Scrunch Poems

Where, Caterpillar, Where?

Caterpillar, where are you going? 
Somewhere the cold wind ain't blowing?

I will surely hate to see you go.
Take care, the gardener likes to mow.

First, you stretch out, and then up you bunch.
Watch out for the foot, lest you go scrunch.

You can bend, but you will never break.
You haven't a bone for heaven's sake. 

I want to say you are fantastic -  
Gooey inside, outside elastic.

One day, I hope you will flutter by - 
When you're a pretty butterfly.

fall is a reminder

Fluffy tailed rodents chasing rings around trees
Cool air, bringing a realism with harsh new breeze
Leaves redressed in yellows, oranges, golds and reds.
Nothing but brown ugly things in my flower beds.

Autumn is here, tooting her coronet about winter.
The wood on the porch is rotten, the edge has splintered.
Jackets and sweaters are searched for, I discover my old blue.
Mittens are almost never a match, you find one, but not two.

Fall is a reminder that the world is tensing up for snow.
Frost and sleet, ice on the roads, hope you do not have far to go.
I scrunch down in my chair surrounded by fluffy fleece.
Eating warm foods like potatoes with gravy made with grease.

I Have Seen the Jackal and His Friend the Crow

His scrunch snout looks me in the eye
His deathly ritual is nigh
They wait and wait for the prey
And I am his, today

As walk with him
Down the path, so dim
He stops before it can end
And says hello to his friend

The melancholy Crow sits away
On a tree branch, to stay
She watches and watches
And the earth, it has notches

The Jackal wants me
The Jackal can’t have me
He wants to lead me
He can’t lead me

The Crow says it’s not time
The distance up comes daytime
The Jackal argues with the light:
“She should be in the night!”

And in the end,
That’s when I met the Jackal and his friend

Grandeur of Fall

Fall leaves tumble to their slipshod decay,
oozing from the crowns of tedious trees.
A mephitic scrunch with their latter sway,
as they are raked into wide whisking seas.

Coral-hued yew berries grace the yard's path,
late hollyhocks, and sunflowers shine bright.
Marigolds adorn door homes with gold lath,
thorn twigs in crimson holes dapple faxed sight. 

As the bounty of nature sparks strange start,
saffron periwinkle countless bright shades.
Giving a boost to the Fall grandeur art;
the hues of oak trees fluctuate by glades.

Topaz leaves stuck in a sapphire whisk breeze;
fall reveals deep facts, a sprint ember squeeze.

Dog and Thunderstorm

I’ll whimper, cower and tremble
under this chair I shall reside
Because the storm’s angry rumble
will make me quiver, shake and hide

I will bury my head and whine
at each thunderous sound it makes
That causes the floor to vibrate
and every windowpane to shake

Bright flashes streak across the sky
and they do freeze my very heart
I will hide behind your legs while
they try to rip the sky apart

I hear the wind howl through the trees
as nature bows down to your will
The rain pounds down in torrents 
that rattle against the windowsill

Now that the rumble has moved on
and all that’s left is a soft blow
As rains soothingly taps against
the glass of the bedroom window

I will stretch and give a big yawn
scrunch up this pillow for my head
Lay down and get some needed rest
in my comfy and warm dog bed

Glorifying My Birthplace and Country

Corpus Christi in the southern region of the United States
Named by a Spanish explorer, Alonso Álvarez de Pineda, and mates.

As he discovered the lush semitropical bay, an American city
on the Western Texas coast; Christian feast day of Corpus Christi.

The city’s name means, body of Christ; a place of my birth, 
A coastal city in the biggest state of Texas on this earth.

Corpus Christi of North America, is known as the "Bird Capital," 
A city that has a humid subtropical climate, to some very unvital. 

North America a country of the free and the brave; 
Fifty states surrounded by an ocean coastal waves that voices rave.

Beaches almost paradise that brings joy, semblance of normalcy;
Just feels like one can breathe from all the abnormalcy.

In time for a very hot, very immunized summer rhythm,
Oceanside of much-needed thrilling escapism.

With cold drinks, toes scrunch in the sand;
In a beach day with a lot of laughter and getting tanned.

5/31/2023

'Glorifying your birthplace/country through poetry
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon

Saint Hilda's Tears

We were always a little ash white,
the girls always a bit cleaner;
the soap always green carbolic
the toilet paper always slick and hard to scrunch,
six year old bottoms always a little sore.

The nuns who ran these grey bricked barracks
called it the: Covent of 'Saint Hilda's Sacred Tears.'
There were lots of tears but no saints.

No black kids either, though there were many
seen on the grimed streets. They looked well fed and happy.
We were different. Our parents had sinned,
had broken the golden rule and got caught
birthing the unwanted.
Back then the birch cane was an instrument of love.

From here-on I must paraphrase...

Each Sunday, The scrawny priest
would look down upon us -
speaking thusly:

"You're all sinful
fit only for cannon or factory fodder,
forever doomed to poverty."


A pause while he did the sign of the cross
while mumbling to himself in Latin.

"The righteous must
resign themselves in good grace
to their natural place,
to humbly throw themselves
upon the mercy of their betters."

Such sermons filled us all with much joy,
and we were all briefly uplifted
until the hatchet-faced nuns
led us back to our own special hell.

Dear Deer

Two deer
     stand near

Soon stop
     to hop

In barred
     front yard

O'er stump
     they jump

Leap dense
      spiked fence

Each rub
     huge shrub

Then nip
     and clip

To scrunch
     and munch
  
They pare
     shrubs bare

Oh, dear
      bad deer!!

Jar of Nuthatches

jar of nuthatches
grace a green valley garden ~
scrunch of rubber ducks

3/14/2022
Contest: Bird Haiku
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Used HMS

*a group of nuthatches is called a “jar”
**Green Valley is in Arizona

The Scrunch

Jack once had a romantic hunch,
Impressed Jess with a flower bunch,
Invited her to Sunday lunch,
They had grilled steak and nuts to munch,
Tried to kiss her, she packed a punch,
Now he walks about with a scrunch.


06.07.2021

For Line Gauthier's "Bite Size Poem no. 5" contest

Satin

smooth silky shiny seductive sassy 
wedding white or little girl dressy pink
you are the star of the show at church
you scrunch up in such lovely ways
smiling through your creases

Potato Chip Boogie

Let’s do the potato chip boogie
Crunch Crunch. Crunch.
 Twirling with your noogie.
Scrunch. Scrunch. Scrunch.

Shake your chip bag, goodie. 
 Hunch. Hunch. Hunch.
Why eat just one, hoodie?
When you can have a bunch?


Wrinkly salt with a fried foogie.
 Scrunch. Scrunch Scrunch.
Let’s do the Potato Chip Boogie.
 Lunch. Lunch. Lunch.

Apparition Approach

1.
You're obscured by maze hedges,  I'm approaching
Creeping around  greenery's edges, encroaching
2.
You'll know when adventure's uncovered, I'm here
 Meet where destiny weds us, fate encroaching
3.
Absorb how I've worked for you, take it on board
Finally, place for tender touch encroaching
4.
No shears were used, I went the long way to find
Ideal man, no sad pretender encroaching 
5.
Exposed to your will, what's your instant gut choice? 
Tenacity steel together encroaching 
6.
Hand held up to block the sun, or is it me? 
Heel turn scrunch on path, terror encroaching 
7.
Disregard jiggles Sigrid's heart, weighted down
Alone shrub omen, surrendour encroaching



        30th August 2020 

Written for Contest :   Ghazal 
       Sponsor: Silent One

             11 syllables

Listening To My Clothes

My shoes are glad to be here 
Because they are show offs.
With their crazy psychedelic colors
And their loud look-at-me designs.

My sweatshirt parades in the room
More reluctantly.
Large white letters speak for themselves.
Learn. Lead Succeed. Stephen Covey stuff.

My fluffy pink socks scrunch low to the bottom
of my shoes, wanting to be back home, safe in a dark drawer.
They are as skittish as any piece of clothing I have ever had
Including my shy pink rosebud nightgown.

I roll my eyes as I hear my clothing think for themselves.
Why did you bring those homebodies? Blue jeans queries.
If there is one item of clothing I do not answer to it is Blue Jeans.
He always has a sarcastic edge to his accusing tones.

First Snow

It falls in elegant crystals, forming blankets of pure white.
The whitest of the white that you have ever seen.
Each flake different to the other, unique in its own way.
The proudest of proud the snow has ever been.

It dances and twirls, landing wherever it may please,
Then melts when touching the warmth of a hand.
The newly formed blanket waits for the steps of children,
To pierce its topmost layer and create footprints as they go.

Round and round, then scrunch them together,
Clumping angelic flakes of white into a compact ball.
Like the glittering remains of angels that may fly through the sky,
Or the tears of a loving god, looking down at humankind.

Tongues are stretched out, under the blue sky,
Of children trying to taste, the taste of the snow.
And as one lands on the small tongue, it melts in delight,
As the child eyes light up, a snowflake I have caught!

But then as the day comes to the end, and the children rush back in,
To their mothers calling for hot coco,
The snow forms another white blanket, 
Waiting for the kids to come out again, soon.

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