Best Crunched Poems
To Daddy, Mama, Billy-Bro, Punky and Massachusetts....
Glazed, deep snow, virgin crunched under my aimless walk
as I idle rambled onward through a vacant, bare-treed park.
Sun was so high that its brightness flashed sparkling pastels.
Fleeting blue spots danced randomly and surrounded me
with images of us until old tears appeared and newly swelled.
In and out, snow to house, young you and me in tender years
of igloos, snowmen, skating, snow ball laughing and fighting,
in animal mittens Mama knitted and snow suits tightly snug.
On some far stage, I feel sure we are still close and at play,
but today I have no smile to curl, just winter’s bleak weight
from tons of missing and reminiscing for my ill, lost brother.
Climbing a hill covered in deep snow reminded me how thick
my own thoughts were sadness bogged, of love now long gone
that was once joyously caught and I swear that hill mocked me.
My legs moved on their own accord as memories of other hills
caught my heart and held it painfully, eloquently still-scored.
Looking up as though Daddy could see me, remember with me
the hand holding and hill rolling he showed me decades ago
as his delight from falling snow created and molded my own.
Years later it was my son’s hand he held, watching icicles melt
while from a distance I watched their silence spill laughter
and their sled fly hills, growing a bond now many winters gone.
At hills peak, I felt my aches that winter etched as pains’ crafter.
Memories where finality marks each season, hurt me most of all.
A marquee of stars dims, to beckon early winter’s stage;
Reflecting crunched flowers in ghastly hues, detached from their limp boughs.
The nightfall drapes hush of serenity , as flakes soothe trees’ nest.
Andrea Dietrich's October Bliss or November Dreams
10/09/2014
I was dressed as a witch for Halloween that year long ago,
And with my friends we were going from house to house;
At that time kids could still do that without fear,
Our street was perfect for Halloween trick or treating fun.
It was a hill with many cozy old homes some heritage,
They all had big covered porches and glowing windows;
And all were nestled behind great ancient trees,
It was a memory I cherish, one of innocence and sweet joy.
Sometimes, I was a princess, or a ghost, or a pirate,
And other times it was hard to tell exactly what I was;
The leaves crunched under our feet; the air crisp,
Mother told us, "only go to houses that have Jack-O-Lanterns."
"TRICK OR TREAT!" We would yell when the door opened,
But if the person said, "TRICK!" We would be so confused;
When my bag got real heavy, I took my loot home,
And had a costume adjustment or even maybe a change.
At the top of the hill was an old house; a haunted house,
It was dark and rundown and had a nasty black cat hissing;
A real witch lived there; she ate little kids I was told,
Mother said, "don't be mean, she is just a lonely, old lady."
I would like to tell you about the old lady who lived there,
But that is a whole different story, maybe another time;
After the trick or treating, we examined all our treasures,
Our loot consisted of candy and chips, apples and other stuff.
I gave mother the apples, she seemed to like them a lot,
My baby brother tried to eat all my candy but I hid them;
Mother said, "don't eat it all at once!" (mother that is silly)
The next day, "oh mommy, my tummy hurts so bad, bad!"
___________________________
October 6, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/Halloween Memories
Copyright Protected, ID 15-714-933-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Happy Halloween,
sponsor, Kelly Deschler
First Place
Cockle shell candles and firefly lights
padding the path to the woods
Grass crunched and scattered in weeds and in patterns
of the way every garden should look
Cobblestone herb baths and sleepy old stars
shooting the breeze in the dark
Waiting for someone to wish and discover
the cobblestone path in their heart
Night time is patient and fragile and ancient
with secrets just bursting to share
Turn up the jasmine and glow in the shadows
with eyes open wide to the moon
Luxuries lunar light swinging old stars
parading their final hurrah
Flittering fireflies brush up on moves as they
follow the trails of the heart
Pumpkin shaped lanterns delight the warm eye
orange and gold muted voice
Hanging from tree limbs bent down to oblige
and also to be understood
Fly on with sonar and pipe cleaner wings
soaring above all the lights
Lit up like secrets, hovering, weaving
simplicity's gifts of the night...
Two decades old,
Soft skin light toned,
Bushy brown hair,
skinny slim built,
Eyes blue as the sky,
Emotions and mind,
All so very shy.
Born a Capricorn,
Raised in a working class,
Ball full of energy,
shattering plates and glass,
Father held the iron fist,
Mothers mind in a mist,
Smacking, screaming, shouting,
Reminders of him as a kid,
While she was there to kiss.
Talented athlete at school,
Hung out with kids to cool,
Social pint was empty,
Only half filled with Pepsi,
Peers drank beer,
while I stayed in the clear,
Teachers had crumpet faces,
telling me to tie up my laces,
I wish id listen,
But crunched an apple,
kneeling down in the chapel,
ignoring those prayers,
fed up with restricted care.
Flickering strobes,
Shiny lazer beam lights,
Bikie gangs making me feel so bright,
Strange faces everywhere,
in a cosmos they share,
lit up like christmas,
While satan grants their wish list,
Drenched in sweat,
I realised I was running,
from throbbing headaches and pains,
Cloudy Sunday mornings,
driving me insane.
Spaceship landed,
Half matured man,
half wondering wolf,
Paws deep in mud,
preventing my quest,
for a partner in love,
Mary howls her hisses,
in strong gale winds,
Sunrise to sunset,
Fed up waiting for him,
To taste a teaspoon of courage,
To pop a balloon full of wisdom,
Sitting too comfortably,
In his own prison.
Every night,the tenebrous land of my inner existence
invades my half waking thought
Once more this sombre heart seeks you
It seeks for you 'neath the silhouette of a snow-veiled Sakura tree
against the slow rise of an iridescent moon over the horizon
It seeks for you through ashes and embers of a sky's falling star
and through mist which spreads your name on my window-pane
This sombre heart seeks you through lonely teardrops
which tread gently like scented lavender upon a worn out pillow-case
Every night,desires and illusions embrace life's reality
I make love to the wind,to the sand,to the shore where We danced
Where our bare-toes crunched corals ,and your lips brushed my hand.
Every night,your evanescent hug is carried by by waves back to me
I reach you,I hold you,I breathe once again in a numb memory
Every night,I yearn for the next blinding sunrise
to run wild,to run free in ever green fields
where dandelions blossom.and the crimson rose bleeds
Ahh,how it bleeds,with silk scarlet petals and velvets of passion
Yet it bleeds,with one hundred thorns well hid in between
Every night,the tenebrous land of my inner existence invades my half waking thought
Once more,this sombre heart seeks you
It seeks the guitar boy with those almond eyes
It seeks each wrinkle of laughter.
Its every remembrance and effervescent smile
Before the cold distance.Before last goodbyes
Every night,the tenebrous land of my inner existence
invades my last waking thought.
Once more this somber heart seeks you..
It seeks for you 'neath the silhouette of each sakura tree
and in the slow rise of an iridescent moon over the horizon.
It seeks for you through ashes, and embers of a sky's shooting star
and through mist which spreads your name on my window-pane.
This sombre heart seeks you through lonely tear drops
which fall gently like scented lavender on a worn out pillow-case.
Every night,desires and illusions live their reality.
I make love to the wind,to the sand,to the shore where we danced
Where our bare-toes crunched corals,and your lips brushed my hand.
Every night,your evanescent hug is carried by waves back to me
I reach you,I hold you,I breathe once again in yester's memory.
Every night,I believe in the next blinding sunrise
to run wild,to run free in evergreen fields
where dandelions blossom ,and the crimson rose bleeds
Ahh,how it bleeds,with its soft scarlet petals
and velvets of passion,yet it bleeds
with hundreds of thorns,well hid in between.
Every night,the tenebrous land of my inner existence
invades my last waking thought
Once more ,this sombre heart seeks you
It seeks the guitar boy with those amorous eyes
It seeks each wrinkle of laughter
Its every remembrance ,and effervescent smile
without the cold distance and our last goodbye.
As I walked, one morning, alone, by the sea,
Thinking of nothing but myself and me,
I noticed, above the roar of the ocean,
A splashing, and thrashing, and foaming commotion.
My heart pounded madly, and adrenaline surged,
When a great, scaly beast, from the water emerged.
The creature stood glistening wet in the sun.
I didn't know whether to stand there, or run.
It turned its great head and looked all around.
Its red eyes like beacons, ten feet from the ground.
As it stepped slowly forward, the damp beach sand crunched,
And I wondered if I would be breakfast, or lunch.
Although the sea monster was at least ten-feet tall,
The look in its eyes was not threatening at all.
The creature seemed friendly, and curious too--
Wondering and waiting to see what I 'd do.
At last I remembered what feet were made for,
So I slowly turned, and walked back down the shore.
Now, strange as it seems, the thing followed me home.
It lay down on the porch, and I ran to the phone.
I called up some scientists, and they rolled on the floor,
When I said I'd discovered a live dinosaur.
But, to prove that they know how to play by the book,
They said, "Bring it on in, and we'll take a look."
Well, they probed, and they prodded, and they analyzed.
They studied its throat, its ears, and its eyes.
Then the great men of science, at last, made their call:
"Why, this isn't a dinosaur at all!
Marine iguana is the correct definition--
With a somewhat serious thyroid condition."
Her wrinkles were joy-flecked twinkled
with facial lines brightly smile crunched.
Her eye shade vague, but love sprinkled
from decades of holding faith bunched.
She prayed steady,
her praise ready.
Her giggle rendered me tickled.
Her heart-ways raised me cherish-touched.
Loving my Gram much, tears trickled
the morning I found her death clutched.
Not one gray hair
lacked my despair.
... CayCay
March 10, 2018
Memories, Long Sad Journey,
Bitter cold that Saturday morning, late in November 1969, I could see my breath parading before me. No breakfast as I had quietly left the house and started my slow walking trek back to our old home.
Memories flooded my brain with each new turn along that dusty road. Along with questions about why I was now so rebellious. Quicker, walk quicker my heart and soul demanded. Do you not want to touch the bedroom door where you father slept? Slept before that long dark sleep. Slept in such pain and sorrow? Yes, bellowed back my invisible friend.
frosty morning dew
loose pebbles crunched beneath feet
earth, morning sky paled
Halfway there, with my heart racing and anticipation heightened
I could almost imagine a real touch. A real touch, of he now lost, to all eternity!
What wild thoughts come to a teenage soul and mind in its greatest of pains and sorrows. Can death be denied? Can one bring back even for the briefest moment a loved one.. A father, a beloved father!
blackbirds silent view...
light ahead, welcomed beacon
wrapped in winter's sheen
Walking up the short drive and onto the front porch. Only gone away half a year and such change found! Silence, silence engulfed my thoughts. Struck numb as I entered our vacated home. Home were my father had exhaled his last breath. Hand shaking as I reach for that doorknob..
What would I see? His ghost? Would I dare touch his ghost? I walked into cold, lonely room,nothing!
No smile, no hug, no long awaited touch! Only tears, tears by the bucketful.
What had I come to find? Was I crazy to want to see, talk, touch one more time?
one old shoe, lonely
broken window, dusty mounds
bleak abandoned walls
I knew, knew with certainty that this was it. Life gave no overs and no going back to happier times. Terror of that reality, would it ever leave. Would it?
Father is dead and my life is over. I walked out into this dark world ready to fight. Fighting to be left alone, with my never ending sorrow and its sweet cuts. Cuts embraced to keep my rage, to yet again feel something, defeat the icy numbness in a rebellious teenager's aching heart.
Robert J. Lindley, August 5th, 2017
Initially, Lady adopted just the gray One for love and fun.
A pal gifted another, a kitten who needed a Mother.
Though spayed, One let Two nurse and her milk did disburse,
said a Vet whose face crunched, bemused and confused.
For One and Two days passed with Lady’s love steadfast.
Cat Three showed in winter’s cold, wanting warmth’s hold.
At first, Three was snubbed by grown One and growing Two.
Eventually their curiosity was peaked by things Three did do,
strange things Cat One and Cat Two could not reason thru.
Three stole garments from the basket of Lady’s dirty clothes,
dragged them into corner places that she carefully chose,
and then she, Cat Three, exposed all to odd licking throes.
Appalled, One and Two would withdraw and prissily pose,
until pride turned trite when Lady raced a laser, red light.
Four showed one Spring day, when Lady saw a gray tail sway
belonging to a striped, cat-baby who had no home or safety.
Lady immediately, eagerly, telephoned her brother, Clark,
and asked if Four would officially make her a Crazy Cat Lady.
He spoke, but she could not quite hear the words from Clark,
not over his ten dogs harmonizing a united, piercing bark.
We love to paint, my muse and I.
It does not matter what – walls, doors, furniture, bricks.
Canvas painting is especially satisfying.
Drawing weird stuff is relaxing and pleasant, but here is where it gets freaky fun.
Adding the colors. We LOVE adding color, the brighter and bolder the better.
Our happy, cheerful color play puts us over the edge of intense happiness.
Yesterday I thought I was painting a blonde girl, I had blonde in my head for hours.
Pouf! I reached for the orange, and she ended up becoming a vibrant redhead, and it felt perfect.
I was as surprised as the painting; it is always a jolt of joy and expectation when I add the color.
As I throw paints together on a canvas, I watch an amazing unfolding of unbridled creativity.
I am instantly and thoroughly delighted and honored by my artistic muse’s artistic art play.
She throws odd things like gears, sawdust, pebbles, crunched up leaves, and glitter onto my canvases.
Oftentimes items get thrown onto the canvas and glued before I realize what she is doing.
An artist friend of mine once asked me, “Is that sawdust on the pirate ship?”
I admitted that it was.
How did that happen? He asked, genuinely surprised.
Easy, I told him. We were
Walking through the garage, and we saw it,
Grabbed a jar, collected it, and later glued it onto the
Canvas when we needed that color.
Samantha, my whacky, zany muse, is one sassy and confident artist.
I readily follow her lead.
far and away you will find-
my favorite poet I have written in
an odd free verse it is
the style of eecummings
that brings me happiness
love the flow and no capitalization
and no need for punctuation
the gaps to create pauses
the crunched words
the madeupwords so silly and words
like fugacious and labyrinthine
so come take a ride
on my- diaphanous gossamerfilmyclouds
of sumptuous
to where the blue birds sing
____________________________
March 25, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/far and away
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1238-888-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted into the Strand Choice Q Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
I went for a walk through the woods, like I do each Fall;
for it's a sensual treat at this time of year.
And I came across a grove of ancient oak trees,
shedding amber, yellow, and golden leaves;
gilding the ground, like scattered nuggets of gold.
The air smelt of Autumn, an earthy-sweet musk;
cool, crisp, and invigorating.
A chattering chipmunk scolded me incessantly:
as I neared a knurled stump, it was guarding;
loudly chastising me for invading its space.
The ground crunched and crackled under my feet,
as I walked on a bedding of filigreed leaves;
resembling a golden fleece.
As brisk breezes rippled through swaying treetops:
their bare branches rattled like skeleton bones.
Indulging my inner child, I fashioned an Autumn Angel;
spreading and swiping my arms and legs,
I sculpted an Angel out of leaves instead of snow.
And I lay there awhile smiling, soaking in Nature's magnificence;
immersed in the grandeur and beauty of Fall.
I dip my pen into an inkwell of memories
it's 1967 and I am young again
the winter hills were mountainous
as I trudged home from school
and back again;
Soggy mitts and silly smiles
lopsided hats, and fury coats that held no heat
cold pressed and uneaten ice cake,
snow squalls brushed against reddened cheeks
and buckle boots that crunched the virgin snow
With eyes pinned to the floor
I made it to the front door
Grannies foamy smile and apron white hair
told me I was loved twice over;
7/5/2019