"scribble" poems
Three Minute Warning
A messenger delivers
A three minute warning
As I lay in bed at 10:30 am
(Resting in preparation for,
not from, our oops, early morning hike).
Breakfast will be ready in 3,
Get your **** in gear or else
It will be cold, I'll be mad,
And you will answer to a
Higher Authority.
No problem cause I already know
All I need is two.
Splash water on my face
Now I'm presentable
enough to the human race,
current company probably won't be happy,
But I ain't telling her, are you?
Shave! You crazed?
It is a three day weekend,
Every day a July Fourth,
Celebrating freedom from the European tyranny,
Of shaving smooth every day!
Splash water on my head, count with me,
Five brush strokes as you can plainly see
Is a classic case of overcompensating
In my geling n' hair stylin'
Brush my teeth, well,
I hope 2 full minutes of rinsing with CVS
Green stuff, mouthwash, will have to suffice.
Blast my deodorant both sides,
Long and strong, wearin' now
My bold blue *** husk of musk,
Cause I am a very considerate fellow
Who happens to really have stunk.
Clean T- shirt and shorts,
Yes, clean underwear too,
Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble.
My flip flop noises coming down the hallway,
Are the butler announcing our joint arrival,
Me and my poem.
Lest you think this is paean to men
Another grand male boast,
Be advised this ditty be writty
By a man who, while no longer gritty,
Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs
And ketchup on his toast!
Mmmmmmm there might be a poem
Lurking in that too...
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly go the days.
Sunrise, sunset
You wake up then you undress.
It always is the same.
The sunrise and the sunsets
You are lying while you confess, keep trying to explain
the sunrise and the sunsets.
You realized then you forgot what you've been trying to retain.
But everybody knows that it is all about the things
that get stuck inside of your head,
like the song your roommate sings
or a vision of her body as she stretches out on your bed.
She raises her hands in the air, asked you,
when was the last time you looked in the mirror?
'Cause you've changed.
Yeah, you've changed.
Sunrises, sunsets
You're hopeful then you regret.
The circle never breaks.
With a sunrise or a sunset there's a change of heart or address.
Is there nothing that remains
for a sunrise or a sunset?
You're manic and depressed.
Will you ever feel okay?
For a sunrise or a sunset your lover is an actress.
Did you really think she'd stay
for a sunrise or a sunset?
You're either coming or you just left, but you're always on the way
towards a sunrise or a sunset, a scribble or a sonnet.
They are really just the same.
To the sunrise and the sunset,
the master and the servant have exactly the same fate.
It's a sunrise and a sunset
from a cradle to a casket
there is no way to escape
the sunrise and the sunset.
Hold your sadness like a puppet, keep putting on the play.
But everything you do is leading to the point
where you just won't know what to do.
And at that moment you may laugh,
but there is someone there who will be laughing louder than you.
So it's true; the trick is complete.
Become everything you said you never would be.
You're a fool! You're a fool!
Sunrise, sunset, sunrises, sunsets
Sunrise and the sunsets.
Sunrise, sunset
Where are you Arienette?
Where are you Arienette?
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
If I gave you my soul,
would you read each page?
Scribble notes of interest
and know me.
Would you take the time,
to help tape the seams?
Would you mend,
the fragility of my soul?
It tears and rips,
easily, emotionally.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
Oh, how dark our history is
You, my author of misery and pain
With fingers set to scribble my demise
This is our story, writ with chaotic pen
One that left calamity in its wake
You would always start the chapter
Every page inked with words of black
On the point of a pen, you'd viciously write
Using the sharp edge to stab into my being
Scripting, deeply, my eternal damnation
You erased my name and made me delusional
Always forcing me to your divine will
For the pen, always mightier than the sword
Was kept toward the edge of my neck
Swearing to strike at any given moment
Always determined, I'd end our sentences
Fighting to gain balance and bear the final period
Yet it was not without consequences
For you and I were wrought with scars
Etched into the bottom of our hearts, a burning black
If only these words painted a happy picture
But the thousand only paint a picture of pain
A dreary battle between two broken forces
On timeworn pages, brittle-ing on and on
Begging for the piece that holds our final chapter
And that chapter swiftly came for I was the ending
Leaving in the night, gone without a trace
With no words or ink left as a guiding clue
Carefully escaping from your paper prison
Free from the agony of the writer's press
On that day, I began my life again
Starting a happy story; free, original, and new
A home of letters filled with love, life, and joy
Where I'd never dare see you again, my dear, dear author
And never bleed black from your miserable weapon
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
You scribble down the name of a drug I can't pronounce
Is that an A or an O?
And send me on my way
It seems like that's how you send all of us off these days
Do you really know my life?
Would you even take the time to listen?
I have my doubts
and I'm sticking with them
Because frankly,
all you're concerned about
is the paycheck you'll be getting.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
He seats and chills
I scribble and think
He eats and sips
I rack and scribble
He pretends to type
But I scribble and scribble.
He looks away
I sneak out.
I'm out here,
Who can help me solve this math
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
In the solemn air of the exam hall.
With the weight of the world pressing against its walls.
Students write, scribble and scrawl.
In the solemn air of the exam hall.
In the solemn air of the exam hall
The burden is great with every stroke big or small.
Written on these papers their path in life.
In the solemn air of the exam hall.
In the solemn air of the exam hall.
Diarrhea of all sorts spill onto papers before.
Brain dead they are.
In the solemn air of the exam hall
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
Notes passed,
Check yes,
fingers crossed,
Heart against chest,
Stomach in knots.
The note makes its way down the row,
And I recieve curious looks,
But my eyes are trained on your face,
As you grasp the note carefully,
Curiously opening the white sheet,
And reading my neat writting.
*When my eyes open,
You're the last image from my dream,
And when we speak,
My heart skips,
One, two, three beats.
And right befor I go to sleep,
I think of the possibilitys,
Of You and Me.
Check:
Yes No
Date me?*
Your cherry glossed lips spread
Into the softest smile
And your bright, shinning eyes
Find mine.
And I see you blush
Shy.
Beautiful.
You grasp your pencil
Scribble something down
And send it back to me
I can feel my heart
Head to feet
Pounding.
Yes
*My sweet, sweet prince
You've gained my heart
I'll take care of yours.
Love, Your Princess.*
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Haply but Sweetly, Serene Volumes mix
And Summer's Fornication took its toll
Please don't React. I am not here to fix
Those very Clouds you hard-worked to install
My name is Supporter; Though it sounds strange
To write this Foreword which read too extreme
Trust me this fully; I am well within range
To lend you my Honest and Golden Ring
Indeed Family does matter; Much on Sport
An Athlete like you needs Supplement Prime
This I can assure: They Love you formore
Never to betray your Sensitive Time.
Much grateful am I to scribble this Verse
Now win your Medal; Let Nike converse.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
1. don’t be afraid of getting hurt
because in life there are times
when we need to be vulnerable
an unmatchable brilliance is radiated
when you bare your soul to another
and are privileged enough to be shown
the deepest parts of their spirit in return
2. write often
no one has to see it, you can scribble
on napkins and throw them away
but please, allow yourself to know
the freedom of letting words seep
from your heart and relieving
the heavy strain of carrying
so many smothering thoughts
3. never promise forever
because not once have i met
a person whose forever lasted
and i can’t say
i remember a time
when my forever has lasted, either
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
From the last Armageddon
Floating Yoda
How does he do that?
That's why I spent $12
To get him why
Cause he's just cool
Diary 2013
On sale last January
You take my thoughts
Scratch and scribble
Nonsense or dribble
With small pages
I write heaps
Of fumbling lyrics
Time to just do it
On my couch or the train
Thanks to you both
The sky's now the limit
I love you my Star Wars pen
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
write from your heart: scribble down words
when you’re crying at 2am, or right after
you’ve gotten home from spending time with
someone you love, whenever your emotions
are at their peak. writing is bet when it’s
pure and raw and genuine. don’t filter when you
write, just let your soul flow out on the page.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Unreciprocated love
It's a popular topic,
In songs and poems
The hurt you feel is so strong,
Always longing and looking.
What they don't tell you
Is how much it can hurt,
being on the other end.
Knowing that you could never understand
What they see in you
Or the depth of their affections
Knowing that you have broken someone.
You've fed the monster called fear,
And you know that you have only given them
more reason to doubt.
"I'm Sorry" you say.
Because it's the only thing you can say to someone,
When you have bruised their heart.
I wish you could understand,
Rejecting you hurts me.
We blame each other,
trying to find fault
until one comes to the conclusion,
Control is impossible.
Just like you can't force someone to love you
You can't force someone to unlove you.
So I let the anger go
And release you from your torment.
"End things on a good note" I tell myself.
So I do just that,
But no isn't in your vocabulary.
You will always be wanting and wishing
And hoping for me to change,
While I wait for you in turn.
But I guess we're both stubborn that way.
So I say goodbye to what we used to be,
Because we will never be the same.
Knowing that whenever you see me,
you will always want us to be more.
So rather then torturing you with a
distant, strained, friendship.
I scribble down my thoughts,
stick a stamp on it,
And watch it leave.
I had the last word.
I hope it brings you closure.
This is the last you will hear from me.
I hope I stay kind in your mind.
I hope I will be remembered as the girl who cared.
But I hope I fade out of your thoughts,
And be remembered as a dream.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 7:55 PM UTC
My days are filled
With Quadratic functions
And Hydrocarbons.
I've had little time for
Billy Collins.
Or sleep, for that matter.
I'm thankful for the little
Moments like this.
When the professor can't find
His power-point.
Or a lunch hour where
I eat something besides text books.
I need time to reflect.
Find myself under all this stress
Take a breath and
Play a quick game of
"Where's Waldo"
With my soul.
Scribble some words
Or a picture.
Or maybe,
Just stare out the window
Contemplating the willow tree
And how her limbs struggle to
Kiss the ground.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
Every child broken into a crayon box colours the same.
Jimmy and Bill would know.
The Knight time radio.
Their Daytime TV.
Technology gave us colour in our boxes for entertainment
And Two turn tables to scratch out the screaming.
55 inches in HD wasn't big enough to scribble on
Perfect reception but no one listened to the colours snap.
No one bothered to question why the paper is off the crayon.
I think of all those lost crayolas
being used for shadowing.
A cover inside a cover,
where pages should be in a book.
And here we are,
still drawing in black and white.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
Cover up the mirrors and I'll find somewhere to look,
rip me into pieces like the pages of an old notebook,
smudge me into ink stains, stick a needle in my eye,
scribble over my mistakes and cross me out with lines.
Turn me inside out to wash and
hang me out to dry,
drown me in a dried up lake
and cool me down by fire,
spit me out like sour grapes,
then leave me like an ageing wine,
just now, I've quite the bitter taste
but I still need a little time.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
I deserve a good morning text every morning you wake up with me on your mind, not by your side.
And if I’m neither on your mind nor by your side,
I deserve a sweet goodnight.
I deserve someone who isn’t constantly reminding me of the imperfections and insecurities I have no problem struggling with when I’m alone, even if it is “just a joke.”
I deserve someone who wants to study every photograph I’ve ever taken until their eyes grow weary.
I deserve someone who asks what I’m writing, even if it is just a one word scribble on a sticky note.
I deserve answered calls.
I deserve beautiful nicknames and extravagant hellos.
I deserve flowers on my doorstep when I’ve had an awful day.
I deserve words when they’re needed and beautiful silence when they’re not.
I deserve kisses on my dry and cracked knuckles in the winter and kisses where the sweet sunshine hits the tip of my nose in the summer.
I deserve to be checked up on when I don’t reply all day long.
I deserve to be carried when I can’t bear to move.
I deserve to be looked at the way your father did when he first fell in love with your mother.
I deserve the truth no matter how hard it may be for you to tell it.
I deserve laughter even when I’ve just told the worst joke in the world.
I deserve understanding for my former ways and promises to better my future.
I deserve to be cuddled every day you have the chance.
I deserve to be the one you cry on when sadness fills your soul and I deserve to be the one you laugh with when warmth fills your heart.
I deserve for you to try to see beyond what I give.
I deserve to be seen for who I am inside, not for what’s on the out.
I deserve to be loved in a way in which could erase all the former ones who failed to love me the way you should.
I deserve to be loved, not lusted after and if one day you realize that I don’t deserve all that I do..
I deserve a cruel goodbye.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
The poems that I used to scribble
Were fickle, were fictional
I had no raw words to write
Until I fell in love with you
Until I fell in love with your dimples
Including the ones on your back
Until I fell in love with your heart
And how you fell in love with me
Your brown eyes
Your hands poking out
Of my oversized hoody
And your hand in my hand
Your small *******
How they felt in my hands
And in my mouth
How I felt when your ******* went hard
The way you felt in my mouth
When we would kiss each other
And our lips would not fully meet
But our tongues would still play
I would bite your sensitive lip
And you'd give out to me
Until I would kiss it better again
And you would kiss my neck
And my chest
And my stomach
And all over my thighs
Oh, how we teased each other
We would share our mints
Through kisses
We'd sent ***** texts
***** pictures
We were only fifteen
We had a lot of ***
And now I'm seventeen
And you are my ex
And I don't miss you
But I wonder about you
I wonder about your dad
I wonder about your wrists
I wonder about your lungs
I wonder about your music
I wonder about whether
You wonder about me or not
I feel your stare burning me
More often than not
But my anxiety forbids me
From checking if it is true
Your laugh is ******* adorable
But your muttering makes me want to
Throw a table at your face
Leaving it as raw as this poem
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
I’ve been to the ledge,
looking into an abyss
certain that I
wouldn’t be missed
and even if one person did,
they’d be better off in a world
without me in it.
I’ve seen shadows creeping
while I was almost sleeping
halfway between
waking and a dream,
with a spiderlike scribble
crawling across my blanket
that I couldn’t smash
or even shake off.
I’ve been swept up
in a manic moment,
then began drowning
in an endless pit,
and almost died in it.
So many self-inflicted
near misses, electric,
pill bottle, and razor kisses
but my body insisted
on living when my mind
wanted a quiet end
to the painful buzzing.
Some say it gets better,
and for me it did,
some say all you got to do
is keep trying to live,
some day you will make it.
It’s one struggle at a time.
But sometimes people
go into those dark caverns
and never come back.
It’s not a beautiful death
just a tragic final act.
-2021
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 1:49 AM UTC
I have been living in these huts lately,
As this life seems aimless and desultory,
Slowly flowing like the splash of drops over the board,
Hallelujah . For me, it's still our God's handwritten story.
Two cents quietly sit in my little pockets ,
And they still fit perfectly in each,
Same as our feelings, as they huddle around our hearts,
Occupying the bijou portions and trying not to leach.
I will hold on till the day, staggering away,
In my tattered clothes, till the color withers and my story stales,
Lingering in the huts, with a hue of nostalgia,
Ailing but not wailing, after a series of massive fails.
Before God finishes writing my story,
I believe he will hand me the pen, its a fact, not a lie,
And with you by my side, I will scribble my glory,
I'll dress you your Gossamer, and myself a Suit and a tie.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.
Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.
You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
We build our own cages.
We construct fences around our souls.
We scribble on the walls.
We believe this makes us free.
The world can terrify.
But there is nothing worse
than not experiencing life
for the fear of hurting.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Wake up
Wash up
Cook
Clean up
Attend class
Scribble notes
Speak up
And eat up
Organize
Sweep
And mop
Repeat as needed
Oh, monotony
You have found me
With your best friend,
Exhaustion
You killed my will to live
Imagination, all gone
Muscle memory keeps me going
Oxygen gives my heart a beat
I may as well be dead
My mind shuts off
The noises all gone
And good ol' monotony comes up to play.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
~
In ode to all who succumb
through wayward passages
lined of scribble notes
dripping ink’s savagery,
staining cursive patterns
in Sylvia-like depressions
Jarred bells ring
down lost tunnels
around each dark corner…clang
from steeples we chase
and beds we lie
draped in sadness
and shapes of
poetic happenstance
Tear drop vinaigrette
spiced of leftover lifetimes
drizzled on leafy desperation
bids a tired farewell
before time collects
the deserved rewards
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC