Best Scraggy Poems
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The fog, it clings the heavens low,
a damp and murky sight
Where creaking branch and fears bestow,
this chilly autumn night
The path it winds, a serpentine,
a' slither 'long the way
As shadows dance a drastic scene,
in silhouette array
My heart now beats a rapid pace,
cold shivers grip my spine
Escaping breath, no steps to trace,
don't even know what's mine
A rustle neath the thicket dense,
it scurries past my feet
I stop and turn, in my defense,
now praying for retreat
Oh why, I wonder, have I strode,
this eerie, ghostly way
A shortcut to my own abode,
I’ve traveled on by day
When then above, the faintest glow,
appears behind the mist,
The moon, now full, begins to show,
“Not now,” my screams insist
My skin it rips, expanding burn,
I howl through sharpened teeth
Long scraggy hair, a hungry yearn,
my soul of no relief
With eyes, now such a larger size,
much easier to see
And ears so huge, it's no surprise,
I'm hearing perfectly
On fours, I crawl, through forest thick
when then, a blanket thrown
A trap, I yell, a dirty trick,
come out, I say, be shown
A granny's quilt, that's how it feels,
so heavy, woven tight
It's thick with dust, it now reveals
that something isn't right
I toss the cover from my head,
a ripping, tearing, scream
Its then I tumble out of bed,
my word, it’s just a dream
Well, that’ll teach me, teach me good,
this thought I’ll have to keep,
Do not read, “Little Red Riding Hood”
before I go to sleep
Written for: Scary Stories Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
Categories:
scraggy, scary,
Form:
Rhyme
I wait in all the crummy
little barrooms of the soul.
I look about and sniff the air,
drink, and wait.
In the demi-world of honky-tonks,
which vie against night's
inner gloom, beneath mantles
of thick smoke, pinches,
slurred speech and propositions,
I leer drunkenly about,
swimming in the haze
of my heebie-jeebies.
I wait.
After the smoke clears away
and the honky-tonk tones die,
when the scraggy light of the
morning after spreads, mustily,
across the floor,
I wait.
After the hangover,
after the aching head, glazed eyes,
belches, and specks
which move around my head in circles,
I see a different sort of light:
A flatter sort.
In the sordidness,
ergo filthy waxy sawdust on the floor,
I have seen a conjuration
which I sought.
But soon it disappears
and will not come again.
Illusion slips from mind
with lifting drunkenness
and break of sensibility
and pain creeps in which
is not merely physical.
Oh well.
I must try again tomorrow night.
There will always be another night.
Categories:
scraggy, angst, depression, introspection, life,
Form:
Narrative
like a grumpy ogre the twisted old tree stood guard
notched scraggy boughs reached out in fierce surety
naught had ever compromised its task
in its dutiable charge
the primeval stone held fast the blade
proud and righteous Caliburn
its hilt pointed to the stars
the enchanted issue of Merlin's resolve
and steadfast keeper of the kingdom
thankless was the old tree's post
none would e'er recall its name
no eye would shed a salty drip to its end
nay an honored oath spoken to its passing
still it stood
through the countless sad losses
when the Wee Ones would die in autumn
such beautiful quiet deaths
falling in color to the forest carpet
one soft exquisite flight to their end
each one by itself
each one dear to the old tree
still it stood fearless and proud
for it alone would be the first to witness
it alone would hear the whisper of the wind
when it breathed the name of the new king
when it heralded the name of freedom to the world
when The One slipped the blade from its surly bonds
and the ancient stone split in righteous temper
knife and knight
blade and banneret
Caliburn and king!
like a grumpy ogre the twisted old tree
stood guard
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Unsheathe Your Sword" Poetry Contest
John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
* This poem is written in "Suzette Prime", (created by a PS member), which consists of lines of prime number syllable counts ONLY, no punctuation or capitalizations, and only of topics which lend themselves to a philosophical statement. *
Categories:
scraggy, courage, england, history, magic,
Form:
Suzette Prime
Il Pleut
It rains torrentially
after long drought and disorder;
it rains drenching the empathetic
scraggy soil of the heart
it rains moistening the rocks of anger
crags of revenge and cracks of depravity
it rains covering the jealous holes with purity
healing the undesirable crevices of the being
it pours incessantly to cover and clean
the gaps of deceptive caves of life
it rains inside me constantly
stretching the cramped limbs
softening the being;
it skits with a susurrus
leading me to the lee
when all on a sudden
something goes wrong
influenced by someone’s lewd smile
or a serein’s half-hearted dampening.
Rain of grace falls and falls
to soothe my ruffled feelings;
it corrects, it helps, it leads me
always to the right way.
When it rains in the forest of my being
where the tallest trees touch the sky
and the moon shines bright on the leaves
through the gnarled branches
lighting the dark parts of existence,
life becomes wholesome
peaceful and serene.
Removing the dryness and darkness of life
rain of grace falls and falls
perpetually to revive.
Categories:
scraggy, imagery, life, metaphor, rain,
Form:
Prose Poetry
An ancient scraggy yellow cat
(nape infected with crusty mange)
frequented our house, asking for food.
He was not shy announcing his presence
or asking to be fed alongside another
guest we call No Neck -- the two were friendly,
sharing twin feeding bowls amicably.
Old Gold often bore the scars, the bloody fur,
of a frequent skirmisher (and loser.)
He was feeble, his sight not good,
and his vocalizations in advising us of his presence
were loudly unmelodious.
He enjoyed a fond petting and was often seen
padding cautiously about on nearby streets --
a free, though aged, spirit.
It grieves me to report that,
with good intent, we took
Old Gold to treat his mange,
but, after tests, were told
he could not be treated.
He had feline AIDS and leukemia.
So, he needed to be put down.
There are no cures or treatment.
We miss his visits and his scratchy-screechy calling.
His roaming done, he rests now, quietly,
in our garden.
Categories:
scraggy, absence, animal, bereavement, cat,
Form:
Free verse
Every week day, same time, same bus, he is there, and I’m careful not to stare
But I can’t take my eyes off his curly shoulder length hair, hopelessly wondering
A face not popularly handsome, but such kind bluey- green eyes, deeper than the ocean
Tall, not slender and a quirky style of dress, not to impress. He kept me curiously wondering
Briefcase, serious and tanned, but scraggy like a boxers face, taken from place to place
Manicured hands with no adornment, no subtle signs of betrothment, I smiled hopefully wondering
Today he caught me in my stare, my face flushed pink, I look away I couldn’t think
But I saw his smile and for that short while my heart skipped a beat, as I sat motionlessly wondering
The bus had halted, where we both alight, my mind was racing as I caught sight
Standing on the kerbside, holding out his hand to me, I reached out breathlessly wondering
Hand held firm but gentle, and like cheshire cats smiling, arrayment of colours so beguiling
‘Have you time for a coffee’ I heard him say, my reply what a perfect day, still wondrously wondering
sdited version, hope it's right this time
Categories:
scraggy, hope, life, love, urdu,
Form:
Ghazal
The dandelion’s a noble flower
not a scraggy little weed.
it holds it head up proud and high,
born of a hardy seed.
It claims the ground it stands on
and makes itself at home.
Though when it spreads its family,
on winds of change they roam.
Its family is the strongest
of the wild flowers to be found
and set down roots to flourish
in any type of ground.
It not always gets a welcome
so these roots are buried deep
and those who try to move it
find most parts of it they’ll keep.
So ponder on its beauty
as it stands so proud and tall,
with golden head pronouncing
it’s the strongest flower of all!
Ivor G Davies
[The Dandelion is the adopted flower of Forces Brats - for obvious reasons]
Categories:
scraggy, allegory, birth, family, flower,
Form:
Rhyme
Briton Reiviere has portrayed
A boy of low means, no shoes to his feet
Clothes are of rags, dirt his blanket
Except for a scraggy mutt.
His only friend, his warmth, protector.
Together they survive
Whatever life throws at them
So tired, so hungry, so friendless
They are a unit within themselves.
Sun will be their salvation
A river is their bathroom
Their watering hole
Place to keep cool
A boy and dog of nature
working as one reliant on each other
Their food provide by mother earth
fruit, nuts, healthy but not always filling
The dog is adapt at finding himself mice
They answer to no-one but themselves.
link to painting
http://www.easyart.com/art-prints/Briton-Riviere/His-Only-Friend-%28Restrike-Etching%29-38473.html
Categories:
scraggy, child, dog, together,
Form:
Verse
With fingers ghostly pale and blue,
Touching the wind that never blew,
The moon shines straightly down upon
Your forlorn and forgotten home.
There hush and stillness cover roofs,
Blind glasses, used to be so smooth,
Despise the fears of scraggy trees
Of death over a span of years.
But they are not so hopeless though -
At times they ask themselves or so
About the reason for your leaving,
Losing their grayish-rusty leaf.
Under the opaque shapes of stars,
You, drowsing on the snow-white grass,
Poor child who didn’t have a thought
How mad and cruel adults’ world.
Categories:
scraggy, autumn, child, growing up,
Form:
Rhyme
I don’t have a favourite,
I love them all
Shorty and sporty
Petite and tall
Dowdy and flashy
High and mighty
Shy and vivacious
Safe and flighty
I love Juicy Lucy
Smelly Kelly,
Scraggy Maggie
And Silly Millie
I love Gay Mei
And Straight Kate
Spotty Dotty
And Plain Jane’s great
So is Jolly Molly
Clingy thingy
Obese Louise
And Skinny Ginny
I love Boozey Suzie
Sweaty Betty and all
I love them long,
I love them short, I love them tall
Categories:
scraggy, funnylove,
Form:
ABOUT A CAT
They found you at the bus stop in the bin.
scraggy mog with unmatched staring eyes.
The soaking fur made bones show through your skin.
How could we all resist your plaintive cries.
We brought you home and loved you from that day
A tortoiseshell with absurd velvet ears.
Remember how we taught you how to play
And climb the trees to allay all your fears
For eighteen years you clung to every heart.
Our feline friend from destination 'bin'
We sorrowed when your time came to depart
And watched as moggy heaven let you in
Sleep well my friend beneath your favourite tree.
There's a hole in our hearts where you should be.
catherine wilson
2018
MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT A SONNET
Categories:
scraggy, cat,
Form:
Sonnet
Scraggy little knot I know not what you are !
Are you not now known as a reef or square knot or not ?
No sorry I’m a Frayed Knot !
Categories:
scraggy, funny
Form:
From dawn to dusk I move around,
On the loose sands and gravel mound,
With bare foot and tanned skin
Dry lips and cracked chin,
My drooping eyes and thirsty throat,
Desperately looking for a moat,
Wearing a grubby skirt and mucky blouse,
I am searching for a lake or pond to douse,
I am trudging on the hot sun
Its rays shoots me like a gun,
Even my blood boils to steam,
Blisters and boils all over but no sunscreen
I look scraggy and scrawny
And all my people bony and skinny,
Every day I carry the urn
And walk till my foot burn,
Only to return home with empty pot,
And show my family the outside drought,
The lush green paddy fields,
Now turned to dry brown grass of no yields,
The river banks where we lay,
Became cricket grounds for my friends to play,
The flickering brook where I bath
Has made itself a new foot path,
The mighty ox bow meanders,
Now only for existing salamanders,
Even our stone brick well
Is dry and not well,
The horror nights and hunger fights,
The Morning lights and parched arid sights,
This world looks lifeless, empty and torpid,
The sterile lands stand hot and torrid
My sticky skin wraps my bones,
This skeleton body never dies alone,
I am lying down counting my days
Less spirited and starving to grace
The sand slowly covers by frame
For the scavengers to taste and nothing remains
Though my body fails to be,
My soul will travel underneath to see
The Elixir of life, where it lies?
To quench the thirst of thousand cries
My dear Water! Where are you?
14 April, 2016
Poetry contest
sponsor Laura loo
Categories:
scraggy, water,
Form:
Rhyme
From seed to sapling it grew non-stop
On the tall majestic Mountain’s top
It spread its boughs and sank its roots
Deep into it’s fertile boots
But fear it did, though strong and stout
“What if the rains cease an’ begins a drought”
Soon it sheltered friends who came,
Shared its bounty all the same
Wood and branch, leaf and nut,
An’ a hollowed trunk, the squirrels cut.
But fear it did, though huge and healthy
“Will this land stay sound and wealthy”
As the years swept by the mountains stock . . .
Landslides, mud-slides, soil and rock
Sheared of gravel Lose of friend
All alone it began to extend
But fear it did, for soon it plain
All of its friends chose to abstain
Over the side of the now craggy cliff
Full of worry and in a tiff
Its crown became crooked, twisted and knurled
Its knotted trunk,lumped with burl
Full with fear, though holding on;
“What will happen when I am gone?”
Bent from storms, reaped in pain
It teetered against the wind and rain,
On a few scraggy roots, all it had left
Deeply tucked, into the barren cleft.
And fear it did, all the more
“What does the Lord have in store?”
On the brink of disaster, the end of its keep
It’s shadow discovered, and it began to weep
And as it wept, for a hundred years
It soon discovered, It had lost its fear!
Categories:
scraggy, absence, adventure, character, conflict,
Form:
Rhyme
Scrawny Tony gaunt and bony scraggy bag of beastly bones
He was pony de la Manchu chum of Mister Marty Jones
He had an intense perception
And skills of great execution
In a sense of perfect destructiveness he chomped my hipbones
© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 2014
Categories:
scraggy, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick