Best Muddy Poems
Muddy Water's Gramma gave us licorice
I walked the old Kenwood neighborhood with my twin little brother and sister in tow,
'hold there hands and look both ways before you cross the street'
No use trying to talk my way out, knew it was the only way mom would let me go.
October's new moon, peaked in and out of passing clouds,
leaving the night gloomy in stygian darkness.
Faces painted, carrying our paper bags, dressed in raggedy linen pillow case shrouds.
Low sad sound of a guitar's slow lick, pitch in open E, played a few doors down,
accompanied by a soulful song sung:
'Well, my mother told my father,
just before hmmm, I was born,
"I got a boy child's comin,
He's gonna be, he's gonna be a rollin stone,
Sure 'nough, he's a rollin stone..'
I knocked on the door, our shrilled chorus trio called out Trick or Treater's round,
Clutching a Bible in her hands 'to ward off evil spirits'.
Gramma Della turned on the porch-light, framed in screened doorway,
emitting a joyous whooping sort of laugh, invited the three of us in.
The bright-eyed man sat at the kitchen table, looking up from his guitar emblazoned in Formica reflected glory.
In the corner, a pretty girl, dressed as Cinderella, sat cross-legged on the floor..
with what looked like a million dollars worth of candy.
Muddy, who had ceased his song at our knock, nodded our way.
With curious smile that was both happy and sad, in smooth, measured voice said
'Oh don't you look a fright'.
Della handed out licorice that year, the same as all the years we once knew.
But what us kids remember best, and last, the man who sung & played the Catfish Blues.
What I didn't learn 'til later, a picture placed in Muddy's view of the living room.
Little Walter, with his harmonica cupped in hands,
who died just a year earlier, a day after Valentine's moon.
Inspired by McKinley Morganfield and his Grandmother Della Jones
You get a heck of a sound from the church. Can't you hear it in my voice? -Muddy Waters
She pulls the puppets strings; and as he’s jerking all about;
She throws her voice to make him talk, with his face held in a pout.
He forgets that he’s a puppet; while out there on the stage;
The audience is pleased with him; he’s the up and coming rage.
The puppet sings a love song; with the strings he’s made to dance;
He’s made to speak the saddest words; about his lost romance.
Everybody sighs and giggles; but quietly under breath
They know this is a tragedy; they’re waiting for what’s left.
The puppet thinks he’s living; but the puppeteer don’t care;
She controls what’s going on and in this play there is no fair.
Dancing for the devil; he calls this little act;
Existing in a make believe; there’s nothing more than that.
Every night at bed time; the woman gives a smile;
She pokes him with a fingernail recently just filed.
And with a monotone that’s frigid; she says it’s time to hit the sack;
So she opens up her luggage bag; and then she puts him back.
“Muddy and Misunderstood”
Your thoughts
towards me are
a reflection of
you
My thoughts
towards you
are more than
likely muddy
and misunderstood
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
time's landscape blackened
by the feet of many men
foolishly walking
© Faye Lanham Gibson, April 8, 2015
You’re the world’s worst hiking buddy
How did we end up so muddy
Not even sure we can scrub it!
How would I know
Can’t stick my hand in that hole
I thought you had the first aid kit
Yea I dragged a little back
Put too much in my pack
Still we came here to walk as a team
So I wore the wrong socks
Got my foot stuck in the marsh
I figured you knew a way through the stream
I got some cool pictures
Don’t forget to text me those few vintage
I didn’t have time to give my phone a full charge
What else is there to talk about
We’re in the woods isn’t that where Bigfoot’s at
You know they say he still runs at large
I know I saw a cell tower
Had to call my mom on the hour
I can’t believe you left me behind!
I’d be here till I’m old
If it wasn’t for that dog
For all that has happened I’ll whine, humph
So where are we going next weekend?
Muddy face band and tin-tin man breaking bad
Game of thrones, constants and variables
Contestants variant, variously able, paid under the table
Save it Larry, your speeches are not reliable
We see your Mr Cain, presentable, but is Cain able?
After what you did your reputation is wrecked
Big crowds but little acceptance, the proof is undeniable
But the underlying logic isn't, we were roped in
Gathered and forayed but duds, useless bombs dropped in
Spy-bots and lover gloves and drones flying past
Avalanches and snow fall, dictators rise and fall
Don't look now, but a new Dawn is upon us just now
I saw her in sitting in a lilac dress, counting exes
And memes rose and handlers bayed for blood
Thug angels unite, it's a season for settling scores
But whoever is directing this show will make the final call
Last laugh, best laugh kind of stuff
In a world where tempers always freeze and thaw
It was bad, thunder, rain and lightning
But the powers above the powers still heeded your call
Elsewhere across the divide, his demands denied
Little old rocket man explodes, guffaws over evil designs
I'll blow you mofo's to hell, and winks at a floating butterfly
I was only kidding. But I'm serious, I'm reaching for Aquarius
It's easy to catch his drift, he's furious
Little big man with small big dreams, call him nefarious
But I don't see how name calling is going to save us
You don't have to have gone to DeVry
Assailed upon all sides; trapped, like a rat without his cheese.
Though I wore quite fancy shoes, there were no socks upon my feet,
When I fought the heathens and, met defeat, at the Pillar Of Muhamete.
Through a wall of living flesh I hacked; my trusty hatchet, my only tool.
On a bloody muddy Monday morning, before the Temple of Kabul.
Great green spiders big as tanks, did we ride to meet enemy ranks,
And the sky was the hue of lemons, as we made war on the Plains of Singahlee.
When the cannons melted, I said "chuck it", then with a broomstick and a bucket,
Did I storm the castle of the Great Caliph. With a cabin boy creeping , at my knee.
With a lantern strapped to my head, I broached the tower gate to set the captives free!
When it seemed our lines would crack, I urged the regiment to the attack;
Our war wagons pulled by eight foot frogs, imported from the gates of hell.
When bullets ran low, we threw rocks; til at last we waved our members.
To show ourselves unafraid, we stipped to aprons our mums had made,
Then went raging down the hillsides, with a shrieking girlish yell.
One Bullock Pete he died that day; Big Dick Willie; hewed in twain in the fray.
But the blue balls boys of Bingham held the line! The blood flowed like cheap wine.
Smoke and screams filled the air, like cheap perfume in a whore's lair.
Amidst the fire and the smoke, I did a softshoe and told a joke.
And an old vaudeville routine nearly saved the day on that battlefield afar.
We ran like possums through the trees, In our boots and BVDs.
We may have lost the bloody battle, but we won the flipping war!
Don’t fall in the muddy river
Your strength is not meant to shiver
You must understand things hidden
Corruption decides the forbidden
For the truth to be known to you
But, evidence proves it is true
Be careful in your quick belief
Of knowledge stolen like a thief
Evil spreads like a wildfire
By corrupt who hide and conspire
But, when numbers of us do look…
Facing the lies by any crook
It’s we who have the righteous power
With good actions to empower
Together it is us who rise
To expose all those in disguise
Heidi Sands
6/8/21
The pavement grabbed
At the feet of the passers-by
Who passed by the puddles
And the mud
To get to the taxi’s,
Who, like a string of dirty pearls
Were threaded by the muddy road
Where many a flattened toad
Stared intently at the sky
The pavement grabbed
And snatched an unsuspecting shoe
Of a passer-by
Who turned and cursed
Whilst many a flattened toad
Stared silently at the sky
Hurry, hurry, hurry
Funny bunny plays
Windy sunny field
Muddy small silly
Feels guilt
Feels sorry
Mummy still loves
Muddy funny bunny
18th December 2017
Fem Bogstaver (Danish) - Poetry Contest for Money
Sponsored by Rhoda Tripp
I was never particularly proud
Hearing Mother yelling “For cryin’ out loud!
I have just mopped the floor,
Before you opened the door
Muddy boots in the house are not allowed!”
May 28, 2021
"Bite Size 3" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Line Gautier
there's a song stuck in my head
ba da da daaaahhh...
not a lot, but a bit of a bar
ba da da deeeee...
spinning 'round my ears too near
never able to get out of there, i fear
it'll never set me free
i can't hear it's lyrical words
the band's name i'm unable to perceive
just burnt bridges 'n' stanza's
is all i got command a
the whole song's impossible to retrieve
i can't recall who sung it
nor can i recall the composer's name*
ba da da da - a few notes is all
i seem to recall but
it's stuck spinning just the same
when i'm looooong gone and dead,
i think i'd rather not hum instead
that darn song 'll still be in my head
to fill my afterlife with dread
bedamned reincarnated melody retread
oh, still that song stuck in my head
it's too hard to make it out - or to believe
© Goode Guy 2013-10-18
* After driving me crazy to the point of poetic
composition, I auditorially searched my extensive
Pat Metheny collection, since I suspected
it was one of his, and finally came upon:
Pat Metheny Group-2002-Speaking Of Now-08-Afternoon
which is a very good song to get stuck in,
if you've gotta get stuck
For we stood
For we stood out there
On a field in France
Staring straight at death in its lair
Gun in hand, battle stare
For we fought
Man on man
Bayonet or bullet, hand to hand
For we screamed and we cried
Friends are dead; biding time!
For we thought in muddy trench
Loves we’d had, memories bend!
So I survived something you’ll never see
Cries in the night, screams on the breeze
You call me a hero because I came back?
Killed so many - I can’t come back!
I raise my glass to the fallen boys and men
Buried in the ash; some my friends
With you I’ll share a drink but don’t pretend that you could ever understand the hell of men.
Joy, breathless joy, sings to the robin, spring
Coloring hearts and heavens in wonder
Delighting souls with dazzling hues to bring
Raining light through lives who love the thunder
Despite miracles and peace, the flowers
Spring’s breath silences the glistening kiss
Winter’s echoes evoke pulsing showers
Darkening the dreams – spring isn’t all bliss
Just beyond snow, drizzling over prayers
Thick, murky earth offers dreadful mud baths
Groundhogs whistle while attending affairs
Known by those souls who travel down dirt paths
As we listen to soft cries of songbirds
Spring’s music feels like it’s singing backwards
Spring Is Not All Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Michelle Faulkner
January 30, 2023
mud season
tracks its feet
on the way in and out