Best Scrawling Poems
I stand at the front of the exam hall, which is in total silence.
Grey desks stretch out in neat rows -
they remind me of gravestones in the local cemetery,
with white faced students their unwilling occupants.
The only sounds that can be heard are the pages being turned over
and the scrawling of pens on the paper.
Exam invigilators creep around the room like mice,
their hawk like eyes ensure no one is cheating.
Suddenly a booming fart breaks the silence -
it sounds like a machine gun that has been fired in short staccato blasts.
We can clearly see the perpetrator as his face is as red as a raspberry!
Muffled giggles are stifled and silence is once again restored.
A true story!
Noise Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
03~09~17
Categories:
scrawling, high school, humorous, silence,
Form:
Free verse
Writing a poem is like giving birth to a baby.
With the copulation of fancy and thought,
Comes the moment of conception!
It swims into you as a seed, so tiny, so inconspicuous
Once pregnancy is confirmed, comes irritation, nausea
Lethargy and loss of appetite
All the while you begin to realize
That a new life, independent of you
Has begun growing inside you
Then all the care taken to foster the young life
You withdraw, take rest and relax in solitude
Slowly the fetus moves, the first stirring of life!
With fond fingers, as you pat your belly,
Your pen pats the paper.
The first line comes like the first beating of the heart!
Then words….like little harness bells tingling
Fall in line, line after line!
Drawing nourishment, the embryo grows limb by limb
The miniscule of insight, grown after months of waiting,
Into a mature body of illumination!
A stretch of your dreams! A suffusion of light!
After the labor pains of scribbling and scrawling,
Writing and rewriting, deleting, adding and editing,
With time stretching and contracting,
A baby, nay, a poem is born……
August.4.2022
~Placed Seventh~
Simile Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Hilo Poet
Categories:
scrawling, angst, birth, child, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
Beneath the illumination of the elliptical moon,
Within the cove of diamond bay, waves gently sway
Back and forth, under the oceans clarity of the big blue,
As the surfs foam and spray roll against the white sandy
Beaches beyond.
Hush the breeze whispers to the gulls above, hush, hush now,
Be still, for soon they will come, but these chatter snappers.
Refuse to yield in their battering’s scrawling, until the ocean
Itself-lashes out at them to be quiet.
In the silence of the timeless, in the paused hush of the
Aquatic wilderness, something stirs.
Behold the leaping lords of the blue abyss,
Breaching upwards, as if to tenderly kiss the moon above,
Thanking it for another day of life, to live wild and free,
Beneath the waves of infinity, of the big blue.
Dancers on fins of grace, seemingly toe stepping on the
Waves in a delicate balance, just for a second of brilliance
Display, while others incline in a somersault acrobatic
Air assault, to pay homages respect to the magnificent
Ocean for its eternal beauty, and salvation's refuge.
These gray phantoms of the divine ethereal realm,
Born with purity’s heart of innocence, true creatures
Of light and love, shine in the diamond star dust of twilight.
Birthed within the quaking wake of the lords divining hands,
At the moments his voice rose, in the beginning of time itself,
Dividing the light from the darkness, the dolphin took its first
Air breath of life, and the Lord Almighty,
Smiled down upon his aquatic creation with warmth and love.
Perfections free falling divers, enchanting the human heart
With their graceful swiftness, stealth and intelligence.
The sailor’s guardians at sea, these vigilant sentinels of the
Briny depth, follows the surging storms hailing, and await
To assist in the deist hour of humanities greatest need.
Within their loving pod, the young are nurtured by devotions
Breasts of giving, no tender a mother can ever be found
Then she the dolphin, born from the grace of God himself.
In the silence of the timeless, in the paused hush of the
Aquatic wilderness, something stirs beneath the waves
Of clarity.
Behold the leaping lords of the blue abyss,
Breaching upwards, as if to tenderly kiss the moon above,
Thanking it for another day of life, to live wild and free,
Beneath the waves of infinity, of the big blue.
Categories:
scrawling, animal, beauty, imagery, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
It's used as an afterthought, fattening festive
arrangements for Mother's Day, Easter,
someone's birthday. An underrated vine,
enhancing center-stage flowers whose star-power
doesn't wear well. It's the "coming attraction"
that's there after the clapping dies down,
replanted by doorstep or gravestone. "Grow,"
I say, "Change my life with your traveling beauty,
your common denominator, your scrawling
signature seldom sought for autographs.
Snaking around graves at our family plot,
it's an ongoing gift, out-giving the giver
with its "overwhelming darkness", reminding us
where there is life, there is also death. Surviving,
thriving in hanging pots the less hardy exit,
it surprises and delights, reaching down from limbs
of trees for soil, unchallenged there in pine straw
until tender tendrils insinuate their way
to daylight through tapestries of needles
When the ivy becomes dense, I will know
you are there: ivy of my heart, ivy of essence,
the graceful way it swings and sways, how
it takes to new habitat in the way you, Julie,
cut a swath through New York City after lifetimes
in the easy South. We are old souls, older
than the hedera, cousin to ginseng, reminder
of the movement of the heavens, the ability
to bring things together. You were shelter,
the poets' headpiece, bringing peace
to my household. Resurrection and rebirth,
Julie, in this Easter of ivy.
Categories:
scrawling, friendshipeaster, cousin,
Form:
Narrative
Murmuration of starlings high. I’m high!
Low stars twinkling with wings. The trumpet’s call!
As winds of war, incline, in warm wind sigh,
the flock, a shock, sans enemies appall.
These friends do fascinate, heard like bombers,
like Japanese over unsuspecting
Pearl Harbor fight ~ these darling bird-balmers.
The nudge of melodic buzz, quite affecting.
Not of national consequence, abuzz
not with politicking but peace of soul -
remains of war pittance, the scrawling-t’was.
My awesome sight, this di’mond-bling of coal.
Mere humans offer crumbs ~ my heart flaps wings.
With murmurs high and low, communion springs.
Categories:
scrawling, bird,
Form:
Sonnet
DISAPPEAR
Tremors are the worst,
the full-body shakes
its like my skin is too tight,
my body doesn’t fit,
my life doesn’t fit
the anxiety no one understands
its invisible,
I’m invisible.
“Snap out of it, Shaky”, they say
“You’re just faking it.”
And I want to crawl into a ball and disappear.
Where did my confidence go?
My libido?
So many accomplishments…
I wake up to a new day
but I see the old ways
and no way out.
Can’t write in longhand anymore,
scrawling script is illegible
words fall like a sideways rain
splash all over me
the fears…not good enough
just let me lie here in the dark
and disappear.
Categories:
scrawling, anxiety, mental illness,
Form:
Free verse
** A Poetry Avalanche **
Goodness! Lord!
I’m on a roll this morning!
The poetry keeps coming —
nearly torturing!
My keypad arm and fingers are
alrady so tired…
It’s as if
The address of poetry were
On fire!
— With every poem present there
retreating
From the inspirations wrought from
burning memories, preferring
The refreshing lure of
allegories and fairy tales
to aid my creating.
There are still three more hours
Marked off in my planner to turn
Words into exemplary verses.
However, ink now covers every page
Printed out, such that all my papers
appear all scribbled and smeared.
So, I’ve quit scrawling in this diary
And brought my markers out, to kneel
Down here and write
All over
Across our living room’s floor!
————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/27/2023
Categories:
scrawling, fun, humorous, light, poems,
Form:
Alliteration
A diaphanous mist hangs over me
Blurring my thoughts and fancy
Or is it that my Muses have gone into lazy slumber?
Whatever thoughts I have, they come fragmented and scrambled
In no way I can piece them into a string
As I try to nest them together, they wheel away like pigeons
When I struggle for utterance,
Like a child, I lisp at the very first word
Though thoughts strike me like pellets of rain against windowpanes
I fail to broil them in the crucibles of my imagination
I am a miner searching for a nugget of gold
In tons of drilled out mineral ore
In the dead of the night, in frightening stillness
I am awake, with a pen in my hand
A heavy weight pulling me down
Caught in a creative maelstrom, I whirl and whirl
I hope the ink will soon spill over
Scrawling coherent lines and letters
Like an emboldened farmer,
I sow seeds of my thoughts into a land barren,
Not fecund enough and not watered with imagination!
Who can say some of them won’t strike root
Even in the cleft of a rock and struggle bravely into sunshine
Spreading over their sterile birth place
With beauties any eye would love to behold!
I wait for that moment...
Yes, I am a poet in the making...!
October.1.2022
~ Placed Seventh~
2022 Marathon mile.23 Poetry Contest
Sponsor -Mark Toney
Categories:
scrawling, angst, inspiration, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Amidst the amazing aroma of the angelic sticks
Cheering along the chants of charismatic priests
Promising on the petals of pearly purity
You said, "I LOVE YOU"
During the dreadful dreams of dying waves
Glancing through the glass of dry gloomy grass
Lifting me up into the light of lively land
You said "I LOVE YOU"
Fondling my feathery feet with your fancy fingers
Twisting your tangy thumb into my twirled curls
Scrawling your signature on my splendid smile
You said "I LOVE YOU"
Searching for the sensibility behind the madness of your words
Enjoying the ecstasy of our bond enriched with folly fights
Roistering the roller coaster ride at the royal stage of your vivacity
I solemnly stoop before your solicitude to say,
I LIVE FOR YOU.
Prick up your ears my darling
Open wide your eyes my poppet
Unlock the hatch of your heart my swain
Look into my eyes,
Slide deep into my nerves,
Feel the warmth of my blood
You will realise that
I AM ALL YOURS.
Categories:
scrawling, love,
Form:
Rhyme
“When the pen falls silent that once danced to the muse’s command and when the poet’s heart no longer beats with rhyme, we realize that the poet in us is dead. It is a sad truth difficult to reckon.” ~ By Poet
Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards –
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts
I sallied out for a stunning theme,
And stroked my pen to put it down,
But topics eluded me one by one,
Unable to decide on what to dwell,
I rummaged my memory for apt words,
And dallied round with lofty themes
Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts,
And hackneyed phrases came alive.
I strained hard to give them life,
And labored in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun’ and ‘the Brilliant Star’,
Both faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
But hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
No Muse appeared to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
The words that once flowed like honey
Dried up with no inspiration, coming to nourish.
Staring blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought,
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my paper and pen.
I greatly lament the death of the poet in me,
And wonder if ever will have a rebirth!
Categories:
scrawling, death, pain, poetess,
Form:
Elegy
I'm just a kid, and life is a nightmare
I'm forced to be mature beyond my age
Using my writing as my therapy
Scrawling my thoughts across the page
Every couple days or so
a poem or two I write
I can't sleep while my thoughts process
So i scribble throughout the night
I give you all my thoughts and fears
this is the reason that i write
so that i can clear my head
giving me the strength i need to fight
In this book i write the things
that i cannot say to their face
but letting it all out on paper
helps me to keep my place
writing poems calms me down
and puts me back in control
I have been writing poems for a while no
since i was twelve years old
Writing puts things in perspective
shows me another point of view
it helps me work out what was done wrong
and shows me what i need to do
If you look closley at what I write
I think that you will find
That exposed on these many pages
is the darker side of my mind
Everything i feel, i write
my thoughts are a tangled mess
I write to clear my head and keep myself sane
thats why i'm a poetess
Categories:
scrawling, confusion, imagination, life, on
Form:
Free verse
You always tell me how much you love my poetry
but is that the only reason you feel drawn to me?
I write Sonnets filled with love and romance for you,
adoring stanzas meant to caress your heart and soul,
but is it my rhyming words, or me that you cherish?
If I no longer wrote about the silvered moon in eclipse,
would your soft parted lips still want to cling to mine?
I could gladly write all day and night to please you,
but if I did not clasp a feathered quill in my hand,
I wonder... would you still hold me dear in your life?
I sit and write only for you lately. Am I fooling myself
to think it's just for the words I scribble on parchment
that you've become enthralled with the flair of my pen.
What then, my love? If no longer I could compose
expressions of devoutness meant for your eyes only.
With reverence, I beseech you to love me for who I am.
Would you leave me in painful throes of heartache,
forsaking my heart when my muse no longer expresses
the passionate verses you seek me to scribe for you?
Would you love me if I wasn't a poet, darling, scrawling
arduous words to describe the beauty of your face,
or the changing shades of grey in your wintery eyes?
No, dear one. Do not answer the questions I ask of you
for to hear your voice deny me of your love, I'd become
incapable of ever authoring another affectionate line.
I would tear my pages of poetry in half and burn them.
Grief-stricken; my tears blurring the ink to ever write again.
Despoiled of the will to create even one more quixotic verse.
Categories:
scrawling, love, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
Categories:
scrawling, lost love, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Underneath the calm exterior
quietly weeps a frightened child.
But beyond the reckoning here
lies agelessness and mystery .
Past the well-traveled soul searcher
rises a distinctly brave woman.
All these daunting memories
have not undone her nor
brought her to her knees.
In the dawn you will find her
scrawling names in the sand.
Those who fed her-sated her thirst
Those who offered all sorts of balms.
There are ones who inflicted
power and pain with such ease.
Yet through all this light and shadow
her life bloomed on and so did she.
Just a wave tossed in the ocean
she has learned the beauty of hope.
for Debbie Guzzi's contest "Words of Wisdom"
I chose the topic " the great flower of our lives" because throughout life there is much to be
reckoned with yet you can bloom above it all-rise up and shine on if you so choose... I feel
that's what I have done myself...
Categories:
scrawling, courage, growth, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Realm of humankind wheedled in reset,
Homeland beray, lull to beset,
Scrawling the parchment to a keyset,
Xenophobia in callousness,
Dearth to darn the clout concord.
Orness synergy alliance the terrene.
Berth errand the rassle office,
Commissions detach the hassle orifice...
Pensile the ensile spirits,
Circumscissile recoiled resiliency,
Nuanced tensile expansionism...
Normalise a new normal,
Order the prime heart to bloom,
Taper our united dreg to blossom...
Blight in frights,
Dight the twinight against any affright,
Infinity within.
Categories:
scrawling, community, creation, earth, environment,
Form:
Free verse