Best Skitter Poems
Santa Barbara, Summer 2017
Monday
I walked on the bluffs above the sea.
Orange poppies bloom in the dunes.
I discovered
the labyrinth:
smooth stones spell the path.
Peaceful pilgrimage.
Tuesday
Walked on the beach and smelled:
Tar from the oil seeps,
fennel,
coastal sage,
eucalyptus.
And, of course, the sea.
Wednesday
Hiked in the foothills.
The grass is brittle and yellow;
the land sizzles.
Spiky shrubs, spiny scrub oak.
The chaparral is ready
to burst into flames.
Thursday
The eucalyptus trees
on Ellwood Mesa
are dying
from the drought.
Where will the butterfly sleep?
Friday
The sandpipers
hurry to the surf, neck forward,
to peck with long bills.
They scurry inland before the next wave
as if they are afraid
to get their feet wet.
Snowy plovers skitter
like cotton balls on wheels.
Saturday
The infinite ocean
under an infinite sky.
A white S among the reeds,
the egret can teach me
poise and patience.
Sunday
Found a piece of seaglass.
Translucent blue,
The edges smooth
Worn by water,
Sanded down.
Beauty from adversity.
I think I will write a poem about it.
November 1, 2017
For contest: From my Diary
Sponsored by Broken Wings
I gave you a balloon,
It held my life inside.
Within a shiny rubber tube
components of my soul aligned,
a sign,
I became something new
for you...
Memories
Feelings
Ideas
Each speck
a tickle upon my breath,
a tiny bubble
of nuanced personality;
The strengths of me debrided
the secrets of my lungs,
pink and untold
for you to confide,
ease trouble
in eyes before me.
Yet
were you astute?
Could your mind compute
the depth
of the beautiful find
floating before you?
You bent,
my unique particles ended
their show of strength
broken in length;
You twisted,
crushed and divided
my dreams subsided...
Molded to an unrecognizable form,
I became your norm.
Though you never knew,
my secret hope to survive
my own gift
thrive and lift,
lay within you.
Your grip thirsted control so long,
the pieces of me left burst
to skitter away in song
among soaring clouds,
leaving shrouds of pain
grounded and gone...
Flying far from the land
one beautiful day,
away
from you
and the broken balloon that laid
in your hand.
the droplets pitter-pattered
as my footprints melted into doesn't-matters
and all the buzzings and birds skitter-scattered
and, with Beauty on the nigh...all thought shattered
Black caw crow flies overhead
black caw crow cries sounds of dread
small birds shiver in covert trees
mice skitter, scatter and flee.
Watercolor skies abound
mournful clouds cling to the ground
critters hide ‘neath fans of leaves
silent refuge from the siege.
Lazy slugs and snails alight
peaking black crow’s appetite
swooping down without a sound
black crow strikes as raindrops pound.
Black caw crow flies overhead
black caw crow cries sounds of dread.
Written on 3/10/2020
Sinking pearls of stone, in an obligatory skip
before the plunge
Haloing the horizon in silver riddles
and the earth is still.
No tides to bite the green watered breath.
No new moons eclipsed by the earth's turn to greatness.
And we laugh.
Laugh in salty brine and cosmos air.
Following the stone's tunnels in a dive into the blue.
Capturing smoothness of hair and palms.
Breaking the evening ocean floor in rhythm
as we catapult to surface calm.
Silver tipped fish wings scatter in water rings.
Algae backed hermit crabs skitter on crackling legs.
And we are the epitome of glee tonight with a fist full of ocean
and two thirds of a wish never ending.
When the snout of lush abundance is full and flowing,
when all prey and creature-kind spill upon the verdant swards,
then it is that I worry night and day,
for the stoat, fox and hawk are at work,
they scythe in the whelm and nimiety, they hack and harrow.
The kits and chuckling’s are many, the light too bright;
for then the foragers forgoing fright, are palpable and open.
The long-eared nibblers, hairs on scattered rodents laid bare,
they scutter, skitter and twitch much in the open
greatly prone to be pounced upon;
their paltry pelts all unhidden, and being many,
and not running, they are huddled; yet not strong.
If this slew not ease, if the grabbers not falter,
if the singled-out dither, the glut not wither,
then the green snake will climb to where nestlings hutch -
they all so easily plucked and quickly snatched.
I worry for the wee brown birds; mottled shells still unhatched.
I fear a winnowing, withal a harsh hazard of gorge and sate.
I fret for the freshly delivered, the teeming,
the newly produced, all the bounding bounty
for those too easily found and so, arrived too late.
As each squall breaks the random motion starts
Leaves twigs and dust in chaos whirl and skitter
Yet at its core remains a still calm heart
The land shall be restored to a pristine glitter
But this metaphor denies a truth thereon
That neath that placid heart there is motion frantic
As vigorous paddling of the gliding swan
Not still, though cool and smoothing surface antic
Thus these images of one who many a year
Maintained a calm at eye of every storm
Was anchor to this college barque sans peer
Then held its course to waters clear and warm
16 September 2019
Poem in exactly 100 words
Whispering caresses testify
under duress with somber
adoration.
How many sonnets have I
forgotten
while tracing the
contours of your shape?
Your slick fragrance disarms my
resolve; I yearn to
bottle such essence
if only to keep a suggestion of
us in the face of certain
obliteration.
For once the skitter and
the titter consume with
fangs of speculation, we
shall doubt
what we’ve begun
in earnest
under the moon,
the trust of synchronized
pulses seeking
harmony,
and the explosive
thrill of shared
desire
until nothing
remains.
Once I saw a purplish oblong tangerine,
Standing near the hydrant on Sixty-first
I wondered what it could possibly mean,
Then, I was overcome with dreadful thirst
When I watched it skitter quickly away
I was transfixed by its stark underbelly,
Joining a cantaloupe on a teeter to play
While a pigeon danced in a jar of jelly,
The sound of a toad lapping up its milk
Told me reality had not departed from me
Sounds of tongue-in-groove are tantalizing
Especially when crawling over a cup of tea
Are my fellow horseflies merely fantasizing
Or are they, like me, oddities analyzing?
Written August 18, 2022
autumn breezes sigh
dying leaves drift downward still …
skitter across lawn
Written September 21, 2022
swirling leaves skitter
chasing squirrels on the lawn ~
fall Olympiad
Written October 26, 2022
Beating their wings hard against the wind
stars spring out soft, then slowly rescind
Unwinding their colors round fur line trees
the world as we know it falls at their knees;
Supernatural scents permeating the air
diffusing their magic with charm and with flare
Utopian eyes that wander then mirror
cool crystal waters that cloak and transmit her
Down in the orchard a butterfly sprite
with emerald wings to gage through the night
They dance and they flutter on wings of slow butter
hovering gentle to hither and skitter
inside a dominion of archmage enchanters.
A carpet of flowers surrounded by magic and dew,
slow sip aromas of chamomile essence & feverfew.
I sit and watch.
Changes come so slowly.
So, vigilance is required,
an attentiveness to minutia.
There are layers of wardings
erected between
the watch and I.
Thoughts, which flit and skitter
fight for outward movement.
Flesh that is too weak to hold attention,
leans toward the walls of cracks;
where even the plaster pulls
from its sheaf
and the dirty
double paned glass
waylays the eye.
Enthralled by the changes:
rain to sleet, to snow, to hail, to rain,
the maple buds leaving
their pointillist, rouge-lacquered shells,
dropping like the wings
of an emergent butterfly; I root.
Nights of storm-slapped branches
unfurl orchestrated by wind –
How the maple now dangles leaves like earrings
from the tips of the smallest twigs.
Tomorrow they will open
to palm the morning breeze
and welcome the spears of Lilly of the Valley,
as they emerge overnight beneath the mother tree.
The deer have eaten the tender,
green, tongue-rolled, delights of Hosta and Day Lily,
but they are stalwart plants and will return.
I’ve watched and watched but not seen the deer
though I have seen their bedding spots
among the mulch beneath the maple
in the winter and their hoof
prints in the snow.
Today, I will watch
temperatures are rising
and soon there will be
lilacs.
First Published in Latchkey Tales 2014
June night, two points shine
claws skitter down waving tail
ratcheting sounds of possums.'
Dark wing
In the night
Flying towards
The moon
Tis’ but a demon
Upon it’s way
Makeup on the counter
Teeth in my drink
Powder by the faucet
Canned roaches
Don’t run or skitter
They fly in the night
A white wing in my hand
A gun upon my soul
Snapshots of posters
Rotting on a train
Rumbling through a vision
Of coyotes and dogs that bite
Waiting for a dungeon
Damp and dreary
Chains around my heart
I can’t leave this place
Now
I can’t leave this place tonight.