Best Tussled Poems
Tussled hair, bruised knees, toothless, lop-sided grin;
Ma is so thankful her dear little imp wasn't born a twin!
She likes things running smoothly, like a finely-tuned violin,
But her little boy marches to his own drum, much to her chagrin!
To begin the day he feeds his breakfast oatmeal to the dog.
Opening a drawer, Ma lets out a screech, finding a slimy frog!
He encourages a fight between Rusty the dog and Simba the cat,
And 'round and 'round they go, in raucous heated combat!
The preacher made his periodic call and settled in his seat.
A whoopee cushion made a lewd noise, startling him to his feet!
He mumbled a hasty good-by, and headed for the door,
As the little imp, choking with laughter, rolled upon the floor!
Ma made treats for her bridge club, saying they were not his fare,
But on bridge day, lo and behold, she found the cupboard bare!
He pestered his little sister unmercifully with never any slack!
"Mommy", she screamed, "he put a slimy worm down my back!"
Tho' he drives his long-suffering mother up the wall,
She wouldn't trade him for any other little boy at all.
After his prayers at bedtime and seeing his sweet, angelic smile,
Ma plops in her chair seeking repose from another daily trial!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
WHEN I’M AN OLD LADY (many happy returns)
When I’m an old lady, I’ll live with my son,
To look after his mum is sure to be fun,
The joy it brings him, will thrill him to find,
He is able to share his home and be kind.
Of course I‘ll expect to live there rent free,
The same as he did when living with me.
I’ll raid the fridge, leave a mess of ice-cream,
Sneaking his chocolate, Cadbury’s white Dream.
I’ll go out with friends and party till morning,
Only come home when a new day is dawning.
After showering, I’ll leave clothes on the floor,
No one will see them, behind the closed door.
If sometimes I’m told to tidy my room,
Pick up my clothes and try using a broom,
I’ll hide everything, way under the bed,
After that effort, play loud music instead.
Whenever my friends come home with me,
I’ll suggest they all stay and have tea;
My son’s wife won’t mind, may give me a look,
I’ll prime them to tell her she’s a great cook.
His car I will use on Saturday and Sunday,
I’m sure he won’t mind, he can use it on Monday.
Not bothering to buy any petrol you see,
I’m always broke he has more money than me.
If I need extra dollars, I’ll borrow from my son,
Knowing he loves helping his kind loving mum.
I’ll forget to return it, may only be about twenty,
I doubt he would miss it, I know he has plenty.
I’ll hog the TV, by hiding the remote,
Then watch all my soapies, and silently gloat.
My son thinks he’s much smarter than me,
But I’ve been around a lot longer than he!
When I feel tired and fall asleep in my chair,
With mouth opened wide, and tussled grey hair,
I’m sure he’ll look at me with eyes almost weeping,
Thinking how peaceful it is when I’m sleeping.
…when I’m an old lady and live with my son.
Copyright © Vivien Wade 1989
The moon and stars, together scheme
to trespass, searching through the air
until they find my window sill -
Caressing me with fragile streams
their fingers, stroking, tussled hair
as tender as a mother will
As if to keep my dreams alive
they keep a watch against the dawn
and calm me in my restless sleep -
I'll let the gentle night contrive
a plan to help me sail upon
a cloud, where dreams are mine to keep
The moon and stars together scheme
As if to keep my dreams alive
______________________________________________________________
Cornish Sonnet:
3/30/14
Flowing locks of long auburn hair
gently caressed
tussled and strewn
by the morning air
Textured as the finest flax
With a glossy sheen
the smell of summer fruits
so fresh and clean
Gracing the elegant porcelain smooth neck and shoulders
of a beautiful brown eyed girl
with the cream of luxurious hair
and smouldering stare
Unrivalled beauty beyond compare
See the highlights dance and shine
in the radiant summer sun
Gypsy girl dances in lush wood
As wild as the winding river that runs.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013 Dec.
Peter Dome. copyright. 2013. Dec.
Have I ever told you about my friend,
a mechanic by the name of John?
Oh, the countless stories that he can tell
of the hunting trips that he’s been on.
He’s taken down many a whitetail,
but most people would be intrigued to know
about the time that Johnny tussled with
and then ate a god-damned Wendigo!
It happened about ten years ago,
up north in Maine’s ever-rolling green pines,
Johnny was up to bag himself a moose,
figured it would be one hell of a time.
But on his hunt he got turned all-around,
though he still won’t admit he was lost,
soon he had eaten all his beef jerky,
leaving him starving in cold, northern frosts.
It was then in this desperate state
that a bizarre sight came to his eyes:
A beast that stood on two feet, like a man,
though it towered, at least ten feet high.
It had clawed hands, and the greyest of skin,
on its head huger antlers spread, upturned,
its muscles were ropy, not an ounce of fat,
canine teeth sat beneath eyes that burned.
“Wendigo,”Johnny said at the sight,
calling up on all his folk wisdom,
a monster that natives once greatly feared,
a beast born out of cannibalism.
Some say they were men who ate fellow man,
and were then cursed with madness, living death,
others said they were beasts, roaming around,
every hungry for more human flesh.
Johnny could see, even from a distance,
that this monster had never been a man,
as the beast salivated, Johnny brought up
the hunting rifle, right into his hand.
He felt his stomach gurgle, still empty,
then looked at the monster in his way,
Johnny said,”Mythical creature or not,
when you’re hungry, a steak is a steak!”
He fired four shots, straight into it’s chest,
turning grey skin into a smear of red,
the monster looked shocked, more than angry,
then collapsed to the ground and lay dead...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
With tender loving care
I gently caress my lover's face
And strike her tussled auburn hair
Staring deeply into her wondrous eyes
And there I'm lost in exquisite paradise.
Two minds in tune
Two hearts entwined
Melting away wrapped
In her warm loving arms
Her loving heart beating next to mine
Lost somewhere in time.
And within those soulful eyes
there's a story I can only see
that speaks from the heart
with so much vibtant color
and purity
that tells me just how much
She loves me.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014.march.
A Grinch’s Lament/with apologies
I remember the Christmas I first met the Grinch
his whining, his snarling, his poke, and his pinch
I never knew why - but I liked him right off
his yellowish teeth - his green tussled coif
the way that he moved – a snake in full coil
awaiting the chance to strike - to despoil
whatever the Who’s might be trying to do
the way he loved making the Who’s – go BOO HOO
I laughed when he emptied all the Who’s houses
took the cheese from the little Who mouses
ate all the cookies and took the roast beast
truly the Grinch didn’t care in the least
I felt a slight twinge about Cindy Lou Who….BUT
HE WAS A GRINCH….WHAT ELSE COULD HE DO
I cheered when the sleigh reached the top of Mount Crumpit
urged him to PLEASE….GO AHEAD…..DUMP IT!! DUMP IT!!!
I couldn’t believe he succumbed to the glee
of the carols they sang – without any tree
or his heart would expand – his evil would shrink
he’d clean himself up – tone down his Grinch stink
I cringed when he rode into town on the sleigh
he was the Grinch – it shouldn’t turn out this way
So I tossed the Grinch and his book on their head
sat eating stale crackers – alone – in my bed
John G. Lawless
8/8/2015
I have charted life’s darkest paths,
And slain depression’s beasts.
I have faced the face of sorrow,
From across the table of Satan’s feasts.
I have walked the world with company,
And have faced the same roads alone.
I have slept on un-comfy beds,
Between the walls of home.
I was banished from the joy of day,
With not a single place to go.
Accompanied by my constant companion,
The strength of my own shadow.
I have tussled with my thoughts,
And have submitted to the stress.
But I’m back to regain my throne,
Of the land of happiness.
Tussled snow-haired gnome flies over the land,
A moonbeam daydream, unicorn soars high.
Pulling bread loaves from the air with his hands,
Weaving through clouds shaped like marshmallow pies.
He’s the master of all he imagines,
To his fantasy you are invited.
To be pragmatic is to be tragic.
It’s story time, kids, let's get excited!
This governing’s not as hard as it seems,
Don’t listen to the doubters; they’re just mean.
Who needs economics when you’ve got dreams?
My flock, put your hands on the TV screen!
Too bad your policies aren’t logical;
You’re a damn sight less pathological.
3/18/16
G20-Blue
At the G20 meeting, many nations steps they trod,
where the Abbot in his Budgies, tried to fight the Putin sod,
oh it came down to leaders, now to fight a war for us,
no casualties no bleeders, just the fisticuffs and stuff,
{ideal war let the leaders do it}
the new age brought a war change, it was just a man on man,
and the victor won the battle, and the boundaries changed again,
Putin with a drop-kick, caught ole Abbot by the ear,
and he would have bit it off, but the dandruff tasted *****,
cos he said it needed salt?
so they frolicked and they tussled till the Abbot got a chop,
and he sent it to the kitchen, needed onions on the top?
Putin was disgusting when he got the Christmas holt,
and the budgie smugglers cringed, did his testes bloody moult?
But Abbot whispered in his ear,
and took it up a gear,
Pissle whipped the Rusky dolt,
who had given up his holdt,
cos he said he wasn't *****,
just a Russian farm boy colt,
Abbot he did sneer at the Billy Stinker Goat,
and they sat there sucking beer,
till the lights were dim with bloat,
: return we will at daylight,
when the rooster crows his note,
to fight another day,
a winner yet, unquote?
Don Johnson
YESTERDAY WHEN I WAS DUMB - A Benign Parody
(with sincere enough apologies and more to those who made the original composition an all-time great. T. Wignesan)
Refrain :
Yesterday when I was dumb
I couldn't tell a song from any sore thumb
All the tunes I hummed with my silent tongue
Were but tinnitus on my ear-drums sweet songs I sung
All the pretty frisky girls passed me quickly by
Yet I don't know why I couldn't even cry
I couldn't remember the sounds made by warbling birds
Nor the thunderous laughter I heard bursting from the clouds
All the songs I learnt line by line by heart
Kept mocking me in the stillness of my thoughts
(Refrain)
The wintry winds I weathered in my feathered bed
Warmed by lilting melodies in my love-sick head
All the words of songs lame casualties on my tongue
I could not sleep nights heaving on one lone lung
In my dreams I tussled with girls sticking out their tongues
I lisped some sounds like grunts to appease their wrongs
But I'd as lief be made a clown sans papier-mâché crown
Than be mocked by childhood girls I rolled atop meadow down
(Refrain)
Each full day I prayed for the right word to come to mind
Nothing doing ! I always mixed and twisted words on the line
Then I always drop shut the shutters, drew the curtains tight
Shut myself up in the shower to croon some line just right
" No bloody use " the misted mirror said : " You cannot win a Grammy "
" Oh ! What use is a tongue if it cannot taste the kiss of melody ! "
I've lived so long to know there's only one way to say : " Goodbye ! "
No words on lines nor tunes, just a look, a wave of a hand and a sigh !
(Refrain)
Yesterday I was dumb but today I have my own pounding tom-tom
With signs and signals to speak the language of the drum
And the orchestra sweeps over strings and the smiling moon
And I no longer seek to put words on line to croon
Oooh ! Yesterday ! I felt the stings in the cockles of my heart
Yet today I sing blood red the sounds surging through the chart
Oooooh Oooooh…. Yesterdaaay….
© T. Wignesan - Paris, May 3, 2019
Your hair was hanging down your back and hid
your shoulders, tumbling waves and rays of sun.
I kiss your pale and gleaming shoulder bid
with gold, the purest action ever done.
You looked as far as eyes can see across
the field and river, sighed against my chest
and then I heard you laugh and saw you toss
your head for love of fingers on your breast,
your eyes, my essence, stared at mine, I fear
the separation, ending what can say
my soul in words, I treasure, hold so dear
your voice, your giggle, tussled hair that may
have freedom streaking yellow, black throughout
the strands, their promise never will I doubt.
Fine tussled forelock hides unbridled pain
from stifle-lameness acknowledged too late,
withering lesser those few that remain
watching as Stormcloud takes one final gait.
Soft drizzled rain-drops accompany booms
heard where each hoof tramples dirt into dust.
Mist escaped muzzle while ignorance looms,
glistens sheen gaskins long aching to bust.
Once thought sickle-hock due to fetlocks swelled
above coronets seen infected ill,
was quick dismissed by an owner compelled
to squeeze one dollar more from Stormcloud’s till;
Then came three races, one after the next,
which saw champion-spirit’s finest display;
Torturing sandscapes while weary croup flexed,
determined as anguished frogs made ovals pay.
He gave all he had and had no remorse,
For ended trots brought by one greedy soul –
Stormcloud indeed was a hall-of-fame horse,
erased when friendship went out at the poll.
10/2/2016
“The flower of youth,” that’s what Ma said,
the day we packed the wagon.
She tussled my hair and planted a kiss
on my cheek and tin cans to the tail gate draggin’
My bride, my Peg, she hopped on aboard
while her Ma, Nellie, stood by bawlin'.
Dad stood by the farm house door
and Ole Red stood aside him howlin'.
We left from Pennsylvania aimed for Oregon
I’m not sure we woulda gone if we’d new,
all the loss a comin’ afore the shores of Avalon,
land of milk and honey, where apple trees are strewn.
Peg-a-my-heart, fair she was, and our baby she was carrying,
we’d lose that chil’, I’d lose my Peg, before we hit Missouri .
I sold the wagon, and bought them a stone, markin' the place I’d laid them
and off I went on a cattle drive a broken man in a hurry.
A cowboys life was all I had, a horse and my whiskey
and every night afore I’d sleep I’d sing “Oh, Peg-o-my heart…I miss ye”
*this was what it was like to be a cowboy
I will pour
mySelf
into You
til breath
is done
flowing
thru your
giving
drawn
to your yielding
my waterfall
smoothing stones
in widening streams
passing through
secrets
I’ve never seen
I will dance with you
long after
these legs are gone
and sing the words
of our favorite
songs
cleave canyons
in your
sandstone
leave footprints
upon your soul
sink into
your heaving
a drunken traveler
beyond your reach
hiding in your
slipstream
awash within
your breach
small moments
of unforgettable
meaning
that traverse
this illumined room
chanting
while angels
swoon
and etch desires
upon the reflection
of the moon
upon tussled sheets
and conjured dreams
lover’s themes
timeless scenes
enfolded sleep
cradled in a
heartbeat.