Best Scraped Poems
Metallic city howls like a wounded animal
scraped by nocturnal vigils
of grandchildren and elders
emaciated like tuberculosis lungs
gasping from chug-chugs of tobacco soot...
and the face of a night is hammered by
ripped moans like plucked strings in motel rooms;
pagan women opening limbs for a meal in silent fury.
This is the other side of town, so real...
beggars peddling hope; factory shoulders
ranting over shuffled cards and fired gin
as wives’ blistered fingers
clean rented pots, gibbering same monotone of hymn,
“give us daily bread, daily bread”.
Outside, the pier coughs off
the commercial honks of weighed cargo
reeked with labor’s perspiration,
where pawnshops buzz with greed's snicker...
the evening owl attempts winks
under the grime of bloodied moon…
it spits the larynx of tenants’ raged hoots
wishing morsels of fresh sunset
would pour some grace of life’s salve. I weep
before the shrill of red sets in... again.
------------
Truth Contest sponsored by Anthony Slausin
Re-post 5/28/2019
Categories:
scraped, anger, angst,
Form:
Lyric
When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?
And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
saturated stars can interpret…
Categories:
scraped, color, deep, depression,
Form:
Free verse
I take my hat off for the flag
I stand up straight; let others sag
I get all weepy for Old Glory
thinking of my family's story
They came from Russia with naught but hope
with just their wits to help them cope
No language skills or education either
Money or living quarters, they had neither
But they scraped and scrimped, and just kept going
Gramps peddled junk, grams did the sewing
And with the help of God, it all worked out
Hard work and faith -- their kids did sprout
My father an attorney, my uncle a physician
All due to gram and gramps' prescient intuition
To emigrate alone, part of no community
to an unknown land of opportunity
Categories:
scraped, america, cry, grandfather, grandmother,
Form:
Couplet
Write words
that will be scraped
into a stone
by a rebellious kid
who refused
to be owned
Write words
that will make
a hopeless sinner
never feel alone
Write words
that will move
a homeless man
from a shelter seat
to a throne
Write words
that will tattoo
the answers
to your soul
about the questions
of the future
that is unknown
Categories:
scraped, life, people,
Form:
Rhyme
I walked with ease
a comfortable moment after sunset,
I wore clean, comfortable skin
and comfortable, casual attire.
Past glowing shopfronts
on clean, wide pavements,
warm evening slowly darkened,
a good time would be had by all.
I don't care much for the parties,
but good company is good,
just as good as a good time,
a good time would be had by all.
Until the unexpected ambush.
Glowing shopfronts vanished.
Clean, wide pavements grew dark and dirty.
I was ambushed by a gang of forgotten abuses.
I was helpless against the mad mob,
they beat me to the ground,
stomped on the back of my head,
printed my face on the concrete curb.
Broke my nose and some ribs,
bust my skin wide open,
tore my favourite, crisp black shirt,
took my wallet and my watch.
After a few bleak moments, humiliated and alone,
I scraped my sorry ****
from the sneering ground
and continued on my way.
A good time remained to be had by all,
a less good time for me,
but good company would be almost as good
as the good time had by all.
20th October 2018.
Categories:
scraped, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
`
Those who lash out when the heart speaks
avoid the many mirrors reflecting themselves
For in this rippled dream,
where perfect does exist
and mistakes are long gone like a Milli Vanilli song,
they fail to see that we are all human…
errors come with the package (batteries not included)
Sidewalk footprints, back and forth
pacing past the entrance to that world
where words have no meaning,
regardless of how they are spoken (or written)
Self-absorbed deeply in the waves
of an ocean tide of fantasy
crashing in white foam feelings, disappearing by sunset
What is it that makes us who we are…
our smile, our fingers, our brand of cigarettes
shipped in plain brown envelopes,
our thoughts, our dreams, the poetry we write
when we need to get it out…good or bad
When lack of judgment drips from the skylight,
illuminating courage to do what we shouldn’t (even in darkness)
Wrong, I was wrong…regret, more than I could have known
I have looked in this mirror, then I looked away quickly,
Ashamed of that face, fell three stories below my heart,
slipped on the disgust splattered at my feet (by me)
Sunk up to my knees…bent, folding, scraped and bruised
but I require no sympathy, for I am not that devil Jagger sings of…
at least I hope not…please allow me to introduce myself…I am…me
Written for the Premiere I - Open Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Rob Carmack
Entered in the: NA the day away Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu loo
Categories:
scraped, life, me,
Form:
Free verse
https://s-media-cache- ak0.pinimg.com/236x/72/97/79/7297796a1920d9e3fb4a59ff6da498ab.jpg
Pin 4198: Disney Gallery - Alice in Wonderland Series (Baby Oyster)
Variations on The Walrus and the Carpenter" a narrative poem by Lewis Carroll that appeared in his book Through the Looking-Glass, published in December 1871.
OYSTERS
The tide was low the sun was high
The beach was long and very dry
The moon had argued it wanted to stay
But try as it might, could not get its way
The beach was dry and very long
Two figures came walking along
They wept as they went and quietly spoke
Of cockle shell boats rowed by gentle folk
With the sun high and tide so low
They could see where the oysters grow
The Walrus exclaimed I have a strong hunch
That we have found a delicacy for lunch
The beach was long and very dry
Dining under the open sky
The carpenter scraped butter on his bread
While saying those oysters looked over fed
The tide was low the sun was high
Hear me oysters he did descry
Come and join our party under the Sun
Where you will have lots of wonderful fun
The beach was dry and very long
The oysters came singing a song
La da dee we are happy as can be
We will party then go back to the sea
With the sun high and the tide so low
One oyster cried please do not go
But the other oysters were more sanguine
For the carpenter offered them some wine
The beach was long and very dry
There seemed to be nothing awry
The oysters sat and listened to tall tales
Of dragons and knights and ships in full sail
The tide was low the sun was high
Alas the oysters end was nigh
The Walrus said oysters do not decline
The carpenter and I shall start to dine
The beach was dry and very long
No more was sung the happy song
The walrus looked at the gentle sea swell
The carpenter held the last empty shell
Dedicated to my friends Mikki & The Queen of Ghali
Makers of the most wonderful magic
~Completed 22/04/2015~
Categories:
scraped, fantasy, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
To the tune of.. “These are a Few of my Favorite Things“.
Bass boomers spreading their mis’ry in traffic
Craving attention and driving me spastic,
Not caring an oodle for anyone else,
This **** will drive one to poor mental health!
Cops who ignore them and keep right on driving,
Passing we drivers who are suff’ring and sighing,
Speeding, ignoring all laws of the road ,
Why do they think they’re exempt from the code?!
That lady texting who’s climbing your bumper,
Foll’wing for miles, you’d sure like to dump her,
Getting so peeved I just ran a red light!…
But she’s hanging in there with all of her might!
Here comes a pick up and he’s really flying,
can’t push me over but he’s really trying,
sans blinkers he cut me in one single swoop,
You scraped my bumper you dang nincompoop!
Sweating and trying, for my place I’m vying,
Choking on gas fumes, ‘n some kid is crying
That lady just stopped for a friggin green light,
I screeched on my brakes and near died of fright!
That bass nut’s still booming, my blood pressure’s zooming,
That green light stopper’s picked this time for grooming
That texter’s horn behind me is starting to blow,
The light turned red and she thinks I should go!
These are a few of my least favorite things,
That I could avoid if I only had wings…
I commute 3 hours a day and this is just
a sample. : )
,
Categories:
scraped, funny, me, light, green,
Form:
Rhyme
She plunks down a plate of egg rolls
Man, oh man, do these greasy pieces of heaven take tolls
On my heart, dear Mama
Shows me love with food piled on tables that never end
Iced tea, Pho, spaghetti, rice and pork chops
Sternly setting bowls down in front of you and encouragin’
To take pieces of buttery garlic bread and mop it up
Love, bestowed upon us in showers of peppered chicken
Spending hours in the kitchen
To prove some affection
In saucers of soy sauce and dumplings that went on for miles
She’d put adoration in soup, spicy reflections
Of passionate motherly love
Mama, she never smiled
Unless someone complimented her style, the swagger
Of her intimate cooking skills, the way she swung her dagger
Of specialties, killing hunger, cravings
All her meals ending with ravings
Of the best kind
Scraped knees and broken hearts are cured with warm chocolate cake, suede
Smooth, mending them better then when they were made
Mama shows fondness through ice cream and steak
Warm dinner plates
Her “I Love You” was a big portion of lasagna
Nobody says “I Love You” better then my Mama
Categories:
scraped, family, mother, love,
Form:
Free verse
Bold, bright...unmistakable
she dresses in vivid pinks or purples
sometimes splashes of oranges or golds.
Her lavish flashes of flowers shine
and yet...
…brilliant bougainvillea has
her dark secrets.
Devoid of fragrance
this fanfare, flowery mistress
hides her hidden thorns...
…to touch her is
to become entangled
cut to the quick
scraped and bloodied
without warning
though careful one may be.
Beauty prevails over pain
as paper petals flirt and entice
all dressed up in pageantry
a multitude of sins are covered.
Bougainvillea lights up
the heated climate
flinging caution to the wind.
Written on 4/10/2019
Categories:
scraped, beauty, flower,
Form:
Free verse
Apart from our nice 3 piece suite the cat has clawed and shredded
it's knocked over a figurine that lies there prone, beheaded.
I'm quite adept and nimble fingered-
Have I got the knack
to use a tube of superglue and stick her noggin back?
The bottled glue is near opaque, unseen and so I doubt
if any glue is left inside, then all of it squirts out.
I'll grab the phone, dial 101 and get help if I'm able
to prise my thumb and forefinger from off the kitchen table.
Should I get free then this might be the chance to commit crime
since two of my poor fingerprints won't grow back for some time.
I've scraped and polished tirelessly but the table's still got glue on.
Should one more figurine get smashed-
I'll just go buy a new one.
Categories:
scraped, funny,
Form:
Light Verse
They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay
So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!
Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay
Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine
Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal
An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss
Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake
Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?
What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor
But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016
Categories:
scraped, education, fun, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I’m sorry that I burned the pie.
I’ve tried so hard to fix it.
I would have made another but
It is so hard to mix it.
I’ve scraped it and I’ve dusted it
And covered it with cream.
I hope it will be tasty and
A true pie lover’s dream.
So if you squint a little bit
When tasting that first bite,
You’ll hardly know that it was burned,
Though tasting scorched, a mite.
I was so tired of hearing of
Your mother’s perfect pies
That I thought I’d make one better
And cut hers down to size.
So now just take a little bite,
I’ll give you points for tryin’
And if you tell me it is good,
I’ll give you more for lyin’
lWon first place
Categories:
scraped, funny
Form:
Light Verse
There was a boy named Charlie who loved to climb trees.
You could always recognize him by his scraped up knees.
When his mother would tell him to come inside
he'd climb up his favorite tree and hide.
You could hear the siren as the firemen zoomed through town.
They had, just had to get that little boy on the ground.
The people would say, "There goes Charlie climbing that tree."
They really shouldn't say that because this time it was me!
Categories:
scraped, children, funny, happiness, uplifting,
Form:
Epigram
"Curls...
Of spring passion?
Lacerations of decadence?
coiled in ringlets at the nape of her neck-
light wrapped in strands iridescent and bent
toward her silhouette's kiss.
Shadows on a match box painting
absorbing the skin and silk shed cloth."
Frozen air movement shakes me awake
as another museum goer
brushes by my sleeve in an attempt to read
the description... (I am nose close...)
Tremendously, I pull myself away
to the Hallucinations of a Toreador
pulling the scope out on my looking glass,
for one is finely tuned, painted with the single hair of a wishing bow...
and one is the size of my heart, unraveled and sky scraped,
and yet remarkably blurred to initial understanding.
I toss aside propriety and sit down on the ground,
Indian style, in front of grandeur-
a mist of streaming people dissipating my vision
of the surreptitious melting clocks, oozing time
all over the floor, soaking my favorite shoes...
And so I pass the afternoon alive,
briefly breathing in the dusty air and DNA of genius.
Categories:
scraped, art, happiness, people,
Form:
Free verse