bliss,
On wings that will not cease to be aloft;
Like thief of gloom, with not a thing to miss.
Thou dare to scream at loveliness too oft,
Transforming life to death and back again;
Can gently spread with love a soothing waft.
Assaulting wind declares where sites have been,
Along a beaten course that dip and turn;
Is carving grooves in mountains for new glen.
Thou swift impulsive move not grave concern,
Until all life has paused for gale’s return.
Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Third Place Winner ~ "Tera Rima Sonnet" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
August 9, 2013
The World
My work is over time to head on home
Made lots of money trading stocks on-line
I told my secretary she could leave
Askance my traders quid pro quo was fine
I entered elevator floor nine-teen
Pushed ground floor button number one then saw
Another door to lift laid opposite
Impossible, turned ready to withdraw
The Devil's Minion
Unable to escape the way I came
The capsule doors on other side agaze
Was drawn out by a large, dark silhouette
Inside a narthex three closed doors ablaze
I listened to malefic force within
Effulgent scuttles have distracted me
With ears submitting to an evil force
On knees established I forlornly see
The Choice
The devil's minion utters chilling words
“You worldly man you face deserving death”
“You will be given one last stabbing choice”
“You get to choose a door with your last breath”
If there's a god I pray you save my soul
The dark and eldritch spirit yield a laugh
He said “each door is named must pick one now”
“Not fair” I said, he showed me golden calf
Door number one depicted the word ME
Door number two was written the word YOU
Door number three aglow with the word HIM
“What in the hell am I supposed to do ?
I looked at evil spirit's saber drawn
With my last breath I ran to a new dawn
_____________________________________________________
he left behind his home of coral
in search of better things,
breaking vows and flaunting morals,
cutting loose from tightening strings
trapped between the sea and land,
he scuttles 'cross an endless beach,
stranded on the burning sand,
he seeks a place he'll never reach
nirvana, no; nor heaven's gate
is not his wanted destination,
a hiding place, before too late,
to save him from incineration
t'would seem to be a simple chore;
find shelter from his self made hell
to listen to the ocean's roar,
inside another's empty shell
but all the seashells remain filled,
safe haven is denied this day;
his beating heart shall soon be stilled
and carcass will be washed away
he lies upon the burning sand,
hot sun begins to do its deed,
to end this life with God's own hand
the homeless hermit's finally freed
a bonfire smokes - -
a tiny hedgehog wakes
and scuttles out
Jack Horne for Russell’s Autumn Splendour contest, 26th August
On a cold frosty night the moon hung in the dark sky like a silver sixpence,
Waiting for a bus that seemed to be hours late, wind dried my face I was cold,
While leaning on the stop sign I could see into rooms through lighted windows,
All seemed warm and cosy Christmas Trees glowed and fairy lights went on and off.
Decorations hung from ceilings they were all colours gold, silver, reds and blue,
Black and white televisions told everyone about cold weather outside on the news,
People walked past windows wearing short sleeved jumpers, children smiled happily,
It was Christmas Eve, and somewhere in the background I could hear Slade singing.
In house windows and on mantle pieces hyacinths blossomed the mingled with the tree,
There were crocuses and Dutch and Florentine tulips adding to the splendor of a room,
Best tables were on show piled with egg-nogg and bottles of cream soda and lemonade,
Stockings full of chocolate, crunchies, buttons and a white milky bar hung on walls.
Open fires roared fed by copper coal scuttles mum and dad celebrated with a Babycham,
A glass of Sandymans Port sipped by the grand parents all laughing enjoying themselves,
Then in the cold night air I could hear an engine struggling up a hill to my bus stop,
A green double decker windows glowing stopped and I got on, I silently wished my window
Friends a happy Christmas.
The Spider
The spider climbs from inside a drawer
Then, on eight legs he scuttles to the floor
Walking closely by the kitchen wall
Moving slowly toward the open door.
On hairy jointed legs he stops and waits
Then he turns and appears to concentrate.
Looking at me with large arachnid eyes,
For a moment he seems to hesitate.
I wonder now, what can he see
(I do not know arachnid 'he' or 'she')
His expression is meant to terrify,
He's staring intensely straight at me
Should I run away or should I stay?
Then, to my absolute dismay
This tiny monster that seems so large,
(Something I remember until today),
Springs suddenly up on to my chair,
Not heeding that I am sitting there.
I give a loud cry of great surprise
Then, (it is genuine I do declare),
This alarming monster is no more,
He turns and scuttles toward the door.
No longer a hairy fiend grown large,
Just a tiny spider on the floor.
Barry Stebbings
4/5/2016
It scuttles the ground like an octopus
Leap by leap and lick by lick like an ocean current
With a viciousness that clings coldly into our minds
The fiery angry tongues of yellow gold goblets
Flair furiously at the first gust of wind
That billows at it as if lightened by
Another gallonn of gasoline.
Black coals of burnt debris meet our eyes
As the flames continue to choke the building
Into a dusty black chalk
We gather outside anxiously
To look for those who were on that same block
They are safe! By a miracle!
It remains a grim tragedy for us all.
My throat chokes dry with disbelief
My mind wonders how it happened
Because its an arson attack
The second time the block was burning down
As if not choked enough to death by its haters
And it was in our little minds that one of us
Was a little devil who enjoyed seeing
Suffering on the faces of others
The cold morning air stiffened with mystery
As we watched half burnt tooth brushes, books
And mattresses shoved out of the smoked inferno.
Distress and heart ache written all over
All our strained faces peeping into the deathly dormitory
My Daddy scuttles across the ocean floor,
Let tons of seawaters flow past him,
Over him,
As he makes subsonic noises
Protesting my sins.
The waters listen,
As do fish and sharks
And other predators of the sea,
The sea horse dances its traditional dance.
Seaweed’s weave and sway,
As if in chorus.
The villainous dragon from Monsters Inc.,
Changes color and does his disappearing,
Shrek awaits luncheon in his swamp,
Daddy is late, he has ‘diver’s’ cramp.
I patiently explain to him
The phraseology of Rap,
The mechanics of whoring
Just outside the Kremlin,
But with magnifying glass,
He still looks for gray in Lenin’s beard.
A thousand Pol Pots were David Copperfield,
No less, spinning agrarian dreams for Daddies like
him,
And other Daddies like Uncle Ho,
Paddy growing from the barrel of a gun.
Gorbachov had the world on his head,
But ultimately, the Drunk pointed cannon at the Duma,
And won.
‘Daddy, understand the dialectics
Of the spinning wheel in Atlantic City,
Otherwise as Donald Trump would say,
You’re fired!’