They scavenge the detritus of the soul
Devouring the pieces less than whole
For evil has a way of taking hold
Before it declares itself as friend or foe
As these hollow creatures feed within
They fill the emptiness with lasting sin
Spew a stream of lies completely false
Convince that it’s the truth, that’s how they win
And those who hold the line and will not yield
Are sent into the battle without shield
Left broken and alone to doubt their cause
The aftermath of battle left unhealed
So do the scavengers now mock the strong
And menace as a mindless, roving throng
The very pennants that once spared their souls
Convinced that every right deserves a wrong
John G. Lawless
©8/1/2022
A monstrous vulture
Wants the more some torture:
A blistered body further rupture;
The carrion give a worse picture
That should still stick after a future…
It never shall worth a camera’s capture:
Every pulsating but nauseating culture,
The body- jolting which scavengers nurture:
Champions of the bad table manners of The Immature.
I’ve developed a deep respect for scavengers.
They ravenously attack that which most would disdain;
The impure,
the contaminated,
the defiled,
the rotting flesh gorged with maggots.
Furiously devouring the putrid flesh of the no-longer-living,
inhaling its essence.
They voraciously consume what others abhor,
taking it in with a fervor, a passion,
allowing their body to perform its natural process.
Turning rot into life.
Taking those sacred nutrients, missing from the board of kings,
and churning it into the milk of gods
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine,
while circling in a sky of ocean's hue,
and never staying in a too-straight line,
from up above, they have their "bird's eye" view!
While circling in a sky of ocean's hue,
they ride the wind, conserving energy.
From up above, they have their "bird's eye" view;
as scavengers, they eye us craftily!
They ride the wind, conserving energy.
Desiring to fill up their bellies soon,
as scavengers, they eye us craftily -
excited for our scrumptious scraps by noon!
Desiring to fill up their bellies soon -
and never staying in a too-straight line -
excited for our scrumptious scraps by noon,
squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine!
Dec. 19, 2019 for Eve Roper's Seagulls Poetry Contest
They come.
Dark winged shadows in the sun,
a dozen, two, maybe more on the run.
Winged crows, no, ravens four score
hovering than landing on the earthen floor.
Small birds and squirrels once feeding
scoot away from the sudden heaving
these scavengers in flight
create dismay not delight.
SCAVENGERS
The night sun buries his face to earth,
Slowly suspending his daily harvest -
Piles of colour and heaps of brightness
In oast house and warm barn.
Rays of darkness
Speed across the twilight
Sky, steal into small corners of the loft,
Scavengers ransacking the day.
Greens devoured by omnivores;
Nothing left but black.
Shadowy Scavengers
The darkest hour of the hallowed night
Wake up the blood dried shadows with
Unfulfilled desires rotting in purgatory
Wriggle out of their graves to earth flying
To their unwanted descendants' homes
To fill them with fearful reminders that
Their ancestors are connected through blood ties
Beware of the denizens of the night!
Crosses and candles at the door
Scare these lifeless invisible parchments away
Thresholds laden with goodies satiate these
One night scavengers howling with the wind
Gifting and treating the tiny devilish vampires
Purge them of their undoings and guilt ridden lives
All the empty hungry souls are tricked
To the golden ladder of salvation to heaven
EIGHTH
Balveen Cheema
October 18, 2015
Contest: Halloween- Prompt-2
Sponsor: Bev Smith
Corrupt politicians sleep
In each other's beds
While I hide my gold from them
Two Scavengers in a Truck,
Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes
At the stoplight waiting for the light
nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
a bright yellow garbage truck
with two garbage men in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stop
one on each side hanging on
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
The man
in a hip three-piece linen suit
with shoulder-length blond hair & sunglasses
The young blond woman so casually coiffed
with a short skirt and colored stockings
on the way to his architect's office
And the two scavengers up since four a.m.
grungy from their route
on the way home
the older of the two with grey iron hair
and hunched back
looking down like some
gargoyle Quasimodo
And the younger of the two
also with sunglasses & long hair
about the same age as the Mercedes driver
And both scavengers gazing down
as from a great distance
at the cool couple
as if they were watching some odorless TV ad
in which everything is always possible
And the very red light for an instant
holding all four close together
as if anything at all were possible
between them
across that small gulf
in the high seas
of this democracy
I am alone
This is my life
I live and sleep on this hill
A hill made of it all
From grace to grass
And on this grass I feed in delight
For grace is vague to my sight
So vague, I do not yern for
Peers and I compete for the best piece of flit
Anxiously we await early in the morn
That which have been let down by golden haves
An enduring search on the biting sun
a times pays with hovering flies
As though it is thanksgiving
till I devour all
I am alone
This is my life
Survival is a must not need
There comes the scary nights
When sleep escapes from sight lids
For fear of an attack on my being
Acts of pleasure and wickness
by Lords of the hill
A height I yearn to attain
To gain with no pain
Snatch with no grudge
I am alone
This is my life
Do you hear me
Do you feel my pain
Can you feel my heart call
For echos of the night is near
Calling unto itself fear and terror
For noise of the day is near
Calling unto itself crushing labor against
un-quenching elements of God
I am alone
This is my life
I need your help, now!
©Kofi Asokwa-Nkansah
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