Long Scribble Poems
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For Sotto Poet's E Words Contest
17 June 24
POTD. First Prize
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"Enthusiasm is nothing more or less than faith in action" -- Henry Chester
I cling to reveries of youth, the tender sentiment of plucking words from summer roots,
That in my journal hours when the red
of skies are agleam...phrases extend long long as straw.
I burn language the way one does in
a flamed trance--amused, enthused,
seduced-- reeling into a daze beneath
a new moon, a blur of penciled happenstance flapping like a winged feather on river of late afternoons.
I would still scribble in hay where syllables grow into racy tunes , my faith abiding in passion deep...
And I could not help myself but drown
my hands in raw and humid lines;
Bury my eyes deep in verses' jammed.
I'm loathed to leave my untamed story
when twilight fades. Still and all, letters
drip and tradewinds see blown paper
curling like blotted fingertips!
the beginning felt solid to me, like tasting another day with choice
and i am a drifter, one sifting as sand (not in an hourglass)
i am free like the wind,
so- this feeling i didn’t understand,
how could i?
i’m not one “planted by the rivers of water”
nestled beside a firm tree
suddenly: i pause and stare, completely unaware
that somehow in this reality -
you would attempt to manipulate my voice,
change my shape and mold me
don’t you dare!!!
quickly:
become aware, that sand does not belong in your hand
(a feeling you better comprehend)
_______________
Just a little scribble
Featured Poem- 11/22/2020
As a kid I wouldn’t of thought that this is how it was,
For every feeling of giving up,
For every kick of the drum;
My heart would call my bluff.
As as a kid all I wanted was a feeling I could grow up,
Living how I want,
I wonder if that’s really enough for a slumdog to overcome.
Thought I’d waste away my lungs while I’m still young,
Could quit whenever I want,
But cigarettes still tan my skin and poison coats my tongue.
Pale face not getting favoured by the choice of lighting another puff,
Make up feelings to cover up for my blush,
Giving up feels like a pit plucked me in straight for a plunge.
They say it takes several days for you body to fully adjust,
Side effects faded too and from,
Vanilla glaze flavouring from the atomiser sent me back into the rush.
My minds too hazy from all the tobacco and the blunts,
My rhymes are getting lazy,
My speech deteriorated since I forgot my native tongue.
As a kid I dreamed of the nights after large payments,
All grown up,
Now I know how it feels sleeping right against the hard pavements.
Scribble all my thoughts,
Every now and then I form a couple rhymes that I feel are worth saving.
It’s 3 A.M. and I’m only just drifting off,
Slumdog milling across thoughts of soft sheep crossing the pavements.
My poor heart aches as my mind cogitates
upon the deep desires of my dark soul,
and searching for profound truths that can be
expressed in mystic subtle syllables.
Alas such thoughts come at the worst of times.
I dream of them, elusive to extreme.
I wake and these abstractions spiral up
into nothingness of infinity,
ethereal concepts lost into space,
misty spectral reveries, brown studies
of doubtful natures, devious musings
of negligible earthly happenings.
All lost, unattainable conceptions,
leaving me spiritless limp and listless,
a ramekin of moronic despair,
riding a foamy crest of frustration.
Until my looking glass is tinted rose,
the black clouds break and faith is reassured.
Then I shall take up my pen and paper
and scribble all my endless worthless thoughts.
Alas that holy day is still to be.
I reach for pen and paper
to pour out my heart,
tears welling up in my eyes,
like a river about to burst its banks
I scribble, finally free to speak
in different tones and languages
without uttering a word.
I have found it,
the key to unlock my emotions,
releasing them one after the other
unpacking them into new spaces,
uncovering feelings buried deep inside,
the ones I have failed to erase,
inbuilt within the memory
that’s embedded in
the very core of my existence,
my heart.
Conniving and working in tandem,
with my mind, they betray me,
The two speak the same language,
telling a story of second chances,
to break free of un forgiveness,
a prison of the past,
I take heed and let love lead.
A toast to healing,
to a new beginning.
you yearn for
the scribble
poem in rain
like a dressmaker
of waves &
ebbing
sociableness
Yet
the steam
surrounding you
glide
the zephyr
Within other
proclivity &
given
appropriateness
Infrequently
shepherd
the driblets
within
your hunt
natural
grants are
sustaining the
precipitousness
Written: May 13, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
A tiny thread that weaves through
this tangled and mangled mystery,
called life
- hoping to reach you
Fragile . . .
the heart of me
Will unwinding what I find,
underneath broken pieces and strife
leave me broken,
in pieces too?
Dare I touch -
gently tug upon the string,
of everything
you’ve been through
- in hopes to touch you
________________________
Just a little Scribble
~ A tender longing within ~
Sunday April 26, 2020- Poem of the Day
her eyes on the moon
or a twirled moustache
upside-down questions
never before asked
violins play a solo
alongside quiet pain
that is spoken of only
within poetic refrain
thought bubbles bounce
collide with stars
a self never spoke of
disguised in rhyming memoirs
mazes and teeth in riddles unravelled
as the subconscious mind
becomes more well-travelled
layers of thought
covered with layers of feeling
all brought into the light
with a little free-wheeling
though dots may join up
there is no conclusion
for a poetess is always
part fantasy
part illusion
venn diagram discoveries
made without knowing
sharing of ideas
with the seeds they are sowing
exiting time when feeling off-kilter
to observe all askew -
a true angle tilter
we scribble in darkness
scribble in light
scribble for solace
and for our life
Sometimes it's not for me to always speak
Things that have pressed and pressured me
I believe
By gracefully spilling this rhyme
In time this time a creatively piece
Will form and grant me what is needed
Like cop with no license and driver given ticket
Like a light that stopped
A pupil that popped
There still a plan for me
Sometimes I scribble with a pen
Write names without an end
And then the form of a sentence
Brought me to repentance
Did I mention it brought back a promise
Pushed me up like baby vomit
My stomach was full to the tin
And pen wrote lines that blend
Blurred lines like Robin Thick
Released these lines that made me sick
With a brick busted discounted a chain without locks
Expressed expression like a pimple about to pop
Who stopped I did and felt much better
Smooth lines like bacon without cheddar
I better tell the truth and let this out
Sometimes been times I am not loosing this bout
As I know what to do this time
Take a pen and continue creatively line
Graze of this paper
Crimp edges without a staple
Not later but now
Release stocks up now down
Chase cars with bank cards
Flow mass today charge
Open skillets without flip
Zip pants without zips
Per ounce discounts
Sometimes I just bounce these lines
Feel better rest time
Fit to bake made signs
Raise up I made my Plies
Jokes choked commit crimes
Opposite do attract this time
Grave covered cleverly spent my
Days filled processed loose dimes
Penny sized career signs
Broadway stage jive
Turkey laced with season no sides
Fizzed resist without dis pride
Crisis told trimmed time
My time your time
linger not by the lagoon
where languid legends lie
lost within the labyrinths
of lonely hearts
long laments whispered
atop lofty ladders in lieu
of loyalties mistaken
for lust in moonlight
let us listen you and i
to lazy lush perfumes
borne of lavish lavender
while languishing in longing
let us scribble our letters
both with leaf and quill
laden with levity and love
without one word of a lie
let us unleash the leagues
of lethargic dreamers so we may
levitate leisurely in the largess
of the language of love
Read on air by invitation ~ January 23, 2022 'POETS HARBOUR'
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on January 16, 2022 for contest A STRAND (1053) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST