Long Scuttled Poems
Long Scuttled Poems. Below are the most popular long Scuttled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scuttled poems by poem length and keyword.
Herons fragment the mist,
appear and disappear while remaining motionless.
The skiff rocks as a coal barge trundles past.
A dewy sky shivers.
Nowadays he just sits in a boat looking at Ohio.
This morning the sun reached the top of a willow
and got stuck.
He rowed toward the bank thinking to get under the tree,
filled an imaginary pipe full of tangy river smoke,
sucked on the wet air
as he watched the tree struggling with the sun.
For a while it was a tussle, then the willow shook itself
and the sun slipped away like an unmoored ketch.
At first, the sun just hovered like a blanched balloon
then it found a window above the mounded smother
and it rose up like a Choctaw bass
about to mouth a trill of small fry.
He was near to the shore now,
Ohio slanted down to meet him
cattails and reeds scratching the aluminum hull.
A couple of mallards jumped out of nowhere
and flew over his eyes. The clatter of wings
ruffled the chill bank where a dank light had sunk.
His mind followed them for some time
until they settled deep down
amid a wraith-wrapped Kentucky.
A heron slowly rowed the wind
stirring up the vaporous air, Patches of clarity
drifted across sky-high filtering puddles.
Ohio becomes a river town, the huddled houses
have scuttled their roofs upon soggy pathways.
The mossy hulks of an abandoned industry
wallow in a foggy backwash.
Castaway wharfs drip a spatter and smear,
a hand me down script of a yesteryear.
A small blue-collar marina,
beer cans roll on swaying pontoons,
a couple of dry docked rowboats
and canoes.
Truck tires thump harbor chains.
Someone is up early, someone else watches him
gut and clean a large flathead.
On the damp dock cats circle the bones and scales
creep through the miasma
their fur wet and glistening eyes flashing a liquid silver.
The catfish is naked and shorn of the river
a thing to be watched least it return to life
as something beyond the ken of cats and fishermen.
On the ramp he hitches up his straggling life
and drives away from a berth awash
with the haunted cries of Loons and Redtail’s.
Soon he will be back in the patched-up pockets of Ohio
where corn husks snag hoarfrost and rattle
in a fresh rinsing breeze.
There was a bongoman, and he dreaming
Where the rock hovered above the blue sea
Looked through the white mist of a dew drenched morning
And clenched tight his memory of history
Black as midnight: showed me shining like day
Black Starliners, and his tears melted away.
Walk softly let me sing my song, redemption brings
The whip to silence and the heart to lift its wings
And then he laughed aloud, his heart beating
Drums like a flock of bird wings. This called me
Inexplicably to stand before him feasting
My eyes on his joy, and his tangled beauty
Of hair and form, without Samson's great flaws
I heard his covenant to Afric's laws:
No swine flesh in Selassie I temple
No labor for the rag of foul Babylon
Peace and love recovered of nature's principle
Keep's the dove in the flesh of the lion
Eating herbs as a lamb. And high above
The sea, the forest throbs with songs of love
He told his sorrows in Psalms recounting
Another's tragedy through which he claimed
His own, and whipped scuttled pride to rise surmounting
The shambled faith imposed on bodies maimed
By tyrant's culture and chains, to find
The cliff where Marcus Garvey led the blind
And made them see with power of his words
Towering Kilmanjaros of beauty
Breaking the sun, splintering its silver bright swords
Into strands, opening the majesty
Of wonders past on plain banana leaf
Feeding Anansi duckuno from grief
It does not matter anymore, the blames
The city lies upon his head; he cried
His tears for Babylon melting in oral flames
Bongo with Jah lives iver in the tide
Of Rastafari righteous inity
Behold the bongoman in divinity
I was late to school to know the bright lies
That silence permitted against his pain
The bongoman on the misty sea fastened his eyes
And searched for his Judah's Lion again
For out of him was life forever, dread
Life sweeter than the heaven of the dead.
And those ships, the angels of Marcus' dream
Make good covenant with the paucity
Of truth, and hold the bongoman in moonbeam
Dancing on rock point of belief, certainty
Mixed like bitter herbs in the ital food
Sweet as drums on the morning bright of mood.
Urges ushered Est’bel out of her abode –
a cottage cobbled together from cobwebs and clapboard –
and she scuttled forth,
her nesty hair tousled
by a leaf-laced breeze
In her bony hands she clutched
dregs of a nightmeg broth
in a porcelain jar stoppered
by a coffinwood shard
Her bare feet stepped on thorny twigs
but she felt them not,
for her soles had been hardened
by countless treks across hot coals
washed up from stygian shoals
Leftward she turned,
meandering down the narrowing, twisting path,
where uprooted mandrake tendrils
clutched at her anorexic ankles,
while ravens pecked at her frayed follicles,
until she snatched a leaf
from a passing philodendron,
folding it into a tri-cornered hat
and plunking it atop her pate,
rakishly askew
Dewey sap from twisty-trunked trees
dripped onto the nape of her gnarly neck
and a raven on a nearby branch
cawed his amusement,
earning him her owlish scowl
She spied a row of rotting poppies
and plucked a bunch,
sticking them into a crevice of her hat,
then stepped onto a walkway of cracked shale slabs,
which shunned her footprints,
replacing them with snail streaks
to mark her passing
She made her way to a listing tombstone
atop a gnarled knoll encased in gelid moonbeams
and fringed by shushing sawgrass
She took a small vial of indigo glass
from beneath her shabby shawl
and pulled out a stopper made
from a finger bone of an unfaithful lover
whose pickled tongue hung from a
silver chain around her neck
She poured the contents of the vile vial
into the porcelain jar and
listened to the fizz.
It subsided into sloshes,
reminding her of the sounds
issuing from demented shells
snatched from the forlorn shores
of stygian shoals
She gaped at the sky
as an owl flew past the moon,
stirring the dark craters,
which broke up into swirling spirals,
sucking lunar beasts beneath the surface,
where they dissolved in the ceaselessly sliding sands
And Est’bel raised the jar to her lips
and drank a toast to the moon,
and awaited the enshadowed shades
drifting down the snail-slimed pathway,
propelled by a leaf-laced breeze
Have you ever seen a catterfairy?
Many found her to be quite scary,
She came out of her cocoon others said to soon
And only part of her had seemed to bloom.
Her green body dragged on the cold wet ground
Yet her face was like an angel and her wings were profound.
She had passed many animals, insects and fish
Though she was rejected by them all...she still held on to one special wish.
That someday she would gracefully fly
Far past all their critical eyes.
Show the world who she was inside
Never again feel the need to isolate and hide.
One day a mouse with two pointy green tails
Scuttled by her sobbing with a horrendous wail.
The catterfairy filled with compassion asked him what was wrong
The mouse pointed to his two tails and said “I’m not special or strong”
No one paid him any mind too
For his difference made others constantly ridicule.
The catterfairy said, "My dream is to fly"
"I am different too and can’t understand why"
At that moment they became the best of friends,
Their uniqueness became a treasure that helped them make amends
With whom they really were
Instantly feelings of loneliness became a blur.
The mouse one day had a marvelous idea
It would help his dear friend overcome a deep fear.
If he held up the catterfairys body while she attempted to fly
It would make her light enough so she could soar through the sky
Then, they both would graciously shine
Linked together till the end of time.
At once the mouse lifted the beautiful catterfairy's body high,
Holding on intensely, she got her wish and they both kissed the cold ground goodbye.
The catterfairy has human emotions and shows us how hard it can be when your different in our society. people judge others so often by how they look or if they have a disability. we all need love and friends and we have too look deeper than the outside. Someone will always come and lift that person up who feels rejected or different. Thank God we are all different. how boring this earth would be if we were all the same. Never try to be like anyone else for there is only one YOU and you are needed.
By: Sabina Nicole
I wandered down the forest way
out into clearing bright
flowers wild in breezes sway
burnished in the noon day light
drowsy from the heat I stray
beneath a drooping limb
above I hear a scolding jay
as weary eyes go dim
I fell into a heavy trance
astrally I seemed to rise
Is this a vision quest perchance?
or just a heavy mid-day meal (that's how I'd surmise!)
but wafting up the path toward
a giant hivelike pod of black
from its gaping maw a torrent poured
and casts me rough upon my back
stunned I stared up to the sky
and felt a creature on my chest
scuttled up and stared into my eye
a strange chimera queerly dressed
bulbous eyes, antennae whipped
abdomen striped black and yellow
with a stinger poisoned dipp'd
a hellish looking fearful fellow!
aghast was I when first he spoke
and gathered 'round me all the clan
for in a woman's voice it spoke (Oh! She's not a bloke!)
"we've come to warn you, son of man!
for centuries we've toiled afield
from blossoms taken nectar’s drop
so all of men enjoy our yield
and harvest fruitful crop
but soon, so soon the season nears
for all my children here to swarm
so from the feast come famine years
forgetting summers bright and warm
we are the few, the last breath of our kind
and must needs take to flight
and to shortsighted men so blind
we grieve at future's blight
so to you who lay there struck so dumb
we offer this lucid trance
that mayhaps it's just a world grown numb
and can be saved (perchance)"
and all at once they're gone
and snapping to my feet
I see I'd slept through night to dawn
and sweating in a sultry heat
rushing home through lea and vale
I stop all the workers in the grove
gather round to tell my tale
of the future's thread we wove
and as I spoke I swear on high
a honeybee flew near
with knowing eyes and a grateful sigh
she and her sisters lingered here...
Courtesy the mighty Amazon successful deliverance reported...
Regarding unexpected Gadshill gift
(as if delivered from Magi)
tamper proof wrapped,
thus an obligation goads me
to communicate following
trademarked™ poetically apt
reasonable rhyme capped
with feeble airborne attempt,
no matter arms waved futilely,
madly, and ridiculously flapped
fortunately I eluded being kidnapped
by men in white coats
spellbound and rapt
before arriving at 20965 Young Avenue
Bend, Oregon 97703-8461
without energy being zapped.
The abovementioned transmission to whit
hesitantly, yet immediately, wisely scuttled
cuz analogous to Icarus, a free spirit
ignoring Daedalus warning soaring
too close to the sun
earning stronger epithet than "you nit"
true to adolescent hubris,
the son blithely ignoring
his father as a hypocrite,
but honest to goodness truthfulness
of above line entails
caution and discretion I readily admit.
Just now, I sample
Navitas Organics blueberry
hemp power snack(s)
wondering how many chewy squares
yours truly needs to consume
before me noggin
goes wickety wickety wack,
but... just maybe amply ingested
cubed plant based superfood
could allow, enable and
provide me means to take flight,
whereby off gray carpeted tarmac
goes Matthew Scott Harris.
So best be on the lookout okey doke
for one nondescript buzzfeeding bloke
long haired pencil necked geek fella,
who juiced awoke
and suddenly found himself at Trader Joe's
(with a twenty dollar gift card)
among garden variety generic folk
such as special people spanning Costco calendar,
who sport and trumpet surnames such as
Dunning, Harris, McGeehan no joke,
yet amidst madding crowd there could be
spy versus spy donning dagger and cloak.
anyway hoop fully thee above laughter did evoke,
perhaps e'en yar own literary juices
I didst unwittingly stoke.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019
Well..he would practice his trade,
Just like he practiced his life.
Practical! With cold precision,
Never made time for a wife.
He woke precisely at six,
He wore the same suit and tie.
But, mumbled under his breath,
When any neighbors passed by!
He was of the opinion,
That "He" was better than 'Them!"
With his fine, manicured nails,
And a fresh shave and a trim.
Never flustered or flurried,
Never scuttled or scurried,
Caught the shuttle...never hurried!
On the clock...never worried!
At work by nine...precisely!
He meandered down the hall.
His tunnel vision blinded,
He would jump when "Brass" would call!
Went racing down that fast track,
Just to see how fast he'd rise.
He'd slobber down their backsides,
With his eyes stuck on the prize!
He smiled and fetched their papers,
He smiled and wretched their gas.
He smiled and fetched their coffee,
Puckered and kissed their ass!
He thought that would impress them,
He thought the "Brass" would call.
He thought this with precision...
But, was heading for a fall!
Confident of ascension,
He was laid off in the Spring!
He saw his future falter,
No gold watch or diamonded ring!
His ego couldn't take it!
He planned his retribution!
With crafty, cold precision...
He planned their execution!
He arrived at work at nine...
Precisely! With cold desire!
He chained up all the exits,
Lit the whole damn place on fire!
It seemed to ease the tension,
With no pension left to earn.
Saluted and flipped the "Bird!"
Then he stood and watched it "Burn!"
With no one there to witness,
In the end, well...no one knew!
With his cold and crafty smile,
Knew all his dreams just came true!
They surrounded him with ruthless intentions,
Until he quickly decided to mention,
“I am more like you wolves than you think”
“I am your human, missing link”
“Let me prove to all of you”
“That I am capable of being a wolf too”
Their blood thirsty eyes suddenly subsided,
He was given 24 hours to show them he should be permanently invited,
For he had nothing to lose and everything to gain,
He had just survived a grizzly bear’s night time game,
The man explained that he had just retired,
The life he had lived had simply expired,
He was now more alive than he had ever been before,
Little did he know what these wolves had in store,
The journey was to begin at sundown,
When all was quiet and no one was around,
They would come for him at half past eight,
And challenge this man and test his weight,
They said their last words then scuttled away,
Leaving this man to his thoughts all day,
He knew he was different; his head for the first time was clear,
He felt empowered and had not one fear,
With it all planned out in his mind,
He was confident that they would accept him after tonight as their kind,
He did not question what would happen if he failed their test,
With pride in his heart, he was confident he would be the best,
To keep himself busy until they came back,
He walked to a nearby stream, pulled out a knife from his knapsack
Caught some season trout,
He showed those fish what he was all about
He spent the rest of his day relaxing in the sun
Until darkness arrived and the fun had begun…
Gunfight in old Abilene
With his hat drawn way down, reins loose in his hands
His horse sweating pints, the sun burning down
The dust from the trail was choking his throat
The Abilene sign, said, two miles to go
He rode into town, stared the folk down
He pulled up his horse at the watering trough
All scuttled inside as his boot hit the ground
The word was soon spread, that he was in town
His aim to avenge, a brother who’d died
By hand of a cowpoke, o’er game o’ cards
Known to be cheating and fast with a gun
He’d drawn and fired on unarmed man
Stepped out the poke, with a gun on each side
The stranger he sees with a look in his eye
Some paces they took, no words were exchanged
They stood face to face, staring each down
Silence it fell, the nerves were of steel
Dust blew around on the faintest of breeze
The desolate street, unreal in the scene
The stranger stood waiting, death in his eye
The air, it was crushed, as the guns they were fired
Bullets passed wild, on wings of hate
A thud, a cry, a hit was made
One fell to the ground, the sun burning down
The dust and the smoke, cleared from the air
Onto the street, the folks gathered round
Amazed at the speed the actions had been
Declaring the duel had seen a fair fight
He mounted his horse, tugged brim of hat,
His mission complete, justice on course
A man of the old west who never looked back
Where sun had gone down for the poke on the ground