Long Scurries Poems
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"I not afraid" His upper lip trembles,
ears twitch.
The rest of his body
does not like the view inside his head,
A dead headmaster returns as a rat.
Out from his knuckles,
yellowing stiletto teeth stretch, to tap, tap, tap
on a much-scratched mahogany desk,
the sound makes the silence gnaw itself.
Fifty years on, a screech owl wakes up,
screaks once.
"I not afraid" says a scared mouse,
who then reflexively scurries deeper
into his pillow.
The old man’s head
manages a slight uncertain nod,
while his sanity
slips away into a pen-stained inkwell.
One screak is all it took.
Nothing stirs the blood more than lies
I stand upon sacred ground of honor
Defend the truth with my soul's honest sword
I'll hold character before dishonor
And cut away at any lies discord
Face with an angry voice, all lies that creep
That hides inside minds of a human throng
Who scurries from the truth, for lies are cheap
They sell each lie in darker shades of wrong
This line so sacrosanct cannot be crossed
Nor tossed aside a quaint and ancient rite
I'll face the ugly truth and pay its cost
And live or die indeed, for its true light
I find that lies betray a chosen dearth
And will leave a tarnished stain on your self-worth
5/1/18 contest Emotions that Rock You
Shabbos Table True Fable
Our family "Heimish" setting,
Replete with 2 lighted candles letting,
Blessings, my wife's "Emunah" truly abetting.
6 days' worries & scurries set aside, allayed,
2 lights cleansing in noble "Dr. Suess" style displayed,
Candlesticks' "Curved Art", due to years of use arrayed.
Bluma Yehudis's beautiful voice, her simple innocence,
Capturing a crystalline semblance,
Of each of our spiritual en-trance.
2 "Challah Bagels" offered gratefully to "Hashem",
Each one a symbol, "Remembering" & "Guarding" them,
The 24 hours of rest, from creative labors, not physical ones, we stem.
"When wine goes in, truth comes out",
Liquid sunshine savored in moderation, no gout,
And to boot, enhances melodious singing aloud.
Other Yidden heard through our window, grace the night,
Melodies heard so clear, listening is like eyesight,
Each "Niggun" inspiring, not the least bit trite.
Shabbos graces us each with an extra "Neshama",
Meaning Soul, from "Breath", exhaled into each "Guf" by "HaRachaman"
Gifting "Bina", or understanding, & appetite for my wife's "Manna".
In Bina we listen to each other, to Torah "Tools & Dies",
Attending to Hashem's word, true hearing with eyes,
Conversing, not the least, with your loved's ties.
Singing "Shir HaMa'Alos" in unison,
Brings us together as each other's & His chosen ones,
Bonding warmly, embracing each other by voices' tones.
Afternoon naps, enjoying playing Bananagrams,
Invigorating, rejuvenating, noncompetitive lambs,
Sharing dreams, emotions, wits & words, ignoring weekday scrams.
"Davening", or praying, to Hashem for ours & others' welfare,
Ending domestic disputes among us, pointless warfare,
Huge blessings & tiny like "Shalom", health and carfare.
All this in our Shabbos? I barely skimmed...
" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy!"
An alien landed in my thoughts today in the form of a gnat,
Right on the paper, it happened like that.
Not bothersome, not a worry at all,
Not big or fat or two feet tall.
Which is sometimes what happens when I see
An alien from Planet X, Y, or Z,
My mind is ready to grab any idea coming to me.
I look down for an instant, and she is out of my sight.
I flip on my reading lamp,
Springing forth some good light.
There she is, what is she doing?
She is tormenting the dog,
Who is booing and hoo-ing.
Should have been the cat, then she would have met her match.
The cat would have eaten her in one quick tongue snatch.
I watch her in disbelief, as she flips around, alien from planet X.
She yawns, and she preens, and she stretched and she flexed.
Alien Sweetheart, come give me an ear,
Come over to the paper, you can sit right here!
But she giggles and wiggles and scurries away.
Tinkerbell? Already done.
Alien seemed like a bunch of fun.
Wait, inspiration,
Come back! Come back!
But she has gone, sneaking out a small door crack.
THE CIRCLE OF FEAR
It's a world of creatures, great and small,
Living is for all, both big, small, short & tall.
The crocroch, trembling & tiptoeing from the store,
Would scurry away, at the slightest crawl.4
Afraid of a rat, so tiny and little,
Displayed it nerves, halting it tracks in the middle.
But little does it know, the rat's own plight,
For it fears the cat, with all its might.
The cat was its predator, lurking at night.?
With a whisker twitch, eyes full of gleam,
The rat would hide away in the darkest dream.
The rat scurries fast, to escape the cat's chase,
A wild game of survival, in this endless race.¹³
Yet the cat, too, has a fear to bear,
For it dreads the dog, with its fierce stare.
With a fierce bark & teeth that could bite,
The cat would scamper off, as quick as the light.¹7
But the dog, oh the dog, had its own fear.
The man was its nightmare, ever so near.
With a towering presence and booming voice,
The dog would cower, left with no choice.²¹
But the man, who brags boldly before his peers
And walks tall & proud, but hides his fears,
For he's afraid of the woman's mysteries & tears.
Her curves sharpens the man's blurry sight.
The woman was his challenge, day and night.²6
With her wisdom & strength, she held her stance,
The man would falter, in her captivating glance.
Oh, the irony, in this life circle we find,
The fear of a tiny crocroch couldn't be left behind.³°
But the woman had her own quell qualm,
The crocroch was her unease, causing alarm.
With its scales, it seemed so mundane,
The woman would shriek as if driven insane.³4
And so, this fear circle went round & round,
From the crocroch to the rat, with a fear profound.
Each creature trembles in their own peculiar way,
An endless loop, in a comical display.³8
But imagine if they all come together, with cheer,
Realize their anxieties were trivial, nothing to fear.
For in this vast world, where fears intertwine,
Coexistence & courage might make them all shine.4²
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?22nd December 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I traipse along the seashore
where the tide forgets its name,
where the seagulls cry like lost receipts,
where the sand, pale as a sleepless page,
whispers: Look down. Look down.
But I search the horizon instead~
that bluish orange hyphen between here
and whatever comes next.
The ocean licks its lips,
spatting out a shell, half-cracked,
a confession in porcelain.
Is this you? the waves murmur,
rolling their r’s like a drunk god.
I hold it to my ear~
hear the static of a thousand voices
and the hiss of dead radios.
A crab scurries by me, dragging its life
like a piece of baggage with damaged wheels.
You’re overthinking it,
says the wind,
but the wind always says that.
At twilight, my silhouette stretches long,
a black rope thrown toward the sea.
I tug. Nothing tugs back.
And the moon, that cheap spotlight,
clicks on—illuminating
only how far I haven’t gone.
Poem published at creativeramblings.com/writing-prompts/writing-challenge-27/ on February 22, 2026
Streets littered with garbage that feeds flies,
graffiti on walls, not definately art designs;
I am too jittery to look around, it's very unwise
to drift on these sidewalks sparking with fire.
The piles of litter feeds rats even during daytime,
this section of the city is too dangerous to describe;
the presence of cops is minimal, they fear shootings
young adults smoke K2 * and pass out within minutes.
This neighborhood is always shown on the six o' clock news,
it could be robbery, stabbing, harassment, rape and murder;
there's a predator waiting for kids by the restaurant Bar,
they may not return home after a hang-out with friends.
People living here, must rebel and clean up this horrible mess;
garbage brings more crime and night ladies on high heels,
let them dispose of this filth and bring life to the streets...
that cathedral with the image of Christ awaits all repentants..
Take back your streets and put an end to corruption and profits
march down City Hall and show your concern for safety;
livelihood is something we all desire, it prevents poverty,
any society that scurries by ignoring filth deserves what it gets.
K2: Is synthetic marijuana
Written on 7/16/2016
Hitler's final attack on quote unquote
undesirable humans from the bile's of slave
ships prison camps European complete
infestation thee German female cock roach
feasting on poor captured humans and their
belongings during world war two carried to
America in the cracks boxes on boats
going for tea I turned on my kitchen light
what an ugly sight she stood there long
dark itchy hairy legs lips lined with flesh
pink liner she awaits a light in order to
scatter through any crack to slide into
homes windowpanes paneling door frames
once in side she scurries inside cupboards
closet prancing through old clothing one
in her nature she releases a powerful yellow
stench staining walls and furniture finally
the hairs on her legs make a god awful
sound alerting her the owners are coming
prowling in the darkness she hides inside
pages and pages books old letters photos
receipts leaving black dusty feces spreading
fecal matter carrying hundreds of eggs on
her back her selfish nature allows her to
actually breed alone without a spouse a
mate multiplying within the darkness of
Lucifer’s lair night crawlers leaving disease
and carney in her wake feasting in left
over scum crumbs damp wet old wood
someone screams look the time it takes
to open book splat swat frightening all the
guess truly horrifying to see exhilarating to
just smash or watch her run back up a tree
Not lost, but merely seek,
knowledge and understanding.
Both of the natural world and
my mind’s space and time.
What insignificant thoughts will
push worries away,
occupying that space,
and consuming the time?
On these cloudy rainy days
the melancholy thoughts,
come playing peacefully, like
raindrops slowly falling.
The deer appear often at the edge
of the woods, testing things.
Full knowledge of watching eyes,
understanding no threat here.
The damp and green of summer
showers seem endless.
The hard rain satisfying the thirst
of both foliage and beast.
The young black bear scurries
across the road and into the lush,
vanishing into August’s green
and vast wet forest.
As the rain continues to fall,
the wipers moving back n forth,
out the window,
the birds bath and squirrels play.
The radio sings softly,
music from many years past,
no bad news of politics or wars,
rather lyrics for days like these.
From this rainy mountain top
peering down at the
Shenandoah valley below,
the world seems at peace.
This road of life, so similar to
this winding mountain parkway,
which today I travel,
content yet longing.
The clothes pile has started to form itself into a grotesque man
The bedroom door will no longer open due to the heavy garbage can
The stench of the dirty dishes is annoying to say the least.
To get it all out of my mind I take a giant bite of pie – peach.
Don’t you think you should? My house mate starts to say.
But she watches my eyes furrow and narrow and scurries away.
If I wanted to clean and cook and scour and wash dishes and such
I would not have been born on this planet; for it is too much.
Like Peter Pan I never wanted to totally grow up
To pay bills, and rent, and take care of my cat and my pup.
I wanted to forever go to school and have fun and make laughter
This growing up thing is for others, people much dafter.
I know that eventually I will have to get a job and go to work every day.
But since the pandemic has arrived, it’s a great time to cavort and play.
Virus has not done anything but give me a fine relaxing slovenly break.
I’ll make a cobbler next, for it’s time to eat more sugar for Pete’s sake.