Scratching Poems

Moving what I like

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

Scratching Fanny in Cock Lane A true tale

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

German Shepherds Curse

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

Share a Scratching-Post Day

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

Scratching At My Back

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

Scratching Your Neck With a Knife

[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

Scratching On the Subway

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

Scratching Itchy Wall's- -

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

Catfucious 6

I skiddle down the hardwood hall;

Scratching, sliding, bump and fall.


                         Your floors???!!!

If It Bleeds After Scratching It

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

Unsatisfied Scratching

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

The Cat

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

Scratching At My Soul

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

Police Scratching Head

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

Scratching Sad Poetry

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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