She rummaged in the children's toy box, with a grin,
Found a little tube where sunshine tumbled in.
She spun the colored glass through to amber, gold and bright,
To let every broken feeling borrow some light.
As she turned the tube, dark blue was the hue.
Then yellow skipped and giggled by, changing the view.
Red sulked a while, then orange set it aflame,
And green forgot the reason it felt the same.
She shook the stars; they tumbled into the light.
A little mess of confetti became a small delight.
The gloomy shapes still waited in their place.
But sunshine found a laughing crease across their face.
Some hurts were sharp, as worries rolled around.
Yet every twist showed a different pattern to astound.
With golden surprises dancing through the blue-grays,
As the glass taught her new ways to brighten her days.
So suffering stayed—no trick could make it cease.
But the playful whirl of colors brought some peace.
As she watched, the whole room seemed to brightly glow,
With a child-like spectrum only the children know.
A GENTLE AND COLD BREEZE,
HALCYON AND HALE TREES,
HEX OF THE FREEZE,
HIGHNESS OF THE PEACE.
IT ALL FELT QUIXOTIC,
WHOLE WORLD- JUST HYPNOTIC,
IN A FLASH, ALL TURNED BLUE,
DAISIES WRAPPED IN DEW.
THE TERRAIN STARTED JOLTING,
THE PLANTS WERE DROOPING,
TREES WERE WEEPING,
AND THE CLOUDS WERE DROPPING.
NOT ALL FOLKS KNEW,
YET IT WAS SOMETHING NEW,
NONE WERE AWARE, THATS TRUE,
IT WAS A DEPRESSING VIEW.
LOOKING THROUGH THE SILL,
STANDING SO STILL,
GAZING AT THE RUMMAGED HILL,
GIVING NOTHING BUT CHILLS.
MAYBE IT WAS A SIGN,
THAT THE WORLD CAN'T REWIND,
NOT FROM THE TOMB,
NOR THE EDGE OF DOOM.
I recall by chance the astuteness of rain
When the thin smoke from charged pulses of cold haze
Befriended the weeded way . . .
Leering further into the viscera of the village,
Clouds of old beginnings heaved potent sighs,
Loud, frenetic and full of powder.
I revelled in the warmth of acid lightning,
Quick to mirror the village in its own image.
The grey breath was intense,
Fusing teethed mirth with grim spheres.
Then came the vitrined harmony of fleeing spectres!
Tricks were revealed.
Tenebrous paths came to light.
And the rumps of sensuous fowls stood stark
Before the reality of weaned souls.
I recall lighting up a cigarette.
Adding to the atmospheric smoke,
I held on to the banter of coyness, flat,
Resolute, and with rummaged blessedness of initial stages
Blending well with the greed of May.
Rummage
If you must.
My presence here
Is based on trust
So dressed am I
In Summer svelte
Yet you're to check
My trousers belt;
I'm scanned
As if each cell is rogue
So scrutinised
Despite en vogue
I understand
Away from home
You check my
Hydrocortisone;
The lotion for
My perfect tan
Or salve for lips
To kiss this man
Accept, do I
My gooey three
Could form a plan
For bomb plot spree
A victim
Of mis-communication
Disturbing transport's
Destination
Ungroomed
Is how my luggage ends
While protection
Of the sky depends
On just this task
For safety's sake
More pleasant if
A smile you'd break
Your focus can't be
All on me
Perhaps you're wondering
"What's for tea?"..
Or hoping soon
To get away
To pack for your own
Holiday
So here's my wish
For you to find
Credentials
Of a different kind
As poke and prod
Display and sort
Where discretion is
A last resort
So one day you may
Understand
In travel
To another land
Exposure
To some inner delving
Though required, it may be
Disconcerting
I sat with pen, with page snow-white,
to sculpt a verse, to birth some light—
but all my thoughts just slipped away
like shy young clouds who won’t stay.
No poet’s muse knocked at my door,
no thunder-voice, no metaphor.
My words were socks without their pairs,
just stumbling down unwritten stairs.
My rhymes were cracked, my rhythm weak,
I tried to write, but couldn’t speak—
for every phrase that dared to bloom
got lost and left the quiet room.
I rummaged through my mind’s old shelf,
but found no magic—just myself.
No dazzling terms, no lofty art,
just beating pulse and stubborn heart.
So I wrote not with golden fire,
nor borrowed lines from grander lyres,
but stitched each verse from threadbare thought,
and hoped it showed the care I brought.
A lack of words is still a start—
the ink runs best from honest heart.
And though no muse stood near to guide,
I found my poem—tucked inside.
Shadows drink a wall lamp.
Winter switches the porch light on.
The cat claims its space
beneath curled head and tail.
Earlier,
a kind of daylight
scratched ice into vision,
I rummaged into dark corners -
I forget what for.
Another winter dawn
could ransack or houseclean,
it all depends on how dark
corners can get.
I looked for you
You weren’t there
I looked for you
And you weren’t there
I looked back at what started at me
Instantly
Panic consumed me
I looked all over that room for me
In drawers, closets and even under bedsheets
Retracing my steps
I went back
Back through my puberty
I see the you in me
But who am I truthfully
My truth keeps eluding me
Don’t push your views into me
Who pushed the world into me
I’m tipping over
It’s only right I feel empty
I looked for you
In all the places you used to hang
Within all the faces you held a gaze
Rummaged through your fits of rage
Asked past lovers
Would they ever love the same
They hadn’t seen you
But recalled the flame
I called your name
I thought I called your name
A voice so faint
Fragile and strange
Whispered through my soul
I am you… I am change
I sat quietly staring out the porthole window
As we were passing over a village in the low hills
A cumulus cloud casting over its ominous shadow
Far below in the silence of the engine’s shrills,
I wondered where those tiny people were going
Beneath the wing nary a songbird nor butterfly
Alone streaking through the frigid air, the Boeing,
Not a face lifted from village below to the sky
Then it was gone, as quickly as I had imagined,
I rummaged through my satchel of ordinaries
Forgetting a whole community of unexamined
Miniatures, no concern for untended cemeteries,
I had long forgotten when the plane descended
My sweet reveries in solitude, my journey ended.
Written June 10, 2022
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile 1" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Taking my first summer stroll in the meadow,
I marveled at the new growth and flowers
The sun was shining full blast, not a single shadow
My mind rummaged through its ivory towers.
Wild carrot and cosmos were in full bloom
Along with larkspur and bright columbine,
Tempting me to pick for my living room
But I demurred, not to disturb the natural
Habitat for the critters, pollinators for the bees
Seeing in them something awesomely spiritual,
I headed for the woodland line of trees.
Surprisingly, someone has set up a salt lick
I wonder, this being a wildlife sanctuary
Surely no hunting, it hit me like a brick,
I thought it so entirely unnecessary.
Surely not here...a deer hunter's nasty trick.
An afternoon so filled with joy and promise
Suddenly was overshadowed with awful thoughts,
I quicky turned and headed toward the house,
My stomach churning, gut tied up in knots.
I shall complain of this infraction to authorities,
Next thing I know, they'll be chopping down trees.
Written June 3, 2022
[Last year partial fencing was a scare;
Now hunting? They wouldn't dare!]
In my quest after happiness
I strayed looking it here and there
It remained elusive, often out of reach
As the pot of gold at the tip of a rainbow,
I looked to the skies seeking it
I looked around to trace it
I rummaged every heap to find it
I dived into every crevice to trap it
Now realize, I have looked through
Everything, but not in me!
Placed First
A Brian Strand 1092 Poetry Contest
I spent so many years searching for the way… to joy and peace, a feeling of security. There were days when I was lost among the worries and fears. My tears were always there for me, in hues of darkness, a murky grief. I wasn’t always who I am today. I searched for love in strangers I’d meet. I sought love in the crowds, in dreams, in seas of silent souls who were only there to consume my kindness and let me touch the exhaustion of my weakening compassion. I rummaged the cities and towns, explored all the wonders I found, combed the expanse of the mountains, grasping at hopes that would only bring despair. It took me many years to finally see… this way that I sought was darker than the shadows that lifted when I finally knew, it was the wonder of wonders, the prince of peace, the king of kings, who I needed to seek. It took only moments to finally believe that Jesus was alive – living in me, and I’d been set free! Oh, yes, I believe!
love lifted me up
poured joy in my empty cup
freed my heart from sin
Haibun- With A Message Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
November 12, 2021
A broad daylight spilled over my sleepwalking mind.
I popped out of a dream knowing something.
An alien from an alternative Ohio
had cat-burgled my consciousness.
I had been probed, not in a physical way,
just ransacked and rummaged
as if a strange mind considered me to be
a yard sale or curiosity shop.
I felt turned over, my stored stuff assessed
then replaced higgledy-piggledy.
The dust in my attic is still flying.
My junk is all tipped over.
I am not sure what the alien was looking for,
not sure what it made off with.
Something as yet unused has been pilfered,
and I will miss it when it’s time to find it.
They say they run in packs
with the mighty unicorn.
The stories bridge the boundary
between faith and Internet p0rn.
Oh, the elusive boyfriend.
I thought I’d hidden one in the closet,
but I rummaged top to bottom
then remembered - argh! -
I lost him last August!
It was vanity that killed him,
not the flames, nor acrid smoke.
If he had got out straight away,
they would have said, "What a lucky bloke."
But he stopped to put on his best PJ's,
which hung behind the door.
Chinese silk with a flower motif,
the collar and cuffs were velour.
Then he rummaged for his dressing gown,
which he saved for such occasions.
Again manufactured from natural silk,
and hand stitched by several Asians.
The flames were now licking under the door,
but he stopped to apply hair gel,
then searched through his drawers for deodorant,
and a spray of his favourite smell.
"Silly me," he thought as he dashed for the door,
"My breath must be really minging!"
and eventually found his mint mouthwash,
which set his mouth and gums a tingling.
A quick look in the mirror to check all was well,
then he deftly opened the door,
the landing and stairs were well alight,
and a big hole appeared in the floor.
"Looks like this is it," he thought with a sigh,
"my vanities done for me yet."
He sat back on the bed with a copy of Vogue,
and lit a Gauloises tipped cigarette.
Memories of childhood
flooded my mind as I rummaged...
through dusty white elephants
and keepsakes in the attic. Frequent gasps
of pleasant astonishment
upon discovery of long-outgrown clothes;
old birthday gifts I thought
were lost forever.
Especially, a water pistol,
which took me...
back in time when
I used to play cops and robbers
with other neighborhood kids
Ah, those were the days!
Suddenly, I felt like a child again.
Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date written: 08/02/2020
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.