Scrawling Poems | Examples

Tuesdays' nights

was the whiskey and the jazz playing
On too many black nights with too
Many lonely women and not a poem
Between them

How many times can you run
From the shadow of the voices that
Surround you

Beating like drums in the darkness
Tasting more of your flesh each time
Not leaving enough for a man to breathe
No way for a man to live 

How could the hep-cat jive survive
When my voice can only spit silence
Wasn't a dream left to filter thru
The night worn inside and out and

Bled dry a bottle singing the page blank and life in the hands of
the haves laughing at the broken shadows of the have-nots

There was a club on 34th and Second Ave where the jazzman
swung
All night long beat poets recited Tuesdays' nights and Jack was
always drunk in the third booth

Scrawling poems on paper bags and notebooks

Taking life hard on the chin and after a while not fighting back
anymore

Ain't the road thzt donev Jack in

Life's Calling

sipping cider, and pumpkin spice
nurturing joy, autumn’s sweet price
blessing my heart, leaves keep falling
raining grace on my life’s calling

warm thoughts caress my soul’s intent
these blessings are why I was sent
autumn’s rhythms are gently stalling
raining grace on my life’s calling

jumping in the leaves, such wonder
my heart is beating like thunder
autumn’s gasping winds keep squalling
raining grace on my life’s calling

roaring fires and the crunch of leaves
reminds me that my heart believes
autumn’s ink, soundlessly scrawling
raining grace on my life’s calling

aching verses shed silent fears
singing God’s peace through gentling tears
merry skies steal hearts, recalling
raining grace on my life’s calling

Poetry Versus the Taxman

Got to put writing aside for a bit
Need to get the bookwork done
The taxman is waiting
He wants the numbers
With dollar signs in front
He doesn't care that he's taking me away
From my love of words
He just wants me to be done
By a certain day
So he can take my money....
I usually enjoy doing bookwork
It's a task I don't find dreary
Exercising brain muscles
But my mind can't stay focussed
Stray thoughts meander
Coming between columns of figures
Addition, multiplication, subtraction
Division, percentages and totals
Have flown away to the other side of the universe
Grab the nearest piece of paper
Pen in hand and start writing frantically
...OOPS...
Back to figuring again
Where was I?
Trying to keep my brain on a leash
But like a creek in a downpour
It runs everywhere but where it's meant to
A flash of a word
That's what I was looking for!
A whole new verse scrambles through my brain
Scrawling it onto paper as quick as I can
I WILL get the bookwork done
Eventually...

Sun Beat

I walk the desert alone
High dense sun 
I am the only among
Struggling, but determined
Maneuvering is a hard able
Scrawling on the desert sand
A rush of a desert wind storm
Blowing and swirling
Thirst rushes to my mind
My eyes visualize an oasis
But no quench only imagery found
Sweat pours over my body like a running fountain
Birds circle overhead waiting until I die to feed on my flesh and bones
Drastically trying to survive, but darkness is slowly closing in
Hours seem like days
My moments full of haze
Tears don’t even come down
I don’t know where I will find myself
Man to Sun, let my soul ever be humble, and solitude prevail
I can make it no more
Within the sand I soar.

A Poetry Avalanche

** A Poetry Avalanche **

Goodness! Lord!
I’m on a roll this morning!
The poetry keeps coming —
  nearly torturing!
My keypad arm and fingers are
  alrady so tired…
It’s as if 
The address of poetry were
On fire!
— With every poem present there
   retreating
From the inspirations wrought from
   burning memories, preferring
The refreshing lure of
    allegories and fairy tales
    to aid my creating.

There are still three  more hours
Marked off in my planner  to turn
Words into exemplary verses.
However, ink now covers every page
Printed out, such that all my papers
   appear all scribbled and smeared.
So, I’ve quit scrawling in this diary
And brought my markers out, to kneel
Down here and write
All over
Across our living room’s floor!


————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/27/2023

Murmuration of Starlings High

Murmuration of starlings high. I’m high!
Low stars twinkling with wings. The trumpet’s call!
As winds of war, incline, in warm wind sigh,
the flock, a shock, sans enemies appall.

These friends do fascinate, heard like bombers,
like Japanese over unsuspecting 
Pearl Harbor fight ~ these darling bird-balmers.
The nudge of melodic buzz, quite affecting.

Not of national consequence, abuzz
not with politicking but peace of soul -
remains of war pittance, the scrawling-t’was.
My awesome sight, this di’mond-bling of coal.

Mere humans offer crumbs ~ my heart flaps wings.
With murmurs high and low, communion springs.

Conversation With the Park Shaman

A woodhacker rattles like wolf-jaws, 
A dog's appetite has just died 
There's blood in those graphite-green curtains 
Duck Islanders howl of a homicide. 
There's a murder of crows in The Three Trees, 
Where the Sky's Ties are tethered away 
The water's been kissed for the first time 
And the sun's lips have no more to say.

But the Stormwood has hissed back to sleeping 
Gunpowder Grove murmurs, 'match'
The Twig-Ink is scrawling black symbols
Like Maggie Pie scratched on our latch.
Grandad William keeled like a lever,
Dug his heels sprung the Wheels in Giant's Back
And the Red Cave began to make music 
And the timber talked in Tumble-Down Shack. 

It means that the summer is humming
Its footpeople wait on my hands
The Silkwitch is building a ladder 
Rippling gold rungs through the grass. 
When the light's right, like now, you can climb it
Through Horruary's cheek to the sun
Til the Fat-Ranch and chewing of winter
Are just gold stuff below 
In the land of the How Far We've Come.

Shambles

My poetry laced with eccentricity
words lie dead where they wanT
Hiding lines Inside the
Next trippping words
to watch their pretty tu
-------------------------------m
-----------------------------------  ----ble
using.'s to.........pause
scrawling with ink dipped claws
is fall ing apart
so bad
i have a membership card
pain was always a pleasure
wanna feel the numb
can i ask you two questions
the first being can i ask you a question
what's after too late
head butting fate
sorry for the things i haven't done
yet is what you call a yeti with no eye

Wind Up Humanism

Realm of humankind wheedled in reset,
Homeland beray, lull to beset, 

Scrawling the parchment to a keyset,
Xenophobia in callousness, 
Dearth to darn the clout concord. 

Orness synergy alliance the terrene.
Berth errand the rassle office,
Commissions detach the hassle orifice... 

Pensile the ensile spirits,
Circumscissile recoiled resiliency, 
Nuanced tensile expansionism... 

Normalise a new normal,
Order the prime heart to bloom,
Taper our united dreg to blossom... 

Blight in frights, 
Dight the twinight against any affright,
Infinity within.

Diamonds In a Cerulean Sky

I've been scrawling thoughts, line after line
that were buried deep within my heart.
Somehow they seeped into the ink of my pen
so I'm sprinkling them like grains of sand,
these tender words written in lyrical verse.

Like flowers they bloom in gardens on pages
of love taking flight on a harvest moon night.
Celestial stars are diamonds in a cerulean sky
casting their light on the world below,
my inspiration for writing romantic sonnets.



August 9, 2020
Brian Strand, sponsor of:
Strand Completely New (19) Contest

Confetti Floaters

scrawling on the party napkin in my mind — celebration of words


1/4/2020

Address Here

Revolve around me world
I am your saviour
Well worked for Jesus
Choice come with me to the shops
before Christmas
or crucifixion
Hand you the
hammer
and nails
Flip the middle digit to the indignant flippant
flip ants the
write way up
Come here and see this
This
Tongue bursts cheek
letting clouds choose their own name
Scrawling letters of pain
plain
insane
bane
shame
blame
Slipping between the paper seams
seems turning streams into steams
Flick the net
Middle digits
01110011 01101111 01110011
from the world
address here

Yours Me

Amidst the amazing aroma of the angelic sticks
Cheering along the chants of charismatic priests
Promising on the petals of pearly purity 
You said, "I LOVE YOU" 

During the dreadful dreams of dying waves
Glancing through the glass of dry gloomy grass
Lifting me up into the light of lively land
You said "I LOVE YOU" 

Fondling my feathery feet with your fancy fingers
Twisting your tangy thumb into my twirled curls
Scrawling your signature on my splendid smile
You said "I LOVE YOU" 

Searching for the sensibility behind the madness of your words
Enjoying the ecstasy of our bond enriched with folly fights
Roistering the roller coaster ride at the royal stage of your vivacity 
I solemnly stoop before your solicitude to say, 
I LIVE FOR YOU. 

Prick up your ears my darling 
Open wide your eyes my poppet
Unlock the hatch of your heart my swain 

Look into my eyes, 
Slide deep into my nerves,
Feel the warmth of my blood
You will realise that 
I AM ALL YOURS.

Within My Quasi Immediate Environs Number 2

self to expound,
whereby scrawling how painful
     eye experience,
     where 21st century
     urban jungle doth abound
     to exacerbate anxiety and panic,
     aye noticed round
about puberty, and plugged up ears

     to dull the nerve wrack
     king Breitbart cacophony
even family pet
     dogs (part Border
     Collie and Hell Hound)
barked with shrill torturous yap,
     which reverberation did
     assault and pound

delicate constituent
     audiological organ of mine
impossible to avoid unwillingly
     being part of loud culture club
emanations impossible to dub,
thus helplessly bombarded, exposed,
     and subjected to discordant
     damaging noise found

     me to flub
attendant tasks, especially grub
bing to earn chump change
     to avoid mingling at social hub
rather remain hermetically
     sealed, where nub
body cant see me, hence
     that concludes thine literary rub.

Them Crazy Circles

Them Crazy Circles

What's it mean, do you suppose,
When aliens start writing grafitti
All over your planet?

Quite suddenly,
In Merrie Olde England, Australia,
The U.S. of A.:
Signs have been appearing,
Massive symbols for Something
- God only knows what -
Pressed into the crop fields, 
Like seals driven into wax.

Numbering in the hundreds now,
New ones appear each day.
No one's ever been caught creating one,
No one's ever seen one form.
They simply arrive in the night,
Confounding comprehension in the morn.

So what's goin' on here, I wonder;
Is some Intelligence trying to reach us, 
Sadly overestimating our skill 
With such puzzles; 
Or is some one of God's elder children
Going through some adolescent thing,
Scrawling weird stuff on the backwards planets
For the sheer Hell of watching the natives gape?

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