Long Skulking Poems
Long Skulking Poems. Below are the most popular long Skulking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skulking poems by poem length and keyword.
Hoping to stay inconspicuous
you slink down darkened alleyways.
And forever haunt the fringes
staying as quiet as a ghost.
Sounds of laughter place you on guard
afraid you may have been spotted.
You stalk the very edge of hope
and forever haunt the fringes.
Skulking in fragmented shadows
you pretend you’re out with your friends.
Although you’re completely unseen
you stalk the very edge of hope.
It becomes difficult to hear
and yet you dare not move nearer.
A giggle causes you to freeze
although you are completely unseen.
Fifty forbidden footsteps form
an invisible safety line.
As you begin to head back home
a giggle causes you to freeze.
Years of incessant bullying
have left you fearful all the time.
And a tear trickles down your cheek
as you begin to head back home.
I sit at my bench again,
this whole scene is getting old.
Same old sinners skulking in,
same defense a trillion-fold.
Now the room fills up with steam.
Next, flames shoot up through the grate.
I'm so bored I want to scream!
Here's the part I really hate...
Blah, blah, blah, "I beg you, sir,
this is all one big mistake...!"
Ugh! Stop clutching at my fur!
YOU'LL be burning at the stake.
I've been doing this so long,
I forgot when it began.
Sentencing the endless throng
of the very worst of man.
NEXT...! Let's go - don't hold the line,
I've got legions more to see.
Quicksand... Sharks... Irate canine...
Punishment is up to me.
Used to be I really dug
civic aspects of this job,
now I just want to unplug
from this whole unholy mob.
What if men just acted right?
What if more went UP, than down?
Maybe I'd take off a night...
or perhaps go out of town...
WAIT. Did I just have that thought??
Oh my badness, I'm not well...
Feel my head - am I still hot?!
...Guess there ARE cold days in hell!
I sit at my bench again,
this whole scene is getting old.
Same old sinners skulking in,
same defense a trillion-fold.
Next the room fills up with steam,
then flames shoot up through the grate.
I'm so bored I want to scream.
Now the part I really hate...
Blah, blah, blah, "I beg you, sir,"
"Tell Him there's been a mistake..."
Ugh - stop drooling on my fur!
YOU'LL be burning at the stake.
I've been doing this so long,
I forgot when it began.
Sentencing the endless throng
of the very worst of man.
NEXT...!
Come on, don't hold the line,
I've got legions more to see.
Quicksand. Sharks. Nice white strychnine.
Punishment is up to me.
Used to be I really dug
civic aspects of this job,
now I just want to unplug
from this whole unholy mob.
What if men just acted right?
What if more went UP, than down?
Maybe I'd take off a night,
or perhaps go out of town...
Wait - did I just HAVE that thought??
Oh my goodness, I'm not well...
Feel my head - am I still hot?
Guess there ARE cold days in hell!
==================
07/29/2015
Snowflakes fall from Heaven's open door
white stars of night glow on the shadowed floor,
beneath a pale moon slipping 'tween skulking clouds
floating listless blown by soft, silent winds to shrouds
down on to earth touching the hardened ground
piling one upon another without a sound.
The New Year celebrations just about to begin
gather wood for the fire pit's crackling thru the din
stoking the leaves and branches there laid
warming the gatherers for the year end display
chilled yet braving the bone chiling cold
the embers glow burnt red eyes in the snow.
For a moment hanging on the clock
the snow and embers blend together in the rocks
and sizzled steamings rise as smoky specters of the night
leering in the hollows, calling winsome shrills on their flight
to warm and chill in the same time that ticks away
fading seconds welcoming the new year's day.
Sassy sobriquets schooled sissy spindleshanks...
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sing,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning smartass,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
I don’t need to be told what I’ve seen
whether it’s real or a sinister scheme
I need a world where I know the rules
which we call wise which we call fools
Where the lines in the sand are a lot less hazy
and people agree on who people call crazy
But the lines in the sand have gone every which way
from the truth of obscurity growing each day
We’re a nation of leaders who’ve lost their way
where all are consumed of crescendoing fray
skulking in darkness on weakness we prey
leaving in question what’s lighting our way
This dreariness some are beginning to feel
the mental fatigue of discerning what’s real
Confusion and chaos have run us aground
far from the winds in our sails we had found
I don’t need to be told what I’ve seen
but I fear what I’ve found that remains of the scene
folks with no compass no maps and no guide
colliding in wastelands of deepest divide
Where is the ground upon which we can stand
steady behind the lines drawn in the sand?
For what shall we fight still united as one?
For what shall we die when it’s all said and done?
~Jeannie Cronin
Where the antelope used to play is now shopping malls and plats.
Man in his insatiable greed has encroached upon its ancient habitats.
Not so very long ago on the plains just a few miles out of town,
Were herds of these graceful creatures that now have dwindled down.
Also, pushed from the verdant plains are the mighty buffalo,
That grazed upon the lush, green grasses not so very long ago.
Upon these sacred grazing grounds are now concrete parking lots,
And densely cluttered cookie-cutter houses on quarter-acre plots.
Where have all the magnificent wild turkeys gone,
That used to preen and strut about at the break of dawn?
Even the lowly prairie dogs, their burrows they've had to flee,
To accommodate covetous developers who've gone on a building spree.
Of the wily fox and skulking coyote, there are fewer to be seen.
They were forced from their hunting grounds and have fled the scene.
Desperate flocks of grouse and pheasant have also taken flight,
To raise their young elsewhere, escaping mans' spreading blight.
Deer and elk that once peered shyly from almost every copse;
Their environs now occupied and overrun with tacky shops.
'Twould be novel if man would recall that these creatures were here first,
And consider them when pursuing their unquenchable expansion thirst!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Forgotten
He was broken, friendless, abandoned,
living day to day, skulking in the brush.
To warm himself, he lay dead still in a
patch of sunlight allowing a hollow
warmth to sooth him. I spoke to him,
called him old friend, brought him food.
He came to know me, to trust my footfalls,
to come and greet me and wait patiently
for his dinner. I invited him to come home
with me, coaxed, prodded, cajoled, to no
avail. He would disappear at times for
a day or two, then return, hungry and
looking for a scratch behind the ears,
a friendly voice, a moment of friendship.
In the end the thought of the coming
winter, and his age, led him to concede
his time. He left, still somewhat broken,
but no longer friendless, no longer alone.
I think he succumbed to a broken heart
from which he never fully recovered,
from the loneliness, not of being alone,
but of being forgotten. I think of my old
friend each time I walk past the sheltering
trees from which he would emerge at
the sound of my voice and thank him
for the friendship he extended to me.
The trust of a friend for a friend.
John G. Lawless
6/23/2014
As The Rising Sun, The Dawn Came In Softly & Slowly;
&
So Did My Suffering.
Maybe Unexplained Or Unexpected Feelings;
Which Have Been Ignored;
A Sudden Melancholy Skulking In The Silence;
Awaiting The Arrival Of This Day.
The Days Have Regrettably Passed Since We Parted Ways;
About 4 Years Ago, & I Now Wonder If There Was Anything I Could Have Done;
I May Not Have Needed To Spend As Much Time In The Closet;
I Probably Need To Have Paid Closer Attention To How You Felt About Being Anonymous;
Or;
To Anything Else That Would Have Kept You By My Side;
I Am Sorely Missing You Right Now.
My Thoughts Are Hitting Barriers, & My Tears Are Falling Like Waterfalls;
All With Photographs Of You;
Including Your Wild Hairstyles;
Wild Kissing Technique;
All-Gleaming Beard;
Lovely Eyes;
Beautiful Voice;
Undetectable Abs;
&
Silly Smiles.
The Monotonous Music You Listened To In Your Place;
I Can Still Hear Them Playing In My Head From When I Visited;
I Still Occasionally Hear Them In My Brain;
Which Is Shocking, But I Genuinely Miss You & Those Awful Songs.
Do not skulk, my mother said, sternly, meanly, and often.
How could I not? I asked myself. We are skulking birds, are we not?
Your bill is too black, my brother cautioned me. Try to tone it down.
Or other flycatchers will not play with you.
Was he insane?
How could I do this?
You need to lighten it, added my haughty, mean, nasty critical sister.
My happiness in youth was hiding away from them, as far down the coast
As I could get, imagining a different life for myself
Where people liked me,
Revered me,
Appreciated me for who I was.
I could not wait to get a mate
And raise my three flycatchers a different way
Entirely away from my family’s critical ilk.
I wanted to instill confidence and hope in them.
I found the right guy, and raised three flammulated flycatchers of my own
Without their interference, or so I thought….
All they wanted to do was fly back to grandma
And laugh at stories about how awkward I was.
Seriously?