Scuffs Poems | Examples

The Black Box

The Black Box

They came to the house 
for the wrong reason. 
In the end…
They didn’t care, 
any address would do, 
as long as the reports were made, 
and the numbers taken down
before the beginning of the next shift. 

They came, 
and they tested
and then they required adherence to the law. 
What law? 
The one law they painted into place for us… 
from our lost imaginings, 
and faith spent wrongly. 

Together, trapped in the moment, 
a single instance in time
that refused to pass to the next. 
Nice words…  
are echoed, 
as if sung loudly in a cave, 
dark with shadow, 
and then immediately swallowed up…
in silence. 

Fights, lessons in public places. 
Brawls and beatings to show control, 
where there is none… 
and never will be. 

Scuffs at first, 
then real marks are ground onto
and then into  the surface. 
Marred deeply… 
Becoming part of solid stone,
which will show
again with each days passing, 
into forever. 

“Ask yourself..., Who are the speaking about?”

The Ward Nurse Has A Wooden Leg

scuffs in the pearl white floor 
	when she leaves the room, 
for empty hospital hallway memories, 
	haze of sterile gloom

like snails, the chronic men 
	each slowly wear away, 
their minds left to trail behind them,
	their faces falling into decay

the grey walls with snake green stripes 
	always constricting them,
the dim fluorescent flicker of the fate 
	to which they have been condemned.

Birthmarks

Birthmarks,
unique identifying signs,
cover our walls.
Scuffs, scars, scribbles,
fingerprints, nicks.
Randomly appearing after
marking the birth of our son.
Would I trade those pocked surfaces
for pristine blank spaces?
No. The memories of that little boy
becoming a young man is the story
those walls tell.
A narrative in which “The End” came too soon.
Deathmarks? No one talks about them.

Brother Being

Massage my back and slit my throat
As I moan and squeal with warm waves
Fuel and thanks
Wash me down in an oak casket before he leaves
Preparation unlocked as bloated juice shoots out in perfection with flaws
As galaxies unite exploding in a blinding spectacle 
Encore 
To tales of grooming and pest control presented in a soothing sonnet 
While the grasshoppers compete In laughing lively entertainment for all
Bumps, scuffs and earth as we forget those at rest.
Lost in play, caught in the net
Sunny side up as majestic white plays the baby's lullaby
Easy now 
Rock me
Easy
Stroke the confusion and distortion
While Heaven's harmony clashes with trauma
Memories of happy times sit discarded on the concrete
With comrades staining our society as connections disconnect 
I remember
Laughter
Noise
Though I am distant as I count the cost and cut through the fog
The horn sounds and I'm steering blindly through the haze
As records descend into the abyss the truth of this story never to be told

War Stories

If these shoes could talk 
tell tales of the knots and scuffs, 
Endless war stories.

A Storm Rushes In

A crocodile-hide sunset,
a ferrous squall;
somethings boiling up there.

Storm gulls
beat mosquito clouds away
as they flee.

Ten wild horses corralled in a dumpster
hammer my fearless heart.

An anemic sky gulps for breath
near or far
a brawling trample scuffs the earth. 

The dimming light drips strings 
of gelid spittle.
Vaporous stalactites shred an acrid air.

Now a ferrous rain cuffs and pelts.
I hide my face from its eyes,
follow a screaming ghost
into the house.

Yonder

Yonder there, where twig figures bend
and blink out as a sea-swell slugs the beach,
there the netted thrash, then hauled, toggled and pinched
yet more, into a gill-snagging catch.

Far away a village rests, submerged
beneath a mossy night, yet some prowl out
seeking ways to scrub a bare-knuckled living,
some to find a new prayer in the restless surf.

There a woman in denim is digging for clams,
I trudge upon a leaky flow to edge near,
to see her blue buckets mouth, its salty slosh,
to tell her I laud her rooting stick, the prod and scoop
of her delving hands.

Here by the spume, a spotty dog runs and scuffs tidal pools, 
it scampers between weedy humps, a tangle of sea-scupper;
nose snuffling a tangy furrow in the sandy smaze.

Now the dawn sky breaks apart above and below,
let’s slip a far-off world as yet unmade.
Near or far seem only a fingerprint of wind and light,
a painted wave for distant viewing – 
always a yonder truth
on the margins of nil and naught.

Pressure Induced Rant

I'm more than half way to the gates
or so the statistics fancy to say.
Seen a lot but need to see a lot more
haven't suffered or laughed enough
need a few more scuffs and scars
need to grow up but I'm trending down
need to hide pain and struggle gracefully
strengthen the weaknesses-maintain the strengths.
Though I don't have enough mental mortar.
need to toss these streaks of jealousy in the pit
need to pare down that gigantic bucket list
reach a couple of goals-go for one last blitz.
but I'm running low on energy and time
where are those auxiliary tanks of fuel and time
I need to pray more?
have I done enough for family-friends
need to pray more
have I done enough for god
need to be more humble
have I done enough for myself.
I've got to do more for others
to help them reach their goals
but what about mine
i'm running low on fuel and time
I've got to stop whining.
be a man-struggle in silence
The universe is 14 billion years old
I have to iron all this mess out 
in 73 years or so. 
That's a lot to ask of a man
who's having short term memory lapses
I need to pray for others more-and mean it

What a Tale I'D Tell

If I could just use my tongue, oh what a tale I'd tell
   One filled with your neglect, that's made my life hell

You've worn me out; you've filled me with holes
   There's a gash in my side; nails stick out of my soles

You get me all dirty; then you throw me around
   You flood me with rain; I'm so damp I could drown

When you take me off, you toss me aside
   Are you ashamed of me?  Should I run and hide?

Well, I shall get even with you, my ex-friend
   I'll pinch you in the sides, in the front, in the end

When you need me to shine for a special affair
   I'll show all my scuffs and scratches, you'd better beware

And if you go to get new shoes, that'll be your death knell
   No one'll sell you a pair, the way your feet will smell

Footprints - Indelible Stamps

Footprints in sand, indelible till the tide comes in,
reliable impressions, etched, embedded, enveloped 
to form an album of traces:
crab hole excavations,
scurries of hurrying birds,
seaweed twirls wind-driven in curls,
tiny sand flea hop-craters,
crab claw side-step shuffles,
drift-wood scuffs and scuppers
remnants of tidal riffles and ruffles,
snap-shots of scrapes, stomps, scats and scars.

Footprints like graffiti deface the awe of seascape shore
with a mushyheaded mishmash of double-exposed impressions.

My Western Star

We had a few puffs 
and had a few scuffs
drank wine and some beer
listened to the old songs 
sittin' in the new Fongs
on across the road from the TC Square

I had an old truck all patched up with luck
destination Bay de Verde
logged off for the night
breakfast at first light
listening to songs of birds


Before hittin' the road I checked the load
the shrimp are like cold hard cash
when we left the old town
I had to gear her down
because the Jake brake was taped to the dash

into the morning sun we had become
Snow Crab headed for stores
you know who we are
me and my Western Star
gearing up for our long journey home

Sea food! 
food from the sea
truckin' along ! 
you won't catch me
I'm haulin' shrimp
we are carrying ice
watch out for the water
cause it don't smell nice!

The Ballad of Connie Marcum Wong

An idiom by which she's always stuck
is 'having one's head buried in a book'
The truth behind it, she was unprepared
that morning as she went to climb the stairs.
Stopping to lift a bottle, bad mistake
especially when one isn't quite awake
her balance gone, could not control herself
now plunging headlong into the book shelf.
Bruised head, bruised knees,bruised pride was quite enough,
thankfully, make-up would disguise the scuffs.
But then she only went and made it worse
by saying that it would make a good verse.

Hopefully next time she will be wiser
and not tell me, but tell 'Trip Advisor'

29th August 2016
With love, Connie, from Viv x

Rubies In a Bird

A campaign for a bloody jewel!
The gold is in mine insides. Dig through if the greed
So eats you, so seduces you.

Do not fear me for risk of dirty hands; 
If you are afraid of the conspicuous coal-scuffs that would be,
here are gloves.
I pieced them over months of lambs I loved.
The ultimate communion in honor of all-others.

It so bothers the wolves, to be silent - 
They prefer a singing prey which will narrate its own death
As a loving manuscript, a classic opera!
And the fall of a wailing Athena, to please the 
Witch-burning crowds, chewing their cinnamon

But, I never have screamed. My chords a botched surgery
To fix the brain which resides in a concrete block, to chisel out
A fossil that has ever only frustrated.

I flee to some yolk-soaked desert that coats me like crumbs
As I tumble, run, purposed to be devoured by bronze brazen waves
With faces, they.
I am some sought treasure, 
A wedding ring plucked from a pheasant's wing
And set aside in a pearled bowl while the bird is consumed
As Sunday's supper. 
A life a-chase, a slack-handed clock's base.
It is to be a pigeon stuffed to brim 
With aging jade.

Notice

No ball games, keep out, no access
	and please keep off the grass,
	restricted zone, no entry here unless you show your pass.
	Stay clear, don't go beyond this point,
	warning! Electric fence!
	(you could tell by the transformer-
	 unless of course, you're dense).
	Remember childhood playing outside, all
	bumps and scrapes and scuffs?
	You lived by using common sense, and if
	you didn't- tough.
	Public information films said don't go
	flying kites near pylons, swim in
	quarry lakes, in case the foolish might.
	But now we're wrapped in cotton wool
	and everyone's just fine
	but freedom's being washed away- 
	if you can see the signs.............

Shoes

They are friends to my feet; I hold them dear.
I wear them with pride and a far-away smile.
Mother gave them to me but made it clear
I was to be a gentleman all the while.

Mother's love moves each leathered step.
Her presence is plain as was the grey in her hair.
In time I learned Mother was unusually adept
At giving gifts showing the depth of her care.

The shoes are symbolic of Mother's decency,
So I treat scuffs as wounds she's having to bear.
She died years ago, but is with me frequently.
Thank God for the shoes she blessed me to wear.

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