Best Skulks Poems
renard slyly skulks
in the leafy undergrowth
success… dinnertime!
Renard - traditional french word for fox
27th May 2015
O' That Aristotle Should Return To Proclaim
O' that Aristotle should return to proclaim
wise, worldly words written with furious winds.
Reveal more wisdom, garner even more fame
point to history, prophecy - all such portends.
Only if Homer could grace greens of earth again
gift words of heroic deeds, warriors brave.
Hurl lightning bolts and no olden Gods restrain
bring courageous heroes back from forgotten graves.
If only, love and life should find its ancient past
amidst streams of great valor and deepest true.
If but one such Titan set this world aghast
would not millions turn to such light and love anew?
O' dark beast, why hid thy monstrous face from truth's light?
Why ply lost souls to dark deeds, as thee skulks at night?
Robert J. Lindley,7-13-2017
Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines and the blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene, the rats
make themselves at home feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades while the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and unholiest of homes, "the tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
constantly by our commanders but on the contrary
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....
Shadows detach at dusk to sneak silently away
to roost together like bats in rookeries,
hanging upside down, wrapped in black mantles, gossiping.
Each shadow reborn each morn seeks out its host
like a parasite seeking sustenance and succour,
for a shadow detached is inanimate and non-existent.
Shadows need light and objects to cast silhouettes
to give shadows life, substance and vitality.
Only things of this world cast shadows,
So things and beings that cast no shadow are spooky.
Shadows follow you around mirroring every move you make.
In endless shadow-puppet performances
they often give you away when you sneak up,
and showcase your slinks and skulks when you slither away.
The brighter the light the stronger the shadow.
Multiple lights cast multiple shadows.
Shadows are too dark and foreboding of death and evil to be friends
For shadows are cast by the living, the dead and lifeless things.
But only the living animate shadows into life.
Sluggish suppurating symbol of disgust,
Dragged wailing into a reproachful life
Child of wrath and sloth and lust
All she will ever know is
Strife
Curdled flesh clings to a brittle scaffold
Pebbled orbs recline in sunken hollows
Starving slavering mouth unfolds
Engulfs the world and then it
Swallows
Gawky appendages waver against a cruel ill wind
A map of veins slides beneath brittle wrists
Starfish fingers strain to hold at bay
An onslaught of constant demoralizing
Dismay
Ugliness lies etched in every curve and line
Defiling the beauty that might have been
Ashamed and fearful of her own reflection
She skulks in soothing shadow hoping to remain
Unseen
A life of learning is not for the meek
against your views some will loudly speak;
jackals sneering and snickering in their folly
and in that moment others may seem jolly.
Persevere in all your thoughts as most are not that flawed
as when all beauty meets a beast and so then must be pawed
like a raging vandal they will come roaring in their glory
it is your peace and confidence that illustrate the story.
Becalm the savage verbal gale with your gentle words and reason
it is in your words the logic lies and most will find that pleasin'
and when the storm subsides and skulks away
know that in your learning - you taught someone today.
I've sat alone
For hours or days?
I do not know
Who goes or stays.
I've paid no mind
To the lost souls.
Strangely I've heard it all
Though no one surely knows.
I've been watching the streets
Watching the dying crowd.
I wish I'd joined
Yet I'll watch from my cloud.
The sun sets
While darkness closes in.
Another day passed
Again the night will win.
The night flickers
As she walks by.
How could I have missed
This woman so coy and shy?
I'm captivated
Those eyes a wonder.
Forever I've waited
To catch looks of splendor.
The lights die
As he skulks by.
I watch his face
Contort with confusion.
His thoughts poison
Venom without a reason.
His hands flashed
His scowl gone.
Steps quicken
As he ran on.
My angel
Fallen below.
I've watched her fall
I'm the only one who will know!
I've watched her pain
In the quick flash of steel.
A heartless thought
Causing a hate so real.
I cannot escape
I cannot rescue her.
The broken thoughts
Kill all that was sure.
I'm stuck here
Away from the scene.
Every single fear
Chasing the horrors between.
I've been locked away for years
I've been dying forever.
I remember her screams
I remember the nights saviour.
It was I that night
Locked away from the world.
It was my fault
As I watched the dying girl.
It was my faith
That let her die.
The scowling wraith
Bled her dry.
No reason
Has ever been told.
No reason
For me to grow old.
I fell in love with the chase
And not the mystery.
Who erased her face
Who sent me into misery?
I'll find you
I'll kill you.
I'll meet you
I'll save you.
Someone had to die
By my hand.
She'll no longer cry
For its not as I planned.
Show me where the heart is.
I've travelled from the start.
I'm almost done.
I'm almost...
(If you can't make sense of this, Google
"Schrodinger's Cat." Then I think you will)
What is this thing that I may do,
that at this moment is no thing at all
...and cannot be until the it is done?
Thus having done, I must have nothing
for my rivalry with God.
This poor tormented cat
in every lifetime poured
but half a life and to this day
will play within a shroud, or worse
invisible. She skulks around
the bleak, convenient pretense
of a time that knows
not of mortality nor
falling of the hours.
Half a feline ghost, she mourns
the absence even of the now
and maddened both by science
and by time, entrapped
within her whimsied box,
in irony, may righteously lament
but we, the watchers,
still will never touch
her quantum-spiked magnificence.
~
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,
Pitied is the vanity of sheer vengeance-
For lying in justice is seldom truth
And petty satisfaction in mere penance.
The Magpie, all swathed in day and night,
Shall weep into the genesis innocence,
But beware what skulks in black and white,
For crocodiles’ tears bear dissonance.
Ignorance is the key to Hades’ gate-
It bleeds and forgets mortal guilt,
In the benevolent the Devil lurks and awaits
The destruction of the crucifix goodwill built.
Oh Magpie, what divine hands forged thy evil eye?
Yet bestowed an unlikely love so smooth,
A Magpie’s lie is never a lie,
And its truth is never truth.
Somewhere through Eden’s leas
skulks our forgotten foe.
Seraph of God, now a
slithering trickster who
swayed Eve to taste vile fruit.
Salvation fell away;
sin dwells in mankind’s heart.
4/21/2021. Written for Kim Merryman's Pleiades S contest.
moon rabbits' moon dance
harvest moon skulks on black cloud
Only moondroppings
Adorned by crimson attire
Fangs bared a woman skulks
her designated target
engraved within her mind
though the framework of her bones
ensnares the prey of which she seeks
the universal populace
she yearns to vitiate
by way of the libidinous tones
radiating from betwixt her lips
Ghulam crosses the Indian border
to conquer. Bodies vanish; souls
wander in the vicarious valleys.
Fanatics essay to frighten
the music maestro, shouting
outside the auditorium.
If they sit inside, they’ll return
as men. There’s no discrimination
in music. Minds molt mundane
emotions, and become fresh again.
His ghazals, like AB group, accept
blood of Hindustani classical music.
Music creates blue moonlight,
when a youth enjoys black
hair-falls amidst the fragrance
of jasmine blooms. A man in
seventies skulks to1960, where
a brown girl stands half hidden
behind door. Aches and
anxieties lie vanquished
in Ghulam’s voice
and variations. Men
in diverse creeds die;
human beings rise.
Poetry Nook Weekly Contest Winner
The snake slithers
The rat skulks
The Owl waits
Ghulam crosses the Indian border
to conquer. Bodies vanish; souls
wander in the vicarious valleys.
Fanatics essay to frighten
the music maestro, shouting
outside the auditorium.
If they sit inside, they’ll return
as men. There’s no discrimination
in music. Minds molt mundane
emotions, and become fresh again.
His ghazals, like AB group, accept
blood of Hindustani classical music.
Music creates blue moonlight,
when a youth enjoys black
hair-falls amidst the fragrance
of jasmine blooms. A man in
seventies skulks to1960, where
a brown girl stands half hidden
behind door. Aches and
anxieties lie vanquished
in Ghulam’s voice
and variations. Men
in diverse creeds die;
human beings rise.
First published in Poetic Hustles by BFP Books, US