Long Fuddled Poems
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The rest of my life starts now...
A checkerboard battle of custody,
evidence of fatherly love fell short
My fuddled walk now through leafless trees,
weeps, traversing corners of an empty nest
erasing black patches of white sunlight
I am learning to live without you, my dear.
In my flowerless spring,
I can hear footsteps of your childish laughter
In my sterile morning window panes,
I can see your cherubic sunny face
In my dusty colourless albums ,
I can touch your tantrums reborn
In your sizzling scent of innocence,
I can drench my sonorous silence.
Haunting words of ache from my quiet world
will perhaps never reach you
In a distant country , I see you growing up
As I grow up... learning to live without you.
30th May 2020
Sponsor JCB Burl
Contest Name A World Without You ??
The smell of dark coffee brews in early morn.
Such a treat to wake up to, when I’m groggy and worn
I’m not fond of fancy frothy coffee shop brew
None of them will really do
Unless you pour a spot of Irish Cream to fire up a few.
When my girlfriend Susie would come over to stew,
I always put on a fresh pot of dark roasted coffee to brew
I have always been a softy when giving her a caring shoulder
We enjoyed the bliss of coffee and Baileys Irish Cream liqueur
to make us bolder.
Friendship with laughter is a treasure,
with a sip of spiked coffee will always do with pleasure.
When I was young, Mommy would sometimes wake up
looking like a fuddled zombie,
but
as soon as she’d have her first cup of sugary with cream coffee,
she’d be our mommy again cooking us something good for our tummies.
12/3/3021
redo 12/9/2016
''Z'' Contest, New or Old - Poetry Contest 5. zombie
Sponsored by: Constance La France
original title: WAKE UP WITH COFFEE OR TEA
Feelings of my heart, pouring like a foss
To the queen goddess of Pothos and Himeros
Before her alluring reflection I’m nak’d
My bones, flesh consum’d and spirit possess’d
With a fuddled heart fallen out of ease
Drunk of love like palm wine to the lees.
Omosi, pretty woman, daughter of Anwu
Me, none of the women of all climes do
Make sojourn ten seas and vales by heart
In one day and yet not a single step far,
The mystery of your nature to know
If beauty a mask worn and love a shadow.
What’s this desire for her that’s prisoned me
That bitter herbs turned sweet honey?
Her whisper is music divine that diminishes
A host of Angels echoing Gloria in Excelsis;
Her embrace’s elixir for life’s incubuses
And I’d forget my worries in her embraces.
Sweet love, sweet sweet love making
The body swings, the heart ever longing
To eat of her forbidden fruit and so
Be drown in sensation as deep as the Congo
That ever more takes freedom and innocence
From me and leaves a heavy heart thence.
Is’t by fate my heart be ever restless
For her? Or predestined to be I guess.
Though beauty fleets, love an illusion pass
And the acid test of time makes her carcass
She’ll rouse my heart and my manhood too
To refute the norm that makes a taboo.
She’s my heart made to be ever forlorn
To our love that’s worn a crown of thorn
By them who never know or can tell
That the pangs of being denied love is hell
With consuming regret, desire and endless sigh
And that’s all there’s, nothing else beside!
The smell of dark coffee brews in early morn
Such a treat to wake up to, when I’m groggy and worn
I’m not fond of fancy frothy coffee shop brews
None of them will really do
Unless you pour a spot of Irish cream to fire ups the horn
When my girlfriend Susie would come over to stew
I always put on a fresh pot of dark roasted coffee to brew
I have always been a softy when giving her a caring shoulder
We enjoyed the bliss of coffee and Baileys Irish Cream liqueur
to make us bolder.
Friendship with laughter is a treasure with a sip of coffee will always do
When I was young,
Mommy would sometimes wake up looking like a fuddled zombie,
But
As soon as she’d have her first cup of sugary with cream coffee
She’d be our mommy again cooking us something good for our tummies.
12/9/2016
A fuddled mind surfs through tides.
Harboured, she sits by the sea doing nothing.
Her toes make electric touch with the water
Restless currents ... spark the sand.
She could see the ocean break into two parts.
Did the Ocean have a heart?
She had salt in her tears..
She had pepper in her eyes..
The briny breeze..why was it so bitter?...
She knew... she was a Cheater.
He had a heart of ocean.
A treasure of glowing pearls within.
She had pushed him off the coast of Trust.
He was shipwrecked by her deceit.
The tail of the Mermaid was hidden.
He could see only half her face.
Tranquil in innocence and ignorance..
He was blind to the treacherous disgrace.
Etched by the smouldering Tsunami
An island imprisoned her stranded.
The Mermaid drowned and drowned..
in the sea of encumbrance...
she thought...
Is there a second chance?
3rd November 2018
Tell me a story 2 poetry contest
Sponsor Brenda Chiri
PLACED SIXTH IN CONTEST
If it is your dream to become a politician
It does not make you a saint or a magician
You will make mistakes, like everybody else
You will try your best and seldom think of yourself.
Love your country and your fellow man
Make the world a better place
Was your dream and plan
There was never a thought
About illness and age
Life moves on,
As our book turns over another page
Our body tires quickly, and our bones start to ache
Our eyes grow dim
It gets hard to stay awake.
Our minds get muddled,
And our gait unsteady
Our speech fuddled
But we are never ready
To admit we are old,
And we need to be told
We have had our day,
And it is wrong to stay
When we are old and ill
And can no longer fill
Our obligations
To the nation
It seems cruel and sad,
But life is not all bad
Old age comes to all who survive
And are fortunate to be alive
But if senility takes a hold,
You need someone to be bold
And suggest now is the time to go
Before your ratings become too low
And as your health is getting worse
You will become too sick to realise this curse
Can undo all the good you have done
So retire and sit in the sun.
Thumbs Up To The Journey
At the footbridge as it bridges past from present future and perspectives your
feet might be-come and may be-go confused be-fuddled as can your mind before
the shadows rainbows feathered fancy pastel tunes and blues-bound colours
can memories anticipation taking-stock ooze pots and lots of lived experience
re-scribed re-told rewound projected narrated from emotive thoughts
stand still
At the bridge as it cradles the canyon with ladles and measures of the moment
where it spans what once was what you enrich in here and now not there and then the sweeping meadows fields of harvest schisms unions paradigms evaluations can treasures scary scars letting-go liberate scents and stents of living fragrance perceived untold configured touched upon stocked up condensed
reflected wait
The past is yet to come and not withstanding what bridge which side what size
and whence long gone remembrance spins and spans and slows and speeds the motion the sunrise dusk and dawning tapestry mosaic photographic lens sensations can truth reality attitudes and imperfections find soul and solace shared solitude re-modelled shaped anew confronted soothed harmonised
accentuated rise
The future has arrived and has been long projected and the past is living on
where they settle and sizzle on in ember’s glory and ashes to ashes and Phoenix in flight when horizons and boxes un-boxed wriggling worms preceding grave graves can joy pleasure senses and sexes passion peace human works of art in progress accepted invited challenged unchallenged channelled welcomed
gratitude prevail
At the foot-bridge at the mind-bridge where it bridges cradles sweeps your meaning brushes and jungles juggles and wonders which hand’s intuition which path to follow lie the answers to the questions asked lie the questions known and
not yet explored
24th July 2016
and a switch flicks
who are you he asks
it should be me
asking who are you
until the switch
flicks back to . . .
fuddled hours
gone are the simplest things
a crayon in a box of pens
then that switch
and it’s who are you
I want to go home
but in truth
it’s who are you
as now a foreign clarity of sorts
no more mumbling incoherence
no shuffling walk
now it’s clear, sure
and behold
a different person emerges
occupying my father
secretly all this time
now stepping out
through the non-dominance
and slowly
becoming the dominant part
a battle of the hemispheres
dementia – an uprising
of hidden people
from somewhere ago