Scrambling Poems | Examples

what love could i seek if not yours?

what love could i seek if it’s not yours?
a joyous ode to your name— 
even sorrow would glee to hear.

i’ll leave some words on your doorstep
slowly relenting, slightly scrambling.

like the way they were in my tongue,
your name’s as sweet as the morning dew,
waiting for my lips to utter
each syllables describing all of you

don’t spare me from your benevolence
don’t spare me from your rage
don’t push me away when the voices 
get to the corners of your circle

breathe me in and hollow me out
let me hear the ache in your voice
before the wind’s whistle blow you away 
from me

Our Mothers Gave Us Their Names

That quiet-ness,
middle of the night,
insomniac,
sleep as it gets bright
toss turn sides & back....
drift to afternoon wake,
stomach rumbles,
to an oven that bakes,
and is humbling.
The fall is a mind's wrap
of how the co-existence
leaves us in scrambles,
Our mother gave us our names,
and euphoria is always the blame.
Scrambling in dirt and even worse,
Limo carries another hearse

could barely be relaxed

If I was any more relaxed, I would be melting
others are scrambling today
there are graduations all over the state
I am sitting in the shade with my two dogs
there is a bee overhead, she appears to be black
probably because I am staring into the sun
I keep seeing her fat shadow

In the distance I hear a twittering robin
If I felt like struggling, I could hear a truck or car
the guy next door just dropped something big
It must have been substantial, sounded like a two by four

This is the country
Our houses are three football fields apart
there is a whistle type whoop
another songbird
answering chirp
these fowl may be plotting my death
but I am too relaxed to care

Behind her eyes

Scratches all over my body,  
Pouring into the glass of wine that spilled over my wound,  
Counting on my fingers, the night terrors,  
Scrambling to find the door where my heart belongs.

Kansas Wind

The wind is readying himself for meadow and forest war
My trees are touching their roots
Robin nest is on the ground
Squirrels are scrambling

Wrens, sparrows and cardinals issue warning tweets and whistles
Urging us to take shelter before wind explodes with rage
Humans go to basements during tornadoes
Do birds fly off? Hide under moss or violets?

Frantic sounding tweets and whistles now
Tree branches are shaking the leaves faster than paper fans at church
A fast breeze parts my hair and wipes my cheek
The wind’s voice is persistent and clear

If you do not realize a tornado is heading to Kansas
You have never been inside a tornado

Waterhouse Residence

she was a ramshackle, eyesore of a house
Uneven, unsymmetrical, with a plethora of problems
One bright red door made the rest of this mess glaringly sad
And yet, there was a whimsical feeling about this place
Something uplifting, exciting, and promising
my soul felt this as my mind was scrambling to figure out why

She was an unorthodox, maniacal, ramshackle of a place
looked like a haunted house, but in daylight without scariness
Sure, she needed paint, but she had smack dabs of character
She felt inviting, even though her roof was disintegrating
In some way I was drawn in, kind of loving this eyesore of a house.

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

When trust is broken 
Feelings start fading 
In love you become lazy or crazy
Can't confide in each other
A place of peace, calm or serenity 
Now a battlefield, steadily pouring out aggression on each other.

Two hearts that caress and defend each other
Start bruising or humiliating each other
As they wrestle 
The children watch, then start screaming 
Don't forget it's a programming 
Scrambling their imagination
Thinking marriage is a warfare not a welfare.

Domestic Violence
A stigma, a mind disrupter
That needs time and love
To eliminate the trauma it caused 
Many more to say, but when words are too much;
It becomes void, say no to domestic violence!!!

Moon

Candle glow at midnight
The hatch is locked
A scrambling splutter
As I reach for the key of circles and bolts and lines
But just as before
The circle ends
Four corners behind

And I'm scrambling again for another key
I plead the glow as I–
Well, do I cherish my existence once more?

Foot taps to the humming
Blood rushing under my skin
I'm thrown to the couch
A corner, I curb

Did I feel the end? Was there an end in sight?
My head tilts, and I
Can't quite seem to keep the colours
Steady in my mind
For better or worse, I do mind

Do I love?
I don't love, I don't love, I don't love
I don't love. I do love. I don't love. I do love.

Respite in the Moonshine

Candle glow at midnight,
The hatch is locked
A scrambling splutter
As I reach for the key of circles, bolts and lines.
But just as before. The circle ends 4 corners behind
And I'm scrambling again for another key
I plead the glow;
It flickers as I-
Well, I,
I cherish my existence once more
As another circle starts to grow...
My foot taps to the humming,
Blood rushing under my skin, I'm thrown to the couch–
It's way past midnight. Immobile, so I curb the corner.
Did I feel the end?
For better or worse, the hatch unlocks, no key.
My head tilts, and
I can't seem
To keep the colours uniform again.
I spiral to only splatters of *pink* and *green* caressing the wall
Overwhelmingly.
Please, don't, love.
But I do, do I? FOR WHAT PURPOSE?
I plead once more.
And become void, I hate. I hate. I hate.
But only pink could resonate.

My Words Echo

My Words Echo 
I won’t be here forever 
One day, ascend through Azure clouds 
I’m running out of time 
Born to write poetry 
Just pondering 
Leave all of my writings behind 
Save them for my son to read 
Running out of ideas 
Sometimes, writer's block 
Can I write you a poem? 
They all have meaning you know 
Pen, always writing 
Ink, always bleeding 
Thoughts, always scrambling 
Document your life 
Words written in a journal 
My words echo 
Melody through a piano 
Echos unbound 
Just writing you a letter 
One day, all be dust everywhere

Samsara - May 7

Now quiet, settled, easy, leisurely
through life’s affairs,—say, couched in everyday—
and sipping being’s sweetest, freshest ray;
Sunshine!, Sunshine! ‘midst winter’s coldest glee! 

Now troubled, disjointed, uneasily
fumbling, scrambling through dumb frowning time.—Gray-
-haired night’s murk weighs down gay light’s mirth filled play...—
tumbling through summer’s scorching cruelty!

An inescapable alternation
of gloom and cheer,(to be—and—not to be),
wheeling circles and cycles—infernal,—
recur, relapse, return through all creation.;
Remember, though pain’s but temporary,
vacuous suffering is eternal.

Have you lived in one of these three stages of life

(A reflective voice whispers)

In the Dawn of a new feeling of Life, 
Maybe even at high school

Did you embrace one of its golden rules

To hold hands with someone you deemed so special 
Encouraged by first love's, sweet kiss

For it to then carry you through, to meet the super cool, Twilight of your Life

With the only true one, whose love has never cooled:
And if you're still incredibly lucky, brings you such bliss 

Or did the Shadows of Life appear 

Smiling like a Nazgûl
Like a dark thief at night

To take back God's divine gift, and leave you scrambling and grieving 

Daydreaming of the Dawn and Twilight of your Life
Before something cruel, caused you, to separate and drift

When everything seemed so perfect and nice 
Before the deep cut, of The Shadows of Life's

Sharp, ceremonial knife

(C) Copyright John Duffy

The Wound

The wound is fresh
The pain so raw
Seems like it will never heal
As I cling to the thought
Of what might have been

As healing starts
Panic replaces pain
Scrambling to pick the scab 
To feel the blood flow 
The wound is fresh again

It keeps trying to heal
But I'm afraid to forget
To let go of the hurt 
I need it be raw
The wound begins to scar

Time heals all wounds 
I hear thats what they say
Why can't I let time
Heal what's wrong with me
The wound is all I have left of you

LETTERS MERGING AND SCRAMBLING

Three days ago, my ophthalmologist performed my first cataract operation,
All went well I must say,
But I am seeing double today, 
So please everybody who I have answered with persistent determination,
Excuse my typing, incorrect spelling and my intense unrelenting frustration.

Traffic Jam

The sand from the hourglass is slipping through the cracks between my fingers. 
as I track my time in increments,
regulated, rhythmic, redundant.
the weekends coming, 
it’s almost winter break.
I think, as I fail to realize that I am watching time pass me by 
like I'm standing on the side of the road watching the cars drive by 
instead of being in one, 
controlling the wheel and pressing the gas.
I catch a glimpse of an empty car parked on the side of the road,
desperately scrambling towards it,
my hair whipping around my face,
obscuring my vision, 
clouding my judgement.
I try and try and try to push it away—
but it keeps coming back.
drive, drive, drive,
a voice tells me.
as I steady my shivering, shaking hands grasping the wheel. 
don't, 
my hair hisses.
encircling my face with the grip of a vice
tighter, and tighter, then black.

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