"doodled" poems
*When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.*
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Watercolor raindrops
Feathery clouds doodled on the sky
Opened windows scared of accidental suicides
A melody of soap bubbles dancing in the wind
Lazy days stretching on forever
Sometimes summer wins
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
Dear Diary, today is a new day
I waited for all the rain clouds to go away
Things may be looking up from here
I hope I'm not being too hopeful
Dear Diary, I didn't eat today
Not because of self image but rather my stomach's in frayed
Knots and I can't seem to keep anything down
Except the kind words of those who are around
Dear Diary, I couldn't sleep last night though I felt so tired
And that made it so hard to get up in the morning it felt like my
Shoulders were being held down by rain clouds
I wish I could fight this feeling somehow
Dear Diary, people keep asking if I'm okay which I
Don't understand but either way I say
Yes I'm okay, just a little blue
But at night it feels like my mind's split I two
Dear Diary, I cried ten times today
But my parents aren't asking me if I'm okay
I come home each afternoon and lay in my bed until my brain sings a different tune,
Dear Diary, I saw my doctor today
She FINALLY asked me if I was okay and I didn't
Know how to respond because honestly I didn't know on my own,
Dear Diary, I didn't wanna get up today
So I stayed in bed and it was there that I laid
And doodled on my arm with a razor blade until
Every foul thought slowly faded away,
Dear Diary, my parents have noticed my arms
But they didn't seem even remotely alarmed as I
Stayed in bed once more then I added on another four,
Dear Diary, I often wish I was dead because there
Are thoughts screaming at me in my head and I'm
Trapped in this cold body I'm in while I
Waste away as the walls slowly spin
DEAR DIARY, THEY PUMPED MY STOMACH TODAY
AND AFTER HOURS OF AGONY I WISH I HAD STAYED
HOME ONE MORE DAY SO ID HAVE MORE TIME
SO WHEN MY PARENTS CAME HOME THEY'D HAVE ONLY MY BODY TO FIND,
DEAR DIARY, I CAN'T GO ON THIS WAY,
EVERY DAY AFTER DAY IS FILLED WITH PAIN AND I'M
TRAPPED WITH THORNS AROUND MY THROAT BUT
I CANT BRING MYSELF TO BRING THEM UP CLOSE,
Dear Diary, today is a new day
I waited for all the rain clouds to go away
Things may be looking up from here
I hope I'm not being too hopeful.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 12:05 AM UTC
if you want to leave me
i think that is okay
i’ll still remember you
in the pages of my old notebook
doodled over and torn
stained with cherry coke
i’ll read the diary entry
about the time you took my innocence
and how it was
beautiful
if you want to leave me
i think i’ll be okay
because you’re still buried deep in me
like the way ants create castles in the ground
you are the tunnels that i maneuver around
you’re artwork on a wall
too obscure to understand
but yet
everybody understands the sadness emanating
and they cry
because it’s beautiful
i cry because you’re beautiful
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Hildegard of Bingen
the most musical abbess
of the year 1097 a.d.
met with Jung the unconscious detective
and Ginsberg the howling poet
for lattes at some Starbucks
in a vibrating city
on a shimmering afternoon.
Angelic minuets keep flowing,
effervescing through my chakras
like tonal champagne . . .
the glowing femme declared.
Beams of ethereal light infuse me,
tsumanis of energy tempt me
to dance right out of my habit.
Ignoring the possibility
of seeing a naked nun drink coffee in public,
Alan mused behind his hornrims . . .
I get what you mean
like I have felt the same perfusion of joy
watching cans of peas and ayahuasca
dance with talking bananas
at the A&P; Market near my pad in Brooklyn,
can you dig it?
Still suffering from his Freudian hangover,
Carl reframed them both . . .
Any conclusions or convictions
drawn from such experiences
may not self-verify because
your introspective identifications
attempt in vain
to concretize the amorphicity
of decentralized psychic sensations
which reach conscious awareness
only at the expense of extension.
What did he just say?
Hildegard asked Alan.
I have absolutely no idea,
the portly poet answered
as he doodled an intricate mandala
on his hemp napkin.
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
Art class was a given
A bird course as they say
But, our teacher had gone awol
You could say he flew away
They found him at a campsite
Cross legged on a mat
Naked, drinking cool aid
And talking to his cat
He snapped while teaching concepts
beyond the grasp of teenage kids
Who only wanted to pass time
and be on ebay making bids
He taught them about structure
about lines and Bernard Frize
and now he's in the forest
sitting naked with the trees
Pastels, crayons and chalk sticks
littered where he sat
sitting naked, drinking kool aid
and talking to his cat
the kids, they drove him crazy
never doing what he told
Instead they sat and doodled
while the teacher...well...unrolled
they didn't draw the things he asked
didn't study all the masters
instead they were more intent
on creating art disasters
he came to class equipped one day
to show them some van gogh
instead they all got up
And told him he could blow
he snapped and left the class room
never stopping at the door
he went to his apartment
and picked the cat up off the floor
he went down to the locker
he took his tent back to the car
he was going to go camping
he wasn't going to a bar
he drove up to the campsite
made his kool aid, grabbed his cat
took his clothes off and got naked
and sat down upon his mat
this is where they found him
seven days since he walked out
he's now painting in nice place
where there's lots of staff about
most days he sits in silence
in his jacket, sleeves behind
zonked out on medication
to help him find his mind
they give him lots of kool aid
but his cat he does not see
he just paints with all his fingers
making pictures of a tree
once he was a teacher
of a bird course teaching art
now he gets all his excitement
drinking kool aid from the cart
in his mind there are da vincis
claude monets and rembrandts too
but, on paper he paints tree limbs
in black and grey and blue...
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
I've doodled and drawn till my skin's
Smudged grey from graphite,
I've erased and erased till shavings
Covered my floor like a rug,
I've drawn and re-drawn till I think
maybe... maybe it's good enough,
Then I change it some more,
Shade a part again,
Stain my skin some more,
Re-trace lines again...
And I think this time it's just about right,
Not quite, but it's alright,
So I pick up my pencil and
Sign it
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
thirty eight days
twenty poems
and an embarrassing amount
of doodled hearts later,
the reality of you not being my one*
has finally begun to set in
it’s been one week
of trying to get over you
and i still cried last night
and i will probably cry again
but not forever
because i know that i know that i know
that i deserve so much better
i deserve
*someone who will think
my eyes shine like diamonds
and whose heart will always
ache to be next to me
and who will do whatever it takes
to have me, no matter what
someone who will overcome every obstacle
to ensure that i am forever his
and this will be
my last poem about you
and tomorrow will be day one
of erasing your name from my heart
and it’s going to sting
because i really was hoping
you’d stay
but no
i now see that you
are not my one
you are only one step
in the right direction
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
I'm getting tired of writing
things on a piece of paper
and having them thrown away
to places i know very little about
THIS IS NOT THE POEM I ORIGINALLY WROTE
THIS ONE IS WORSE..
GOOD WORSE Xd
Love and lust
you and me
different sides
of the same coins
if she loves you like a poet
and f's you like a h
never let her go
and just so you know
i can be both
oh boy, your ***** could act like gasoline
soak me in it
and let your kiss start a fire
And ignite my skin
wherever you touch
Get some movement down there
won't ya?
in and out
slow and fast
smoother and rougher
just satiate the thirst you yourself
have created
'cause you're the only one who can
So, won't you be my artist?
and paint on my surfaces slowly
Or
Wuld you liker it better
if i took control
and doodled on your body
wuth my tongue as a paintbrush
With your raw material
and my lovely strokes
you could be a mster-piece you already are
I'll always carry you with me
haVE a copy-right
or why not brand you
with my name upon your chest
My touch,
your nakedness
My palm
Your hard drive
My lips
your lips
My smile
your ouch
My hand
Your skinwarm and wet
My legs
your thighs
Me driving
Your vehicle
We can take turns
you could
mold me
squeeze me
caress me
feed on me
devour me
completely
savor me
every inch of me
Electrify me
Tear through
all my layers
kiss my lips
both of them
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
An original creation, that's what you are
in vibrant colors nature carefully assembled,
as you sashayed through your time,till here
now all across the front page one can see you
arousing pleasure that moves me deeply,
done in bold sweeps of a brush immersed in joy
making onlookers stand agape, thrilled
mumbling inanities as none has the grasp
of the quicksilver aesthetics that rules you.
And I, obscure , at the best like a crop circle
done in the secret hours after midnight,
or a cryptic mural on a dull wall, long past it's prime
doodled by an interplanetary traveler gone astray,
a drawing in grey fading slowly in to oblivion,
yet to be deciphered is the benediction,
it carries from light years far away,
it will be gone soon as the light from galaxies far
want to make it their own, little by little each night
Am I not transient and to be forgotten soon?
But you are steadfast and adamant
very rooted in your reasoning
sprung from a center devine, we both
claim together.
"Am I not a woman and lover first?"
Your eyes, gleam, exuding a timelessness that speaks to me.
"I would only dream of lying naked under your
sweet heaving heaviness, to receive the nectar,
the transient ecstasy that gifts me the precious seed
that'd grow to heights immortal,on the bank of the milky way"
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
Mr. Golden sun casting long shadows
Salty breeze hitting across
Acres of sand lying beneath our feet
Ups and downs like craters on the moon
Crows cawing, horses galloping and dogs basking in the sun
A straight line of ocean doodled below the empty sky
Gigantic ships appear like miniatures farther away
Hushing sound of waves
Four feet amidst frothy tides creating footprints
Carrying back some rustic soil on the toes
A little dirt never hurt
A bag of sea shells
Small, big, coloured and white, all with a coat of sand
A bag full of sea shells
The sun sets down
The radiant moon creates a guiding path in the dark shore
Following us back home
After a long evening at the beach
With my dear son
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
Love.
Of course, the great spirit said that word
when he set down the majesty of mountains
thus, spread curling softness through the seas,
sending little creatures wriggling, crawling, mewling, howling,
oh ye little fish and fowl, doodled up the dinosaurs,
a lumbering jurassic joke, then unleashed leviathan
from just a speck, and made some others walk *****
Love.
That word we need to hear
and the word that hurts so much.
It comes crowned with garlands, glistening
with the dew of pleasure. And underneath, the horn thrusts up
Dionysius and Venus, processions of Priapus, frenzied satyriasis
blind Baccus, luscious Pan and Zeus.
Ah yes. The juice.
Love.
And who has not recklessly ignored this word
or squandered it on abandoned, neon nights
that paled before the coming of cold mornings,
and who has not held back this word
from loved ones,
cowards of commitment,
circumcelliate, averruncate and absquatulate?
Love.
That little, mighty word that dominates our lives.
But what can we require of life and how can we survive
indifference in the barren waste and stay alive outside
without its whisper, without its cry and shout? And how can we aspire
to ecstasy without the tumult and whirlwind of its desire,
without its warmth, without its fire? So, we must turn again
to love's softness and love's pain. Again. And yet again.
Love.
It's easy, really. So go on, say it.
It's time. Why not? It's for the mothers and the lovers,
the fathers, it's for all the children who blindly seek.
It's for the teenagers and trembling old and the outcast and the isolate.
Even the soldier with the gun. Especially. It's for everyone.
The grave is lonely, deep and cold. By giving love before it's too late
those soft wings of the dove of peace unfold.
Love is the playmate. Enjoy, reciprocate.
This is the message I communicate.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
Cassie walked up the stairs and into her new room, her new roomate sitting on the bed and writing in her journal. her long black hair in a side braid, wearing a purple flannel jacket and ripped jeans. "guess who i just met? you're not gonna believe it." cassie said, almost singing. "who?" Emily rolled her eyes. "madison montgomery, she gave me her autography and everything." cassie joyfuly explained. "madison montgomery? isn't she like some grade d lifetime movie actress or something? what is she doing here?" Emily shook her head and rolled her eyes as she doodled a picture on the notepad. "that cuts me deeply that you would say that about madison, she's my friend you know." Cassie touched her cheast, as if she had been cut by this very deeply. "okay?" Emily shook her head "she is a witch like us and is most certainly NOT a grade d actress." cassie explained. "i really like it here, you know? i never really had friends at my old highschool.. everyone thought i was weird or annoying." Cassie sighed. "did they?" emily replied sarcasticly. "well yea, thats why i had to get rid of all of them. " cassie sighed once again, shaking her head and staring into space. " sometimes i lay awake and i can still hear them." Emilys eyes and mouth widened as she looked up from her notebook very slowly. "what do you mean, you got rid of them?" Emily asked. "ohhh nevermind..! it's a really long story and i come out looking pretty bad in it" Cassie giggled, making emilys stomache turn. her eyes still wide and filled with fear.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Have you ever
Read Dr. Seuss
To a rap-song beat?
Have you ever
Browsed the Net
Just to want a treat?
Have you ever
Tapped the top
Of a doorway as you went past?
Have you ever
Played a game
And want it to last and last?
Have you ever
Sung the alphabet
In your head to find one letter?
Have you ever
Wrote something over
Because you thought you could do better?
Have you ever
Eaten chicken
On the day of Thanksgiving?
Have you ever
Said something dumb
To find yourself unforgiving?
Have you ever
Taken a bite
Instead of pulling string cheese apart?
Have you ever
Used big words
To make yourself sound smart?
Have you ever
Shaken your head
To get out of being dizzy?
Have you ever
Doodled in class
To make yourself seem busy?
Have you ever
Explained your steps
To a toy so you could fix it?
Have you ever
Read a site
Although it was elicit?
Have you ever
Attempted to write
With the wrong hand?
Have you ever
Went to the beach
And got your swimsuit full of sand?
Have you ever
Used a straw
To drink a glass of water?
Have you ever
Wished it would
Never get any hotter?
Have you ever
Tried to use
A spoon as a mirror?
Have you ever
Actually liked
Chocolate that was bitter?
Have you ever
Tried to boast
About how humble you are?
Have you ever
Looked at the sky
And wished you saw the stars?
All of these are things
That I have, indeed, done.
So I wrote them all out...
I sure had some fun.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
Nothing to write, not today.. The words in my head just don't want to play,
And now my head is a wondering mess, with all the jumbled up **** that I posses,
Silence in my house is extremely rare you know? It's distractions and noise that are running this show!
Iv doodled some stick men and Iv yelled at the kids, who are currently shouting and raiding the fridge.
No fun to be had, not now any way.. Iv gotta clean up! It's all work and no play,
And now all I want is some chocolate and sleep! Or maybe some wine to ensure the release,
What I'm cooking the clan is next on the agender, something healthy and nice to keep us all slender?
****** that! Tonight it's beans on toast.. Nothing fancy not even a roast!
Mum's on strike, mum's not happy.. Going mad with each changed *****
But I'll carry on, ya know? "as you do" reminiscing of days when alone I went to the loo!
If your a poet parent you will know this too,
Writing with distractions is all you can do! X
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
You’re like an ocean for you always look calm.
But I know behind it is a girl on fire in town.
A woman who is being idolized by everyone;
For you got your word voiced out even if it’s troublesome sometime.
Your personality is like your favorite seaweed.
Spicy yet it gives something to cherish.
You’re like your favorite ramen noodles.
Mind with worries feels like doodled.
You are the sweetness to my bitterness.
By just your wiggling eyebrows, it causes happiness.
You are the chili to every made kimchi.
Always looks fine even if it’s orangey.
Your mood somehow blends with your favorite colors;
You have adopted the calmness of the blue sky; the balancing aura of gray;
The peacefulness of white; brown’s friendliness in a simple way.
These interesting sides of yours will always be remembered.
You are the sour taste in a homemade sinigang.
The happiness I felt in every chocolate’s bite.
You are the coldness in my ice cream;
That balances the feeling that is in warm.
Your dramas are amazing just like your Korean films.
Those songs I love to hear whenever you start to hymn.
You’re proving enough that there is this thing called forever.
I would miss your cheerful smiles and long your crazy laughter.
© Quenniebells, 2015
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
*Golden warmth of sun doodled
Something on her cheek.
Like the resurrection of soft dawn in Alaska,
Gradually she opened her cheery eyes
And whispered inside my numbness,*
“I can make colours fly.”
*Slumber shattered into pieces of bliss
As she entangled the tenderness
Of her fingers, and
Her palms in synthesis,
And made it fly like a mythical butterfly.
My amused self asked her curiously,*
“Where are the colours?”
*Holding her dancing butterfly
Infront of my eyes
She replied in a honeyed voice,*
“Those are flying amidst your insight.”
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
lots of bits and pieces here, bits of strings, pieces of cloth, laundry pegs, handles to god knows what, scattered coins from scattered lands, paperclips, brokendreams, rubberbands, scraps of life
on paper doodled, rolls of film, batteries alive and dead, scary thoughts from one's head, lego blocks, bits of wood, seashells from the seashore, keys from a life before, unknown things, important somehow, jigsaw pieces of a china dove, thumbtacks, nuts, screws and bolts, lists to do, that just did not, lids from old jamjars, spent pepperpots, bright neon plastic straws, words left unsaid, that may have started wars, little stone pebbles collected,
because, packets of seeds, vegatable and flower, the combo to the lock, of all the lost hours, bits of the times, i often regret, pieces of my heart, awaiting repair.....
but amongst all this
stuff i cannot find,
any leftover, clarity of mind.
rooting around in the junk drawer of life, always an adventure, not always kind.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
So we were sitting around with some college dude
And talking about what we wanted to do later
And the pretty little girls wanted to be singers or artists
And the little blond boy wanted to be a movie director up in the golden city
They had star-studded dreams of art and passion
And this one guy says he wants to be in finance
And be a stock broker
And play with money
Because he likes money.
So I looked over and saw him there
Leaning far back in his chair with a purple penguin T-Shirt
And gloriously doodled notebooks
And I thought this kid
This kid
Is not afraid of losing his soul.
Perhaps he lost it years ago
And figures he's got nothing to lose.
I thought this kid
Is going places.
Perhaps not very moral places, perhaps not very clean places
But big places.
If I was a really good poet I would probably say many deep things about this kid so willing to be a Wall Street slave
But I'm also
Just a kid
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
An explosive sizzle over the tarmac,
and through the cracks in the windscreen
(which spread like invisible spiders' webs),
the highway snakes through the hailstones,
and climbs yet another hill.
Townes’ voice sounds thirsty on the FM,
the eyes in the rearview lost, doodled-upon road maps
(clichéd with just a tad of Cabernet Sauvignon);
the driver leans over, pops the cubbyhole,
and yet another pink pill.
Telephone wires vibrate like ocean ripples
with the last cries of ravens that rose like a black tsunami,
‘parting the sea’ for the speeding hearse,
and casting cancer-shadows over the land
with each flap of their wings.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
Time limits every single rainbow though
It's sweep binds the horizon end to end,
As the light slowly fads,this illusion dissolves,
And darkness stares the sky on it's starry eyes!
Each rainbow color is derived from the sedate white!
If white can do this, what wouldn't be possible in colors!
But billowing darkness before long fulfills it's desire.
And the morning blush again will wash all darkness off.
Moving clouds pass their messages to me aloud.
In cryptic script doodled in light and rumbling sounds.
A wonderful display on the dark curtain of clouds!
Look at me, I am still here to make you see what
You have never seen before your curious eyes!
Clouds churn darkness and light to find what does emerge,
I do see specks of rainbows frothing in it's cauldron!
Life is a change continuous, like the days of torrential monsoon,
I am with the winds and water, in the chiaroscuro of clouds,
A rainbow with an illusory nearness, allowing you to touch,
As it happens it's gone, becomes one with light and darkness.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
He sat on the rug and doodled a house
Using his brand new crayons.
Red for the roof, blue for the walls, green for the door.
He drew his mommy and his daddy and a smiling sun.
No one heard the door’s handle click open.
He never heard the screams, because when they began
He was already down, hugging the ground
Still holding his crayons.
Still smiling.
His parents would never see that smile
When in a week, he would have opened his red firetruck for Christmas.
It would remain in a box
In his parents' closet,
Never to be opened.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
If a tree falls in the forest
and someone is there to chop it down,
did it really fall at all?
And is a tree only a tree when its roots are deep in the ground?
What then, when the man cuts it down?
Does it still exist?
It is dead when its roots are shriveled up.
When we die, we no longer exist.
Or do we?
Are our roots still extended?
Our connections remaining while we are gone, though not for good?
Are our souls still around,
to strut around the town?
Wait, does a tree have a soul?
Or is it really gone, when it's gone?
When it turns into paper in a factory,
has the tree disappeared, destroyed?
Or is all that paper still the tree, torn up and annoyed?
So what happens when we're gone?
Are we cut up in a factory and packaged up
to be sent to stores all through the town?
They call us ***** donors.
Are we written on and doodled upon
like a worthless piece of paper?
People talk, they gossip, hurt us with words,
label us with their judgments,
make us feel worthless.
No one should feel worthless!
Even a tree.
But isn't a tree just a thing?
It isn't a person, nor an animal.
But it is alive,
moving, trying to strive,
for recognition, just like the rest of us.
It reaches its branches higher, higher,
only to be sliced apart and turned into a flyer.
If I was chopped down,
and just as I was working my hardest,
I'd be sad, I'd be mad, I'd be crushed inside and out.
I don't want to be like paper, used,
crumbled into a ball, abused,
if asked, it would be refused,
"Can I cut you down?"
No.
Never.
Stop, stop, STOP!
A tree is never asked, "Is this okay?"
They're just cut down, there's no other way.
And we're the same, even today.
We cut down others, we go and say,
"You ****** You freak! No one likes you, go away!"
HEY!
These words are ugly,
not like the people they're aimed at.
No one deserves to be made fun of,
to be hurt,
stepped on,
chopped down like a tree.
And those bullies will see.
It'll come back and then they will be,
cut down and hurt, just like a tree.
If a person is cut down,
and no one hears them cry,
do they still exist?
Do they still matter?
Of course they do,
though they feel like they don't.
Everyone matters, even when they don't think they do,
even at their lowest low,
when they won't know where they should go,
there's a place, a safe haven,
out there somewhere.
In the arms of friends, family, neighbors.
No one is ever truly alone.
And do you know what?
Neither is a tree.
When if falls, someone will be there
and someone will care.
Everyone and everything matters,
everyone and everything has a purpose.
Even you and me,
and even a measly tree.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
A face so lit
A smile so bright
I wonder why!
Something caught my eye
Two doodled stars on your arms
A reward for performing great
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC