Best Hissed Poems
"Grief is the price we pay for love "
Quote - Queen Elizabeth
Don't cry mommy ... I know its hard to say goodbye,
the end has come for me, we knew it would someday;
you always said I was a good cat for these twelve years,
I wanted only your nice pat, your lap and a snack !
I recall our first meeting ... I was cold and scared,
rejected by the world, shivering on your covered porch;
but you did not chase me away ... you brought me food,
at first I hissed a lot, so you named me Grumpy cat !
Eventually, we shared unconditional love each moment,
you cannot save me mommy, I suffer from old age;
the vet told you that I was of years when you found me,
and more years have passed, and they were wonderful !
Imagine me in a beautiful garden lush and green,
sunshine streams through the trees giving some shade;
bird songs fill the air and a breeze is caressing my fur,
this is my Heaven- do you know God hugged me today !
I heard your whisper, "till heaven unites us again Grumpy cat,"
and felt your kisses and your tears falling on my fur;
mommy, imagine me rolling in the cool grass to take a nap,
running and jumping, not old and sick ... like a kitten again !
Thank you mommy for saving me from a life on the street,
and giving me a wonderful life (remember my first bath);
you thought I was black but I became a tabby cat,
I loved you so much and will be waiting at rainbow bridge !
As I draw my last breath I am surround with your love.
___________________
June 03, 2022
Poetry/Personification/Grumpy Goes To Heaven
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1461-418-03
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Poem of the Day, June 4, 2022
=================================
A thing of beauty on her wrist
was confiscated by a nurse
who looked for items soldiers missed
in places (and by means) much worse.
They branded her inside the camp,
a thing of beauty on her wrist
replaced by Hitler's horrid stamp,
a stinging band below her fist.
With teeming glee, Frau nurse had hissed,
"Thank me that you won't see the baths"
A thing of beauty on HER wrist
the gleaming fee of psychopaths
Now, she who bears the mark of war
lives free and wears her scar not with
remorse. It's more, at ninety-four,
a thing of beauty on her wrist...
========================
Strong Coffee Ate A Silver Spoon
Strong coffee ate a silver spoon
Blind feline lapped up the spilled milk
Sweet relief cannot come too soon
I slept on sheets of finest silk
Gone such dreams with vanishing moon
Dry toast from molded bread was made
Served with the world's gold gilded lies
Sides of temptations, well displayed
Seeds of regrets in cherry pies
I, a blind jackass, sorely brayed
Eggs were scrambled while feeling pain
Table sighed, "Why am I left bare?"
Except for heartache's tenured stain
and foolish pride that placed it there
I hear cries in horrid nightmares
Plum jam scooped from a broken jar
Morn's mirror showed my old hurts
bludgeoned by love's iron bar
Stove hissed at me, "Your just desserts!"
I deserved each deeply etched scar
Robert J. Lindley, April 2nd, 2002
Rhyme, (Early dawn, Breakfast speaks, Life's foibles)...
It'd been one of the most bizarre days; downright crazy
so I had a martini, maybe four, so things got kinda hazy
I fumbled in my wallet so I could pay my pricey bar tab
Friends thought I had too many, so they put me in a cab
I stumbled up the steps. It seems walking was a chore
Couldn't find my key, so I tried beating down the door
Her screeches of "Where the bloody hell have ya been?"
Pounded in my head, making me sorry that I'd come in.
She hissed, then off to the kitchen she foolishly prattled
With horrendous noises, pots and pans were being rattled
My head was sorely throbbing so I begged her to be quiet
She screamed, "Don't yell at me! Blame your liquid diet!"
She banged a bowl of something down on the table cloth.
I weaved my way to a chair as my mouth began to froth
Put my head in my hands when the room started spinning
Caught a glimpse of that evil woman. Yeah, she was grinning
A mound of muck she'd plunked down right in front of me
looked like it should still be swimming in the salty sea
It smelled vile and disgusting... nauseatingly atrocious
I gagged and turned away, that's when Liz became ferocious
I couldn't move an inch to find my way back to the couch
I was a brick, held by mortar. My wife was being a grouch
but I couldn't find the strength to flee. I felt far too dizzy
My turn to shout, "Can you just stop your naggin', Lizzie?"
I didn't mean to say it, and my words came out so slurred
My vision was fuzzy. Everything was clouded and blurred
Something was staring up at me while awful music played
That's when I saw green heads and grew appallingly afraid
Whether fantasy or reality, frogs had escaped from a pond
These were fugly creatures. From evil they'd been spawned
I was being serenaded by a quartet of deep croaking voices
So suffers the drunken man while his heartless wife rejoices
I crawled to bed when I couldn't take the harmony any more
Lizzie punched me and said, "Wake up if you're gonna snore."
I tripped down the stairs, woke the dog and made him bark
Left the wife and found a bench to sleep it off in the park
We sat in the fallout
of last year’s gift exchange—
smashed angel centerpiece
taped back together
as good as a rogue bomb
if someone mentioned it.
Our voices dragged
like anchors through an ocean—
low, cold, summoning something
older than Kris Kringle.
I strained to recall
a time when it wasn’t like this.
The kitchen table—
a battleship, whipped tension
and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped
once, then twice. Mammaw clutched
her rosary, counting sins like beads
of gravy on the drop-cloth. The whiskey
isn’t worth your soul, she whispered.
Our air was burned sugar—
a water pie, depression-era relic
left too long in the oven.
As they say, it’s the ingredients you have
that bake the cake.
Mom whispered, Let’s just get through it.
The corners of her mouth disappeared—
I knew better.
When my sister reached for a biscuit,
I grabbed her wrist—too hard.
Mine, I hissed. The room turned
quiet, the kind of silence snow wears
before an avalanche.
By sunset,
half of us were crying—
over the ruined pie,
or the family tree
we couldn’t stop cutting down.
When I reimagine it—
and I always do—
I don’t erase or the snowfall
or the tension.
Instead, I break the bread
without a flinch,
leave my sister’s wrist unmarked.
Dad’s carving hand steadies,
and in my version,
we get grandma drunk—
the old broad needed to lighten up.
The angel still shatters—
but this time we laugh,
our elbows knocking it over
reaching for seconds.
In the end, we huddle closer,
ash still falling, we celebrate
cold on the other side of the door.
Our hands stay sticky, glue healing
the angel’s cracked wings,
sugar crystallizing our fingerprints—
we press lightly, only to test for doneness,
we are patient,
we watch as snow smothers our wreckage—
call it DNA, an elegy.
Act One: the stage and scenery are set
I was told the play, I'd not soon forget
But if truth were to be told
More like the game, whack-a-mole
I needed a hammer, not a lorgnette
Thespians were vying for the limelight
Popping up everywhere, ready to fight
Sarcastic words ill spoken
The golden rule was broken
A princess rudely slandered by a knight
Act Two: the actors wrote their own stage play
A long soliloquy to have their say
The audience booed and hissed
"Put that one on the blacklist!
Kick that charlatan out," they did convey.
Someone had to quickly close the curtain
'fore the crowd decided they'd be hurtin'
the actor they were jeering
with sidelong looks of leering
meaning, "Fit for a role by Tim Burton!"
Act Three: Then Queenie tried to take control
Each part played, she admitted that she stole
Just another know it all
Boring with each scribbled scrawl
Showing up everywhere like whack-a-mole
Bad actors can't write plays worth a ripe fig
But criticize others to make a dig.
Negative comments given
Are they jealousy driven?
Wantin' to make the rules like a bigwig
The play, though not very well attended
is being recast with those commended
who are never rude and crude
and have a kind attitude
Instead of those whose words have offended
The next play is about a new dog breed
I heard it's called a boghound with a need
to chew on a bone until
its nibbling has caused ill will
and seats are all empty; audience freed.
I was born where comets broke their promises,
where the night sky wore bruises
the color of forgotten kings.
The midwife held me up to the moon
and the moon hissed.
Not from hatred,
but recognition.
Something ancient had arrived
with stardust in its lungs
and venom in its veins.
I learned early
that beauty has fangs.
Roses defend themselves.
Galaxies swallow whole worlds.
Even angels carry swords
when the story demands it.
So I wandered,
a glittering contradiction,
collecting constellations in my pockets
and grudges in my shadow.
Lovers kissed my forehead
and tasted lightning.
Enemies drew blood
and found their own reflections
staring back from the wound.
Years passed.
Nebulas bloomed and collapsed.
Entire versions of myself
burned to ash
like letters tossed into sacred fire.
Yet here I remain.
Not untouched.
Not innocent.
But luminous.
A creature forged
from equal parts poison and wonder.
The stars taught me how to shine.
The venom taught me how to survive.
And on this birthday,
beneath a sky still writing my name,
I raise a glass
to every darkness I outlived,
to every dream that refused extinction,
and to the wild truth
that some souls are not born gently.
Some arrive
wearing stardust as a crown
and venom as a pair of wings. ???
Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate was a very evil man,
He used to eat his dinner from a filthy frying pan,
And when he’s finished eating he’d play “catch me if you can”
With his desperado first-mate known as Dirty Deadeye Dan.
Now Dan was quite a ladies man, but also fond of booze,
In bars and streets and hotels he liked to drink and cruise,
He used to taunt old-Peg Leg Pete by dragging up old news,
Like Pete had only ever needed half a pair of shoes.
One day Pete had quite enough and things got pretty scary,
Confronting Dirty Deadeye Dan whose mood was always lairy,
A sudden hush fell on the room when Pete clumped in the bar
And Dan called out: “Hey, Peg-Leg, hop on over, have a jar.”
Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate clasped the pistol on his hip
And snarled at Dirty Deadeye Dan: “Enough of your damn lip.”
The floozy sat upon Dan’s lap was dumped onto the floor
And Dan rose to his feet and hissed: “You’d best limp out the door.”
Across the sawdust, blood-stained floor they faced each other down,
And you could hear a pin drop from the other side of town,
Eyes were locked and fingers twitched and seconds seemed like days
The tension burned unbearably and shimmered in the haze.
Both men drew their pistols and both men fired fast,
Flame spat from the barrels with the bullets roaring past,
But neither man could aim for squat and when their guns were done
They’d killed two people in the bar but they weren’t either one.
The barman Blind-man Billy Bragg and the floozy Scar-Faced Sue
Lay dead as dead as doornails, as doornails tend to do,
And through the pall of gun-smoke and the mist of rum and beer
Deadeye Dan called out to Pete: “We’d best get out of here.”
And so they did, they fled the bar, and vanished in the night,
Back to their ship, The Crippled Cock, and sailed on out of sight,
Never to return to shore, and never seen again,
The rumour is they sank and drowned just off the Spanish Main.
The moral of the story is that when you draw a gun,
Be prepared to end your days always on the run,
“Or in your case, always on the limp,” said Dirty Deadeye Dan
To Peg-Leg Pete the Pirate, that very evil man.
The python hung down from the tree,
It hissed and it scared little me,
I gave it a whack,
To make it turn back,
And have someone else for its tea.
For Russell’s Five Minute Challenge, 11th May
Theme for collaboration suggested by Tim Smith
Two enormous old toads crossed the road
On Tom’s back lounged Thomasina toad
Both are ugly and warty
Thomasina’s so naughty
As her bowels on his back she’d download
06-16-17
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
When Thomasina toad dumped on old Tom
He thought her poop explosion was a bomb
He hopped in the air
gave her a mean stare
shouting, "I'm not taking you home to Mom!"
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Ribbit rubbit robbit 'n ro
this crazy toad has got to go
She's turning quite mean -
Fifty shades of green
No time to chat but still does crow
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
"Why don't we do it in the road?"
Said Thomas, the old horny toad
Thomasina hissed,
"Get a load of this!"
and a "blessing" on him bestowed
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
Thomasina was on a road trip
Her taxi was Tom's back she'd grip
But she strained as she held
And her bottom expelled
So she said "I've just left you a tip"
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
Tom and Thomasina were the perfect pair
They were ancient toads without a care
He had a huge wart
She gives a mean fart
Anyone in her vicinity better beware!
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
Now Tom was an over achiever
He wanted the lady, not leave her
He sprayed his back with Scotch-Guard
and rubbed down with lots of lard
the dumper was now the receiver
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Tom gave Thomasina the boot
Got sick from the smell of her poot
told her to get lost
right after he tossed
She gave him the one finger salute
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Thomas and Thomasina loved to hear
the waterboatmen rubbing their gear
Thomas tried and started to croak
causing Thomasina to choke
you two will never get it right I fear
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
When T'sina hopped on for a ride
Old Thomas reminded his bride,
"Though you're my sweet dish,
on the road we'll get squished",
"Just do it!" was her terse reply.
WRITTEN BY CRAIG CORNISH
Thomasina and Tom a heavy load
Lingered a little too long on the road
He could have kissed her all night
shocked at the oncoming lights
Croak and ribbit was heard; two flattened toads
WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME ANY SUBMISSIONS FOR THE COLLABORATION
06-16-17
the swinging sixties never swung
as much as people said
but for me, the bands
and the songs they sung
linger on inside my head
I rocked and rolled to morningtown
on a wagon with one wheel
and followed tracks
that took me down
to fields that felt unreal.
a jungle snake both sang and hissed
when a man climbed on his cloud
then a windmill turned
in the autumn mist
and a policeman laughed out loud
in a warm and gentle wonderland
on a train whose whistle blew
a swinging star
introduced his band
and sang a rainbow too
God only knows when I look back
why the miller told his tale
and I can’t explain
why grocer jack
turned a whiter shade of pale
but I'm thankful for those days back then
before the years rolled by
those were the days
in dreams and when
there was spirit in the sky.
Furious scowls reveal marked displeasure
Void of joy, she pointed her finger
Muddling through a decayed existance
Cloaked in hostility she sputtered and hissed
While keeping her life clenched tight in a fist
The goddess of war reigns pained indignance
Afraid of losing control, she tightens her grip
Unable to unlock the secret of this spiritual disease
The angry spirit of menacing flesh has thrown away the key
KA 2003
The dragon hissed into the room
as I lie hidden in my niche.
Upon his back I saw his doom,
there she sat, a beautiful witch.
She sang a song of mystic dreams
and becalmed the snake to sleep.
I watched it curl into a ball
While hidden in my closet keep.
The beauty of the song she sang
no words, a simple tune of love
enthralled me with a gentle twang
that rustled my heart like foxglove
The dragons eyes spied me hiding
scared I froze as it approached
through the door it brushes by me
with purring voice it reproached.
Meow it said as it drew near.
The singing stopped, my wife just stares
the look she gives, so very *****,
she asked me, "Why are you in there?"
I close my book and move away
She hangs the clothes and sighs a sigh
I kiss her cheek and whisper dear
and stroke the cat as I walk by.
04/28/16
Well there you are
I have slithered into the wrong home tonight it seems
I sniffed out the repugnant ward and I don’t like what I see
You were magnificent in the face of all beholding you
But your conceit is a trap that even I, the snake, have fallen into
You mask yourself with humility
You compliment me to gain
Begging for the summer rain
Begging for the words that would settle your brain
You got it
But instead it rained on me
Showering me with dangling promises
As typical as can be
Empty
These words so execrably wasted on you
As if for a moment I could even dare CRAVE a poem for you
I do not hate you
I cannot love you
At times I do not know what to feel
Why do you do this?
Put on a show and hope someone will notice?
Do you want a nice pat on the back?
I am armless; I am all but muscle and scales
I am a dead carcass and yet you continue to compliment
The beauty of my revulsion
I hold it to my heart
This trap you set
I helped you set it right from the start
And you have forced upon me the mere THOUGHT of you
Taking away from my bitter lines
What empty necessity I have turned out to be
Some kind of trophy coiled around your feet
Walking all over me
I’ve hissed and I’ve hurled insult
And the rain pitter-pattered my distain
You rested knowing I would remain
You needed reassurance
You always needed GAIN
Well I’ll tell you
This serpent is drained
And oh how I hiss
I will not change into that typical mistress
That settles your conscience with a kiss
You will not have me
I will never kiss those lips
For you are as fake as can be
And not even a snake like me
Will help you in the deceiving
As everyone watches your show
The only one truly believing
Is YOU
Don’t hesitate out the door
I’ll swallow you whole
In the shadowed maw of the forest deep,
Where whispers of the night do creep,
There lies a tale, a chilling draft,
That sends shivers down the spine, so deft.
A cabin old, with windows like eyes,
Staring into the abyss of skies,
Stood silent, save for the wind's soft moan,
In a clearing where no bird had flown.
The walls, once warm with family cheer,
Now echo with an unseen fear,
For in this place, where laughter ceased,
A darker presence was increased.
A traveler, weary from the road,
Seeking shelter from the night's cold brood,
Pushed through the door, creaking, worn,
Unaware of the terror he would spawn.
The hearth was cold, the air was thick,
A sense of dread, so sly and sick,
He felt the past, the tales untold,
Of souls that vanished in the cold.
As dusk turned to a starless night,
The traveler felt an eerie blight,
A whisper soft, a breath, a sigh,
A voice that seemed to crawl and cry.
"Leave this place," it hissed and wept,
"For in these walls, we hungrily kept,
The essence of the lost, the dead,
Feast upon your fear, your dread."
The traveler, his heart a frantic beat,
Felt the chill of phantom feet,
A spectral dance, a ghostly throng,
Circling him as if to prove him wrong.
He sought to flee, to break the spell,
But found the door would not compel,
Trapped within the cabin's grip,
His sanity began to slip.
The air grew heavy, thick as soup,
As shadows took the form of group,
Of tormented souls, with eyes aglow,
Reaching out from below.
The traveler, in despair, did shout,
"What do you want, these haunts about?"
A voice then spoke, a raspy sound,
"To join our dance, forever bound."
The floorboards creaked, and the walls did bend,
As if the very house would end,
The traveler, with a final prayer,
Felt the grasp of icy air.
His scream was lost, absorbed by night,
As he was pulled from mortal sight,
Another soul to join the throng,
In the cabin's horror, where he's drawn.
Now heed this tale, ye who roam,
Avoid the cabin, its dreadful home,
For in the forest, dark and wild,
Lieth a terror, most unsanctified.
And so, the story ends, but not its tune,
For under the haunted, silent moon,
The cabin waits for one more soul,
To complete its ghastly, grim role.