Best Fussing Poems
It's never anything big, just a nagging defeat
Of wanting to be exclusive in your ambit,
For in your eyes, I see an opportune disguise
Living as a friend of genuine vibes gone awry.
It was the zealous-moon you adored with glee
When romantic vibes you scripted about me,
Fussing about moon-spot of slight imperfection
Looking at my face, hinting coy comparison.
When I lauded our pond's white lotus flowers
You admired silence of the ripples in water
Singing praises of existence so ephemeral,
Never denying you compared it to our love.
Being impulsive, you stole a rose from garden
Handing it to me like borrowed ardent charm.
As I held it in gratitude for its delicate beauty
It pierced my heart with its anguished thorns.
You take me places, pleasantly well-meaning
But when I get there, I'm left feeling alone
For you traverse a lone-orbit on your own
Leaving me to tangle by your rotational force.
When you ask me, if love still burns our flame,
I simply want to say, love has changed its name
For time has falsified what we once meant,
No more can I bear brokenhearted sunsets.
January 29, 2018
First place: One in five contest by Joseph May
Placed 2nd: Strand select 11 by Brian Strand
The first time I saw you, there was a glow about you
that baffle me. I-I just could not find the right word,
"you had that certain glow about you". Not the way you walk
nor the way you move, "but I believe in miracle's", yes
I do - yes I do. So finally I step to you and ask, would you,
could you smile ? just for the camara in my mind so that the
image of an Angel would be on my mind just in case the world
ended (today) much to soon, much before time. The first time
I saw you naked Angela, my mouth got lost for words-but the one
that slip through my lip's were (mmmunn) "what a gorcious women,
breast like lucious melons", and a voice (sweet) like that of the ocean
and wave's of heat and my idea of nerviousness brings trembeling to
my feet's.
"I do believe in miracle's", "I do not believe in love". Miracle's that it
take to sustain a relationship that the odd's of longivity are against us.
And we do become desponded, most of our day is spent fussing and cussing.
Never to see true love at its best. The first time our lip's did touch, I remem-
ber this Angel who I call Angela, she had my name tattoe across her chest.
Love, became the missing attraction, and you comfort me in my desire to ex
press myself, for I thought I was so macho, never in a thousand years, "will I
meet such a someone (?) that's such a women". A women (aaaah) such a
women, "from her head to her shoe".
Now Angela just in case the world ends tomorrow. Don't denie that there's an
"attraction". O'Angela.....kiss me quickly, "In the heat of Passion".
I was caught by a train yesterday
I hear people say
this often in exasperation
exaggerated tones
with over-dramatic groans
as if the train somehow
physically captured them
in its large mechanical grasp
diabolically refusing
to let them go
Yesterday
I was caught in a different way
imagination captured, you might say
captivated
charmed
and enchanted
by the passing art display
Something about the way
vibrant, vivid colors
unexpectedly
splashed out on moving canvas
of rust red and dull gray
traveling fast
across the city
feisty train talking smack
with tags and words amusing, witty
strange, disturbing, edgy, gritty
grinding down the tracks
Sometimes shocking-
artfully rendered obscenities
or surprisingly
endearing
cartoon creatures
manga characters
from overseas
expressed with impressive
expertise
and ingenuity
As other drivers sat nearby
fussing, fuming
missing the show
pawing their floorboards
like impatient horses
hands gripping wheels
ready to go-
I watched the trains in
constant childlike
wonder and delight
for those twenty minutes of my day
two trains gone by, one each way
...Then watched the other cars
rolling through
still red
flashing lights
as soon as crossing arms
were lifted halfway
rushing, roaring
trying to make up
the time that was “taken”
by the railway
Seagulls talking
what's the matter?
fussy squawking
seagulls talking...
Waddle walking
pavement patter-
Seagulls talking
what's the matter?
Birds discussing
“Took my breadcrumb!”
Angry fussing
birds discussing
seagull cussing
“Hey, I want some!”
birds discussing
“Took my breadcrumb!”
Raindrops sprinkle spent dogwood petals on the lawn
While tiny bluebirds perch in nearby mulberry, stalling,
Awaiting the drizzle’s end, fussing at a week-old fawn
Who grazes unaware sharp crystal droplets are falling,
Raining down like tiny sharp fragments of shrapnel.
Afternoon planting, too, must wait ‘til morrow’s dawning
Lest fragile seedlings, soaked through, hear death’s knell,
Rotting from the roots, fall over, their life withdrawing
The vicissitudes of spring promise both life and death:
The mingling of joy and sorrow, reflected in nature here
On my lawn, in my garden; mirroring life’s fragile breath,
Proper Mother Nature making her message indelibly clear.
Ranked 54th in Poetry Soup's 100 Top Poems
I stepped into a cow pie, back a year or so ago, and I did fuss and cry!
Or so I am told… Then I found a Dragon egg, and as you will surmise…
The plentitude and size of those pies, unfolded before my poor, sad eyes.
I pooper scooped alone, as they all ran from me and it, no matter what I tried.
There wasn’t enough fussing or money, that could bring them, into my crew.
It took a great big honking cart, behind a tractor to work the deed, it’s true
Dragon wouldn’t cooperate, to even remotely, pile it wherever I did need.
In fact, he buried my rose bed: as he covered it deep, in protest, at full speed.
I thought my teenagers had capped that rebel and protest thing, to an extreme.
OH, BOY! Have I become enlightened, to what a true protest can really mean!
Yep! And then he taught the neighbors Dogasaurus, to cover my dear, old Car!
Pitchfork handy, I chased them, as an incentive to unload in another place, so far!
That was inspired, I had gamely thought, until they dumped upon, poor little me.
I became known as the Dragon pie lady, and that was not a treat, I guarantee!
And yes, the paparazzi, put it on the front page as I got my 15 minutes of fame.
At this, Grandpa Troll came, to my much-needed aid, to help me stop this game.
He put us across the lake, from each other, in time out, until a deal was struck.
When Dragon’s fire finally gave out, he finally agreed to help clean up his muck.
Dragon agreed to ash all deeds, if I’d sell it as fertilizer to buy him more ice cream.
A bargain struck, peace reigned, and a fun incentive brought about our dreams.
The moral to my story is: Anyone can start a fight… But a fun incentive can be
Golden and bring the end to any plight.
The wait seemed eternal to feel inspiration.
Minutes were mountains as each one ticked by,
my hand poised grasping a pen, and then
seated without hitting one stroke on a key.
A closed mind submits nothing, zero and zilch
in a life that's been deeply anchored
in the annals of an abyss shrouded by opacity.
Somewhere between midnight's noirs
and the misty grey flow of morning fog,
I'd fallen into a cavern, deprived of light.
I'd built a bulwark fortress that fenced me in
and the key to my cell... held in my own hand.
I brandished a pen that became a sharpened sword
that hacked and sliced at my every written word.
My dreams were gone, along with life's sensation.
No wonder I could not find a cause for inspiration.
A poet who doesn't write is of no use, none at all.
I stood at the edge of a cliff ~ should I jump or fall?
Sounds of laughter caught the attention of my ears
and through eyes blurred by tears,
I saw children running along the water's edge.
Hesitant, I decided to watch them from upon the ledge.
I sat atop the cliff with legs overhanging that day,
wishing I was a child of ten again to join in their play.
"Well, poet," spoke my muse. "Are you a withered bloom?"
A scolding for thinking of naught but notions of doom
A flurry of fussing she threw at me, hassling like a Harpy.
Exactly what I needed for living in doldrums of gloom.
"Now, see what you've done," she was decidedly terse!
"Your burden is that you always begin in free verse
but always end up writing lines ending in rhyme.
You continually do that. Time after time."
My laughter was louder than the children at play
who stopped traipsing in the surf to look up my way.
A wave of my hand and down to the beach I ran.
Inspiration filling me like waves crashing upon the sand.
He sits in a wheelchair pushed to the curb. The people around him move aside to assure he is able to see. His shrunken body a shell of what it used to be. His breathing labored, aided by the tube that extends from the oxygen tank attached to his chair. On his head, he sports a blue campaign cap with VFW stitched in gold. He is one of America's finest, come to pay his respects.
Behind him stands a younger woman who has guided him there. A daughter perhaps, fussing over him, adjusting the robe in his lap, assuring his comfort. He shows no resistance to the attention, but simply sits and waits.
In the distance drums are heard, soon to be joined by the sound of horns. A stirring march riffles over the crowd, and an electricity grips their senses. Soon the call of cadence is heard. The measured tramp of boots, perfectly in time with the music. It grows louder until at last, a military formation looms into view. Uniformed soldiers, marching in perfect rows, perfect columns, gleaming boots, ribboned chests, weapons at rest on their shoulders. The crowd stirs. Small flags are waved. Cheers erupt. Pride hangs thick in the air.
The color guard approaches. Banners held high, snapping in the breeze. Some spectators remove their caps while others cover their hearts. Children, hoisted to their fathers shoulders, clap in excitement.
The old man tugs at the woman's sleeve and motions for her to come closer. She leans down and listens as he speaks, then asks "are you sure"?. He nods his head. Walking to the front of the chair, she removes the robe and, grasping his outstretched hands, pulls him slowly to his feet, where he stands with her assistance. Those around him watch as the frail, stooped body, with some difficulty, stands more erect. They see the pain etched on his face, and the tear that escapes his eye as he offers a salute as the flag passes by.
Suddenly, the cadence count stops, and in it's place is heard a command . A command normally reserved for when passing a reviewing stand. "Company, eyes right" the guidon bearer bellows, and with that, he returns the aging veterans salute, a sign of respect for an old soldier. After all, it is his flag. It is his country. He bought them both many years ago.
Bob Quigley
Jan 10, 2012
What are we fussing about.
Is there any reason to be in doubt.
Are the bird's chirpping each morn.
"Do you not want blessing */* thru-the storm???"
What are we all fussing for.
Everything is smelling like roses.
And there is a package of Grace at
every believer's front door!!
"Be Grateful " from: Cheryl
Wearing Daddy's boots & cowboy hat & not much in between
Why, Momma, ain't she just about the prettiest baby you've ever seen?
I'm sure wishing she was talking, reading her mind is quite a trick
And she's sure getting awful heavy, I hope she's walking quick
Whoa there, sassy, Momma look at her running wild
Why I am not sure there ever was a more rambunctious child
Life sure was a picnic when we could just bundle her up & go
Now I get tuckered just watching her, she's a pint size dynamo
Waist length braids, a gap tooth grin & freckled face
That's our girl, Momma, her calf just took first place
How old is she now, six? No, she can't possibly be eight
Seems she is growing up faster than I'd anticipate
Well I'll be, look at her standing on the stairs
in a fancy gown, heels & make up putting on womanly airs
this young girl looking back at me, yesterday she was only seven
Now there's a young buck staring at her like he's just seen heaven
Wearing a cap & gown, her diploma held high
Look, Momma, there's our girl, getting ready to give her wings a try
Wasn't it just yesterday she was afraid of the monsters under the bed?
Now she's off to college, her own path to tread
Wearing Grandma's pearls & a gown of antique white
Now, Momma, don't start fussing, everything will be all right
Wasn't it just yesterday, I was wishing she was talking?
Now the music is playing & down the aisle we're walking
Wearing Grandpa's boots & cowboy hat & nothing in between
Why Grandma ain't that the prettiest grandbaby you've ever seen?
Now listen, Sassy, don't go wishing for her to grow up so fast
Treasure each & every moment, create a memory to last
Be mindful of what you wish for when your babes are small
For in just the blink of an eye, they won't be small at all
You dream of turning back the clock & know you never will
For time flies, just as surely as you wish it would stand still
When allowed to grow, Cheerios turn into donuts
Also the holes are used for losing weight in grownups
Better than nothing
What's all the fussing
Don't know about youse guys but sounds kinda bogus
“The Marketplace”
Today the marketplace is open.
Ready with crisp linens for handfuls of gold.
Hordes of buyers stomp the asphalt
scurrying by and through to the next.
I have worn my smile.
My hair is wind-born.
smelling of burnt amber and roses.
My dress, summer silk, covers my flesh -
Tones like island-bronze.
And I have worn my smile.
I banter over prices, politely.
Others haggle, fussing, who is next.
I, alone in my company, solo with passing
memories of your hands on my face.
I show everyone my smile.
Evening approaches, hushing the buzz of the crowd.
Memories of you sink into the dark...
falling with my head upon my pillow.
I remember walking the marketplace with you
and how you made me smile.
A desire, a wish, a simple dream—
Of us together, laughing giddily,
At Dad's oh-so-lame PJs,
At Mom's sweet little complaints,
At Bhai's sharp, witty comments,
And my endless fussing over them.
I yearn for this tender, tiny wish:
To laugh with them, carefree and blissed
Woman
Super powers
Rushing, fussing, fixing
Listens. Somehow always caring.
Mother
I AM INTELLIGENCE!
In world of mannequins, I step to the cause.
I see this woman fussing at her child about wanting to go to the park.
How formed is this.
Hello Lady and such a beautiful boy he is.
He wants to play in the park.
However, you do not have time for that.
Let me see if I can solve your problem.
I am Intelligence.
Intelligence is a superhero that forms very delightful scenes.
I am humorous as well.
With superhuman powers, I provide a child with a dream.
I give this one the dream of playing in the park.
The child stops crying and obeys his mother.
In another episode, I am sent telepathically, an abusive scene.
I transform arriving there instantly.
Through superhuman powers, I find a nurse and instruct him via
mind to be compassionate.
Intelligence watched for several days.
The facility conformed their healthcare tactics to better ways.
A little girl has broken her leg.
Her mother neglects and flagellates her more when she does not feel well.
Intelligence has watched for a short while.
The scene was sent via the mother verbally abusing her child.
Then she would stop for quite some time.
However, the child broke her leg while riding her bike.
The mother sees the chance to abuse outright.
Intelligence deploys to her mind and the mother begins to praise the child.
Intelligence is a moralistic superhero.
No age or race barriers does this superhero has.
In the time of hostilities, I am there.
I was given my superhuman abilities to achieve peace unconditionally.
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PENNED ON AUGUST 30, 2014!