Short Crouches Poems

   When Love crouches, stealth, in our path

      Embrace it ~ Never ever arouse its wrath
...

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The bear called winter
Crouches, waiting to advance
Silently it preys
Upon a hapless autumn
Conquering a season spent...

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silly silent sheep
merrily munching in march
glittery green grass

slow slugging shepherd
crouches carefully nearby
wistfully wishing...

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Over the mesa
winds of darkness
angels move
callous children
throw kisses
tears pool behind
your eyes
like red balloons
on the breeze
justice crouches
under doubt
waiting to pounce...

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The enemy crouches
In the night
To kill, steal and destroy
When the morn awakes
The sun uncovers 
The wicked deeds
The farmer rises 
To admire in horror
The painting of white-wash
Decorated to each crop
By the enemy at night...

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Sky our covering
We braced the city square
empty lyrics,
A shadow everywhere
I'm not free
Silhouettes mock awry

colour makes the city walls
Sentences and limb darken
Already compliment
tomorrow's night crouches all...

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Like
tigers, 
cats stalk their
prey waiting for
the perfect moment
to pounce. Intense focus
is required for success in 
the kill.  The fierce cat crouches low
and with a butt wiggle he pounces,
the catnip mouse unaware of danger.

6/15/21...

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Listen to poem:

Yellow day lilies -- succulent tall stalks --
quiet, cultivated, cool and elegant,
nestle in green, long leaves among lawns.
Wind bruises blooms tethered to their stems,
and an occasional great, gray cat
(cunning yellow eyes glinting sunlight)
crouches among them,
stalking yellow-breasted birds....

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Imagination's leap,
has come to a sudden halt.
He crouches his dreams
on an altar of skinned knees.

Weary of his travels,
calloused hands soothe a calloused foot.
As he momentarily ponders,
his heritage of great pain. 



__________________________________
Inspired by Michelangelo's Crouching Boy...

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Behind these doors and below
The grand stage lights,

The music spills over the seats
Like moss green and grey;

A sense of scalpel and pin
Crouches down and crawls;

Silence within.

Tapping of the foots -
Envy of oozing as if tree-roots.

Raindrops except the rain;
Audience except individuals....

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The cat crawls
The cat growls
Fustration, preadation
Fishy, fishy swimming in the tank
Come fishy, fishy I won't hurt

The cat crouches
The cat pounces
Fishy, fishy you are mine
My, oh, my you look divine

The cat sleeps
Not a peep
Fishy, fishy you tassted good
You didn't scream 
Like I thought you would...

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Going about his business, whilst the elephant’s doing his own
Lazy dung beetle asks his brother, any chance of another loan
But you already owe me two balls, I gave you them last week 
Elephant crouches, wiping out all debts with a ginormous leak


Flair and Fun Quatrain Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
28//07/2021...

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Red dot of light
Glides across the room
Must capture this intruder

She crouches down
Ready to attack
As the dot moves closer

Pouncing into action
She slides on the floor
But the dot eludes her again

Determination in her eyes
She attacks once more
With a fury of paw swipes

The dot disappears
She frantically glances around
But it is gone…

Defeated, she wanders to her food dish...

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Bastet
crouches in
dimly lit corridors
of the Egyptian temple
Her marble black skin
shimmering pools
incandescent green orbs
lit with altar fire
Feline Goddess
of the Nile
carries a kitten
by the scruff
gently she lowers
the newborn bundle
of fluffy joy
on our doorstep
Baby Rama
He who brings
enduring bliss
Galaxies
and all the Cosmos
reflected in his
sweet eyes...

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Elvis has left the building.
The paparazzi run toward the alley.
There is no limo, only an old beat up van.
There is no peeking inside.
The windows are black.
Wait! Says one.
Elvis has been gone for over forty years.
He has been sighted numerous times, another argues.
He disappeared to have a life, throws in a third.
Elvis crouches down under the bottom bunk.
Holding his breath until they are gone....

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With three arms and three legs, 
a face that's disfigured and small,
he crouches compliant 
and strokes his electrodes.

The men in white lab coats are laughing.
They treat him just like an amoeba,
poking and prodding his body
with needles and probes.

A subject for scrutiny under a microscope,
there's no humanity fueling his bones, he's bizarre.
Bioethicists say: 'He's a man with a soul!' 
but what price a soul if you're born in a jar?...

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With four arms and four legs, 
a face that's disfigured and small,
he crouches compliant 
and strokes the electrodes.

The men in white lab coats are smiling.
They treat him just like an amoeba,
poking and prodding his body
with needles and probes.

A subject for scrutiny under a microscope,
no humanity fueling his bones, he's bizarre.
Bioethicists say: 'He's a man with a soul!' 
but what price a soul if you're born in a jar?...

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So quietly she trips across the floor,
dragging random flotsam and jetsam
she finds in niches the vacuum can't reach.
With evil intent, she crouches at my feet.
Then BONK! I've been kitten-bombed.
She exults in my reaction
of flying drink and floor-bound french fries.
Then she creeps away again
waiting for her next opportunity
to turn on airplane mode,
shut down the computer without saving
my changes,
and scare me half to death....

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With three arms and four legs, 
a face that's disfigured and small,
he crouches compliant 
and strokes the electrodes.

The men in white lab coats are smiling.
They treat him just like an amoeba,
poking and prodding his body
with needles and probes.

A subject for scrutiny under a microscope,
there's no humanity fueling his bones, he's bizarre.
Bioethicists say: 'He's a man with a soul!' 
but what price a soul if you're born in a jar?...

Read More

With three arms and three legs, 
a face that's disfigured and small,
he crouches compliant 
and strokes the electrodes.

The men in white lab coats are smiling.
They treat him just like an amoeba,
poking and prodding his body
with needles and probes.

A subject for scrutiny under a microscope,
there's no humanity fueling his bones, he's bizarre.
Bioethicists say: 'He's a man with a soul!' 
but what price a soul if you're born in a jar?...

Read More

With three arms and three legs, 
a face that's disfigured and small,
he crouches compliant 
and strokes his electrodes.

The men in white lab coats are smiling.
They treat him just like an amoeba,
poking and prodding his body
with needles and probes.

A subject for scrutiny under a microscope,
there's no humanity fueling his bones, he's bizarre.
Bioethicists say: 'He's a man with a soul!' 
but what price a soul if you're born in a jar?...

Read More

The late-afternoon sun crouches behind me,
daubs my shadow across the pale concrete of the ground,
a black brushstroke stretching on an ink-brush painting,
towards where you’re standing, 
deep in thought, turned away. 

So my shadow spills up your legs, 
the small of your back, 
your nape, 
until my head is on yours,  
shadow nuzzling hair, 
black on black, 
a smudge, 
like a bad painting. 

The closest contact we have these days....

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I live my life
on paper trails.

It stacks
back to back
in glowering towers.

It crouches and glares
in menacing reproach

or slides, glides
and scatters far and wide.

It clutches and hides 
treasures, just beyond my reach.

It comes to me on rubber wheels
and leaves in black plastic bags
or dies in the shredder.

Put your ink to paper
and send it on to me.

Perhaps your words
will wrestle their way 
into my heart.

Perhaps not....

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Wide eyes beguiled by pursed lips and strings
Temptation crouches low as a tiger
Hunting coy glances and diamond rings
Tiger now an ox who plots beside her

Promises of riches, fame, and love
Sing like a fairy, little gold canary
The wolf now disguised as a sheepskin glove
Once gentle, he acts to the contrary

And they'll dance as snakes in courtship
smother and crush their ribs and wants
Blame the rat for sinking their warship
Spell out expectations in different fonts...

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Through the gray mist of the city 
black petals push up toward the sky...
like a schooner sniffing for lost booty
behemoths breeching for the moonlight.

Some make it to the sweetened shore 
the air sprinkled with chipped gems
others cling to the driftwood of hope
just to be nudged, then bitten in half.

This lantern makes no promises of happiness 
the thinning pride crouches in desperate prayer
the fates may favor the lucky or the blessed
but damn the faithless to the sated lair....

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