Fluffing Poems | Examples

The Virgin Dead

The seeds of war are planted 
in the soil of greed
within the garden of an unholy trinity.
Children of the poor sent off to war
to weave the satin feathers
of a murder of political crows.
The war machine is a stomping beast
spitting out bones 
vomiting over the centuries.

The children of the poor
taking their last ride
to the heart of Uncle Sams 
green-eyed pyre.
They'll will never have wives
nor children riding bikes
bells to carry their name
onto an endless summer breeze.
The parents suffering from chronic mind bleed...
War will never end
black rock and lock heed martin
need a war to test the devils' wares
turn a pretty profit.
Politicians fluffing portfolios  
blood dripping from satin pockets.
Children of the privileged
will never see battlefields of 
broken spirits and open chests. 
Parents of the virgin dead
forever patching broken nests.

Fantasy rides status quo

In silent drumbeats of depression
throbs a fractal life of no "visualization".
dandelions fluffing in howling winds
fight with Halloween "hallucinations".
behind the dusk of a sealed doorway lies
a vast empty space of no sun-showers...

I need a spaceship
to take me to a place I have never been
many lightyears away to another planet.
Where timeline untangles and "dream" floats
treading "whimsy" paths by moonlight. 
Where crystalline castles of "imagination" 
build chimeras over craterous depths. 
Where a wandering soul can escape   
into "reverie" flights of a wishful heart.
Where in pure beauty of the still night
dazzles a chest of rubies in onyx eyes.

Coding messages in long forgotten songs
through rows of roses, Will I get my Mozart?
In foams of a sea, only sorrow and suffering, 
Will my status quo change to a happy ending?

can you please get me out of here

mermaid wrested her breasts on the edge of the dish
Her powerful tail gave one tremendous swish
Be open to new people, her inner voice said.
Who are you? Mermaid asked, fluffing her hair of red.
Little girl carrying calico kitten stiffly walked by.
Can you please get me out of here? Mermaid asked, her head held high.
The little girl snickered and the cat gave a sniff.
They rolled their eyes as if to say “as if”….

Man I Am exhausted

So much effort
goes into feeling well...Man,
I’m exhausted! There’s nausea
from supplements, the squeak
and throb, Just One More Rep!~ exercising…
Man, I’m exhausted! 
                       As much effort
going into relaxation – rush to get
things done (always a backup of
things); shuffle schedules, get sitters
for the animals – Man, I’m exhausted!

Even love, the chores, the cards,
the gifts, the emotional lifts...honey-does 
seeming to have endless reserves, 
never running short on pantries of
exhaustion. 
             Someday, probably, I’ll
wake-up, unpleasantly surprised
and find myself either stoking furnaces, 
fluffing angel wings while polishing
the backside of clouds – Man, give me
a break!

Ouch!~ finally something I asked for….

Words

                     Words 
            pompous, overblown 
  complicating, decorating, fluffing 
 Read, Research, Culture, Modification
      clarifying, stripping, owning 
               direct, succinct
                    Message

Bells

I came to the cemetery on Christmas
        in my night dream
    it is snowing big fluffing snowflakes
everything is white foggy and enchanting
    then, I hear the jingle of bells and quiet voices
drifting in the wind     it is creepy   eerie
   the bells mysterious     the cemetery is dark death
the statues blank eyes watch me
                     the dark headstones misty  disturbing
snow is falling
                   blowing
                      swirling
                          twirling
                            dancing
I can feel the mood deep in my bones
           it is haunting, echoing, enthralling
the bells tinkle  chime  clang    on and on
                    in my nightmare
they are both frightening          and beautifully dark
           I wake to snow falling and church bells ringing

They Hover Blessed

A child left to discover the cold—
From each adult's trapping grip; where they
Sell bruises for masks, they shiver on
Their own— (old weeds from inside, they rake)
Round raw heads and hearts, halos made;
At the conviction mishandled,
At the bleeding stunned and broken,
Fluffing out to clear bleak clouds, new wings—
Their own seeing the children anon
At last— like angels on heaven's knees.





~Listen to Martina Mcbride's song, 
"Concrete Angel"
—that was my 
inspiration for this poem.~

Not As Picky As I Thought She Was

If I was hungry I would devour that creepy thing I think.
It is something tasty that crawled out of my sink
You don’t even know what it is my friend says.
She is persnickety and picky, my pal Inez.

Look at its legs, I reply. They look tickly tasty.
Not so fast! Says the crawler. Let’s not be hasty!
Inez says “I never eat food that speaks to me.”
“I will make an exception,” I say, “That thing is free.”

Inez is not as choosy as I thought that she was.
I begin bathing the sink creature, fluffing his fuzz.
"Wait!" the crawly thing says. “That brush is too short for me!”
The second I stop, he scuttles down the drain to flee.

The Laundry Room

She measures his time
With the soft sounds of the machines,
The whirr, 
The small thumps,
The humming.
Her husband
Sleeps in their darkened room
Just down the hall
Room 217
From my mother’s,
Room 221.

Before-
Her five-bedroom
And all the kids
The big laundry room
Where she spent
Hours with the scents
And touches
Fluffing, folding
Carefully into piles-

Like she does now
But with one small load
Over and over
Watching and guarding
Carefully keeping his moments
Going one at a time
With the turning
And tumbling 
While he sleeps.

Harvest

Harvest

Scaturient

Hanging, fluffing, waiting

Provide, provision, work, fatigue

Fruitage   

I know you will not be able to see the picture that I am writing about which is not to my advantage. 

scaturient -adjective-overflowing, abundant

Make Rape Great Again

Why stop at Roe
When you can stop No
Best seen and not heard
When you’re fluffing your herd




(I hope that’s not too killer)
For the Killing With an Epigram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Margarita Lillico

Me

I am a willow tree with branches that bend over backwards.
Love a soft breeze fluffing my leaves, and even a hard wind.
Can be a tornado when you double cross me; I get even.

I love my hobbies. Poetry, cartooning, painting, drawing, writing.
My meals are simple, I care not what clothes I wear.
I am not persnickety about anything, but I love the word persnickety.

My friends adore me, and I adore them.
I have a terrific life, I am joyful.
Unless I am sad. No one is as sad as I can be.

The Night At the Party

I was playing 'hide and seek' with the youngsters,
For they needed much to do...
There was Jasmine, Amerish, Harry, Noah
And couple of others too.

Amerish couldn't find Jasmine.
She said, "She was hiding behind that door!"
So I opened the entrance to the ladies loos
And let out a mighty "ROAR!"

As you may have guessed,
Jasmine wasn't there!
But a lady was fixing her makeup
And fluffing out her hair!

I was all apologetic,
Tried to explain myself, but then 
She politely stated,
"I need to go again!"

I returned to the main hall
And Jasmine was always there!
Right at the end of the table,
Behind the tallest chair...

The next time I see that lady,
Our conversation may well begin,
"Do you remember the night at the party
When you jumped out your skin?"


Written in 2018 - YOUR PERSONAL FAVOURITE CONTEST

Five Birds

                  five blue birds
           are on my porch railing
      two are fluffing up their pretty feathers
          the third seems to be sleeping
  the fourth bird has wings spread to fly away
  and the fifth is looking at something with interest 
     all the five are the same blue bird
                  yet each is different
                                 and unique

____________________
April 12, 2021

Poetry/Verse/Five Birds
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1346-650-12
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France

Written for the Standard contest, All Yours (Apr 14)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 04/13/2012

First Place

Joy Born In Own Bosom

Pay back every blush ye borrowed,
What use fluffing a field furrowed?
Paint life with paints your own, 
Proud, on your own renown,
Let not the joy in life corrode.
If joy follows past pain,
An added buoy doth gain,
And all the more feels if mellowed.
______________________________
Reflections |08.01.2021|
Topic: life, joy
Poet’s note: If only one learns to live his own unique life. For, everyone is made unique. The problem comes when one looks over the shoulder and finds the grass greener there.

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