Rummaged Poems | Examples

Testimony

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.

Rummaged

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

The Poem I Tried to Write

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.

Seasonal Shades

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

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

Satchel of Ordinaries

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

Early Summer In the Meadow

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!]

My Futile Search

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

Love Lifted Me

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

Rummaged

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.

The Closet

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!

Dying For a Smoke

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

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

Family Rim, Stream and Team

Senior citizens 
Crated in old people’s homes
Discarded denizens
Wrinkled forms

Pivotal during heyday
Generating national growth
Beyond payday
Bestowing cloth

On backs of offspring
Pouring sweat day and night
Zip in their gait and spring
Delight and sunlight

In hearts of extended families
Fountains of love and generosity
Inspiration for hallowed homilies
Wellspring of wisdom in the city

Senior citizens houses built
From scratch
Committed to the hilt
From a rural hut with thatch

Where senior citizens originated
Trekking hundreds of kilometres
Sunshine baked and incinerated
Through bush path nanometers and metres

Feet aching
Parched tongues
Future taking
Mustangs

Searing heartache
When senior citizens forsaken
Monumental mistake
Faith shaken

Time
To reconsider
Importance of the dime
To consider

Values and beliefs
That pride of place accord to the aged
In kerchiefs and handkerchiefs
Rummaged and foraged

To honour the old
Held in high esteem
To withhold 
Neglect in family fabric, team and stream.

Sewing Machine

Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
in Grandma's loft I found, the week after we
laid her to rest next to her slain husband.
He was only twenty four yet a squadron leader
when his spitfire was shot down over France.
Mother was only three at the time and my uncle
a babe in Grandma's arms. How awful yet how
familiar those sad stories were then.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when Grandma would tell us of Grandfather's
gallantry in the face of an evil oncoming foe.
Those stories now came flooding back as I
rummaged in the attic of her cottage with 
a candle to guide my way, tears smarting as I
imagined myself as Mother then, missing a father.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.

• Short Rummaged Poems
• Famous Rummaged Poems
• Best Rummaged Poems
• Read Rummaged Poems
• Long Rummaged Poems
• Rummaged Quotes