Best Nonplussed Poems
I've a bit of a problem here...
in a higgledy-piggledy pickle
torn between housewifery
and creative muses fickle.
Scattered, shattered fragments
of odd ideas, dreams
lay about my den, disguised
not nearly what they seem!
Bits of whimsy, what-nots
all cluttering my desk
covered in thick pixie dust
my housekeeping grotesque.
Higgledy-piggledy hodgepodge
my convoluted mess
a sign of utter genius
(or else mental distress).
I'd planned to tidy up...
to toss a few things out
but as I gaze upon them
they sniffle, weep and pout.
To think that I'd discard them!
Those former hopes and whims
unborn poems, paintings
their destiny quite grim.
Delicately backing out-
I apologize with care
as they cold-shoulder, look away
with such dramatic flair!
And when my husband asks me
just what I've done all day
I simply shrug “not much”
not knowing what to say.
How could I ever mention
the lurking living things
inside my head, upon my desk
that gently pull my strings?
The odd creative forces
that captivate me thus
wildly penning amid my piles
while he remains nonplussed!
~~ The Rabbit and the Fox ~~ 20 line Ballad
The Rabbit and the Fox
The Rabbit and the Fox are here
go down south, to Australia
They have a bounty on the Fox
Bring in his skin they’ll pay ya
Myxameatosis germ warfare (first ever)
Just for the Bagman's bunny (our ww1 war crazed soldiers lived on rabbit in solitude)
Old Rabbit got mattry eyed
It really wasn’t funny
Great depression in the 20s
We lived on lovely rabbit
skins made the Slouch hat
Our soldiers wear, our habit (fur felt made the hat)
The master took the Rabbit (Squatters said plague)
No more free feeds for us
So we started eating of his sheep
Become a bit nonplussed
They brought another virus out
To kill off outlaw rabbit
But bunny still gets about
The Fox your hens will have it
Don Johnson
I'm new to this language; it baffles me so!
With so many mysteries I wish to know:
Why doesn't 'resolve' mean 'to solve it again'?
And why are 'wise guys' not the same as 'wise men'?
Why doesn't 'extraneous' mean 'once was traneous'?
Why's 'miscellaneous' not NOT cellaneous?
Enigmas that seem to me very unmappable,
Unflappable me has become simply flappable.
"You're incorrigible", my friend Mike said to me,
I said, "Corrigible I'll endeavor to be."
One museum we saw had a fossil exhibit
I asked, "Every bone was at one time a hibit?"
"I don't care for inquisitive people", said Mike.
So I asked, "What's a quisitive person look like?"
He looked at me plussed with a look of disgust,
now I hope I can change it to gust and nonplussed.
"Disgruntled employees", my boss said, distressed,
"are a pain in the neck!" I thought, "gruntled is best!"
He scolds my appearance: "Your hair is unkempt",
so I'm bringing a comb to make sure it stays kempt.
"Avoid work mishaps, and do not act unruly".
"Yes sir, boss. I'll only make ruly haps, truly"
He tells me, "Just try not to look so disheveled."
My note to self: make it my goal to look sheveled.
"Intrepid Improvements" the work poster says
"Avoid trepid provements" is my New Year's res.
"Such reckless abandon" someone said to me
so from now on, more reckful I'm hoping to be.
I've tried to appear nonchalant and undaunted,
I'm daunted that I'm more chalant than I wanted.
This poem I'll write in indelible ink -
…much better than delible ink, don't you think?
In antediluvian times, so pluviophilian
Red and gold adorned the grandiloquent pavilion.
With circumlocution's mellifluous elocution
Yellow frankincense sparked a yuletide revolution.
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
Black's defenestration led to white's sequestration
Blue myrrh, an epiphenomenon of celestial creation.
The floccinaucinihilipilification of green
An obfuscation of nature's loquacious sheen!
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
Orange juxtaposition a kakistocracy of hue
Violet and indigo a perspicacious view.
Silver's mellifluous tone, never superfluous
In this chromatic prolegomenon, so wondrous!
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
Nonplussed by colors we're rediscussed
This verisimilitude leaves us all nonplussed.
Recalcitrant shades concomitant with glee
A serendipitous fortuitous Christmas spree!
Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia aside.
(Fear not these long words let your aichmophobia subside!)
With tintinnabulation and confabulation
We revel in this spectrum's elucidation!
Colors of Christmas idiosyncratic and bright
Symptomatic of joy a quintessential sight!
From soliloquent red to audacious gold
Our multitude of colors both new and old.
This Christmas palette so efficacious
Renders our celebration truly vivacious.
Yet beyond these hues lies a gift profound
A child is born; in Him true light is found.
For unto us a child is born
Unto us a son is given
And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
(Isaiah 9:6)
Her birth was never trumpeted,
Nor caught any media headlines.
Born to Joachim in very ordinary settings,
Virgin Mary, the simplest of the simple,
Was specially chosen to perform a task divine.
As she grew up, she pledged to keep her body and soul,
Free of all blemish and stains of fleshly desires.
But in her teens, she was betrothed to Joseph,
Perhaps, part of a divine plan.
Did dreams come to nab her sleep, no one knows!
She found joy in prayer and absolute surrender to God.
Once when in silent communion with God,
Hearing the flap of wings overhead, she looked up.
Seeing the flash of blinding light in her dim lit room
She stood in dazzled astonishment,
Not knowing what was about to happen.
Before her, appeared a winged seraph.
A radiant silhouette with such gentleness n’ grace
Its hands raised in benediction,
Saluted Mary and said,
“Blessed art thou amongst women…
……………………………………
The rest she heard in a trance.
Unable to digest what was said,
The girl looked up nonplussed.
Again, it said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee,
And a son shall be born of thee,
Whom you shall call Jesus.”
“How can this be”,
The question lingered but didn’t ask.
In that nanosecond of a new revelation
Did Mary’s world shatter like glassware?
Or did her virgin womb thrill with new life?
Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings?
Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves?
For a girl already espoused to a man
In whose dreams his comely form had begun
Flitting in and out,
Was it a moment of silent ravishment?
Or of stupefied bewilderment
Did a dagger cut through her heart?
Or did her soul take wing in flight???
Without questioning,
She surrendered to the will of God,
Thereafter, never wavered nor bemused,
But readied herself for the great task.
Forever she remains a symbol of mercy and love.
Her immaculate grace is reflected on her radiant face.
Her lovely visage having greater beauty than any flower,
Emits sweet fragrance that perfumes our souls.
Remaining ever so pure with no trace of sin,
She is acclaimed by Christians all over the world,
As a symbol of unassailable purity and godly grace!
I think I’ve written some doggone good stuff
Hey, I am sorry if, for you, it wasn’t enough,
Submitting it was sometimes an afterthought
Because my skin is thick, your N/A was for naught,
I write my poems for me, and I can happily say
I’ve already had my joy long before your “nay!”
I am nonplussed when your choices seem biased
But then, who am I to second-guess your highest?
I admit, when your winner does miss the mark
I wonder why my entry apparently did not spark,
I am taken aback by a lack of judging credentials
Your seeming ignor-ance of absolute essentials,
Realizing entering is seeking only one person’s nod
Please do not think your opinion is the ultimate god,
And be as fair as you can be when selecting who
Writes the best piece and deserves a Woo-Hoo!
In closing, let me say I thoroughly enjoy contests
But love them most when my poem is the best!
Written July 23, 2022
[A fun poke at our contest sponsors!]
Daffodils are humble flowers
Which inspired great Wordsworth to sing
Flowers have attractive powers
We see them with eyes adoring
What is a flea to write upon?
A normal man might show disgust
But it's where Donne's insight is drawn
We find it stirs, don't get nonplussed
A Grecian urn isn't noted much
Unless you read Keats' ode on it
Now, he gives it a magic touch
We see how 'dull' becomes a 'hit'
We see just what we want to see
Be it the truth, or plain beauty
We exalt things through poetry
And that is us poets' duty.
05.23.2021
For Daniel Turner's "We see what we want to see" contest
Alas, the famed Red Baron bit the dust.
His last flight in his Fokker was a bust.
Some thought Snoopy shot him down,
But t'was a dude named Roy Brown,
Leaving Charlie Brown and his friends nonplussed!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
NOTE: There is controversy to this very day about who and how the
Red Baron actually died. Canadian pilot Roy Brown claimed he shot
him down but there is some evidence that he may have been hit by a
rifleman from the ground. Here's hoping this will keep you awake at
night worrying about it!!!
Continued from Part 1
The orphans and widows lean into the breeze
watching horrified hangmen descend to their knees
for the angel of mercy’s no longer inclined
to forgive vengeful phantoms (oh Furies of night!) ,
I’ll not leave you behind.
The bandits are brazen, the highwaymen lurk,
some imbibing dark brews of a hag’s handiwork,
mostly gulping from goblets like goblins maligned.
Woman! Widen your wings, catching wisps of the wind
I’ll not leave you behind.
The lepers laugh, leaping from tombstones of steel
chasing rollaway caskets on luminous wheels;
while their shadows shake, shrouded, twixt trees intertwined,
twisted time melts at midnight, take hold of my hand,
I’ll not leave you behind.
The gremlins grope, grinning face down in the dust,
while the sprites and the pixies are watching nonplussed.
They sling bolted arrows at spectres enshrined
within winds somewhat flustered, just fly from your fears
I’ll not leave you behind.
The tattered toy teddies and raggedy Anns
have escaped to the skyways in kid caravans
but now, spellbound by fancies, know not that they’ll find
their parade’s evanesced into echoes of dawn –
I’ll not leave you behind.
The wind’s my enchantress, beguiles and commands
me to search for my fortune in faraway lands
and whispers her mysteries of passions entwined,
for the wind is Isolde – unfurling my sails
I’ll not leave you behind.
End
Halloween
Haunting monsters roam on an October Halloween spooky night
As munchkin stroll dress in their costumes that fright
Large carved pumpkins laugh as inside candles flicker bright
Lifeless lackadaisical zombies walk the street on sight, ghost in white
Occasional Owl hoot as monsters howl in the darkness plight
Witches on broomstick, Warlocks wrapped in black capes, before day light
Enchanting the moon. Spiders that bite, weaving sticky webs that stick-tight
Eerie gravestones and casket lids that open yelling "Boooo…."at midnight
Night ebbs with jumpin sounds of trick-or treat, ghost, goblins dance in delight
~
Naughty black feline stepping its paws nonchalantly teasing the dog
~
Nonplussed decrepit two- story haunted house
Idle and dank surrounded by broken down fencing and gnarl skeletal tree boughs
Grave “No TRESPASSING” sign forbidding entry for even a mouse
Hangs warding off the unwanted and those that had doubts
Tenebrous gloom brought brooding shadows around the house
10/13/2016
Children Story
Die Lorelei by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)- Translated by T. Wignesan
For Regina von Degenfeld at Waibstadt
-in respect and unending sufferance-
(Heine, a German Jewish lyrical and satiric poet, journalist and critic,
settled in Paris from 1831 where he married Eugénie Mirat, an unsophisticated shop-assistant which earned him ostracism and dispossession from his family and fellows, but he made her his only heir on the condition that she re-married so that at least one person would regret his passing. In 1858, he was hobbled for life by spinal paralysis.)
Ich weiss nicht , was soll es bedeuten,
Nonplussed am I, what could it signify
Dass ich so traurig bin;
Plunged as I am in such a dejected mood
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
A fairy tale from times gone by,
Dass kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
In thraldom wrapped forever to brood
Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt,
Soft the cool wind buffets as the day beds down
Und ruhig fliesst der Rhein;
And ripple free courses the Rhein
Der Gïpfel des Berges funkelt
Mountain summit lights scintillate crown
Im Abendsonnenschein.
Divine in sunset shine
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Exquisite maiden perched is she
Dort oben wunderbar,
On high there resplendent
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Her golden accoutrements sparkle free
Sie kämmt ihr goldnes Haar.
As golden tresses combs she concupiscente
Sie kämmt es mit goldnem Kamme,
Flaxen tresses combs she with a golden comb
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
While luring strains her lips release in lyrical glee
Das hat eine wundersame,
Tinged in a soothing tuneful hum
Gewaltige Melodie.
Mighty stirring melody
Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
The rower in his narrow boat
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Seized is he with bewildering pain
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Oblivious is he of the Rock’s craggy grotte
Erschaut nur hinauf in die Höh’.
His eyes remain fixed high above the narrow main
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
I believe the waves did submerge
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
In the end both boatman and rowing boat
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
And the deed did with her singing merge
Die Lorelei getan.
That Lorelei had wrought.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, January 23, 2021
I am baffled, stunned, dumbfounded
Completely nonplussed by the persistence
Of the international criminal court
In harassing the popularly elected Kenyan
President and his popularly elected deputy
As rogue entities terrorize Eastern Europe
The Arab World and my beloved Africa
All around us people are being beheaded
Or otherwise massacred on a whim
Innocent people who would, if free,
Choose to live and let live in peace
Rather than engage in perpetual
Callous, wanton and unprovoked
Slaughter of those they despise.
Aljazeera, BBC and CNN daily broadcast
The atrocities committed by the Islamic state
The beheadings are posted on the internet
And broadcast on radio, tv and newspapers
And while the moguls make their millions
In the dissemination of the villainy
The United Nations looks on puzzled
Or perplexed, mystified or even dazed
By the enormity or complexity of it all
Leaving me to wonder whether
This world body is not being manipulated
For the ends of a few powerful members
Who believe their fortunes would flourish
With the weakening of these regions!
If you can hear me, Ban Ki Moon
Hearken, the downtrodden moan!
Just when they thought the house was pristine
They were blinded by flashes, purple and green
A psychedelic flare shot up through the roof
Then crashed back down with a loud, smoky POOF!
It hissed and it fizzled in the middle of the room
They all backed away from the kaleidoscopic plume
But before they could leave there was an almighty flash
Then an explosion that ended in an ear-banging crash
When the smoke cleared they all looked around
The house had been razed all the way to the ground
The cat's fur was singed, the furniture was dust
The guest's clothes were blackened, their expressions nonplussed
The goblin was fizzing, the ogre displeased
"Well this was a disaster!" the scorched elves teased
The fairy was frowning at her charred, blackened wings
Whilst the pixies were playing in the soot, of all things
Suddenly the witch burst into pained tears
This debacle had confirmed her very worst fears
She'd never tried to have a birthday party before
And after today, she wouldn't try to any more
Her sobs were so desperate, so sad, so forlorn
That her friends felt quite guilty for showing such scorn
They each gave her a hug and said not to fret
The party wasn't done; at least not yet!
"You see," said the wizard, "the house might be charred,
But we can always continue in your perfect back yard
The witch looked at her friends with hope in her eyes
And felt the cloud of despair beginning to rise
"Do you mean it?" she asked, her tears drying up
"Yes," they all smiled, "let's get it set up!"
They used all of their skills and magical tricks
To create a new party; it was really quite slick
Then for the finale the ogre did bake
An amazingly huge strawberry cake
The witch blew out the candles and made her wish
Before sampling the cake, which was simply delish!
She looked at her friends, her smile so bright
"I'm so lucky to have you, you're all a delight!"
The beamed at the praise too touched to respond
And nobody noticed the still sparking wand...
As I explore the outer space,
And make connections, introspections
Nonplussed, but given to the chase-
The Fate of Fools’ directions!
Too much I’ve asked! And too late, perhaps
When I am taken to the task
How long I wrought, how strong I fought,
To never see the Truth to pass...
*Space & Time Contest Entry*
Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.
Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go –
glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me -
son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam.
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.
CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018