Once I was starling voice at dawn,
A flock of chimed echoes on my tongue,
Wheezing whistles on choralled lawn,
Each verse a mimic so sweetly sung.
Now I’m a lyrebird lost in the brush,
Framing my solos in shadowed boughs,
With heart unfolding in trembling rush,
A lonesome lilting with hidden vows.
With cheeslets and flummox in my beak,
I sift the flock’s bright feathers from my core,
Icarus maps afresh a path unique,
A broken wing that yearns to soar.
There’s no rewind on a mimic’s mind,
No true home in borrowed refrains,
Yet in these feathers a quiet find,
A voice that’s raised beyond the chains.
.
Categories:
flummox, dream, flying, freedom, voice,
Form: Free verse
The heart can carry pain like a talisman.
Warding off further pain.
Encased in hebetude.
Wallowed in a plethora of flummox.
Like a butterfly in chrysalis.
A radiant sapphire evanescent.
Rhapsodic felicity turned idyllic melancholy.
But the butterfly quiescent must not,
Forever remain in this state.
For aeonian probity is promised,
If the heart rises beyond pains mediocrity.
And tend to its irenic power with its maker.
A dulcet melody in silent reverie.
----Ask S.O. where some of these words came from----
Categories:
flummox, peace,
Form: Free verse
The world doesn’t tend to give you what you want
Give me a locked box, the indescribable taunt
What if she was feeling generous?
In a moment of empathy, some severance
My fingers delve deep and rummage
I’d pay your entry fee, some sort of tonnage
Reaching past the gold, the silver
Some objects the victims to pilfer
I can feel it beating at the bottom, submerged by guilt
Picking up the shattered pieces, always knew you needed rebuilt
I'll spend all night putting you back together
Please let me talk to you, I can feel our tether
Your heart was broken in the bottom of my box
Why you left it with me is a total flummox
I chose to return your heart back to you, as you repaired mine
Maybe this time my act of kindness will cause us to intertwine
The world doesn’t tend to give you what you want
But if you give me a chance, maybe I can
Categories:
flummox, 12th grade, anxiety, farewell,
Form: Rhyme
We've been thinking how Crayolas come in a box
Because we hear they've been compared to a lummox
That's a funny thought, a mystery, and a flummox,
But we know red is the most used because it rocks!
Could be its gender-related that girls choose blue
Boys opt for black. Do they have a somber view?
Jenna always says, "Put it back when you're through."
Milt presses too hard leaving them broken in two.
Pink is not Milt's color. It's not his preferred hue.
He prefers earthy tones, like brown and bamboo
While Jenna seems to favor a deep shade of green,
Like dew on mountain grasses, with a glossy sheen.
We use orange for the sun. It's always plausible,
but avoid using the purple, whenever possible.
Milt doesn't have clothes in that shade of color,
For a boxful of thirty-six, we'd trade for our cruller!
Asking why boxes don't have the color bronze?
Milt was told, “You're dumb as a box of crayons!”
He looked at that guy like he didn't have a clue...
Laughing, Jenna said, "He has a crayon’s IQ."
A Collaboration with Milt Hankins
It was fun writing with you.
Categories:
flummox, fun, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
We've been thinking how Crayolas come in a box
Because we hear they've been compared to a lummox
That's a funny thought, a mystery, and a flummox,
But we know red is the most used because it rocks!
Could be its gender-related that girls choose blue
Boys opt for black. Do they have a somber view?
Jenna always says, "Put it back when you're through."
Milt presses too hard leaving them broken in two.
Pink is not Milt's color. It's not his preferred hue.
He prefers earthy tones, like brown and bamboo
While Jenna seems to favor a deep shade of green,
Like dew on mountain grasses, with a glossy sheen.
We use orange for the sun. It's always plausible,
but avoid using the purple, whenever possible.
Milt doesn't have clothes in that shade of color,
For a boxful of thirty-six, we'd trade for our cruller!
Asking why boxes don't have the color bronze?
Milt was told, “You're dumb as a box of crayons!”
He looked at that guy like he didn't have a clue...
Laughing, Jenna said, "He has a crayon’s IQ."
[a collaboration with Jenna Logan]
Written August 19, 2022
Categories:
flummox, color, fun,
Form: Quatrain
Depress gasp peddle
make jest mettle, mannequin IQs
easy to steering will move
Simple-minded plan acceleration,
night shift flux be
turbo stupidity
Oxy dark vacillation
speedily end in
moronic wind tunnel termination
Pulse crash dummies
swerve change rational lanes
dash bored recklessly
Cranial balloon buffoons
always gon fail
those lobby pop quiz pitch tease
Stooge sputtering cartoons
fatally skid sail —
Icy ad vice was a lemon squeeze
Vacuous palpitations
ventricle bend:
Idiotic windy flummox sensation
Pulse crash dummies
defective air bag manic brag
of vent kill mentality
Empty parking lot feelings
are plastic bosom empathetic tested
Accidental findings be fume ingested,
poser belt fear unfastening
Sift through the scattered remains
of collateral crash dummies
Tik-tok stamp the carnage strange,
ventriloqi emotional debris
Categories:
flummox, allusion, imagery, perspective, word
Form: Burlesque
Ascending number of waves flow
Ultimate beads of ripples grow
Tensionless journey through the wind
Onto dry sand it smiles and grins
Politely moisting nearby rocks
Intricate rainbows form on docks
Laudable detail with each splash
Ornate sea treasures in a cache
These depths of matter can flummox.
Categories:
flummox, appreciation, art, beach, beauty,
Form: Acrostic
Springtime put a spring in my step
Bluebird brought bright bars of music next
I saw her sip at the faithful fountain; sing soulfully
As I prayed: wishing the world was well, more certain
About the value of various voices: bird, boy, girl, gadfly ...
I threw something out the window, absent-mindedly
What happened next is sad, sadder still, all birds are hurting ...
For you see, what I threw out so absent-mindedly
Was a careless word: "Shush, shush, you sing the same old song!"
Bluebird looked and looked, a long minute without a note -
And as silently as she had surrendered her songs at my abode
She flew off in a fluttery flummox. She has not been seen
Near me. I have been so sorry since, prayed in between -
But my vicinity may welcome the Trinity, but not birds this season
A word - my careless words - have wounded wren and robin
Bluejay and finch, Baltimore Oriole and Barn Owl ...
They stay away ... And the Mockingbird sent word with Guinea Fowl
That I am a moody man, melodramatic, even erratic
(Birds have forgiven; they have fathomed I'm a fettered hummingbird).
Categories:
flummox, absence, best friend, bible,
Form: Alliteration
OLD MANOR
THE NEW ONE
LOOKS LIKE OLD MANOR.
IT IS ANECDOTAL OF THE FEELING
TO ENTER THE MANOR.
WHICH HAS GIVEN MASOCHISH
OF LIFE-O.
IT HAS BEEN THE CURSE OF
MY LIFE.
WHICH HAVE MATTERED
A LOT TO EVERY LIFE-O.
AND NOTHING ELSE MATTER
EXCEPT THE THING LIKE
OLD MANOR.
THE THINGS HAS TO BE DIVINE.
BUT IT HAS CRUCIFIXED MY LIFE
FOR YEARS.
THE OLD MANOR HAVE RUINED
SERVENT OF THEIR OWN.
FLUMMOX ON EVERY SINGLE
THING THEY KNOW.
PEOPLE HAVE RULES OF THEIR
OWN.
WHICH ARE NO GOOD TO THE
WORLD.
THE OLD MANOR
HAVE GIVEN
NOTHING TO THE WORLD.
BUT I'LL DEFINITELY GIVE
SOME THOUGHT TO THE
MANOR.
AND I WISH TO MAKE
IT A PLACE OF
LEARNING FOREVER SO.
Categories:
flummox, sadold, old,
Form: I do not know?
Yet in the plane, a bitter taste in my mouth, my heart beat risen,
everything getting even worse -- the feeling of escaping.
Escape to know a whole new world,
from leaving my dusty country boots,
changing my culture, language, sceneries, people
but mostly, taking off the mask of a girl and changing it for a woman's.
A woman without parents, friends, siblings,
A woman alone in the big apple.
I left my little South American city, Valdivia,
arrived to the world's cosmopolitan capital.
I changed my rural roads, covered in dust
for streets with thousands of modern vehicles.
The wooden houses were now impressive buildings,
and the echo of a flummox 2009
got sometimes confused with millions of voices, accents,
faces, skin colors, souls.
It was a year spent in the most popular city
where countries around the world meet as brothers
where avenues separate china from Italy
and where a huge park looked like home.
For a whole year green trees were changed for green signs,
People -- walking souls -- always in a rush
It was New York the city where my memories were left
and it is Valdivia were I bring them back.
Categories:
flummox, travelwoman, green,
Form: Lyric