Long Scrounging Poems
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I was on my way to school when it happened.
You see, I never miss school and for me,
playing hooky has an entirely different meaning!
Well,
I was scrounging up some lunch along the way.
By the by, the Mississippi river is a great place to eat!
and I came upon what I thought was a great big
Seaweed salad.
Opening wide for my first taste, snagged!
my left whisker caught in a net.
Yes, I know what you’re probably thinking,
he’s still in school and he has whiskers?
I was really scared.
I for one, do not intend to end up
covered in corn meal, sizzling in a frying pan.
You know, I have aspirations. But, my mom says
stay in school so I have something to fall back on.
I can sing!
Sure, some may call it noise but hey,
there was Hootie and the Blowfish, why not
Codie and the Catfish?
the following quite quirky epistle may not exhibit the ordinary characteristics of poetry, but i decided to share this self made challenge (where every word begins with the letter "S" - no explanation can be offered why such self cerebral torture imposed, nor what motivated me to focus on the nineteenth letter of the english alphabet at the exclusion of other noble vowels and consonants.
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Sunday September seventh started seemingly same since...silver screen show secured seventy seven SeventhSeals.
Soupy Sales supreme salient strengths (starring smart pet sidekick Springer Spaniel Socrates) salvaged sagging sporting sorties. Slap stick stereotypical swashbuckling shticks supplied shipshape shenanigans.
Spartan stage set spurred spontaneous simply stupefying solution. Suede shod schlemiel. Sartre seasoned scenes. Sharp sticks supported sphere. Seats situated semicircular semblance.
SPCA, Siemens, Sears sponsored soiree. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious shouted satirically 'specially Saturdays seemingly sellout. Spontaneous spritely Shogun Samurai sangroid stance satiated slipups stripping stellar seasoned Skidamarinks substitutes sacredly, seminally, silently, slipstreaming soulfully saving saga.
Sometimes silly spouse studiously sought spurious strategy stringing superlatives showcasing senseless sophomoric soporific skills specifically spelling storybook sassy sharpshooters supposedly sleuthing shapeless seated sideways (sic seasonal slate smug spotified snapchatting skippers selfishly scooped sloop-ful seasonal six-packs) sinister Swiss scalpers sat sometimes squatted.
Its too Quiet
the cold has seeped deep
I feel Anxious
has my blood vein freeze,
There are no thoughts that
I could think of,
I visit the same dream
I had left from, and
there is nothing to come back
In this free fall of exquisite.
I don’t know if
it will stop me from ,
reaching a place I look for,
I don’t want the Noise
but I think I am one thing short,
In all the silence
there can be one beat high.
Its too Quiet
Although its not
like I cant hear the Rain Fall,
but strangely it fails to
make my heart drop,
Maybe I have called for resistance.
I Enjoy time
Moments of free smiles
kindling with ones own norms
staying silent when Eyes play
the familiar thoughts,
Did I let it happen
I dwell on persistence
what's with the precipitous change?
The cooking pot
who's aware what's being made,
The guessing game
has been shut for all Scrounging brains.
What shall come
will happen to be a Surprise;
even with all our Eyes laid on
It will keep Fooling
until it Arrives.
The habit of Absence ;
don’t held it tight,
there is an Infinity building;
Once its this Quiet.
Seriously thinking of calling it quits
I'm rapidly running out of gas
Dragging up stuff from the bottom of the barrel
Scrounging around looking for inspiration
Can't seem to find any anymore
Think to myself it'll pass
Not quite so sure this time around
Maybe just the mood I've been in lately
Lost my fun loving approach to things
Perhaps my age is finally having an impact
And I'm finally growing up
Well whatever the reason
It's not exciting and new anymore
Everything has a beginning and an end
I am not resigning from the site
I am just backing off a bit
I have too many friends here that I would miss
I hope you will all understand
You guys are and have always been
© Jack Ellison 2014
In alleys devoid of light;
the beggars sleep on the street.
And fear arrives late at night;
to feed upon their defeat.
Delusions exchanged for lies,
they panhandle in the park.
And tears trickle from sad eyes;
watching hunger carve its mark.
Drugs ease their physical pain,
but their sanity's in doubt.
For their monsters can't be slain;
on the fringes of burnout.
Scrounging in torn dungarees,
they confront brutality.
And fragmented memories,
are lost to reality.
As hypocrisy walks by,
the beggars barely survive.
And if broken wings can't fly,
can they ever feel alive?
Paying repentance and biding my time
Scrounging around for my lost piece of rhyme
Waking up bleary and hitting the bricks
Thinking while scheming, getting my kicks
Presently cashing a low income check
Vigorously chasing another train wreck
Paying repentance and biding my time
Scrounging around for my lost piece of rhyme
So many choices, different points of thought
Mere moments in history when lifestyles were bought
Encrypted decisions creating new jobs
All for the pleasures of those who can rob
Paying repentance and biding my time
Scrounging around for my lost piece of rhyme
Wanting a gold bar stashed away in the bank
Thinking I’ll steal it from somebody’s rank
Reaching for coffee, I find solace again
Knowing full well I must start moving to win
Paying repentance and biding my time
Scrounging around for my lost piece of rhyme
Seeing the pictures and I love them all
Leave me believing I am trapped by the walls
Communication they say is my key
The words they speak though mean nothing to me
Lorraine.Peterson
She's fat and she's ugly and she smokes and she smells
and she scares all the children on the street
Every child runs to hide when she screams, when she yells
but a man down the block thinks she's sweet.
He's old and he's dirty and he lives all alone
and he suffers from a dread disease
The sight of this woman makes him sigh, makes him moan
and he don't give a damn about her fleas.
While scrounging through the dump for a new set of threads
They per chance came to meet eye to eye
With smiles on their lips and music in their heads
They felt nearly young enough the fly high.
Now they live in a trailer on the back of a lot
and if you have no cotton in your ears
You can hear the echoes of the fights they have fought
so they lived ever happy through the years.
-1968
We ran the streets
not as thugs but as children
not old enough to be out there
but on our own as our parents were busy
He was taller than I,
but nice, and shared whatever food he found
He had boots which made me jealous
We spoke of childhood dreams
but did not live them
We were busy scrounging whatever food we could
sharing half a sandwich or a piece of bread
loving life as children who do not know otherwise can
No one told us about school so we did not miss it
We saw others running the streets
Not children
Adults
They encouraged us and watched out for us
We were protected by the godfather of the neighborhood
He had men watching out, so we would be safe
We were insanely happy
Never knowing how protected
we actually were.
The Shoshone bargain their horses like apathetic bankers,
what we all have in common is constant starvation
and near death stumbles, several times this month our pack animals
have slipped and fallen on this treacherous route,
in the Bitterroot Passes there is virtually no game for food
and everyone is broken in some private way,
September snowfall is beginning to seize this rocky world
now the trail's knobs, broken timbers and deadfalls are even more sabotaging,
all we have are weapons, tradegoods and clothing, and a whole lotta wet cold,
we're outta food provisions, and the whiskey has been gone since Fort Mandan,
sometimes the men catch small fish in the creeks and grab hold of grouse,
Sacagawea sulks no more than any of us when frustration and pain bite
she's real tough, and sexy in strain
she has been scrounging edible roots for us,
thank goodness she wanted to come with us to the edge of the world,
begrudgingly we kill and cook a colt, the meat is good and vital
but in so doing costs us so much,
11 days since the Bitterroot risk, marching 160 miles through this mountain crucible,
and finally an open, low flat pasture where game and efficiency can be gained,
we are not going to die in this stone necropolis,
I feel a kinship to the Carthaginian General Hannibal
who succeeded 2, 000 years ago leading an army through the Roman Alps,
although we have no elephants, but we do have a young Republic on our backs,
J.A.B.
It brews
With the first arc of the sunlight
That lifts the sweltering night
It brews
Without a single cloud to offer comfort
The thick still air
Only grows heavier
A weight you can see on the leaves of the trees
As they fold to the oppression
Hot like a wet tea bag
A solid mass you can feel on your skin
Pressing on lungs scrounging for oxygen
It brews
Quietly
Patiently
Come afternoon
The mercury peaks
Clouds out of nowhere
Swiftly boil over
Liquid silver turns to slate
As a wall of wind slams into the city
With rain pounding in waves
Hailstones thrashing
And lightening bolts flashing
The trees are left praying on their knees
A moment of relief
And then it is gone
The clouds clearing out like a shift change
Sun back on duty
In a matter of minutes the streets are dry
And the air is again steeped
It is as if nothing happened
Save a few fallen trees
Composed for Brenda Chiri's
Describe a thunderstorm without the sense of sound.