Long Scrunched Poems
Long Scrunched Poems. Below are the most popular long Scrunched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scrunched poems by poem length and keyword.
Apparent normalcy of seeing Simon crouched on bathroom tiles,
engrossed in energetic chewing, fails to filter my distress.
From outer body standpoint, hovered below ceiling's heat lamp,
I monitor the horror of my daughter's distraught face.
Ginger fringed, four foot five island stands on tiles first splat tarnishes.
Her scrunched hand shields centre of her face.
Vibrant sauce slides between her fingers, rivulets lead from between knuckles.
Confusion holds her captive. Velvet blond temples wince.
Metallic stiff hand draws away from her altered face.
Gaping space menaces a moustache of tomato soup.
Escaping stalactites extend from her feather faint face.
Rubbery bulb thousand times kissed
bread crumb sprinkled nose tip Rudolphs its ridiculous absence.
Coolest nochalance, Simon casts defiant dollar coin eyes at me.
In typical satisfied snack imbibed style, athletic tongue traverses his tame feline ferocity.
Miniature tiger teeth with clinician care cleaned, reminisce their red.
Placidly pleased by his sudden dismounted diplomacy, primal Simon forgot it.
Sun snoozing couch cushion
visited by vengeful psychotic.
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Gory story. Feeds my fiction addiction.
3rd June 2020
Imagine.....
Scrunched lazily in a bed of your chosen leaves each and every night
To pacify your senses in the richness of earthy-scented legacies
Our ecstasy would prompt our dreams to drift away the moonlight
In nature's cupboard saturating us to delight
In this splendiferous ornamental landscape potpourri
Favorites......
There is of course dark green BAY, the pungent sweet shiny leaf
Loved in soups, stews and sauces and decorative wreaths
CILANTRO serves us tasty signals of subtle, herbal, lemony bright
When cooking in our kitchens playground with recipes just right
MINT is the refresher both clean and sharp - so snappy
Essential to the gum we chew, it makes our toothpaste happy
EUCALYPTUS is strong and bittersweet so conspicuously alive
Its medicine embraces our care in illness and with health to survive
PEPPERTREE stuns our tongues devilishly it tastes so hot and tangy
Rudely smacking our senses sharply burning us to the third degree
VERBENA lulls you to a deeper earthly perfume, lusty and titillating
A citrus romance for salacious hearts and sultry languishing
THYME and SAGE mixes well with much especially ROSEMARY and PARSLEY
It is the herbal gift to our Thanksgiving table as we are wise to use it sparsely
PINE has needles long and thin, its woodland floor fusion creates the pathway
For a long journeys venture of our illusions of forest and stream far away
A bed of leaves to lay ourselves each and every night
A gift of dreams these scented legacies, its ecstasy to our senses delight
November 13, 2019
Scented Leaves Poetry Contest
Sponsor Kim Rodriguez
Seventies fur vests wet in the rain
Stinky but still in style so we wore them
Until they shredded and fell off our dirty shirts.
Cotton shirts no longer crisp but with wide ruffles at their wrist marks.
Soft dirty wrinkly blue jeans that smelled a bit gamey.
No one noticed that they never made it to the laundry pile.
Being rank was part of our revolution, a clothing protest
To the Viet Nam War where our poorest were being sacrificed daily.
We scrunched together in Volkswagen busses,
Traveling to Washington, where we could hold our signs.
And protest our truth, where wet fur vests were parading about
Along with grungy headbands and dreadlocks on white teenagers.
Leaving the silk and satin of the sixties back in the small towns
Where their youth thought they had to have a wedding to have sex.
We knew better. We did not care about crisp smooth wrapping paper
Or prancing ribbons on packages. We were uncomfortable and glad.
trust is a hard thing to earn, and an easy thing to break
just one sentence can send the trust you had in someone shattering to pieces
the betrayed debris piercing your heart
once trust is broken it can never truly be healed
its not like a broken car or toy that can be mended
but rather more like a scrunched ball of paper
no matter how much you try to mend it
the betrayed secrets will always be written there along the tears and creases
when we are young, our teachers tell us that telling someone our problems halves them
once we are older we understand that confiding in someone can double our worries instead
trust is fragile and must be handled with care but too often it lands in the hands of someone careless
Form:
The Greatest Show on Earth - Two
Mr. Pik lived alone, across our street
All the kids knew him, dressed up so neat;
Mr. Pik loved the circus – every kind -
Each year, in our mailbox, tickets, we’d find;
Finally the night came and none too soon
Excitement growing by light of the moon
Girls dressed in dresses – shoes – patent leather
Boys in bow ties – no matter the weather.
Families scrunched in old station wagons
Sounding just like an asthmatic dragon;
First came the clowns with red funny noses
Squirting the crowd – water from fake, roses;
Next, the acrobats riding sleek horses,
Purples plumes on their heads – never off course;
Walkers on tightropes leaving us breathless –
Covered our eyes, watching never the less;
Finally the last act – our hearts would seize -
Daring young man on the flying trapeze;
A rollicking, boisterous evening of mirth
Mr. Pik’s gift – the greatest show on earth.
5-10-21
Contest: Rhyming Couplets
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
Every year our neighbor, Mr. Pik – a widower – would treat the neighborhood to a night at the circus.
The desolate wasteland
of destitute deprivation,
traversed in tortuous trail
by my jagged life,
trying relentless
so long,
so very hard,
to flatten out
anguished angularities
of serrated mangled mind,
swirling scrunched
in the egregious
whirlpool of indignation.
Sucked into sordid abyss
of despondent delirium,
I searched out sedated
for indifferent me
the possessed passion path,
leading besotted through
the pulse of collapsed portal
to my hollow heart,
not yet filled with
the arctic mist
in prolonged dreary winter
of despondency.
The spring of yearning
came on the sly
with fervor fragrance,
drifting in furtive flutter
on the delusive wings
of transient moments,
flowing out
of the fervent flowers
of my blooming garden,
where you had flown
like a beguiled butterfly,
created the cadence
of surreal symphony,
suffusing me.
The tune harmonized
with the mesmeric music
of my longing,
enthralled emotions
danced entranced
on the ripples of rhapsody
that rolled resplendent
between you and me,
to entwine us evermore,
consecrating the cryptic concept
of metamorphic magnetism,
called love…
thoseies
what was i best at at work
throwing scrunched up paper into the bins
proud to be unproud
like to stretch elastiiiiiiiiiiiiic
evangelically
Still sitting on the sil of silly
B---------------------------------- ----------------------r
i---------------------------------- ------------------------l
l---------------------------------- ------------------------i
a---------------------------------- ------------------------n
t---------------------------------- l -------------------------y
obtuse
sanity never had a use
all the fight never
one neo eon and on
End with a swung took
to everyone and their God
worthless to the point
burnt all the amed
now its ash
couldn't felt
write watt scrambled sword i
wanting the tare to come
and whatever takes its place
sinews of cuts and bruises
hold hands over
-----------------the schism chasm
i write because these words were mean
Tee up its new born other
vowels-----------------------my fingers-------------------------con stant ants
Betting on the ween
four thought
fore think
for thoughties to
the turn of the urn as it runs
the turn of the urn as it runs-all just a re-run
Above a cloudy jar of brine
That floated greenish hard boiled eggs,
Beside a Schlitz beer waterfall
That told bar time (ten minutes fast),
A taxidermied Jack-A-Lope
With rabbit ears and tiny rack
Stared marble eyed into the dark.
“We don’t have many Jack-A-Lopes
Back home in any city bars,”
I told a man who served us drinks.
“At prices there, that’s no surprise.”
The barman said without a smile
And told us of the Jack-A-Lope:
Time was you looked, you’d find his kind,
But rarely in these mountain slopes.
They only bred in wintertime
And only in electric storms.
It’s rumored round that milk that came
From mother Jack-A-Lopes could cure
Whatever walks on twos or fours
So rare it was most called it myth
As much as Sasquatch ever was.
Until one day a dowser came
Divining where to dig a well.
And gripping his good witching stick
Could swear he saw the front branch twitch.
He scrunched his eyes and looked again.
“No, something’s in that undergrowth.”
Up popped the branchy antlers of
This fearsome critter, Jack-A-Lope.
Now as it was this dowser had
A more than common whiskey thirst.
And had to live his life downwind
From ordinary decent folk.
Like pictures of Napoleon,
He stuck his hand inside his coat,
Produced a flask of sour mash,
And threw it at this portmanteau.
Some say it hopped away afraid,
But those that know have winked and said,
“That animal attacked the flask;
Without their bourbon Jack-A-Lopes
Will fade away until they’re gone.”
Outsiders paid some license fees
For hunting season, dates of which
Cannot be found on calendars.
The most were poached as trophies for
Hotels, saloons and brothels where
The mounted heads amazed their guests.
No hunter had had an interest in
An animal that can’t be killed
Because it never ever was.
But now so heavy was the hunt
The Jack-A-Lope was soon extinct,
So every one of them was killed
To prove one time they did exist.
The bar grew quiet just as if
Some meaning might be understood.
I pointed at my empty glass
And asked the barman pouring drinks,
“What’s on that plaque below the head?”
“Some Latin words, a kind of crest.
A family motto more or less.”
My heart is hurting,
Nothing is going right,
My tears are falling,
I no longer see the light.
I go outside,
Try and let the sun dry my face,
My tears speed up,
My heart starts to race.
The clouds cover the sun,
They mirror my mood,
Life is harsh,
People are quite rude.
The rain is falling now,
It blends with my tears,
I cry even harder,
I’ve had some tough years.
The rain is pouring now,
It makes me feel free,
I lift my face up,
And let the rain wash it clean.
I’m feeling better now,
The rain is slowing down,
My face is relaxing,
It’s no longer scrunched in a frown.
The sun is coming out,
Here comes a rainbow,
Spring rains aren’t all that bad,
They help you to grow.
Ten Thousand White Butterflies
Soft walls undulate like liquid steel
Metamorphic pulsations
Iridescent glow
Spiritual guides
Ushering departed souls
Rippling contractions
From cocoon-like womb
Bringing forth new breath
Replenishing blown out candles
Eyes scrunched
Painful cry
Drowned out by the rustling
One thousand butterflies taking flight
Soaring
Luminescent
Snowflake-like beings
Spreading their light
Within the night
Eternity is born
A baby raises his tiny fists
Mother's tears turn to joy
Floating heavenward on delicate wings
Announcing
Beating
Singing
A child is born
Written with Monterey Sirak.
Thankyou for letting me join you in flight!