Long Scuffles Poems
Long Scuffles Poems. Below are the most popular long Scuffles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scuffles poems by poem length and keyword.
All aboard the bizarre Farage barge..
Unless of course you are from abroad..
.
Narcissist catalyst.. old school fraud..discord twist..
Can't resist.. staging the raging red mist..
Fist of Mob rule tryst does persist..
Depraved raves..insist..craved faves..
Won't save slaves & knaves..
Hellbent they are sent..
To graves under the waves…
Foolish votes for ghoulish gloats..
Seedier media leaders lying..
Defying the dying..
Folks crying..ghastly ghostly boats..
Crude jokes delude..lewd masterstrokes denude..
Corporate rascal castle debacle floats..
On dank murky murderous moats..
Scuffles.. muffles ruffles & kerfuffles
Pokes & provokes just for bank notes..
The ubiquity of inequity
This poem or tome..
Every face…race should be.
Free to roam..
In this place..
We all call home..
Shriveled toes moving forth on muddled brown soil,
sending chills down the morose spine of brutalities.
Three hundred and fifty four days numbed in tyranny,
she crossed them in white on demeaned prison walls.
On twelfth of May, paced 20 yards in 20 guarded strides,
she now gleams her tattered uniform in jubilant pride.
Time to fly back to her nest like a migratory bird,
her chained hands released from blood red scuffles.
Chapped lips spill her bravery in rubies of free verse,
her solitude of raging strength somersaults as music,
her feet cleanse carpets of buried ashes in emerald blue.
Behold! A warrior glides over asleep pastures of onyx,
golden hues awaken rustling leaves in pearly drizzles,
lilac sunrise embraces her freedom veiled in sepia light,
rising spirits back in homeland, roars the prisoner of war.
Information used highlighted in bold:
Poem Name: Solitude
Written on: May 12, 2020
Views: 354 as on June 19, 2020
Type: Free Verse
Written on June 19, 2020
Views For Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Funom Makama
~Winner: 4th Place
He shoulders his heavy mind,
hunched under a dripping umbrella
of anxieties.
Dogs avoid the puddles he makes,
minor ponds of sniffs and scuffles
that he takes with him always.
He has a pocket handkerchief
that blows his nose
when the laden air
plunders his sinus's.
His has become allergic
to himself.
Quite by chance
a new airy broom
sweeps away
the damp clogging's
of his fusty brain.
Polar bears appear
within his inner eye,
they bring oranges from Florida,
fruits that will not ripen
in his own dark and crusty world.
Folding the black saucer
of his umbrella,
he un-puckers his brow.
Head-up, he side-steps.
his musty mood.
Poodles and pugs
play in the pools of his former
bothersome drippings.
And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams-- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams! Edgar Allan Poe
______________________________________________________________
In the ethereal world, where eons occur.
Paradisiac soil holds silent seraphic concur.
It's tough to spell out this realm's sapidity.
A magnificent elixir-drinking auric, no turbidity.
Singing in canorous tones aiming to empyreal height.
In the ethereal breeze, their diaphanous wings flight.
Enigmatic silhouette and unique pellucid radiance.
They dance in seraglio in this heavenly ambiance.
Their beauty, such a pearl, belongs to heaven.
Has a sumptuous scintilla-stirs love in Sky Seven
No evil nemesis lurks below their angelic floor.
In such a paradisaical milieu, despair never sore.
Yet their sonorous voices and demureness persist.
Hope whispers through the airy glade, lifting gist.
They embody compassion in otherworldly existence.
No psychic wounds from their scuffles for instance.
Their zealous hearts follow the celestial hand.
Continued acquittal exhibits in their exquisite stand.
Their lovely, luscious skin never conceals sorrow.
Aesthetic zealots evolved in this ethereal hollow.
Unfathomable and lofty in the translucent flight,
Unseen wonders unfurl, bathed in ethereal light.
Boyish and papery, they dance chimerically in ignite,
Invisible to mortal eyes, yet captivating to the sight.
Spread the fate-written sacred axioms of airy rejoice,
With every note, a celestial voice.
The melody weaves its enchanting spell,
Transcending earthly bounds, where wonders dwell.
1st place contest winner
In a quiet town, there lived young Tommy,
Though folks called him “coward,” he was never balmy.
His baked goods were famous, a delight to all,
But when trouble arose, he would just let it stall.
“Hey, Tommy, come join us!” the tough guys would cry,
But he’d smile and shake his head, “I’ll just pass on by.”
Though fear gripped his heart whenever they’d fight,
He’d be found in the kitchen, making desserts light.
One day at noon, a ruckus did arise,
Two folks fought over pie, to no one's surprise.
They screamed and they shouted, making a fuss,
While Tommy just watched, sipping soda on a bus.
Then suddenly, splat! A pie took to flight,
With whipped cream and laughter, what a bizarre sight!
Tommy saw chaos, and thought, “This is grand!
Why not join in the fun? I’ll lend a sweet hand!”
With flour in hand and a grin on his face,
He leaped in the fray with adorable grace.
Instead of a fist, he tossed dough in the air,
And soon there were giggles and laughter to share.
A cupcake for one, a donut for two,
Before long, the fighters all joined in the brew.
They tossed around pastries like kids on the run,
And soon it was clear—this was all just good fun!
So here’s to dear Tommy, the baker so bright,
Who turned scuffles to sweets and brought joy to the fight.
Though he may not be fearless in the usual way,
He showed that true courage can brighten the day!
In the end, let’s remember this tale with a grin,
Sometimes the best battles are fought from within.
For our dear friend Tommy, though timid and shy,
Knew how to spread happiness, and that’s worth a try!
Isnpired by the song "Coward of the County by Kenny Rogers"
That man stirs before the sun, dashing hopefulness,
Hopefulness that his son will grow, not just mature,
Mature into a man, who lugs his name,
Name engraved in sweat, not pursuing eminence.
Eminence never suckled the ardor of his soreness,
Soreness from scuffles tussled in quietness and pain,
Pain he credited so his child treasures concord,
Concord cleared through hurricanes, never ephemeral.
Ephemeral is the joy, but enduring is love,
Love that drains through detriment and scabs,
Scabs that murmur, “I bequeathed all I ensured,”
Ensured bravery enough to silhouette the celebrities.
Poem by Mugisho N.
Aroused with head of hair. O grizzly bear!
Awake! As fangs do sink into my neck.
Reward, if you...O king, my life will spare.
I gnaw my nails, depressed...for i’m a wreck.
Do you, O beast hear buzzing...wink. Oh honey!
You hear the slap of salmon steak, I think?!
For you the fields of sticky gold, like money,
And hallowed fish - right there! Look there! (I blink)
He scuffles off in search of prey. I hurry!
Make tracks before he snatches me for snack.
My tent long gone. I sigh. I see a flurry.
I’d like to catch a break. Just then...a smack.
Those lips are huge, the tongue so cruel. I growl.
Bereft, I sit within the creature’s bowel.
11/4/2017
Brian Strand Contest #360
Could beliefs be wrong
I've survived for too long
in a world full of conflicts,
wilting nascent innocence--
with venomous fearful experiences..
Broken dreams crawl to breathe
inflicted with harsh realities
unaware of masked conspiracies
in fiery oceans of betrayal,
now pound against my sanity
floating to silver stars--
they shiver to exist in probabilities..
Diminishing hopes entangled
in twisted vague ropes
digging deeper in graves
of deceased memories with pain,
now wander on ghostly roads
to bury my doubts in deserts--
they struggle to break free from paranoia..
Banished desires shriveled
in cobwebs of perturbed fate
drowning me in labyrinths
of mourning wails of apathy,
now stand valiantly in pain
to discard thorns of memories--
they peep to bloom on a sparkling dawn..
Dreams, desires, hopes
now faded pages in my book
rest in secret dreams
when my old soul knocks
on doors of crimson agony,
raging embers of morose scars
fester my wounds in tyranny,
blood red scuffles of anguish
drench my chapped lips to revive--
buried spears hurled at me..
I've walked an unrelenting journey
obliviating desolate scars
melting stormy whiplash
with exuberant hope of love.
I've vowed to discard that fragment
tossing my miserable frozen chunks
rolling forth with fervent streams
on midnight along a canopy
to fly afar and find my shore.
I've paid my last visit
to broken twigs of dissolving fears
begging for atonement in mercy
swooshing with cushions of dried leaves.
I've wiped the wailing stories
retreating into resurrection
soothing whispers healed my infliction
from hurricanes of exile.
I'm tired I'm tired
I need to move on
to disperse afar
like dandelion seeds.
Unshackled from your anchor
my ship in stormy seas
releases a victorious incandescence
manifested by shimmering strength
of the hurt you'd inflicted upon me..
August 6, 2020
INFLICTIONS Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
~Winner: 1st Place
In the evenings twilight gloaming
daytime changelings cease their roaming
place acorn hats upon their heads
lay down in hidden feather beds.
Some sleep while others shake in fear
as blackness comes so ever near,
and beasties you should never see
will search the night for me and thee.
Strange sounds break silence of the night
as darkness takes away your sight.
Scuffles, howls, a sickening moan;
echoes that chill you to the bone.
When, if you sleep, they stay with you
they live within you through and through;
the beasties you should never see
who search the night for me and thee.
The cockcrow is some distance yet
more demons you have not yet met.
Night seems much longer than a day;
that moment when the changelings play.
Is that the creaking of the stairs?
You quickly say your hasty prayers
that beasties you should never see
don’t search the night for me and thee.
When I first awake, I am a complete emotional blur,
unprepared for the day rhythm about to occur.
Before day unfolds, I need release trials my wake holds.
Being still, I focus until suppliant, in quiet, ever reliant.
In meditation, I block all false traps; with eyes shut,
palms up on lap, my breath grows a bright, loving light
and a beautiful, shiny white box comes into sight.
All not of truth ideal, goes in box, until concealed.
One by one, as I feel the light beam as a prayer,
all my concerns, each trouble and every care,
goes inside the glossy box until all is ensnared.
I see a lid placed and ribbons tied with flair.
Then I view loving, beautiful hands descend,
hands of more love than I can comprehend,
to take the box of my troubles and struggles
up, up and away to handle and favorably mend.
All I held is now heaven released and earth crumbled.
My peace now doubled, I am centered in joyous ways
and ready for the new day of tumbles and scuffles
to meet the joy in my smile and ease in my muscles.
... CayCay Jennings
January 1, 2018