Long Scratched Poems
Long Scratched Poems. Below are the most popular long Scratched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scratched poems by poem length and keyword.
I tried writing this verse, and I was not happy
The undertaking cursed, and I was not happy
I tried this way and that, nothing seemed to be right
I scratched out but 'twas worse, and I was not happy
I threw the notebook hard all the way 'cross the yard
All became too averse, and I was not happy
It became within reach then vanished from my mind
This strange Ghazal jumped cursed, and I was not happy
Baby sees what is now said upon these blue lines
She was rolled in the hearse, and she is not happy
My daddy always called me Baby or nearly always..No one else in the family did nor does my husband..
Inspired by the contest: Give Me A Ghazal
Sponsor: Timothy Hicks
Written: March 12, 2016
Who would have ever thought
All of living could come to this
Mourning over what was
A perpetual state of exclusionary bliss
Pop! Went the weasel, as she moved,
Toward the only difference to give her voice
While he skipped along behind
As the man who yielded to woman's choice
Out from original creation, she came
He, never quite...the same
Throughout HIStory, memory of time
Has scratched on the dotted line
Lie after lie, causing man to believe
Nothing of the original creation
Learning passed new and tantalizing sensation
To bring humanity to retrieve
............................RESTORATION
She was brought to humanity
On cloven tongues, fifty days from ascension
To comfort and teach, maybe even reach
The part of the mind that desire's retention
One span of time was devoted to feeling
The second, the age of reason arrived
When Wisdom looked upon her children
She sighed with relief that TRUTH had survived
.......................treason
In the bed, yes, always in the bed
The majority are fighting off attacks of fear
Some sleep in comfort, with memory
Replaying all the dreams of previous years
Still, there is a remnant.....engaged in battle
Riding to war without a comfortable saddle
.................Mercy riding on Wings of LOVE
It's that line, that ALWAYS leaves void, in the mind
And that incessant need pulling back on the DIVINE
.......................for Pity's Sake............let me at least......................REMEMBER
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05/29/2020
He scratched your back, now he needs bail;
It’s payback time cause he’s in jail.
This pest has tagged your buttonhole.
A cause for worry, you poor soul.
Of course, he needs money, bold cash;
and you fear potential backlash.
One-time friend? Consider pest control;
some cause for worry, you poor soul.
He ‘knows’ you’ll help him, good buddy.
TV news reports quick study -
the judge has ruled against parole.
Less cause for worry, you poor soul.
More news details - "pest" has no clout.
It may be years before he’s out;
he lied in court; he’s dug a hole.
No cause for worry, you poor soul…
From Poor-etry To Poetry
Thinking back to the beginning back to when it all got started.
Back when love was longing so broke and brokenhearted.
Not a dollar to my name when life was lived back then.
I could not afford the paper and I had not one pen.
With desire like a fire and a branch pulled from a tree.
My rhymes on sandy beaches I called it poor-etry.
I took my walks and sat on rocks and watched the world in motion.
As every single poem I wrote was swallowed by the ocean.
Someone found some words I wrote like dreams just out of reach.
They saw the remnants of my soul scratched into the beach.
Returning on the next day there laying on the ground.
A stack of pens and paper by a poet they were found.
I sat before my window I wrote both day and night.
The world became inspired by the poetry I'd write.
Seasons came and seasons went waves rose and then they fell.
I wrote about my journey and time once spent in hell.
I told of pleasures I had known and trials and despair.
Breaking free of disappointments to the hope I hoped to share.
I talked of moments in my life when my life lost control.
It seemed that as my soul would bleed words poured from my soul.
From poor-etry to poetry deep in the dark of night.
I found my untold riches in the pour-etry I'd write.
With tears that sometimes fell like rain I couldn't take it any longer.
Until somehow through my pour-etry I found I had grown stronger.
Edwin C Hofert
Shark is an outdoor cat, haughty, wears a killer crown.
He has a kill room around the corner, under a bunch of bushes.
In the summer a variety of carcasses are unbearably smelly.
I have to dispose of them, for my dad was a fur dealer,
and “you are used to pelts”.
Sorry, I never get used to them….
I am deathly allergic to all cats; Shark is no exception.
He deserves a much better home, but he has claws and no one wants him.
So he hangs out here, but this is his eleventh year and he is older.
I figure he will get pneumonia and die in the Kansas winter,
so when it is below freezing, I put him into my art studio/office.
The chase is great.
Last night I chased him down three times.
Once he hit me over the head with a magazine.
Then he bit me.
Then he scratched me with both hind feet.
I finally let him go.
Freeze to death, I told him. I wish you well.
I stayed up late, watching a movie.
Shark appeared on the window ledge at 10:30 p.m.
Meowing and moaning an apology.
I got his food together, and put on some warmer clothes.
Opened the door to pick him up, and he meowed a fierce cry.
Spit in my face and took off.
I was debating about staying up until midnight.
The dog rolled her eyes.
Knowing I would probably do it.
My Sassy and Cosmo are the two dogs for me
Sassy a mix terrier and Cosmo a Great Pyrenees
Sassy has wire hair a little coarse to the touch
Cosmo coat soft as cotton feels like fluff
Cosmo a giant puppy clumsy and cute
his blondish white fur for him suits
Sassy coat like a Jack Russel terrier
left ear down right one up for merrier
Cosmo is a eating machine
licks his and Sassy 's dinner bowls clean
Sassy finally growls Cosmo away
so she can eat must have her say
They play together a little ruff
like two miniature grizzle tough
Growling barking biting no fear
their big paws my lawn they tear
They chase each other till worn out
then pant exhausted smiles about
At night they sleep side by side
Sassy his gal Cosmo her guy
Cosmo is in that chewing stage
bones and toys for his teeth to rage
He whimpers and whines to get his way
wants his chest scratched always
Sassy seems unsure at times
for Genghis and Kublai can't find
but with Cosmo she is not alone
Sassy and I adopted him, he's home.
.
This desk with its scattered papers,
blotted ink and unsealed envelopes…
passages penned and tossed
in the confusion that lives and breathes in my mind…my heart
Distance frames the walls of
the addressed…since canceled
Splintered dreams on the edges are worn,
time has shaved the moments…the places
on broken calendars swinging freely
of lost dates scratched within the numbered boxes
Sorrow carved in the fine oak grain
by an empty pen with dulling point…dented
Poetry sits meaningless
with rhyming phrases of hope…wishes…love
begging for but a brief visit,
only to be discarded between reams of teardrop leaflets
Verses formed deep within a vacant heart,
a lonely space, emptied by the loss
I write in an absolute mist,
fog induced renditions of another’s touch,
formulating in the same words…always the same words,
repeating in the darkness that sighs in rhythm of a flickering candle flame
Over and over,
echoing the halls of this barren heart
Shadows drain the breath
of hopeless desires…built on manicured dreams
within a world collapsing in shredded
prose, and fractured fingers, still writing
I am lost
without her…
10/14/16
The Poet's Ache
Greg Barden
I am not a personal fan of jewelry, but
were I more careful, I would have been
fine with rings. My first ring was my High
School CLASS RING, and If I had been able to
retain it all these 55 years, it would be a real
historical show-piece today. But I managed
to lose it early on somewhere in Chicago.
My second finger piece was my WEDDING RING. Back then,
marital rings for men were called wedding bands. I had it for
several years before it disappeared somewhere in Sacramento
after being worn faithfully for some 25 years.
My third ring was a special gift from my wife. It was a GOLD RING
that irritated me, because I found myself constantly being scratched
by those sharp golden edges. It also took an exit and disappeared in Sacramento. Three strikes, and I was out. That was the end of my wearing rings. Losing every ring that I ever owned. Imagine that.
062522PSCtest, One in Five, Joseph May Chosen theme: A Lost Ring. 4P
On the feathers of the flowery heart
I try to ignite the candle of spring
I try to seize the light of a silent sigh
I try to embrace the untold language
I try to kiss the burning cold moon
On the petals of withered tears
I amble for the great poetic stream
I search for a grave rhythmic verse
I merge into the erotic seed of nature
I dive into the sober inlet of the Triveni
On the glittering ink of the gypsy time
Reviving elixir has inflamed into venom
Ethereal feelings nestle in the lazy mind
Scratched time sprouts the root of past
Not defeated but I lost in the dumb town
In the lane of mirage life is time’s clown
©Mahtab Bangale
08th January, 2025
Chattogram
So I drove the van down a walking trail,
and slid into a ditch.
The Officers with voices hale
Began the walkers to regale
With "Oh, no, he won't go to jail!"
My van was tilt at such a pitch,
We had to call a wrecker in!
No doubt they thought it quite a stitch
To think that I had scratched an itch
And missed the road, preferred the ditch.
But we backed the van back up the walking trail
-- I have to ask, 'who was the snitch'? --
Who told the cops, all breathless, stale
That I was blocking up the trail
And underlined my epic fail!
So, I've near reached the end of my tragic tale.
I pity the fool who scratches an itch,
And ends up half under an old hay-bale
And causes old biddies and snitches to wail,
...NEVER drive down a walking trail!