Short Scuttles Poems
Short Scuttles Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scuttles by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scuttles by length and keyword.
a bonfire smokes - -
a tiny hedgehog wakes
and scuttles out
Jack Horne for Russell’s Autumn Splendour contest, 26th August
the woods a secret
hiding place for herd of deer
scuttles ‘round ‘bout creek
out onto the runner’s road
bested, trudging on her feet
10/8/2020
september slips in
as asters wave in the breeze . . .
farewell to summer
october’s crisp days
mountains’ gold and crimson blaze . . .
my marveling gaze
november’s wind wails
a lone leaf scuttles away . . .
the fall’s first snow flake
Intense black cat
Penetrating ebony eyes
sharpening his claws
in his comfort place
fading into the dusk
pumpkins for cover
spider scuttles past
afraid of feline giant
not realizing she is safe
feline is silent
still as granite
waiting for something furry with a tail
i have eight legs
i am an arachnid
delicate;exoskeletal
you have two legs
you are a mammal
sloppy;squishy
yet it is i
with the stronger backbone
with the precise dexterity
who scuttles
who cowers on the wall
silk trailing
you with a newspaper
print odorous with ink
smashing in my wake
salt crusted fish bone
caught within tangled seaweed...
high tide offering
hermit crab scuttles
erratically on sand...
waving eyes on stalks
opened mouthed seashells
coated with wind driven sand...
change in the weather
22 September 2022
syllable counter... poetry soup
A soft breeze blows a leaf
It scuttles and scurries across the porch
Brown and shriveled, looks a bit like an oak leaf
Dead, yet still able to move in the wind
I can hear another hearty gale from the west
I wait for the leaf’s next performance
As she slides across the porch my puppy chases her
A week of triple digits.
The birds stay low.
No sign of life, except
gophers scuttling across dry grass
making for the lower regions.
Roots, tubers and bulbs. Gophers
turn down and inward, thrive
on lonely.
Look, here’s one that feels
the vibration of our feet
and scuttles off again.
Lowly, homely, alive.
Dawn separates light from shadow:
penciling in all shades of grey.
And crimson skies are set aglow
as scarlet sunbeams color Day.
Shifting shadows
flee Night's death throws.
Sol's splendor slowly starts to show
as Ebony scuttles away.
Artists like Michelangelo
use light and shadow interplay.
Child of the Sun;
shadows are one.
A prince or a cockroach,
Which is Obama?
Just watch him scuttle,
Then judge this drama.
Scuttles through leaves of Red manifestos,
Scuttles through dung of leftover leftos,
Scuttles with gangs in a big white house,
Showing the world the soul of a louse.
Well, you have to admit
There's no high drama
In watching this cockroach
That's called Obama.
The plays's beginning
And that is sweet,
So jump for rights
And stamp your feet!
In the late twilight,
when the last bird call is fading.
When the last rodent scuttles
to it's nest.
When the last spider
has crawled into it's crevice.
When the pointed reflections
of reed grass blades,
are moon shone silvery.
And appear as
hung polished swords,
under the inky
surface of the still
chilling pond.
And the flickering space station
slides beneath Venus,
in the dusty blue velvet sky.
I wonder what brought us together?
And I wonder why?
leaving home
tell tales of courage
hope and faith my
mind will not hold these
sliding thoughts tonight.
tonight I am afraid
it has been growing
in my gut all day
tying myriad knots
like a crazed boy scout.
I am afraid with no surcease
it is paralyzing me
binding me into the woman
I do not know.
write, write,
scribble her out
it is my only way of
battle, expose the witch.
fear is corrosive
and scuttles through
my night an alien
awaiting me tomorrow.