Best Stuffy Poems
Law, English, business, and so on—
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A moldy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I so dread
as the semester wends;
the pressure's on me to study
as my freshmen year ends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to try a better post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS
(degrees from the home of “The Tribe,”
dross that just obsolesce).
I'll trill as “The Lithium-Laced Lyrist”—
as rhymes are my forté,
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
for poesy's my métier!
Un-nerved by formal sentencing assemblies,
Marks and Words, bound by conjunctive amenity.
The tried beliefs that short cuts speed words into action.
Made stuffy Old School feel out of fashion.
Punctuation board-slams her silver gavel;
“A shortened distance, yet far to travel.”
Marks are pushed into line to enter their plea.
Dash Dash Dash has trailing thoughts…
Comment remarks that it thinks too much.
Question Mark, curiously rotund and stout,
asks “What’s this meeting all about?”.
Proud Period, acquainted with the strident rituals of formality,
Quickly departs, leaving a daunting spot of terse finality.
Comma’s game of pause and snag,
grammatically adheres to one of tag.
Overwrought Exclamation Mark, nervously blurts:
“Unruly disorder can make matters worse!”.
Semi colon maintaining proper pauses,
Stays anchored between compelling clauses.
Colon fearful of growling barks,
snuggles closer to Quotation Marks.
Apostrophe’s like for word possession,
worries over changing word obsession
Oh, Oh! Oh? Oh…
These are shameful attempts to monopolize,
Even with trite words, of unassuming size.
.
Punctuation thinks her identity’s impaired
Might she be confused with the shrew, Grammar?
She calls to order a capitol thought.
sliding up to Exclamation Mark, shouts “’STOP!’
The object of this meeting,
Is not subject to self- beating.
No presence is here to criticize, or chastises,
nor harmonize.
If getting through is what stays true.
Will be understood by some , but always to you.”.
You think me silly and verbose
When love is on my mind…
Fickle fickle full of fluff
Love sick, crazy, blind
Deviant...defiant
Sexually overcharged
Big picture oblivious
And from your life discharged
You read my lines and smirk a while
And think, “Oh dear, Hee Hee!”
But when it comes right down to it
You wish you were like me (Women)
You'd jump in bed with me (men)
It might have a one track mind
But of that I am glad
Life has enough to bring me down
Enough to make me sad
I write of love and passion
And feelings so sublime
You don’t need to read me
Nor be a friend of mine!
But of this I am certain
Of this I’m ever proud
Passion is my heartbeat
l let it beat OUT LOUD!
If you don’t like sultry
Want nature writes and such
There’s someone else to read
So, thank you very much!
Eileen
Started on this poem some time ago, but left it unfinished. Not in the mood for something new, so I picked this one up and finished it. I don't JUST write about passion and romance and love, but....it is what I love best. I've accepted who I am and I will fight to preserve my identity. I'm tired of a world of people who are judgmental and stuffy....people who don't know how to FEEL and CELEBRATE passion. Thanks for reading.
Cold blue sky and water are frozen hard as iron
Our noses get stuffy it needs a little need lube
Lovers curled up on a bench, lined with the finest fur
Drifting emotions with romantic snow crystal kisses
With frosty mornings, crisp days and powdery snow
Ice spikes in the shape of an inverted pyramid
Nature's dazzling beauty in winter landscape
The snow cracks and crunches under your feet
Eyes of awe and wonder in recognition of how we are blessed
Reborn in childhood memories flood the nostalgic senses
Between fall and spring cling to each moment you get
Let your heart guide you, through a fun path through life
Universe that bends above us hides something much bigger
Every season feels like beautiful Shakespeare's sonnets
Set an intention, listen and enjoy the blues of the cold winter
27/09/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Pick-A-Title, Vol 23 - Seasonal Acrostic
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
1st place in the contest
Oh you know the type—
the orchid woman
a cosmopolitan who cosmo sips
between snips of gist
her charisma a starship —collides
with your star-full eyes
supernova for Casanova
her pouty lips knit a glamour-mag smile
rows of sugar-white pearls
strung shiny straight
behind wet-red slicks of a Revlon stick
—cherry-juice bait dilates your want to taste
orchid woman’s glamorized mouth
for the masses to idolize
for many to fantasize
for her to tantalize
and advertise
there’s no need to compromise
with you
or your penny-candy conversation—
when beauty is legal tender
why invest in a waste of words?
ooh, orchid woman is w-i-l-d
an exotic sun-tanned narcotic
erotic her despotic bloom
quixotic your contemplation;
your entangled-limbs-expectation
that this frilly filly blooms just for you
and oh! just look how the honey makers buzz
watch the money-makers spend their sums—
worker bees blinded by her blonde neon
fall in her wake…
or maybe ‘diamond pro’s’ bling
stings and wrings their eyes
…who cares who falls..
when mere red rose adorations
and sticky sap Hallmark incantations
bear not the fruits of 24-karat donations—
Mmm! Mmm!
her traipse does shake like mango jelly sweet
orchid woman’s long-stemmed catwalk walk
full-rounded bouncy-buoyant racy-lacy-ecstasy
yup.. a thoroughbred— she’ll have you ridin’ high
to your credit and blame
you won’t feel her stiletto tips
when she diva-gold-digs ya
as nothing more than a runway-ramp
all slinky-strut-hips
and stay-the-night-vamp
till fly girl wields her strappy high-heels
in a rhythmical click-clack
all over the next middle-age stage
indeed! orchid woman
a hot-house hottie
fussy stuffy lil hussy—
...too much water?
….not enough water?!
oh no! she’s wilted—
sniffle.. snivel.. “where did I go wrong?!!”
mm-hmm.. high maintenance is s-u-c-h a turn on…
yeah… orchid woman is w-i-l-d (eye roll..)
*
It happened in a moment, during my 7th grade English class *
As we studied classic literature; “Evangeline”, the poem
A substitute teacher, wearing shoes of polished coal *
His soft style, hair neatly combed, engrossed in reading poetry…
Pubescence slumped around me, nodding off, slowly being lulled...
Young minds. filled with clutter, gathering dust, from ancient stories
With glittering eyes, he read each verse * *
The soft, eager voice, that stroked each word…
He would wait, on occasion, to look around the room *
With wistful hope, I would suppose, to reach one heart, one soul
At the start of the class, I had been watching the clock
But, as I sat more enraptured, time just seemed to stop…
I turned the pages, one by one …and slowly fell in love
The beauty of old words, drifted through the stuffy air
Like the gathering of dust motes, glittered, hanging in suspension
Filtered in the angled light, of the afternoon’s warm detention
Sun filtered through window glass,…while voice of bliss droned on….
My heartbeat sped, with growing passion
I restrained my hands from reaching,… grabbing *
To catch each word, and keep them captive…
Dust motes, and words, were spinning around *
I was head over heels…for my substitute teacher…
I was head over heels for an old man named Longfellow….
Thirteen years old, I loved two older men….
Fell in love with the classics,....on a mid-day afternoon
While gathering dust, and the magic of words
……………………………………….
For the Contest: "Gathering Dust"
Sponsored by John Lawless
Glorifying thrills of curious weeds
Wandering children with careless deeds
Broken leaves embracing the sun
Goblin heads for the better sure
On boundless grounds, allure
Vapours from the void so numb.
Release from heaven,the Godly tears
Silently succumb to the human fears
Thirsty flock of birds galore
Accosted branches reach out for help
The heartless Mother had never felt
The thrust of Wintry furor.
Rails of stillness,thunder past
Childlike happiness racing fast
Against the skyline,blue
The blazing lime,ever so greedy
Lazy cows and cranes dreamy
Raindrops and melancholy flew
Misty mornings of cobweb twists
Freezing feelings of stuffy fists
Prancing on a rainbow, over hot coffee
Golden veils spun from the fire
Over distant highness of desire
A magic, a mystery, it seems to be..
The times of love and the times just
Dozen reveries of scrumptious lust
Abduct the heart to the same
Humble nature with happy dreams
When nightmare comes, it screams
Even the mountains vehemently maim
The labyrinth of a decedent mind
Indulge in masquerade like a rind,
From the sublime beauty of a picturesque felony
In rivers, flows the ardent smiles
Between mountains, are hidden rhymes
Of craved love, left behind,peace and harmony.
Entry Landscape and Towns ...Thank you
A CLASSIC SUMMER IN GREECE
Viciousness and mystery erupt on arid soil.
Summer heat and idle time can make the spirits boil.
Languishing in stuffy rooms with very little sleep--
Night time flickers of the light-- imagination leaps.
Heat that beckons times long past invade a fevered head—
Athena pleases lovers mid her goddess silken bed,
Grecian legs march bravely –- prelude Olympian races--
Soldiers dream they sail away to see exotic places.
Heat waves shimmer landscape –men will do what they are told--
Spearborn soldiers helmeted sing down a dusty road.
Tho in mind they join their lovers whispering by the sea,
Drink of mountain waters --rest their head on sweetheart’s knee
Helen, when she sailed away –a wayward selfish wife
Without a backward glance she risked the cost of human life--
Was it the heat that made her crazed to do this foolish thing?
A fit of summer boredom could create this witless fling.
Autumn winds are blowing now-- Troy’s nights turn cool and fair--
Does Paris try to ditch her --as naked Helen combs her hair--
Does Hector tell his brother--get this woman out of here--
Does Helen beg to stay-- and tell her lover not to fear?
Heat can play the brain and make it dance a backward tune--
Clarity as sun tricks down—repeats a former June,
Perhaps there is a lesson learned from heat that sears the soul--
Summertime romance will write us each a tragic role.
Victoria Anderson Throop ©
1/11/13
A true story.
Here I was,
23 or 24...
Classed an "Executive"
NYC Dept Store Chain,
"Executive" label meant
I could work overtime
For one half of my normal salary...
But a fool sees stars
Where he should see crime
Promoted "Furniture Buyer"....
Big Ticket spot....
They seemed out to prove
Smart I was not.
Big Furniture Market,
High Point, N.C.,
Invited out to dinner,
By big shot vendor....
Oh...whoop, whoop, yea!
Of course, my stuffy boss
was there,
In the next chair
At this odd restaurant...
"The Factory" it's name,
After that night,
I was never looked at the same....
Big shot, Big City....
Big Fool....
It wasn't pretty....
The menu did start
Entrees priced more
Than my annual salary
And I'm confused
There's a boiler next to me!
So this Big City Buyer,
In his $99.00 suit
Ordered a shrimp cocktail,
Oh, what a hoot!
Lights flashing....
Like Studio 54
I had no idea
What I was in for!
Got my shrimp cocktail,
Oh, I do love my shrimp!
But the lemon wedge,
Was wrapped up
My mind now a' crimp
In this decorative yellow stuff,
All fit with a bow....
How do I open it, I wondered...
I wanted to know...
But I'm a Big Shot NYC Buyer,
Sure, I've seen it all....
How dare these dumb hicks...
Have such a gall!!
I took my fork,
I took my knike....
I started trying to open
This thing like....
It meant my very life!
I was struggling,
And sweating,
And frustrated and mad
Got some of the weirdest looks
I ever have had...
These Carolina Hicks...
Out to make a fool of me...
Slowly I realized
Everyone looking at me...
My boss's eyes swollen
In shame
How dumb his young buyer
Should be in a cornfield
And call himself "Town Crier"
Eventually I learned....
This stuff was called
"Cheese-cloth"
Ridiculous I thought...
No cheddar or swiss
Like this had I ever bought...
In silence I remained
Through the rest of my meal....
To me the biggest embarrassment
To me the biggest deal....
Big City Hot Shot Buyer...
Dumb as a farm hand.....
Put in a Manhattan restaurant...
Without but a strand....
Of what was, what wasn't
Of how, and of why...
All I wanted to do
Is to crawl under a rock
And die!
(This is true!!!)
My little girl, she could not sleep
so toss and turn, she pulled the sheets
and, ba ba black sheep safe in tow
to our dark room she chose to go
A creak of the door and then there she was
she wanted to sleep with us because
she heard a noise, she was too hot,
she tried to sleep but she could not
I hauled her up to our bed at three
before too long she was fast asleep
but I, on the other hand, was wide awake
for, someone did my pillow take
and someone elbowed me all night
and had the blanket pulled too tight
Someone’s hand flopped on my head
(I wished we had a king size bed)
By six I finally gave in and rose
eyes swollen tired and stuffy nose
hair looking like I had lost the war
all out of coffee so I went to the store
and when I got back, when asked how she slept
my little girl sighed, and said “good, except...
I thought I would sleep all snugly and tight
but MOMMA bug kept me UP ALL NIGHT!!!!”
A stuffy nose leads to runny nose, frozen toes and thick as jelly mucus
sitting in your chest not allowing you to rest, mucus really sucks because there is nothing you can do but suck on lozenges and say aw nuts -
sitting on the couch all afternoon
watching cartoons run across your living room
listening to geese fly by
thinking is it time to lie down and rest
just take a breath and maybe two.
My lungs feel like they have ingested glue
they huff and puff to no avail
so off to the kitchen I go to warm a big huge heaping bowl of...
touch of magic, toad tongues stew, a pinch of nutmeg, thyme for two - what are some homemade remedies that work for you?
We had fun when we were young,
When seemed life had just begun.
We danced nights at the beach,
So filled with dreams to reach!
Reckless once, against the wind,
Hair untamed, wild, unpinned;
We were rebels. We were free,
We weren't stuffy bourgeoisie!
Took a ride down Lover's Lane;
Scattered petals in the rain.
We were cool. We drove fast.
Though the dawn could not last.
We had friends in every place;
Knew our love's first embrace.
Red sunsets over meadow green,
On country roads we careened!
We built castles in the sand,
Had our causes, took our stand;
We were hip. Had our clique.
Our step lively, pace so quick.
We were daring. We were brave.
Never we strict. Never grave.
We were passion. We were fire!
We could run and never tire.
Tempo fast when we were youths,
And searching out our own truths;
But we never looked into the sun-
Excess caution's worse than none!
Walking down the street
Laughing with my friend
The sky is clouded over
Threatening to rain
The wind howling in my ears
Ruffling my loose brown hair
The humid stuffy air
Seeming to close in on me
Waving good bye to my friend
As we reach her house
Trying to keep my shirt from
Sticking to me in the humidity
Looking up to the clouds
And imagining your face
Feeling the first rain drop hit me
Mixing with the salty tears
Opening my wet eyes to the sky
Looking down the street
And then you
Standing before me
With a tear stained face
And the same lost look
Feeling your fingers slide between mine
Being finally found
Walking down the street
As she entered the dingy little house,
Sarah regarded Ethel and Charles.
They were where they always were,
each sat, slumped, torpid
in their own well-worn armchair,
staring vacantly at the telly.
Neither acknowledges her arrival,
and she did not announce it,
the pleasantries were redundant,
all three knew their roles.
Everything was, as always.
The closed curtains were worn, thin,
allowing a pattern of light
to pool on the brown carpet.
The room was hot, stuffy,
and had its own odious whiff;
a mixture of stale urine
sweat, and decay.
She gagged as she entered,
because of the stench,
and because
of the anticipation of what came next.
Changing their diapers,
bathing them
while ignoring
the obvious pleasure
it gave Charles.
Sarah had been 'bathing' Charles
since she was eleven,
Ethel knew, of course,
but pretended she didn't.
Later;
she would prepare their dinner.
Sarah had stopped eating with them.
She told herself
she was too tired to eat
that dealing with her parents' mess
made her sick.
The truth was
Sarah increasingly found it soothing
not to eat,
it gave her almost as much comfort
as the marks she made
with the knife
that she kept with her,
always.
On thy breast I suck
On thy belly I walk
On thy hand I cluck
On thy nose I cock
On thy orders I talk
With your knuckles I knock
With your brain I fork
With your tears I shock
With your mouth I pork
In your warmth I rock
In your agony I sock
In your sweat I work
In your strength I pluck
Mama Africa I know you sleep not
Your sleeplessness has watered the African root
You have suffered for all that is black in colour
You have laboured for the Negritude race
You have toiled for the Black *******
You remain our source of inspiration
You remain our point of innovation
You remain our fountain of knowledge
Your innate unique creativity remains our pride
Even if today is stormy and stuffy
Yesterday bouncy and bumpy
Tomorrow will be juicy and yummy
Mama Africa,
Sprinkle on us ceaselessly the water of life.