When I was coal you mined my soul
and treasure there you found:
a heart, stone cold, but solid gold,
was buried underground.
So long I hoped and blindly groped
for rescue by the brave;
from skulking fears and sour tears
that haunted my dark cave.
The sifters left my heart bereft
of airy thoughts and dreams;
in all their toil, neglected soil,
but splashed in barren streams.
The dirtied face of my disgrace
you polished with your sleeve;
your zeal above mere heartfelt love
in silken arms we'll weave.
My luster bright in dawning light
forever shall I owe,
to she who dug beneath my shrug
and found the golden glow.
A creature dwells behind me
Always lurking, skulking
Robed in shadows, waiting, hovering.
At times a ferocity of claws, shrieks -
Icy vice like grips plunging through me!
Others; a gnawing poisenous whisper...
...seeping slowing...
Through me. Again. Again.
Armour of rational thought and pragmatism/
Disintegrates upon his command.
Positivity swords rebound and shatter!
And so once more I slip, unnoticed,
Back - back - back
To his chosen lair.
there’s a lady dressed in rags and robes
she’s slowly skulking by the stones
of names and dates and faded mark
as mist and crows guide through the dark
she’s looking for her grave
a single bell helps set her tread
a steady toll of calling dread
beckoning eyes that chance upon
this ageless figure’s soul now gone
she’s looking for her grave
her mouth it holds a large round stone
that forced a blooded fractured bone
and shattered teeth and stayed her tongue
to threaten not those she’ll rise among
she’s looking for her grave
a witch they called her when alive
who’s words and spells brought all a strife
as village folk by stone they saw
to end her knives of blackened scorn
as each moon she leaves her grave
As The Rising Sun, The Dawn Came In Softly & Slowly;
&
So Did My Suffering.
Maybe Unexplained Or Unexpected Feelings;
Which Have Been Ignored;
A Sudden Melancholy Skulking In The Silence;
Awaiting The Arrival Of This Day.
The Days Have Regrettably Passed Since We Parted Ways;
About 4 Years Ago, & I Now Wonder If There Was Anything I Could Have Done;
I May Not Have Needed To Spend As Much Time In The Closet;
I Probably Need To Have Paid Closer Attention To How You Felt About Being Anonymous;
Or;
To Anything Else That Would Have Kept You By My Side;
I Am Sorely Missing You Right Now.
My Thoughts Are Hitting Barriers, & My Tears Are Falling Like Waterfalls;
All With Photographs Of You;
Including Your Wild Hairstyles;
Wild Kissing Technique;
All-Gleaming Beard;
Lovely Eyes;
Beautiful Voice;
Undetectable Abs;
&
Silly Smiles.
The Monotonous Music You Listened To In Your Place;
I Can Still Hear Them Playing In My Head From When I Visited;
I Still Occasionally Hear Them In My Brain;
Which Is Shocking, But I Genuinely Miss You & Those Awful Songs.
quick sight… caught
a creamy, frothy tail
skulking behind bins
caramel
this creeping tod
wry trickery, claw
prowl and sly, brazen
he's getting too brave
soon…
a knock on the door
i found it skulking
in a pile of broken poems
it glared at me accusingly
as if demanding that i read it
the more i read
the worse it got
i knew what I had to do
i had to edit
i had to edit the hell out of it
maybe with a sledgehammer
or an axe
relentlessly I persevered
chiseling out any trace
of punctuation and commonsense
the words were dying of exhaustion
by the time I got done with it
now i thought
now at last it is not the worst i ever wrote
but much more like
the second worst
I don’t need to be told what I’ve seen
whether it’s real or a sinister scheme
I need a world where I know the rules
which we call wise which we call fools
Where the lines in the sand are a lot less hazy
and people agree on who people call crazy
But the lines in the sand have gone every which way
from the truth of obscurity growing each day
We’re a nation of leaders who’ve lost their way
where all are consumed of crescendoing fray
skulking in darkness on weakness we prey
leaving in question what’s lighting our way
This dreariness some are beginning to feel
the mental fatigue of discerning what’s real
Confusion and chaos have run us aground
far from the winds in our sails we had found
I don’t need to be told what I’ve seen
but I fear what I’ve found that remains of the scene
folks with no compass no maps and no guide
colliding in wastelands of deepest divide
Where is the ground upon which we can stand
steady behind the lines drawn in the sand?
For what shall we fight still united as one?
For what shall we die when it’s all said and done?
~Jeannie Cronin
"The wind is the pounding of my heart."
My scruples join the wind which hammering hard
can cause my pulse to race in constant onslaught
against the gales of greed and pride caught off guard.
My buckler, the Spirit, prods with pause for thought.
Foreknowledge of pending storms illumines doubt
preparing a path where my heart figures out
that I can add prayer's peace as further light
to clear the skulking shadow of jealous spite.
August 18, 2022
Author's Notes:
Constance LaFrance's sponsor
Writing Challenge - Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form Poetry Contest
I used the rispetto form, rhymed abab, ccdd, quote #3
The ground is white with powdery snow
Thankfully, I have no place I need to go,
The arctic north wind has ceased to blow,
I see one bird outside, a large black crow
He flexes his wings occasionally for show,
In yonder meadow stands a single doe
Despite the frigid cold, she’s wary of a foe,
The fox she saw skulking in a near hollow
All is peaceful, the atmosphere is mellow,
And I feel like an extremely lucky fellow.
Down pour of rain
velocity
skulking residues.
The lost class
I was watching a program called “Vera” when I recalling
I once I lived in the northwest of England.
What I remember best was the greyness of the place.
A council estate for the poor and working-class
Which often is the same.
Young skulking men with nothing to do their eyes told
me they had given up this was their life.
Young girls dress for dance hoping to get married
For love and a sittee and on the list for housing, but to do this
They had to be pregnant with one of the young men
in the street.
There are no flowers here and, a few gardens are a dumping place
for prams and broken toys.
They were not educated the system responsible does not care
To give the young a proper education, they are cannon fodder anyway.
A generation dumped before they were born.
Education for all should be free, mandatory a duty
Only then will roses grow and beauty not vandalized by those
Who has lost respect, and for those whose meaning of life meant nothing?
Tasteless pelt whiffs of mundane air
Against my nostrils numb with dread;
Scarcely fathom I what spectacle fair
Beyond this umbra curtain latent lies.
Tetchy harbingers over dark corners
Lurk under dismal mirage-like cloud;
Tomorrow's dreams in eldritch lines
Occlude wisest presages renowned.
Each day's bleak bulletins present
Chillily menacing brutish shadows,
As jinxed year's tides forward hop
Into ever-spiraling strangling woes.
Suave eccedentesiast lips no longer
Can mask sore past's swelling blight,
Nor plastic laughter as finely conceal
Apprehensive misgiving's inured bite.
Though indelible certainty clear outline
Of stealthily skulking prospect obscure,
And crafty clock dials key inchings hide,
This menaced soul shall still reign pure.
Thunder
Terrified dogs
Howl, yelp and whine
Cowering under tables and chairs
Skulking in the far corners
Crouching down
Shaking with fear
Trying to escape
From the deafening peals of thunder,
And we humans
Proud, arrogant creatures
Strutting across the face of the earth
Feel more than a little humbled,
When the heavens roar.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2020
24/7/20
Constrained by the sober exercise of judgment,
And dignified by deliberation and privacy.
I yanked my soul out of its secret chamber,
And held it to the mirror of my eye.
To see it like a star or moon against the sky,
But it dwindled to alarmingly small dimensions.
Fate had turned and twisted a thousand ways,
From the standpoint of expediency.
Fumbling and stumbling in helpless incapacity,
I'm greeted with an alloyed chagrin and gloom.
Then I heard a wordless voice,
In language terse yet familiar.
It wasn't a loose and otiose statement,
Unaccustomed tears threatened my seared vision,
I'm overshadowed by a fretful anxiety,
By this innocuous thought, I'm skulking beneath life.
But if I shine brighter in life,
Reexamine fate, destiny and my artistic aptitude,
If I fail, die and remain forgotten,
Study the agonies of my conscious failure,
And remember me with this poem.
Destiny is skulking along following me
As it stares out from eternity
When I glance over my shoulder
It becomes bolder and bolder
What does it have in store
Is my future laid out to explore
As I feel it’s eyes piercing me
And I want to run from it and be free.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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