Short Scribed Poems

Romantic sonnets,

Scribed on vast poetic skies:

Written by the sun....

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Scribed on blank parchment,
Are paintings from the palettes
of a poet’s mind....

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F-or
R-eaders
A-re
N-ice
C-onnotations
I-mpressively
S-cribed

B-y
A-mazing
C-omposer
O-f
N-otes

Form: Vertical Monocrostic...

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WASTELAND?

‘Waste not!’ is an admonition 
Scribed on wood, stone and ceramics 
Made an impossible mission
By the second law of thermodynamics...

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Words unspoken dwell within the poet
The ink of inspiration whets his quill
Scribed upon the page with driven hand


Bob Quigley
2011...

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So you want to know how it all began
It's the greatest secret of the ages
Scribed on rock, clay and wood
Then later, paper pages
Some say it was born of love
That man first penned the poem
I say it was God above
And creates each day to show them...

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Our love has gone from
hard cover to soft

The words between us typed,
no longer scribed

The moments counted,
          that once were thrown breathless in the wind

Our feelings stilted
—with words to just describe

(Kanab Utah: July, 2019)...

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How many poets have scribed about a sunset or sunrise?
And yet can we truly capture what lies in their eyes?
How many poets have written on the subject of love?
Or the glory within each shining star that glitters above?
                                   /|\...

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Oh how fine to be read by those who appreciate poetic jargon.
(Someone read my poem!)
Oh so grand to be heard through oration.
(Wow! I heard my poetry out loud!)
But ecstasy is to be understood by those who read or hear our scribed thoughts.
(YES! YES! YES!)...

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cue words:

motions
to ebony tuned
rhythms
slicing stolen space
with sable 
circuitous undulations
to lexical intoxications
of syllabic tones
hip cupping
silent scribed screams
of euphoric meters—
hearts jazz bopping
hip hopping 
on tranquil winds
of peace and love:

words cued…...

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Letters like feathers blow 
into place...
Meanings are scribed in a 
sentence I embrace...
With my fingers I carve into 
pages made of sand...
Like an hour glass of time words 
fall from my hand...
However they look a poetic rhyme 
shall be free...
With just another angle from the 
mind and soul of me......

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~ Outside ~

In the darkest of rooms I felt for a door…
With a handful of keys I searched for more…
What has been taken or lost along the way…
I can still see in dreams where they live and play…
On a blank dismal wall I scribed a window to see…
I sketched a sunset in color and soon I was free…

~ Poet Mike ~...

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Are your wishes scribed in combat,
  are your hopes relined with pain

Is your motion found still wanting
  as you climb the stairs again

Are your words now of this moment,
  is your verse free and sincere

Are your feelings calling inward
  —from a heart that’s yearning dear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)...

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Are your wishes scribed in combat,
  are your hopes relined with pain

Is your motion found still wanting,
  as you climb the stairs again

Are your words now of this moment,
  is your verse free and sincere

Are your feelings calling inward
  —from a heart that’s yearning dear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)...

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Standing by the barren sea...
out stretched hands make it free...
A city in his grasp held by a figure
higher and wiser then me...
The future not scribed in stone...
With these powerful hands we will
never be alone...A glassy surface
reflects our land.. Always safe and 
protected by God's hand...



contest entry...Carolyn"s...

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Dad, 

I want to break you out of here—
commandeer the ludicrous 
toddler-pink wheelchair 

and roll you over the salt-sprayed hills
where Camas choirs sing out indigo

hues, beneath your opus scribed
upon the dawning crimson blaze 
you crave . . . like air

each laboured breath  
a decrescendo 
from this eighth-floor window...

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Now I nourish words,
or the words nourish me!
Trust me now it's groundless,
as in each other's vicinity, we feel glee.
And black nights pass by,
and we remain close but free;
not as caged in a jealous lover's company,
but soulful: that whatever we feel we set them free,
to be scribed into the paper 
to immortalize each other's vicinity....

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Our poetry is a window into our souls..
We all get to see insights that are not usually told..
A poets eyes can see more then what's on paper..
Our pages have sides and angles that are deeper..
A cube with words scribed that translates far..
Each tale is another way to raise the creative bar..



inspired by Linda the Sweetheart of Poetry Soup.....

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Words are just poetry on a page 

Music releases the song from its cage

Lyrics are a message but nothing without a tune

The rhythm is the soul that makes our heart swoon

Sentences flow to form the perfect rhyme

Without the beat it cannot make our ears chime

Paragraphs are scribed until the end of eternity

But songs will never truly live without a melody...

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When a book has a certain excellence you 
will know
That between it's covers are friends you'll 
never let go
These printed words upon a small circum-
scribed page
Are not just ink on paper but characters
with whom you did engage
When closing the book it's hard to tell them 
farewell
But there's always a new book that beckons
"come and sit a spell"...

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Old words scribed on leaning stones
Where Scripture begs my heart to stay
Leave no impress upon my bones.
While fresh bright flowers fade away
Families die or move away,
Though grass is faithful not to stray
O’er entombed souls of yesterday
Who left God’s engraved words to stay.
Only numbers pluck my heart strings
Which John 3:16 testament promise brings....

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Inspiration for thought
each modified specific
is linar to which point
Perspective in obstacle
visual perfection
scribed by an artist brush
photospecticle ethched
Into canvas
each thought positioned
for the audience's appreciation
perfect distances 
even the most naïve of
audeinces can appreciate
the artists' rendering of
space, distance and
Natural light...

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Where once I dreamed in black and white...
Now feelings scribed in colors changed my sight…
The overflow of ideas poured and spilled…
Drained pens scribbling everything instilled…
The depth of a sky to the contour of a flower…
The sunsets shadow that creeps through an hour…
Inside framed silence a world outside my window…
A brushed canvas of dreams with a constant flow…...

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D-edication of composer
A-pplies a poem so fine; 
V-ery righteous acrostic 
I-s implemented as
D-esign.

D-edication of composer
A-dvances poetic expression; 
L-etting natal celebrant
E-njoy the birthday occasion.

K-ind words are executed, 
U-sing the heart of the writer; 
S-imply scribed salutation
H-as dedication of composer.

Topic: Birthday of Poet David Dale Kush (December 24)...

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Contest, name and date
Why does a judge need to know
It beggars belief why they ask this
When only words should show

To deliberate and determine
Where said poetry has been scribed
Surely it's down to wonder
Then who's best, and to then decide

This happens on quite a few sites
So it appears to be in the main
Purely to know who's written such
It simply can't be the same





:-(...

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