Long Scowls Poems
Long Scowls Poems. Below are the most popular long Scowls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scowls poems by poem length and keyword.
Dear Park Lake enchanted a quiet serenity,
In the middle lay a waltzing fountain, free.
We rushed ahead, our echoes scouring the air,
Sat awhile till the dazzling rain showered everywhere.
Hid our fortune—phones safe in pocket,
Heard the scowls, vague and unbound.
Was it fun, or a trap’s warning out loud?
I should have run; might end the haunt.
Reached the top, our feet began to slip,
Arms crossed, hearts passionate in race.
We giggled while spinning in tranquil delight,
Laughter howled, tears began to rise.
Oh my lord, what a day it was!
I smiled… but then a hidden misery crept,
Ambiguous, mesmerizing, obscure,
Fading, sparkling moments—a deceitful lie.
A fragile mask I wore with quiet grace,
The discovery of lust—an obscene trace,
A dissident scratch upon my soul’s flesh,
The only spark that kept him there.
You may not know today’s the day
Designed for being kind
So it’s a chance for you to pay
Benevolence some mind.
Get off your butt and give a seat
To someone who can use it
And smile at everyone you meet;
If someone scowls, excuse it.
With chores around the house, assist
And change to right a wrong
By calling kith or kin who’ve missed
Your voice for way too long.
Acknowledge those who have your back;
Boost someone’s self-esteem.
Encourage all to stay on track
When following a dream.
We shouldn’t need a special day
For all of us can spare
Some kindness shown along the way
So others know we care.
Mojubjub knew that the Corcoran tree
Was tall and comely and fair to see.
Yet all the worms in the House of Owls
Could not move; for Mojubjub’s scowls
Brought a score of ladies and their Pekinese,
Only to hear Mojubjub sneeze.
His mother said we shouldn’t mind;
For, after all, he is so kind
He gave to the princess who slept on a pea
A bouquet of roses and fleur-de-lis
To let her know there was nothing to dread
From spending a night in the House of the Dead.
And all the flowers on the Corcoran tree
Bent low to kiss Mojubjub’s knee.
While in the walls of the House of Owls
The worms stood still and heard the howls
Of a thousand manacled Pekinese,
Tortured by thousands of manicured fleas.
I’m living in those same lavender days,
Where the glaze of the morning dew is the only water we receive,
And its sweetness slicks poignance over your potent petals.
I fill my clear crystal cup at the table till it quivers,
Spill the shimmer of your essence until I overflow,
Then I drink you, like sharp and searing, sherry.
Your lips pressed on mine sting like nettles;
They grip and settle on me, festering inside until they’re cold,
Like ponds of soured cherry juice—so crimson and cruel.
I found art in your bitter taste,
Like well-aged whiskey in the glass of a young intellect.
What girl would pass on a man who promised everything,
And lived up to at least half of his words?
A man who’d lay her in his bed and ravish her like a body made of twilight,
Treat her as a feast, a spread sweeter than honey,
Yet musky like wood and steam.
A man who says she’s hot like fire, yet also mild like cream.
Certainly, it was unfair to expect me to resist.
When I tasted his kiss and I knew what he’d be
A madman, crazy, but not just with love,
But sick in his soul, and dead from his head to his knees
I see it clear, and I repeat the actions of my youth,
Hiding in floral, subtle fantasies brought on from the scent of his perfume.
But the thinness of the air, and the line that I walk,
Makes me afraid every time he breathes,
Or scowls, or talks.
The aesthetics of love are much more appealing
Than the feeling of your flesh being used as his warmth.
A wolf in the wild, not pure or docile—
But still expecting to be coddled
Like an innocent, soft child.
I’m living in those same lavender days,
Where at least the haze of the fog protects me from the fear.
But here I sit, and I plan every way that he will kill me,
And every way that I will have to pay
For indulging in our shared need to flee.
Miles and miles of open country pass as the train moves.
A sudden thrust, jolt then nothing. The earth stands still.
Wind circulates pushing branches, leaves dance with the melody..
We sit..
Or movement halted by a slow moving freight,
we do an unheard of twenty five miles per hour.
I need a shower, shave, clean clothes.
A bathroom stench overwhelmingly horrific,
waste scented essence in the air,
mixed with the body odor of many
who share.
On the toilet seat,
look,
a pubic hair..
Finally, we slowly begin to move.
A conductor walks past checking destinations screaming:
"Next stop Chicago."
Passengers gather their belongings furious for the twelve hour delay.
Glossy eyes, scowls, a common look amongst the strangers.
Again, the train stops, deep breaths and a few colorful phrases
spout from a dozen or so.
A group of five sit and curse the situation,
hoping for a new permutation.
Hunger, fatigue, and back spasms corrupt my mood.
I am in need of food.
Sleep is not something that my body has seen.
The ride so far not peaceful, nor serene.
The delay has caused my lay-over to cease
causing me to jump trains hungry.
Where the meals range between $8.50-$15.00 a piece.
As I run to my next long acting bedroom on rails,
I smell food in the distance, hamburgers, fries, and chicken.
Oh, how this experience has sickened me.
........:JP)
Permit me to present a dark bird named Gypsy;
Pardon her silliness if she seems somewhat tipsy.
Pretending to be sinister, she’s one boorish brute.
Pecking in my kitchen, she is searching for fruit.
Pink apples! she scowls, these simply will not suit.
Pigeons prefer peaches, peeled, if you please.
Plainly speaking, my dog, Dr. Duke, quite agrees
Pacific pink apples, a tasty treat, just fine;
Persian peaches, however, make a most excellent wine.
written April 21, 2019
contest by Edward Ibeh, I chose the title A Glorious Alchemy
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/contests/pick_a_title_vol3_alliteration__11919
Up with the children at seven
For blueberry pancakes and ham.
Flapjacks enough for eleven -
How many will fit in the pan?
Lay out some slices of bread.
Spread with egg salad maybe,
Some tuna and celery for Fred,
And a “p,b and j” for the baby!
Fetch from the line all the towels
And swimsuits hanging to dry.
Ignore the grumbles and scowls
About sunscreen you have to apply.
Stack the pop in the ice chest.
With sandwiches, yogurt and fruit.
Pack napkins, chips and the rest
In the picnic basket to suit.
Pile out, and head for the seashore
With picnic, umbrella and chairs!
No room for anything more -
But then, nobody really cares!
Oh, joy! What a day at the beach!
We swim, jump the waves, and tan,
Drink our soda, eat a peach,
Its edges trimmed with sand!
Alack! Alas! It’s time to go!
Our homeward way we wend,
Not sad because we know
Tomorrow we’ll do it again!
She is sweet and enigmatic
Her walk so conspicuous
How dare I go there,
With all her enigma
This surely won't end well.
She walks towards me
And courteously asks to sit beside
I hastily agree
Words that fall from her mouth
Are nothing but pleasing,
Dropping innuendos at every given opportune.
We delight in wine and she matches me glass for glass as she seems nonchalant to its effects.
Her eyes light up the room or is it the wine taking its toll?
Her beauty lies in comparison to none that my eyes have lay upon
I sit with an Aphrodite but yet
I wonder what she sees in me?
I stare at her as I fathom,
It suddenly dawns on me.
She is the kind who swallows cork for coin, The lady of the night.
That's the only conclusion I have
A woman all alone in a bar
What else could she be?
I decide to tread path on a more direct route
And arrive at point.
I ask her in whisper,what reward she will require for me to see what I was longing for?
Her dress part from her body.
She scowls as she breaks word
"I am a Lady seeking a Gentleman"
She stands and walks away like Cinderella only this time she leaves no glass slipper,
Leaving me mortified
For I sat with a lady and only just realized it Now.
Form:
She's thwarted his advances for bluer skies
cat chasing her tail
to poking at nothing there
why is this such a fail
retrieving her blank stare
he tries again, his paws
grasping thin air
his teeth into her jaw
for answers to her impair
he scowls, then paces to scare
purring none the less
as his eyes scream and glare
at her mandates digress
come on what's up with you
he would say if he were a man
did you forget the screws
that drill holes into your playpen
hot under the collar he yells
get yourself ready, he stews
under hell bells
I'm taking you without further ado
she looks back at him and laughs
as a she sees a molly walk by
laying the wood into her chaff
sorry females are my bluer skies
connie pachecho
1/5/17
All I see is white
And pouts and scowls,
My night they blight
Among their sing and howls.
Those very Vixens
With hearts of stone,
Their plot now thickens,
Their knives sharpened to cut bone.
They’re out to get me
That much I know,
Shouting with glee
For that one unseemly blow.
I feel it coming
But not quite when,
That thought so numbing,
It unbalances my Zen.
What’s with these women
Are they so pure
No dirty linen
Far from demure?
But I’m a fighter,
They’ve met their match
Their blows far lighter
They merely scratch.
I lie in waiting
For each and all
No point debating
The coming squall.
So bring it on
Maidens in white
And watch me spawn
Mayhem and blight.