Long Scrounge Poems
Long Scrounge Poems. Below are the most popular long Scrounge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scrounge poems by poem length and keyword.
On the poor side of the city,
there’s an innocent child crying.
The rats and roaches are crawling,
on the bed where he lies dying.
There’s a family of seven,
just trying to scrounge a dollar.
So they can buy a Christmas feast,
made of bread and peanut butter.
Mother has given up all hope,
and her children have no wishes.
The only gift she’s got to share,
are some hugs and Christmas kisses.
But hugs don’t fill empty stomachs,
of the children on Christmas morn.
When the snow blows in through the cracks,
Christmas kisses won’t keep them warm.
The next time you spend a fortune,
on another unwanted toy.
Drop some coins into the kettle,
for those who have no hope or joy.
on crenshaw
carousing in cavernous cafes
slicing into earthen skin
the meat dancers bring it to a boil
they murder the rug
they scrounge for earth worms
the fish head girls bob like sea birds
telephoning purple mermaids for a date
they have no name tags and no flowers
they sing sad madrigals to the starfish
they know this is the last pavane
the final curtsy before night goes down
before morning arises under white sheets
loosening the brain screws
burning the instruction manuals
imbibing the nylon remonstrations
on crenshaw
a lonely woman croons
an oozing torch song to the dirt people
they sit erect in a dark morgue
chittering like insects
singing cool blues music to the meat dancers
they bring it to a boil
with burgers bullets and beef cake
genius guitar freak vivisects clawing time
he twangs his axe with a searing solo
he plays psychedelic lullabies to the dead
his music torturing the earth worms
* * *
The trapper looked for the oddly-dressed man,
but could no longer see him, or his tent.
He glanced around, so supremely confused,
now where the devil had that darned fool went?
He searched along the whole of the lake shore,
but of the strange man he found no sign,
scratched his head and wondered if the thin air
was somehow playing tricks on his mind?
Though a bit unnerved, he just gave a shrug,
gathered up his gear and headed back down
to where he and Postlewaite had made their camp
in a ravine on a patch of good ground.
Ol’ Post already had a small fire going,
he was preparing the stew for that night,
the trapper walked up, said,”Post, I just had
myself one hell or a troublin’ sight.
“I saw up on that pond I found yesterday
a man in the most peculiar clothes,
his pants made of fabric they use on wagons,
they were slung down on his hips real low.
“He had no hat perched high up on his head,
and spectacles made out of some dark glass,
his coat looked like fleece, but also like cloth,
with fancy leather boots, laces and brass.
“His tent was some cloth that I’ve never seen,
but that wasn’t the strangest of it,
he kept saying that to trap in these peaks
I would have to get myself a permit!?”
Ol’ Post looked at him, said,”Gilborne, my boy,
did you get into the corn whiskey?”
The trapper shook his head,”Nary a drop,
I swear to your, this is what I did see!”
Post looked the young man over once more,
then gave a shrug and let out a big yarn,
“Don’t know what to tell you, since we’re alone,
no good way to explain what you saw.
“Maybe it is like the Injins tell it,
’cause I’ve heard it’s said by the Blackfeet,
that ghosts live up here in crannies and cracks,
haunt the high places of these cold Rockies.
“But we’ll keep an eye out, in case I’m wrong,
being careful out here is always good,
but this here fire just ain’t hot enough,
see if you can go scrounge up some more wood.”
Gil went about searching for dry branches,
wondering what he’d really seen on the strand,
yet neither trapper nor, nor Eamon,
would ever again see the other man.
"A beach day is a magical day." - by poet
It’s a warm and beautiful day
Not a cloud in the sky or any grey
As my bare feet touch wet beach sand
My blanket’s now out where I want to lay
The waves are magnificent and grand
Crashing the shore loudly like a rock band
Seagulls soar and cry as they try to score
Agile as they scrounge the sea and land
Sounds like a trance as the sea starts to roar
Scents of roses waft along the beach shore
The sun casts rays upon the dark ocean
Suddenly dark clouds appear, rain may pour
Thunder cracks, gulls fly off in commotion
The ocean now dark swells in brisk motion
My peaceful beach day has come to an end
But it remains like a magic potion
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecake - oh yum!
Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruing his fate
while squarely planted on me bum
disheveled and unshaven,
whereby gray stubble encrusted
with wayward synonymous days old crumb -
after wolfing delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
argh... my poor tum.
ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert
courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.
Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.
If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
to signal an SOS.
If left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would ejaculate
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said greens with wild mushrooms.
The spouse betook monthly outing
today May 4th, 2022
to 3938B Ridge Pike,
Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426.
No more bare cupboards,
fridge, and deep freezer
since returning with more than
our share of daily bread,
plus other sundry provisions
referring to this mister, who
frightfully squawks like an old geezer,
ruler of roost,
plus the missus – ole hen pecker
nevertheless, neither of us
ain't no spring chicken
being locked within crosshairs
constituting elderly stage,
she doth dread
feeling like a charity case
swallows her pride,
cuz ample carload for us,
alleviating this bum searching
for crumbs to tweezer,
thus raw bits of powdermilk biscuits,
I need not scavenge, scrape, scrounge...
substantial commestibles
allows poet taster to breathe easy
inadequately satiates the missus,
(whose Godzilla appetite) defies
(cole) laws of nature to beef fed
predominantly healthy food,
that weighted our automobile like a led
zeppelin choking, intermittently
kickstarting, sputtering... along,
asper in (faux wheel) drive wheezer
putting utmost pressure
borne by taxing groovy tire tread.
Once mission (not so impossible,
but blessed relief) complete, I did aim
upon returning where we live
to acknowledge gratitude and claim
salvation for charitable deeds,
yours truly doth exclaim,
these volunteers, none I know by name,
nonetheless, a hearty poetic L'Chaim
afforded folks, who commandeer,
confidently coordinate quite efficient process
despite minor lament regarding
heavy toll stressing bulwark
quaking chassis, ripsnorting driveshaft,
shimmying entire automobile frame...,
hence no matter
our exhausted 2009 Hyundai Sonata
puttered along somewhat lame,
kudos to dedicated good samaritans,
worth their weight in gold to tame
hungrily growling, noisily rumbling tummies.
Healthy choices allow, enabled,
and provided us to secure provender
eases glum countenance of this clown
gratuity finds me bowing down
paying metrical obeisance
versus depleting meager monies
engendering botox frown
nipping in bud
forestalling need going
to preferred market such as
Aldi, LIDL, Redner's, Target
or Trader Joe's grocery shopping
to the nearest town.
It’s time to put forth some new information
to shatter the myth of small primate intimidation
I’m done scurrying from one alley to another
just to scrounge some rancid cheese for my brothers
So, from now on it’s full bore galore
Me and my friends are hittin’ up every dairy store
I distract ‘em in front with my Mighty Mouse routine
While my comrades sneak out the back with limburger unseen
And next month, we invade Madison Cheese Garden
(I’ll be the one with a butcher knife and hard-hat-on)
One day my dragon, discovered how to read; whomever taught him, is anyone’s guess. Once he discovered historical novels; none of us would rest. Night and day, he inhaled words; great fiction, based on fact. Then one day, our power went out; his world, it just went black.
For eight long days endured; we could hardly see but, the hardest thing to take was dragon’s anxiety. “What sort of world is this?” He shouted furiously; “where nothing works, not even lamps; oh no, I cannot read!” We tried our best to calm him; during his rants and raves; it seemed a good idea, but dragon paid no heed.
“I want my books; I have to read!” Screamed dragon, as he cried. His elephant tears soaked carpets; so great was his novel need; we tried to scrounge up candles, matches and the like; but he complained, his head, it ached, from reading in dim light.
Then he had an idea; it was a shocking fright. “My flames,” he said, “Are brighter, than any man made light.” Talk about your lead-ball-drop; our stomachs, it did pierce. “You’ll have to read out in the rain,” we warned him, “not in here.”
The idea didn’t appeal to him and so, he soon conceded; oh, we were so happy, when he did; no father warnings were needed. Then an idea bloomed in me; of which I did relay; perhaps old dragon could be appeased; by some books on tape! So, I went to gramp’s library and borrowed all I could; he loved reading like dragon; before he’d lost his sight. I must’ve pulled 500 tapes from his bookshelves of cedar wood.
Now grump’s; somewhat of a hoarder; leant me half his batteries and an ancient old tape player; dragon gave a crushing hug, when I returned home later. I spread the tapes upon the table; and dragon’s eyes grew with delight; to proportion’s that I’d never seen on him; that very night.
When power finally was restored, to our neighborhood; dragon resumed reading books; his anxiety, gone for good. I vowed that such, would never occur again and I did my research thoroughly, days on the web, I’d spend. I researched every reader; every mp3 and book; dragon was so happy with his new technology. A couple of extra batteries; I’d bought and kept recharged; for downloading stories, I bought him, a pre-paid visa card.
Their faces are still there;
caricatures and cameos,
amigo mugs and jug ears.
Cheering, jeering chums
that would phone at four in the morning
to garble drunken thoughts,
make momentous plans,
or borrow ten quid.
The oddball humorist
and part-time suicide,
the drama queen
contesting her own shadow,
the poet who never wrote a poem.
The mon ami that drank for you
when you could drink no more.
Long after the late-night rides,
I see their features pressed against
softly glowing bus windows,
as London transports them
from other decades, even to far Ohio;
their lips silently mouthing –
warnings perhaps, or
maybe just trying
to cadge another ten nicker.
~~~~~~~
Authors Note: "nicker' and 'quid' are Brit/cockney terms for
pounds sterling - money. "Cadge" as in - scrounge.
The blonde went down
with not must resistance
shunning off a stressful afternoon
the scene played of society, high
as I peered at all the pretense
and pretend of an I want to be
better than you and me
old men with young jewelry
cradling arms and new cufflinks
with crosses that will never be blessed
but undressed with tightly shut eyes
Cubans smoked, killing air
drifting from an aging beat
chords crafted with ease
toes tapped on the edge of my seat
the moon peeks and says goodnight
the chair nods off unaccompanied
the grifters scrounge for a dollar
I stand up, it's time to go eat