Long Befuddles Poems
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A sinkhole, deep as 20 feet,
Collapsed without a warning,
Around the corner from my street
Quite early in the morning.
Repair crews came but no one knows
What caused the sudden sinking.
Decrepitude, some folks suppose,
But not what we were thinking.
Ineptitude’s what we would blame,
For workers have been toiling
On that same block where they became
The source of tempers roiling.
They somehow cannot seem to fix
What underground befuddles,
So residents have had a mix
Of flames, closed streets and puddles.
Our car was parked right down the block
Where that huge hole descended.
It would have come as quite a shock
If that’s how my life ended.
I can't help but find it ridiculously absurd
when people call Biden a liar and a fraud
yet believe Trump is truthful with his word.
Cheering his fictitious claims, they applaud!
That man has spun so many webs of lies,
that he has to tell more to cover his butt.
Blaming others for everything, using alibis
that are nothing more than ludicrous smut.
It's not our Democracy that has failed,
but narcissists who want to act like a king.
He's the guilty one who should be jailed.
Alcatraz is closed, but what about Sing Sing?
I had no intention of being political again,
but sometimes lines are written that irk me.
I've no political affiliation, but I won't abstain
when some wing nut is on an anti-Biden spree.
The claim seems to be that Biden likes to rant
but who bellows and rages more than Trump?
It befuddles my mind, and I swear I just can't
comprehend why they defend that ogre's rump.
I am coining thoughts
Like copper pennies and most loved quarters
I am gathering leaves and flowers
as Spring is giving so much grace
But I am dropping moments and time
I am missing the season
because I am in love
It confuses the senses
befuddles the brain
Leaves appear on trees but cannot enter my brain
I am lost in a foggy imagination of your hand in mine
I am trying to find it but
You create such total confusion
Love is making me loose time
I am a thing of delusions
Lost in your rhyme
I am little but a bed time story
Living on meteor time
I long to see it and be present to the everlasting gorgeousness that is happening which is priceless never to be retrieved time
But all I know is your echo
And the dream of your hand in mine
[ to the tune of My Favorite Things ]
Raindrops on dew drops and ponds formed by puddles,
Praising when phrasing bewilders, befuddles,
Nice sounding lyrics that don’t mean a thing,
This is what too much sun on your head brings.
Horses short courses on bucking a rider.
Who died, the fly or the spider inside her?
Dropping your pants to go mooning at night,
These are the thoughts when your head isn’t right.
When the dog flees
'cuz the flea bites
right there on his pad,
I simply wrap up in aluminum foil
'cuz that cuts down on the rad.
Nonsensical popsicles, strange yellow ice;
If this were snow, would you still think it nice?
You’re in a field standing there by a stream.
Wake up! You are drooling and starting to dream.
When the tree bark
is collected
in a bag of mulch,
I dump it all out on the new flower bed
and throw the bag in the gulch.
Mowing the roses and drowning the kittens,
strangling puppies with strings from your mittens.
Things that you think when your fever won’t break.
Just how much more of this nonsense can you take?
He confuses,
Runs off muses,
I amuse myself.
I get all my books down and dust them all off
And put them back on the shelf.
the road to her was not easy
the valleys of her mind were not smooth ones
there were times when love smelled like new suitcases
there were times when hate and its pungency was the freshest scent
however here we still remain wrapped in each others arms
how we can be big kids teasing adult things is beyond me
how we can remove the thorns and clean and bandages all the wounds is not that plain to see
the road to me was not that easy either
the volume of my moodiness brought out the worst in the worst
my loner's mentality was like arrows playing follow the leader with arrows
there were moments when we were plotting murder schemes in our minds
there were moments when we wanted to just jump from some high place ourselves
however here we still remain kissing each other like halloween candy bandits
how what comes next transpires is beyond even the most vivid imagination
how what ultimately becomes the conclusion occurs befuddles even the most genius of a mind
all we know is that we simply love each other
the rest we put in the Healing Hands of God....
this little mouse befuddles me
for it is her i set free
yet she won't let me be
returns back to me
at night i hear her chew and chew
such a mess always rude
not sure of what to do
if i catch her over again
and release her from the trap pen
will she find her way back in
leaving little gifts not of a friend
the house is like a rats nest
all from this little pest
and i weary from lack of rest
time for measures i detest
glue trap gets her stuck
my patience ends as her luck
why did you not run free
and leave my house and me
i plug the hole that let you in
and toss you into the trash can
sawed-off on the
crimson emerald from a cloudy sky
squeal
and, at times, the reason
low-slung why
sparkles of a pearly salver
modicum of encrusted damask mist
befuddles me
albeit
moon, amber, and opalescence
spawn a charming sight
the perspective
strikes each crevice of the flesh.
and psyche advise
shrouded in a cinereous cloud
hapless and helpless, a glum-blue wolf
growls out a bluesy bemoan.
creating a lacuna
of gallivant love touchstone
leaden wails of anguish
rhythmic echoed refrain
plainchants of auric yearning
reminiscent of challah
aiming for eleemosynary seeds
cahoots to germinate and thrive
2nd place contest winner
Written: March 20, 2023
A Strand No 1201 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
"It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring" ~ myself, today, as SoCal gets its first rain of the season, and Anonymous, to give credit where it is due
Little tyke,
hold on, before you ride off on your bike.
If you'd like,
I will explain something insane.
It's called rain.
You are young and I am old,
and so, you must do what you are told.
Yes, that's what I say.
You think it's the other way?
It's just that you were born right here,
in Los Angeles or very near,
in Southern California.
That is why I warn ya,
there's something you've not yet seen,
a liquid like what's in the washing machine,
something that should make you think,
something a kid like you would never drink.
We covered that already - I'm not insane.
You can Google it. It's called rain.
It falls from the sky in a vertical path.
Gravity's involved. There's lots of math,
and often when the wind is blowing,
and along a slanted path it's going,
you must ditch your bike and then start rowing,
as rivulets of water flowing,
send you sailing. There's no way of knowing,
which way the current may be going,
due in part to reasons owing
to nature's special gift bestowing,
which plants use to do their growing,
unless it freezes. Then it's snowing.
But in L.A. we don't believe in snow.
It's just a myth - just so you know.
It's something they use in corny Christmas tales.
So, don't bother with those details.
Back to rainwater, which disappears, like magic, into the earth,
that ball we live on of massive girth...
When rain rises up and puddles,
it invariably befuddles
little creatures known to squirm.
Of course, by that, I mean worms,
which come floating up in sorrow,
because they'll be dry and dead tomorrow.
One good thing about rain - it sloshes.
As your mother advises, wear your galoshes.
I'd like to thank you for your attention, son.
My lecture on precipitation is quite done.
Now, go out and have some fun.