Four little dirty kittens came to the house of the queen
The queen of nothing except prissiness and being clean.
My mother acted like they were dirty little scrawny rats
She held them by their scruffs as if they were China bats.
We followed the queen into the bathroom with a tub.
She proceeded to plunk them in without a bit of grub.
Should we not have fed them first? My brother said.
She gave him a look that made him wish he was dead.
The mewing was loud as she scrubbed them down and hard.
Sorry, I apologized, as they were rubbed with a weird lard.
Now we will feed the little mousers, my mother said, and she frowned.
Not the kind of woman to keep rodents, skeletons or cats around.
We found them homes in an amazingly crazy short time.
She had put them on the internet, and they did truly look fine.
I was sorry to see them go but I was told by cat name of Jelly Bean,
They were tremendously relieved to get away from this queen of clean.
Categories:
scruffs, cat, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
The ravens come
in a flock of dark winged hums,
rushing spatter of clustered migrations done
hanging on the weather fluctuations spun/
Black and bold ebony swarthy struts
large bodies birded scruffs,
scavengers of leftover seeds, treats and nuts
bantering loud and indiscreet sound cuts.
Field strewn emerging caws
hover in the trees with pointed claws
resounding distant screeching over all
yielding to the darkness as it falls.
Poe heard their resonating scratch
upon the ear's distinctive latch
and in his horror wrote the poem to match
life's breath and heartbeat snatched.
Whispering a silence longed for
he marked and recorded every score
for you and me the reader's very core
he quoth the ravens never more.
Categories:
scruffs, allusion,
Form: Rhyme
No need to brag when you're writing great stuff
It's obvious to all, you're a cut above the scruffs
The ones who pretend
To be poets, they offend
But I still remain humble as diamond in the rough
Categories:
scruffs, appreciation,
Form: Limerick
Hell you say
So tell me really where is hell
Shall I, should I maybe tell
Things are rough in your perambulator
From time of birth, nips like a Gator
At 2 I’d lurk under a shack
Me and the pig were hard to track
A small boy tried to poke my eyes out
Pointy scissors had the lout
His momma ordered the attack
He jabbed and poked
But me pig fought back
Much squealing from me one true mate
The pig and I made our escape
Bully’s bashed me at the school
Dad taught me fisticuffs
At 6 straight lefts, and it was cool
I hammered a few scruffs.
Subtle hell is here with us
The preacher doesn’t know it
Crap gets a little deeper plus
Location, the suffering bit
Don Johnson
Categories:
scruffs, adventureme, me,
Form: Rhyme