Interlopers Poems | Examples

Intusive Thoughts

Often quiet evenings, when I read,
Memories of you softly intrude
Times when you were my only need
Heady days of a love we pursued
and saw only in glasses rose hued.

Thoughts surface I wish would move on,
as unknown others invade my sleep.
They are interlopers, quickly spawned,
spreading fantasies that grow and creep,
like tangled vines invading my sleep.

Dreams of you lie easy on my eyes
memories tossed and tumbled with time.
Although the past may wear a disguise
discarding thoughts we'd like to decline
I like thoughts of you caressing mine

Memories are stored of long-ago past,
as your sweet face invades my mind
with sunshine days that will always last.
They're a treasure we happened to find
while intrusive thoughts are left behind.

Intrusive Thoughts

Intruders
Invasive interlopers
Encroaching on the edge
Of thought
Prowlers invading
The sanctity of the soul
Clumsy burglars
Violating the boundaries
Of whispered secrets
Purring cat burglars
Seeking comfort

Diner Might

In nineteen sixty-three, May twenty-eight,
three youngsters in a Woolworths five-and-dime 
sat down and asked for coffee. This was war.
In Jackson, Mississippi, way back when,
outrageous things like this riled up the pack.

The photos still exist. You feel the hate.
To ask for coffee, then, was such a crime,
so unacceptable to local law 
that men (look at the photos – they’re all men) 
could not restrain themselves. Attack, attack!

With ketchup, mustard, butter they went straight
to smear the interlopers with their slime:
what else are coffee-grounds and soda for?
The heroes (in the age of Colonel Glenn,
the Right Stuff mattered) took down from the rack

more gunge. These sons of the Magnolia State
poured vinegar in solemn pantomime
(one wiped molasses on the young man’s jaw).
What caused this ritual? This zoo-like zen?
The guests had the effrontery to be black.

I dont want to

I used to make up excuses
I would have a funeral, a wedding, a cruise, something
Whenever I did not want to do something

I would get coaxed and cajoled, and sometimes would give in
Despising my inability to say no to these interlopers
Wishing I was brave enough to tell them the truth

I have either gotten senile or wiser with my new age
Not sure which
But now I have one answer
And it works
And no one coaxes me or cajoles me

I say “I don’t want to”
It is the perfect reply

once dyslexic

Letters were mad hat interlopers
I cannot decipher them
Eeties at Hoppies
was my diction for
Sweets at Shops
when i was four
Its hard being a dyslexic
Oh boy I feel so out of it
with my younger sisters
picking it up so easily
I eagerly learnt new words by sound alone
but sometimes I miscued
I felt half baked
but my love of History became my bastion
Orally laid down by my Father
I had something to boast
to my peers about

ABC Poem for Fun 810

alabaster alligators always allow
bulbous bickering baboons access to their waterway
canal etiquette at its best
deliberately welcoming these interlopers
enthusiastically waving them into their canal
frisky forest fey watch, expecting to see the worst
giving excited baboons no credit for wise choices yet
having prior experiences with the alligators
ideally, they would like to expect the best
Jimmy Baboon celebrates his newfound access
knowing not the ruthlessness of the clever alligators

Hika Bay

Hika Bay

Silent hawks appear
outside our window
two,then four,now six
form a floating dimond 

A kettle of hawks roam high
on ancient air
sent by first peoples
to remind us

We dont own these wonders
they belong to Hika Bay
we are just the latest 
interlopers

Frozen in place
in the sky
the gray sky
before the rain comes


PJB

Two Brazen Vixens

We used to have a wonderful crew at work.
Sixteen, men who thought alike.
Then someone upstairs decided to hire two female engineers.

They hired the wrong two.
These interlopers are not demure, dainty or feminine.
They are brazen vixens.
With their bobbed hair and their wanton ways.
They read the financial pages, as if they understand them.

More like men than women, they are manly women.
Independent thinkers.
Way too brassy.
Too bold, too confident, too vocal.
We make fun of them from the window.
Because we dare not do it in person.

The Cycle 2: Dust

Dust pulls upon dust; pushes upon dust
and each drifting, spinning mote 
collides; all drawing closer.
Meaningless time passes
and pursues; blindly following 
The unbidden remnants
of endless darkened eons.
The cycle renews.

Distant lamps illuminate
the unbound; a tapestry weaving,
twisted looms ever working.
Ancient hands unseen
forms a blooming canvas.
Ethereal nature; forever vulnerable
to blind destruction;
to the interlopers. Behold!
The Sleeping Giant.

Behold! Celestial gods aflame
Driven core; fusion of old bones
cracking flares again.
Distant fanfare sparkles black
Recognition of novel life,
unknown without shadows,
flock-less; a novel cycle, 
become a shepherd,
spinning in endless gas; dust.

her children loved being washed

mother mouse had her hands and tubs full on wash day
her children were jumping and diving and playing every which way
Pinning on the line took even more effort, but worth the trouble.
Interlopers kept coming back for more; she thought she was seeing double.

Where Were the Birds

All knowing tree was silent, assessing the strangers
How had they gotten to this side of his forest?
He had heard no alarms, this was curious.
Watching the interlopers, he made some predictions.

The prissy one would leave when she saw a spider.
She left before that, when she saw a harmless snake.
The one in the weird hat would want to hug him.
He put his prickles out, so it would be difficult.

All knowing tree watched them slink back out
Away from the heart of the forest, into the light shadows
Why did no one warn me? He wondered.
Where were the birds? They were curiously absent.

Turkey Take Over

The interlopers surrounded the old folk’s farmstead before dawn.
Farmer Jay wondered what planet they were now living on.
Their gravely gobbles were incessantly loud, it was a take over.
Farmer Jay’s hound dog was missing, his name was Leaf Clover.

What do they want? The missus asked her sweet husband Jay.
Not sure he said, but it does not look like a very good day.
Eat hamburgers and bacon at Thanksgiving was their soul-full yell.
They gobbled it all morning until the dinner bell.

Other demands were written down in blue and red ink.
By this time they had sold their farm to a young couple named Pink.
What about the turkeys? Are you taking them? The young owner asked.
They are your problem now, Farmer Jay said, picking up his statue of Bast.

Strange News From Florida

The alligators will not stay in the water,
they head for strip malls, for chicken noodle joints
or sports bars for fish taco or spicy wings.
They get their nails done in a Korean salon
paying in Spanish gold.

The two legged; 
the cranes, herons, and humans
edge around the gators.
Occasionally, rowdy boys bounce stones off 
their scaly hides.
The unflappable crocodilians slyly grin 
for they are ecologically moving-in.
Shrewdly, the reptiles are styling 
alligator belts and boots, or sell gator skin handbags 
from wayside stalls and booths.

The Floridians have become inured
to these green interlopers. Some seeing opportunity, 
rent them housings with few tenancy rules
and ‘must have’ pools.
Sadly many furry pets keep going missing;
and not just the Cypress trees are stumped.

It’s a new era, one to be nearer together.
Undocumented or free-range, no longer estranged.
but one shared love for chicken, be it raw, fried 
or grill flamed.

Company Hired Two Brazen Vixens

We used to have a wonderful crew at work.
Sixteen, men who thought alike.
Then someone upstairs decided to hire two female engineers.

They hired the wrong two.
These interlopers are not demure, dainty or feminine.
They are brazen vixens.
With their bobbed hair and their wanton ways.
They read the financial pages, as if they understand them.

More like men than women, they are manly women.
Independent thinkers.
Way too brassy.
Too bold, too confident, too vocal.
We make fun of them from the window.
Because we dare not do it in person.

Pope Lick Monster of Floyd Kentucky

Legend of goat man of pop lick trestle
prominent in the stories of mountain folk
blue grass anomaly seen by a few
chilling bluegrass spotters who become hypnotized

some local hillbillies affected jump off the trestle
landing a hundred feet below on sharp gravel
terrifying to passengers of oncoming train
he uses voice mimicry to lure many to their deaths

common story in floyd, Kentucky
known by few newcomers or interlopers
shared by old timers in hushed whispers
waitress listens and rolls her eyes at their tale

• Short Interlopers Poems
• Famous Interlopers Poems
• Best Interlopers Poems
• Read Interlopers Poems
• Long Interlopers Poems
• Interlopers Quotes