"scuffle" poems
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.
"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.
Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.
At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.
"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.
Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.
Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.
The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.
On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.
To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.
But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
The beautiful mane that was her hair,
Fell graciously on her shoulders,
A pang of envy creeps in,
Am not blind to eye catching things.
My hand flows to my own mane,
And all I find is a poorly growing one,
It doesn’t help that it is ***** brown,
And hers is shiny black.
I wonder what she ate that I didn’t,
For her to have surprisingly beautiful feminine hair,
Contemplating,
I nearly miss the scuffle…
As it turns out,
Other **** sapiens are watching her,
Jealously I must add,
After all, I am not alone!
As if sensing our gawking looks,
She turns her head, this, and that way,
And in that moment of gratification,
The mane that was her hair falls off.
Stunned, I fall down with it,
As I hit my behind on the concrete floor,
I look for spots of blood,
But soon, a hand picks it up,
Alas, it is her hand!
She should be dead because her head,
Was cut off in a jealousy fit,
By a non-forgiving female.
Then it hits me,
It wasn’t her mane after all,
But a wig of sorts,
That is why she resembled Beyoncé,
Or was it Rihanna,
She fumbles to replace her godly look,
But now, I can breathe,
I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t,
It must have been because I realized,
The same ***** brown uncombed short hair,
That graced her clearly ashamed head,
I am not alone after all!
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”
Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”
Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:
“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”
Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”
Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”
At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles
It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
The first time I kissed you (again),
we were sitting in your car,
under shadows and street-light orange,
and the impression I was going inside.
But then I found your NERF gun,
which you said was for robbers and slow drivers,
but proved more entertaining for girls
who like to sit in your passenger seat.
So we broke into a scuffle
in pools of orange light
abandoning seat-belts and any pretence that I was leaving
to wage an epic war
inside a parked car
over ownership of the polystyrene darts.
The end came when a missile was lost to your backseat,
and we both reached for the NERF gun,
and that kiss I'd been waiting for since I'd first put on my seat-belt
materialised between the space above your handbrake
and a little plastic gun.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Would you mind if I related a story to you
about how my headphones picked me up when I was Ohhhhhhhhhh so blue?
When I cried like a baby
until I. could block out the world and listen to my first love daily?
Well peep the scene I had just turned 13
and I was in middle school
away from my friends and family
it took a lot to resist doing something rash and being tossed out on my a$$.
Anyway for the first time in my life,
the prime time of my life at that
I was alone, my only friends right then being the clothes on my back
and the headphones I had put into my backpack
Well my MP3 at the time was on shuffle,
after I got out that day and avoided a scuffle
I put my earbuds in promptly and what did I hear?
RHCP under the bridge, a song I still hold dear
"Sometimes I feel like my only friend"
was a lyric that described exactly the situation I was in.
I was being pushed right then to end my life and become food for the crow or raven
but that song saved my life
and even after all the tears I cried that night
I got up. stronger. ready to carry on life's grand fight.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
I.
I can feel the crush of her blueberry eyes
in the grip of your skin.
She stains
the sheets between our twister games,
that scuffle in your bed at night.
and I just can’t wash out
the echoes that she's left in your eyes
where I have turned
invisible.
This is my goodbye.
II.
You once said, in the heat of your embrace,
that you wanted to hold me close
because I spoke like things
had more meaning than they really did.
But I am not written in braille,
you do not have to touch me to
know me.
III.
I cannot recall the day when I transformed from
your golden chrysanthemum to
the torn-up library book
that you gave and took back
as you pleased.
IV.
I hate the way you kiss
because your lips leave sticky-note
reminders
of the last people you left behind. I fear
my fate will be the same.
V.
The movement of your hips
rippling like waves between my sands
is
overwhelming. Just
stop.
VI.
I will never trust you.
VII.
I feel like a flower.
Standing silent against the heavy rain.
Releasing all my wearied petals in
the coming storm.
This is goodbye.
November 25, 2013 1:09 PM
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
Dragon Boy is on stage again,
Roaring and crooning. His
Claws clutch, scratch and scrape
A hoard of glistening emotions.
His slick-sharp canines gleam
Between tight stretched lips;
Choppy, halting motions sway
His guitar-pent hips with the rhythm.
Leather wings beating and straining
Against the heavy wood stage -
He's gonna fly away at this rate.
He wrenches open iron jaws and
Suppressed fire screams from his
Throat, scorching his tongue,
Licking and charring the mic.
He'll take his usual tribute: untried,
Untested ears ringing in needy delight.
Then ache to his ancient diamond bones,
Slither fatly from an unruly stage,
And scuffle, sated, home.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 3:35 PM UTC
As the shadows began lengthening
I slowly walked to the sea shore
Through the cobbled path
With stinging stones under my feet
And piles of golden clouds floating above
Enjoying the whistling of the wind through the reeds
Inhaling the saline air, smelling of rotting seaweeds
On the vast strand, I stood for long
Feeling the foamy fringes of water lapping at my feet
And sensing the sand slipping away under my feet
I watched the gentle undulating billows
Rolling their silver volumes
As if to die away on the happy shores
The sapphire waters and the roaring waves
The churning tides and the feathery foam
Made me wonder at the horror and beauty
That ****** dichotomy Nature carries within
I saw numerous fishes gambol beneath the waves
Do the finny herds that roam
The fathomless valleys of the Deep
Ever experience the tumult and scuffle
Of the roaring waters?
Oh! Never!
Like them, I too floated weightless
With all the barbed distractions drifting away
Wishing to get a pair of wings of the swallow flying high
To soar safely away from all gadflies who disturb
And cocooned in the inner citadel of my privacy
Enjoying a permeating peace, I had seldom known!
Then Byron’s words came floating to me
Mingling with the cadence of the waves
‘There is rapture in the lonely shores
There is society where none intrudes’
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
Freedom is the urge
That breaks out inside of us that makes us want to run.
An unseen Parkour of hands and feet.
Covering the threshold of walls and windows.
An key to an apartment
Of untold potential.
Seen as a window,
A causal gaze.
Things once seen as 3-D now seen 2-D.
Coming to the realization of just who we really are.
The desire of choosing to see things as brand new
A stillness of sorts.
A new brand of simple.
Holding on to a rail debating on whether or not to jump or hold on for a moment longer.
I.
The infinite compliment of the heart.
Choosing instead to run escaping,
The unfortunate pleasure of being chained in schizophrenia.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
A constant pound, hands and feet becoming the ultimate form of expression.
The scuffle of feet over the sound of concrete.
Lost somewhere in the city.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
Holy **** my thumbs are up.
Unpaused ****** expressions, Revealing perhaps way too much.
A cup of cold noodles quietly waiting wholeheartedly.
Next to the gorillaz loudly stating otherwise.
Them.
The painkiller to an over twisted wrist,
Procrastination is a *****
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
A little green grew
in the grey and grey blue
in a world that was dusty and dark
in the form of a flower
with colours to devour
that could turn a city into a park
But the crowd passing by
in the black and black tie
hardly took the time or knew
through the crack in the strife
the hues and colours of life
blossoming beneath their shoe
yet stretching out its wild leaves
with a beauty to please
It was a sad, sad trample amidst the scuffle
the busy people passing by
who would not raise an eye
wondered “what scent was so, so wonderful?”
but the crushed fragrance blown
was all that was known
though they knew not what it was
for they’d never seen
that little, little green
it’s just the smell they now speak of
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 1:13 AM UTC
In the city that never sleeps
Nobody has time to dream
No one cares for the color scheme
Everybody on these streets are mean
Women over here dress to ****
Yearning for a life to steal
Outrageous trigger happy police
Ruthless, spiteful and rigorous
Kindness comes fatally priced
No time for love or paradise
Obsessive depression is what's subsidised
Beggars on my train struggle and scuffle
Oblivious oppression lurking
Delirious children deceived
Yesterday's conception grieved
Craving lust is a must
Ageless shame is
Rationalized pain
Everyone here idealizes blame
Serenity is an absentee in this chaotic city
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
My mind's like a seafaring vessel,
Ready to sink with an overload
Of volatile rhymes that scuffle and wrestle
And at any moment may explode
Heaven knows I've tried to stem the tide,
But every thought turns to poetry;
I fear, while interred on some peaceful hillside,
I'll be rhyming through eternity!
Oct 28, 2021
Oct 28, 2021 at 1:09 PM UTC
A barbaric itch slithers underneath my collar.
While chairs scuffle upon overgrown tile,
the brutality of our chance meeting gets
my finger nails scraping--
you keep tossing what's left of your hair,
as you siphon through the greasy grime
of your fought for fast food,
and rattle my cage with foreign sentiment--
you smirk to break my narrowing gaze,
did you wear that same black blouse
when we launched into our old mess?
The one we left on your bedroom floor,
and I really, really want to know
where that mess could go--
when I dream,
we simplify.
You are free of clothing,
and I'm free to feed on your body and time,
the ache satisfies,
but as children run past us,
as acne teens screech--
the plight of getting hot
and never off
roars in the midnight corridors
of my starving brain.
One touch--
a broken nail,
a sharpened tooth,
a swift tug of my scalp--
could really, really help
me cope with your amorous toxicity.
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
They'll not be forgotten
just moved along by the cops
they'll mumble and shuffle
avoiding a scuffle
as the guillotine, finally drops
Fighting for freedom
commendations they earned and deserve
discarding their souls
in deeper foxholes
and always doing what's needed, to serve
The days come and gone
Veterans now left out on their own
as damaged and broken
the politics spoken
but leaving them cold, and alone
We'll bang the drum slowly
and march to manicured graves
we'll sing all the songs
righting all wrongs
here, in the land of the free
and the brave
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
Start with the breath,
Shaky lately, it changed with the stains a painting formed on my chest came leaking, sneaking black bubbling death
It foamed up towards the roof of my vest,
Cough is hoarse excuse me my poorly conveying the truth I confess that maybe I've trained my brain to ignore the distress culminating the gruesome express
Eyesight now, and my Eye's feel numb
Two flocks fly in the light of the sun, side by side in a sign like a gun that stops my stride in time with the young, I wonder why and who had time to train these geese to write ******* W's alright, soon it fades from mind a two days wait until it's time to light up the night blunt try somma my cut the line trust is high up sigh at thoughts thought in my mind fuzz fought climb up bought thine scuffle what ******* geese fly in V's I'm blind cuz.
Minds in circles my muscles in decay my brain can't keep track of the ******* days
I'd buy the parcel from hovels of dismay trade for ants to keep mortality at bay
I'm afraid I wished for death too often, it waits till I'm content to grant it's bubbles while I'm coughin.
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 7:58 PM UTC
Dew drops
Pearly in the morning sun
Scattered in a shimmering arc
As feet run
Shouts fill the air
Carefree laughter
An unspoken challenge
A scuffle, and then
More laughter
Oh to be a child again
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 9:42 AM UTC
You possess an abrasive restlessness
Sandpaper on silk, it strains.
Near delirious in your self-destruction,
You writhe, and twist, and scratch
Your heart skips beats,
Stutters and clenches for days
Arteries scuffle beneath your skin
Fingers tremble and then they curl
My dear, you are the sunrise in the west
The moonrise into the eclipse
You bare your teeth in a crown of light
And you threaten the dark
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
part i.
my room
clean, precise
ready
a navy dress
dainty, floral
like a little girl
loved
landing lights off
scuffle of feet rushing
silence
in this serenity
i am chaos
soft music soothing
a specialised playlist
could this be an anymore
cliché way to die?
i listen to time
awaiting a moment
sent by a rhythm
02:00
hold on
32 pills
34
or was it 68?
it doesn’t matter
02:30
what future?
there is no war
it’s all in my head
stop
what
no
need
thoughts
out
dizzy
‘help’
part ii.
what were you thinking
are you crazy
stupid stupid girl
how many
why
I don’t know
not anymore
but it will be fine
I will go to sleep
no fuss
agitation
irritable
useless
annoyance
what had I expect
strangers in the room
my room
but the only stranger
was me
I had known nothing less
voices?
did they tell you to do this?
I laughed in my mind
how cliché do they think I am
no it’s just me
part iii.
numbness and weariness
overwhelmed me
bitter bile rose
a long day ahead
name?
address?
birth date?
what made you do this?
over and over again
ringing in my ears
as I answered in the numbness
I had become
a barcode being scanned
not being looked at once more
I fought the urge to lie
well not completely
ward 14
darkness
panic
blankness
part iv.
drip drip drip
awoken to a beat
my heart or
the machine
I wish I knew
awoken to regret
a coward
a shadow
always
light shining
outside
I have become an outsider
ironically
part v.
her scars.
trailing down her arms
I wonder
how long would it take
for her scar in her mind to heal
I make suicide look normal
her screams.
rattled the bones in my body
she was
an unravelled mayhem
in pandemonium
her shouts.
were more like pleading
between herself
and whom appeared
a fragment of a nightmare
her crying.
lasted for hours
all through the night
when she stopped
it was only the crying that stopped
I was the intruder
there was a silence in ward 14
I wanted anything but a silence
to think
think
think
looking at her sleeping form
I wonder
what she wanted to forget
but no
silence is louder than words
I was told I could go home
I should have wanted to
but there was a safeness
a safeness like me
security from outside
as I walked away
the weight of eyes
made me sink into a guilt
that I dare not look back
at ward 14
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
with unencumbered pink flourish she strips knickers down and dress shruggled brisk over her head a flit of no patience for my timid bow she clocks my eyes senses are abled then blasted overwhelm with her **** light it radiates exposed armpits huff glowing mist her groin blazes at me stricken to match but my male has no luminosity and no athlete or brute *** form either she must have liked our bar dance or the alcohol defect or she might even have bin soft for the random humour i worded her wooded way she reflects and we are minded and shyly i lump off my boots scuffle my clothes to the ground and embrace for the pacts effect everything becomes animal our playful selves step in take sleeve over us makes us kinetic cadaverliers strobic and i’m all muzzle and snout oder out of control and slurring eyes and hooked hands grubbing foreign soft hummocks and we brandish the moon and charge on frantic stimulus it's all fleshed out in front of us this splay
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 11:43 AM UTC
Little Miss Muffle
Got into a scuffle
Which ended a terrible mess.
She was beaten and *****
While videotaped
And left in the forest undressed.
Then along came a spider
Who sat down beside her
And started to ****** her breast.
But it really went south
When it crawled in her mouth
And its babies burst out of her chest.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC
Make me feel like somebody new,
Somebody that wakes up and doesn’t feel as though they convey the weight of the world
on their remarkably un-muscular shoulders.
Make me feel like somebody who does have muscular shoulders,
at least then, the daily scuffle may feel somewhat manageable.
Allow me to wake up, make up and persevere with my day.
Let me feel as though every word that emanates from my mouth
was not the wrong thing to say.
When the tone of my voice seems stupidly louder than intended,
and I push away people I’m lucky to have befriended.
I’m not always like this.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
I'm scuffle with myself
coz
I'm in love with an enemy
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
this morning i will
pick a fight with the sunrise,
i will scuffle with the dew
i will punch the morning
right in the face,
for taking me from you
last night i danced
with you in dreams
and we never were apart
with the morning you've
been washed away
and taken with you, my heart
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC