Best Puttering Poems
While Climbing the Rocks
Through trees and rains and
Lakes I have lived, but today I shall remember,
Remember the child who climbed rock mountains,
Shutting out the city sounds and,
Music of wind cuddling foothills and dreams.
Dreams of a log cabin and dreams of love,
With someone to share the quiet of the dove;
Puttering with pursuits, watching horned toads play,
On the side of a mountain looking away.
Categories:
puttering, love, mountains,
Form:
Romanticism
I'm roasting some dinner
putting things away
potatoes in the oven
meats on the way
peaches in a big dish
cinnamon and sugar
mail on the table
towels to be folded
I'm wiping the counters
putting away the dishes
thinkng about ice tea
and maybe watermelon
I'm counting how many
will sit around the table
how many will be late from work
and miss the conversation
I'm sitting on the steps outside
throwing the ball to Redd
and on the air I smell the dinner
I wish I was eating instead.
Categories:
puttering, family
Form:
Free verse
As I lay curled in grandmother’s arms;
dreaming intently of butterflies fluttering.
Scented fields bestowing pungent charms;
where I envision honey bee wings a puttering.
Dreaming intently of butterflies fluttering;
weaving amid long blades of green grass.
Where I envision honey bee wings a puttering;
in the soft breeze that blows abruptly pass.
Weaving amid long blades of green grass;
I stalk a lumbering caterpillar marching by.
In the soft breeze that blows abruptly pass;
suddenly I am aroused by a doting sigh.
I stalk a lumbering caterpillar marching by;
scented fields bestowing pungent charms.
Suddenly I am aroused by a doting sigh;
as I lay curled in grandmother’s arms.
Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Fifth Place Winner ~ "Write me a poem …(about an adorable picture)” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Leonora Galinta
March 20, 2013
Categories:
puttering, dream, green, love,
Form:
Pantoum
I lay in this bed, puttering close to death
Wonder when I shall draw my last breath
A long and great life it certainly has been
I have no hair, move in wheelchair, yet I grin
Grinning at memories and days full of glee
Soaring past on my mount- whizzing by as a banshee
That horse, always my truest love, concerned thereof
before all else she was my miraculous dove.
Many a year together our pleasure- just us alone
Till my daughter born- then the seeds were sown
She loves my mare as I once did, legacy passes
Grown in hours of life, breathed in by spring grasses.
My beast, my child upon my hopeful heart now it shall be
They shall run with my memory- may they both be free.
poem date 6/1/2012
Form Sonnet
Theme Hopeful Heart
For the 3 forms, 3 themes contest
by Francine Roberts
Categories:
puttering, animals, devotion, hope,
Form:
Sonnet
I dream so often, of the garden stretching out
wearing an early morning sun just like a crown.
There is the rousing sound of rooster's shout,
and mother standing barefoot, dressed in her gown
pulling a tall weed, while puttering about
looking like a pink cheeked girl, with eyes of brown,
clutching a bouquet to her breast. She would hold
roses, as if they were treasures made of gold
~
Categories:
puttering, mother, nature, nostalgia,
Form:
Rispetto
Dad was puttering around today
Playing with me
God we haven’t played in years
You know, Dad’s eighty now
I remember how he looked in photos at twenty
I remember the twinkle in his eyes
at my sons two year old birthday party.
We played computer, you see Dad it can do this LOOK
LOOK here it does this too!
I did so like kissing the top of his bald head.
So good to see that old comb-over long gone now
So good to smell the MY Dad smell of clean clothes and soap.
Your files need to be organized Dad.
You have them all glommed up in with the general documents files.
Know wonder you can’t find them, all the love poems to his dear heart Ruth.
I wonder if he remembers my wedding day.
He was so handsome in his tux that day.
I remember his smile then as he watched me
walk the white carpet in the garden by the mill pond.
Joy, now is that any name to call a dog [oops SHE doesn’t know she’s a dog!]
The dust mop of a pooch barked indignantly as, I took her Daddies attention from
her.
Had a dog once, Babe was her name, she was a huge sheepdog, we lost
our Babe when I lost my Dad for a long time, BUT he's been back along while too
now
Dad was sharing with me and I so loved it. Me, of course being his first girl,
sharing with me, his love and happiness with his last girl OUR Ruth.
Categories:
puttering, caregiving, childhood, daughter, family,
Form:
Free verse
Today I thought of thought itself,
of all its joys and failings
to be sure, but mostly of the
wonder that they take me to,
the countless things that open
to my sight in ways that I had
never seen before.
I need not die before I see them
thunder in before me, even though
I know that death itself will not
presume to shut them down. That is
the glory of it; everyone may share.
Saints and kings will prosper
and will fall. Perhaps. But I
am just a dilettante. My putterings
are little miracles and always there
to take me through.
Oh yes, there is one caveat
and that is consciousness
but that too is a miracle
and floats upon us as a lagniappe,
totally gratuitous...hmmm
just like all the rest.
~
Categories:
puttering, allusion,
Form:
Free verse
The only
lesson
I have learned
is that
everything
was meant
to burn .
Leaving in
it’s ashes
the repeating
rueful record
that’s
always stuck
on one track.
Puttering
out those
once persistent
fervent feelings .
Which makes you
yearn for her
in your
arms again.
But love is just
Like a record .
When it’s broken you can never
truly get it back
to what it once was.
Categories:
puttering, emotions, heartbreak, sad love,
Form:
Alliteration
Bring all of humanity to it's knees
begging on your whim, your mercy;
Then judge it.
Your cold, quivering, cracking lips
quipping tips to the
wicked; to the rich.
Whilst knock-kneed choking
broken backed masses
lay on the floor:
These are the downtrodden poor.
Panicked paws brutalized
beaten and crooked
till cracked, battered by unrighteous
laws.
Taste the kiss off
shivering lips.
Starved, so shrunken and shriveled
with successive sighs
at the procuring lies.
Stale eyes stagnant and downcast,
skeleton skin scraped tight.
Envision the puttering stutter
of short,
slick,
sick,
flames,
Pocked and sputtering
puckering towards you -
towards us.
Crooked, clasping, clutching
talons,
torn worn and scarlet
grasping onto
canescent, chalky, choking
cloth.
All the while a honed
heaving hook,
Hungrily hovers, swaying the
still air,
ripping the wretched
none forsook.
I see it,
Picking the destitute poor
with it's ripened
carnivorous claw.
And me?
I sit scrambled in seclusion
ideas tumbling in my mind,
Yet, I can't find the voice
to tremble terrifically
treble and thundering,
to take the claw,
the acts, pacts and laws
lies that scream from ceilings
and say -
Stop.
We are all
alone.
Categories:
puttering, political,
Form:
Verse
"FAKE" assertions unstoppably
bandied with beef,
(sans doughty deeds done dirt cheap)
courtesy of commander in chief
trumpeted as a way to backout,
embarrassment analogous to the thief
of Baghdad, when culpable faux pas
woe philly pops thought balloon of mine
reckons with transparent "good grief"
within mind of yours truly,
who finds himself dumbstruck
aghast, and shaking noggin with disbelief
how people can be so gullible
who would just as lief
eat a pin cushion to deliver strep throat relief.
First amendment teeter totters on brink
of dissolution mainly by the rat fink,
whose defamation against journalists
risking life and limb, yet not shrink
king enlightening liberal minded, who think
similar to myself, imposter
hood drums utter rubbish
while feeling teed off puttering
along Mar a Lago,
or another owned golf link
resorting to silence protesters
whisked off to the klink.
Distortions, (nee outright
blatant lies) saturate
social media platforms,
which followers didst rate
as their numero uno slate
supposedly reliable sources
harkening back to papa retaliate
Tory Bush prez administration,
regarding patrilineal shogunate
where Iraq summarily
targeted for crashing Kuwait
violating, jeopardizing, and
compromising vital oil, literate
folks suspected, that critical
lubricant mandatory to resonate
greasing western civilization
particularly self anointed great
super power USA, hence
alarmists didst exaggerate,
whose military intelligence
industrial leaders got irate
contracting complex projecting
global economy would vacillate
and, perhaps take Kamikaze nosedive
hence procrastination could not wait
demanding based on sketchy accusation
Saddam Hussein, and his ilk ultimate
harbored weapons of mass destruction
despite lack of distilled proof,
would severely truncate
nary a trace sniffed out,
nonetheless damn the torpedoes blitzed
in an effort to triangulate
miscreant running amuck
eventually met demise
with Bush Junior delivering
permanently placating tete a tete,
no matter dispensing top notch
fighting soldiers, whose strong
lifeless bloodied bodies remain prostate.
Categories:
puttering, anger, anxiety, bullying, crush,
Form:
Political Verse
Mr. Stanley died today.
His nurse had been puttering around
in his room,
straightening his bed clothes,
taking his vital signs.
He decided to let her have one more go at it.
“Mr. Stanley,” she would say,
“Your blood pressure is a little bit high.
Think of pleasant things.”
Mr. Stanley didn't know pleasant,
or comfortable, or nice and kind.
He was a man unto himself.
Relatives had little choice but to see him –
it was the duty of family to visit those who are sick.
But in the past few days, less people visited.
He wondered why –
When he awoke in the morning
of his last day of being earthbound,
there was sunlight streaming through the windows.
Mr. Stanley didn't approve of sunlight in his room
and it dampened his spirits more.
“Come close this damn shade,” he yelled,
hoping someone would hear.
He preferred calling out over pushing a button.
Suddenly the shade
seemed to matter less.
Mr. Stanley felt a lightness,
an incredible lightness;
he took one last look
around his tiny room
and flew away.
Categories:
puttering, death, farewell, goodbye, grief,
Form:
Free verse
Two birds like mischievous teens
skipping, giggling as they cross
the pumps, dodging car scenes
through the oily and Oldsmobile dross.
Scoundrels living loud in their little world
chirping along, rippling through grime,
gabbling as they kick the can, twirling
and uttering in incoherent rhyme.
Oh the crime of poetic injustice,
those bobbing teeny hoodlums -
their imagery without substance.
No alliteration nor allusions.
But the human takes notice of the couple,
just too cute, their slim legs and beaks
skimming through the rainbow puddle
with sputtering tweets, puttering in the grease.
Categories:
puttering, bird,
Form:
Personification
Sand beneath
Worn feet
Damp coolness
Water treated
Moved waves away
Puttering the open shore
Enjoyment
For one and all
Making inroads
Life fine
Getting over tensions
Building on new dimensions
Old measures not forgot
Uncovering well tone mored
Deal with and go on home
Speaking happy mime
Categories:
puttering, inspirational, peace,
Form:
Light Verse
High heels, Glad rags and girly Nights out
Flutter eyelashes, smile and seduce him with a perfect lip puttering pout,
Excitement rushing for all my adventures that signal me ahead,
From a drink to a kiss and leading temptation as we pull one another into bed
Muscles firm, Skin pure and lost in his glistening eyes
He pulls me out of the murkiness and lifts me high up into breath taking skies
I held him tight and clung to him I knew he was mine at last
I believe if you love someone then there's no such thing as moving too fast.
Categories:
puttering, devotionme, me,
Form:
Rhyme
The house and barn have surrendered,
burrowing under the loose dirt of the sun.
Echoes run from house to barn, from barn to house,
a ritornello hurried along on the skirts of the wind.
In the ruined barn, decay finds its own language,
children still run here.
A transmission has leached from puttering feet;
it rattles the bones of embalmed mice.
A soundtrack of texture
running from barn to house - from house to barn.
Categories:
puttering, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse