Long Scraped Poems
Long Scraped Poems. Below are the most popular long Scraped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scraped poems by poem length and keyword.
Fear flutters on fetid wing
when jealousy stirs inside.
And camouflages its sting,
but it's difficult to hide.
Feeling like it's dying inside,
a broken heart doesn't sing.
For it's lost its strident stride,
like a puppet with no string.
Deceiving my heart, you lied,
knowing what pain you would bring.
And as my hopes and dreams died,
you pawned my engagement ring.
You simply cast trust aside
and scraped up some muck to sling.
And didn't care if I cried,
hurling words hurt egos fling.
You're heart's devious and snide,
a lonely, desperate thing.
And your fortunes will slip-slide,
no matter how hard you cling.
(Quatrain)
8/19/2017
Quote: I don't want a perfect life I want a happy life
Children tumbling out of bed
coffee dripping from my old faded percolator
Stockings hanging from the shower curtain
mother's laughter from across the miles
Husband's wet kisses and the shuffle of feet
scraped toast, slamming front doors
The smell of mulched leaves
the way the sun slants over my kitchen window
I don't want a perfect life, just a happy one
Empty cafes and smokescreen writes
pulp fiction and doggie smiles and treats
eggs over easy and difficult puzzles to solve
hugs and kisses and fun between the sheets
tea for two, I love Lucy, and more dreams
then I can ever dream of, ...just a happy life,
nothing more
... stalactites hung like dystopian snot from a statue
her brain was frozen and formed ice in her mind
a lacuna without inlet or outlet arrested in time
mind’s skates tied up in bundles of snowflakes
gloves off for defeat with all speed set in arrest
not even her black woollen hat showed any signs
of thawing heart-warming emotions for comfort
empty speech bubbles covered her scraped tongue
where a mouth-watering waterfall should pursue
a pick axe with nothing left to dissect or construct
dangled from a callous corpus callosum in pain
unable to connect right left wrong or left to correct
this was not what searching tranquillity had promised
in contrast transcendence wept at chilly flood gates
a voice that had so much to part with in a landscape
of permanent layers of verglas onto vaporous rime
she wished for some slime or yuck glopping goo
but permafrost refused a glimpse of impermanence
a fool thought it funny to stick a carrot in her nostril
helpless she could not leave the vegetative state of affairs
clung to a string of crystal beads at pearly gates of no return
this is a lie I am Pinocchio at the threshold of truth
a metaphor unable to break the spell of apocalypse
unfulfilled amphora and vessel that can’t even leak
incontinence at the pointless orifice of evacuation
without one drop of hope for cataracts to dissolve
a lonely icebreaker with nothing left to crack open
where a firm skull should harbour my residual flow
when a polar bear embraced her unbalanced spectre
shared his white furry coat under a mantle of darkness
shales of introjection floated away from the solar eclipse
which had sheltered her from a charcoaled manic cauldron
touching middle grounds in between scorching euphoria
and lifeless apathy just long enough to remember that she had
not taken her medication and the self-help manual was useless
sometimes catharsis has to wait for one small lucid moment
when a beak meets a beaker and cascades start from a dribble
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
At the end of every day,
when the house goes quiet
and her laughter fades into sleep,
I step outside
and talk to the wind.
That’s where you are,
isn’t it?
I tell you how she smiled today—
missing her two front teeth,
but still lighting the whole damn room.
You’d have laughed.
I tell you how she scraped her knee
trying to ride without training wheels.
I held her while she cried,
and I whispered what you’d say:
"You’re tougher than you know, baby girl."
Sometimes, I tell you things
I can’t say to anyone else—
how I’m scared I’m not enough,
how I see you in her every day
and it wrecks me in the best and worst ways.
I told you when she made honor roll.
When she kissed my cheek
and called me her hero.
You’d be proud of her…
You’d be proud of me, I hope.
I even told you about the first boy
who made her blush—
God help him.
When she got sick,
I sat beside her bed
and begged you in silence
to keep her safe.
And when she opened her eyes,
I swear, I felt your hand on my shoulder.
I tell you when I lose it.
When the loneliness is louder
than her laughter.
When the walls feel too tight
and the silence feels like failure.
But most nights…
I just say thank you.
For giving me her.
For giving me the strength
to keep going.
She’s growing up fast.
Smarter than me,
braver than I deserve.
You’d love her stories.
You’d love her heart.
One day, I’ll tell her
how I talked to you every night.
How you were never really gone.
How her mama still walks these halls
in wind and memory.
Until then—
I’ll keep whispering
your name
into the breeze
that wraps around my chest
like your arms used to.
You’re still here.
You never left.
And I’ll keep you close
in every breath,
in every storm,
in every quiet
night of love.
7/21/22
Can't always be a fair bout
Got to air it out
Very little I've cared about
There's no need for prayers or doubts
You say I am, yet to me you sound delirious
I can't take you serious
One of many things that makes me furious
There's no better time to be imperious
Still remaining curious
About the mysterious
Finding the answer through luck or hard work and experience
There's no need to grovel
Occasionally god-awful
My impact minor or colossal
Learned it first-hand or through a novel
Breakfast of coffee and a Belgian waffle
The job done with a hose and nozzle
Still looking for love, while digging for fossils
People often acting hostile
Having tunnel vision like seeing through goggles
No time for drama, only money, got to hit the throttle
The last thing I need to do is sip out bottles
Fought for there to be new growth
Often I cut it too close
Even though you'd hope
That I would croak
We could both
End it on a good note
Among so many good folks
So many enlightening books wrote
Yet too often they say it 'looks gross'
Judging by the cover
Breaking down each other
Including our own brothers
The cycle continues on with no buffer
Think of your mother
Why cause one another
Or yourself to suffer
Did my best to keep my slate clean
Learned a ton since I was eighteen
No need to sit and daydream
Very far from make-believe
it if they tease
Lady we make a great team
So it may seem
Hey Queen
Would you like to go out for coffee or a BBQ with baked beans?
If not, how about relaxing and enjoying a faint breeze
In order to get it, it'll take cheese
Continuing to gain speed
I'd pick you daisies
Dig deep getting scraped knees
In order for us to both break free
You'll always be more than a main squeeze
I'd sacrifice myself so that we all can attain peace
This is way beyond a campaign speech
We grew up different even if we were on the same street
It occurred quickly or for more than eight weeks
Quit trying to always make a scene
If you just want to hate and cheat
Then please take a seat
Serve you justice for being a snake and creep
This all having nothing to do with a datasheet
My poem was too long so I had to wrote it in two separate parts.
In a quiet town where memories blend,
Lived a man named Mike, a cherished friend.
At fifty-nine, his journey took a new flight,
Into a realm of everlasting light.
A son, a branch upon the tree,
Of family roots, for all to see.
He carried on with strength and grace,
A loving son, leaving his trace.
Within life’s joys and its darkest of nights,
He stood by her, Heather, his loving wife.
Together, hand in hand, they faced every test,
For in each other, they found their best.
A brother’s bond, a precious art,
Forever, he will remain within their hearts.
With scraped knees and stormy nights,
He was their beacon, shining bright.
With gentle hands and a loving heart,
He guided his children from the very start.
He was their hero, always on their side,
He taught them to speak, to walk, and to ride.
With open arms and a playful grin,
An uncle's love would always win.
He’d offer a coin with a teasing grace,
For a niece’s kiss upon his face.
Then came the day, a precious sight,
His heart swelled with love and light.
With open arms and a loving heart,
He played his special papa part.
A friend to many tried and true,
He shared a bond with so many of you.
With his “tough love” ways, he stood his ground,
If you ever needed him, he could always be found.
For the Toronto Maple Leafs, oh, how he’d cheer,
In front of the TV, with an ice-cold beer.
Each goal he’d celebrate, each save he’d praise,
Through wins and losses, his loyalty would stay.
He skated strong, with sticks and dreams,
A loyal player of the Dresden Minor hockey team.
OMHA titles three times, he claimed,
His name is forever printed in Dresden’s Sports Hall of Fame.
In days of old when men were bold
And they didn’t use moisturiser....
They shaved with a sword,
slapped whisky on their chin
And didn’t use aftershave in an atomiser
The scraped the dirt off with a shell, they reeked a good manly smell
They combed their hair with the jaw bone of an ass...
Not now oh no, their hairdryer is so big
You need a drying license to use it
there’s even an exam you have to pass
They broke their nails with hard work
A beer or two they do not shirk
But now it’s a wine bar and a manicure...
Oh where are the days when a man was a man
And not a female male that’s for sure
We woman must share the blame
We wanted equality
But then we took it too far...
Now we’re down the pub while they cook the tea
And we are the ones having a jar
There was nothing as nice as a man opening the door
To let a lady walk though
Not today’s man we find,
we have to stand behind
And open and hold the door for them to pass too...
When men were the ones we looked to for help
They always came through for us girls
No now I’m afraid,
they are busy at home
Baking cup cakes and tying ribbons for little girls...
In days of old when me were bold
And didn’t use a consealer
Proud to show off their scars
And not refuse a date,
To use their face mask and their skin peeler...
Girls we must shoulder some of the responsibility
We wanted to be more equal to our men
Now we get the tattoos,
Drink pints and pints of booze
Wear jack boots, party till dawn and even then...
Bring me back a real man,
I’ll do all that I can
To keep him happy in his manliness...
I’ll work at it hard and teach him well
Even if I have to I’ll pick out his dress…
© ~GG~ 28/12/2012
Please do not be upset all you men out there I was cleaning my bathroom, I have to grown sons and a husband. I was moving all the products while I cleaned the shelves and out of 15 different bottles and potions I found three were mine and one of those was my toothbrush. I borrowed my son’s hairdryer to dry some moister because I wanted to re-grout behind the sink. I had to ask him how to use it because it was digital…………….dah xx
sometimes
the dark rides
mile long walks
get old in the cold
or driving rains
the thick mist
of morning
on roadways
of reddened paths
that have you
holding your breath
as you slide
through the curves
while the deer
run and play
the fogged up windows
needing scraped
tracks of leaves
scattered
across the floor
too wet to sweep
the rush of children
at your door
the laughter
building inside
the hugs
chats
smiles
and waves
of innocence
keep mornings
bright
though
the one thing
i love the most
i must admit
are the glimpses
in the rear-view
as day awakens
the make you
want to drive
into the horizon
kind of passionate skies
unfolding
is somehow
worth it all
to me
Whenever,
my childhood memories,
take me home,
I will never be alone.
I go back,
to when I was small,
in grandfather's backyard,
with a ball.
A tree house as tall as the sky,
he built for me,
amongst the birds,
In an aspen up high.
In the shadow of moon's light,
I placed fireflies inside a jar,
to light the night,
beneath God's stars.
All the birds amongst the trees,
I did not hear,
a single peep,
they had all fallen fast asleep.
Beneath the moon,
I drifted away,
whilst counting the horns,
on some dancing sheep.
I would awake,
to another blue sky,
the birds were all singing,
As my eyes opened wide.
I loved to swing,
all day long,
while helping the birds,
write their songs.
So beautiful and free,
were the sounds,
never did,
they sing off key.
I remember the sweet smell,
on my puppies breath,
her warm tongue,
it tickled me, almost to death.
The branches that,
she loved to fetch,
they all fell,
from my beautiful tree.
A big red balloon,
that I let go amongst the trees,
I chased it down,
and scraped my knees.
Grandmother kissed my wounds and excuses,
and said "oh dear',"
"my sweet child you've nothing to fear,
for life is full of scrapes and bruises.
"The ones that heal,
will come from the heart,
they are the ones,
that one so chooses."
I learned so much from my grandmother's words,
as I grew up my pain affords,
for the sake of,
life's sharpened sword.
I still hear her encouraging words,
in all the birds among the trees,
whenever something goes wrong,
I hear birds singing Grandmother's song.
And like her heart,
that was never cruel,
aren't the trees,
sounding nice and full?