Long Scavenged Poems
Long Scavenged Poems. Below are the most popular long Scavenged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scavenged poems by poem length and keyword.
One day at time
Just like going rhyme by rhyme
Predictable as a metronome
Mental health is like living under a dome
Sometimes life is hour by hour
Praying the next minute doesn’t turn sour
Keeping yourself safe is a daily challenge
Any sense of normality is to be scavenged
Reality adjusting in the neuro cells
Voice telling me to say farewells
Fights don’t need to be physical
However the long lonely nights are critical
The mind doesn’t rest or stop
There is no switching off or drop
As the mind spirals down
Gasping for air as you drown
The body itself is heavy
Wishing it was over already
The daytime passes as if you don’t matter
Feelings heavy and lacking laughter
Drifting into the background
The mind doesn’t stop or rebound
Just other people can keep you steady
Day time becomes less deadly
But as day turns to night
It brings back the fight
Just to stay alive
A battle just to survive
The sequence on repeat
Every moment sinks further in retreat
A down fall predictable as a metronome
This is the feeling of home
When mental health breaks
As a talisman around my neck, I wear a glass magnifier.
Now where ever and whenever there is sun, I can make myself a fire
and cook food I have scavenged to kill any harmful bacteria,
or boil water free of all parasites that can cause dysentery and diarrhea,
or for the warmth my body needs to prevent possible hypothermia,
or as protection from any local life threatening wild predators.
As an added precaution I also always carry a disposable lighter,
in case darkness falls upon me before I can make my campfire,
but I only use my disposable lighter very rarely.
because it will run out of fuel eventually
and anytime I need fire when fire can't be
is an official life threatening fire emergency.
You won't have any chance of surviving in the wilderness successfully
if you don't make harnessing Fire your number one priority.
Under the cover of daylight, beneath the mill
and hustle of teaming crowds; a need
and a life-grinding poverty
swept her down a wrong way.
She strayed into streets so narrow
entered them as a shadow-less shadow
stayed where rank rooms were rent by the hour
where tussled bedsheets her only ownership.
A small child might have slipped past
the ranks of pot-bellied loungers,
but the pimps were as thin as switch blades
and their eyes scavenged
for any walking flesh.
No one kidnapped her; abused her much,
she was taken by her own weakened self,
nabbed by an ever willing surrender.
Did she come to a dark end?
Only the flickering city lights
at the end of a day
can both ask and answer
that long searched for question.
I'm a carnivore who craves the taste of meat
and yet, I can't kill anything. It just isn't within me.
Until now, all of my protein has been provided in great variety,
all pre slaughtered and butchered and preserved nicely,
at the supermarket in my neighborhood locally.
Modern technology has desensitized me.
As I now forage in the forest, I come upon the carcass of a doe's body
most likely taken down by a grizzly.
It's been days now since I've consumed any meat.
My hunger grows stronger. I'm getting dizzy and weak
but I must be careful. I must stay aware.
Close by may be a snoozing grizzly bear.
I scan my surroundings and all appears clear.
Quickly, I butcher off a shank of the now deceased deer
then run off into the forest and disappear.
I relish in what I've scavenged as I consume the venison.
Tomorrow I will venture out to scavenge again.
I only hope that I'm not the one who ends up being eaten.
Several small visitors came today.
Arriving one by one
they gathered on the back of the worn cushions
of the aging tattered lawn chair
shaking off the cold drops of rain upon their feathers
they sang unstoppable songs to the heavens.
They scavenged and foraged for some fallen crumbs
from seed remains or bread or fallen cookies
most content that something could be found.
Wet feathered, they prinned and cleaned their quills dry
all the while scanning for predatory competition.
Eventually, each one took brief protection
safe and secure beneath the over hanging eaves.
Then as quick and quiet as they came
they slipped away into the brush
or high up into the bowing trees.
The rain fell fast and bold globules
riding on the brisk tempest of wind
and in the cold afternoon chill
these welcome rested visitors
flit away in the silent hours of spring.
The sun-soaked shining valley of his lucent life
Drained the symphonic cadence of ecstatic rills
Swirling around the scattered glint of nuggets
Cascaded with the cadence of gilded instants.
Dislodged sentiments in stream of euphoria
Floated unbound in turbulent tides of time
In the torrent of the cloud-burst fallen sky
Flowed in the flood to terminal obscurity.
In search of transported treasure trove eroded
Buried beneath the strata of stagnant sludge
He was the first to wade in the sunk murky past
Mudlarked in the desolate bay in twilight hour.
In the lilac light of the setting sun fading fast
Each time the surged tide of turmoil ebbed out
He scavenged the mud of memory layer by layer
Retrieved the golden moments he lived to adore.
________________
July 23, 2022
Phrase used : #1
Contest : One In Five 2
Sponsored by : Joseph May
(inspired by "Gifts of the Most High" by G Alan Johnson.)
The crows know me, and I, in their untamed glares,
and wild, accepting, onyx eyes find a solace.
No need for ID, for they’ve been watching me,
my face, yet unetched by time and life's own artistry,
is a passport for their uncivilized and predatory attention.
The corvid and I are kindred in many ways.
We've all scavenged for fortune's scraps,
shared the sting of bitter winter snaps,
and feasted on the meager leavings of the day.
In this dark pact, of watcher and watched,
a silent truth is proclaimed, that all that’s done
beneath the sun, is seen by dark, intuitive,
discerning, if not caring or humanly wise eyes.
The carrion crows know me,
and those feathered sentinels of air, mark
my coming with raucous, heralding cries.
They gather, black against the sun-kissed sky,
in councils held upon the wind's swift motions,
like children, they argue - observing still - as they play.
They causa no fear, but someday I’ll disappear,
unraveled, bit by bit, not by malice from on high,
but by beaks and claws, to caws they mantric-like cry.
Perhaps death really does have an ebonite beauty
and, like angels, his servants have wings, and pick us apart
when our time is through - and those sharp bills come due.
Crawling through the dirt trying to get back to my perch,
where I once sang so free and acted happily
in the sunshine of my life things were really going well.
A fall from broken wings, I fell into the dust,
choking there at first waiting for your help.
But wait was all I did whilst no assistance came my way.
For months I struggled on, surviving day to day,
too proud to beg and borrow I scavenged like a dog.
But soon I found the strength to crawl out from the gutter.
I fought for life, to thrive, avoiding vices in my way
and built a ladder to help me from the pit I'd fallen in.
Now I'm back upon a higher perch than I've ever roosted on.
I'm now singing of success, not striving to get by
and feeling so much stronger for my time down in the dumps.
But for those I met, still there, I save a little prayer.
The howling of the lone gray wolf
His fingerprint sound waves
Reaches out to his alpha female
And to enemies like staves
His hunt unfruitful this night
No ungulates found alive
Few scavenged tidbit pieces
Barely enough to survive
His alpha mate heavy with pups
tucked into the warm den
Hunger gnawed away at her, weak~
dreams of a fat tough hen
Maybe fate would befriend her mate
At least a deer he'll kill
And bring home a lean hind quarter
An empty stomach fill
Sixty days or so the liter carried
Must be many large pups
Maybe four or even seven
Seven pups a deluxe
They'll be delivered just in time
For the deer, elk and moose
To give birth to their fawns~ easy prey
Food source hidden in the spruce
Hunger will recede through the summer
They'll be plenty of game
Maybe at least one pup will survive
To the future lay claim
Contest: Canis Lupus The Wolf
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Written: April 06, 2015
The shell remains, picked clean by
Hungry vultures, ravenous with greed-
Eyes, gouged out, now vacant in their stare.
Raw morsels of choice bits and parts,
Unsparingly stripped or torn away, and
Soft gutted vitals furtively devoured,
Totally filled the needs of scavengers who
Yielded to hunger and shared the feast.
Cruelly, the carcass rests on bony frame
Although once supported by plump,
Round parts, on which it mightily ran-
Crushed and crumpled, now an empty shell.
Abandoned, there it lies- the scavenged,
Shattered, rusty, ravaged Chevy-
Staring- lifeless, amid the weeds and grass.
June 14, 2016
~9th Place~
Contest: Rusted and Busted
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Judged: 06/27/2016
1st Place
Contest: A Brian Strand July 3
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 07/03/2021