A hooded black robe to the ground
Standing looking without a sound
Whose turn is it in their final fall
Waiting potently for their last call
Do you see the signs in the sky written
Or a scripture that was at home driven
I walk towards the setting sun
And can’t fail to see a world undone
Do I slip wanting truth known
Or does it matter I hear you groan
Wake up the world before it’s late
Remember the hooded figure waits.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Categories:
hooded, anger, angst, future, life,
Form: Dramatic Verse
Black and orange passerine with red eyes
In the woods of
New Guinea
They live
Belle
They
Whistles
Even have
Toxic feathers
Get the poison from the food that they eat.
Date of Submission: 19/02/2021
Categories:
hooded, beautiful, beauty, bird, flying,
Form: Tetractys
Darkness pours over the horizon,
the sun slips away.
Driven by consuming hunger,
a monstrous beast, lies in wait.
Hooded men in the choir,
weave webs from their lips,
while the hurst creeps by slowly,
in a seemingly endless parade.
On high hills, in colossal mansions,
live the soulless, adorned with magnetic bright eyes.
Veiled under a black blanket,
the soullest consume their prey,
they must feast off the valley,
or starve the beast within.
Hopeless sheep, without a shepherd,
swim like guppies in a bowl,
twisting in turmoil, keeping the beast full.
Categories:
hooded, confusion, corruption, death, fear,
Form: Free verse
A hood on Mount Hood
wearing a hood hammered the
hood of a Honda.
A cop from Kansas
climbing in the Cascades caught
the recalcitrant.
The cop received a
commendation, and the hood
a long vacation.
Categories:
hooded, car,
Form: Haiku
Africa mother Africa
Africa of scrumptious haven
Slowly stretched
Into an unscrupulous savannah
Africa of whom my grandmothers
Now sits and cry
Singing her present gore
Silhouette against her ancient glory
Your blood flows on our streets
And on our streams
Your beautiful black blood
That in time past flows in our veins
Africa that birthed warriors
Of ancestral citations
Now puppets of millennium recantation
The sweats of your toils
The scars from your slavery
The cry for your freedom
How come this has now
Transformed into a mastery
Of your present folly
You whose back was bent
To pack from her plenteous plantation
Now breaks in the continuous bid
To pick form her present carnage
Categories:
hooded, africa, conflict, hurt,
Form: Narrative
I wear a sweatshirt because I feel hidden. Behind this sweatshirt that I wear is a symbol of me. I’m like a tree. I'm quiet I stand tall and proud. These pretty leave that I carry surround me in a leafy blanket. When my hood is up I feel safe from the outsiders. That’s why I live behind my hoodie.
Categories:
hooded, life,
Form: Free verse
What am I?
Who am I?
I am the hooded warrior.
I strike with such charisma,
I am the inhibition taking enigma.
Who am I?
What am I?
I'm also called the dark knight.
Unknowingly, I approach surprisingly.
Cloak and dagger warrior,
can you see me?
What am I?
Who am I?
The staff of the reaper grim.
A magical staff here for you,
I'm outside, please let me in!
Who am I?
What am I?
A torpedo in this speedo.
A gift meant just for you.
Come hang with my hooded warrior,
and begin something brand new.
Who am I??
Asavvy1.......
Jared Pickett
11/3/09
Asavvy1
Categories:
hooded, life
Form: Free verse