Long Scavenger Poems
Long Scavenger Poems. Below are the most popular long Scavenger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scavenger poems by poem length and keyword.
et me off so that I can burn up
Cause I've been cold for a while
I'm as good as dead
So better be done with it already
Set me off once and for all
Atleast I'll escape this reality
Into the sound sleep of death
Where I'll finally take rest
Cause I've been walking but dead
I'm barely moving into progress
While I've been giving it my all
I'm breaking with nothing to show
What's kept me alive is the hope
That you'll see me struggling and take me
Just like how a scavenger hovers on its prey
Cause I'm barely walking with this weight I have on
The PO£T
Above the heat
the sky is cooling, it’s blue is flecked with ice,
its ghost-written lamp
swept by the upended rags of
a coat-tailing winds
It is a fact
that standing on a high ledge sky-watching the distance
is quintessentially majestic
whether you are a Hitler or a Gandhi
it is its own poetry,
I would strike a heroic pose,
but assume no one else is watching.
There it is - arriving out of a far place,
a living cliché.
The Bald Eagle is high for a natural born scavenger,
soaring above this place where no rabbit runs to hide.
It must have caught a thermal,
let the sky fly it up here.
This whole scene is symbolic.
I look behind me, still no one else here.
It comes nearer,
I think of all the jaded medallions it has been
stamped and embossed upon,
yet here it is
just an existential exclamation point in time,
as I am.
For a moment I am clothed in a noble grandeur
then in a bitter blink
splattered by a smearing of unspeakable crimes.
The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue
perhaps it was alarmed or dismayed
by this self-regarding figure
posturing for posterity
upon a highly shaky prospect?
I failed English in High School
Could not understand the writing rule
If I say, when it reigns it pores, people agree
Yet when I write the same phrase people say what’s wrong with me
I before E (accept) after C less it sounds like an a as in neighbor or weigh
Where do the words foreign and sovereign (steigh)
Do they stay with a goose among geese or with a moose among (meese)
Do they live in a house with a scavenger mouse or something much bigger
Is there several (hice) with several scavenger mice
You’re a execrable human being
and people should see it
no honour to reveal
just a sicko no skill
you target like a retard
think you’re big think you’re hard
a minion that the devil carved
with no intelligence
more scavenger chance
telling yourself it’s for the good
you ain’t robbing with a hood
you think you’re metal
when you’re wood-louse
it’s gona come back, rebound
lying slander shoved back in your mouth
judge yourself on friends you have
tough times to come learn friends you have
only you you’ll have social maths
I’ve walked that path
and you’re powerless without pals too daft
decisions you make
for goodness sake
you couldn’t out wit a garden rake
I wasn’t sacked I was bullied out
got the paperwork to show and I’ll shout
you were kicked out sacked of your crown
you think you rule the world,
mare you’re upside down,
go to the police think I’ll cease
no way I’ll present every little piece
and tell you what you won’t find peace
when you’re locked up in a cell,
a medical state where my brain didn’t process
it wouldn’t act on the things it noticed
like a mental breakdown I lived remoteness
lost all yeah forgotten closeness
now I'm alive I guess I survived
I'm coming back to show you lied
outnumbered 3 to 1 up for the rumble
beat one of you and there's still one more
2 to 1 watching you crumble and pour
1 on 1 you're no more than a dough ball
I'd win if there was 4 you won a battle
I win the war you snowflaking snore
mental breakdowns because of you
acting scandalous kicking the tooth
now I remember oh so clear
repressed memories ain’t yesteryear
yes they’re here and I’m living again
acting on things I didn’t back then
13 years with my brain in a coma
heaven and hell cant make this over
Moon shines
between white blinds
Above green pines
Ferrying my mind
On a poetic cruise
Of crimson and blues
For I remember whose
Heart played like a flute
Pied piper of love's lavender
Looking for it like scavenger
White water in dry desert time
What you seek is not easy to find
Medicinal muse come see me
For I need your fuchsia fantasy
To aid my days and shade my peace
To help me wait for denim destiny
No longer meek now I’m bolder
I definitely need a lime love soldier
One who exists on purple passions
Of licorice lips tender soul rations
Until we meet I will patiently wait
For you surely exist just as I was made
To answer your questions as you pray
To be your blessing in every emerald way
As you too will bless my life
Inspiring new peach poetic cries
Hiring new ideas while creating art
Of old and new love with healing heart
The Green Fairy
If I were a flapper girl sipping on a dirty martini with a jade cigarette holder, would you still love me?
Singing a bluesy, swing song, while the gents in the room had a great ball.
If I were a nurse during WWII, would you run to my bosom and keep our secrets locked up like a key full of sight?
If I were a doctor would you allow me to take your blood pressure, while your heart races in delight?
Listening to Harry Connick Jr with a sip of Absinthe, retuning our melody, and our poetic flare.
Enjoying a Van Gogh painting as we danced in the air?
If I were your woman would you create a scavenger hunt full of little trinkets for me to retrieve?
Would you sing a tune, and lend a red rose, and then get on your knee to bow down and propose?
With all the great poets, we conceptualize a rhyming verse to idolize.
If I were your woman, I’d write a soft word, but just loud enough for the great ones to hear.
As you sip on your vermouth, and the other a beer.
If I were your vampire would you meet me at dusk; with a bag full of ancient coins as you heat up my loins?
The old dog got a bit long in the once powerful teeth
Crushed his fangs on carrion left by the rest of the pack
Pack of cards delivered by being
Pack of lies suspended in truth
It was time to gather wounds scars and loosening grip
Maybe a new trick here or there on his visit to the tomb
Tomb of words written in anger
Tomb of scripture seeking resolve
He came to settle under Buddha’s levitating canopy
Put a fig in his mouth and tasted life’s intricate journey
Journey of illusion dispersed onto time
Journey of rest conveyed by places of comfort
Just out of sight but in contemplation and mounting doubts
As he minded himself he gazed upon a rusty barrow’s wheel
Wheel of Karma forgotten at peril
Wheel of fortune bestowed by grace
How he wished to be complete and deigned by composure
Fallible imperfect merely normal and at peace nevertheless
Less longing pacified in weary soul
Less adjudication clouding tranquility
When he took of his loin cloth and stood naked and stark
Reflected aberrations and fear a vulture caressed his skin
Skin full of hardship impermanent and mortal
Skin tattooed with ink and smouldering ashes
Prey and predator became one as shadows grew longer
He kissed the scavenger and blessed his parched tongue
Tongue of voices competing for insight
Tongue of deceit croaking temptation
The corroded buggy turned into rickshaw and palanquin
Floated on the river and embraced a path of reprieve
Reprieve from agony depression and void
Reprieve from the suffering of all suffering
He never found that intangible metaphysical wisdom
Abandoned his search for mystical philosopher’s gold
Gold never needed for making honest amends
Gold buried with a pot of tar oozing compassion
21st January 2020
The sky is the color of a bruised machine,
A heavy, lidless eye of ashen stone.
It has been forty years since hills were green,
Or since the rain washed the graphite soot alone.
We live in the ribs of cities, hollowed out,
Sifting the silt for a shimmer of glass or tin,
In a world that forgot what a seed was all about,
Where the earth is a drum, stretched tight and thin.
I climbed the ridge where the concrete spine
Of the old interstate snaps and meets the sky.
I was looking for copper, or a rusted sign,
Anything the scavengers had passed by.
But there, in a crack where the asphalt bled,
In a pocket of dirt that the wind had missed,
A defiance of color, a startling red,
A throat of velvet that the sun had kissed.
I fell to my knees, and the world went still—
The groan of the turbines, the whistle of thirst—
Everything vanished from the brow of the hill,
Except for this miracle, blessed and cursed.
It was a small thing, no larger than a coin,
With a stem like a needle, translucent and frail,
A splash of soft blood on a landscape of shale.
I reached out a finger, then pulled it back fast,
Terrified my shadow would wither the bloom.
How had it lingered? How was it the last?
A solitary candle in a planet-sized room.
Did it dream of the meadows? Of the heavy-set bees?
Or was it a stranger to the ghosts of the trees,
An isolated, beautiful, purposeless thing?
I looked to the horizon
The opal anchor clings, clutching, falling,
fetching the lapis lazuli. Mermaids flee,
frightened by the heavy ornament. Fate,
like chain links of Jacob Marley; shaking
of the seabed at the pounding of sin.
Gavel striking like a velociraptor storm.
Sand churns as if Scrooge is turning
in his bedclothes, his premonitory bed.
Sapphire eyes suffer the crashing. Abode
of ponderous tales, predilection of sharp
shadows, darting hither and thither,
reserved for the most heinous of beasts.
“The beast is dead,” speaks Amphitrite
Her children carol, “Ashes, ashes…”
They dare not speak the scathing name
of molest and neglect, mutilated beyond
recognition. His fists forever incarcerated,
His face, food for the scavenger fish.
Mermaids remain innocent of such leers,
never drawing near to earthbound treachery.
The silk sense of security constantly tending
to their flesh. Tails fearlessly splashing.
~ ~ ~
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.
Matthew 18:6 BSB
(1)
Strophe
Slowly and slowly fly the mighty feathers:
the uncanny wrath bearer, the poacher's prey,
the bald bizzare stigmatic cryptic creature, the ecology's majestic role player;
the curtain raiser of ecosystem's air purifier.
Alas! Your iconographic role is omitted,
you, the saviour of the mortal race
from the contagious diseases.
Astounded! How you uncontaminated dear environment.
Your poaching has taken away
the soul of the balanced ecosystem;
crucial is saviour friend's presence, on the verge of extinction plight might have horrid ripple effect!
(2)
Antistrophe
Irony! The friend's void can't be substituted by mere replicas of sustainable development;
the diminishing existence will
drastically affect the local food webs!
How alluring to have a glimpse
of the hunch and tuck of the bird's head in the cold,
flapping and fluttering the wings,
stretching the neck in the heat!
You, remain aloft for hours,
soars gracefully on long broad wings;
with dazzling sharp eyes
from the highlands to pick the carrion!
(3)
Epode
Your iconographic presence is being honoured by the myths, legends, fables of civilizations from ages.
High time to contemplate, to introspect,
to jump into the ecosystem's integral bandwagon:
as pivotal to rescue and redeem the bird's friendly endangered existence!
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