Fretted Poems | Examples

One Has Options

Lori Steindorf Copyright May 19, 2021

Shaking my Magic 8 ball
Yielding the same answer
No, no way, not today, not likely

I know it's not working
With the situation I'm in
I've been here before
Why am I sweating it
When Ive given it all I have
And still not getting anywhere

I don't need a talisman
Or any sign to point me to where I need to be
This is a little upheaval
I'm a nomadic spirit. Not roots attached to a tree

Times have changed; it's no longer the same
Nothing left to anchor me here.
Time to move on; right now won't even register in years to come

What would age me, drain me and wear me out
Is to walk on eggshells in a life fraught with drudgery
Every day, living a lie, mired in self-doubt.

I always have options
No use in staying where I don't want to be
Life is long when you're miserable
I choose to be happy and carefree

Time to unearth what I've buried for years
I must do this for myself
Conquering my sense of inadequacy and fears

I've fretted over this before
And I'll power on through again
It's up to me to rely on me
It pays to be my own best friend

Motherland carnival

The sky was draped in night’s black cloak,
With a sprinkle of white specks in bloom.
The yellow moon slipped into a gibbous cocoon,
As sunshine fretted in crescent-shaped kites.

But the streets today were painted in bright colours—
They cloaked the rainbow in a toga of envy.
Many danced and sang in melodious harmony,
Dressed like masquerades with neither masks nor veils.

The clouds were clear and gleamed with a faint glow,
Since the last drop of rain they’d stored was in October.
It was the music, played on hand-held instruments,
That shook off harmattan’s dryness from trees and grasses.

"This carnival is like no other,"
A lady in red and white whispered to her husband.
They, like many others, had traveled from far and wide,
To sway their hips and jiggle their feet to Motherland Africa.

The hordes of strange faces mingled with local ones—
Each year, new loves are sparked, and babies are born.
Many a mulatto grows with one half of their roots in photos,
Yet every year brings memories sweet and strong.

Tortured Memories

Memories are fickle things
They seem to love to torture
When you desperately just want to forget
Seems memory's fruitage is an orchard

They can seemingly come from anywhere
But they don't need to be regretted
They should still be remembered fondly
Not bemoaned, erased, or fretted

Because if memories were cheating
No one could be loyal
Just because something comes to mind
Doesn't mean your love is foiled

You can smell a smell or see a sight
Even hear a familiar tune
But none of thats a problem
Because he will still love you

So don't hate yourself for your memories
Your love's no passing fad
You can still be loyal to each other
And be grateful for what we had

Effusion to Elvani

Time and tide flit so fast, 
Forgetting how mellow memo faded. 
So long pain and pining last,   
Getting missing mood brocaded.
Strings in both hearts, rent by retrospective rift,
Amid murky mopes, melody of yore adrift.
Ring on single finger, fretted by foreshadowing frost,
Unto wild wind, faith for future tossed. 
Elvani, if your charm did forsake my flattened rhyme, 
Let my word salad flounder to fetch the past of your prime.
Elvani, if my flavor did flee your muffled fife, 
Let your unvented sighs fill and figure the rest of my life.

a happy day

A glad day

the morning started badly at breakfast when she reminded me, I had a doctor’s appointment at four in the afternoon
Breakfast was ruined, at lunch, I ate a little fretted about the storm and the rain I can’t possibly go out, drive in this weather, or risk getting a cold; we took a taxi.
 The waiting time at the hospital took half an hour, when my name was called, I froze in terror, the way my dog used to when she needed a bath
I needn’t have worried, good news all the way The doctor also said I looked like a Viking, this pleased me so much, full of myself, I got up and demonstrated the exercises I do in the morning. I got my longed-for applause

September Falls

Shedding of leaves
Every flower fading
Petals drooping
Temperatures declining
Early morning mists
Moments of weak sunlight
Birds chirping uneasily
Each day with winter on its way
Red,yellow and brown leaves

Fruits in need of gathering
Acres shorn of their golden wheat
Limpid waters fretted with thin ice
Lots of leaves in heaps
Summer now but a memory.

Storms

The shrewd gulls fretted and flew,
veered inland to avoid the storm.
Some strutted over spiky rocks,
others flew low over the sea,
occasionally swooping into the cold
rough sea below, foraging
for tasty salty fish.
But when the storm was over,
they just flew up and ventured
to blustery pastures new.

Guillotine

I heard screams from those marked for a guillotine death
No compromises for their cries before taking a last breath
Words of repentance for dastardly crimes were bemoaned
Begging for mercy with fear and tears, curses were groaned

My blade is always kept whetted for those who regretted
and my cutthroat job is thought to be brutally inhumane
"Oh, please!" I wanted to shout at the louts who fretted,
"For only the briefest moment will I cause you any pain!"

In modern days I would be aptly labeled a "French Press."
Humorous, the thought, but I'd still create a bloody mess
Hence, never should I ever be used inside of an abattoir
Before I take a life, I always remember to say, "Au revoir."

I abhor the taste of blood in my mouth and on my teeth
Love to be cleaned before my blades are again in sheath
When my deadly decapitation chore is over and complete
heads I felled roll to lie supine at the executioner's feet

People then clear the scene, to flee from me, the guillotine
As if what they'd witnessed me do would wash them clean
Maybe it was the act of my beheading they were dreading
Hoping tomorrow it wouldn't be theirs that I'd be shredding

Skipping Stones

Skipping Stones

I went to an interview with a nervous heart,
My mind racing agile, my thoughts all apart,
I paced and I fretted, I worried and stewed,
But then I saw a skipping stone and my mood improved.

I picked it up and held it tight,
Feeling its smoothness, its weight just right,
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes,
And imagined the stone skipping across the skies.

I pictured it gliding across the water,
Each skip is a reminder to focus harder,
To let blare of worries, to release stress,
And just be present at this moment, no less.

With each skip of the stone, my mind grew clear,
My nerves settled down, my confidence appeared,
I walked into that interview with a calm and steady pace,
And I knew that I had found my auspicious place.

So now whenever I feel anxious or stressed,
I remember that stone and how it brought me rest,
I abide a deep breath and let my worries fly
As a stone sliding grasp, find truth in any way.

As the Crevice Crept

The one who proclaimed his love for her
For some time had been drifting away.
But she often longed for what they were,
Sometimes unable to keep the tears at bay.

There were days she'd felt the urge to run,
To let her feet carry her as far as they could,
To be with all of it just completely done
But she knew within that she never would. 

And nights she'd laid awake in the dark,
Watching over him as beside her he slept.
On her heart his distance had left a mark,
The months passed as the crevice crept.

There lay no true blame to the wall
Which they'd each added stones to build
When with cancer the end began to call
And her body was slowly being killed.

Of being a burden she often fretted
And often fought to hide her sorrows.
To not say something later regretted
For her unknown number of tomorrows.

She'd craved a lover with the breath
That would spark the fire in her soul.
Now her mind wandered into the depth
Of the loneliness that was taking its toll.

I'M Sorry

The earthly pain you endured
Grew twofold every day
My pleas to God for mercy
Were seemingly unheard

When you fretted over nothing
I knew it wasn’t you
My inner voice kept telling me
“There’s nothing you can do”

Beseeching me with haunting eyes
Open yet not seeing
Where did you go those many times
When your perception was fleeting

Oh, if I could have brushed your brow
Restored your mind alert
Cut your body’s stinging chains 
Releasing you from hurt

I let you down and bear the shame
Fear turned my head away 
When I should have done much more
I leave myself to blame 

Your memory is stained 
By the cowardice I showed 
You needed me to help you 
But my selfish heart was pained

Pray  hear me now dear Mother 
If you’re looking over me 
I never meant to snub you
It just broke my heart to see

Your slowly fading essence 
Struggling through the pain
The journey taken unto God
And leave this mortal plane

Walk Through the Meadow

I walked through the meadow this afternoon
To enjoy this spring’s bloodroot growing wild
Short-lived blooms soon disappearing among
The taller stalks of milkweed and columbine.
I masked today because the pollen count is high
[My spring bout with allergies is almost over]
So, I dare not tempt Mother Nature’s malady.
I see the red-winged blackbirds have returned,
Nesting in the old fencerow along the roadside
Where domestic daisies and asters proliferate,
And I suspect a nest of bunnies could be found.
Until worn down, the path is almost overgrown
Brownish dead stalks from the early spring snow
And I waded through a patch of beggar’s lice
Which I carried until I returned to my backyard
Then picking them off one by one, I fretted,
But my first trip of the year was so rewarding
And I could hardly wait to tell you what I saw. 

Written May 9, 2022
for "Brian Strand's Premier Poetry Contest"

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Instruments of Mercy

*Image of People of the Dawn by Pixabay.

Instruments of Mercy

Amidst the wailing whiplashed 'neath a moonlit plight,
Against the cowered beast of demons gnashing white,

Angst men in their temporary shanties walled bubbles,
Atheist fated them to wile their skill with steel shovels,

Apologist to the bitter end proves it's never supported,
Absolutist self-denial raw display ne'er to be thwarted,

Awarest who'd weathered the conviction of strong will,
Awkwardest fretted near sunk rocks, lost eyes wet still,

Aptest met their latest neighbor, old-timers now closer,
Antichrist organized bits of their faith sitting as a poser.

2022 January 22

The Issue About Tissues

Isn't it funny how people panic
Over the trivial, the mundane?
When there are bigger issues
About which we could complain.

Our world will still revolve,
No one is certain to die
Without people pilling up
Tons of toilet rolls so high!

It's an inconvenience,
A troublesome trifle at worst;
And yet, many fretted and worried,
Their lives seemed so accursed!

The Supermarket shelves
We're emptied and became bare
Because someone desperate
Listened to a malicious scare.

It was then that the traffic
Caused a blockage hard to clear,
Eventually, when it did,
There was an almighty cheer!

The global panic calmed down
When there was an increase in supply,
And people realized that
The end of the world was not nigh!

Still, we can be certain that
Another panic will be here,
And people will worry again -
Better not be a shortage of beer!

One Day In a Life

If you could relive one day of your life..
time lost, now retrieved for just a short while.
To thrust old scheming machinations knife,
or return healing to a lover's smile.

Such a fretted frittering those lost days,
though ones you and I will remember most.
Passions reared high in servile dewy haze..
soft breathe warm against skin from dearest host.

Moment waits untended a dreamer's call,
something I can never give you again.
Bodice caught on nail of new lover's wall,
though we may choose to return now and then.

Tarried too long look'g to horizon's edge..
promised heart unharmed, now pulled from a ledge.

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