"scruff" poems
Once upon a winters eve, there was a young little fox. As she played around in the forest and snowy plains she kept trying to walk along the thick snowbanks. But she always seemed to fall into the snow. In the distance there was a older, but still young, snow leopard, watching and giggling as the little fox kept falling through. The snow leopard decided to get up and walk closer to the fox and softly he said with a happy laugh, "so what are you trying to accomplish?"The little fox looked up at the leopard with an annoyed looked as she poutingly explained, "The snow is to high and I am to small, and I can't seem to walk on top of it." She then sighed softly. The snow leopard laughed and smiled, "You can't just jump on it then. You can't try to walk on it," the leopard said with a grin. The little fox looked up at him in befuddlement with her bright blue eyes. The leopard slowly walked around the snow hole she was in and proceeded to explain, "You have to let it lift you," he smiled, picking her up by the scruff carefully, takeing her out of the hole and softly placing her on a less deep part of the snow bank, "Only when you understand this, may you be able to walk atop the snow."The little fox was still confused but was willing to learn, "What do you mean 'let it lift you'?" the little fox asked. The leopard smiled and lay on the snow, sticking his paws into the snow, "Every flake, like us, is different. Each one being different gives it it's own type of life, melting fast, or melting slow. Sticking firm, or lightly." he then softly blows the snow off his paws into her direction, "You have to let life of each of the snow flake be as unique as your life is and let it lift you. Let them lift you, as if it they were trying to show you somewhere new, to bring you places." He got up and started walking off atop of the snow, but then stopped and turning around and said with a big smile "Now do you see?" The little fox was still kinda confused, but when she looked at the beautiful snow, and saw each snowflake, a different shape, a different size, she smiled and believed what he said. The little fox looked back up at the leopard and softly placed her paw down on the snow before she said to him softly, "I think I get it..." She was afraid but she slowly started walking on top of the snow, step by step, not looking down, But looking to the leopard as she got closer to him. The leopard with a happy laugh, smiled and congratulated her, "There you go. Like a natural." The little fox smiled brightly and ran up to the snow leopard happily and excitedly asking him, "What can you teach me next?"The leopard laughed and patted her head with his paw. "My my, Looks like I have a little apprentice" the leopard said with a smirk, "We shall see where the wind and sun takes us and what lessons we have to learn as the days go on," the leopard said as they both started walking out into the setting sunlight.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
The snow leopard and the little fox were sound asleep. The leopard curled up around the young fox keeping them both warm in the cold weather. As the sun started to arise the leopard awoke from his slumber. He then softly pat his little young fox apprentice's head, "Wake up little one. A new day awaits us," he said with a smile as he stood on all fours and stretched out his back. The little fox grunted and yawned "It's too early," she whined as she curled up tighter, "The sun isn't even fully up in the sky yet" was her rebuttal to his awakening. The leopard took her by the scruff and softly tossed her into the snow covered field. "Ahhh!~Ooof." The little fox yelled as she tumbled into the snow. "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm, the early cat catches the bird." The leopard laughed slightly as he spoke, watching the little fox stand up all covered in fresh snow from last nights fall. "Well what's that have to do with me?!?" the fox shouted slightly, being slightly agitated about him tossing her. The leopard smirked as he walked by her and pat her head again, dusting off the snow, "It has everything to do with you, it has everything to do with everyone. It means the sooner you wake the more you can do. The more time you have in the day to do what you want," the leopard exclaimed with pride and excitement in his voice, "Do you ever ask yourself why there is so much left you want to do by the end of the day but just didn't have enough time? Well this helps you get more done. It gives you more time." The little fox tilted her head slightly to he side and looked down a bit, "I guess you are right," she said softly. Not knowing what else to say, she stood up and shook the snow off of herself then rush over to the leopard. "So what lesson will I learn today?" she asked eagerly. The leopard smiled as they started walking, "Didn't you just learn something?" he said as he raised an eyebrow. The little fox giggled softly and started pouncing around him laughing happily and saying "Well yea. But I want to learn more." The leopard laughed and looked to her, "Slow and steady wins the race little one. Slow and steady. we will find something for me to teach you, or for us to learn, as time goes on." he said softly but wisely as they kept walking into the woods, away from the sunrise.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break
The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired
The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife
The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
for my mother
the lioness is both a fierce protector
and a gentle nurturer
nothing escapes the gaze of her amber eyes
but she seldom feels the need to roar
she hunts with unmatched precision
but still has the patience to teach, and work with others
she understands her role in her pride
but is never proud
she possesses unparalleled strength
as well as the wisdom to know when to use it
she won't hesitate to grab her cub by the scruff of its neck
to keep it out of harms way
she is more than capable of working alone
but understands the importance of community
she never loses her spirit of playfulness
and her primary habitat is in the grasslands of Africa
but there are some things about the lioness
that you can't learn about by reading
she will wait up for you, when you're out past curfew
just to make sure that you get home safely
she will always be a listening ear
but she will never judge you
she loves others without condition
but knows better than to feel before she thinks
she will encourage you ceaselessly
and tell you you're more than good enough
this lioness, of which i speak
has not claws, nor tail, nor fangs, nor paws
but she is far more powerful
than any jungle cat could ever hope to be
- m.f.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Just like Orpheus,
I descended.
Though,
my digression was
for different
reasons.
Yeah, I tried to
rescue you from
your hell.
Bring you out of
the degradation,
the debauchery.
It smelled like
***** and ****
The swine squealed.
The harpies shrieked.
And,
I looked
too long.
I became you.
Thank God I escaped.
Fate dragged me
out by the scruff
of my neck.
I will never
visit your
underworld
again.
You've made it
your home.
Mar 25, 2023
Mar 25, 2023 at 2:00 PM UTC
I'm GAY
I like boys
I love holding hands with him
Feeling his warm embrace
I love the feeling when I am with him
Watching the sunset together
I'm GAY
Dancing, Laughing, and Playing
Running my hand through his hair
Tasting his lips against mine
Feeling the scruff of his beard
I'm GAY
The feeling in his arms embrace
Whispering secrets to each other
Making plans for the future together
Dancing till the sun rises
Laying in the grass staring up at the stars
I'm GAY
Waiting to be equals
Standing under the rainbow flag
Kissing under the rainbow
Holding his hand walking into a unclear future
I'm GAY
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
You can spend years, tears, and fights in unmatched white sheets of your dreams. Or rattle in an train to Istanbul, under their arm.
His curls smell like sweat and he tastes like sweet, touched with hair and a scruff of a beard. He mingles Arabic, English, and French and you feel obsolete.
But do not fall in love with a boy from Lebanon
because sooner or later he will me gone.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
Baby soft scruff
Eyes, pacific and sultry
Sly yet honest
Childlike and sensual
Witty and innocent
Bring forth the animal
The infectious mischief
The ***** rhythms in darkened rooms
The stolen moments in Lower West Side alleyways
Long, piercing looks over a bottle of Dal Forno Amarone
Savage concupiscence
Your eyes suggesting the next move
Bodies entwined in the back of a cab
At the bridge and we walk across
And I indulge in your juxtapositions
All the way to Brooklyn
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:39 PM UTC
I see you from across the room.
It’s impossible not to,
I have to look through you,
To see out the window
You don’t look as good tonight,
As his words might lead us to believe.
Good enough for him.
Good enough to write about.
He salivates over you,
Like I might over a steak.
Like you are over the poem he reads.
I may have lost you over this one.
Because he is tender.
Because he wrote one good poem.
Because he might kiss the same way he *****
**** the same way he would,
Put his thinly pursed lips,
On the curve of your neck.
But he wouldn’t appreciate your neck.
Like
I do.
He might not be spitty
Chapped from years of rejection.
I stare at your neck
I’m sorry if I stare.
I need to see out the window,
During this three hour class,
To know the world is still there.
He doesn’t know your feet.
And if he did **** you,
With your socks on or off.
He never felt the abrasion,
Of your well-earned calluses.
You always feel the scruff of my chin,
On your neck.
The neck he will never know.
**** me on my bed.
Bleed on my hard-wood floor.
Let’s get out of this place,
This three-room mansion.
We’re either better than this, or,
I am delusional.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 7:22 PM UTC
We are taught to write neatly
but how can I deny what you write so deeply?
With your scruff and ease,
that no one else sees
but me.
I feel honoured to decipher
what's laid before me.
A survivor
a desire
a provider
a divider
a whirlwind of fiction
all balanced in the depiction
your ink puts to pages
and pages of this contagious
frenzy we call "writing"
and now I'm squirming and writhing
in the itch to just
pick up a pen
and not care about handwriting.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
We walked in together and from that moment on,
I watched the way your eyes traced each line in each portrait.
Arms stiffened in the pockets of your tight, but not too tight jeans,
I wondered what it would be like to kiss you.
In an art museum I'd never been to,
you were the most beautiful piece in the room.
I couldn't look away.
While most people take pictures of the paintings they love,
the sculptures that mesmerize them,
I turned my focus to those carolina blue eyes as they focused on the art.
I traced your jawline in my mind,
and I tried to count each hair in your ****** scruff.
I wondered who was responsible for such an incredible work,
who could have created such beauty,
and how I came so lucky to witness it.
At least a thousand other people were in the museum
yet I felt as though it was only you.
You seemingly perfect human being,
your elegantly disheveled hair,
your tired yet lively eyes.
I want to create something with you.
I want to make art so beautiful it radiates,
I want to love you so purely it never ends.
You stopped to get gas on the way back.
I stepped out of the car to take a mental picture of the way those iridescent lights hit your face,
and as I approached,
you kissed me.
This moment was a masterpiece,
the world should have counted my heartbeats.
We broke the kiss and headed home.
I held your hand the whole way.
I have loved art my entire life,
but have never come across
beauty as pure as
you.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 3:32 PM UTC
Cups of coffee and plates with sugar crumbs
from pastry warm with cinnamon and cardamom,
and books overturned on antique tables
with scruff marks and scratches, loved, well-used,
(and me, in the middle of it all, listening to the
heartbeat of this country and its sincerity,
learning wisdom through small things).
He is a six foot springtide of caffeine and literature,
effervescent with sincerity and kindness and warmth.
I smile at him over the rim of my cup, and
suddenly I am swept up and moving with
his current, in love with him and a summer
spent scribbling into casebound notebooks
and with my hair flying in the wind that rustles
the trees around us, and with his lips on my neck.
Wild roses on brick walls and wooden window frames,
and the lavender growing on the curb all smile,
content to witness summer love bloom like
all things tend to do, in this season and this place.
I let him explain to me the stars in nights that
never seem to really begin but last forever;
he teaches me in not-quite darkness what
they mean, and I tell him under fairy-lights
how small I feel in the multitude of this universe.
He nods solemnly and I feel his breath in my hair,
holding me on this earth as he shows me galaxies.
- lund. cs.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
He said he loves scary **** so I took out a 7 inch buck knife, made in 1972, and I grabbed his wife by the scruff of her neck. I slowly cut his wife's throat from one ear, to the other. The sounds echoed in the modest home, and her blood sprayed all over his scared face. He died of a heart attack within minutes. At least he died doing something he loves...being scared...sorry he couldn't enjoy it longer
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 4:16 PM UTC
*"A lightning flash... then night! Fleeting beauty
By whose glance I was suddenly reborn,
Will I see you no more before eternity?”*
-Charles Baudelaire, "To a Passerby"
The material of the scene burns and
grays, burns and grays in my mind:
City soot in the frost. Cracked plastic.
Broken glass. Cheek creases where you
said your name. Salt stains on a denim cuff.
Scruff. Tartan scarf. Navy wool. Feather
down, laces, leggings, a buckle. Teeth,
fleece, a crumpled hotel matchbook.
No heat lamp here, where we wait and
meet, wait and meet on the windiest
night. Would you scoff if I said
"Love is two strangers trading fire.”
Smaller matter, now, an Altoid tin of
cherished ashes. I have it, and it murmurs
your lines to me, when I crave that kind of burn.
A familiar ice cube down the back of the neck.
These thoughts have sunken—a bag of pennies
in my gut like a phantom step on a dark staircase,
or the imitation of death in a dream.
Saying something about the lateness of the 16,
You cupped your hand, to shelter the flame.
I try to remember the melody.
The harp strings at the nape of
my neck sang mid-shiver, and you
said something else, which I couldn’t
hear over the choir under my hat.
This missing line is my mind’s one
sound conception of Infinity.
And that’s enough for flint.
A lightning flash…then night!
A flame frustratingly lit, but profoundly felt.
A gasp, a gust like a god's grace, like a song.
Like just enough time for a quick addict’s fix,
like the length of a single, ****** matchstick.
Will I see you no more before eternity?
And do you by chance have a light?
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Loud noises set me off
It's like they ricochet across the room
Echoing off of every single surface
And end by stabbing all the nerves in my body
I try to keep calm through them
But my emotions skip the step
Where my body warns me I'm upset
And suddenly I'm yelling at my cat
Or grabbing him by the scruff
All because he repeatedly paws at his food dish
And I can't handle the sound of the ceramic
As it clangs against the hardwood floor
And just as suddenly as I yelled
An intense hatred toward myself arises
Choking out all of my energy
I collapse back on my bed and wish I were dead
Until the noise starts again
And I'm back to seeing red
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC
She grabbed me by the scruff of the beard,
And said, “You gorgeous man, you!”
I watched as she expressed herself,
All busy hands and ******* in the late spring cold.
All silver love and confidence,
with her secret, seducing soul.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Therein lies the fur, filled with running wind,
Milkweed in the scruff, the scent of wild-wood,
Some mystery-hearted forest where pulse begins.
Therein lies the Centaur, satyr, and god-disguised swan,
Ageless wonders prowled upon by an age-old Parthenon.
You broke your wolf’s tooth through those haunches of lore.
Therein lies the fur, filled with barking dust and dandelion war,
With a spine that stretched back to the she-wolf and city-birth,
The peeled nerve of a howl once tremored your Aurelian lips.
Therein lies the serf, hunter, fairer hand, and lord,
From wattles and daub, the wandering-sands of Saracen, or Crusader’s moor.
You kept the path beside to remind that instinct shines as the holiest earth.
Therein lies the fur, the warm, ungovernable peasant of sleep,
Ever prophetic in your skies by eyeshut-trace of the hunting moon,
Twitching at the day’s thousand faces, all asleep in themselves.
Therein lies the soldier, nurse, chaplain, and fell-prayer,
Mange-like war is the whimpering season with its flea-bitten welts of stars.
You struck blind but true at the throat of gas-hissing war.
Therein lies the fur, outracing the rain and the spout,
Nested with more birds and Autumn song than rain,
Your sleeping ear pooled like cool eaves of the barn.
I sing once more like a boy into your unfolded ear.
Listen always for my ancient, choral voice and your chores of play,
And race earback to the sun in the belly-grass of your free-eyed fields.
Leave your last paw mark, torn on the red clay of my hand.
You are forever wrapped in human touch, ageless and aged,
And if ever the dark in madder darkness encroaches,
Leave black eternity to my faithful eyes.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC
-
#1
holy **** i am really drunk
accidentally slammed three beers
pretending that the neck of the bottle
was your lips
#2
part of me wanted to text you
staring up into the sky
praying that the stars would swallow me
and my fingers itched to type out
so many things that i would regret
in the morning
#3
and i imagined telling you
confessions of how i felt
and i imagined that little cursor
blinking back at me like so much
apathy and words swallowed
over and again
#4
and i have kissed
my fair share of people
with lips male and female
with faces smooth and some scruff
or a full beard that i envied
but girls have the softest lips
always have
#5
i wondered what it would be like
to kiss you then
holding your body to mine
hoping you would forgive the splits
in my lip that anxiety helped me put there
#6
a good describing word for how
i felt then with three beers and good food
making its home in my belly
would be “blissed”
i was blissed out on ***** and food
and my pining for you
#7
i am sober now
woke up earlier than i would have liked
but then again i fell asleep at 10:30pm
#8
and this thing i feel
it’s like a combination of regret
and disappointment in myself
for not just telling you how i feel
and for needing liquid courage
to get myself to that plateau
of spilling my guts or backing away
#9
and i have forgotten
what my favorite drink tastes like again
in favor of the words to describe
how kissing you for the first time
would surely feel
#10
and i have never felt fireworks
when kissing someone before
even the girl i thought i was gonna marry
and i’m not so young now
and a little bit more cynical
but i wanna feel those fireworks with you
and i still haven’t texted you
and i don’t know if i will
and i don’t know if i should
and i am sorry for being like this
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
“I want that one” I exclaim pointing to the unicorn on the bottom shelf. I choose this one because she seems sad because all she’s ever seen was peoples feet. I pick her because maybe no one else will buy her because she’s at the bottom shelf and taller people wont even see her. She is soft and white and has cotton candy pink horns, hooves and bows around her neck.
“It looks cross-eyed” my brother Charlie observes in a critical way that night at dinner. He’s just upset that he didn’t get to pick anything because it isn’t his birthday. It doesn’t matter though, the new member of my stuffed animal collection is named Sparkles, and nothing anyone says will change that she is my new best friend.
After dinner everyone goes to walk the dog and I bring Sparkles, because it would be silly to leave her home by herself. We drive down the road and pretend to have tea on the beach. To my happiness, everyone sits in a circle. Sipping on tea and complimenting each other on clothes we aren’t wearing, food we aren’t eating and things we didn’t do, I’m surprised that even Charlie is partaking. The sun begins to set and we begin to pack up, or rather my Mother and Father pack up while Charlie holds Sparkles by the scruff of her neck and threatens to throw her in the bushes.
“Sparkles is gonna get lost Em, too bad you cant catch me” he cries running towards the thick brambles.
“Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting her!” I screech after him, desperatly trying to overcome his head start. But i’m too late. By the time I get to him he is already preparing to throw her into the prickers.
“NO!” I yell as I watch Sparkles get launched into the 8 foot tall bush of thorns.
I shove Charlie into the bush, which results in cuts all up his arms and back.
“Emma,what are you doing?!” my parents exclaim coming at the sound of Charlies cries.
“He threw Sparkles”
“Thats never an excuse for pushing” they scold.
“But..Spark”
“No Emma, you should have thought of that, we have to go fix Charlie” im cut off
They don’t understand. Sparkles made it so that everyone drank tea together, and stood for the small things to be noticed. She was my best friend, we were both small things standing up to big people. Of course they don’t understand. Big people don’t know about small people problems, they only know about fixing what has been broken. I want to rewind to when we all were talking about the fantasies of castles and secret twin siblings, where we were all small people for a minute.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Curled up together
On your couch,
Our hands intertwined,
Our backs
Against the hollow hum
Of Halloween's breeze
Lingering through
Dancing drapes
With dizzy dips
Before the cracked-window audience,
And the sun playfully peaked
Over the graceful dying trees
That lined suburban streets,
Looming over pumpkin
Patterned leaves, basked in
The approaching gloom of
Dusk,
And while the night
Tied that present to this memory,
I remember the scruff of your
Auburn hair against my nose,
The bewitching draw of
Some vague fragrance
My addict lungs yearn to
Breath once more,
And now,
With each passing October,
Autumn leaves never seem more alluring.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
The young lady asked the Yeti
“What is your name…do you have one?” As the kissed.
While kissing, the Yeti said that he had no name. So the young lady
Massaging his chest gave him a name
Vajramrita… after the fierce deity
For he was a fierce lover.
He kissed her on the fore head.
Vajramrita and the young woman kissed
Their tounges me and dance erotically.
She sat on her lover while kisssing and rode him and rolled her hips.
He ****** with her ****** rhythms as they coupled.
Soon enough the Yeti got on top of his delecate lover.
He entered her and gently jumping
As if trying not to hurt her
The yeti thengot between her legs
She could feel his face bewteen her.
Then she felt his probing tounge.
He gently yet passionately kissed her womanhood
Again not to hurt her.
Even monsters need love and defection.
The young woman stroked his head and he looked at her.
She took him my the scruff and pulled his head closer to her
And kissed him. As they kissed monster and human explore eachother in an embrace
The young lady went down
And kissed and nipped at his member.
After she was done with his member
The kissed and they slept in each other’s arms
Body twisted and entwined together
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
**Rows of stone houses, all back-to-back
lined by the side of streets cobble set
housewives with shopping, segs in their heels
clopping down ginnels with ringing footsteps.
Cast iron lampposts, corporation green
daily were reset by clockwork it seemed
casting more shadow than light which to see
brimstone edged steps, scrubbed 'elbow' clean.
Sweeps on their rounds, in Summer would rush
cleaning the flues with rods and brush
kids in the street, staring in wonder
at soot snowing flurries, from porcupine pots.
Nutty slack in the grate, drawn by the pan
coal smoking stacks, pouring out grime
creels of damp washing, stealing the flame
when years end smog, jaundiced the sky.
A trip to the 'flicks', Saturday morning
'thrupence' for best seats, 'top-a-the-stalls'
rounds of cheers as good-un's were chasing
the bad-un's were boo'd, soon to be caught.
In 'wellies an scruff,' we went to the 'flea-pit'
with 'ha-peth o' cheap spice', soothing the throat
food for thought, all week long
and played them all, the films we saw.
Cowboys and Indians, cap guns held high
annoying the neighbours, 'bye it were grand'
riding the range on imaginary horses
best we ride on, with slap of the hand.
'Play in yer own street', my recallection
and 'geer off mi steps, they've jus-bin-swilled'
yet still we 'mucked out' with die-cast toys
against the 'midden', and on the walls.
No more adventure, making own fun
young-un's today don't know how it's done
cartoon and serial, games of war
we'd launch to the moon, upon the see-saw.**
... ... ...
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 12:05 AM UTC
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
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC