Best Scrunching Poems
She looks into the mirror, and sees what she is.
A beautiful, bubbly little girl.
Heart opened to the world, trusting everyone who inhabits it.
The corners of her mouth turned upward, her cheeks tinted pink.
She looks at her mirror image and laughs, sticking out her tongue and scrunching up her face.
She goes to bed.
She looks into the mirror, and sees what she is.
A brilliant, creative young girl.
Her face is laced with imperfections, but her mom told her no one is perfect.
Her smile is crooked, her eyebrows are hard to see, and her face is covered in little red demons.
She looks at her mirror image and smiles anyway, not caring about her appearance.
She goes to bed.
She looks into the mirror, and sees what she is told.
An unattractive, bland girl.
Her face has countless flaws, but everyone else looks perfect.
Her smile is crooked, her face is chubby, her acne has taken over, and her eyebrows aren't slim.
She looks at her mirror image with a ghost of a smile, doubt showing through her eyes.
She pushes them away and she goes to bed.
She looks in the mirror, and sees what she thinks is there.
A fat, ugly teen girl.
Body littered with the unattractiveness that defines her existence.
Her heart's shield has come up, preventing the hurt she knows will come.
She looks at her mirror image, mouth pinched in disgust.
Hugging her pillow tightly, she goes to bed.
She looks in the mirror, and sees what she's certain is there.
An unloved husk of a human being.
Her mind now resembles her body, scarred from her own criticism.
Her heart is cracked, her soul broken, her mind tired.
She looks at her mirror image with a huge smile on her face, knowing it will be her last.
She lets go of her life and for the first time in a long time,
She happily goes to bed.
I recently found this poem that I had written. I had written it when I was 13 years old...
Categories:
scrunching, body, depression, suicide, teen,
Form:
Verse
"Dear man with eyes of finest wheat, I'm hungry and I have nothing to eat "
Said the beggar to the florist who had an armload of floral work to do
She showed up every Valentines Day to pick up her free bouquet
her sweet smile and soft voice charmed him in a special way
"You are relentless Maggie, " he would say with a twinkle in his eye
as he handed her a dozen roses with a jovial grin...
She would stand at the curb and sell them one by one as they walked by;
One February day it was as cold as the Dickens, and no one showed up
Scrunching a blanket in a corner she hugged her twelve roses and fell asleep
"Wake up pretty Maggie" came the voice of a rose who had seen better days
but she slept slept and slept, no Prince Charming to sweep her away
the next year arrived no smile at the window no roses for Mag.
In all of his life he had never encountered a more beautiful rose such as she,
what he didn't know was before she died, she imagined his eyes
and entered the heavens, for free.
Written by: Vienna Bombardieri
Categories:
scrunching, appreciation,
Form:
Narrative
I hike as I've hiked a thousand times gone
But curved like a serpent, the path that I'm on
The scrunching of steps in the snow as I walk
Tick off precious seconds of time as they mock
The night swallows minutes, as they swallow me
Hard payment, in lifeblood, for mortality ...
The magical mood of a white-spattered sky
A dance, drifting soft, as the wink of an eye
Small heavenly jewels of a winter sky's weep
And crystalline tears of the season's cold creep
Soft, tickling my face with memories, frozen
The frosty reminders of fates that I've chosen ...
- Thus, leaving the plane wreck behind in a storm
I set out in hopes of some refuge that's warm
And now, three days hence, air whispering death
I'll trudge steady-on 'til my last icy breath ...
For should I end up in this cold, barren ground
Ah, blessed will I end, with such beauty around ...
In the midst of a providence few ever know ...
Enchantingly baptized ... by a heavenly snow!
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Action Adventure" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
scrunching, adventure, lost, snow, storm,
Form:
Couplet
Mugs of hot chocolate trickle down throats
Snowman is built with a carrot nose
Snuggled into our warmest coats
Can't wait to sled as the snowfall grows
Scrunching on boots over chilly toes
On frozen ponds we all go skating
Sliding our way through the ice and snow
Colder weather anticipating
Doesn't stop us don't you know
Mother Nature's putting on a show
Now we come inside to get warm
Build ourselves a cozy fire
We are watching the blanketing storm
The beauty of which we never tire
Extravaganza we so admire!
Fall is so lovely but when it wanes
Winter's wonders are welcomed in
Like snowflakes on the window panes
As another season does begin
We dress up warm,hug each other and grin!
* for Carol Brown's "Welcoming Winter" contest
Categories:
scrunching, happiness, seasons
Form:
Quintain (English)
skeptical swollen soles
tracing dark toes
on vying veins
of tactic trains:
lofty lousy limbs
etched in ink
drastic dances dripping
on seeps scrunching
in jumpy jolly
mystic melody birthed
embroidered with will
virtuoso concerto crunching
sumptuous soles stretching
la-de-da limbs lurching.
19:12:29:09:27
Categories:
scrunching, dark,
Form:
Sonnet
I replied to the beast, “ We are done!”
No longer will I be captive to your powder
of numb thought and emotion.
No longer will I need to have a special
cup, cotton, and spoon next to those
dirty syringes hidden in the vestment.
I will no longer be waking up sick,
scrunching in fits of pain and agony.
I refuse to be pale and thin anymore from lack
of sustenance. "O, Devil! I'm kicking you to the curb."
Today is the day that I am starting a new story.
I am turning my back on you, Morning Star!
With swift pride, I stomp you back to your unholy
glory where your pleasure is no longer my pain.
Don't think I am sorry as I am awakened from
misery. It is time now to find direction otherwise.
Today, O Devil, I take back reign of this
chaotic life mess I have created!
Today I will be strong, as you have tormented me
so long. No longer shall I be off track for today,
I am taking my life back!
Bursting free from these chains;
I am on the way to conquering the flames!
Categories:
scrunching, addiction, recovery from,
Form:
Prose
The frost is in my toes,
riming the up tilted boulders,
and twinkling the night sky,
like a cold breath blown
and whooshing clear off the plateau into the arms
of the universe.
Ah, standing still is spinning
all axis in step to be motion free except the heated
breath of the stars condensing and exploding.
Just diamonds or dewdrops,
a taste of eternity
swallowed.
Analyzed.
Understood.
And gone.
Me scrunching down, counting the meter
until full exposure.
Listening for the mating cries
of crickets absent in the last dying down of autumn.
I hold onto my self, then.
Great big hug and release.
Fall into the tumble of earth churned rock.
No one
but me
to see the castaway burning through
to my side. Call them meteorite, spore, seed planted
for tomorrow traveling the empty spaces of time
wondering when, how, where the tick tick tick
of radiation
changes our bodies and our minds.
To be melted down, patted onto others, cataclysmic
blown and find a way to solidify, decorate
and blaze.
Categories:
scrunching, introspection, nature, seasons, space,
Form:
Free verse
Students at Work
See them work!
Studious looks,
Buried in books,
Leaflets flipping,
Binders snapping,
Pencils tapping,
Textbooks slamming,
Nick-knacks toppling,
Back-packs rummaging,
Noses rubbing,
Nail nibbling,
knees flapping,
Foreheads scrunching,
Eyebrows rising,
Lips compressing,
Faces scowling,
Chins supported,
Tongues catapulting,
Coughs echoes,
Work Accomplished!
Categories:
scrunching, school
Form:
I've got some brand new walking boots,
As comfy as can be,
I love my brand new walking boots,
They were surely made for me.
They are going to take me places
I have never been before,
Across the cliffs and coastal paths
And down onto the shore.
We'll scramble on rocks together,
Jump down onto the sand,
Oh my brand new walking boots
Are really very grand.
We'll go walking by the river,
Underneath the trees,
Make lots of noise, scrunching through,
All the Autumn leaves.
On our walk we'll find a pub,
To stop and have a treat.
I'll sit and put my legs up
So I can admire my feet.
We can explore our country,
Walk through our national parks,
I promise to always keep you clean,
Polish off your marks.
So I'm lacing up my walking boots
For my first walk I'm so excited,
But if you dare to pinch my toes
Our union will be blighted.
Are you listening walking boots
Don't give me a single blister
'Cause if you do, I promise to,
Give you to my sister!
Categories:
scrunching, adventure, places, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
the following quite quirky epistle may not exhibit the ordinary characteristics of poetry, but i decided to share this self made challenge (where every word begins with the letter "S" - no explanation can be offered why such self cerebral torture imposed, nor what motivated me to focus on the nineteenth letter of the english alphabet at the exclusion of other noble vowels and consonants.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Sunday September seventh started seemingly same since...silver screen show secured seventy seven SeventhSeals.
Soupy Sales supreme salient strengths (starring smart pet sidekick Springer Spaniel Socrates) salvaged sagging sporting sorties. Slap stick stereotypical swashbuckling shticks supplied shipshape shenanigans.
Spartan stage set spurred spontaneous simply stupefying solution. Suede shod schlemiel. Sartre seasoned scenes. Sharp sticks supported sphere. Seats situated semicircular semblance.
SPCA, Siemens, Sears sponsored soiree. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious shouted satirically 'specially Saturdays seemingly sellout. Spontaneous spritely Shogun Samurai sangroid stance satiated slipups stripping stellar seasoned Skidamarinks substitutes sacredly, seminally, silently, slipstreaming soulfully saving saga.
Sometimes silly spouse studiously sought spurious strategy stringing superlatives showcasing senseless sophomoric soporific skills specifically spelling storybook sassy sharpshooters supposedly sleuthing shapeless seated sideways (sic seasonal slate smug spotified snapchatting skippers selfishly scooped sloop-ful seasonal six-packs) sinister Swiss scalpers sat sometimes squatted.
Categories:
scrunching, adventure, creation, funny, humor,
Form:
Free verse
Steps ***
Remember standing barefoot
In a stream or lake or ocean as the current of water
ran cool and fast over the ankles?
That liquid, which made our planet
a home for life, beckoning us and so delightfully.
Think of walking in night, without
lights, becoming self-contained,
losing external references, seeking the moon
or some neighbor’s window, alight still...while
glancing quickly down to squint and know if
the next step will continue on the pavement.
There is good reason to remember
walking barefoot in cool, thick mud —
luscious scrunching the toes in
that earth’s batter!
There is meaning in the memory of
tortured stepping barefoot over a
length of dry, sun-burning sand...so
instantly blistering, so evil in its lack
of relief, at least until escaping its distance.
Think of the first challenging, trudging steps
in a knee-high snowfall...like the first steps
of turning to a belief in God and so much easier
with others, then reaching a route that has been plowed.
Think of journeys of the mind, walking
in times and on the streets we’ve never before been
or want to imagine a return to...lively, but yet
non-existent wanderings, much like those
we walk in sleeping dreams.
We cannot recall those very first
steps we took, thrusting us out of
babyhood, taken by a natural calling
when we are too young for any conscious intent,
having only an entirely physical desire to move...
over there...
set within a wordless desire to rise,
innately curious to discover!
Yesterday I watched baby Emmie scrambling
in her stroller. Within, she sensed there must be
some other way to subtract sitting, to move
through the room.... Compulsion gripped
her desire to rise, to step, even run...her legs
kicking non-stop ready to launch...
Only recently emerging from paralysis,
I can sympathize with Emmie’s chair-stuck
scrambling frustration. It is
the human wish to set off in motion,
off on explorations.
——————————————————————
(c) sally young Eslinger 5/10/21
Categories:
scrunching, age, christian, courage, dream,
Form:
Prose Poetry
You say that love hurts
I’d say that’s completely false
Love is a gift from the almighty God
Sow a little seed of affection and it will turn to a branchy palm
Bearing forth fruit of varied colors and forms; Red, Gold, emerald and some in turquoise
Buds so pink, smelling like everlasting rose
Love doesn’t hurt my lover
it’s the inner filth that tears people apart
Love nurtures lives and builds you up.. Like a loving mother nursing a child
But “Selfishness” always destroys hearts
Love flows like a river giving life to deserted lands
Breezing with the northern wind; Sprinkling disremembered lullaby hums
Oh my lover!
If you can’t sustain love in your small heart
You’d better never blame the beautiful love!
Love when true will bring you joy
Gushes of light, fleeing your scrunching dark
Love is the whispers of the ocean waves
Covering you in serenity and delight.. Making you dance with dolphins and sharks
Oh my lover!
Love is the medicine for a coward heart
Take a sip and receive the heart of a knight!
Love flows like a river giving life to deserted lands
Breezing with the northern wind; Sprinkling disremembered lullaby hums
Love never hurts my lover
But you hurt me so bad
God have mercy so I can forgive your past!
May 2016
Contest judged (A Poem that you are proud of) and the date May 22,2016
Categories:
scrunching, love, , Lullaby,
Form:
Free verse
Faraway Footsteps
How present
This past
Called memory
Hollow sole dragging
Hobnail boots
Caked with crud
Mud
And oil
Atop the landing
"Drop them greasy clothes"
Came the sometimes loving voice
The sometimes malevolent voice
But always his wife's warning
My mother's caring way
So many years past
When linoleum's impoverished sound
Is so remembered
Stepping from stove to table
Her laboring hands
Hefting the pressure cooker
Laden with steam softened cracked wheat
Barely eatable
That day's nourishment
Weighing upon
Forever toiling legs
Cushioned by sheepskin slippers
Whispering their shuffled prayer
I care
Generously ladled
Chew-your-brain-loose grains
Fit for health
Unfit for a kid
Layered my stomach
Fortified my heart
Prepped me abler
To gather reverie
So dear
Then
There was the sound
So ethereal
Heavenly I was told
Of bare feet
Curling the once-a-day-vacuumed
Pride and joy carpet of sage green wool
Replacing recently vanquished
Throw rug jigsaw mess
My early youth played upon
Our palace place
The living room
Scrunching pleasures
Toes lapping up that carpet
Dad's feet
Awful specimens
Calloused of years hard labor
Mother's feet
Preserved with nightly hot water soaks
Epson salts
When we could afford it
Worthy of pedicure
Never afforded
Me
Always wore my socks
Heavy wool
Darned when worn spots
Yelled loud enough
Mixed colors
When necessary
Yet always comfy
Homey
Loving covers
For footsteps
Unaware of the journey ahead
When steps would have to become strides
Leaps
Bounds
And eventually
Idleness
So present
These footfalls of then
Becoming echoes
Foreshadowing paces to come
When a once stubborn child
Needed to listen carefully
Or miss the lessons
Still offered today
From faraway footsteps
Passing near by
Categories:
scrunching, growing up,
Form:
Prose Poetry
sometimes our skin a trampoline
word tricks bouncing outside borders
letters getting stuck in springs
too hard to pronounce
sometimes a male forest
trees and bark and dark animal like that
sometimes I suppose its prose
I don’t knows
it’s the many one thing
scrunching fingers and toes
sometimes teeth and nose
we know exactly what we’ll never like
what we’re never like
not like that
until our eyes and ears
are pinned into the music
and then our skin sinks deeper into
canyons as we realize the trick is no illusion
just another us
protruding from inside youthful insolent springs
Categories:
scrunching, identity, life, men, mirror,
Form:
Free verse
Sirens sounded secretly securing source. Strait sacks swooshed scamps scaling sensitive sentries (simply spayed seals) surveying surrounding staked spy sotted sham semicircular slipshod shelter. Snappy, Snippy, Snoopy suited Skyhawks surprisingly swooped somnambulant senseless scriveners. Sargent Salemander slipped shiny shimmering shellacked Sheppards Shutterfly sidearms sized simulated small skyscraper slinky, soapy, spooky squarely summoned, sentenced, sacrificed see swarthy Samsonite satraps Section SpecialOps.
Sometime soon savior snuck stealthily stealing sinful schleppers. sundown syzygy saw serendipitous, surreptitious, surreptitious segue-way shuttled safely Scottish shoals. Stigmatization stayed steady. Supplication statements swatted. Sole survivor swiftly spun self shaming sesquipedalian soliloquy. Sea side serenade soon spewed solipsism saving Slim Shady.
Sayonara seminal surfer swirling scarily sans sinister serpentine silent space.
Categories:
scrunching, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Epic