i like to move it
so i can call it
my fazballs itch
it needs scritch
its now bleeding
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
my fazballs are now gone
There’s a faded blue tarp
On an old pile of wood
For a fireplace no longer used.
Though my hearing’s not sharp,
I thought maybe I could
Hear a strange sound that got me confused.
So I opened the door,
Seeing if I could find
If a creature was making that scritch
And before I looked more,
There to pay me no mind,
Was a squirrel, his jaws all a’twitch.
He was ripping at holes
In the tarp that he’d made
And from out of his mouth dangled blue.
Seemed that one of his goals,
If attention was paid,
Was a nest of that very same hue.
Now I’m searching the trees,
Gazing up through the leaves,
Trying hard to discover that nest.
So if anyone sees
Something that he perceives
As bizarre, he can let his mind rest.
The lily pad wanted to see some snow
She needed to travel, but where to go?
The mouth of the river had things to say
Beyond the green bridge, that is the way….
She was open to suggestions, of course.
A daughter of Zeus, niece of Thor, king of Norse
Pink sponge floated by and sprinkled on her ash
She jumped a bit, when a canoe gave a crash.
Scratch and scritch a path through the rubble
It is March, so you will not want any trouble
Or you will kill any outside chance
To cross the gully to play and dance
The lily pad listened to the frog named Paint
His eyes could pierce her soul, he liked her quaint
I want to see snow, she confided to this green man.
I am sure you can, he lied. I am sure you can.
It’s cold
It snowed
I shivered
I shoveled
A Solstice sun
Silently smirked
Iridescent icicles
Licked their lips
A crunch of crusted snow
Battled the scritch of shovels
Headless snowmen
Wandered in wonder
I shoveled
I shivered
It snowed
It’s cold
Recall language class?
All “onomatopoeia” -
Blah, scritch, creak, tick, ring!
Let them run free
these words
seeking escape
giddily chattering
scritch-scritch-scritching
in the idle emptiness
of a clear space
struggling for recognition
in a close order inspection
wary of the controls
of punctuation’s interruptions
Free them
Lest some “rooster” crow
“tain’t right”
They should sit
these words
in clustered pens
unheard unread unspoken
but for one
who marks his passing
with a trail of Free Range Verse
John g. Lawless
©1/25/2022
Thus in poetic reprimand
we slap each other – back of hand
while saying bully’s have no sand
proclaim ourselves to be so grand
that every scritch and scratch of ink
taints and colors what we think
a searching trail of blue-black blood
erased by anger’s swirling flood.
Then rises beauty’s Phoenix glow
to warm the fetid, frenzied flow
ease its passage, free the sage
allow the thoughts like wine to age
as wit and wisdom recombined
each scritch and scratch now redefined.
John G. Lawless
©12/3/2021
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
Is a mouse about?
I listen for the telling shriek.
Scritch-ing immediately stops.
I shut out the light, trying to get cozy in my bed.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
Who can sleep now?
Not me.
The Fruit of Disappointment
In my garden there is a tree that I planted when it was new,
It was just a tiny sapling then and grew and grew and grew.
But on this tree, although very high, of fruit there were far too few
'Till an ancient gardener spoke to me and told me what to do.
He said, “Find a nest of the Scritch Scratch bird and take a twig or two
And make a posset of Dwindle Weed and a pot of Norridge stew.”
I found Dwindle Weed and a Norridge Plant for the recipe he knew
And with the gathered twigs around the tree a circle I then drew.
Into the circle, as the old man told, the mixture I then threw.
“Now,” he said, “You must wait a year and there'll be fruit for you.”
“Fifty pounds is all I need, then I'll return when the fruit is due.”
No fruit set upon that tree and for many years was overdue.
The ancient gardener did not return and so I thought, “I'll sue.”
But the gardener was never found, or the fifty pounds I blew.
Barry Stebbings
29/10/16
Your scritchy scratchy beard
Scritch scratches against my sensitive neck
You breathed your hot breath against me
Blowing it in and out
while I read the paper in bed
Your head
Pillowed against me
I crained my neck to see
You snored and snorted
While I drank coffee blissfully
You can't say
months or years
w-/ out trying
to grasp the scale
of Time
involved.
Rubber bands
pinging off one
two three
kidneybean cans,
chosen simply for
occupation of space
line space,
imagery
in a cage. Thats
how I'll write
from now on
pacing the
paperbacked floor
fingernails my only fuel.
Scritch scratching down
the blackboard.
If only to make you
Flinch
Scritch scratch on the record pad
the mad scientist in his lab
expose explosive chemicals collab
evil genius is back in full throttle
full bottle drunk enough to waddle
Are you ready? 3 2 1 Break it down
simplify this is for the underground
stand back i know that your astounded
astrologically you will never follow me
im out of this world forever peace
next time you see me you better keep
to yourself or ill leap
all 17 feet and kick so sweet
youll fall on the street
im a mechanical animal astrall
So take my essence have it in full
Hrrrmmmmm
Uhhhhhhhhhh
Oooooooweee
Red ball tickling
Red ball tickling
Scratch scritch
Scritch scratch
Head lower
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Scritch scratch
Scratch scritch
Rolling ball
Rolling ball
Pat, pat, pat
Andhuuuurm
Mmmmuuuuu
Soft skin you
Love me alone.
Love me alone.
And let me out.
Please let me out.
Please.
The Homeless Poet
The Homeless Poet
scritch scratch erase ex ex ex delete
a megabyte of flowering words of expertise
great intolerable words of dissarray
dissing me in moments of clarity searching
for an more simple plan
Oh ewe eye have it now
once again a poem within a poem
Title: see tom
Author: CHARLAX
SEE tom run see tom run
See the bus run see tom
See tom run for the bus
See the bus run from tom
Tom is late for work anon
A moment of clarity on my way to the lieberry kudos to charlax and to Thomas
eye am just a homeless poet riding on the bus
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