Short Notebooks Poems

My scribbled notebooks
          my clumsy ways
          modus operandi......

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For five years the illustrious and regal
Charles Darwin, sailed on the Beagle.
A surveying ship,
Notebooks all a’rip,
Soon in battle with Wallace, so legal....

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Notebooks upon notebooks
Worn with abuse.
Stuffed with poetry.
The thoughts, 
That used to flow so freely.
Page after page of memories.
Tucked away in the closet...

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The soul, my notebooks and I

The ant lies dead in her coffin
With no one at her funeral
But I and my notebooks 
And her own soul
I sat clasping
My mountains of notebooks
Firmly to my chest crying
The size of goodbye....

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Who snuffed out my writing spark?
It used to burn so bright,
Now notebooks, lay forgotten
All, tucked out of sight.

Where did the emotion go?
My urgent need to vent,
Now, when I crawl in bed at night 
My mind is simply spent....

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SO SORRY DEAR FRIENDS OF POETRYSOUP
      MY 2 NOTEBOOKS ARE OUT OF ORDER...
      I AM TRYING TO GET THEM FIXED... AS SOONS AS]POSIBLE
     I WILL BE BACK TO WRITE PORTY TO YOU ALLL,
WAIT A WHILE.. MANY THANKS
ALKAS POETYRY...

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Olives, pickles, and flaming dumpsters
along with broken light bulbs covered in cheese
Donut ghosts flying alongside fedoras
filled with rubber chickens
Socks that can produce cottage cheese
and finally, notebooks eating grapes...

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coffee pot is nice
notebooks and pens are neat to
if only money talked
Santa might bring all


Santa knows i'm good
he left a ball point pen set
and told me to write,
but where's my paper?


Oh silly Santa
he wrapped my coffee pot with
torn notebook paper
instead of money!


karen croft...

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Heavenly were days when our minds were like
Mom's fresh linen 
hung to dry
in the
breeze.
At 
her knees
we scribbled 
in our notebooks.
Clean sheets fluttered and she -our angel – smiled.

Picture Number 1
Nov. 24, 2020  for Eve Roper's Double Tetractys 6 Poetry Contest...

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My friend asks me “Do you want to go to the office supply store?”
Of course, I did not.
Who would want to?
But she is my guest for the weekend, so I lie and say “yes”.
I came out with two bags; they weigh more than sixty bricks.
She spends $8.
In my defense, did you know that they sell notebooks there?
In nineteen colors?...

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Pieces of me 
Everywhere
In corners of closets
and drawers
In notebooks
and trashcans

This is everything
My pen is everything
That even I don't understand 
about myself

I have my forever
on paper
Thank you, GOD
For pain and hate
Love and tears
For feelings
For words
and the gift of turning them
in to a song....

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You said I was cold.
That I felt nothing.
You didn't see the notebooks,
Filled, with the words I could never say.
The pages, stained,
With tears you never saw.
So tired of conflict,
I kept quiet.
I wouldn't let you in.
You hated me for that.
Even to this day you blame me.
You say I am heartless.
But you can't hurt me anymore....

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Spiral notebooks -
containing traces of 
ideas, drafts, false starts
and unfinished works.

Doodles and rambling thoughts
scribbled on collage rule paper -
blue lines 
and standard margins

written in pencil 
pages smudged 
and torn by the eraser
nothing permanent.   

Somewhere in those 
scattered thoughts
live insight, wisdom
and poetry....

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~ Mansi ~
Living amidst papers and notebooks and 
attempting to make art of their life's mess.
Quotes written on sticky notes. That unending
phone call. Vivid colours. Searching for the 
missing puzzle piece. Finding it and losing it again.
Questions,  doubts and a beautiful chain of happy
moments. A symphony of emotions....

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Writing her secrets on her computer thinking of everything in her mind. Reminding her hidden truth in her soul; wishing no one knew them. Throwing away her notebooks in the trash. All her hidden life just lying there.  She lights a match to make it all go away. So they won't hurt her anymore. As the black smoke goes into the air all there is left are burning secrets....

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all things that i cherish
will stay behind when i leave
my family will move on
and my material things
will be divided among them
there will be no more
notebooks and pens
spread all over the house
no typewriter or laptop
taking up space
on my table
everything will vanish
even my name
will not be remembered
the only proof 
of my existence
will be my name
on the tombstone...

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Money is Welcome Everywhere
"It's not the money, it's the stuff!" Bernadette Peters, the Jerk.
"Give me the MONEY!" Cuba Gooding, Jerry Maguire.
“Do you smell that? Money!” Paul Newman, The Color of Money
Buys us our fancy cars, fine houses, pretty mink coats, ritzy computers,
But also purchases...
groceries, gasoline, toilet paper, Sharpies and notebooks
money is welcome everywhere....

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A stack of notebooks fell onto my head
Accident or message from my spirit guides?
All of my friends have suggested accident.

You know me better than the others, I think.
You see my mystical prowess.
You understand where I am heading.

Would it make any difference to your thinking…
Would you answer this question in another way  
When I tell you a cat was prancing beside those notebooks?...

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I drink rivers of rum
for an unquenchable thirst,
or a hope that I may drown.

I build castles out of dreams
for some temporary glory,
or to preside over their ashes.

I love, like a Victorian loon,
for knowing no other way to feel,
or to revel in a shattered heart.

I give away everything I possess
for nothing, for indifference,
or because I’m a self-righteous bastard.

I write poetry in tattered notebooks
for you, or for no one at all....

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My notebooks were once filled with doodles
Adorning the margins; in class
I doodled when bored at a lecture,
When minutes took hours to pass.

My squiggles and boxes repeated;
They weren’t worth even a glance
But, along with my painstaking scribble,
They filled up the paper’s expanse.

Years later, at times when I’m Zooming,
My thoughts from the topic removed,
I find myself doodling idly,
Those squiggles and such not improved....

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To be a poet,
Is needed to lose the fear
to stain the blank pages,
to bloody the notebooks,
and poison oneself with sadness...
The true poet is always content
because he pretends to be joyful,
or he is always sad,
because he feels the pains of the world...
Being a poet is conceive and sight beauty
that shows itself in everything,
because in everything there is beauty...
To be a poet, it is necessary
not to fear of being a poet.... !...

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People are always giving me notebooks 
Once they find out I write 
At christmas
At birthdays 
At random
At least two a year 
They sit in a stack on my shelf 
Hundreds of pages blank
Hundreds of poems unwritten 
White page syndrome 
Magnified ten fold 
Intimidation radiating off them in waves 
I prefer to use a computer 
There, the pages are infinite 
The limits are unknowable
No silent expectations to fulfill 
Just a never ending canvas...

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I decided that poetry was no longer my thing
Ideas were not coming, falling off my back, sliding onto my desk.
I shut down my computer and stopped thinking of words.
My list-making ceased. I was done. It was over. Kaput.
This lasted about three days, but then bam.
The muses were back in full force, and I began filling up notebooks.
I had to have a place to put these missives.
What better place than Poetry Soup?
So forty-nine hours later, I was back....

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I found my son’s old notebooks
Going way back to first grade.
His early writing and his thoughts
Are carefully displayed.

He was a quiet kid and mostly
Praise he did amass
But there, repeated 15 times:
“I will not talk in class.”

I marveled as his skills improved
And humor did appear
As he matured and gained a bit
More confidence each year.

These notebooks are a pure delight
But I am in a fix;
I hate to throw them out, but hey – 
My son is 36!...

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Some May Forget But

Some may forget but
I still remember segregated times
churning hatred of evil lips 
speaking from underdeveloped brain stems
sarcastic voices frightening little girls
who hid behind the embrace of notebooks
forbidden places and angrier faces
picket signs and a rain of dogs 
scenes of civil injustice
ageless and fresh.

Some may forget but
I still remember segregated times,
traveling south and having to use
a wooded bathroom.

10/18/17...

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