Long Scuffed Poems
Long Scuffed Poems. Below are the most popular long Scuffed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scuffed poems by poem length and keyword.
As you see, hear a few moments later a funny looking Huckleberry Hound dopey little dog
cartoon the families all time favorite as the children snicker, and everyone there comes
in the room just in time and laughs together. With our dog cocking her head slightly and
barking with us. As our kitten Timid whacks at her ears stops again and chases her wagging
tail, hysterically.
And I tell you if it is all I can do to cherish the freshness of these things, friend I
will. I tell you I've already won.
My baby's laughter there in the highchair clapping with his superman bottle sitting in his
diaper splashing away all over Him listening to Dave Matthew's' It's Not Easy To Be Me
waving it in one hand as he shimmy's and rocks too and fro to the beat of the ambiance of
the new day, yes, reminds me ... .
Our Oreo cookie looking kitten named pounce, playing alone today now there
in-the-rain. How everything from birth has remained so curious to him. His
resilience as he laid there with her saying goodbye ... . As Gracie his sister just passed
on, yesterday. So I feel fate brings us to this opportunity, gentle mercy, tender beauty,
purest of goodness, when willing, everyday. Though even we do, or do not pray.
Like the perfect feel of those glorious tender kisses. Sweet caresses flying footballs
bike riding scuffed up knees tender love and band aids humming-birds-humming.
As-they-hover by the honey water feeders. The dog barking Pounce and Timid playing with
their super bouncy ball bouncing around whimsically too and fro. The Mango Chicken
Surprise chicken in the Set-It-and-Forget it rotisserie. Slippery wet feet legs flung up
swinging arms and tossing shoes loud thunks of your older swimmer Son slipping coming in
from His morning workout on the linoleum floor being just freshly mopped right bye the
back door.
As Mama cries out ""sorry Son" the dog or cat peed and you yell too"" You alright", and he
yells back frustrated "Whatever!" "This is a crazy family"! "I want out" Let me out"! And
yes some other real good humor I cannot really hear right now, and as well yes I feel he
is like Jim Carry and Robin Williams and a lot like me and my morning coffee.
Still being drank all throughout whatever heat of the day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWJVmk8s9NU&playnext=1&list=PLAAF17CBEBB7C3D44&index=78
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor,
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin,
So familiar, so resonant and never faint.
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground,
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound,
In retreat from a world he cannot understand
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.
It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips,
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip,
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend,
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size,
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend.
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct,
Perched perilously with nothing to lose,
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes,
Dropping pebbles and stones to the
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below,
Imagining if he may fall in their stead,
What then would be left to know?
The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.
Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong,
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on.
People thought him shy, with head bowed low,
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself,
Denying the threat of another blow.
He was not shy, just hiding and biding,
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.
Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief,
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve,
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief,
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.
Endurance:
Keep changing perspective;
If only to combat the dwindling light~
Each droplet of
tear from me shall shine,
My beauty
shall stand tall,
I shall bloom
to the happiness of those I love,
And my love shall stay the same
Until I fall.
My heart searches the airwaves for an answer...
Feeling for a pulse,
For a bead of life.
Tired and torn,
My understandings shatter like glass...
Teardrops line the cracks and gaps
That exist between the fragments
Of my scuffed and scattered mind.
Memories dance like a rogue sunbeam
Sparkling on the sequins of my blouse.
Like silver stars twinkling across a sea of Burberry carpet,
Flashes of inspiration capture my wandering eye.
A twist of thread lies on the floor before me;
Black and tangled,
Free and formless...
A stark contradiction to my carefully catalogued
Collections of thought.
I somehow awoke to this nightmare:
A kingdom of sorrow
Where fear has become the patriarch.
Enslaved by my base desires,
Steel bars of ignorance brandish the cells
Of my caged and captive potential.
Every atom of my composure
Becomes no more than a cruel trick of light,
A practiced sleight of hand...
A ruse that has become impenetrable,
Seamless and familiar;
Touching the darkest parts of the heart,
Caressing the ill begotten frills
Of our utterly underdeveloped souls.
Yet, still,
we endure.
The wheel turns,
The fire burns,
The spirit yearns,
The ashes gather
And fill the urns...
And Still,
We Endure.
Accepting
what we cannot
change
but giving space
to
ourselves
boundaries
from
what hurts us
what is beyond
our endurance
to bear
Believe me, you deserved someone better
You are reborn from fire, from the light,
And light you become.
The darkness is repelled by your presence;
You have broken free of your deficiencies.
By conquering your demons,
You have proved yourself above the dark.
The blackness is trapped beneath your feet,
It can never control you again...
Oh give thanks
unto the Lord
for He is good
and His mercies,
Oh yes
His mercies,
they never fail us
never.
His mercies
they
endure
forever
and ever
and
ever more.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
2/14/17
At similar and different degrees
Animals, humans, and objects proceed
At lower and higher speeds
By the land and sea
Near many trees
Bearing fruit, or mainly leaves
Far too many display greed
Being naive, with intentions that deceive
And mislead
I believe
Indeed
I'll succeed
And achieve
While following through on deeds
As I aim to exceed
Burned, dug and pulled weeds
Some of which got cleaved
And eventually heaved
Into a orderly pile before, after or during the eve
Pollen in the breeze
Causing those allergic to sneeze
Near and far from hives of bees
Some pray on their knees
In the midst of Summer heat or Winters freeze
Evidence and other items getting seized
Some but not all could be got back through paying fees
What was difficult for many, may have been done by others with ease
Regardless of if they have prestige
A vast amount of cuisines
With greens
And or meats, some of which considered lean
Either following or breaking the creed
In the midst of, or behind the scenes
Handmade crafts and figurines
And others created by machines
Instead of charging in with a head full of steam
Better think and heed
While trying to grasp what it means
Do you agree or disagree
That is not all that it seems?
Areas with weather considered extreme
Occasionally turning things into smithereens
Another night where I didn't dream
Whether I did or didn't fall asleep in front of a screen
Can the soul be redeemed
Despite there being no guarantee
Finished tasks solo or in a team
Above and below terrain having ravines
Dirtied up, scuffed and cut my jeans
The same could be said for my sleeves
Not yet have I had mead
Or paid for a limousine
Close and beyond places known for the occasional stampede
Could it have been preventable with vaccines
For afflictions and disease
Above and below streams
As well as submarines
However this all may be deemed
There is no hidden strings or schemes
It is good to read
Brain, body, soul and spirit need to feed
Intervene
Got to switch up the same old routines
And reign supreme
By: Dalton Ogletree
When you are in turmoil up to your neck, He is there.
When you don’t hear His voice, He is listening.
When our prayers are not coming true, He can provide.
If you feel like you’ve scuffed it up in life, He will make beauty out of your mistakes.
We are like an apple. On the outside we look blameless, but on the inside there are worms eating away at our heart, faith and hope. We do our best to smile at each other with all the hurt inside. No body knows how hard this can be. Often we suppress our problems and put on a well rehearsed smile as if we are acting a part in a play.
We can walk around like an inflated balloon full of hurt, ready to explode or we can bring our problems, hurt, bruises, and scars to the one who can forgive and make new. All we must do is ask and keep believing.
We need to remember that God is for us. Not against us. Do not be confused when you’re going through trials and bad seasons. He still loves you.
God makes no mistakes. Each of us has a weakness. You may think your weakness is a burden, but it might be your strength unknown to you at the moment. If you could have Heavens view for your life, you would understand everything is falling into place. Your condition may or never be healed, but it might be used for the glory of God in a way only God could.
A peach has a seed inside of it. When the peach is gone, the seed inside can be planted to make another peach tree. Like the seed inside the peach, our efforts, struggles, and good deeds can be planted in the garden of faith where our fruits of our life can be a blessing to all like a peach tree with much fruit.
God, we come to you with heavy burdens needing of release.
May my deeds not go in vain.
Hold my heart and don’t let go.
You are here to stay in my heart and soul.
Have mercy and grace to hold up my head from these deep, dark, waters.
Let me sing songs of praise through out this life as a chosen child of your family.
Let my life be a light to all people through Jesus who seeks the light of eternity.
When this life of mine is complete and I take my last breath, let me say
“Thank you.”
Form:
He grasped my fingers and I took a breath,
I counted to five and allowed my palms to sweat...
I stood, Converse clad feet turned inwards towards my opposite knees and thought about the
irony of plaid, I looked to rabbit ear shoelaces with tugs in the bows, and wondered...
how to make decisions.
Here we were and ankle length white skirts held the past in their hems, I fell beyond the
boat docks that became swallowed by the sea, once, twice, and someone told me, on a warm
afternoon in September where trees sheltered us from pouring rain, I spun on concrete as
if it couldn't break me....
I replied in a grinning whisper, words that danced through raindrops and giggled through
clouds,
“No, it shatters.”
I shook in the moment I remembered with my heart first and my mind later, because I loved
him so much on that night that the words didn't matter and I spun as April melted
inbetween us and sheets held the skin that told my secrets, the tattoo who heard
everything, and she heard me sigh, she heard me...
smile when I slept...
the sound of him, the days flooded, I fell...
on concrete...
and skinned my knee, I studied the shade of my bruises and the tiny drops of blood, I got
up and wiped the dirt off my hands, I studied my palms and my fingers and counted to
f i v e...
months later, I swallowed his voice, I attacked the shame I had in holding onto him for so
long, and I changed my shoes, untied the laces and zipped up boots, whose black leather
hugged my calves, whose toes were scuffed from all the miles I had walked, ran, and bumped
into him...
and the hems of my jeans, frayed, and stained with the dirt that settles on...
concrete...
rubbed up against his as I took his hand and looked down at the intricate patterns of the
way we held on...
I kissed him, then, when the rain stopped, and counted, as my teeth ran across the lips
that still tasted of his breath...
to one, and closed my eyes, to two, and opened them, and underneath the shadows that broke
the sky with my lashes, I reached...
forever.
My kids like myself were instructed on how to wash clothes as soon as they were tall enough to reach into the basin without falling in. Parenting 101 calls this the see-saw or teeter-totter effect, whereby toddlers balance themselves on their bellys, feet dangling acrobatically off the washer machine lip scooping damp clothes onto the floor in order to place the articles in a dryer. Many arguments have been made on whether this helps or hinders a child.
I've watched my kids cry and tell on me to their momma. "Daddy won't let me eat or play or whatever (I told them to do) until I clean my room."
I gotta tell you, it's joy unspeakable! Almost to the point of tears falling on the pavement and forming a puddle kinda joy to know I prepared my kids to the best of my ability to overcome struggle and adversity.
I don't know if it's fair to say, but parents back in the day echoed a "don't depend on me, when you can do it yourself type attitude." I think in some ways nurture went to the wayside and that switch made it to our backside. In our attempt to add hugs and kisses while turning down the discipline, we created kids who are accustomed to having it their way. It's a balancing act. Parents try and find that balance, oftentimes, falling well short of the washer machine lip, praying God will clean up our act.
The joy I have is because her light bill is due but is making it work by candlelight. He's struggling to correct his adolescent mistakes. Hustling like a Martin Luther King speech, everyday puttin in work till his dream is lived in. The youngest is taking night classes in order to graduate on time.
Glory be to God. Message has been received. Don't depend on me, when you can do for you.
For times they fell into the washer machine and scuffed their foreheads, I'm genuinely sorry for that, but parenting is a balancing act.
Love is helping even after you're depleted and right when your about to fall in from grabbing a heavy load, they step in and say "Dad, we got this."
Hallelujah with a double amen!
Two skinny legs dangle from hand-me-down frocks.
Elastic bands holding up her socks.
Scuffed shoes upon her feet, so small they barely fit.
Water leaks through the crack where the sole had split.
Her wheat coloured hair is pulled away from her face.
Tied back in a pony tail with a crimson lace.
Blush full lips hide a row of crooked teeth.
They are always on show when she opens her mouth to speak.
Dancing in front of the mirror, singing out loud.
She visualizes herself performing in front of a cheering crowd.
She imagined herself beautiful, her face on every magazine.
Adored by millions as they watch her perform on the screen.
Believing in her dreams, she knew she would go far.
How determined she was to become a star.
Living out her fantasy, living out her dreams.
Is her world a better place now, things are not what they seem.
Now sitting on a flight from Paris to Milan, dressed in chiffon with a beautiful tan. Immaculate makeup graces her face. Smart and elegant, not a hair out of place. The flight attendant fusses around her as she flies first class.
Always on hand with champagne to fill her glass. Men flock round her like moths to a flame. They don’t really see her, they just want the fame.
She pushes her way through the crowd, a sea of faces calling her name.
Her freedom she has sacrificed, for the price of fame.
Money cars and diamond rings she understands now, they are just things.
Living out her fantasy, living out her dreams.
Is her world a better place now? Things are not what they seem
She realizes as a child she was rich all along, singing into the mirror to her favourite song. A home filled with love is riches beyond compare, familiar voices of laughter filling the air.
Living out her fantasy, living out her dreams.
Is her world a better place now? Things are not what they seem.
Living in her past is her only escape.
The fame machine has taken over and sealed her fate.
Life is not always filled with cloying contentment.
There are taunting trials and things I'd rather not do.
Those tedious tasks that steal my smiles and my time,
but not the joy of life's most endearing moments
found within the confines of my happy home.
It's impossible to leave all my worries outside,
nor can I hide from them each time I enter through
the front door, but my home seems to cradle me
inside its welcoming walls. Each room comforts me
with familiarity, offering safety and solace from storms
of both the physical and emotional kind.
I am at peace in the serenity I find surrounding me,
even when I hear voices in another room, I know they
are my loved ones. My family's laughter assures me
that all is right in my world. There may be furniture
that needs dusting, or floors that have been scuffed,
but memories made in these haven halls are treasured.
Conflicts and controversies, struggles and squabbles
taking place in the world remain outside my refuge.
When my workday is done, I seek my family hearth,
the warmth within its sheltering roof, making it the safe
stronghold that I claim as my citadel. Trepidations
drift away when I walk into my garden and find seclusion
waiting there for me. I find peace and consummate
placidity in the sound of the koi pond's waterfall.
There are no horns blasting with impatience, only a bed of
colorful impatiens blooming in profusion beneath the
sweet scent of white magnolia blooms that soothe
my weary mind, blocking out stress and anxiousness.
I feel as if I'm in an innocuous world inside my fortress gate.
Protected from the chaotic cacophony of worldly woes.
Standing at an open window as night falls, I enjoy the song
of a nightingale as a myriad of stars surround a full moon.
At the end of the day, these moments are appreciated
for the assuasive effects that I need in my life.
This is the anodyne I seek. This is my home.