Long Rummaging Poems
Long Rummaging Poems. Below are the most popular long Rummaging by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rummaging poems by poem length and keyword.
All dressed in green, the rose bush beams
like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips;
these debutants jilted by bees
forever wanting to be kissed.
A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady
and drips over the wall like a Dali clock,
tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies
still waiting to dance, demurely frocked.
Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes,
while hostas and petunias wave.
In the light of the late springtime sky
all in the garden would rave.
No need for people, they've nothing to prove
because flowers can party too!
~Through a wisteria laden arbor~
Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass
and they just left the blueberries over the hedge,
a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as
deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead;
at least they don't consume the guests,
or should I say, permanent party participants.
Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet
they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't.
What's the purpose of being pretty;
ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer -
it's the talk of the party and nasty.
Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here,
the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease
and though perhaps used, we're left pleased.
Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)
lost her
she dreamt
shared
despair
lost her
chest
cross
heartbeat
breath
mine
fog
filled my eyes
as if
cataracts
church an act
I cling
to His hem
He heals
lost her
He found her
at his feet
catching
the Spirit
lost her
on earth
she
will be
found
in paradise
I’m still
in bed
holding
the air
in her guest room
holding my
sister’s heart
too
in the next room
rummaging for
something
to hang
onto
lost her
found His eyes
underneath
the thorns
I’m
at the bottom
in the valley
the arrow
a cross
He wept
crocodile tears
like
my dad
but His
were for us
lost her
He caught her
I’m caught up
in grief
it has passed
the past
at last
When we sleep, we dream:
and emptying our souls,
thoughts pour out;
tumbling freely from one to the next.
Dreams interact
with a multitude of conflicting emotions:
as they flitter and flutter
like butterflies,
within the garden of our subconscious mind.
Fantasy is the absence of reality:
creating a phantasmagorical playground,
limited only by imagination.
And dreams invite us
to step through the looking glass;
and follow Alice into Wonderland.
Plugged into our psyche:
dreams connect our minds
to an imaginary world,
unlike any other.
A jumbled mix of interactions,
dreams are phantom thoughts:
that manifest like ghosts,
rummaging through our mind's vault;
filled with secret hopes and fears.
And as opposed to delusion;
dreams, buttress fantasy illusions,
with recognizable truths.
Written: February 1st, 2024
________________________________________
I propose they should read a poem
Set it in light and let it serve as a totem
Similar to a kaleidoscope display
Alas, listen to the beehive and sway
I quit
writing love poetry
ever since that day
I saw starlight
suffocating
to death
in a smother
of cindered dreams
and the moon burying itself
under the wings of
immigrating pledges
I
waited
for dawn
to usher me
through the dark
rummaging the
clouds for a
remain of
sunrise
dot
to dip my feather in
its shine just to find
blank blackness
cramming the horizon
so I stopped writing of
l
i
g
h
t
I'm struggling still
to grasp
your susurrations
to be used to
the rhythm
my fingers shiver with
at the sound of
their echo
in which letters oscillate across the page
akin to sunflowers swinging in the hand
with a sense of a spring breeze in a cage
Blows between the lines in another land
twilight
of
musings
as ink drips
shimmering
in a rainbow aurora
and poems blossom
back to life
drenched
in
morning dew
Scribbled thoughts so blue
Rummaging through old boxes that have been ignored, stored away from today that belong to our past. My scribbled thoughts across the tattered pages.
My mind construes, weeping out of my heart back then, I can’t pretend that we still live like that today.
Constantly pleading to be closer to you, Yet you keep at an arm’s reach. I keep coming back for more and more. Just to get ignored. Now I don’t even cry. We haven’t changed – not you not I.
Scribbled thoughts so blue
Now our sons are caught in your blindside, shielding them from your love too. Reassuring them their father loves them is something I wish never had to do.
Loving you isn’t easy, when it feels like this isn’t where you want to be but unconditional is what we vowed to do.
I’ve felt like a single mom for so long, independent and strong . Our youngest will soon be gone and once again no bond.
My very being is still longing for what I wanted way back then scribbled on those tattered pages in pen.
Wanting to be the first thought on your mind, enjoying each other side by side participating in the life we have built. As the scribbled words scream out this is a convenient place to stay.
Our lives drifted apart, perched on your tobacco leather throne reclined escaping into your TV zone.
As the frayed edges lay across my ring, tear filled eyes scanning the time lapse gallery displayed on the walls, searching for you - non-existent; that’s you.
Scribbled thoughts so blue
The boys have brought me so much joy!
People would always ask “where their dad is at? “. Making up excuses I hated the lies; I could see the hurt in your own parent’s eyes.
I Pray to God for patience to help me to hold on. You are not a bad man. But it’s time to think about me.
Cautiously at the crossroad I stand still waiting for God to give me some guidance as to His will.
I know God loves me and that should be enough. I want to share the rest of my life with you unconditional is what we vowed to do.
The blue ink starts to bleed through the tattered pages as tears stream down praying to the good Lord what to do?
Scribbled thoughts so blue
Form:
In streets of stone, I wander alone,
A life of scraps, a soul overthrown.
Each meal a quest, each day a test,
I beg for crumbs, and pray for rest.
They judge me harshly, with eyes that don't see,
The story of my life, the struggles of humanity.
I kneel in desperation, with tears that won't dry,
Heavenly Father, please, don't abandon me to this life.
Morning's bitter taste, tears on my cheeks,
The struggle's real, the pain it speaks.
Rummaging through bins, with hands that shake,
A life unwanted, a future at stake.
People pass by, with faces turned away,
As if I've lost all hope, and faded away.
We gather wood, to warm our bones,
But sickness creeps, and no one knows.
I dream of homes, of schools and friends,
Of laughter and joy that never ends.
But here I'm stuck, in this endless fight,
A street kid's life, without a guiding light.
I tried to sell, but no one buys,
They see the dirt, not the tears I've cried.
Chased from classrooms, for fees unpaid,
Left to survive, in this urban shade.
The elements rage, the cold, the heat,
I'm here, exposed, with no retreat.
I yearn for change, for a better life,
But it eludes me, like a fleeting strife.
I watch the waste, the food thrown away,
And wonder why, in a world that's gone astray.
They burn their clothes, with a careless hand,
While I have none, not even a pair to stand.
I eat what I find, with no choice to make,
A life of survival, with no escape to take.
Oh, Heavenly Father, hear my plea,
A street kid's cry, a soul that's free.
In this dark world, where hope seems lost,
I'm searching for a light, a chance to be counted.
Hear my story, see my pain,
And let my voice be heard, let my heart be gained.
A seasoned cat burglar
climbs through
the kitchen window;
his eyes scanning
left, right, front, and back...
"Good, no one's home,"
or so he fought.
He tiptoes through the house,
going from room to room,
rummaging through drawers
and stuffing knick knacks
into an open backpack
he's wearing
in front.
Before long, he sees a shadow
appear on the wall;
someone's behind him.
As soon as he turns his head
for a look see...
"POW!"...knocked out, cold.
He came to...
a hulking blurry figure
standing over him....
"You came to the wrong house, and the cops are on their way!,"
the homeowner shouted.
Date written: 06/13/2021
Wretched Stakes
I find in your eyes a mysterious universe
fraught with the searing scent of betrayal
and warped reflections of my reality
swirling in shadows of welling, yet un-shed tears.
Rummaging the tortured abyss for a glint of familiarity,
grasping to anchor myself in the alien terrain,
I'm awestruck by the requisite strength; your strength...
to survive among the crosses in your eyes.
Over the horizon a faint glimmer defies the gloom.
A hopeful star, fading but stalwart,
screams for love as it grapples the swallowing deep.
At last, I fathom the wretched stakes.
07/26/15
Submission for Contest: The Crosses in Your Eyes
Hosted: Justin Bordner
1. One little brown bear,
Wanted to shave all his hair.
2. Two anxious alligators disagreed.
Thought the little brown bear,
Would look to different without any hair.
3. Three geese flying by laughed at the bear.
"You could have had feathers instead of hair!"
4. Four ants moved away.
Property values would drop with a little brown bear with no hair.
5. Five fish stuck on a string,
Said they had never seen such a thing!
A little brown bear without any hair.
6. Six snakes slithered into a hole,
"What will happen if our children see,
A little brown bear without any hair?"
7. Seven goats rummaging in the trash.
"It's just a fad and will not last!"
8. Eight great Apes discussed in a tree.
" Is there a law? Do we have to agree?"
9. Nine spotted fawns thought it all out.
"We start with spots and then we are without!"
10. Ten little brown bears all shaved their hair.
Now they're a rock band called Bare Bears,
A wild success from who knows where!
This day, a new year marks and also brings
afresh sweet memories of vows exchanged
one shy of thirty years ago, of rings
in token and in pledge, a day arranged
by God, ere we were knitted in the womb.
Why He joined us, and through His providence,
did graft us to his vine, our love to bloom,
is known to Him alone. Its consequence
yet hidden from our eyes, but what a wealth
have we, thus joined, shared on this wending way
in joy, in sorrow, sickness, and in health!
In confidence, with surety, I say:
yet were I able all this to foresee,
a thousand times again, would I choose thee.
------------
A sonnet I wrote for Frances for our anniversary a few years back, found rummaging old computer files... We're coming up on 37 years in January