Best Scrambles Poems
An end-of-August day, the air is crisp--
the only hint that fall is on its way.
And we’ve gone to the park to share this bliss,
for school will soon cut short his time for play.
The wide, paved paths meander round a pond,
'neath walnut-laden trees, and over creeks.
Bike freed from training wheels takes him beyond
my grasp, and off he rides with ruddy cheeks.
But soon he takes a spill and grabs his knee.
His little chin aquiver but no tears.
A kiss and Batman band-aid remedy.
“All better?” He nods bravely, quelling fears.
He scrambles to his bike and rides away.
I wish that time could slow and summer, stay.
5/1/2019
May 1, 2019
Specificity in Poetry
Sheri Fresonke Harper, Sponsor
~3rd Place
POTD 5/3/2019
Favorite Poem from May 2019
Julia Ward, Sponsor
~2nd Place
Categories:
scrambles, childhood, son,
Form:
Sonnet
Mentors like priests preparing me for holy rite
Institutional slaves to a false trinity
Subduing adventure, exploration and discovery to classroom rigor
Eternal stairway ... moonbeams to the golden dream
Dismatling who I am so I become who you want me to be
Urges denied constructing scaffolds, setting beam
Castling on beam, I climb like Jack the ogre tree
Ability acquiring arrows for what's embattling me
Tensions beyond the classroom, teacher grading my
Intelligence as if it were a canvas to her eye
Opportunity has too narrow a door for all our differences
Nestled in her pocket, I see the ogre search in vain.
Offering us like children to the fires of Molech
Frantic prayers sibilant in flickering tongues of despair
Teeming the locus of the African nightmare
Husked of gold, silver, uranium, copper and diamond skies
Each one scrambles up the vine compassless of self
Nations fall - without the eyes of love we are blind
Emerging people shaken out in global disarray
Groaning for nothing from classroom to classroom
Refer to their budgets and see what is prioritize
Oysters get their pearls from pain, I know, yet
Errors must be corrected, education must mean more, we
Substance truth only by the purge of a regulated history.
Categories:
scrambles, black-african amereducation, me,
Form:
Acrostic
He speaks in broken English;
It's interesting to see my language this way-
Spread out like pieces of shattered ceramic,
The edge of each word tossing off glints of meaning
Like bits of light, illumination; a kaleidoscope
Of light or sound dancing in the air before his lips...
At times he seems embarrassed, pausing before he speaks,
Like the boy who tipped over his mother's favorite vase-
He knows how I love words- and scrambles to piece back
Together the fragmented ideas, hoping the cracks might
Be overlooked; the result of his efforts is often unconventional,
And yet... impossibly lovely too...
It's a picture puzzle of a lonely landscape rearranged into a flower
It's a mosaic; the pieces don't have to fit to make the image radiant
It's a kintsukuroi bowl, the language veined through with gilded passion,
More beautiful for having been broken
Categories:
scrambles, analogy, beautiful, culture, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Labored breaths echo throughout the bolted space.
A doom sensation overtakes the place of solace.
Her eyes scan for any exit.
Light scrambles through a cracked door.
A window glows, ajar.
Too far away for the taking, her body immobilizes.
She strives to breathe... even that threatens to cease.
Silent screams gasp for life,
as if trying to turn a door with breath.
A wave of wet beads seethe from her skin,
like lakes between boulders.
Her shoulders rise like hefty mountain weights
summoned to a stomach of scrambled sand.
In a kaleidoscopic instant, from the perceived exit,
enters a tuxedo hero, donning sporty socks,
flaunting a solid strut.
Up, he jumps upon her lap, like
the reward of a clapping audience.
His constant fur coat would be a king's boast.
Like melted butter on toast, he spreads his warmth.
A reverberating purr becomes the mender of broken emotions.
Hyperventilation fades to mimic his oceanic vibes.
2/26/2019
Categories:
scrambles, cat, emotions, encouraging, fear,
Form:
Free verse
Grumble-rumble raises hairs on my arms.
Air so crisp it crackles lightening forms.
Whoop the wind scrambles and mell pells,
the stationary earth shivers before it fells.
Scrubbed clean like a naughty, naughty, child,
the twigs and brush scatter, the cat's beguiled.
Cone flowers pink petals lap dance the lawn.
Gray chittering squirrels hide 'tween rooted forms.
Whhhhhoooooosh the gully washer's display,
the sizzling pop of the auto’s fine splay.
The gutters are gargeling spitting a flume,
and, ah the relief from heat such a boon.
Mother nature in all her majesty
has made the day just right for me!
Categories:
scrambles, nature
Form:
Sonnet
I will sit in silence...
feel your warmth...
the spice of life
cinnamon and sugar...
the bark of the tree
no longer lingers...
with an orange in her
pocket there she will
peel...so scarce...
today without share...
lemons lemons everywhere
not a drop to quell this thirst...
sunshine on my shoulder
without shade I tend burn
she could fall into
her mirror...
drink tea and fairy cakes...
...grab her top hat...
...not her style...
she'll stand firm with
her subject...forgive herself
allow her mind to float
elsewhere...
she'll study the spine of
wind in willows her memory
fondly recalls...
for in her life stress levels
rise...her mindset scrambles
for the positive...once more...
she has no one but herself
to blame...her passion
unleashed runs rife...
...she has to now work
twice as hard to relieve
this life of strife...
suddenly...reality hits...
in minds eye a plump plum
before her...
she laughs out loud...
melody of acceptance...rings
we rebuild what we have
done...now the big fix we bring...
life is not simple...the choices
determine our fate...
but for risk what a miserable
boring existence we ourselves
forsake...
...it won't fall from the sky...
character strengthened...
only from real life...
...this truth is my truth...
not plagiarized...
I won't reach for a rosary
my direct line will suffice...
this thing I've done...
was great...greater things
to come from self sacrifice...
the faith the believing
in oneself is the essence
of my healing...
Categories:
scrambles, passion, life,
Form:
Lyric
This woman walks around
In the shadow of a child
And she scrambles to hold on
To the oats no longer wild
There were once so many dreams
Ran a time or two in clover
She got caught up in the dance
'Til the memories took over
Now the child that follows her
Is relentless in her pain
And she needs to be wrapped up
Rocked to sleep time and again
So this woman walks the world
Hoping for a saving grace
Listening for those little footsteps
Looking for that tender face
And her heart aches to remember
What her mind no longer does
That the grief she calls her shadow
Is the child that she once was
By Deb Wilson...Originally written March19,2010
Written for the contest Why Oh Why?
Sponsored by Constance~A Rambling Poet
Categories:
scrambles, childhoodwoman, child, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Late at night I hear their screeching,
Feel their evil arms outreaching
Like some minister a-preaching
In a temple made of light.
How my poor ears get to ringing,
As a band of angels shrilly singing
On some lonely stretch of highway
In the night.
I think I hear the bells
Of a hundred thousand hells.
They won't allow me sleep,
Nor bless my soul to keep.
Oh, how they make me weep
As their awful midnight screaming
Keeps my fevered brain from dreaming.
I toss this way and that,
Like a trapped and frightened bat
As it scrambles for the door
And croaks out: Nevermore!
Categories:
scrambles, anxiety, dream, evil, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
New cracks in old stone
Just beginning to show,
Reveals things never shown
Things only one could know
Just beginning to show
A solid surface scrambles,
Things only one could know
Shedding into shambles
A solid surface scrambles
Every chisel brings a change,
Shedding into shambles
In time, it must arrange
Every chisel brings a change
Upon hard - headed rock,
In time, it must arrange
For none can beat the clock
Upon hard - headed rock
Reveals things never shown,
For none can beat the clock
New cracks in old stone.
Categories:
scrambles, change, metaphor, nature, old,
Form:
Pantoum
Often, I enter a contest
I enter the ones I like best
But one sponsor said
Write stood on your head
I moved on to check out the rest
Another said stand in a bucket
Write Latin, or I’m gonna chuck it
Eight lines by the way
Or get an NA
I thought about that and said f… ..
[They say stick to your chosen form
You should never break with the norm
In two stanza’s time
I’m switching to rhyme
The purist would kick up a storm]
But what really scrambles my brain
Is what comes up time and again
It’s apps for surmounting
The problem of counting
And one’s a particular pain….
*
‘How many syllables’, that’s what gets me
The logic it uses ain’t easy to see
Take for example the simple word ‘Wouldn’t’
They say it’s one syllable…
See it?..
I couldn’t
It misreads quotation marks, single or double
A single’s a syllable….. doubles?…. no trouble
It claims that the open quote counts as a syllable
Yet the ensuing quote counts not at all
Now I’m not unique so I run with the crowd
And I’m sure that no-one reads quote marks aloud
With ‘How Many Syllables’, if demand lingers
I simply ignore it and count on my fingers
But Soup has a resource called ‘Syllable Counter’
Which disregards quote marks that it may encounter.
In ‘shouldn’t’ and ‘wouldn’t’ and ‘mustn’t’ and ‘couldn’t’
The syllables all number two
And all of that makes pretty good sense to me…
So does it make good sense to you?
*
I love writing poetry, dearly
And often I get it right… nearly
So please do feel free
To set rules for me
But ‘How Many Syllables’?…. Really?
Categories:
scrambles, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
let me feel your rhythm manifest
infuse to my liquid being
your power a seed of desired secrets
mesh yourself deep to my tissue
with each roll of your might
I embower myself with succulent thoughts
each waves shush of sand softly speaks
empathy curling itself over my aching
…Today your turmoil is smooth
…Tomorrow may rage dark against me
still your essence will shine
within the clouds as they kiss your skin
your white foam scrambles forward
and rushes the shore, serene in abeyance
I too await the promise of today
9-3-2020
Brians Choice 3
1st place
Categories:
scrambles, ocean, sea,
Form:
Free verse
Now
Come the shadow clouds
where and whence evil rises bold and loud
once buried, hidden wide opened shrouds.
Warm, soft, calm breezes slip away
in between the morning hours when we prayed
deep in the cast of shadowy grays
preparations for warring factors are made.
It has become a hate-filled time
where loudest voices revile in the climb
lost to compassion, to empathy
that once thrived in the land of the free.
Now,
a heartless spirit scrambles forth
hidden hatred in a price brought
innocence pushed aside and lost.
Who we once were
grows more angry, deceitful, and disturbed
divisive rhetoric in every word
out on display for the world to be heard.
How soon before the sword and gun are drawn
How soon will come that fateful morn
that creeps and hides within every pawn
sacrificed and filleted in dull yawns
Now
come the shadow clouds
no one dares speak of it out loud.
Categories:
scrambles, america, angst, political, prayer,
Form:
Rhyme
It starts with a little yawn,
then a stretch, both fore and aft.
Next the blankets start to move,
I just have to laugh.
She shuffles up from the bottom,
of the bed, where warm and snug,
she had slept the whole night through,
as snug as a bug in a rug.
But, comes the tock of six a.m.
her internal clock goes "Bong".
A morning ritual now begins,
softly, with a little yawn.
Her nose peeks out from beneath,
the rest of her soon follows.
Her head she rubs into my neck,
as I try to hide in the pillow.
It is no use, I'm now wide awake,
I climb out, into the world where I belong.
Just before she scrambles back beneath,
she gives out a little yawn.
For the contest; What makes you wake up each and every day
Sponsored by Ed Ebbs
Categories:
scrambles, pets,
Form:
Rhyme
133
133
CharlaXFabels
ListZapper
Http:www.listzapper.com/free
There is so many inventions being worked on it is not surprising to the mee the
eye to see a listzapper being developed at least in some Chinese factory. Add it
on the computer next to the inversion control next to the hypertext transferor near
the over stimulated granule hardware where the windows refresher is at. The
internet picture convertor was the newest completed inventory. Now there is a
need for the minds at MIT to make the eye a way to zap a list without doing the
separated items just one more at a time. The items are usually removed by right
click one at a time. The listzapper would be the answer to this modulated
problem just hit the link once to the linkzapper then hit the first item in the list
instead of just that one item open the linkzapper gets them all each and every
one of them all in a row even iff there is 1001 of them all told. The information
scrambles into the hardware forms a list again at the other end and becomes a
new worded document again. Then hit the zapperlist@ the newest test of time
the list is saved into the single files. The need to spend more hours at the board
is gone the keys we need are now limited to only two or even one. Just make a
giant button in the middle of my keyboard so eye can hit the linkzapper and then
upload the zapperlist my work would thus be finished the need for typing gone
the hours that we spend inside the lieberry can be used for having fun…visit
www.zapperlist.com
Categories:
scrambles, computer-internet, imagination, science fiction,
Form:
Prose Poetry
As I stand awake
And gaze upon the sea
And the sea in turn
Looks back upon me
I look out over
And see the moonlight glisten
I slowly shut my eyes
And very closely listen
The waves crash hard
Upon the rocky shore
I see ships light
And I set the siren to roar
The winds blow in hard
And I know death is near
The sadness of a lonesome
Lighthouse keeper is clear
As the winds blow in so fierce
The seas men must act wise and swift
They pull themselves to action
Working hard to keep the ship adrift
The winds blow in strong
As the ship crashes a-shore
The crew scrambles desperately
To survive this dreadful score
For the lighthouse keeper well knowing
His assignment fully now strives
To set out an alert in hopes
Of rescuing these lives
Now as daylight approaches
The search will reveal
There’s no ship to be found
And no bodies to prevail
Written by Neil Ofarrell and Skyler Dawn
Categories:
scrambles, death, life, lonely, lost,
Form:
Narrative