Long Scrunching Poems

Long Scrunching Poems. Below are the most popular long Scrunching by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scrunching poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Faraway Footsteps

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
© Odin Roark  Create an image from this poem.


From Blank Screen To Logorrhea

most instances when i initially seat
     myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
     an unspecified number hours elapse
     before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh

     revelation transpires
     witnessing, this scruffy, prickly,
     and madly scratching itchy hairs
     dotting chinny chin chin of this hobo

hook huns hitters hymns elf
     tubby a generic home
     er run (hitting) mill
     (on the floss sing false teeth)
     common everyday fluky,
     nippy, nap noopy Joe,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea

     (Egg heads, merely
     scrambled random thought fragments
     at that stage) scrunching brow 
     activates laser focus,
     a scattershot burst of tangential thread populate

     formerly barren tabula rasa,
     sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
     akin to some eternal mystery),
     trucked since time immemorial

     inexplicable, that sudden ignition
     asper cerebral automatic
     catalytic converter kickstarter
     (hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
     housed within medulla oblongata)

     foster fecund fertilization,
     an inexplicable phenomena, 
     I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
     whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate

     coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
     when there appears just the merest hint
     of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
     to sperm cells 
     fervently whipsawing vis a vis,

     via flagellation motility misfits
     and false starts before this crotchety scribe
     mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
     congeals, expresses, and forms

     grandiose manifest destiny
     mentioned above i.e. Ho
     Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
     seems like a versatile

     self determining tour de force
     whereat fingers of the lefthand
     move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expended leaves (of grass)
     finds me Walt sing whit man nigh hick cull
     tickled pink with a soft after glow.

Here Here Please Define Quantum Mechanics For Second Dummy

even scrunching brow 
   defeats and doth be lie
this one measly mortal well nigh
tuckered out on par with calculating pi
  
tangential to asking if and/or 
   how i can access 
   fullest potential...say to write
about with the aid of symbols 

   i.e. letters to expound on an idea trite
or one that confounded mankind 
   many millenniums or quite
sum indeterminate orbits 'round el sol, 

   no ability within this mite
ova reproductive happenstance (yes me), 
   whom ye could tell go fly a kite 
for inducing confusion, 

   but the nature of this har re: beast 
   with a little insight
gripped, harangued, rankled, 
   et cetera, thus communicates 
   hello or goodnight,

which understandable 
   simple words may not excite
as quotidian oft repeated philosophical 
   mental challenges 
   i didst expend effort to cite,

which mind exercises offers 
   no exit, ouch that doth byte  
and if subjected to  a brain scan 
   would blind technicians 
   and set alight

frenzied uproar amidst *****Sapiens 
   via intense thinking to induce blind
ness flailing at feeling trapped 
   asper being teased at find
ding no beginning 

   or end like a mobius strip 
   analogous to space/ time continuum 
   that little effort could 
   blow a fuse in the mind.

adieu: from matthew scott harris
hook halls schwenksville, pennsylvania
hiz home tow win.

Those who teach can’t


For some reason the radiator is on
Some sun skimmed summer
Our ties slung in varying disrespect
Head resting against palm to feign the guise of awake
My desk scrawled with the names of ones before
some etched some gouged
A slug shaped excuse for a mammal gurgling on about that and another
As I watched glints of sunlight skip together outside
like some ethereal game of tag
For some reason the always called me mister followed by the abrasion of my second name

You are hear to learn

Like a cue my head swivelled in unison with my sigh

What can I say look at my teachers

My hands already grasping the denim straps of my makeshift bag dragging the contents and scrunching it within

Deliberately squeaking my chair to watch the vessel in his neck just a fraction more as I rose to leave the room 
He still thinks he’s punishing me as I head towards the outside and what will be

Nocturnal Ends Neighboring

salient smile scrunching
punctured physiognomy pulsing
voluptuous chin vying
over mystic memory
with callous contentions
seeped in stupefaction

rusty rubberneck moaning
airy attention fostering
damped dog downbeat

nocturnal ends neighboring
felon results rustling
saucy rebellion smirking

Her dad disembarked;
His monstrous master.
20:01:03:05:07

Note: 42 words.
My idea of the story - A picture prompt.
   A girl took her dog with her to meet her father who was a sailor. He'd been away for like forever. He was a loving father to the girl, and a cruel monster to the dog.
Sooner he disembarked and was coming towards her (After few years of departure). At the thought of the replications of sweet memories that'd be restored, she smiled happily at her returning father. While the dog frowned upon the arrival of his monstrous monster: variation of feelings and attainment of pleasures. (Emphasis on the last couplet).
Form: Sonnet


The Devil and I - Part iii

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!
Form: Prose

Steps

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

Sans Scribbling Scrolling, Scrounging Scrunching, Scrying Scribe Section Seventy

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.
Form: Epic

Premium Member What Is This Baby Thinking

Can’t you see it is just me and mommy here?
Butt out.
It is bad enough I get stuffed back into this tiny confining fleshy
wrinkly ugly earth body, now I have to put up with the likes of you?
Go play with a video game or watch a TV show or something. 
You have had your turn.

I thought I had leveled up enough in the heaven realm that I would
not have to do this again. I know, it was my choice, but to stay there
and read books about experience gives you about half the experience
points you get down here going through another life.

Your incessant whining is grating to my nerves. I am about to start
a full-out baby wailing session, with shrieks and screams, because I
know you’ll leave the house if I do.  I am scrunching up my face now.
This is your only warning.

Is that Heinz 57 I am smelling on your breath? Dhram! It’s bad enough
that I do not have teeth, now I have to smell a fresh tasty sirloin on your
breath? I had forgotten how keen a newborn’s sense of smell is.
Dhram! Dhram! Dhram!

All I get is this smelly milk? 
Go away Dad!

Written 12-22-2018			Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr.
Contest: Baby Face What You Think’n   Picture D

Interpreting Poetry Mine

Interpreting Poetry (mine)

Similar to scrutinizing
an abstract painting,
this author begetting
obscure words dumbfounding
readers, he eludes
(no shade tree fore rest)
clear cut discerning,
yet oft times his words

garner reviews raving
esoteric word choice,
how mind boggling
to this logophile despite
more than one reading
brow (sir) furrowed -
cognitive region scrunching,
no matter intent concentration

utter futility attempting
bedeviled comprehension, whether
literary master (me? ha...
not yet), among pantheon partying,
but nonetheless birthing
present day profoundly thought provoking,
undoubtedly tirelessly expending
mental energy eventually exhausting

effort in futility understanding,
asper mine stymied
linkedin attention getting 
(then just as quickly losing)
registering resignation defeat alluding
to challenge physical prowess daunting
engagement well matched savvy sparring
partner, or possibly life

and death battling
against unwittingly aggressive brutal questing
archenemy, sans toward all living
species wretched nemesis ultimately deciding
mortality tacitly accepted proffering
transient longevity refusing
to compromise, haggle, negotiate,
et cetera casting

deadened demise of victor or villain
all thru civilization starring
as unopposable tour
de force quietly biding
end date, versus indiscriminately snatching
hero, heroine, coward,
et cetera requiring
impossible ransom while donning

mask of Melpomene
(Tragedy), or trumpeting
Thalia (Comedy), no exit stage door left
only joie de vivre 
until last second ticking
unbeknownst unexpected, and uninviting
deathly hallows ringtone alarming
anonymous (oh Henry)
 
words worth struggling
to hash meaningfulness, viz
finite existence germinating
since birth, yet 
terminal realization pressing
with greater frequency when aging,
and deafeningly ear splitting
amplitude bite the bullet clamoring

to tread welcome matt acquiescing
unavoidable phase of dying
devoid of any bargain, but requiring
unconditionally punishingly suffering
silent non binding
resolution, no exemption decrying

unfair contractual obligation, nor unionizing
worth a fig yore of 
speech as cosmic arbiter
blithely doth shear - pruning,
without rhyme nor reason meeting
identical fate toward everyone
even posthumous destiny yours truly awaiting.

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