Best Crossword Puzzle Poems
For some reason, this morning her alarm clock failed to sound. With eyes half closed,
she glanced at the clock. It was around 8 AM. She got dressed as quickly as
she could, hurried to the train station. When the train arrived; she managed
to get a seat . She put on her glasses and took out her crossword puzzle.
She became lost in the clues. She had finished one puzzle, was on to the next,
when the voice of the conductor interrupted her thoughts. A delay was announced.
As it turned out, the train ahead had derailed. Many were seriously injured.
It was then, she appreciated the silence of her alarm clock.
-----
a peal of thunder
shatters the peace of the day
rain comes crashing down
I would sit there for many hours
Surrounded by my contemplative silence-
My senses as warm as my latte;
My mind as frosty as my cheesecake
The mixed scents of Earl Grey, cinnamon tea,
Mocha, and caramel macchiato would encircle me
Almost like they slowly become part of
My breath: breathe in, then stealthily breathe out
I would hear laughter coming from one
Corner and whispering from another
And each corner would seem to me more like
A different world, each as distant as an era
I would at times engage in a crossword puzzle
Or skim through all the contemptuous headlines
And at other times I would simply read, think,
Write, or just watch some cars indolently pass by
The sounds of music playing, coffee brewing, fork-knife
Clattering and people chewing would all form
A unanimous sound: Serenity
I swallow it down with every sip of my coffee
In these amber hues for hours I would sit
Amidst these faces, leather chairs, and empty
Spaces- the same coffee would brew, the same
Music would play, and my same mind would
In its serenity, so utterly subdue
Relaxing in my garden chair blessedly alone,
with my cup of soothing chai and Scottish scone.
No TV, computer, iPod, kith or kin,
my crossword puzzle I shall now begin.
So, an eight-word name for a Mayan sink?
A quika--I didn't even have to think!
As the sun clears the rolling hills afar
I'm done, a crossword superstar!
My Corgi Hal licks my face in congratulations,
as the sun-lit moor beckons her invitation.
Such a simple, sweet, tranquil pleasure,
Sunday morning crosswords, my priceless treasure.
2/14/23
The pieces fit together, one by one—
through trial and error- curves fit into curves.
Sometimes, a piece is placed that jars the rest,
so time is spent redoing what was done
to bring it to its former tidy state.
Though, out in view to work on each new day,
so many times the challenge seems too great,
and so, it's often pushed away from sight.
Still other times, each piece falls into place
renewing eager interest in the game.
And slow but sure, the shapes are interlocked,
revealing, bit by bit, the total scene.
And all that’s hoped before the colors fade-
the vision of my total life, complete;
the portrait of my finished dream- well done.
May 8, 2016
Contest: A Simple Pleasure
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Theme Chosen: Crossword Puzzle
There was a naughty girl, and the naughty girl was she
She worked a crossword puzzle, while she had her cup of tea
Poured another cup, ......she should get up!
for chores and roll her sleeves
She had much work to do, but her good intentions flew
like feathers in a breeze
Instead of mops and brooms, she would sing a cheery tune...
while she danced around the room..
Sudsy dish pans full....but Mother Nature pulled
her to the sunshine for a stroll
Her bed unmade, her bills unpaid,
But instead she picked a daisy
Beneath a sunny sky
......she heard the lullaby
of the birds that sing on high
She had meals to cook
but would rather look
at the snowtop hills nearby
So much work undone, and the dinner?......NONE!
But she fed her soul instead!
_______________________
For Linda Marie's Contest "I Am Bored With _______
By Carrie Richards
My room is a mess - it's an archaeological record of boredom.
Christmas, Christmas, come on Christmas.
It's 4 days 'til Christmas. Why don't I go to my room and do NOTHING??
The clock ticking sounds like a large horse clomping over cobble stones.
Last year there were wall-to-wall parties - so many that you had to carry a change of clothes with you.
In 2020 there's nothing to do - but I don't have to tell YOU (my reader). Except for the whole school thing. Nothing to do but study. I read, on that webber-net thing that 38% of students are failing.
Because of the pandemic - oh, not that virus monster - the boredom pandemic - the London-tower-lonely state of slow-motion distress that’s invisibly gripped us all.
Can we hold on people? The hard-won, delicious truth is that there’s hope. Vaccines - a bunch of 'em. Is it possible to let worries go this season and simply treasure our lives?
Just this month we have or had Hanukah, Kwanza, Festivus.
Hopefully, you made wild, monkey-love on December 14th - that was "International Monkey Day" - I couldn't join you - of course - but I'm just sayin. =]
Look it up - almost every day is some kind of celebration or invent your own - if Ice Cream Day, Lemon Cupcake Day, Go Caroling Day or Crossword Puzzle Day don't do it for ya.
The important gifts, this year, are fun, attention and love.
SONG WITHOUT WORDS
-Rod McKuen
His poem:
I wanted to write you some words you'd remember
words so alert they'd leap from the paper
and crawl up your shoulder and lie by your ears
and be there to comfort you down through the years.
But it was cloudy that day and I was lazy
and so I stayed in bed just thinking about it.
I wanted to write you and tell you that maybe
love songs from lovers are unnecessary.
We are what we feel and writing it down
seems foolish sometimes without vocal sound.
But I spent the day drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes
and looking in the mirror practicing my smile.
I wanted to write you one last, long love song
that said what I felt one final time.
Not comparing your eyes and mouth to the stars
but telling you only how like yourself you are.
But by the time I thought of it, found a pen,
put the pen to ink, the ink to paper,
you were gone....
...and so, this song has no words.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Poem
I wanted to send you off in an airplane ride
flying so freely up toward the heaven we
could’ve lived in. Not because I want you to fly
away from me, but because you deserve to
grow wings with endless beauty.
But instead I spent the day scribbling words
of sadness all over a crossword puzzle.
I wanted to believe we could have a future
with poppy seeds and lemongrass flowing
gently into your soft arms. My arms can’t hold
for very long, but yours were born to caress.
But instead I ate cereal and watched my favorite show
feeling unworthy to even say your name out loud.
I wanted to climb up your tree and live in a nest
built for only us two. Not because I want to be
alone with you but because I need to see you fly before I
learn how to fly; you teach me how to live.
But by the time I remembered, searching for my
typewriter, load the paper and take the time to type,
you were gone….
…and so, this song has no words.
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: April 11, 2016
Sunrise aglow, she plucks a flower from his garden,
in a stealth hush, she sees him serene this warden.
Meanders even closer upon a sequestered creek
She imagines a brush of his lips against her cheek.
When a curious corgi barks and ignites a blush
Her stroll again will end, amongst the grass so plush,
verdant with an aura a somber amber green,
‘tis the first time this intruder has ever been seen.
Relaxing in my garden chair blessedly alone,
with my cup of soothing chai and Scottish scone.
No TV, computer, iPod, kith or kin,
my crossword puzzle I shall now begin.
So, an eight-word name for a Mayan sink?
A quika—I didn't even have to think!
As the sun clears the rolling hills afar
I'm done, a crossword superstar!
My Corgi Hal licks my face in congratulations,
as the sun-lit moor beckons her invitation.
Such a simple, sweet, tranquil pleasure,
Sunday morning crosswords, my priceless treasure.
Summers Warmth
Authored by Chuck Keys
What happens to the summer’s warmth in the fall?
Does it stay in nostalgia’s book of memories?
Or is it found inside
... a wrinkled coffee stained yellowed crossword puzzle section,
Blowing eloquently with the wind on the chaise in the sun porch?
What if the summer’s warmth just fades into introspection?
With all of its self doubts and hesitancies,
Where the mind ceases conscious thoughts of fancy and free,
Slowly drifts back into the beauty and fragrances that once were present.
What if the summer’s warmth doesn't want to leave,
And stays inside our minds and hearts, waiting,
To come forth, eternally,
Stronger, wiser and agelessly aggressive; alive.
In the autumn of our seasons,
Where time flows to and fro,
Where beauty and passion rests inside those with heart,
Where the summers warmth exists, forever.
Even in the cold winter months of soon to be.
Today
I read a newspaper,
In it was half a column
On a people starving and dying,
The rest of it was :
Photos,
Crossword puzzle,
And faded letters.
My pencil is ready;
The boxes are bare.
I look at the clues
That are luring me there.
I always begin
With the first clue across,
Continuing on
Until I’m at a loss.
I do not despair
If a few I can’t solve
But begin on the down clues
With extra resolve.
The empty spots beckon;
They yearn to be filled
And if I’m successful
I’m quietly thrilled.
Today is the date when
We puzzlers cheer
For since 1913,
Once a day they appear.
The Empty Chair
Like a single cloud on a sunny day
you knew he had you covered
a constant in an ever changing world
but now all we have is an empty chair.
Like reading a thriller with the last page missing
A joke without a punch line
or a foreign film without sub titles
its a mystery that leaves me sad and speechless
A jigsaw with a piece mislaid
A lock without a key
or a roundabout with just one exit
no rhythm no reason just why
A crossword puzzle that's incomplete
A Sudoku with the numbers all messed up
Or a word search with that word you cannot find
why oh why must we endure the conundrum of the Empty Chair.
My trusty pencil helps me out
At crossword puzzle time.
It also comes in handy
When I'm working on a rhyme.
A ball point pen just wouldn't do -
That really is the case -
For I would be at quite a loss
If I could not erase!
Livia where have you been,
Only you would bring me true happiness,
Violet which our favorite flowers and the ones the world ignores,
Everyone would try to understand us,
Yet we aren’t a crossword puzzle to try,
Oh, my sister What would I do without you?
Understanding me is hard, so no one tries.
Alivia only you like to pry though my iron doors,
Love is what they call it for what you give is true,
In my heart I know I love you,
Very start I been with you for 8 years,
In the very end is where our lives will truly begin,
Always and forever is what we say, for I love you Alivia, forever and today.
-11/9/2020-
Remember ninety-five
When we felt free
We felt alive
We hugged and kissed
Rejoiced in freedom
Rejoiced and sung
Songs of freedom
Mandela walked
As skeptics talked
But he walked on high
And touched the sky
He loved and he gave
The spirit of the brave
He forgave and reconciled
A sad and battered child
He gave us hope
He gave us life
He freed us from our thoughts of strife
He crossed the divide
Of crossword puzzle blocks
And gave us the clues
- We threw down our rocks
But here we are now
Tectonic plates crash on our brow
Where is the hope gone?
Where is the future that we had won?
As we slipped from meritocracy
To simple mediocrity
We look around
And all we found
Was our hopes dashed
Dashed to the ground
Our children suffer, forlorned
Whilst louts with shovels shovel the gold
Of our future that was pawned
For the few our future was sold
And as the fat asses
Roam around in masses
Eating the hay that was made when the sun still shone
Eating the food that the cattle had won
But brayingly they still prance around
Relishing in their new wealth found
As the baby dies hungry and cold
And the baby is buried in hallowed ground
Remember back in ninety-five
When we all felt thrilled –
Alive!
Remember the victory songs
Of how we would right the wrongs
But now we wrong the right
As for gold and wealth we fuss and fight
And in his cold and lonely grave
Mandela turns
And weeps
As his long road
Stops
At his grave