Best Scrambling Poems
I Heard Mother
(to tune of "I Saw Mother Kissing Santa Clause")
I heard Mother scolding Santa's elf
As I prowled the house on Christmas Eve.
He'd hid in St. Nick's sleigh
And then sneaked out to play
After having waited for his boss to fly away.
Mother caught him gobbling all our snacks
After he tore open every gift.
Oh, when she glared down at his face,
He went scrambling from our place
Screaming, "Santa, stop the sleigh-
I need a lift!"
For Silent One's 'Your first poem on Poetry Soup' Poetry Contest
I believe it was Dec. 23 of 2009 right before Christmas!
Categories:
scrambling,
Form:
Light Verse
Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening
Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
Lavender-rose moments.
The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.
Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
Categories:
scrambling, life, senses, sleep,
Form:
Verse
Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
Categories:
scrambling, allegory, education, freedom, growing
Form:
Alliteration
My mother thinks I'm a doctor
I just don't have the guts
To tell her I spent all my college doe
On beer, wine, women and such
So after I faked my graduation
Said I was moving to the South
To help the less fortunate among us
Another lie I let slip out
I'm now in the south of Florida
Where some may call me a bum
Living in a citrus grove along the coast
Not answering to anyone
It's really not such a bad life
This do nothing life I've made
I hear my Moms proud of me at afternoon tea
Telling the girls of all the lives I save
I do my share of dumpster diving
That's where I got the idea
Behind a real doctors office one day
With some of their stationary I nabbed
I did a little doctoring
After all I do play one in Moms mind
Doesn't look to lame where I inserted my name
Then wrote my Mom about the kids and the wife
I've created such an elaborate charade
It's now gotten all out of hand
As I panhandle my way up and down
The Sunshine states surf and sand
Mom now says she wants to visit
Can't wait to meet the wife and kids
Don't know how I let it get this crazy
And how it all lead up to this
Now I'm scrambling to find a vacant house and a woman
With a couple of kids that look just like me
That can go along with a ruse for a week in mid-June
Since I told her that's when I'd be free
I'm thinking I should of studied in college
Instead of being this mind numbing huckster
Telling lie after deepening lie
Just so my Mother would think I'm a doctor
Categories:
scrambling, funny, humor,
Form:
Free verse
(to Mittens)
Schrödinger’s Cat is where it’s at,
nor live, nor dead, nor purring.
With half a chance she’ll live to prance
the worst may be occurring.
But if I’d look I’d lock her fate.
Dare I disturb her quantum state
when spooky action at-a-distance
could conclude poor cat’s existence?
Somehow unseen I need to see
behind that curious curtain,
where “God plays dice” with cats and mice,
and Heisenberg was uncertain.
Where large meets small, and cause effect,
where fact finds science fiction.
It boggles my small intellect …
Each way I think of to protect
her has some contradiction.
Where simple seeming Maxwell’s Demon,
if programmed to assist …
To no avail, he’s doomed to fail,
he clearly can’t exist.
Where mighty minds have failed before,
what chance have I to best Niels Bohr?
Poor Einstein nearly fried his noggin
when he tried at Copenhagen.
Then at the Solvay Congress, rambling,
suffered cerebellum scrambling.
Where the world’s four known forces and all its best minds,
couldn’t save kitty lest they Unified.
So he tried and he tried, and he tried and he tried,
still we weren’t Unified on the day Einstein died.
Then followed footsteps, Steven Hawking.
Though he didn’t do much walking,
wowed us with his brilliant squawking.
Black holes have “hair?!” Could information,
spared by quantum sublimation,
paired in Grand Unification,
spare this long-hair’s ruination?
Could yet unwritten cosmic laws
apply behind those blurry walls
to spare her furry feline paws?
I can’t remember if I cried
when I read that Steven Hawking died.
Such sadness touched me deep inside,
still, we were not Unified.
So confidence I can’t exude.
The only thing I can conclude:
Alas, I lack ability
to tinker probability.
But I will give you even odds that all our odds are even.
This odd result results because we’ve mixed our rhymes with reason.
So be it odd to play at God … by God there’s a solution!
I have free will and will by God will out her execution.
So, by stroke of this pen I do decree:
This story ended. Happily!
Categories:
scrambling, animal, cat, humorous, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
my words are like the creeping vine of a bougainvillea
they climb and intertwine
words are shadows on the wall of time- poems the flowers
bougainvillea . . .
with thorny spikes like the struggle of life
a nestled bloom within
with a sweet petal protection
hiding the scars on my soul and I am chained to this vine,
scrambling, struggling, colliding and tumbling down
words flutter for release
dripping from my pen a bougainvillea vine curling
I am fighting . . .
for soon my safe fortress will be vine ravaged
with bougainvillea crawling
vines drape over me like a net
yet words still stir beyond this thick curtain of bougainvillea . . .
____________________________
March 19, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Bougainvillia
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1126-004-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Bougainvillea
sponsor, Craig Cornish
Twelveth Place
Categories:
scrambling, writing,
Form:
Free verse
Torturing me with touches
I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust
Touches not of mortal fingers,
But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery
Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike
All upon me, yet far from me...
Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings
Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark
Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo--
Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure...
The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me
Making rhythms giggle in my mind
Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason
Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison
Is the smile that helped design those strings
Those strings that pluck upon my spine
Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time
Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys?
Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing?
Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive?
And tell me… through it all…
As you compose the rise and fall…
Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?
Categories:
scrambling, abuse, analogy, angst, image,
Form:
Free verse
She had one job, just one job.
No bugs in the house, ditto with mouse.
But there it goes across the floor,
eight legs scrambling towards the door.
The cat is snoring, obviously tired.
She had one job, so now she's fired.
Damn spider is hiding, who knows where.
Cat is sleeping, she don't care.
Spiders I hate with a passion.
Maybe her cat food I should ration.
Stupid spider, stupid cat.
I wonder if it went under the mat.
There 'll be no sleep tonight with it running free.
Good thing there's lots to watch on T.V.
She had one job, only the one,
now I'm warning that spider I've got a gun.
Categories:
scrambling, cat,
Form:
Light Verse
I think love is a lot like us.
In truth, it's hard.
At least for me. To reach into my heart and pull each thought
Like some sort of note, to resort to the most simplistic of notion.
It all seems so simple.
To walk up towards the one we love and tell them how we truly feel.
At least for me.
To be honest I don't think it's entirely the thought of being rejected.
But the actual declaration and the realization that everything that you hope and dream
stares back at you and it's not reciprocated where imagination meets reality.
At least for me.
Reaching back into my heart and scrambling around for another note.
The small things in an ocean of thought that could go wrong.
The sudden rush of thoughts that prevent such circumvention.
The first step of telling you that I love you.
At least for me.
Seeing your face again, makes it so much easier.
Knowing that you would never let me drown
Categories:
scrambling, anxiety, black african american,
Form:
Free verse
Scrambling over each other, trying hard to be heard, interrupting, yelling out, being yourself.
We knew how to do this when we were two, and three, and four, but they socialized it out of us.
So we grew up un-learning our naturalness, un-learning our playfulness, unlearning our potential.
Sure, they say, we are going to help you with your potential, but as we fit into the lines, conforming,
Winding our real selves into the pretenders others accept, we lose our potential, because it is
Not ours anymore, it is your idea of what ours should be. When we break ranks, and run for it,
You lament that you cannot control us. Thank goodness you cannot, for the leaders, the ones who have
Stood for hundreds and thousands of others have learned to scream their truth from the roof tops,
Challenging those who think controlling others is normal. There is nothing more abnormal than that.
Categories:
scrambling, self,
Form:
Free verse
You were old and new all at once
A deadly temptation
A glitch in my solid nature
And so I dove head first
And as I did I watched the pieces
Of me break away
To reveal an alien
A rawness, a vulnerability
I had never thought I possessed
Yet there I was
And there you were unchanged
And unaware that I was scrambling
For my better peices
Categories:
scrambling, confusion, dark, desire, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Frisky, gray squirrels scramble
Beneath a massive, old oak tree
Gathering the best acorns they see
Their fluffy tailed, lively damsels
Opossum wobble on short legs
From their laurel sheltered lairs
Toward the thickets where there’s
Vast bugs and spiders in their webs
Gentle, soft haired rabbits assemblage
Onward, seeking out grassy fortresses
Where they might discover tortoises
And additional special kinds of foliage
Black and white stripped skunks
Bob out toward their furry friends
Reassured they will make amends
So they will help them over tree stumps
Russet colored raccoons with charming features
Searching for their favorite pine tree expansion
Scrambling up through the long branches
To havens above all the other creatures
Big, black bear grumble through woods so eerie
Checking all around for beehives or cherries
Hoping to find a bit of honey or sweet berries
To munch on before the weather gets dreary
Tan and bronze deer clamber up cliffs that deliver
To the meadows where they’re stopping together
To chew long grass and weeds found whether
They make their trek toward the gently flowing river
Forests are thriving with these unique beings
All the different beasts living there from across
Pine, oak, birch, locust, laurel, fern and moss
God’s gifts to us who love this place so pleasing
Categories:
scrambling, animal, environment, nature,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
Finally prepared for bed and noticing
the year was now precisely 2 hours and 30 minutes old,
there occurred to me a thing that I’d forgot.
I hadn’t gone outside
to see the talked-about Blue Moon.
With bare feet, I stepped onto the icy floor boards of our deck,
quickly took a peek,
but could not spy the moon!
Scrambling to the front (this time in shoes),
I stood out by the sidewalk and
let my senses take in what I saw. . .
banks of crisp new snow around me;
some houses down the street still glittering
with multi-colored strands of season’s cheer;
in front of me, familiar mountain slopes
that seemingly loomed closer
in the stillness of this night.
It seemed as if the sky, a hazy blue,
had taken in the soft white of the snow,
reflecting back to me a picture-perfect moment
of a most wondrous dream-like winter’s eve.
I scanned the sky once more,
then turned and walked back to my porch.
not too disappointed that
the moon I’d sought
had eluded me.
Categories:
scrambling, me, moon,
Form:
Free verse
Once upon a time
Just to enlighten my mind
I crawled in to a book
To take a closer look
Right there between the pages
A story for all ages
Scrambling over each word
Hoping imagination would stir
I came to the word "market"
Fell in on a magic carpet
Went flying up and down
He told me he was book bound
We flew through every leaf
With pauses somewhat brief
Buzzed right through every chapter
Until the happ'ly ever after
It seems there once was a wizard
Who had a fire breathing lizard
They were the best of friends
Lived in a bear cave den
One day they met a squire
Who wanted to acquire
An imprisoned captive princess
Surrounded by walls and fences
But hunters were trying to kill
The lizard who wouldn't chill
They would all help each other
Until the plot was discovered
This is where my story ends
The carpet and I parted friends
I promised never to reveal
This magical plot concealed
The last thing I have to say
Is go find a book display
If there's a wizardly dragon lover
Read it from cover to cover
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Categories:
scrambling, adventure, books, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
The clouds part at their roots…
Colliding the winds, waves
Crashing the shores.
We meet…
A rare combination
Of circumstances,
Our situation aggravate
A drastic storm, perfectly.
Words swarm our minds
Like busy bees in search
Of the sweet nectar of allegorical,
Similes and metaphoric explanations…
Pollinating our conscience and subconscious
Respectfully…
The obvious perplexities of poetic banter
And inconspicuous meaning
That bounds us…
Words that conjure from elevated places,
And rollercoaster into the subliminal…
Twirling around into loops, pen to paper
Screeches and screams to an abrupt stop.
The unexplainable written,
Describing what was unknown…
Scrambling to unscramble words
To define this acquaintance,
And when the stars play chase
Through the night sky
And the moon is set-
Know that somewhere out there
Two poets have met…
Categories:
scrambling, love
Form:
Free verse