Best Fumed Poems
A week passed, yet no words drifted in my mind
I feared I'd become numb and poetically blind
so, I gave up, went to bed and turned off the light
but in the very next moment I screamed in fright!
"Procrastinator!" My Muse yelled, in a huff.
"You are made of much stronger stuff!"
I slid beneath the covers; she threw back the quilt.
"Oh no," she fumed, "you'll not fill me with guilt!"
I pleaded and cajoled, but she bought none of it.
She pulled out my desk chair and said, "NOW SIT!"
I obeyed and sat but nothing worthy came to mind.
I felt her staring at my back, 'twas of the evil kind.'
Desperately, I tried to conjure rhymes that would do.
She sighed then she asked, "What's wrong with you?"
I turned my head to look at her so we could confer,
but she shimmered away in a wavy transparent blur.
I called to her, and reached out trying to pull her near
My arms grasped only air, for she had disappeared.
"Come back, please. I'm sorry I've not been writing,
but thoughts you've offered lately are all about fighting."
She reappeared smiling, and before she took flight,
whispered in my ear, "Just pick up your pen and write."
The deli-girl fumed and was swearing
At the Frenchman's request , so uncaring .
"Sir you are the dregs
NO !! I don't have frogs legs .
It's these 5 inch high heels that I'm wearing ".
He said " that pigs head looks so meek ".
His short shiny snout oh so sleek .
But to her surprise ,
He said "leave in the eyes .
It's gotta see me thro' the week ".
Inspired by the talented pen of M/S Guzzi and her " Bull O Ney " , rhyme , for the double
limerick contest ..
*NOTE: Jack and I wonder how many of you have heard of the Zona Shue case –
an American murder victim who had revenge in Virginia in the late 1800s.
Zona was killed by her husband, Edward Shue, who then took elaborate steps to
cover his crime. In an attempt to disguise Zona’s broken neck, Edward dressed her
corpse in a scarf and high necked dress, stuffed her coffin with pillows (to support
her vertebrae) and refused to allow even the doctor near the body.
However, Zona appeared to her mother and revealed the truth. Following
exhumation and an autopsy, Edward was found guilty of murder. It was the only
case in American history where information provided by a ghostly apparition was
admitted as evidence for consideration by jurors.
Jack and I are co-sponsoring a contest on ghost poems. Our co-write "A Ghost's
Testimony" below will give you an idea what we're seeking in entries.
"A Ghost's Testimony"
"She must have fallen down the stairs:
A tragic accident," he said.
"I've washed her body, laid her out -
Oh, Doctor Knapp, my Zona's dead!"
"No accident! Shue broke my neck.
Mother, please hear my ghostly plea.
Take him to court and make him pay;
It's murder in the first degree."
“I’ve dressed her in her high necked frock…
Thought pillows by her neck looked fine…
She’d want to wear this scarf,” he wept.
“But no one touch the corpse - she’s mine!”
"Thanks, Mom, for bringing this to court.
The autopsy was not done right!
With malice Shue cut my life short.
Exhume my body; shed some light."
“Her mother wants to see me hang,
But she can’t prove my guilt,” he fumed.
“She claims the body sheet turned red,
And wants to have my wife exhumed.”
"The judge disagreed and allowed
My spirit world testimony.
Shue, my killer, was not so proud;
A death in jail for this phony!"
The stargazers got together
and spread a blanket out on the grass
of the lush and opulent lawn
Here, they all huddled together
astronomy addicted
they gazed as comets blazed
sad to see them fall
shooting stars
caught their eyes
but on the stars in the skies
constellation sewn
clustered or alone
The stars shone...
On these, they fixed their eyes
as they "oohed" and "ahhhed"
Celestially seduced- draw
It didn't matter
that some stars shone brighter
they all felt lighter
just being under star dusted canopy of night
This was their delight!
The starshooters were there
on an adjacent hill
they lost out on the thrill
grumbled and brewed
fumed and spewed
profanity at the lights
hanging high in the night
heaven's chandeliers
too bright they seemed
too dazzling and near
they were filled with fear
that the heavens would explode
so many stars...a heavy load
and so the star shooters
gathered their troopers
and aimed at the stars
Hoping to make them combust and fall
This would fill they with mirth
As stars collided with earth
Little did they know
stars couldn't be shot
Not by any old lot
They were meant to shine down
beauty and light
embellishing the night
with their wondrous light
a celestial delight!
The stargazers...now they
Well, what can I say?
They watched starworks at play
till night turned to day
and they then went on their way
Filled with delight,
What a sight!
Stargazer or starshooter
Tell me...
Which had it right?
Eileen Manassian
The term Starshooter is not my own. A super souper shared it with me the other day....I quite like it. Thanks!
A drunkard, a thief and a con man,
Who was known by the name Greedy Jack,
Lived a life so vile Satan watched him awhile,
Said, "Of sin in his life there's no lack."
He decided to pay Jack a visit.
Thought with this man he'd have some fun.
Said, "Jack, you're an ass. You ain't got no class.
You're coming with me, Man you're done."
Jack asked him for one final favor.
One last night of drinks on the town.
Satan agreed, Jack really could plead,
And Satan and Jack made the rounds.
When at last the night's drinking was done,
Jack said, "I've no money. You pay.
Turn yourself into coin and the drinks we'll purloin.
We'll slip out the door free and gay.
The devil agreed to the trickery,
And turned into some coin on the sly.
But while he was coin Jack made sure he was joined,
In his pocket with crosses, Belied.
Jack said he would free him if he,
Would grant him ten years to be free.
The devil agreed and he'd have all he'd need,
But in ten years he must pay the fee.
In ten years the devil was back,
And Jack knew he had to think fast.
He asked for an apple for he wanted to sample,
The sweet apple tree they'd just passed.
The devil once more agreed.
He even got him to climb up and pick it.
But while he climbed the tree Jack whipped out three,
Silver crosses to lay there beneath it.
Jack told him that he'd let him down,
But first he must grant one last boon.
He'd not pay for his crimes to the end of all time,
And the devil agreed as he fumed.
Jack thought that he'd won the match,
But time passed and he grew old and sick.
He knew he must die and he let out a cry,
"God forgive me I'm all out of tricks.
But God would not let him in,
And Satan said a deal is a deal.
You must wander the earth, this now is your berth.
You're stuck Man. Now how does it feel.
Satan gave him an ember of coal,
To light his dark path as he left.
He carved out a tuber, he felt in a stupor.
He'd use this for a lantern he guessed.
So he now walks the earth a lost soul.
Not wanted in Heaven or Hell.
With a coal in a pumpkin at least he has somethin',
To light his dark path 'cross the fell.
Yesterday, sociable sun embellished,
desires of my poetic garden heart.
Spreading sweet scents of serenity,
elegantly and enchantly, echoing,
vivid visions from my vibrant vocabulary,
but, such is the nature of the muse,
without refreshment, it's petal like mood cried
for raindrops of ink to nourish and flourish its
sensitive sleeping seeds, shielded by my soul.
But, howling winds arrived with bitter rain.
Their rapid rage of gusts so forceful,
fumed furiously at my simple words.
Hysterical and bloodthirsty,
their wrath devoured my delicate artistry,
all day and throughout the night -
for the first time, I felt empathy for the moon.
The morning after, I awoke to find my
flower garden resembling Greek ruins.
My cherry blossom tree is now bare,
her pink buds floating in depthless puddles.
Tulips are headless, with their perished petals,
laying lifeless along my purple slate path,
as rose bushes slump,
arching and aching from brutal blows.
Unsociable sun did not appear today,
maybe too afraid, maybe too shy.
In my state of despair, I wonder;
Is there beauty, in such a tragedy?
Is there hope in such an unfair travesty?
But raindrops keep pouring,
physically, emotionally and metaphorically.
The peacock and the owl
had met along the way
One might not think at all
they’d have something to say
The peacock, lush in plume
did prance for all to see
The owl said with a hoot
I’ll stay here in my tree
From where I sit, you silly thing
Your feathers do distract
The owl said as the peacock fumed
You’re wrong, and that’s a fact
It is my dress of fancy hue
that calls to creatures all
And yes, they come from far and wide
No matter big or small
You think you are so wise
With your surprise attack
If not for me, the peacock said
You might not find a snack
They got to thinking, maybe
They should work together here
The owl could see exactly where
The peacock should appear
With that, this most unlikely pair
Began to set up house
To seal their brand new partnership
They shared a tasty mouse!!
(You see, we all CAN get along)
He whittled away
A very large branch
That in 6,000 days
Was part of his ranch
Yet not just the branch
Or a tree or two
He whittled a forest
Full, through and through
For this man and knife
Both aptly named, Jack
Had spent half their life
Constructing a shack
Jack’s knife was quite big
With hammer and shovel
To both cut and dig
A primitive hovel
After trees dropped
With Jack’s knife axe
The bark was lopped
To fill in the cracks
He whittled five oaks
And one hundred pines
Yet the pines, no joke
Took half the time
He sliced up the frame
Most days and nights
But could not hue stain
Nor pare out the lights
He whittled a door
Out of an ash tree
And also the floors
Of all rooms, just three
The man ate plenty
With no need to shop
Whittling fish hooks
And felling peach crops
Then finally old Jack
On a day with gloom
Completed the shack
That lacked head room
The rooms were too small
For all the hassle
Yet, Jack stood tall
Beside his castle
His wife took a tour
But quickly fumed
Since there was no sign
Of a bathroom
But Jack was prepared
For his fair spouse
Pointing out back to
A rough sawn outhouse
Still, floors were creaky
From lacking nails
And ceilings were leaky
Details, details
So Jack told his wife
That his next mission
He’ll devote his life
On an addition
And when they had kids
Of at least three
They learned to whittle
Their own family tree
A bosom friend, an old woman and spinster,
Is a god-mother of auntie and uncle;
Chosen as their god-parent two years ago,
On their wedding at church in San Francisco,
A famous nuptial…I do hope you all know.
They’ve also chosen her as their counsellor,
At times when they’ve problems or be in trouble;
One day comes a storm in life of this couple,
Started from petty argument to quarrel,
Fumed up to prepare each flag for their battle.
She went there right away to extend her help,
Suddenly, I’ve heard a shrill voice like pup’s yelp;
Aunt’s bosom friend gave an advice boastfully,
Saying, “See, I’m happy! Stay single like me!”
WTFWT?! I shouted angrily!
(WTFWT- can also stands for What’s This Foolish Woman Teaches/Taught)
Just down the road, there is a golden field of hay
where there once stood a home where my sister
and I did play. The moss-covered trees and yellow
daffodils bloomed, and the smell of Mother's
clothes drying as the hot, summer sun fumed.
The air was filled with the June bug's song and
the tractor tilling along the farm.
My sister's hair was honey blond and how she
laughed when I would tag along. Eyes of blue as
the sky above but just being her sister, brought
to my heart so much love.
Day would pass and night appeared, and the moon
brought fireflies to enchant the way to the raspberry
patch where we believed fairies did stay. It's time to
come in Pa would say, oh just let us have one more
minute, Pa and we'll be on our way.
Time has passed and childhood is gone but for me
Just down the road, these memories will forever
live on.
Dots of light dotted the dome
Displaying dismal disks
Halfhearted innuendos of harmony
Repetitive, unremarkable recordings
Minimally interesting, middle class, mediocre
Small wonder he thought, smirking, smarting
Discipline dismissed, discarded
Replaced with fun, funk and fad
Foolishness fueled Fukem, he fumed
No more, no more, no more
The military, military school, immediately!
The Once Dead Boy - Revised
Once upon a time there lived a little boy
Who filled his mother’s heart with boundless joy.
This sweet young lad was pure as snow
Spreading goodness and kindness like seeds that grow.
People couldn’t help but notice his eyes
Always shining brightly and looking up high.
He laughed and smiled from dawn to days end;
Never spoke a bad word and couldn’t count all his friends.
Boys and girls and grownups galore;
Everybody loved him until he laughed no more.
While riding his bike on a warm, spring day
A car rounded a corner and took him away.
But he never saw it coming and floated so high
Watching his dear mother weep, wail and cry.
“Why God, why God, why God me?
Why not another boy from across the sea?”
She cursed, fumed, begged and pleaded
But all her pain went quite unheeded.
Meanwhile the child just set his sights
On a place he knew beyond the light
Shining down from high above
With the pull so strong of pure, deep love.
As he traveled wide and went so far
Beyond the blue and past the stars;
Galaxies were toys just hanging there
Like a baby’s mobile in the cool night air.
While time stood still and truth became dreams
And he knew the answers to everything
From Aristotle to the age of space
And found himself without a trace;
While still connected to his mother’s mind, awakening
From his coma in the nick of time.
While the doctors said he was surely dead
For a while, who knows for certain?
(It’s a fine line between here and gone
And drawing the final curtain).
The moral of the story is the boy survived
Because no one knows the difference
Between dead and alive.
He called a name in the middle of night
Replaying the words, the tempting desire
The voice of instinct I cannot rewrite,
I looked in the mirror; my soul fumed a fire.
He woke up repenting a clear deceit
My trust splintered like a broken glass , used
Recalling how they brushed cheeks with fired heat
And thought this lady was simply amused.
I took a long bath, peeling stain’s disgust
As bubbly soap fell down on muddy tiles
Till angelic voice whispered, “ are you just?”
While months lifted the fog , tracing a smile.
He begged harder the way I saw him first
My senses roused through light of new power,
Reclaiming the glint of healed time, affirmed
When slow forgiveness became my savior.
-----------
Healing Power of Forgiveness
Contest of Line Gauthier -- Quatrain Rhyme
Re-posted 11/10/2107
No words drifted in my mind
I feared I'd become poetically blind
so I went to bed and turned off the light
next moment I screamed in fright.
"Procrastinator!" My Muse was in huff.
"You're made of much stronger stuff!"
I slid beneath the covers, she threw back the quilt.
"Oh no," she fumed, "you'll not fill me with guilt!"
I pleaded and cajoled, but she bought none of it.
She pulled out my desk chair and said, "Now SIT!"
I obeyed and sat but nothing worthy came to mind.
I felt her stare behind my back, 'twas of the evil kind.
Closed my eyes to conjure up something that would do.
She sighed then she asked, "What's wrong with you?"
That's when I turned my head so I could confer
but she shimmered in a wavy transparent blur.
I reached out, but when I tried to pull her near
My arms grasped only air. My Muse had disappeared.
"Come back, please. I'm sorry I've not been writing,
but all I get from you lately are ideas I've been fighting."
She showed herself, smiled, and before she took flight,
She whispered in my ear, "Just pick up your pen and write."
She accomplished her midnight mission and off she flew
My head swarms with ideas. I'll not stop till I'm through.
(autobiographical)
I was barely eight before mother died
When Gerald was happy and not as reduced
When he was the loved son
The child with a loving home.
From aunt to aunt I learned to live
Out of the anger of dad
Out of the voice that brought fear.
Into the hand of pestilence-
My second life began-
A life of maltreatment,
A life of struggle
Elder brother disowned when he revolted
The treatment harsh and inhuman - so he bolted.
I joined the struggle
The life of scuffle
Wherein I was the marked
The recalcitrant and ragged
The delinquent in school
The tortured child of the family's few
Who outlived the deads of two aunts
Beseeched to care for him.
I am half mad, they tell me
I know I am a psychic
Half crazed child
A ricochet of mum’s death-
I have been alienated
Disillusioned by life, ill-fated
Tortured by a disturbed mind.
Dad on my heels
Listening to propaganda
murder-bent at my heels
flogged flogged flogged till I go for pills.
Fled my home to the street
Ate from the bin
Lived with street kids
One of the flocks
One of the hard rocks.
I have been in the cold
No bosom have rocked with me
Save mum’s who lies in the clay.
I am spiritually dead
Physically out of mind, they say.
From pastor to pastor
From prayers to prayers
From recessions to intercessions,
Through starvation for correction
I remain unchanged.
I am finished, they say.
Nothing can help me
save God on whom I weep and call.
My relatives
Alienate me
making me atychiphobic
Aggravating my anthropophobia
building in me gelotophobia
and all those anthropological phobias
A loved child has no right to know.
It bringing me pain for they are nailing me shut.
I pity myself - Pity me father
Pity me, brother
Because I have tried
Tried to be loved
Tried to be the best from limps
But I am not up to those dreams.
I know that many dislike me
Feel uneasy when Gerald is around:
Instead of helping me
They become indifferent, violent.
I told Louisa last week as she fumed at methat
anything I lay my hands on
fails to work again.
It either gets bad or broken.
My own things end up craggy
No matter the patience and prudence I put in.
Why then am I born?
Why the fear
Why the alienation?
I pray that I be left alone
Donot curse me again, donot.
Accept my fate and let me be
Else you help in killing me.