Challenge Ended

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

Ended February 27, 2025 • 13 Entries • Created by Mariah

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Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

pizzamind in Poetry & Free Verse

Compulsive Unraveling

It starts with a line—

half-heard, half-felt,

like a song stuck in your teeth.

You write it down,

just to shut it up.

But the line pulls another,

then another,

like thread yanked from a sweater

you didn’t mean to ruin.

Now it’s a hole,

and you’re picking at it

because what else are you supposed to do?

Before long, you’re knee-deep

in metaphors that don’t quite land,

chasing some truth

that slips sideways every time you blink.

You call it poetry.

It calls you restless.

You write until your brain

feels scraped clean,

like maybe you’ve won

or at least outrun the worst of it.

But quiet never lasts.

Another line hums,

and you’re back at it—

pulling, unraveling,

telling yourself it’s fine,

you’ll patch it up later.

Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

Elikimber in Poetry & Free Verse

My Sculpture

I shape this nearly empty body

And the self within –

Molding, squeezing, pushing, pulling,

Creating the woman I long to be.

The clay is stubborn,

And I don’t have full control;

Family, friends, media, limitations –

Influence and change my shape.

For better? For worse?

I’m not sure I know.

I can only hope that my sculpture

Will be worthy of my pride.

Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

Tamaracian

One Man’s Scraps Are Another Man’s Poem

Abstract ideas flitter about in my brain

like butterflies navigating a stiff August breeze.

I try unifying them into something,

a patchwork quilt of grandiose dreams

showcasing profound thoughts

that I feel are worthy of sharing

with strangers and sycophants,

maniacs and mentally sound,

downtrodden and dignitaries,

paupers and princesses

in hopes of making a lasting impression

that will forever change their lives.

But before unveiling my work to the world,

I scrutinize the stitching,

then question the pattern.

Thinking that it’s not good enough,

that it requires further alterations,

I tear apart the finished piece.

Quickly I discover that it can’t be resewn,

reassembled

or recreated.

What was once coherent,

vibrant,

profound,

now lies in ruin.

These scraps of doubt then entomb me.

Unable to manipulate the fabric,

I remain immobilized

by a misguided attempt

to cover my perceived imperfections

and bury my profound neurosis

so my frail ego

will be shielded from nonexistent ridicule.

Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

modugg in Poetry & Free Verse

Gray

I sit in the gray night

Gifted goosebumps from the gale

Monotone in delight

Whooshing winds wind and whistle

Soothing a mind most contrite

Breathing breezes and bores

Hopeful of being in the right

Life lies within learning lessons

Yet application takes might

Beyond the brick barrier brightens

I no longer feel so tight

Coming to conclusions consistently

Beyond what's black and white

Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

AJJ in Poetry & Free Verse

Buying Hope

Little scrap of paper that can vastly change my life

A random set of numbers where my hopes and dreams reside

They sit upon my table until eventually I check

Another loser as expected, but it kept me hopeful for a bit

Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

Feralbeetle in Poetry & Free Verse

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness

Hums, hums like the background music

Like a kazoo being played by a child

The child I once was, maybe, back when i could play a harmonica

Knew the words to every Taylor Swift song

That was the poetry of my youth

We were both young when I first you

Close my eyes and the flashback starts, I’m standing there, on a balcony in summer air, see the lights, see the party, the ball gowns…

But she was lyrics and I wrote poetry too in my youth

I write as though a quarter century isn't still youth

As though the fears weighing me down are anything…

Scraps of madness, I have plenty to spare

Just, no take backs if you decide what madness was taken was too much

No rest for the wicked, after all

And I long for sleep.

Take some of my scraps, the mind will replenish them in dreams

maybe good writing will break free tomorrow

Challenge

“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.” —Virginia Woolf

Create a poem out of whatever scraps you find lying around (your brain or otherwise).

Rocket in Poetry & Free Verse

Stress Paralysis

Stress paralysis, so exhausted at rest. No break from the silence. Fight and flight without guidance. Stuck in a moment of endlessness. Purgatory for the restless. Frozen in time with no cure, time ticks by as you endure, minutes become hours of torture.