Best Muddles Poems
What would we do without Cuddles
They help us to get out of muddles
When we're feelin' down, they replace a frown
And they fill us so full of Love Bubbles
Beethoven, Sparkles and Lulu
Far greater than anything Tragic
Eeyore, T-T-Tigger and Pooh
In Dreams that are filled full of Magic
Angels are made for believin'
Even if we've never seen them
They mind us at night, when we shut our eyes tight
And they help the Dream Fairies to Weave them
Categories:
muddles, child, father daughter, children,
Form:
Rhyme
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family
And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill
This explains much
Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk
There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing-
...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end
Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs
With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull
And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall
to grouse about my work...
As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind
Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures
Yes, this explains much
For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically
'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years
Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece
Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
Categories:
muddles, anxiety, feelings, humor, humorous,
Form:
Free verse
Cloud lifts
Haze drifts
The drowsy earth looks freshly cleansed
Bone chillness can be truly sensed
Light dew
Bright hue
Fine view
Rain falls
Wet walls
The sun goes hiding behind clouds
Drops drip as dark aura enshrouds
Muddy puddles
Water muddles
Crowd huddles
Snowy flakes
Frozen lakes
Sashaying in robes of white array
Winter's cold breath blows me away
Ice skating
Skis waiting
Snowmen creating
01.08.21
For Joseph May's "Trinet" contest
Categories:
muddles, beautiful, nature, rain, seasons,
Form:
Verse
My nutty week stays long in my memory
My brain didn't process like it would normally
But just to be sure I now lay of the pink gin
I will share you my tale and shall now begin.
Paracetamol had been placed inside the freezer
Then found in the bread bin, the daily newspaper
My mouthwash was used as a face cleanser
Then sprayed underarms with the air freshener.
When cooking dinner I put no water in pans
Smoke and burnt offerings, so opened a soup can
Two hours of slow sewing, repairing some things
Only to discover I'd missed both sides of the seams.
Made tea instead of coffee, an easy mistake
But my feather head told me it's chocolate milk shake
Lucky that time the tea had cooled down
But annoyed with myself and felt a right clown.
Was I losing my marbles? why all the muddles?
That week I seemed in a right fuddy duddle
But the last straw came when I went to bed
I had slept on the floor of the garden shed.
The second stanza is true, I have done all that
The rest is made up for bit of spoof slap
But wanted a poem for the nutty contest
This I made up from my nutty mind set.
"N" Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
Written 20.09.21
Categories:
muddles, confusion, crazy,
Form:
Rhyme
My Dance of Poetry
When my soul and I dance in accord,
Then and only then
Will I be able to write my poetry.
I cannot get more than I give!
Yes, I comprehend the world is indexed
aselfish place,
Where to be number one muddles all
minds,
And we forget love is more than just
being kind.
To see we bless another soul, is indeed
a noble goal.
Gratitude for this gift of poetry comes
from God.
It's really not our own doing, I realize
that sounds so totally odd!
Staying true, writing my very best
That's all God asks~ it s a noble quest.
We write down our words, we think
They are terrific.
Others look at them as nothing more
Than a traffic ticket.
This is my personal mountain to climb.
To keep on going, even though, this eats
my whole day.
I'm not here for self-aggrandizement,
But to support others on our mutual-
soul trip.
Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
1:40pm PST
Categories:
muddles, inspiration, poetess,
Form:
Free verse
The world is bleeding
We stand at the edge of a precipice,
Looking in fear on our Earth,
Boiling, bubbling, and steaming,
With pools of blood flowing.
Warplanes blanket the sky.
Volcanic sounds pierce the ear.
Booms of gun shots rent the air
Lightning passes blinding the eye
The skies let down a deluge of tears
The old world is strangled to death
Toxic waste muddles up every head
The world once dressed in green
Now wears a mantle of pollution
Green- not a colour any more.
The earth wriggles in pain,
But its silent whimper
Falls in deaf unheeding ears!
A sword dangles on a thread
Ready to fall anytime over our heads.
Might dissipates men’s eye sight
From everywhere rises the bleak cry for help
Pale faced grimaces of death as bombs explode
Groans of pain as bullets whizz past
Once warm blood spilled over the streets of Paris
Twin towers were raced down in the U.S
School children massacred in many parts of the world
Now the animosity between Russia and Ukraine,
Iran and Israel keep the world on tenterhooks.
All through the globe, seismic waves of terror
Sweep across… effacing life, love and dreams.
With modest tools, if the Neanderthal men fought,
Modern men are powered with lethal weapons
Any of which can annihilate the whole world in seconds
Men themselves turn as weapons,
And explode like bombs killing thousands.
Where shall we find a bastion
From this rabid pack of wolves?
From the quagmire of terror, we need an escape
Let it be writ on every wall and billboard
‘Down with War, Down with Terrorism’
Categories:
muddles, angst, death, war,
Form:
Free verse
The Man In The Moon
Follow the crooked path
through a frosted gate
And hide in the shadows,
where the streets are straight,
Look for me in a doorway,
it's there that I will wait,
Marooned in the same darkness
that will, one day, be my fate.
Imagine a light shimmering
and distant voices muttering
As I carve the brick built skies
with flimsy silver guttering,
And there I am, a halo'd face
upon a heart, a fluttering,
Imbetween the chimney stacks,
gasping, choking, spluttering.
I am the mumblings of a lunatic
forgetting what to recall,
Memories of you distorting
despite the thrill of it all,
I am lost among the shadows
that are holding up the wall
So I'll pause for a moment
to let another empty bottle fall.
As it rolls down the sober kerb
like an eerie, muffled scream,
I hear my own hollow footsteps
echoing in a dream,
I am the man in the moon
and upon your eyes I beam,
Lighting up discarded wishes
just to watch your essence gleam.
Appearing and disappearing
in the windows and in puddles
Where all my loves once gathered
in their cruel and taunting huddles.
Where I am often found confused
in a myriad of muddles
Suffocating, like an unwanted child
in a world of loveless cuddles.
My eyes will still shine as bright
as a winter's fearful stare,
Reflecting in my melancholy
as if I wasn't there,
Not wanting to embarrass you
nor indeed, do I mean to scare,
Just to blind you with my love
if I could only dare.
Yet my icy breath is hesitant,
the dawn has come too soon,
To whisper to you sweet-nothings
or to catch you if you swoon,
And there you are, such beauty,
in your summer bridal cocoon
Never to love, nor know my name,
I am only the man in the moon.
© RJVHorton2015
Categories:
muddles, longing,
Form:
Rhyme
Why is there fog, thick with grim
from the breath of pursed lips
that blemishes the view
distorting the glass?....I ask you
Is there a peaceful place for the soul?
I stand by the window and peer through the blinds
The wind whips trees and muddles the mind
something sails through the dark with a thump I can hear
leers up at me with hopeless blind-sight,.. and tends once again
to instill me with fear
A tendril of grass from the devil's own hand
snakes its way up the porch
beyond the first step
And there….lies intrusion
an anthill away, ..it comes every day
to dim all the light …… no peace for the soul, blood red ever flows
There is always a grim taste of nightmarish reality,
It is not an illusion
a voice too inhuman….it reeks of the devil
not a game to be played
I can't hide like an ostrich…..but maybe I should
Deceit mixed with truth, only death in pursuit
Which has now been cloven by the worst of mankind
Now waits on the stoop
Rumpled and bound for the weary to find
Have I triumphed from fear
when I open the door
A slit to peek out,
take what lies at my feet?
What is black, what is white
what is read, bloody red
bringing dread, bringing grief
No solace, relief
Am I weak, without will, a moth drawn to the flame?
What is sane? What is real?
Where is peace for the soul?
There is death at my door
Always more, always more
…..where, Oh dear Lord, is there peace for the soul?
__________________________________________________________
9/14/16
Scare Me Good Poetry Contest
Categories:
muddles, dark, horror,
Form:
Free verse
She muddles an unusually warm December
dark drooling deep afternoon
Drizzly wait,
not long before her hungry needy kids return from school,
recomposing herself against a grey back porch wall
Knees up,
peering out
listening for wonder
How her life is the same,
and different,
compared to her backyard river
flowing surely and widely
but silently south
while a raucous river of cars in front
shuttle up and down self-stated highway's over-fueled Advent
of relentless unholyday traffic
Punctuated
with rambunctious horn blasts,
or perhaps warmly intended "Hello"s,
"Just passing by...."
EarthJustice passing
water toward southerly Sound,
carbon-eaters to her back
across a dusky front yard Advent
of early evening's commercial family business,
industry,
institutions for competing corporate commodification
flowing toward stealthy syncopated impatience,
and then by-passing away.
By-passing,
messiah's mass faltering
to sing in her faithful
but worn thin heart and hair,
hoping her river loves co-redemptive Sounding ocean
even more than busy motor air
surging through more urgent toxic time
investment to completely commercialize
UnBirthing Wonder's purgative sacred flow
into therapeutic nature.
Flow,
transubstantiating home and families
into consumer markets
floating down her river of mid-December's discontent
with waiting.
Discontent,
gloaming river fog
Spreading miraculously radiant
around one uninvited yellow street light
waiting for her family's magic blue bus
delivering this December night's
transforming rebirth.
Categories:
muddles, business, christmas, imagery, river,
Form:
Free verse
To hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature,
embracing truth as only reflection can hold.
While our mind concocts fastidious pleasure,
in search of mottled excuses bent to unfold.
Some threaten openly, words of censure,
hurled against the family tree displayed therein.
Yet which innocent, casts with stoic composure,
a stone of malicious word for the game to begin.
While the tree of life muddles fate in quiet solitude.
Its restless soul begging for optimistic pleasure,
It thinks its time before the mirror, but an interlude,
when in fact, the angel Gabriel takes his measure.
Only the tree of knowledge, cannot be maligned.
Within the face of it, read this significant truth.
From a reflection, the soul of man, you will not find,
only the sweet, sweet face, of innocence of youth.
© Apr 17 2011 Charles Henderson
for Constance "the tree" contest
a family tree, tree of life, tree of knowledge
Categories:
muddles, philosophyfamily, tree, family, tree,
Form:
Quatrain
It muddles into our time slightly
Backwards hunting immemorial time
Onward guessing on technology’s mighty
Ever wonder to ride and visit the sublime
We are all time travellers
In our dreams or in reality, we trek
Everything goes by his own caliber
In conversation, we learn at age’s beck
In some poets’ verses, they spoke
In Philosopher’s story had been told
That they did not die but blended nature’s stroke
Lost cities rediscovered in poetic legend to uphold
We see things not supposed to be that way
Structures erected in manners so occult
People behaved unusually and hear them say
Like strangers in their own time, misleading assault
Living in the moment is a wakeful existence
Fragile lives we met in unsynchronized composure
For the time being, we have been swirling in tenses
For all we think of, is our past, present, and future
October 5, 2015
Categories:
muddles, adventure, future, identity, journey,
Form:
Rhyme
When thoughts of peace good will toward man
ring out this special day, shall we forget what’s
going on around us?
Life today is a sea with waves rising in ominous
regularity, and break in on the shore of our individual
conscience. Are we prepared to discharge our duty?
We have a Department of War who’s business it is to
wage war; why not have a Department of Peace whose
duty it is to make peace?
The outstanding religion today seems to be Confucianism.
We need reminding from time to time that God is not baffled or bewildered by all of man’s muddles and follies.
Is Religion based on what is grasped by brain or is Religion
based on what is grasped by the heart?
Categories:
muddles, confusion, faith, heart,
Form:
Free verse
When the rays of a small campfire ember
find its way to the depths of passion
sparking a heat so lustful it’s hard to remember-
A time we didn’t fuse, I lay.
As that ember dies in the moonlit sky
leaving shades of sweat upon the faintly
heard tussles of a trampled ground-
Hackneyed and abused, I stay.
For the fatigued water lays to salt
after the dew of a sunrise fog
choreographs beauty of love into our own-
We coalesce as one recused, I pray;
“Please don’t let go and I will fill the muddles
of darkness with magical flowing beams
through zealous tears that absorb the clouds
with hues of reverence both dull and bright”-
And simply refuse to breakaway.
Categories:
muddles, adventure, desire, for her,
Form:
Romanticism
Pallikarnai,one of
the prominent
waterbodies that
once provided life
breath to Chennai
(Tamilnadu, India)
is now a garbage
dumpyard. It now
serves as a moving
symbol of how the
civilized can
threaten the
environment.
I
Pallikarnai
Resounds
In the Alps.
Retches the
himalayas.
Foams
In the Ganges.
Forays the volga.
Muddles
In the Amazon
Mucks the Nile.
Incarnates
In myriad moulds
And disguises
Around the world.
Masking the demon
behind
Hoodwinks the
beholder
Letting none to
snare.
II
The subjacent hell
Pandemic heaps of
plastics
Annals of the soil
receded.
Putrifying greed
Kicked shut
The eyes of mother
earth.
Clinging the
remnants
Eager to sprout
Future laments.
Wailing of
Strangled stars
Unceased.
Abandoned birds
Scribbles the dirge
In the blazing sky.
III
Fire unfurled
Everywhere.
The stretching blaze
Scorched the city
Stoked humen bodies.
Their mind
Charred long ago.
Unable to bear
The acrid smell
Wind collapsed.
Streets whirls
around
Stuck in the
hounding wheels.
The world
Tosses upside down.
IV
Flies
Abducted the city.
Assaulted school
buses
As tanks
Demolished the sky
scrappers.
As missiles
Sped up to homes.
In hungry mouth
Dropped bombs.
Eyes were plucked
out,
Lips consumed.
Dismayed sky shrunk.
Stars severed down.
Corses
Drifted in drinking
water.
Wings are swords
Legs are spears.
Flies.
V
Before dying
Wriggling soil
Asked the children
Would you give
The leafy eyes
Only to see me?
Before the fall
Writhing earth
Entreated the
children
would you give
The ears of green
trees
Only to hear me?
To the world of the
matured
Went the little ones
Searching leafy eyes
and ears.
Will they return?
If return
Will the soil and
earth remain?
Categories:
muddles, earth, nature, pollution,
Form:
Concrete
The roots of a family tree run deep for they were planted long ago.
generation upon generation have nurtured and watched that family grow
into a tree whose strength and beauty is impossible deny.
into a tree whose myriad of branches now reach high up to the sky,
There is also no denying how the formation of that tree
has been shaped by many blessings…and much adversity.
There is joy within the tree…happiness in every branch and leaf…
no matter if they’ve grown for years…or if their time upon the tree was brief.
There is sorrow within the tree…for representing every grief…
there is a branch that has been broken…there is a fallen leaf.
When a branch has broken off..or a leaf has fallen from the tree…
It may be difficult to remain hopeful…it may be difficult to see
how that family tree will ever be the same without the portion they brought to it…
and even though it’s heart is broken…the tree somehow muddles through it…
For a family soon discovers…
how new growth on the tree is conceived…
cultivated from the remnants of its broken branches…
nurtured from what remains of its fallen leaves.
Categories:
muddles, family,
Form:
Rhyme