Long Scuffing Poems
Long Scuffing Poems. Below are the most popular long Scuffing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scuffing poems by poem length and keyword.
L,
Fog wafts
enraptured
enthralling euphoric emotion
light forshadowing jazzy blues
and I ache at your every move
through the rivers of time
you've captured more
than thought
pain pulses
in the background
sensation taking center stage
slow and seductive
stripped to the core
stelletos
scuffing up the floor
doors open
winter breeze swallows
waters churn
electric the night
wired
there is no flight
we never sleep
the city comes
alive
the horns blow
I take you in
notes hint of tomorrow
licking my lips
I taste
endlessly
passion filled sin
WW1 WISCONSIN FOLKS MEANING THE PRISN SYSTEM IS CONTROLLED BY CORRUPTION CROOKED COPS MEXICAN QUEEN PIN DEALERS WW1 MEANING GANGSTER DISCIPLES THE 1 REPRESNT CITY FOLKS THE PITCH FORK YOU CAN VISIT THE WALLS BEHIND BARS STILL COVERED WITH VOMIT BLOOD SHT AND PISS AS CORRUPTION FALSE ARREST FALSE ACCUSE FINALLY GIVE FALSIFIED STATEMENTS IN ORDER TO BRUTALIZE DISABLED PERSONS BEHIND BARS IN WISCONSIN PRISON STSTEM LAME DUCK SOCIETY CORRUPTION COPS ARE SENT OUT TO DELIVER TERRORISTS THREATS RATHER 1810 SHERIDAN ROAD WHERE ARSON MURDERS ARE COVERED GANG LEADERS ARE HIRED TRANSFERRED TO WISCONSIN UNDER THE GARGANO HAYES MILWAUKEE DRUG TRADE CONTROLLING WHO GETS STABBED WHO IS FOUND DEAD IN HOTELS BULLYING INTIMATION BADGERING TAUNTING DOMESTIC TERRORISTS BRUTALITY ACROSS COUNTRY ORGANIZED CRIME RICO VIOLATION GANG RELATED COPS INTIMATION FOR QUEEN PIN VENEZUELA MEXICO SENDING OUT THREATS FROM PRISON BY CORRUPT COPS BEING I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK COPS AND GANG LEADERS WW1 FOLKS WAUPUN WISCONSIN TORTURE CHAMBERS OFFICER MEXICAN 1980 BURGULARS OBSESSED WITH MY GRANDFATHER SERVING IN ROME ATTEMPTS TO IMPERSONATE ME WITH MEXICAN IMMIGRANT IMPOSTERS JAMAICAN DEALERS SCUM SCUFFING UP MY BEDROOM DOORS BREAKING INTO MY HOME VIOLATING OUR HUMAN CIVIL RIGHTS FOR GANG RELATED COPS HELPING THE GANGSTER DISCIPLES FROM WISCONSIN NO FEAR OF DOMESTIC TERRORISTS ON AMERICAN SOIL YOU DON'T GET TO TERRORIZE ME YOU DON'T GET TO EXTORT MY AMERICAN POETRY CORRUPTION ORGANIZED CRIME DIRTY JUNK SICK COPS AND THEIR VIOLENT OFFENDERS HOUSED IN THE WISCONSIN WOMANS PRISON LOOKING FOR GET OUT OF JAIL FREE CARDA BY FALSIFYING BULLSHT WORKING FOR WISCONSIN GANGS YOU ARE SCUM OF THEE EARTH GOD BLESS AMERICA
the heat presses down like a drunk cop’s boot,
metal fences shiver in the sticky Florida sun,
concrete walls spit their old secrets at you,
black mildew crawls across everything,
like it's alive and goddamn winning.
men with broken teeth laugh in corners,
playing cards with cigarette ashes and dreams,
the guards walk slow, like they own death,
keys jangling like a bad symphony,
boots scuffing, breaking the silence open.
sweat pools in the cracks of your skin,
rats wiser than the wardens,
paint peels in long strips, like shedding snakes,
you hear screams, sometimes,
but mostly you hear the waiting.
somewhere far off, a dog barks—
but not for you, not for you.
They call me weed, as if my name itself
is a curse spat between teeth.
I do not grow in obedient rows,
nor do I beg for the gardener’s hand.
Like the poet’s misunderstood words,
my roots clutch the cracks of forgotten places~
a shrug, an insolent in a vacant lot.
The wind combs through me, rustling my leaves~
and, like a poet, I answer only to that.
Like the writer hunched over a page
no one will read, I am my own audience.
People walk past me, boots scuffing near my face,
too busy to notice how I bend but do not break.
Oh! What freedom I have in being overlooked~
Censorious shears do not scare me
nor do worldly stakes measure my beauty.
Let the prime and proper roses preen in their curated beds.
I am the sentence left untrimmed~
the wild ink bleeding through the margins,
alive, stubborn, and creative where I was never meant to be.
how long have we laid here
side by side
for an epoch's breath
of starlight in a roving universe
enchanted moments
see a night of a million years
until day slowly unearths us
from our play
but clinking and scuffing
distant voices loudening
muffled soon unmuffling
to a crisp and a brightness
the yellow hurts our eyes
how dare they disturb us
you are carefully wrapped
and put into a box
loaded and driven away
they are still digging around me
with their small shiny blades
and tickly brushes
I thought we'd be together always
we were not far from eternity
we had made friends with forever
I can still feel your scales beside me
I wonder how the other dinosaurs fared
in The Great Bang
At the capitol rotunda
Two senators faced off on
Gun rights versus oversight
Each side bunkered in
Intractable, their way to win
Sharp tongued irate debate
Open thinking went kerplunk
Head to head, noses pressing
Like two rams rutting
One grabbed a neck
The other ruffled hair
Both leaned into a scrum
Onlookers aghast
Heavy breathing, jackets flung
Ties askew, faces flushed
Veins a popping
Fists were clenched, my heart pounding
Spit and foam tossed about
Two old mad dogs yelping
Spin left once, then spin right
Round and round these two locked
Like a chopper blade taking off
Leather shoes and legs flyin'
Scuffing on slippery rotunda floor
Lots have slithered across before
Muffled echoes off the walls
Don't think a punch was thrown
Guards ran in to break the spin
Pull the swirl apart
Just like a gooey sticky bun
'Cept it weren't no fun
Hands grasping foe to foe
Darts of insults still flashing
Reddened eyes, teeth gnashing
Heads adjoined they'd go
Caught their breath, stood up straight
Falling back into friendly hands
Mumbled shards yet flying
They walked away slumping
Like two Humpty Dumptys
Disheveled putting themselves together
Each insisting they were "kerrect"
With hastened breath
I saw it all unfold
Watchers shuffling in doubt
As they usually do
It was a war, weren't no spat
They'll never forget, count on that
See it all on the evening news
Did it change each other's views?
Can we ever talk civilly?
Common Ground is the Solution
So that was yesterday's kerfuffle
Adjudicated by muscle
In the dusting of springtime squeeze
Sweet-scented of yesterday glees.
Recall of rose bloom and clear days,
Of mirth and warmth in many ways.
Meek breeze bears the whiff of ripe life,
Fresh beginnings and cease of strife.
The world rouse from its frost slumber,
Nature's grace is once more wonder.
The birds sing their sweet melodies,
As they build their nests in the trees.
Bees buzz around, grasping nectar,
Butterflies dance in quaint vectors.
Let's bask in the charm of the sun,
And hype blooms that ne'er strove nor spun.
Written: June 05, 2023
In The Dusting Of The Springtime Sweet Scented
Thoughts Of Yesterday Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
I see your stare, I see you care
I see your pity I see that you almost dare…
Tears fill my eyes, sadness is etched on my face
Look upon me and see deaths embrace
I feel it in my aged bones, one day soon, I'll be free
Death will be my escape, hopefully…
Still I have many pain filled days to bear
The weight of the world upon my shoulders
Scraping and scuffing are the burdens holders
Sun pounds down, I'm weary beyond belief
I crave some water, some shade… anything for some relief
Instead I'm rewarded with another pack on my back
As my aged blisters begin to crunch and crack
Knee's about to give, I try not to tumble
I hear my master's irritation, I hear him grumble
His angers building up as usual, I hear him rage n roar
I try to set off, but I just can't move no more
I see his anger, he raises his whip,
It stings, it hurts as it's brought down on my injured hip
I wait for the next, it never comes. I see him frown
As I struggle… thrash… bumble… and fall
Seems to take forever until I hit the ground
This time I know it's over, once and for all
After what seems like forever, the dust settles around…
Eyes barely open, I see him run as he gets me a drink
Water tastes nice, but it's not enough this time…
A look of sadness crosses my master's face, also regret I think
I feel it's too late, I'm just too tired and weary
At last the rest I desired has finally come and I can sleep
I feel myself going my eyes are getting bleary
I feel for my brothers, who suffer and who have yet to endure
For this hatred, anger, abuse and cruelty, I pray for a cure
Wallflowers were once your favorite bloom,
so you suddenly plucked me from off the wall.
Half dead, but not yet in the tomb,
you treated me like your little doll.
You revived me to speech and gave me a name,
aligned my character to please your own.
I belonged to you, you'd assertively claim.
I was flesh of your flesh and bone of your bone.
Alone at the courthouse, we would wed
in spite of warnings from both sides.
I was somewhat alive, not yet dead,
scuffing through the room with cautious slides.
Your love was sudden, then revealed illusive.
When I revived, you became a zombie.
I guess better neglectful that abusive.
I became a part of you as you became a part of me.
12-8-2020
New boots, pressing on my heels,
still stiff, not yet broken in,
stomping on roots, beds of needles
dropped by towering white pines,
scuffing on gneiss and granite
as they pound down the trail.
Have been walking since early morn,
a long trail on a high peak
in the far north of New York.
first break in the rain in a week,
makes for a very wet trail,
but a hiker goes when he can
and always watches the skies.
Got up to the peak, saw far clouds
moving quickly on the wind,
zephyr pushing them from the west,
so I double-timed it down.
I know that it’s coming soon,
weatherman was wrong again.
Glint of glass and chrome through trees,
sure sign of trail-head parking lot,
take off bear-mace and big knife,
change my shirt and clamber in.
Relax and breath for a moment,
muscles tense like coiled springs.
Then a drop on the windshield,
another and another, slow at first,
the heavens open fire on us all,
big, downpour drops ring off metal.
Tired as I am, I will wait,
rest a bit until it slackens.
At least I’m not still up there…