Best Befuddled Poems
Ol’ brazen Brenda, battlin’ biography,
Banters bewildered brave boatmen at sea,
Brushstrokes besieging her beleaguered brain,
Broadsided by fiction now baking insane;
Balanced between both broken and brilliant,
Buried by sorrow, bereft not resilient,
A ballyhooed author, back in the day,
‘Fore Brian betrothed her then drowned near the bay;
Basking bereavement, believing though more,
Books barely bound newly found in the store,
‘Betaken, Broad Beauty’, Brenda’s new write,
Beveled bare bitterness abruptly bright;
Barreled, brought breathless by Bernie, beloved,
A character boating where dead Brian shoved,
As buckets with bottoms knowing no end,
Begging attention did Brenda’s mind bend;
Blended for sanity, befuddled realities
Born when begins a life without boundaries,
Betterment bellows because Brenda’s words,
Boxed-up betrayal beneath binding boards.
9/18/2016
You want to believe in God,
yet feel befuddled and awed.
And still, you will pray to Him
whenever prospects look grim.
Regardless of what you're told,
loyalty is bought and sold.
And when you feel you can't win,
it's difficult not to sin.
Once you are exposed to hate,
obstacles accumulate.
And lies manipulate you,
so little truth trickles through.
When happiness is fleeting,
your beliefs take a beating.
And you start questioning why
children must suffer and die.
Faith isn't easy to explain,
it can lead to shame or pain.
Yet once entrenched in your heart,
naught can force it to depart.
Upon breathing your last breath,
your soul is released through death.
For souls shed their mortal guise,
at least, that's what Faith implies.
befuddled with liquor
hearing noises in the distance
unclear fuzzy thinking
faculties blown
lah-lah-land feeling
outer space beyond comprehension
inhibitions gone
someone maneuvers your body
you do not care
fences gone
whatever happens happens
a dangerous place
The lighting, it was over bright
Revealing dark red blood puddled
She lay slumped, her soul in flight
The lighting, it was over bright
Exposing a play she did write
Letters of a name befuddled
The lighting, it was over bright
Revealing dark red blood puddled
Written: Friday, June 24, 2016
Inspired by Julia Ward's contest First Line Prompt-2
A little befuddled bride could be heard crying on the hillside.
She huddled near a very brittle tree.
Muddling over the belittlement of her groom to be.
She ruddled her hair with anger.
Her piddling wasn’t solving anything.
She straddled her mare and took off in a gallop.
Twiddling her way down the hillside.
The gallop slowed to a trot.
As the mare entered the country road.
She veered the mare from a puddle of mud.
Trotting to the stables with her head hung high.
Why should I show shame when I am not the blame.
It is the groom who dishonored me not my fame.
That’s my blast from the past.
He’s my blast into the future.
When I become his little befuddled bride.
You departed at dawn
And have never come back
Leaving our little Angels
To the vagaries of a loveless world
I remember the years gone by
We dared dream dreams
Many we realized and cherished
Others have remained but dreams
Come back to us my darling
The world is cold without you
Our little pieces of heaven are in quandary
Standing daily before your lifeless portrait
Come back to us my love
Let our befuddled damsels live again
Come back and restore our existence
Cause life without you is hell on earth
The park was pooled with puddles
From all the melting snow.
This weather, it befuddles,
Every day a different show.
Today is crisp but sunny,
Tomorrow cold and wet,
Yet I’ll take even money
That we’ll cope with what we get.
With all the current troubles,
Which we’ll muddle through together,
Let us step outside our bubbles
And complain about the weather!
in the middle it all muddles
like warm milk that is now curdled
once it cuddled all soft and swaddled
no longer a rhyme, no, more a riddle
a heart that somehow becomes raddled
a canoe adrift without the paddles
a bucking horse without a saddle
a losing team that needs a huddle
in the midst a great big puddle
it was always a losing battle
all it does is squeak and rattle
all of this leaving me befuddled
understand and forgive my confusion
simply put, i just want you to stay
i wish i had the perfect formula for a lotion that prevents you from being so rash
reality chaps the skin more though
i slice a vein with glas from the door that brought us here
just yesterday we were splashing in the crystalline waters of Divine Fun
it only take a slight incision of a light poke to lacerate a scar that untraceable until the sensation is felt
santa claus also comes on valentines day
comprehend and visualize my wrapped delusion
simply put, i would like a happy ending to this play
i wish i had the proper blueprints for a heartbeat anvil that will accurately crush and smash
actuality really does make a merciless wind blow
Seems recently I'm a bit out of control
My mind is befuddled, gone out for a stroll
Sign says “stay merry”
Back momentarily
Watering the daisies in my flowered petticoat
Befuddled Bloomberg
Speaking of cash, this dude has a solid profusion!
But using prisoners to make campaign calls is a
just a hideous delusion!
Who knows???
Next campaign call from a convicted criminal on
Bloombers's private jet?
I can assure you, my vote, he will not get!
Remember that Bloomberg does not want us dying
from sugary soda?
But kosher to him, to have men in jails, dial you to
to fill his campaign call quotas??
" Warden" Panagiota
December 28, 2019
She wiggled and jiggled and giggled in bed
It fiddled and faddled and rattled her head
But she wiggled so much that she fell to the floor
And wiggled and jiggled and giggled some more
He muddled befuddled and scuttled around
Till he bumbled and stumbled and fell to the ground
Still he muddled befuddled just like before
And scuttled befuddled through his front door
Seems recently I'm a bit out of control
My mind is befuddled, gone out for a stroll
Sign says “stay merry”
Back momentarily
Watering the daisies in my flowered petticoat
Seems recently I'm a bit out of control
My mind is befuddled, gone out for a stroll
A sign says “stay merry”
Back momentarily
Watering the daisies in my flowered petticoat
The British Rail saying,
'See it, say it, sorted,'
is so annoying
it should be aborted.
Travelers, from abroad,
are befuddled then bemused,
when first by this phrase
their ears are abused.
But the worst is yet to come...
it sounds like, 'Sort it,'
over the tannoy
and must be fixed by he who caught it.