Short Scribbles Poems

She
                                  scribbles on the sands
                                  a shipwrecked autobiography...

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Tales are unfinished.
They begin with little scribbles;
and flow through  time 
Until His sovereignty pervades
And the chores of breakfast forgotten ....

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Sent a limerick to Poetry Soup
The content quite frankly was “poop”
But the urge for to pen one
And courageously send on
My scribbles, is oh such a hoot!...

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Man's opinions are scribbles on the sand that are washed away by the first wave of God's truth!







(C) Demetrios Trifiatis 
         22 April 2016...

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Gray scribbles scratched into black desks
the pent-up hatred of a thousand fiery days
J.Y.’s work is lost, but his rage
radiates and multiplies in our quiet moments...

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there once was a child from the city
who grew up in fear.. what a pity

she cried millions of tears
and was ignored fifty years

now in a puddle she scribbles this ditty...

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Scribbles.
Some pages lie torn.
the remains of
a sandwich lie on a 
carpet worn.
A schwitz-ish body lies
dead
on the floor.
Nothing is happening,
and that was the 
problem....

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Circumstance comes with chalk
Scribbles message so glorious
On each baby’s back
In the maternity ward
The homeless shadow pens;
‘Born to be unborn
That this world
May have space’...

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Erotic as an ape —Karl Shapiro

I am not an ape
I am simply a ghost
I am not erotic
I am simply a ghost
Once I kissed Meenie
I love Meenie Okay
But I am not erotic
I am simply a ghost
-Sullivano...

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Outside my window I see dreams I can't touch or feel...
Safe behind the glass are the fears I can't conceal...
I cling to the scribbles that can't be heard ...
Only to reach my dreams with every word......

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he scribbles lines 
he won't erase
about the lines 
upon his face

that tell tall tales 
quite truthfully
of half-hearted 
hyperbole

behind contrived, 
proud modesty,
shrouded in fake
dishonesty...

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In the bone is our need to write bred.
It’s a craze that must always be fed.
But we’re frightened to ask — 
see the face neath the mask —
are our scribbles and rants ever read?...

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Cy Twombly Lexington's artistic ace
was obsessed by mission Apollo in space
random swirls& scribbles was his style*
so so recognised as a art profile

*https://www.nga.gov/collection/art-object-page.93392.html...

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I still dream of you as though it was only yesterday
As if I listen closely enough I might just hear the sounds of our laughter 
I remember the love we once had for each other
but can not remember where we lost it...

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Fanciful musings written in challenged braille scribbles
   midst reveries' graffito on stone-cold deafening walls, 
like Greek hieroglyphics for the poetically deranged
  awaiting symmetry's reflectively critiqued paroxysms...

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Thoughts appear in bubbles
I scratch and cross them out
Cover them in scribbles
Suffocating self doubt

My mind is full of scrawls
Of half formed thoughts and thinks
Reminders of shortfalls
Repressed soul distressed ink...

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in retirement
i'll become an
Emily Dickens not
meaning transexually
but cloistered
in a room
almost an attic
addicted
to spilling my brains
on paper in
scattered scribbles
with some 
parmesan reggiano
under the
bell jar...

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this mystic arc
above the bridge
fogged rims
from river’s edge 
alluring eyes
to wind down
the fragmented
edges and plunge 
upon its icy depths 

my eyes 
cast off
like shadows 
towards
an ashen sky 
instead 

(Bus scribbles)...

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on tip of a wisp
as it bevels and bloats
streamlined scribbles etching a note
upturned waves collapsing
in cotton bobs
greys and embers mating a mistake
ethereal tendril veins knitting patters undone
phoenix fogs missed mist
of almost pink...

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Mine instrument pens not to laurels win,
nor scribbles it one note for foolish fun;
no sentiment it scrawls with violin,
on spinets old no fairy tale homespun;
for Wisdom judges doodling but a waste --
in singsong fêtes Pain yet sans any taste....

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My scribbles scrammbled on a tatty bit of paper
I vomit ideas
           Before they vapour 
They appear inedible mountains of mess
     I churn and turn the illegible scribbles to words that truly bless

I am a dyslexic writer - Published Poem in Forgotten Letters...

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This is anger..
This is indignation..
This is lividity..

This is red.

The darkness fades away in my rearview mirror while I stare ahead at a brilliant white light.

In the strangeness of the grey that I pass behind I notice the delicate scribbles of faint red lines....

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Scribbles 
Just scribbles
In my mind
    Roaming
	Dancing
                   Prancing
     Romancing
Waiting to be let loose
For you to approve
Take the key and open me
Open my mind and see what’s inside
Wishing
      Hoping
Scoping for the real meaning
Of my scribbles...

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.

he scribbles lines 
he won't erase

         about the lines 
         upon his face


that tell tall tales 
quite truthfully

          of half-hearted 
          hyperbole


behind contrived, 
proud modesty,

          shrouded in true
          dishonesty.

....

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distracted
         surrounded ,
         shackled
          thoughts
struggle
        to escape
finite
        observations 
         contained
by
constraints,
by
    scruples, 
erupt ..
     pour forth...
become surreal
scribbles..
             sand
                 meaning...

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