The lady who had lice in her hair,
She scratched her head on the way to the fair,
Then she looked over here,
She pointed up in fear,
But it was not to be seen anywhere.
Bud
rising
from cold ground
The youthful spring
sunshine lifts our gaze
Marble ice is melting
time is more than a feeling
Nature is changing quietly
Waiting for buttercups to unfold
invigorating and energetic
To sought God within
Making such own religion
Peace, conscience a vain.
The battle starts everyday
His itch will not go away
Scratch and scratch is all he does
I yell to stop from above
Itching and biting evermore
Skin covered in sores
Itching continuously grows
When it stops nobody knows
As I wish it to stop
Redness, allergies, and hot spots
Going, going, non-stop
Trying to reach the itch up top
Off to the vet we go
Hoping to keep the cost low
Shepherd curse is well known
Several test he will undergo
Finally, a pill that helps
Remove most the welts
Finally relief he finds
Giving him peace of mind
Predation requires a flexible mindset
So flexible that it is concrete
Even your worst enemies,would like to become members
Ooh,my goodness,this thing called life
Be wise,when choosing friends
As they become your downfall
Am I getting cold
Be wise,who you associate yourself with
As they can become your worst enemies
Am I getting colder
Be careful,when it comes to your resources
As some individuals are eager to absorb those resources
Am I getting old
Is there a question?
Selection requires certain ingredients
So selective that it becomes loyalty
Even your worst enemies would like to become part of the team
Ooh,my goodness this thing called life
Horsefly bites galore.
Covered in weals with red spots,
All under my skin.
Scratching the itch was no cure,
Nor was head-butting the door.
9 / 6 / 2021.
They knew I was throwing up at night.
And that every breath was causing a fright.
I wasn’t using their scratchy covers.
Because I was afraid of the others.
People at night snoop in to glare.
Because I wasn’t sleeping, I was too impaired.
~ Caren will achieve immortality - ten every day - no complaints ~
10/01/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Tease a Friend Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Bobby May
17 syllables
(Poems by Caren Krutsinger)
1st place in the contest
Itching in My Heart
Sex in My Heart Like Love
Itching in My Heart
Written By Poet
Anthony Taylor
It might be the climate
Or maybe the heat
Which blasts our apartment
And will not retreat…
But every winter,
My skin starts to itch
And nothing relieves it.
(I’ve heard every pitch.)
I’ve tried every lotion
And many a cream
Yet still I’m so itchy
I just want to scream.
It’s not a disease
But a seasonal woe.
When spring rolls around,
It will vanish, I know.
Still, three months of scratching,
Which no one condones,
Will leave me near skinless,
A bucket of bones!
Frosted breath designs the window pane
Now the whiteness blankets all the sky.
Cars are sliding sideways down the lane.
This winter melancholy makes me sigh.
I'm counting down to spring,I can't deny.
I clasp my coat to me,it's much too thin.
The zero air makes me shiver and shake.
There's frostbite forming on my nose and chin.
These cold and dreary times I just can't take.
If it wasn't frozen I'd jump in the lake!
Creatures great and small are struggling now.
Suffering from lack of food and heat.
They'll make it through till spring arrives somehow.
This dismal cold of winter will be beat
And all will welcome springtime,oh so sweet.
Soon the tender shoots and buds will bloom.
Blossoms will start painting up the land
We'll rid ourselves of all this wintry gloom.
Start dreaming of the sun-bleached,crystal sand.
Let spring and summer take the upper hand.
written January 15th, 2013
Like an itch halfway down your back,
unreachable, itching to be
furiously scratched,
you wish you could just peel off your shirt,
lean hard against the edge
of an oaken cabinet
and rub any thought of her finally off
and away from your hopelessly
infatuated mind;
strange, but you seem to have taken
to liking the soothing pain
of the scratch,
now, you find yourself gyrating, drooling
at the slightest thought
of a wooden touch !
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