Scudding Poems | Examples

Your Face in the Scudding Cloud

I search for your face in the scudding cloud.
The fresh offshore sea breeze tucks at my hair,
The timber of your voice, in tearful shroud.
I search for your face in the scudding cloud,
too painful to watch couples walking proud—
the memory of you at heartstrings tear.
I search for your face in the scudding cloud.
The fresh offshore sea breeze tucks at my hair.

Once Summer Ends

pale scudding clouds turn sun less bright,
bikinis, no more, greet my eye,
and ice-cream shops stand shuttered tight,
fall's shorter days the reason why

bikinis, no more, greet my eye
where balls once volleyed at that net
while children frolicked wringing wet,

and ice-cream shops stand shuttered tight
because the boardwalk lacks its crowds
beneath these far-stretched, graying clouds,

fall's shorter days the reason why
a lonely, forlorn mood descends
here at the beach once summer ends

Fair Winds

Fair winds and following seas.
May full sails surge with scudding breeze.
May peaceful moorings host your craft
wherever indulgent winds waft.

A toast now to your safe return.
May choppy seas be left astern.
May evening offer pleasing berth
to ensconce in halcyon firth.

Stand

High on a blustery jut
he flouts his fear upon a buoyant swell.
Breathes in the tang
of crowberries and storm clouds
aroma’s sieved through wind and limestone,
sheep piss and heather.
Way down on a lower sky
rock ravens spiral.
This is his land, his free blown air.
There he declares himself
the very image of this scudding world;
and he magnified and upright,
somewhere between
a twirling gnat
and a new begot God.
© a day ago

Nature Fulcrum Sight

Light and shade are vital to life's beauty, charm, and richness. By Poet.


sun 
sunshine 
dawn to dusk 
nature supplies 
vivacious hues clash 
cumulonimbus cloud
sprouts expanse toward the sun
every day, it swells keen and vast 
as crocus sprouts muzzle widespread breeze 
in stark peacefulness through the strides of verve
Melted gold gleams in the thoughts of moonbeams.
As light wanes, faint stars tackle to glow.
they shimmer like zillions of studs
while embedded to sunbeams
Scudding blue-purple swarms.
soar through azure sky.
gazed birch leaf buds
and clean grass
spring's rays
warmth. 
scour
the bliss
tweaked and deep
blue fades to mauve 
humped at hearts of stem 
stream heavenly keenness
as waterway of sheer praise
sequent the path of least toughness
same as a flower's smell loads the air
linked to bode love, uttering lease to flow 

Written: February 15, 2022

1st place contest winner 

E Forms- Etheree - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France

Take Me To Your Leader

UFOs have been sighted in Yorkshire,
a global hotspot it appears,
witnesses, mostly sober
to the moors and up over
have regularly seen them for years.
They all give them various descriptions,
some were captured on video tapes,
as they hovered and zoomed, no jet sound
or smoke plume,
and they come in a variety of shapes.
Several saw an enormous black cylinder
it slowly climbed up, then moved faster,
through the clouds it went scudding
like a giant black pudding
could it be Bolton has it's own NASA?
One arrived with three coloured lights, flashing,
seems like ET had finally phoned home,
as it buzzed the landscape
a triangular shape, maybe from the planet Toblerone.
Whatever these visual conundra,
their existence must convey some meaning,
I've seen them, a lot
mine are little black dots
and they tell me my glasses need cleaning.

Unwavering Nature

Though dancing daily
unswerving type the sea is
treats rich and poor same

Though scudding across
the sky, clouds are in no rush
to pour rain fairly

Moon waxes and wanes
every month but never fails
to entertain us

Re-Inventing

Re-Inventing

An easy concept once—now turned difficult,
made that way by inexorable time.
Rolled the dice before with nothing to lose and 7’s,
now bets come due.

Gathering threads of what has been
What colors, what patterns and texture,
for what purpose, what has worked out,
what gave pleasure or pain,
fulfillment or emptiness.  

Now with those same threads
to weave a different pattern.
To roll the cup with the dice again
now that the horizon has changed, now constricted.

How then to weave, to re-invent?
No signal posts for street signs, no maps, no bread crumbs.
Just the limited view
with the gun-metal clouds, the scudding cold rain.

People known all your life moved on-
with their own threads to weave,
their own magic to make,
their own songs to sing.

Now alone, 
to weave,
to re-invent,
One thread at a time.

April 30, 2021

Cornish poem Cornish Shore

The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next 
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small crabs patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.

By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more, 
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …

Cornish Shore

The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next 
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small crabs patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.

By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more, 
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …

Spring Blizzard

Eleven horses traipsed single file toward home
The scudding clouds threw a snowflake now and then
A Brown bear sniffed the air and looked toward his den
                the mountain emptied

The accumulation is but a handful
Shallow depth pushed against a pine tree base
But the flakes grew bigger as the skies darkened
              a whiteness emerged 

A wind from nowhere pushed the flakes sideways
The first blizzard of the year was in full blow
As inches turn to feet in no time at all
              the world disappeared 

Soon the sun arose and then the wind vanished
Silence ruled the whiteness without and within
As the blizzard had roared of its displeasure
               the universe slept


7-11-20
Contest: Strand Completely new (8)
Sponsor:Brian Strand

Fullness

Fullness…

The end of one journey
The beginning of the next.

The fullness has been replete
With the things that we have carried with us.
Parcels of joy and laughter, tears and sorrow,
Brilliant moonshine, scudding storm clouds, rainbows, soft snow falling.
They have brightened our way
They have lighted our way,
As we touched the lives of others
And as they in turn touched ours.

And now as the eye of God
Descends toward the horizon,
We carry those parcels of fullness within our souls
And inhale the shades and colors of 
L’heure bleu-the lavender, orchid, mauve and mulberry tones.  

The soul sated with the fullness of our lives and dreams.

The Day Reborn

I heard the wind scouring trees
As around my head danced whirling leaves,
In the sky, the clouds they raced
Scudding, at some graceless pace. 

The wind gave voice, in manic howlings
As chimney pots surrendered cowlings,
Any hope of calm now cast asunder,
For in the distance, rumbled thunder.

A crack, a flash, blinding, bright,
Lightning sparked to my delight,
Who is not humbled by a storm,
For 'tis the day, being reborn.

Scudding

Scudding
(The act of moving along swiftly)
Written: by Tom Wright
4/28/2018

Today, I enumerate my links in the chain of time,
And, as always, feel compelled to recall God’s blessings.

I’m a vessel, doing my best, to traverse life’s unsettled waters,
Any resiliency mustered, is consumed in a groundswell of change.
My days are packed with vagueness, and anxiety gnaws at me.

I hold fast to things which enhance my days,
But most are crammed with pipe dreams or flashbacks,
And euphoric days are a mirage that starves my nostrils.

Most days I feel like an insignificant smudge,
Occupying space and seeking God’s help to adapt;

The Haunted Manor House

Few tears were shed when news arrived
that Lord Trevelyan had died.
One solitary wreath was laid
as shallow, feigned respects were paid.

Remote and sullen, he'd disdained
each hand of friendship, and remained
throughout his life a bitter soul
with whom no person could condole.

His lavish mansion towered still
above the village, on the hill
where shadows stalked, in pale moonlight,
all signs of life within their sight.

And curious to see inside
the house whose doors had been denied,
the villagers set forth with haste
unconscious of the doom they faced.

As ghostly clouds went scudding by
a vixen screamed its eldritch cry.
Then one by one they reached the hall:
The door slammed fast once and for all.

They stood transfixed as terror reigned
And piercing cries rang unrestrained.
No soul would dare set foot again
on Lord Trevelyan's domain.

23/01/19


'One Night In A Haunted Manor Poetry Contest' 
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin

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