Long Scuff Poems
Long Scuff Poems. Below are the most popular long Scuff by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scuff poems by poem length and keyword.
A Therianthrope’s Harsh Winter (Alternative Ending)
Snowflakes sunk into my soft fur
I purred as my fur began to puff
the puff wetting my once so soft fur.
I fluttered as my fur began to puff.
During the Nightengale, when its cold,
When my head is filled in the slough
tarnished in scuff making me less bold.
My lips shuddered in the freezing snow,
flakes flowed and i decided to bring my body to a fold
from hind legs to long legs nestled in snow
wallow in the warmth, losing my wool
soft skin leaving me in a soft glow
I run against the snow and its cool
running back to my home and no longer being a fool
One voice was a woman’s
One was a man’s
One was deep dark of genderless land
They picked me apart
Like psychological vultures
Tearing at my heart
Using my bones as foundation for sculpture
The things they’d scuff and say
Were critical and painted my brain black
Coating my thought was afraid
Could never claw my way back
Back to the land of vanity and sanity
For surely these voices are not in humanity
They seem like a panel of consciousness
Like a trilogy of reigning gods so hopeless
If I ate they glared at me
From a deep dark sea
With eyes that seem to have teeth
Red ripping at my peace
The voices were real in my head
Shrill and devoid of hope so dead
That only thing I could beg
Was let me sleep in peace instead
Then there was healing medication
That sent them one by one on vacation
It was as if the Lord Jesus Christ
Stepped in a dark room turns on light
The voices like gray phantoms flee
Did I have hope for this feeling
For I was so sad and literally mad you know
But deep down there in my somber soul
God mined me creating silver and gold
No longer a mute shell of ill repute
Despite being smite afflicted and spooked
I became a new creature a candle
A light the voices couldn’t handle
But first God had to break me
I felt lost like God did hate me
But was love now that I know
That refined and mined my soul.
Italia we strolled the country side throughout
the villages of Tuscany peeking through stone
ways above garden nooks of Puglia catering to
the soft and sensual galleries of floral canvases
that covered scented walk ways gathering the
divine taste of hidden vines borrowed by rows
and rows of lemon trees pricking my fingers
on olive bushes again while we dazzled the
evening air beneath the moonlight both my aunts
my grandmothers sister managed to travel from
Mason Vicentino just for our annual first date as
they chuckled hardily at your vagabond loafers
mocassini's moccassini's making your cheeks
blush while looking over the balconies peering
down the cobble stones this ritual is always
carried out religiously completely steadfast as
everyone sits patiently awaiting my return my
Nonna swaying to the tarantella as soft chiffon
curtains blew in the breeze this fabric was sent
from France by my grandfather still serving in the
Army my shyness remained intact trying not to fall
over wearing my oldest sisters clogs she insisted that
I promised not to scuff them on this grand evening
finally returning to the calming comforting busom of my
family culture heritage Italia Italia and the purity
of my own chastity covenant why until matrimony
celebration like all the women in the family before me
according to my Nonna we are a of rare Greek Italian
Masons and Muses I suppose while i finally arrived
lovingly embraced by sheer wholesomeness tradition
the surety of home
All these years at home, me and my momma alone
Daddy on the run, headed for the sun, he must of been..
Because I obviously wasn't his sunshine
Growing up wishing you were there when I had something to say
But now it's on pause, just like I am to write this
There's no more fightin' it, I hate you daddy
And I love writing it
All the love and hate will come out, I'll be spittin' **** you
And failure out of my mouth. And when I stop talkin'
I'll be in a craze, glaring at him
With my hate my hate and rage gaze
I'll kick up my feet, scuff dirt in his face
Tell him I put weed and lines of cocaine in his place
And enjoy the disgrace upon his face
And tell him that it's his fault for tappin' out in the first place
Left alone in this world of demons
Trying to find my halo in this crazy maze
Raising myself, daddy left
And mommas worrying about her ownself
Life ain't always a perfect song, it skips and studders
Fear, something nothing can cover
My will is what I discovered, feelings uncovered
She starts thinking and wonders
Here dad, I'm gonna use brain
Yeah, I'm a smart ass
Fourteen years later
And I'm pouring my heart out, at last
Making it my point, I'm taking off my mask
Getting it off my chest, and laying these demons to rest
But **** me and the way I lived
Playing dirty and not letting my emotions show
Couldn't find mine
So I stole someone else's halo
But used it as a frisbee and chased it to hell
Spittin' cards now with cruela di'ville
And I know you're here too, in this fiery hell
I'll find you and the corner in which you dwell
And when I do, *******
You won't be slithering no more
I'll take off you're scales one by one
Make you the one who's coming undone
Scatter your ashes on hells front door
Bye daddy, now I'm the one who's leaving
I'll shut it, make sure I slam it
Throw in a **** you and god damn it
God sure damned us alright
But don't worry, I'll be sleeping tight
Nightmares at night, no more
I found my heart at my core
Survivin', tryin'
Leaving this life behind
And one last thing to the guy
Calling himself my ****ing dad
I'm better off without you
Bull**** if I'm gonna let you haunt my mind
End of rhyme, I'm the one
Leaving you behind this time.
Your shoes by the door,
worn soles tracing paths
you used to walk -
each scuff a story,
each crease a memory,
quiet but heavy.
They sit there,
still laced with quiet defiance,
a reminder of mornings you rushed,
of late nights spent at your desk -
always just a little more to do.
The scent of your aftershave
lingers in the hallway,
waiting for you to step back in,
but all that’s left are your shoes,
empty now,
facing the door that never opens.
I remember your stories -
the ones that made us laugh,
the silences that made me listen harder.
They echo now,
soft whispers in the rooms
where you once stood.
Your shoes by the door,
waiting in quiet solitude,
never quite lost to me.
I see you in the way they sit,
as if you’re just about to walk in,
like you never left.
I slowly come to
as light creeps across the floor
and dissolves what I thought
had fallen through
the torn sides of a dream.
Nothing is there but
the scuff marks left
by fleeing ghosts.
Unalterable facts assemble
and lock shut around
a narrowing space housing all
that I think I am.
Faces appear and find
their place in the gallery
of portraits, some smiling
others wearing a haunting
sadness. Love attaches
and takes up the tension
as thoughts move and stretch,
each nerve linking
to a loved one. I hold on
and hope it's enough.
Then fear rummages through
its wardrobe of masks, trying on
each to see what best fits
the day. It likes to look ahead.
Morning begins its rituals
to hold back a harm
that hangs over me
or stop the countdown
ticking towards some
menacing, undisclosed
catastrophe.
Like a sculptor I searched for the perfect stone
I tried to make it better and with my skills hone
But you cannot change it no matter how you shape or scuff
I lost all of them and found you a diamond in the rough
Inner perfection was already there and was easy to see
Your heart is heavenly crafted and is tailor made for me
Like a carpenter I chose only the best wood
I tried to cut and plane it but the result was misunderstood
I tried to preserve it forever but it rotted away
Until I found a well built home in you and I wanted to stay
Inner perfection was already there and was easy to see
Your heart is heavenly crafted and is tailor made for me
Like a painter I covered my canvas with paint and oil
But the more I stroked the more it did spoil
I tried to add more color and they still did part
Until I found you the masterpiece work of art
Inner perfection was already there and was easy to see
Your heart is heavenly crafted and is tailor made for me
Wonder why dearly creatives are really gruff
Ponder artists fright...why they're in a right huff
As if their plight wasn’t nearly hard enough
Now AI picks alright clearly nicks natives stuff
Copyright blight.. tight AI guys fight with trite guff
Won’t share …it’s unfair…don’t care..life’s tough
Your ”off the cuff”.. they lazily buff.. crazily turn to fluff
Like a stranger getting your lover or wife up the duff
Red hot bot rot danger is rife but still they will just bluff
Strife..this lot don’t give a jot ..another blot we must rebuff
Muster the puff to bust their bluster..off they trot..play rough
Stand tall..together they’ll fall..grab by their neck’s scruff
As sagacity…loquacity.. bodacity & veracity techs nab & snuff
Authentic becomes drab identikit wrecks..cultures these vultures scuff
These AI fingers lingers in everyone else’s pies…Nuff is a Nuff
Yep and I can hear in my ear.. dear old.. Brian Clough chuff
“That’s Bloody rubbish”
AI guys lies..snaffling then raffling is baffling…but surprise surprise in the buff…it’s total shruff!
Under a smother of dark clouds
a city skyline sinks,
there will be no starshine
the lights of a million windows
must drain and replace another blanked out evening.
The eyes of stray cats fire up,
it is time now for noise to hunt silence down,
for the garish to consume the subdued.
Shoes, new and old, scuff grime
into renovated store fronts, where shadows
cling to the detached hissing
of neon signs.
It will be dawn when the shoes bleed,
when the stars return to briefly gutter.
There are rodent tracks that arrow
between gray blocks of masonry
where nocturnal crimes crumble
into obscurity.
The metro subway is empty yet full of ghosts,
but just for a moment,
only a moment.
I am the American worker
coal fired for refined thieves
on the thirty first floor.
My secrets rest
roadside beyond the guardrail
where ditched alleys
lead to rowhouses.
A list of porches
repeating to each other
the economics of wear.
My secrets shuffle
moon-side with motors
in gear.
A scourge of trucks
that drone and stab the night.
My dignified rails drive
mountain passes, but fade
in stories written backwards.
I belong to the wheels
whipping the black spell
of trains.
The scuff strummin' Guthries
and Union Maids,
Debs,
Robeson,
The destination of all trains;
Railroad Bill.
I am the American worker
searching the seasons
for decent belongings,
secret rhythms
last whistles,
Mt tempered
native steel.
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982