"scribbly" poems
I feel apart of this hick town place
Breathing in life, through open, clean air
Trapped by my mind in a wide open space
My granddad showed me on his Gum tree
The marks left by moths and beetles alike
I went to touch them whilst he let them be
The Scribbly Gum tells the same story
Our lives intertwined in memories
The aftermath of destruction, can be beauty
My chubby hands admire what my eyes miss
like a blind man hungry for the verse
I feel the indented trails, lead me into the abyss
I envy those tiny critters, hiding away
creating art without even knowing
One day I shall join them and there I shall stay
Dancing glimpses of times past
The smell of eucalyptus sticking to hot air
Pulling, aching strings of my childish heart
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
So i drew a pile of words onto the page
and in a rage i covered them in black lines and criss crosses until a
small sad scribbly sailing ship appeared upon my page;
mooring, sinking, drinking in the brine
and choking on weeds that drift
aimlessly atop a deep engulfing sea.
Dying boat submerging to be free
Lonesome boat singing a fading melody,
Water cleans.
Moonlight streams.
Seafolk dream
and the ocean breathes in a calm that swells
into a seething, heaving storm within a sea of scribbled words
lines blurred
bone dry
sun starched
my mouth is parched
and words form salted pearls upon my lip.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
So i drew a pile of words onto the page
and in a rage i covered them in black lines and criss crosses until a
small sad scribbly sailing ship appeared upon the scarred bark white sheets;
mooring, sinking, drinking in the brine
and choking on weeds that drift
aimlessly atop a deep engulfing sea.
Dying boat submerging to be free
Lonesome boat singing a fading melody,
Water cleans.
Moonlight streams.
Seafolk dream
and the ocean breathes in a calm that swells
into a seething, heaving storm within a sea of scribbled words
lines blurred
bone dry
sun starched
my mouth is parched
and words form salted pearls upon my lip.
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 12:20 AM UTC
When I was 8
I would draw
stick figures of black and white
standing alone next to a forest
green trees, dandelions, and carnations pink,
swaying in the wind amongst a sunset
orange and bittersweet.
When I was 10
I would draw
twinkling outer space purple mountains
majesty still as midnight
blue bell rings, encompassing all things atomic
tangerine planets and occasionally a piercing laser
lemon electric lime stars streaking through the sky.
When I was 17
I would draw
scribbly doodles run wild
strawberry heart screaming tickle me
pink blush on its face, waiting
for its cadet blush crush
to save it from dreaming in history of jazz
berry jam scents lingering on its lips.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
We fall
We rise
and yet I don't really know
Is it best to stay down,
or to swallow the world?
Is it best to say yes
to say no
to die loud
to lay low
I can't smile if it's sunny
I can't cry if it rains
That's a lie!
We are robots, we don't think
We just do
It's a life- no, existance!
It's everything scribbly and color by gods
Making us equal, while drawing a blank
Don't tell us creative, or different
unique
It's making us filled in with "pretty," all neat
To hell with the ones who cannot oblige
For using their beauty,
not staying in line
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 6:30 PM UTC