Short Scrawling Poems

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


1/4/2020...

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The pinnacle source
We strain to unfurl
The mind pulls apart

Seams of iron stand
Accrued throats of steel
Hammered against raw will

But the energy breaks with season
As moods uncovered what went
Secretly finite, scrawling new terms...

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I trace the path of murder, reclaiming
the blood stains
on grass. Becoming a stranger
in my own land.

Stranger ? Yes.
Lead name missing.
Always wanted

less than enough. 

I bare my chest
scrawling a blue butterfly trying to
unwrap the colour. 


Satish Verma...

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Then to see, the lines scrawling truth
The hand that holds a pen so cute
To write it, even in twisted infamy
The name that yearns for eternity.
Will it stay like iron, making knives
And rust and perish when war is done
Will it like flowers given to all wives
Shed seed to grow all over the sun.
It glimpsed it and could not but glee
At time's fragrant sprig of memory....

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Heart to hand
Hand to pen
Pen to paper
Start again

Thoughts unwind
Secrets unfold
Words blossom into
Stories told.

A gentle seed
Sprouting small
Branches lead
To trees so tall.

Word for word
Scrawling lines
Sentences that
Creep through time.

Of past, of present,
Or those of
Mysteries
'Bout what's to come.

Pointless poems
To stricter measure
Writing is
Man's greatest treasure....

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Swirling scuffling newspapers
Scrawling in civilized dirt
Alleyways devouring
Discarded stories of hurt
Sunken sorrel skin
Writhing in distended shame
Ingested figments of food
Decomposing depravity’s name
Corroded cans of compassion
Littering hunger pains 
Kicked into comatose corners
Prodded by public domain
Flaccid fingers of despair
Folded to somehow convey
God if you can hear me
I haven’t eaten in ten days...

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just a little bit more
quite
a scrawling
of the senses
or a Raven
to come
before the final
rain

gracefully

till the end
did Annabel Lee
stay till the end
there’s no portent here
destiny
or a sign

self-made

it’s till the end
art
truth
without seeing

but the Raven
looked sorrowfully
croaked something
and jumped into my eyes

“Nevermore”
(out of Heaven)


author: Bozhidar Pangelov
------------------------------------
Contest-Among The Dead...

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For the love of words
I and my pen unite
Wielding our bladed passion
With sharp literary might

Every idea we dissect
Leaving nothing veiled
All emotions subject
To our precise scale

Every stroke we make
Carves history out of time
Creating legacies that last
With our rythm and rhyme

Inspiring the young
To strive for the sky
Comforting the hurt
Helping broken wings fly

Still I and my pen
Will continue our scrawling
For the love of words
Has given us this calling...

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A hoot at midnight 
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.

The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams ?

Do you see the gap 
between the clouds ?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.

Flesheaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.

A baby dies in womb
without  A leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.

A godless moon laughs 
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.


Satish Verma...

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