Lurked Poems | Examples

The Shadow

At The Dawn of My Time
The Light shone so brightly it blinded my sight
But with its warmth and promise of opportunity
I reveled in the notion of optimism and its delight

He lurked behind my back
Staying out of my site, I hardly knew He was there
Silently watching, waiting, looking over my shoulder
But in my youth, I barely had a care

At the Meridiem of My Time
I thrived, as I was powerful and strong
My senses keen, my focus unwavering
I felt invincible and could do no wrong 

I barely gave Him a thought 
I became curious once, but He could not be found 
Then I caught a glimpse of Him … under my feet 
Triumphant, I was sure a new King had been crowned 

But now, in the Twilight of My Time
I struggle to make sense of it all
What once seemed to be victory 
I now see was the pride before the fall 

And now He looms in front of me
Every moment His presence is known
And as those who have gone before me
I know I must face Him alone

As He outstretches His arms
And the last flicker of light is done
His darkness consumes me
And, forever, we are One

Deep fake'

On second take..Lowe is not that great.' In fact i hear of
Late.' He wants 'bio meat on our plates?' Its beyond the
Pale.' Its all lookng stale, i beleive its time ti bale.' I had
Hoped against hope; for better.' Yet he's another bird of
False feather.' Along with Farage? Although giving and
Asking for it (large!) In support i mean.' What a dejecting
Scene is seen.' Yet to be fair (their was an irk) between
My shoulder blades it lurked.! So i must jettison any writes
Of support.. This type of skull-duggery appeares fully rife.?
( I must choose!) Ashby versus White..I do not consent in
Ink' to write.)

WONDER WOMAN GRANDMA

Justice alert
An Old Lady with strong Faith
Knows how to carry to great length
Didn’t have to spin to turn into Wonder Woman
Wonder Woman Grandma carried every day
A Mugger thought an Old Lady being an easy prey
He Forget to kneel and pray
The Mugger lurked and looked for an opportunity
It turned out to be a defeated reality
He attacked and Wonder Woman Grandma went into action just like that
She knocked him down
The Mugger went to the ground
He tried to attack a second time
Failed again and again
He didn’t know that Wonder Woman Grandma had Indian tribe blood origin
Full of courage, strength and keenness
The Mugger ran like a punk
Wonder Woman Grandma proved don’t under estimate an Old Lady
She packed more than just age
The punk was defeated full of rage
He got what he deserved because he didn’t behave
Forced to retreat
Got agony of defeat
The Wonder Woman Grandma is a true story
It’s my actual Grandma
A woman of wisdom
Living in God’s kingdom
High in the sky with my Grandpa
Wonder Woman Grandma
Strength in character
Standing for all Grandma’s all over the world
Hero
Victor story
Rewarded in Glory.

Shadow's silent dance

I watched as silence danced with shadows,
Playing the melody sung by my mind.
Its blanket covered the darkness—
broken only by a ray of light through a crack in the cave wall.

I groped through the dark toward the stone,
but the gale was too thick for my arms to swim.
I imagined a ghost whispering—
yet only silence listened.

Echoes, like thunder in a deep ocean,
ricocheted fear like a trap set to spring.
Ghosts rushed out from the corners they lurked—
only for me to hear silence whisper: “Come out of there.”
Its voice flowed like a river of serenity through a forest.

I begged silence to stop its torment,
but it had ears that could not hear.
I tried to run, but a boulder blocked my path.
Then I screamed.
It was then I knew—
the light coming through the crack was my father’s flashlight.

The Cost of Progress

Through ages past, we forged ahead,
With gleaming tools where dreams were led.
Soft metal pipes, they carried flow,
Yet silent poison crept below.

A glowing spark, in dials bright,
Lit up the dark, but stole the light.
Brushes kissed lips, an artist's pride,
Yet bones grew frail as youth subsides.

Fibers woven, fire's foe,
In walls and mines, their curse would grow.
Lungs turned stone, and whispers fade,
A heavy price their lives have paid.

Secrets stirred in shadowed halls,
Where science's call brought down great walls.
Beasts reshaped, but lost their core,
What soul survives such cruel rapport?

Beauty painted to beguile,
Yet venom lurked in every vial.
Tremors came, minds slipped away,
For fleeting grace, the toll we pay.

Now batteries hum, and engines thrive,
Yet flames may leap where sparks survive.
The earth protests, its veins run dry,
What cost we bear, we must decry.

Each step we take, each bright new flame,
Holds truths we fear to give a name.
But heed the past, its lessons learn,
Lest futures bright to ashes turn.

For the Life of Me

I swore I'd turn and back away,
Resist the call, from the lurking flay.
For the life of me, I could not allay the stay!

Before me lay a morsel, a mere tit bit.
A taste I took, another, another, but could not scoff remit,
For the life of me, I could not help it!

I told myself to turn away, to quell the surge.
To resist the temptation with a denial's purge.
For the life of me, I could not resist the urge!

Danger lurked, the danger warning plain to see
Alas, the hurt to me was not meant to be.
For the life of me, I could not flee!

For the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out.
Why was my will so weak, and prone to doubt?
That my life was so worthless, such a sellout!

Demons

This poem is dedicated to my best friend kat.
For we are all demons!
                        

                        Demons

In ages of old, when myths held sway,
Demons walked Earth, at the close of the day.
When shadows lengthened, and fear held its reign,
Their whispers arose, like a chilling refrain.

In Babylon's towers, and Egypt's vast lands,
Demons lurked hidden, with clawed, grasping hands.
They preyed on the weak, the weary, the lost,
Their influence growing, at a terrible cost.

But the ancients fought back, with rituals and might,
Invoking the gods, in the pale moon's light.
Priests chanted incantations, warding off the dread,
With amulets and talismans, the demons were fled.

From Babylon to Greece, the battle endured,
Against the unseen, their existence assured.
A timeless struggle, against the unknown,
The fight against demons, forever to be shown.

In legends and myths, their echoes remain,
A reminder of darkness, and enduring pain.
But the human spirit, forever will rise,
To conquer the demons, beneath the dark skies

Three sides to a story

she said she was, he said he was,
then how? said constable at loss?
fact was the old lady was dead,
she looked like asleep in her bed,
but she must have passed suddenly
nothing suggests she was poorly,
except her mouth was wide open,
next to her drugs she had taken,
her son said was busy at work,
his wife said it sounds so berserk,
because she had bid her goodbye,
go upstairs to have a short lie!
suspicion lurked on every side,
did vindictive daughter in law
put an end to mother in law?
son eager for inheritance,
is now not showing repentance?
police would believe them neither,
for a week held them in tether,
post mortem report soon revealed,
truth that she from them had concealed,
her breast cancer was too advanced,
with treatment life not be enhanced,
she took her drugs to ease her pain,
bore quietly to cause no strain,
a blood clot in lungs was her end,
breast cancers to blood stream do send,
heartbreaks, tears at this final call,
three sides to story, after all!
epitaph in her own hand read,
“more is to love, than can be said!”

the sad vicar

the sad vicar

The vicar walks in front of the funeral procession
appears a bit wobbly, perhaps due to elderliness
eyes are watery, and the smell of lotion is too strong 
He lost faith years ago praying in churches, asking 
to be released from his throbbing masculinity 
which left him affairs with female parishioners
past their first youth, but with adult feelings about 
sexuality hidden in a black dress of widows 
God had left him, he blamed himself especially now 
that he was no longer young his discreet advances 
were no longer useful.
The vicar had lost his faith, he went through rituals 
that had no meaning, he was not a man of the cloth 
His mother had been deeply religious and wished 
her son will join the priesthood which he did partly
because to please her, and the idea of saving the world 
from the evil that lurked in the heart of man.
He didn't know at the time, his male sexuality was
his downfall, when he knew, it was too late to do 
anything about this problem, that youngish widows 
was happy to assist in solving
Someone called his name, deep in thought he had
walked past the interment place, ah, they thought 
our old is lost in prayers

spooked by a Hoot

As a child at night, tucked up into bed 

counting sheep would never work for me 

counting only up to three

then drifting from my head 

An imagination Big enough

self-sabotaging dread 

a shadowed figurine 

with glowing eyes instead 

whistling gusts of wind 

the creepy creaking shed 

What if something hungry lurked outside

 looking to be fed 

its favourite snack was little girls, with ringlet curls

who wore Pjs colour red

scared but curious, I tiptoed across and carefully I tread

perching by my window

oddly sitting on the ledge 

was a creature looking back

tilting slow its head

A frightening hoot so loud

was why I spun around, and to my parent's room

whizzingly I fled

Ink of insecurity

A poet I aspired to be,
Yet words that mattered were in opposition with me.
A pen I could hold, a book I owned,
But the feelings were never my own.

A writer's soul is a shattered vase,
Tired from the pain and strain it etched to a lonely page.
However, mine was untouched, free
From the shadows that lurked behind a poet.

What do they have that I lacked?
An answer to that I craved so bad.
I am a terrible poet, with unpolished words
And simple thoughts.

I could never be equals with such greatness.
When they write, it summons gods.
When I write, I just wrote words.
I repeated them so often, they sounded so forced.

Shakespeare would tell me to give up,
Maya would say I've tried enough.
But my poetic dreams would come to a cease,
That thought makes my knees weak.

Writing has always been my release,
Yet being the best at it just seems too much.

Redemption

In the beginning was the Word. 
Was it necessary? Was it important? Was it redemption?
In Him was life, which was the light of all humanity. 
He dwelt amongst us though we knew Him not. 
Should we have known Him?  She knew.  Did we?

Like many others, she pondered on the meaning of it all.
Was it worth it?  To go through all that pain? She did not know. 
She had faith that all was in His plan.

So, He grew up and knew.
His pain would start in an olive garden
In the middle of an evil night where a traitor lurked,
Where locusts sang their defiant song.
And comely birds fled to their nests,
For they were afraid and could not bear
To see Him shed His royal blood.

He cried and felt atrocious pain with blood all shed.
He cried: “It is consummated.” A lance pierced His side. 
It was necessary. It was important. It was redemption.
Now she knew why. Now I know it, too.

BYE ERN

BYE ERN

There once was a man from Bavaria
Whose actions could not be scarier
In the woods where he lurked
And at night where he worked
It was designated as a no-go area

But at heart he was a secretive guy 
Of ill repute, but couldn’t see why
All those songs that were sung
About him being well hung
From a tree in the woods so high

Songs of Soul COS No 10: ABAB

Absent of pride, gave their lives, those they owed,
bloodlines warrant one soul's intended quest
persuades a past, that they constantly sowed
pastoral guides sculptors essence is blessed
Readiness spurs insights, smoothing passion
unforeseen tests that fool-hearted, not them
their unbidden stare on death's face, cash in
pushed e'er determined, tensing a rose stem
Unchecked horses, intrepid horsemen burst
barrage relents as foe feared those affirmed
lurked rears castle shadows most accursed
chance lights and afront darken all confirmed
won swords gained Heaven rewards fruition.
Bold victor of few words, save salvation.

Halloween Sidewalk

The world had gone mad, all the people had flipped
I glared at a window where blood and gore dripped
Folk wandered blindly, their eyes hanging out
And bats big as rats seemed to flit all about

Two nuns and a vicar with vampire fangs
Lurked under the tree where a skeleton hangs
A haggard old hunchback went lumbering by
A rat riding high on the stake in his eye

Green men with stitches and bolts through their necks
Gargoyles enduring some terrible hex
A madman was strutting the strut of the dead
While clutching the arrow that’s right through his head

A witch reached out for me and that’s when I fled
I ran to my house and cried out, “They’re all dead!”
The door opened wide and my dad’s hair was red
“Look Son, I’ve got a big axe in my head.”

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