Scythes Poems | Examples

The Heat of the Foam

When young, stay in the heat of the foam
where strange things -pyrite and miracles roll
Old age is for picking out supple blue pools
counting blessings and mincing what's left of the fool-

The foam is where gift and opportunity collide
a pants pissing reddened-eyed carnival ride
the pools can be an offbeat and queasy reflection
when harpy and angel spar over the ghost of regret-

Stay in the foam as long as the fragile dream holds
until bones collapse or you strike a thin vein of gold.
You'll find quiet pools at the end of life's rapids
where black scythes swing 'round collecting black taxes  
Until then, stay in the heat of the foam.

Scythes Fate

Sunlight glints off polished silver
A river reflects in its face
Water tinted a reddish hue
Sweeps along the scythes base
But iron and silver do not meet
Until the blade swings toward a rock
The wooden handle now rots there
With both bodies the river has caught

Is that an Alpaca

We were careful as we entered the dark barn.
There are always hoes, rakes, and scythes lying around.
You do not want to step on something that means stitches.
I had done that before.

What is grandpa keeping in here? I wondered.
My cousin said “there is something alive. Maybe a goat?”
Our goal was the hay mow. We love playing up there.
We reached it before day break

We heard a clunk, and there was a ladder next to the mow.
My cousin looked as startled as I felt.
Someone was in here with us. Someone who could move a ladder.
A few minutes later an alpaca in sunglasses appeared.

Apparently, he was standing on the ladder.
“Is that an alpaca?” My cousin whispered.
“Sure is,” the alpaca whispered back.

December, and the Light is Low and Cutting

Sky filters through scant woods
printing a cold sunlight on shadowed tree trunks.

Only December has this light,
it both scours and forages,
it scythes away all heaped-up flotsam.
A December wind,
sings its own death song.
Ice hangs unseen upon the air.

The woodland acres shimmer,
then tremble upon a long fading note,
one that ushers in
last rites and other mixed blessings.

Bad Screen

It is too cold for bat flights around the moon
but I take the trip anyway,
the jar of moonshine was crazy strong.

When this year topples into the next,
time will find me in a crowded stadium
my back turned from the game in disgust,
or maybe I will be crouched
like a comic book gargoyle on the top of my TV
watching pockets of insanity
explode like grenades
on a plasma screen dream.

If I am able to write without crushing my fingers
I will try to describe the roving bands of reapers
and their scythes;
how those kindly terminators ended
the fun-house peep show,

how also behind those hoody figures
hordes of blank-eyes city workers
dutifully moped up the spill, as if spilled brains
were as hazardous as banana skins.

What the Ghost Was Thinking

It wasn't like a dream
It was rather a scream
There wasn't any peaceful floating
Or victorious taunt and gloating
It was frightening and scary and red all over
Damocles dangling as the scythes hover
Everyone bawling their eyes out and
Watching me splattering on the sand
It was all gore and fury and blood and puke
It was crucifixion it was poor Luke
It was the ER with it's mangled victims
Of crashes and accidents and machine rhythms
IT WAS DEATH but it wasn't to me
As i cast aside my broken body
The only thing that wafted through me
Was the crazy fact that I was free
To watch them suffer for all eternity
Weeping when they knew I had leprosy
And would have died in coma and morose
Without hands, fingers or toes

Coloured Putin

Coloured Putin
Shoot her full of rainbows
Scythes from heaven
Souls down in Hell
Hundred thousand dead
Mamushka I miss you
Our Leader sent us there
Not an Odessa holiday
Opposite of that mama
Forgive them all
It's Putin's orders
Hundred thou casualties
Bullet ridden rainbows
Her essence is black



SELL OUT
Nick Armbrister 
out in 23

The Scythe

Those that shove past you, glare and scatter,
That drive the scares, in your wits and slither,
That smile and stare, at things you did master,
And then them that you will, lose and move,
Or through thicks, care for and pursue.

The bearers of the whips of black scythes,
Folded in turbulent evils of shaded blythes,
That wait in desires of you, to swift in myths,
And then bear of nothingness, the power of slices,
Unnerved by the struggles to free, from the swings and minces. 

There are those that, in swears vow and plead,
Please with, in steps synching walk on paths,
That they laid in thorns, that they enroute,
And awaits them, in rounds, on routes.

Maintain the binds to them, in pomposity,
That you may, in silence, find prosperity,
In pretence, that with them, you are,
Swinged and minces from bites,
Of their evil, the scythe.

 28/5/2022

A Trickster Cometh

Along street’s he’s casing, unseen in control
  Sickles and Scythes, double edged swords
 One hooks the young, other catches the old 
 And for winding up days, gets a tidy reward 
  Not diamonds or rubies, platinum nor gold
 But fruits, and candies, his Halloween hoard


Bitesize Poem no.54 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier 
10/22/22

Death's Last Gasp

When comes the death of death’s last gasp
this momentary timeless lapse
between each breath, inhale, exhale
death’s agony, succeed or fail,
will linger on the scythes honed tip
slip slowly through Death’s claw-like grip
knowing that within its grasp
comes the death of death’s last gasp.


John G. Lawless
©2/14/2022

My Gigantic Garden of Childhood

an acre of land
our very own smallholding
father scythes long grass

rows of potatoes
green runner beans, sweet carrots
mother bakes fresh bread

huge laundry baskets
filled with ripe red strawberries
small hands were stained red

a goat and two pigs
chickens and a cockerel
our morning alarm

perched upon a stool
I learn to do the milking
owl hoots in ash tree

Garden Poetry Contest

Sponsored by Dear Heart

06/10/20

Cross Demons

I had a dream that squadrons of crosses were falling from heaven,
upon striking the ground they instantly turned into demons
Wielding scythes, they began cutting down the screaming masses. 
I was crouched in the foothills watching as blood came flowing down.
One of the cross-demon people took notice as I turned to run. 
 I awoke kicking the sheets. Just before it struck me.

After that dream, I can't imagine being on the tribulation short list. 
To be whisked up into heaven..
No sir, I think I'll be mingling with cross-demons
screaming and dropping F bombs.
   



based on a true dream

Garden Fence Slam

All of a sudden
It feels somehow ok to say i love you now
Whilst praying for the dying
Hoping death forgives live mistakes and misguided hates

The Rushes blow the breeze
While Pollen makes my eye's water
and nose sneeze
As a lawnmower scythes through woolen summer grass

The garden fence that keeps me up
at night when it rattles 
Though looking at it i won't fix
Just another reason to complain
Like the noisy neighbours and barking dog

The fog never lifts on meadow field
In fact if anything i am causing it 
You can't teach an old dog new tricks
The weather can't change it's spots

Drumming on a Toy Piano
Underneath cobwebs on filty curtains
Wishing to open unopened presents
Where the wrapping paper means more than the actual gift
Because it belongs to someone else

Sometimes love is like leading the blind
And everybody hurts
When others hurt you

So quiet 
Shallow
Desolate

Shhhhhh baby don't cry

It's ok

Where getting out of here

Sad is all our yesterday's

We have paid our Due's

The Bible told us so

Plaudits

As the blazing king from far eastern horizons 
Glows and smiles on wee infant toils beneath, 
He's by man's ever-sprawling greeting praised, 
Basking in vast kudos by eyes and bared teeth.

The new sovereign savors every regal sign 
As he arcs past the virgin noon's latent line, 
Unwilling to pause despite cloud-born snags, 
Undeterred by jealous dusk's advancing tags. 

Against evening's envies moves that demigod, 
Still unshaken by all enemy barriers miles high.
Into puffed twilight barricades he finally sinks, 
And once-lauding eyes dim as doom taps nigh.

Like our gloom-deposed emperor here-above 
Is each offspring born of mortals' carnal love.
Salutes of great joy hail them once they come, 
And rise beyond midday into life's ebbing term.

When time's long-halted scythes finally strike, 
Men's veiled flattery's replaced by cold dislike.

Holes

There are holes in the fabric of the universe...
where the diamond hearted used to reside
alive-shinning beyond bright-warming kind.

Mindless reapers -whipping poison scythes
another hole in the fabric of the universe
rapidly filling with holes-deep black holes
swallowing souls-vomiting misery's bones.

Where's our God-balm to quiet the mind of man...
to work the shine back into the gems.
No more holes -only diamond shine
into the heart and soul of all mankind.

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