Best Scuttling Poems
So many falling stars!
A meteor shower bursting
like a miniature firework,
Silvery sparkles diving down the sky,
There behind the northern star
Down to the hazy horizon
Far from the Centaurus constellation.
Sinking in oblivion.
My love urged me to make a wish.
Do falling stars grant any wish?
No reply. My love had wandered off.
Worried I felt the spontaneous gyrations of my heart.
I strayed in the dark park searching,
Hearing coyotes howl, owls hooting,
Mice scuttling in the under wood.
I hunted earnestly hoping to see her there.
But she had disappeared
As I looked up at the last falling star.
Wake up, man, love comes not from stars.
And yet it was such a lovely sight
That I was not ready to deny my dreams
no matter what anyone might think.
So I wished with all my heart.
Just one falling star might come true.
My love was waiting for me ardently.
See, she was behind a tree
Hiding from the falling stars.
I squint my eyes from the glaring sun
As I drive cattle across the open range.
I am the youngest hand, so I ride drag
Covered by the dust stirred into the wind.
This is the life I have chosen
To hear the steady creaking of my saddle
The songs of the cowboys as they lead the herd
The lowing cattle as they smell water.
This is the life I live
To see the endless stretches of prairie
The hens and rabbits scuttling away
The ponderous beasts flowing in a living stream.
This is the life I love
Watching the horses graze peacefully at night
The cattle milling about during my night ride
My horse's gentle breathing as I circle them.
May this be my lot while here I remain
May I drink from the freely flowing streams
And breathe the pairie air until I die.
Whether life be short or long
May I ever onward toil, and be content
With the satisfaction of honest work
With the steady pounding of hooves
Biscuits and chili by a wavering fire
And sleeping under the sky on the open range.
A time for werewolves, zombies, bones,
For spiders, vampires, ghosts and bats,
Blood curdling shrieks and chilling moans,
Of walking corpses, witches’ cats,
See scuttling beetles, ghouls and rats.
Old warlocks chant and banshees cry,
The carved out pumpkins light the way,
And broomsticks soar across the sky,
As shrivelled mummies flaunt decay:
It’s Halloween or All Souls’ Day.
A walk through the meadow seems in order
The sun is peaking through some wispy cloud,
Coreopsis is in full bloom along the border
While verbena and cosmos are standing proud.
I make my way through the overgrown path
Pushing aside the wild carrot and floss flower,
Knowing I’ll have beggar’s lice as an aftermath
Causing my nosy neighbor to snicker and glower.
It’s a fine, fine day; butterflies are everywhere
And the mockingbird’s are tweetering melodies
As I get closer to the tree line a-way over there
Where the squirrels will jump between the trees.
I do not expect to see deer since I’m rather late
And they are generally feeding in early morn,
So they’ll have bedded down in hidden shade
They have long weaned their early spring born.
Surprisingly, I see an opossum trundling along
Three or four young’uns clinging to her back.
Picking a bouquet of flowers, I break into song,
And hear scuttling noises, I’ve disturbed a pack
Of nesting quail, fairly close, and off to my right,
Streaking in a flurry their white underbellies flay
I locate them just in time to see them take flight.
I’ll get on home to vase my wildflower bouquet.
Written August 6, 2022
A priest once told me that the lump
on my hand was a ganglion,
a fortress of fat besieged by health.
At last it burst and the hand swelled
like an old man's,
shovel shaped and splayed.
It was her black pan, butcher's meat,
too many eggs; backed up
on a plate like silage.
It was her slight hands shaking,
the constant poking with a bread knife,
the endless journey to the
first biscuit from the pack;
a menace that caught our hearts
and buttered them,
teeth marks, crusty.
Moreover, tomatoes,
pulpy and bloodlet,
burnt my wicked tongue,
purged a shard of shame,
dare I eat a box full
bedraggled in juices
and spitting at the angle of a chop kept?
Caked at the start in the corner
of the pan, beached in lard,
over fried, sole fit, chewed in discontent,
longing for more
between the acceptance of juices;
hope swallowed with brittle rashers,
timbered and gathered.
It was the thought, the deed,
the plan, the wait and duty of it.
Potatoes, eschonced in the pot, sullen, strewn;
a flaky hand sliced them deftly,
washed the starch off and raked them in.
It was sausages, flame ripped,
dashed, blackened and wedged
on the barbs of the fork,
heaved in with fried bread,
salty with froth.
It was puddings,
sinewed and cut crooked,
corpuscles of grizzle
congealing the blood,
jaws working the skin like the cud.
Eggs like ignoble sea creatures,
speckled and stiff,
surviving on the rise and fall of breath,
morphing into another gender
or something to wonder,
to chew on, to mention, once.
Perhaps a bean to lubricate,
to allow a channel of liberty
but still reheated to a lump,
a thankless sweetener to a morsel,
not unlike news.
Tea, besugared and welcome,
a scald to erode stubborn detritus,
a wash to emerge from.
Between mouthfuls of talk we glided,
sometimes low to the ground
near silence, seldom
scuttling to any real height.
I suppose that was left for
pipe and ***, in the latter end,
when all offence was shut up tight
and we had regard again;
the smoke curled up
and carried our souls,
and mingled, indiscernible
and flowed away.
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbour, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dockhands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a strumpet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacramen
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
...dedicated to Hart Crane (1899-1932)
As I dream the sounds of morning sliver,
cut my senses; slow, persistent slices
pierce my eyes to ragged wakefulness.
The muffled cries of merchant hustle and
the honking of the traffic, the noises of
a summer's day displace my reveries.
I wake, and through my window I see
barges in the harbor, bustling like
beetles, scuttling over busy waters,
dragging ships with overflowing cargoes
safe to rest - the dock hands primed
and ready to disgorge the merchandise,
as sunshine washes monoliths of steel
and glass in dazzling refinement - Manhattan
like a mass of golden bars, smoldering and tall.
Steam and smoke engulf a vibrant scene
encompassing, then drifting into nothingness,
the sky a blazing blue, the docks a maze
of rarified activity as yelling fills the air.
Beams irradiate my garret - drafts of bright
and humid air like punches in the stomach
take the breath out of my lungs and leave me
gasping. I sit and watch you sleeping on the bed.
You stretch atop the covers like a vision,
your legs and arms a picture in repose;
I do not dare to wake you from your dreams,
your limbs splayed like a starlet, you expose
your naked form, my touch will flutter your desire.
your body 'wrapped in mine,
our souls a living sacrament
to love and joy divine.
I enter you and all the stars explode,
fulfillment is our quest,
our shining testament.
As evening gently falls the windows glimmer,
the city glistens now from altered light;
the glowing falters as the sun dips slowly,
dying in the West, makes way for night.
Activity's still rife, but in my garret,
I reach for you as darkness settles soft,
I hold you in my arms, forever blessed,
while stars are quietly dancing up aloft.
A withered and separated flower lay squashed in bent stature.The wind silently erodes the remaining petals sequentially, with each pulse of the air.
A distant nightmare, tangibly manifested, the echoing warning from the past.
A trapped piece of newspaper married to a low-lying hedge branch, concealed from notice, dead from purpose.
An hourglass society, scuttling around in organized vice and engineered hypocrisy with time to dictate and money to distract.
A plague of opinions in this boundless possibility never reaching bedrock. A gash made upon the earth, a slow
puncture untreated in our hourglass existence we believe isn’t moving.
Tis better
2
Block , Ignore
Or
2
Send them
Tail firmly betwixt
Scuttling back under
The ROCK they come
And hide beneath
Until it both
Crushes and caves in on them
And they suffocate slowly on
Heaven forbid
Under the weight of there own
Bile and Hate
And see how they like it
Or feel about it
When it's done back or
happens to them
Only then we will actually see
If what's good for the GANDER
Who lay Bad Egg
They themselves are
then willing to put up with
and TOLERATE
Because i hazard a guess
NOT
In fact they would most
PROBABLY be the
1st in line
To Cry FOUL
&
Throw in the towel
And delusional as they are
Expect to be felt sorry for
And wonder why on earth
they are being picked on
A thousand bees never settling down,
buzzed within his head.
Their confused drone, into a ruffled rumble grew,
lengthening into frenzied drum beats,
taking the might of roaring waves
or gaining the momentum
of a plane, prior to take off.
Mind lacking coordination
limbs receiving discordant commands,
he suddenly hurtled into the streets,
stepping out from regimented norms
and breaking loose the tether of reason,
never walking, never running
but scuttling from side to side
like a piece of driftwood over the current.
Hearing the cawing of a crow
suddenly, he into a prophet grew.
stood with arms outstretched,
waiting for the crumb of bread
to be dropped in the manner Elijah was fed
by the raven in his lonesome cave.
Seeing the audience swelling bigger
he was enthused, greatly cheered.
The riff- raff and the scraps
swarmed around to see the show.
Mounting the steps to the pulpit,
in unfaltering voice
and with fire in his words,
to the congregation,
surveying him with fun and sneer, he thundered....
“The Doomsday is near”
With finality in his tone, he said-
“Repent and flee from the wrath to come.
The tree that doesn’t bring forth,
good fruits shall be hewn down,
and cast into eternal fire.”
The transition was quite easy.
He scurried from Elijah to John the Baptist
and from John the Baptist to Elijah
oscillating between--
sense and non-sense.
I ask you for a favour.
I creep forward,
With my head slightly bowed
Like Manuel approaching Fawlty
Fearing the assured explosion
That doesn’t disappoint by erupting
With a torrent of rage, words flying from
Places that can’t be imagined by others
Each, like a guided missile
Your cunning anger
Seeking new weaknesses
More quickly than I can
Retreat and cower
Behind my logic
I got news for you buddy:
Rock breaks scissors
Scissors cuts paper
Paper covers rock.
And rage beats logic.
Aim, Fire....Pow! Direct hit!
Look at that bastard scurry for cover!
He’s twice our size, but he’s a coward!
What kind of man are you?
You’re pathetic.
I f***ing hate you.
You make me sick.
I’m like a hologram
When faced with her rage.
Like a sheep or a quivering rabbit
No, wait, a hologram rabbit.
Why do I have to be like Harvey?
Actually, I’m probably a little
shorter, but just as invisible.
And just as sad.
In the end, maybe I’m more
Like Elwood than Harvey
Or Manuel.
I’m smart, but also pleasant.
Okay maybe, I’m not like Elwood either.
But maybe that’s just my logic talking.
So, I do what any hologram rabbit with an
Ounce of self preservation would do.
I run away, scuttling like a crab
escaping hungry seagulls on a beach.
Or maybe more like
A 6’1” hologram rabbit
Imitating Andrew Sachs
From Noonlight to Moonlight
I'll chance to mention a jaunt once took, along a sloping ridge; coming up steady o'er jakes ravine, cross the creaking pinewood bridge, tethering up the hosses, to a half charred lightening stricken tree; we gazed right down the 'scarpment at cattle roaming free after muffling up our riding boots in swathes of Hessian brown; stooping right over we made our way, by the darker shadowed ground, we got to to a stand of trees, that offered the needed hide; scuttling there as quick as quick, until we were inside made sure no herders were present, heard no sounds borne on the breeze; we picked out a couple of young heifers, this side of some bouldered scree then raising our crossbows silently, as moonglow licked each bolt; we loosed ..Whoosk.! the thuds)) sounded so strong you almost felt the jolt.: did i see a gleam in Mikkies eye?? could it be a heartfelt tear?? I said we had no real choice you know, my voice edged with tension & fear, a quick smile shot right back at me, as gazing deep in my eyes; she gave a hard kick into my shin, catching me by surprise!! saying now while I' affix the lariats Joe, you vamoose up the mountainside; get the horses and drags back soon, in case the rancher makes a ride, so I lit out for the ridge crest, my heart was beating wild." While swearing that damn hussey's more capricious than a wayward child; once on the ridge i scramble down, back to the waiting steeds quickly pulling the halters loose, my mind intent on speed!! soon I'm back with Mikkie, we pull the heifers onto the drags; then we're coaxing our horses up that draw!! headed for the safety of our own distant and shadowy crags. copyright Joe Maverick.co.uk
wind sets leaf dancing
waving up and down on twig
pulls and tugs it loose
whipping up water
into colourful bubbles
spraying them afar
scuttling clouds racing
across the endless blue sky
leaving wisps behind
Bouts of lightning flashes,swirls
And lightens up the pitch, black night
Of our neck of the woods
Tailgated by stealthy footsteps
Of growling, grunting, moaning and roaring thunder,
As in gnashing and grinding of canine
As rain, like beads of sweat, acne and goose pimples
Break out on my forehead and entire body,
Sprouting like yam tendrils from the earth;
meandering as water in rain gutter
From a million hair follicles,
Teasing my entire body
And finally docking by hook or crook
Like a boat at it's embedded tributary
Between my negritude toes
I google in consternation, bewilderment
At your obstinate attempt
As pestle on bits of grain in motar
To pound a defiant, renegade earth
Back against the wall in rope-a-dope
To submission and surrender
Powerful strokes of koboko whips
Descending from heaven
As plague upon pharaoh and his kinsmen,
Drumming endlessly on thatch roofs
And corrugated iron roofs alike
Concocting rhythms more intoxicating
And damning than heavy metal music
Images of African women
Resiliently scurrying, shuffling,
Between thatch huts and drooling rain;
Scuttling to retrieve rain water in pails
And ebony children
Drenched in rain like weather beaten bats
Savoring every drop from the whinning sky
Rain,
I yearn for your spirit
But dread your fiery, fury,
Flash and flood
Come rain, soak me in your mist;
Drape me in your dew and moisture
Rain,
Your ghost evokes succor and misery!
Racing the oval of tide
Watching the sun and moon collide
Riding on horses in the oval of fate
Saddling on courses in the ring of slate
Horses in breeds of colors and shade
Forces in creeds of odors and glade
Mares and lasses of cold and wintry grounds
Grasses and races on parch, dusty mounds
Sun speaks of myths and bounds of horses' blether
Moon tweaks on blithes and squally weather
Sun and moon are light and dark horses
Scuttling, bustling in many races
Sprinting is a long distance course
Glinting and weltering without remorse
Humans breathe as horses, treading and running with reins
Born to win in the oval... praying, striving with strong veins!