Best Abuzz Poems
Our house is abuzz
With Me, Bella and Jess
And Mummy is all delight
“Dad’s coming home tonight! “
The Cake has been made
The table has been laid
Candles are alight
Dad will be home tonight!
Mum’s wearing polka dots
Dress, Dad had bought
She looks pretty, so bright!
Dad will be home tonight.
Jess was only two
When dad had to go
He still remembers him, right?
Can’t wait for Dad tonight!
Bella’s dream is a soprano
And so deft with the piano
She will make it a musical nite
When daddy’s home tonight!!
But me? I am a bit too shy
So I did this song on the sly
Plan to place it under his desk-light
Hope Dad will read it tonight!
Dad may have stories from afar
Of his travels and the war
Tales of nobility and military might
At the dinner table tonight.
Just imagine him at the door
Big smile, Open arms for us four
His loving grasp will be tight
When he comes home tonight.
There is a knock on the door!
We all cheer and roar!!
Mum is there on a flight,
Jess lisps, “is it already tonight?”
Four soldiers stand at our gates,
They must be his work mates,
Mum’s voice is soft in fright
“Is he coming home tonight?”
Voices drown as the men depart
Mum is back, her hand on heart
Slowly her legs yield to her weight
“Daddy won’t be coming home tonight!”
My feet step in time to the great Pumpkin Stroll
where gourds are like chords of a song
I tap dance around golden orbs of delight
As Fall once again comes along
So happy, the sounds of the rustling leaves
of ochre and crimson and green
My mind is a whirl, Jack-o-lanterns to make
The scariest you’ve ever seen
The cider has left me abuzz with intent
the patches, a bounteous crop
A tipsy reminder to walk with great care
when blades are then drawn set to chop
Selecting perfection of orange leafy squash
I’m pleased at achieving my goal
Still stepping in time to Fall’s musical whim
I’ve loved doing my Pumpkin Stroll
So stop by and wonder when pies may be set
on window sill ready to cool
But don’t lay a finger until time is right
lest you reconcile with a ghoul!
The very first week of every October
Bright yellow, orange, amber, purple and red
Splash artistry on New Hampshire’s White Mountains
As the tourism season comes to a head
North Conway’s old railroad station is abuzz
Men in traditional conductor attire
Escort sightseers to seats with pane-free windows
To peer out at landscapes in colors of fire
The spectrum on dappled mountains evokes awe
Caught by camera lenses as cool winds blow
Offering a chilly reminder to all
That these peaks will soon be blanketed by snow
Clickety-clack, the train hugs its aged track
Freeze-frame photograph images will remain
Recalling the splendor of fall’s peak foliage
Until spring breathes life to the mountains again
I step onto the path with burdens weighed.
A chill wind at my back, the skies are lead.
Because this is the day the Lord has made,
I look about to learn what He has said.
The blooms of humble weeds show off their lace,
as harsh wind turns to gentle fragrant breeze.
The sun breaks through the clouds and warms my face.
Once naked trees are green with budding leaves.
From Winter’s grip the world is breaking free
and soon will be aflutter and abuzz.
A joy begins to bubble within me
to see the tender grass where snow just was.
My burden lighter now, I start to sing,
and trust the God who orchestrates the spring.
March 12, 2021
Contest: Breath of Spring
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
I blow here in the prairie wind,
A grass that seems to have no end.
A pheasant asked me yesterday,
"How long you been here would you say?"
I scratched my blades and said, "Who knows?
Ten thousand years or more, I s'pose."
An' then the bird said,"If you please-
When were you really most at ease?"
I laughed at that, the way grass does,
That sounds somewhat like bees abuzz.
Then said,"That's easy friend, why shucks,
Between fences and pickup trucks!
The fences stopped the thunderin' herd,
An' no trucks were yet to be heard.
It was so peaceful, full of hope,
I was knee deep to antelope."
All that thinkin' got me upset -
I told that bird the trials we'd met!
"The Humans talk with grief an' scorn
Of long gone Bison and Longhorn -
Listen, pheasant, and I will tell,
The Buffalo can burn in Hell!
An' Longhorn meat will surely make
A big fat piece of butcher's steak!"
Well, I was through and I calmed down -
The Pheasant, nervous, looked around.
Said," I been eatin' a little seed."
I laughed, said,"Friend, take all you need!"
April 29, 2016
Murmuration of starlings high. I’m high!
Low stars twinkling with wings. The trumpet’s call!
As winds of war, incline, in warm wind sigh,
the flock, a shock, sans enemies appall.
These friends do fascinate, heard like bombers,
like Japanese over unsuspecting
Pearl Harbor fight ~ these darling bird-balmers.
The nudge of melodic buzz, quite affecting.
Not of national consequence, abuzz
not with politicking but peace of soul -
remains of war pittance, the scrawling-t’was.
My awesome sight, this di’mond-bling of coal.
Mere humans offer crumbs ~ my heart flaps wings.
With murmurs high and low, communion springs.
Guarded by towering hills on the East
And flanked by the Arabian Sea on the West
With its easterly shore of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep,
There is a land, my land of green vegetation
Nestled among palm trees and paddy fields.
Oh! I am in love with this narrow strip of land
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and singing cuckoos
What rich diversity you graciously provide
A land dotted with temples, churches and mosques
Where Hindus, Christians and Muslims cohabit
Where diversity flows through her arteries
And unity beats through her throbbing heart
Here souls dance to the timeless rhythm of music
Of diverse genres, vocal and instrumental
Classical and folk, sung either as solo or in groups
With the accompaniment of (2) 'veena',(3) 'tanpura' and violin
Their varying pitches beautifully synchronized!
In the serene dawns and dusky evenings
The atmosphere gets abuzz with the soft strains
Of (1) ‘Sopana Sangeetham’, the ethnic music of Kerala,
It comes floating from inside the Hindu shrines
Flooding soul’s enchanted shores,
And opening the floodgates of piety
In healing murmurs and throbbing notes,
As the symphony builds up its circuitous round
It descends down as a stream of blessing
Drenching devotees in its moistening sweetness
Like the drizzle of dew drops from heaven
Making hearts ride in the palanquin of joy!
May.21.2023
If your Birthplace- Country was a Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
This poem is about Kerala, a small state in India, which is my birthplace and its geography and culture.
1.Sopana Sangeetham is a form of Indian Classical music, developed in the temples of Kerala. It is sung, sitting by the holy steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a shrine.
2.Veena- a stringed musical instrument, one of the oldest of Indian musical tradition, played sitting cross legged, capable of producing all oscillations of Carnatic music
3. Tanpura- a drone instrument of Indian origin used mainly in a concert of classical music, creating a melodic background, but not a melody.
Chances of precipitation zero. Chances of dew, zero. Chances of a raindrop, one hundred percent, as she was spotted in the sky about six seconds ago. If Adrianna lands here, how will we collect her? Who gets access? Where was the sighting? How accurate is the intel?
The ants had already dug a pond in their anthill in case she landed there. The beetles came around and tried to suck up to the ants, but they briskly shooed them off. The faeries were the tellers of the tale; the sighting, after all, had come from their high-flying ally, eagle. The faeries, like the elves, and nymphs, were pretending they might share Adrianna, knowing full well they would rather fight to the death than share her.
The owls had set mint cups out on their oak leaf branches, hoping she would land in one of them. The entire village was abuzz. No one had seen a raindrop here for twenty-two minutes, four hours, and sixty-three days.
One tiny raindrop – named Raindrop Adrianna was spotted in the sky, six seconds ago. Suddenly brothers and sisters were fighting, wrens and robins were not speaking. Faeries and nymphs were lying. It was not unusual for one little harmless raindrop to start world war six, which is why we always name our raindrops after women. The eagles and the owls had not been speaking for decades, over the last raindrop.
Raindrop Adrianna had turned the whole world upside down. She probably had no idea what turmoil she had started, as she had already landed on a grateful red tulip, on the other side of the village. We told Adrianna’s story until World War Seven, which was started by Raindrop Rhoda.
Written 11-16-2018
Contest: The Raindrop Poetry Contest Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Passion with a Pen
Birth of a Critic
8/2/2023
So excited was I, to gain a position.
Something so dishonest was going on!
I was so driven to right an evil wrong.
My college paper, had me on a mission!
Decades danced away,I forgot what it was.
The Editor, with spine, would not remove my piece!
Faculty grumbled, red-faced, without surcease.
It went to press, entire campus alive and abuzz!
That’s when my desire to write was born.
The Muse to write blew clearly her horn..
Call me, “The Ethical Vigilante!”
I will go after any lies or propaganda, that is fake and scanty.
Many years ago, in camp,
A project quite prosaic
Was manipulating tiles
To make artwork in mosaic.
We lined up all the little squares
In patterns and designs,
With creative juices flowing
As we stepped outside the lines.
With every tile I glued in place,
My confidence increased;
The fact I’d made an ashtray
Was the part that mattered least.
A subway wall mosaic
Set my memory abuzz,
Remembering how calculated
Each tile placement was.
It takes a lot of patience
To make magic using tiles,
Thus mosaic seems to me to be
The cleverest of styles.
Fruit flies abuzz everywhere
Some fly here and some land plop
Doesn't matter if it is on fruit or poop.
Then they have the nerve to land in my stew
I think they have the right to life, but then.
They'd have sex and hatch oodles.
Two thousand more at a time
Even though I try not to keep score, see.
Swarms of them are too many to please me.
Drosophila melanogaster, go.
Setting some traps with fruit bait
They enter can't leave, trapped, stay.
Guess what, they have sex, and she lays her eggs.
In a short time, maggots start their ascent.
Well, throw them out, those pesky nuisances.
I thought I had them conquered.
I assumed the house was free.
Then to my surprise, one zoomed in my ear.
I was furious, angry as could be.
Up my nose one flew, to my amazement.
I blew and blew, used some spray.
I can hear him buzz today.
I step beyond my front door, shoes brushing dew
And the air is crisp, familiar-something old, something new.
The sky unfolds in pale gold, the sparrows sing the same tune,
And I swear, I've wandered here before, beneath the waking moon.
Sunlight dapples over lawns just as it always does,
Neighbors wave, dogs bark, the world's gentle hum abuzz.
Every scent, each rustle, is a whisper from the past:
The rustling trees greet me-echoes that forever last.
My feet trace the sidewalk cracks, memory's soft parade,
I know the way the breeze feels, the shifting light and shade.
Deja vu in every heartbeat, in every glance I steal-
It seems, like yesterday, this day was wholly real.
Yet, as I wander outward, with wonder and with grace,
I find new meaning hidden in every time-worn place.
Perhaps I've lived this day before, or dreamed it in the night,
But outside, in the morning sun, the world feels just as right.
The world's abuzz with soccer
Though I couldn't give a hoot.
I wouldn't even have a clue
For which team I should root.
The bars are packed with rousing fans;
I don't begrudge their cheers,
But I prefer a tennis match
To savor with my beers.
I'd also watch the Yankees play
'Cause baseball's what I know,
Though baseball-haters claim the game's
Inordinately slow.
So while the teams do battle
With the World Cup as the prize,
I'll find a book or other show
To occupy my eyes.
Mornings are beautiful at the screen door!
Trees swaying with the gentle breeze
Birds are chirping their hello
Noise of a busy street - steady zoom of cars
Apartment life across the way - yard sales just beginning
Balloons bouncing on a sign proclaiming move-in special of the week
Nearby stores abuzz with their business
A man on his daily walk - lost in thought, but still waves
Mother walks with her daughter-backpack dangling a Dora keychain
Two ladies stride by, discussing evening plans, or last night's secrets
Ladybug lands on a budding flower
Motorcycle roars by, startling a passing dog
Garbage truck noisily approaches
School buses go by, faces pressed to the windows
Familiar cars parked in driveways
A waiting bench in the yard calls my name
Standing at my screen door, a daily life unfolds
The corner house with a perfect view of stories daily told
Looking up at the blue sky, poignant memories of others at this door
A past generation of observation, by those who stood here before
There was a giraffe in a zoo
Named April, and she ate for two.
For, pregnant she was-
Spectators abuzz!
And soon little hooves peaked right through!
In minutes he fell to the ground-
So perfectly healthy and sound!
His mom cleaned him well-
He stood- and then fell.
But soon he was walking around.
Though she and the Vet got along
Took care of her well all year long-
But touching her calf-
Scared mama giraffe
To kick him where kicks don't belong!
A mom is as fierce as can be
When guarding her new-born, you see
Although there is trust-
Hands-off is a must!
The price you will pay, can't foresee!