Long Fussed Poems
Long Fussed Poems. Below are the most popular long Fussed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fussed poems by poem length and keyword.
THE GREAT BANQUET
I’ve been to many banquets and many smorgasbords;
The fare has been so sumptuous as there it all was stored.
I’d try to take a sample of everything I liked;
The salads were so tasty, the meat looked cooked just right.
The thing I most regretted was when I took too much
And I could not all finish the things that I had touched.
And then there was the price tag--that bill I had to pay!
Sometimes it was expensive and would keep me away.
And at the fancy restaurants we’d always stand in line,
And fussed about the others who seemed to take your time.
But every time I’d go there and find my place in line
And look down at the tables and all the food so fine,
I think of a day coming when once again I’ll eat
At a great marriage supper, there at my Saviour’s feet.
I’ve often thought and wondered just what we’ll eat up there
As we sit at that table upon the shore so fair.
Will we get to taste the manna that Israel often ate?
Will we have desserts and salads there served upon our plate?
Will we eat lamb that roasted in fire cooked just right
And served with herbs so bitter like that Passover night?
And will we have that supper of unleavened bread and wine
That we all take together to remind us of the time
When just before His torture and sentence, Jesus said,
“Take, eat, this is My body,” and then He broke the bread.
And then He took the cup there, the grape juice pure and blue,
And said, “This is the covenant of My blood shed for you.”
I don’t know what we’ll eat there, I cannot speculate,
But I know we’ll enjoy it, it all will be so great.
And what is nice about it is that it all is free;
I can have all I want there, all good it’s going to be.
I know that He will serve it and as it passes by,
I’ll see the nail-scarred hands then and remember why He died.
Oh, yes, ‘twill be some banquet! I’m glad I’m going there;
I’ve made my reservations, by faith I am prepared.
You, too, can be a part of the banquet fine and fair,
Just come unto the Saviour and say the sinner’s prayer:
“God, please show me Your mercy, I humbly now repent,
I trust the living Saviour who to this world was sent.
And I accept forgiveness from all my sin and shame,
Believing in Your offer of salvation through Your name.”
Dragon was watching the nature channel, and decided that…
Communing with nature, is where, IT must really… be at!
He wanted to know: What nature is. What part is he? Is he more than that?
You’d think he’d start at home, but NO! He went to the park, of course!
The park with it’s mowed lawns, and yes, where the pigeons are, in force!
He ran to an elderly man, feeding pigeons, from a bag, on a bench, of course.
The answer: we’re all part of nature, just nature prime, cause we’re smarter.
Each one’s unique, walk in others shoes, and the answers are there to garner.
Either, he didn't know the trouble he’d stir, or wanted a new story this week.
I glimpsed a paparazzi camera, partially concealed, that he did quickly seek.
Dragon immediately chose the pigeons, and I knew this wouldn't be good.
Especially, when a wild pack of paparazzi suddenly and very quickly stood.
He picked pigeons, cause they fly like him and are slow at getting away.
Plus he’s banned from the Nature Area, after his flames burned it one day.
First he followed the pigeons and checked out everything they did eat.
He wasn't too impressed as breadcrumbs and birdseed were their treats.
Then they flew to the 5-tiered fountain for a splash and feather bath, today.
But they had to leave when Dragon joined them, toppling it clear away.
The commotion took them to tree limbs, that broke under Dragons’ weight.
The park benches fared much better, as they toppled backwards, I must say.
The bronze statue looked more hopeful, till the Park Sheriff came his way.
The Sheriff of Crazyland fussed and shouted, till they all flew quickly off.
But now, Dragon had perfected the pigeon technique: of drop a load and fly.
It as a shame the Sheriff of Crazyland, was waving and shouting so close by.
Gee! I never knew, that the Sheriff could blow steam, like our Dragon can.
Tho, apparently, Dragons’ is much hotter as the statue arm, melted and ran.
But Dragon complimented him on his steam anyway, as he deftly flew away.
I just stood there and shook my head… as there was going to be heck to pay!
Now… you know why the Sheriff and Dragon simply will never get along.
For the Sheriff has now made it possible for Dragon to commune with...
‘The New Leash Law’.
As I look down and see the ground, on which my feet don’t stand
The light I see is all around, things haven’t gone as planned
It’s really kweer, I’m standing here, and somehow, you are not
You did your worst, let me go first, off of that beauty spot
We didn’t shake on our done deal, we sealed it with a kiss
I would leap, then so would you, to our eternal bliss
The best laid plans of nice young men, lie face down in the mud
For I chose this eternal light, and you chose my best bud
So, was I dead between the ears
Too dumb to see your lies
Or to spot your cunning plan
In which it’s me that dies….
Everywhere I look are sheep
On tiny pasture clouds
They’re interspersed with people
Who have wings and wispy shrouds
You schemed to take my life insurance, ’pon our rocky shores
Ironic that your latest squeeze, will soon be taking yours
I watched you in your fancy car; the car that once was mine
But then you took it for a drive, when he had spiked your wine
So, was I dead between the ears
Too dumb to see your lies
Or to spot your cunning plan
In which it’s me that dies….
Everywhere I look are sheep
On tiny pasture clouds
They’re interspersed with people
Who have wings and wispy shrouds
But there’s no wings nor halos in a box bearing your name
There’s rules for new arrivals, with regard to why they came
So when you get here you’ll be processed, then they’ll send you to the basement
I hope it’s not too warm for you, for it’s an all time placement.
In God… I trust… I guess… I must
For though… you’re here… I’m not… too fussed
For what… I see… amuses…… me
You schemed… for lust… your scheme… is bust
For there’s no wings nor halos in a box bearing your name
There’s rules for new arrivals, with regard to why they came
So when you get here you’ll be processed, then they’ll send you to the basement
I hope it’s not too warm for you, for it’s an all time placement.
In God… I trust… I guess… I must
For though… you’re here… I’m not… too fussed
For what… I see… amuses…… me
You schemed… for lust… your scheme… is bust
you schemed… for lust
your scheme… is bust
you schemed… for lust
your scheme… is bust
your… scheme… is… BUST!
A story I read about war and good luck charms…..
The Good luck charm
Standing on the dock in front of the troop ship
His mother hugged him and fussed about Straightening his hat and brushing his tunic and bits
Finally stuffing a hankie in his top tunic pocket
He protested as a son was prone to
do
As it was all done in front of his mates
Finally it was last call as he followed up the gangway too
And the ship moved away to the Great War frontlines
He was a message runner for his battalion
And he carried the hankie through his Great War battles
Often dodging the machine guns all along
As he made his way through the mud and shell holes
His mother’s hankie always made him think of her
Never leaving it in his pack not wanting to lose it
And as a good luck charm when bad scrapes did occur
Until one day he was caught by a machine gun blast
One of the bullets wounded his neck as the wound showed
With his life pouring out with his blood
The only thing was the hankie to stem the flow
As he held it tightly to his neck to stop the blood
The stretcher bearers found, bandaged and brought him in
With the hankie stemming the blood flow
He was taken to the Casualty Clearing Station through the din
The doctor and nurses worked on him
There was no more war because of his injuries all
So he went back to Australia taking the hankie with him
And he kept it with blood stains from the wound call
Until the Second World War was declared again
His son took it again to war in North Africa, Greece, Crete and to New Guinea to the end
The son returned home and gave the hankie back to the Anzac
Lauding its power to keep him safe in battles again
He returned home to his family and life in Australia
There was a third generation of warriors in war going back
When a grandson took the hankie along too
Vietnam was the battlefield and the hankie’s powers were fact
He returned to Australia unscathed too
The hankie had good luck in store
When carried into battle as a good luck charm
For a family of warriors who needed it and more
And the family was convinced it protected them.
© Paul Warren Poetry
© Paul Warren Poetry
A Turnip and a Cabbage
are walking down the street.
This may seem a might peculiar
as they hadn't any feet.
Before you judge and criticize,
I beg your minds to wander.
To take a moment just to see
on what the herbage ponders.
The Cabbage says, 'The sun is out,
it makes a lovely day.
It is nice to see the other Plants
we meet along the way.'
The Turnip nods approvingly,
the Cabbage is his chum.
For every day they walk this way...
they both begin to hum.
There are no words, no songs they know,
they no not how to sing.
But they cannot miss what they do not know
so no sadness does it bring.
They leave the street and find a trail
leading to a brook.
Where they find a tree, a friend of theirs...
looking at a book.
'What do you have?' The Turnip says
with interest in his voice.
'Something bad, you should not see...
I leave it to your choice.'
Tree hands the book, which Turnip takes
while Cabbage jumps to see.
They flip the pages, both in awe,
they gasp and ask the tree.
'Where did you get this?' Such a story,
we do not believe our eyes.
What Plant would write of such a state?
It surely must be lies.'
The tree responds, 'These sad affairs
happened long ago.
By a species less developed
with little wisdom to bestow.
They were unkind... some cruel and dark,
always out for more.
They hated all... were prone to cheat,
they invented a thing called War.
They fought tooth and nail for shiny objects,
over which they fussed.
Destroyed themselves... their culture gone,
a victim to their lust.'
The Cabbage and the Turnip
let out a cushioned sigh.
But Turnip strains, 'I am still confused.
What does the book imply?'
Tree thinks a bit, 'It was Nature's way
to cleanse our treasured Earth.
To fight disease and cure infection...
saving only things of worth.'
So to those of you who doubt this tale,
forgive my little rant.
But take from this most people lack...
the brains God gave a Plant.
The End
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your Uncle.
...Floyd still looked at Beverly,
he knew that her words rang true.
He said,"Stay in the ranch, sell off cows,
that aught for the winter keep you."
He turned and he left her, his heart a-rage,
and made for the town to get a horse.
As he walked away, he heard her say
"I will pray for your Floyd, of course."
For the next year he road about
searching for O'Hearn's bloody trail.
But after time tracing countless leads,
he felt instead like he was chasing his tail.
For O'Hearn he never stayed put long,
and hid his tracks with the best,
with a year gone by and nothing gained,
Floyd returned home for a rest.
Beverly greeted him when he came,
and gladly she did show him in.
He saw she'd yet sold only four cows
to pay for her house-keeping.
For days he slept and loafed about,
watching the joyous, young Mary play.
While Beverly endlessly fussed over him,
it left him sorely tempted to stay.
So much so that despite the rage,
the desire to seek his revenge,
his week at home became two, then three
He could not bring it to an end.
One night at dinner, brooding hard
over whether or not he should go,
he looked up and realized suddenly
that he'd rather stay with the widow.
She seemed then to know his deepest thoughts
as she gently rose up to her feet,
and said,"I'll be back in just a short bit,
it's far time young Mary went to sleep."
Off she went to his old back room,
to put the her tired, little girl down.
When she returned a half-hour had passed,
and she wore neither a dress nor a gown.
Floyd nearly then choked on his drink,
seeing her curves in the candlelight.
He tried to speak, to say anything,
but his throat was seized up real tight.
Beverly did smile softly at the sight,
at the young man stammered and stunned.
She took his his hand and said to him
"Relax, I'll teach you how it's done."
He let himself be led slowly away,
into his father's old bedroom,
and spent the night warm within her arms
losing all thoughts of vengeance and doom...
CONCLUDES IN PART III.
Strikes relentlessly thrashing
(from all points
encompassing me) assigned
unforgivingly, vehemently,
witheringly, blind
ding figurative sight, then
I finally craft a title,
then subsequent lines
of poem (or prose) defined
incumbent to pay
proper obeisance deigned
then once a thread bare
theme more or less defined
unleashing skein of thoughts,
(that barrel thru
muss hike key)
utterly entangled,
enthralled and entwined
rather then panic, a series
of deep breaths
decompresses,
deemphasizes, and diminishes
a near futile attempt (thwarting captivity,
futility, and impossibility) to find
even just a faint coalescence,
essence, and furtherance
pitting ma small nose
to the metaphorical grind
stone calmly try
to temper onslaught
of tsunami like brain storm,
yet no matter
how fast fingers type,
a sinking sensation,
sans pursuit to process
this tidal wave sets me
further be hind,
this faux
cat and mouse game,
which forces bust
ting thru out this scribe
demand to answer himself
with minor expletive,
viz cheeses crust
why the ƒ¨ç° must
this doggone eventual dust,
when staking claim
on literary fame and fortune
will no doubt entrust
yours truly to pauper's grave
(if lucky enough
to garner gofundme monies
or not bother, and consign
any viable anatomical
parts of this
well kept body fussed
over with copacetic delight,
holistic insight, and magic night,
where a strong gust
of wind doth suffuse dreamy state
permeating mine subconscious,
where inexplicable
exemplifications doth leap
and prance, while aye
obliviously repose in deep sleep,
which may be the condition
of an unsuspecting reader,
whether an generic
guy or...a Veep.
The Zoo keeper fussed, he cried and he cussed!
For the Elephant, gone astray!
“She was there last night!” He said in distress!
But isn’t in there today!
He looked on high, and he looked on low,
The elephant where?
Had she to go?
She would soon be found, because of her size?
No one could miss her, nor believe their eyes?
He called her name” Here, Bessie Boo!
“Here, Bessie Boo!
“Oh where are you?”
He called her name, but she’d gone to ground!
The elephant then could not be found!
He asked the Tiger so wild in his cage?
“Have you seen Bessie? The Elephant. (Sage)?”
“No growled the tiger” in a very low tone!
I am far too busy, chewing my meaty bone!
He asked the Giraffe.
“Where can she be?”
“I’ve my head in the clouds,
So I can’t see!”
He asked the monkeys, and they did say!
“Were too busy playing, so go away!”
So he asked the seals, if they did know?
“I can tell said one!”
“But a fish you must throw?”
“I have no fish!” said the keeper to know
So the seal then under the water did go!
“Oh where oh where can the elephant be?
And she is so big, for me to see!”
“Has she been stolen?”
“Has she then gone?”
“Oh Bessie Boo! Please come along?”
He asked the Zebras, where she might be,
But they raced away with their stripes to see!
He asked the parrots.
“Do you know where?”
But the parrots replied,
“We don’t give a care!”
So the Keeper did sit and he did cry!
For he could not find her,
However he tried?
But all at once!
When his heart was sunk,
He felt a cuddle from a big grey trunk!
The elephant there, right by his side,
To hide and seek, it had then tried.
So cuddle and pat upon on the head,
The Keeper did warn in kind, and said!
“Don’t ever hide from me so then,
Or no buns for your tea!
Not ever again!”
Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors – old African proverb
My mind was racing
Worries were chasing
Away my peace, my faith
The belief that gave me
A sense of hope, grace, relief
Joy was taken from my heart
As I reached toward the part
Of me that kissed the moon
With stardust whispers
Gentle wishes for all my dreams
In spite of the darkness
Settling in around my thoughts
Leaving me with shadows
Of worry, dread and doubt
Anxiety feels like a monster
Ferocious as thunder bursting
Through the sky, angry
Like a storm crashing through
The silence of night, falling
Down heartaches and angst
Enraged by the gentleness
Of my soul’s faith
I remembered Job
The righteous one
Who prayed and prayed
And never left the faith
Felt the loss and pain
The despair and disdain
The sorrow of one
Broken and shamed
Still he stayed calm
And claimed the Lord
As the One who would
Calm his heart
With renewal and hope
There were others
Who lamented and fussed
Agonized with concerns
Trouble all around them
Claiming to surround them
With apprehension
Through it all, though
God breathed on the soul
A stillness, a calm
A worry balm
That broke through the worry
And filled minds with pure
Faith, grace, hope
For a second chance
A new day, a new way
Dawn’s clear to pray
Shining down on the heart
Who knows that, once sought
God will answer His child
With a peace that lights
Up the soul, forever
Faithful and filled with
Kindness and joy
A sense of still wonder
Let go of your worry
Discover God’s glory
Inside the one who knows
His promises are assured
He is forever the cure
For any hurt or sorrow
He relieves all concern
Lifts burdens and brings love
That softens the heart
And stills the nervous thoughts
With a light that shines through
To dispel lies, bring truth
God is the answer
Forever the Savior
In the cold of the morn with a crisp cloudy day…
A flat tire assailed a young girl, as she went on her way.
Young and full of life but definitely overwhelmed…
She was late for work and her husband had just nearly died.
She sat in her car, sniffling, worrying, and crying some wails.
She’d never changed a tire, a young husband always there.
But hurt he’d become, and in the hospital now remained…
It was up to her, suddenly alone, to make things right again.
She fretfully tried AAA but the wrong number was wrung…
Till Old Granny Goodness appeared with hope, and some fun.
She quickly got her out of the car, and found everything there.
Explaining what to do, Granny decided to entertain with flair.
Together they’d use a spare tire to fix that rickety old car.
They figured out the jack and successfully lifted the car.
But lug nuts are hard and need strength to unleash…
So granny fussed and she bug-tussled but never gave up
Till the young girl laughing, knew what she must do herself…
Grabbing deep into her courage, she ran into the QT for help.
Sure enough, a worker volunteered to help that sweet young thing out.
And the lug nuts came off lickety-split with laughter on top.
The young man was gracious, and ever so kind and…
Yes, he finished the job with his best smile and in record time
And of course he helped put everything away, too, you can bet…
He even helped Old Granny Goodness up off the ground where she sat.
Then with a salute and fare thee well, he went back inside…
While Old Granny Goodness, and the girl put air in the tires.
By now the girl was the lead in the work as she smiled and laughed…
She was empowered; you know… there’s nothing wrong with that.
Yes, the world was saved as all found their way home, with a wink, at last.
Yes, with gratitude, a hug, and a smile… many a way can be found again.
Contest:Write me a Happy Poem 10-31-2011 CSEastman