Long Scraggly Poems
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The Brook
He lived near a brook
By a scraggly nook
So he fished every day
Using string and no hook.
His house made of sticks
Three stairs made of bricks
He sat on at sunset
And did magic tricks.
When the rain poured
Through the house he adored
He kept time with the dripping
Slept soundly and snored.
His dog was all matted
And over fed fatted
Would lie on his back
As he loved to be patted.
By the light of the fireflies
He’d do that strange thing
And fish for the moon
With no hook and a string.
He would watch the moon
Move about in the brook
And watch as the frogs
Bit the moon and it shook.
The stars sparkle danced
On the brook’s rippled face
To the drumbeat of crickets
In a hot weathered pace.
By the scraggly nook
Of his wandering brook
He fishes in dreams
With a string and no hook.
Scads of decades ago...
Metaphorical mama's yoyo
came undone, unleashing woe
doggone wizard of oz sought in toto
afore final picture show
would play staging pro
sic cuter determining
irrevocable fate oh no!
Approximately this time of year
(circa mid December) as
Christmas holiday doth near,
yours truly donning his unrecognizable
incognito custom tailored corporeal wear
well worn, timeworn, and careworn
birthday suit - most
frightening Halloween scare
transient boyhood lad
spooked with fear
courtesy grizzled old man,
who toothless doth glare
at much younger self
sporting scraggly gray hair
searches happy go lucky,
innocently naive, fancy free
and footloose spare
slip sliding away shy kid 'ere
timid, solitary, reservedly...
imperfect triangulated square
peg in round hole
quizzically, soundlessly... mere
roaring, reflecting, and ruminating
riddled with despair
methinks him foreigner, stranger, harbinger...
unavoidable, hellacious, catastrophic...
pitfalls he ain't aware
impossible mission to bolster near
deadly encounters with
maniacal mailer daemons
stealing his harmony, jollity, spontaneity...
knocking him out stone cold no prayer,
nor wing can revive, he will appear,
whence straddling prepubescence
agonizingly scared shuffling, skulking
sputtering... collapsing upon
his scrawny derriere
bony posterior subjected
necessary iron injections
courtesy Harriet Harris (mother)
licensed practical nurse buttressing
emaciated frame hiding her tear
filled eyes, while sole son
wishes grim reaper cursed harridan
freely clutching him onto elysian fields,
where abound spirits
of grateful dead everywhere.
So sick, ashamed, tuke-deh-blaim guilty
And tired of your sarcastic comments that tease me on purpose
Really not an accidental thing in the first place
Crazy talk I do on a daily basis
Aggravated beyond reason and logic and behind-closed-pupils emotions
So afraid to change my mind about breaking up with you and making the mistake of going back together with you
Totally an incomplete work of art from the start...I adored you, Seth Art from the heart...but I'm torn apart - we are opposite isles at Walmart
I claimed and nurtured caring, affectionate sayings and lines of endless blessings and miracles that ended up being cursed and obstacles
Clever, but a deceiver...looks are awfully appealing, but what's in the inside are a billion books...left unread and left for dead instead...left on the literature bed, molding and rusting in pangs of dread that piles up in my head like debt overhead
Chillin like a villain with a tranquil mindset for a change
Oh my word, I will forgive the words you uttered and will utter ASAP
Mesmerized by your love that is for naught
Messed-up in the head mentally and emotionally...happiness and joy, like weeds that were once delight dandelions, distraughtly rot and remotely fought...a frenzied, fired-up fraught as an aftershock of oblivion's ignorance
Elegance turn to hideous results, unless you turn that around by mere coincidence altogether, which will most likely not happen, knowing you very rebellious and an uncompromising, headstrong head that is robust - but, break, it must
Never flawless and willing it all away...these thunder and rain bolts
Truly, you better not shoot me down or I'll bite the bullet and rip up that gown of galore glory and gracious glamor displayed dazzlingly, non-drastically projected on screens of hope strings that won't snap off by the single snip of the sensuous, shapeless scissors
Sanity's lines come into play the moment the insanity lies on the paper and not on my scraggly soul again...refrain from pouring your vermillion drizzle upon us and naturally, slip inside the same bumpy, rowdy bus with us for a time...there's no need to hide, subside, cuss or fuss
I am dreaming of you tonight,
though we may never meet
but if we do, you will know me
by my hyacinth shoes.
You will remember me in the pale blooms
that float on
billabongs or ponds
I will take you along dusty streets
an outback town, where currawongs
call at dusk from scraggly gums,
branches rocking in the wind
I will whisper secrets
of morning glory vines along a back fence-
of the surprise that Spring's
first snowdrop brings
it’s green petals
dotted and lined with delicate green.
Your sorrow will never be the color of them
your joy only as high
as the elation they bring
I will teach you to sing by slow caresses,
my hair on your skin
to dance with soft words that waltz
over a carpets of leaves
No-one will know the small cues - each tiny gesture
that will guide us
into life’s un-knowable purpose.
Suzanne Delaney
I saw a woman
Carrying water on her head
Thousands of people
Without a home or bed
...but I passed in my jeep
I saw a scraggly man
Lying on the street
And strange druggies
I never want to meet
...so I passed in my taxi
I saw a waitress
With a bruise around her eye
A car accident
Where someone died
...but I passed with the others
I saw a preacher pray
And lie in the same day
I saw wedding vows exchanged
And that same marriage rearranged
...I stopped
I saw people who didn't matter
Become a part of who I am
Every interaction
Has informed growing man
...to build highways
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-02-2018
Note: The tireless, endless, seemingly meaningless work of our predecessors, has built the highways naturally, spiritually, and emotionally, that we enjoy everyday, without any recognition. When we look into the eyes of our tired elderly, may we always be in awe of what their sacrifice has made available to us.
in diagnosis of psychosis, his pincer glasses reddening his nose,
the professor’s leverage - his certificate upon his office wall - the know-it-all.
a fragment of his time spent examining inky blots - the bevel of distortions of a picasso-like mind. he derided himself for thinking his patient as a derelict, given his own raggedy suit, long scraggly beard. He tap..tap...taps his pen, thunking it against his papers...tap, tap, tap to the annoyance of this...ahem, derelict.
“I must find a resolution to your illness. This panic you feel when you step into my office,” he can never bring himself to look the stranger in the eye.
with the vortex of a sinkhole, his innards drop out, when the derelict calls out,
“Times up!”
in conclusion of his illusion until next week, he thinks to himself,
‘next time we show up clean cut. that will fool him.’ he takes the blots with him.
he must know the answers for next time. the derelict must be locked up and he must be set free.
6/11/2019
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Kai Neumann
*My original is 14 lines. Please don’t hold it against me if the poem runs longer on PS.
I found him at the Shelter, scraggly dirty and begging for bananas
as he jumped up and down he screeched, eek eek mama mama?
So I brought him home and gave him a name and a bubble bath
Jiffy Pop I called him cuz 1st he rolled a kernel then he'd scath
I noticed he got very quiet when I brought him home alone
since he couldn't talk, his depression became full blown
I didn't know how to cheer him up, only bananas did the trick
He didn't appear disabled, and apparently, he wasn't sick
So I took him out for a walk over by the Valley of big trees
he quickly jumped up a tree and swung just as he pleased
Jiffy Pop was a natural when it came to swinging branches
but they didn't have bananas so he sat upon his haunch
Bet he came from Africa bet he came from Zimbabwe
but he was my Jiffy and I loved him, anyway, ...
down the tree he came, home to eat bananas we did go
and after all that exercise, yes, he did have a glow .
We all start out like seedlings
Just emerging from the earth,
Alike in that we’re each of us
A product of a birth.
Depending on our genus,
We may grow up tall and straight
Or be scraggly or bristly,
Rooted down by luck or fate.
We’ll be nurtured and be nourished
Or be totally ignored,
Grow in gardens gently tended
Or be trampled and abhorred.
Some of us will sport some flowers
To embellish and adorn,
While for others there’s deception
Waiting in a hidden thorn.
Though there’s sun and rain and shelter,
Nature doesn’t really care
If each seedling has an equal shot,
For life just isn’t fair.
scraggly
let's face it
not quite Charlie Brown
scraggly
but scraggly
just the same
you were alive, though
and that's the thing
new house, new yard--
--needed you
Christmas did, too.
so killed two birds with one
you
am i really tearing up
over a tree?
you're so much more
thirty years
of memories
little boys in roper boots
and cowboy hats
riding rocker horses
grew into little leaguers
then men
overnight
and a sweet baby girl
blessed us
and went from tea sets
to barbies
then... boys
before her daddy
could ever be ready
while you grew
the house grew, too
moved you first to fatten
the driveway
then again for an addition
finally, to the corner you're in
--you just needed more room
for all the memories
you keep
with me, now
oh, Christmas tree
Nestled deep in the tawny, drab woodland
Sedate cottage neither haughty nor grand
Sparse hovel of unassuming, itinerant brigand
Martial decor of detached highwayman starkly bland
The etched path sculpted by intemperate hand
No manicured garden on the scrubby strand
Briers and brambles errant straggler must withstand
Thatched clapboards stable his stallion firebrand
Unruly swine garnish acorns from scraggly wasteland
Buried deep in his cellar pilfered contraband
Per chance drifter did the terrain assay
And chose that toilsome, forsaken way
A spartan welcome hauteur did convey
No lodgings, accoutrements could sway
If for grace, mercy they did pray
Only a cold shoulder he did relay
If they tested his temperance and sued for trite parley
He reconnoitered their belongings through wordplay
If no net value they were beguiled to betray
Their worthless lives he did indignantly slay