Short Scruff Poems

Math is tough.
It plays rough -
take's no guff,
calls your bluff,
grabs your scruff.
Had enough?
It clocks you,
knocks you
On your duff....

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warm woodsy embrace
wildly intoxicating-
from beard scruff kisses


Submitted on 6/7/19 to Your choice (4), any form, any theme contest

Sponsor: Brian Strand...

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beyond and below
beneath the cosmic tide
I awoke today to see
with the sun above
my shadow held tight
for lack of shade
as I crawl beneath
remnant chaparral
with this desert scruff
I scrub my bones...

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My x-wife went on holiday
And unbeknown  to me,
She broke her ankle in a rankle
When she skied right up a tree.

Her first day back I said to her,
"Did you have a nice break?
She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck
And threw me in a lake....

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When you think of Aussieland, what's the last thing you think of
Did you say SNOW, to the head of the class, you smarty pants scruff
It's not the image
We see in the filmage
Nevertheless up in the mountains is no place for ducks...

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Ruffles the feathers
holds the scruff of the neck
resembles the raven
disguise imperfect
subjects favoured
unwisely project 
suspect flavour
returns the reject
correct behaviour 
or disrespect
what flies lands 
what lives dies
play your hand
calm and nice
avoid the stand
Do not go twice...

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that shimmering scruff
upon the fresh branches of spring
like fall, it catches the gaze

a riot of autumnal shades
subtly and truly elfin
sprinkle the earth with gems

until late May, days scour
with their broad broom
greenery all across the globe

Written: May 12, 2023...

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BRING IT ON

Bring your unreachable,
Bring your difficult,
I am tough,
Bring your burdens,
Bring your depressed, 
I’ve gone through rough,
Bring your exhausting,
Bring your untouchable,
Know all that stuff,
Bring your unorthodox,
Bring your unspeakable,
Bring on the powerful,
I’ll call their bluff,
Will take them by the scruff,
For I have had enough!...

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Bastet
crouches in
dimly lit corridors
of the Egyptian temple
Her marble black skin
shimmering pools
incandescent green orbs
lit with altar fire
Feline Goddess
of the Nile
carries a kitten
by the scruff
gently she lowers
the newborn bundle
of fluffy joy
on our doorstep
Baby Rama
He who brings
enduring bliss
Galaxies
and all the Cosmos
reflected in his
sweet eyes...

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Bluebell woods was the place to be on a frosty morn,
but quick enough I was not, as the woodcutter caught me
by the scruff.
Found the rabbits in my pack was told next time,
he would cleave me with his axe.

A while later I came across his daughter, I took her down by the lake
again and again
Nine months past and a bundle of joy,
was how I fixed the woodcutter and his daughter...

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They start at dawn, and go until eve.
Working all day long, 
They bring furniture into homes.
Firewood into our burners.

They’re faces rough with scruff, 
touch of dirt, with dust in hair.

Plaid and jeans to cover their skin,
Boots made of leather to cover the toe.
Wearing these things to keep warm from the chilling weather.
By their side carrying cold heavy wood sword of steel....

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the ever helpful angels,
we meet along the way,
ones who will pick you up,
till you are happy, bloody aye,

boot the black dog up the Kyber pass,
and the mongrel whines away,
depression knocked off, on its asss,
when the angel comes your way,

take the world by scruff,
 yer tough enough,
be happy bloody aye,
let the inner spirit shine, plum duff,
is all that johnson says...

Don Johnson...

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The Squirrel
Agile, gray-brown fluff
 burying acorns in the yarded scruff,
future mighty oak spawned nests of hope
 stretched out branch trapezed along a tightrope,
chatter banter circular frolicking unfaint
 tail challenge waving screech complaints,
acrobatic voyeur of the crowned aerial topography
 where forest backwood wilderness rise with progeny,
to accommodate and nurture eagle wannabes....

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Where would I end up and what would I do
if I clicked up my heels and relaxed?
I'd let Aslan lick me and 
grabbed by the scruff of my neck
I'd fly with Tinkerbell and Alice Cooper 
battily blooming like Asimov's universes flaming the tongues
of the misbegotten and the 
misbecomed winding up in my own bed comforted.
Yep.
That's where I'd end up and that's what I'd do if I relaxed and
clicked up my heels.
---
"Close your eyes and click your heels"
by Nancy Jones...

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I’m not a shrinking violet
Who is happy to 
Just fade and disappear,
I want to take the world
By the scruff of the neck
And let it know I’m here. 

I refuse to be restricted
By physical boundaries,
I want to spread my wings,
I’m not content that my
Heart is merely beating,
I won’t be happy until it sings. 

In planetary terms
Our lives are the mere
Blink of an eye,
I want my life to be a meteor shower,
Not just a wisp of smoke
In the evening sky.

...

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I 
wonder. . . 
when I see
my lovely cats,
one licking at the
other’s scruff, as if she
were engrossed in an act of
singular devotion. . . how it
is that I, who feed them, cannot get 
a one of them to give a darn for me!*

*Note: I was not able to find a very good 
replacement for my beloved Callie Cat, 
who died three years ago of cancer. The 
two cats I now have are ok, but nobody can even see
them because they hide from strangers and
rarely wish to be held!...

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