Best Jumbles Poems
A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.
I dream dreams in rhymes and verses,
A poet's blessing in curses,
Vague images pop up in sleep,
Words in jumbles assault me deep;
I dream dreams in rhythmic fragments,
Thoughts quiver without enjambments,
Prompts come in syllables broken,
Illusions signalled unspoken;
I dream dreams that shake me awake,
Midnight muse greets drowsy daybreak,
Ideas cross o'er slumberland,
Muddled whims in poetic strand;
I dream dreams in staccato beat,
Contemplating meter and feet,
Nodding to nightly notions new,
Creative fancy's fleeting view;
I dream dreams that direct my pen,
Grasping glimpses beyond my ken,
Composing fading melodies,
Breathing life into memories.
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
heaved, convulsed
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
transformed
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
and automobiles
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
lifeless form
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
awaiting still
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
~~~~~~~~~
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
by ~Soulfire~
The wind is blowing through my mind
Not gently breezing through.
It ruffles my thoughts and jumbles them
It will take time to file them anew
I like to file my thoughts in order
Of good ones and of bad
Its keeps things on a steady level
And stops one going mad
Happy thoughts are lifted
To the very fore
Memories of when we first met
You were sitting on the floor
The party was a bit of a flop
We left together and walked
And as we got to know each other
We talked and talked and talked
The wind is blowing stronger
The bad times it reminds
We split up for a lifetime
Well it seemed so in our minds
You persevered and asked me out
I decided you were true
My memory of our wedding day
And how happy I was with you
We had a little flat and furnished it with love.
The trouble was we were ground floor
And the water came in from above.
I look back through some memories
All tumbling in the breeze
The hard times the fun and laughter
The winter of the big freeze
We booked a holiday that year
The best time we ever had
I know it scared us half to death because I was so bad.
It’s a pity I missed part of it as to hospital I went
The baby we were having, to be born he seemed hell bent.
The wind is blowing on my head, now I fight with it for real
It’s just ripped off the shed roof, it looks like it’s been peeled
I better shut my memory box and find my hammer and nails
And fight with wind that’s blowing outside and stop my reminiscent gales.
A universe jumbles unfinished in the mind
picture upon picture
a laconic dimension of perception
where comprehension hides in brambles
and rubbish churns like a river
emptying into the soul
the murky and the luminous converge
forming an enclosure of concentration
where nothing exists, except focus
time melts away...a word
then another, then another
like falling leaves washed by the wind
carried to the inner eye
read, questioned, reasoned, unleased
spread across a white sheet
where a sentence grows
giving purpose to lucidity
translated by each reader
in their fashion
to be liked or disliked...as the page turns
Deserted and bleak,
Where mountains reach and rocks
Squat red and jagged,
The jumbles, the building blocks
Of a long-dead world.
Canyons plunge deep where
Fast flowing water
Eroded a channel there.
Now dead, dry, airless,
A Red Planet among the stars
Hopes for rebirth.
This is the Spirit of Mars
Waiting for help from Earth.
(Naga-uta)
What good would it do to have everything
And you have nothing
You can never claim anything as your own
Because anything is owned by God
Your friends, your possessions, the people that you love
You don't have nothing
God determines it like that
When you don't have nothing
That is when you have everything
Am I talking in jumbles?
Why does God want it like that?
Why does He want you to jump a lot of hoops
Only to the end to leave everything
He is nuts!
That is all I can say
Kidding aside God
Forgive me but there is no logical reason
for what You say
for what You do
And I don't want to think of it
As You are going to do something else anyway
No one can figure it out, You out
And I gave up trying
I like things the way they are
You say - NOT
Okay I don't like the ways things are
You say.....what?
(My ears perked up listening to You)
He knows when I don't mean it
There is no way getting around You
I gave up
You got it God
Whatever You want
Whatever You say
I don't careeeeeeeeeeeeee
Lol
I do care
That is the problem! Lol
Enjoy your techno-toys while you can;
As you frantically surf the internet
In a vain, pathetic attempt to "keep up"
With meaningless jumbles of jibber-jabber
Which you consider essential information.
All those gotta-have gadgets you crave
Like some new kind of 21st-Century addict
Are gouging a hole out of your soul
As they maintain a sensation of completeness
By filling you up with pastries for the mind.
Your tedious little pompous amusements,
(For that is all they are, in fact), could
Someday soon be wrenched from your so-called
Lives by the merest whim of our nearby star
When it casually spews raging plasma our way
In a blithely impersonal Coronal Mass Ejection.
Perhaps then you'll acquire some notion
Of how much of yourself you've invested in
Virtual Reality over actual reality, in Oxy-
Moronic "on-line relationships" with people you
Have never met, whose voices you'll never hear.
Your legions of electronic "friends" will
Evaporate in the space of a few short minutes
And you'll run screaming down the corridors of
Your mansions and tenement buildings in searing
Paroxysms of apoplexy before your brains finally
Implode and you all plunge into everlasting coma!
Where does love go
after the thrill of hunting
through jumbles of resentment and
thickets of fear
After whispered promises under
musical moons during nocturnal pilgrimages
nurturing teeny dreams
Where does love go
After the rites of 'I DO'
and ostentatious feasting of
friend and foes
Where does love go
After the ectstacy of dewy nights
feverish morn and nauseous noon
Where does love go
when sorrow wrench the heart and
trouble shred the soul
when tears pour like libation
when crises cripple faith
and raging hormone tear apart a peaceful lair
when couples brag and braww
brawl and brag
and frightened kids become helpless umpires in
domestic squabbles
when chop money dig galling holes, in
penuried pockets
and million hands grab few wads
when harried hearts beat discordant tunes and
suspicion sprout on famished ground
when words are hurled like rockets
and laughter clang like cymbals
when hate filled eyes gush with blood
and judges gavel inter once bouyant dreams
Where does love go?
I finished the Acrostic,
Every letter filled completely;
Though if you saw the page
It's not completed very neatly.
This puzzle from the Sunday Times
Is challenging and clever,
And quickly it becomes
An all-encompassing endeavor.
Unlike crosswords, which I love,
Or word searches or jumbles,
It's easy in Acrostics,
To sink into certain stumbles.
Back and forth your eyes must move,
Transferring every letter.
Though I try, it doesn't seem
I ever get much better.
Still, at times, I crack the clues
And find the hidden quote.
The satisfaction's sweet enough
I hardly need to gloat.
Squeeze some more stuff in closet,
Daily make more deposits,
Piled sky high of clothes jumble,
Open door and hear rumble.
3-20-17
talking to yourself
in/comprehensible jumbles
matching the striped suits
of paper authors clutched
into soft pillows
dreaming of salvation
army bookworms
marching to the cadence
of false hope
waiting for the last
merciful black door
to open wide enough
to let the vapors
seep back into the void
I was the hottest boot in Texas, Missouri, and Cheyenne.
I could dance the mumble jumbles off every other man.
My mate, my wife, my lover, was almost as sexy as me.
We could not be stopped once started, joyful as could be.
We danced up the hills and meadows, we clattered in the street.
We jingled, and we jangled, our loving circle dances could not be beat.
We smacked against the pavement, astounding those around.
We were the most desirable boots in the USA, stomping on the ground.
There was no stopping us. We were joyful and alert.
There are those fancy boots! Some child would often blurt.
I would swing my partner like crazy, toss her high up in the air.
We boots were simply terrific, with positivity to often share.
At times He shouts to clear his throat, AHEM!
We are the phlegm.
Puffs of dandelion dust,
ignoring life, allowing hearts to rust.
Each day we rush upon ourselves,
shelving more decisions,
piercings and incisions,
in the side of eyelids, nose, and tongue.
unknowing victims, of
what we know not from.
beaming like returning martyrs,
blown to Kingdom Come.
matter splattered, gut ache or remorse;
no age is better for it; no age worse.
it’s what we choose to look at now;
it is our Holy Cow.
maybe sin is in the looking,
maybe in the not,
eyes averted;
disaster flirted with,
Mr./ Mrs. Smith,
composite couple;
doubling our efforts
to keep up, win the cup;
get the bowl;
satisfy a never-filling hole.
Our procedure is to marry;
double-feature of our troubled futures;
sutures for the wounds inflicted
in a psyche so conflicted;
we sit for hours and hours
hours and hours, paying folks
to analyze the guiltiness of flowers.
We simply grow, didn’t you know;
afraid of what we have created.
Frankensteins,
so overrated, - tall,
but not so unrelated after all.
A restricted freedom is not
a true freedom at all...
to allow the mind to think less;
keeping with wishes will not
endow you with the power
you pursue and without a good cheer
and a bit of fortune you seem powerless
in the meteoric hemisphere
as the mistress jumbles...
in her untidy emotions:
submitting your confusion in the meshes
of disorder without merit or deserving praise!
A free nation shares her enormous harvest
without distinction or meticulous handout,
or mending its ways with a meretricious disposition:
to give an illusive luster to its adversity; and menace
truly lies in those untruthful promises
that are quickly changeable when authority is grasped...
to allow the mind to think less, not to carry on its quest,
and before a reprimand, it imposes punishment!
A fair nation is not that tyrant rending peace and trust;
repulsing the merciful demands without consideration!
Allow the mind not to think less,
but let the impulse be stronger and insuppressible,
and if the mighty hand imputes, be ready for the improbable:
the incumbent Caesar gathers his troops to smash
the ideas that snarled his anger towards renaissance,
and driving them off he repels a greatness
that could replete his dark palace with sun-light!
And you the repressed ones, don't repose in silence,
or rescind what was denied, but oppose and fight...
with a courage and a dignity so admirable!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci