Scratching Poems - Poems about Scratching

Fabrics are sown So eyes are drawn to quieter things Softer Scratching isn’t as unbearable as screaming I wield control to my ears Over the entry of theirs too Better than taps Pressure, expected, Is not that intense Leaning, relying, assisting Mostly whispers cannot escape me My ears with a constant ache My head tries to convey my heart Yet they say I cannot expel it to the...

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Scratching Fanny in Cock Lane, a true tale The year1762 a tale of murder or mystery they boast A teenage girl, a drunken parish clerk, and maybe even a ghost About hordes of aristocrats and wealthy men assembling Crowds rivalling Covent Garden, Theatres were now descending To a house near St Paul’s on a road named Cock Lane Although...

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The battle starts everyday His itch will not go away Scratch and scratch is all he does I yell to stop from above Itching and biting evermore Skin covered in sores Itching continuously grows When it stops nobody knows As I wish it to stop Redness, allergies, and hot spots Going, going, non-stop Trying to reach the itch up top Off to the vet we go Hoping to...

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for...whatever bugs you...eh?! t.v as...this 'or'...that 'oar' with only...just a sensed-sore of a hint of... a real...sense-'ore' for understanding that time is...natures imbalance... a flow of...mental prism shadows that demand a...neutral stance being that... strength is...a sense of balance...not muscle stans sand...

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When I look in the mirror, that's just not what I wanna be, that's just not me. Why do I feel this way, take away this aching pain. I'm lost, I'm lost and I want to be found, I'm drowning in this shallow ground. Can this bottle numb the pain cause I don't know how much...

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[a hard truth people ] but you can't reason with those who rape and stone women to death treat them like cattle on a regular basis cut hands from youth for simple theft toss gay people from roof tops and laugh you can't trust those who build from the bones of Cordoba or the flesh of New York...

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Have an itch in a naughty place Should you scratch on the subway or while you shave Could be dangerous Singing in a church chorus Or during a romantic setting as you romantically gaze...

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So inviting of the scratchings on the wall Hang gliding fingernails scraping you can hear the noise Screeching and crunching Cringing face smudging ears popping Consciousness wondering when will it be stopping Porous walls Scratching itching claws...

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I skiddle down the hardwood hall; Scratching, sliding, bump and fall. Your floors???!!!...

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If It Bleeds After Scratching It If it bleeds after scratching it, then you went too far. I see a parade of dead people walking by me in this old dream. They are eating bananas and I recognize their faces as friends, I hear their familiar voices, and I wish I can talk to them again. Then, as if a...

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The scratching wakes me up Ridiculously unsatisfying Yet notoriously put there by shingles Or excruciatingly painful allergen. A scream for help Time is in my way Sorry I sid not sneak my Excedrin pm into hospital Morphine is not cutting it. Each time more insistent On a more potent drug...

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The Cat ??Licking, Licking? Grooming himself ?Licking licking ?Scratching himself ?Licking licking? Pampering himself ?Licking, Licking ?Biting Himself? Yeah, How Gorgeous!? All curled Up? On the purple velvety mink blanket...

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It had to be a dream But so, so real It did seem And it did feel Like everything in sight Had it's own appeal Oh how bright Was the black Of the night Then the attack From all around Front and back Unbelievable was the sound Of pain's own cry Even through the ground Fight or fly No! run and hide Stay and die Not hard to decide It seems to be everywhere Escape...

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Through the glass I spied an old man And he’s reading his text With no care and I’m vexed A long letter...what’s next? Origami folds into fan… 8/27/2018 ABBBA - Mad-Song Stanza/Quintain...

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His words, once a celebration of love, poetic affection, written from the deepest part of his heart for her, are now nothing more than creased and torn pages of empty verses shoved in the back pocket of his worn out jeans Ink bleeding between the lines of a man who believed he mattered, only to find that he is as insignificant as his writings, a forgotten poet, a dried up pen...

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