Long Fuzzy Poems
Long Fuzzy Poems. Below are the most popular long Fuzzy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fuzzy poems by poem length and keyword.
great green grizzly gorilla came by to sit on my knee.
I was horrified and yelped “why did he pick me?”
He’s cute, said my husband. Be still, or you’ll make him blue.
Okay, I agreed, but I am turning him over to you.
a lively, little lamb bounded in to sit on my lap.
gorilla and husband were laughing. One said you’re such a sap.
I was thinking lamb chops for supper as I stroked her soft wool.
She read my mind, and dashed away, meadow was her goal.
Next entered a fluffy bear with big black beautiful eyes.
That he fit through our teeny dog door was an enormous surprise.
The gorilla leaped off my husband and dove through that door.
Three fluffy potential pets, but only one to show you, Lenore.
Feel and feel sad thinking,
Dare to face life with fine swing.
Feel each broken feeling,
Dare to hurt to find healing.
Feel each hidden fear here,
Dare to be afraid yet steer.
Feel the mad deep dark thoughts,
Dare to let cleansing light blot.
Feel each savvy pain come,
Dare to see things as love sums.
Feel the tragic feelings,
Dare to bear with suffering.
Feel now bitter mix sad,
Dare to rise and fall with mad.
Feel each broken dream drip,
Dare to go on dreaming trips.
Feel that fuzzy logic,
Dare to embrace dynamic.
Feel the lost and found touch,
Dare to live and bear no grudge.
Feel and feel each feeling,
Dare to live love revealing.
Leon Enriquez
18 April 2017
Singapore
She still and always will out source my travels,
remains in my retina - a tender photograph.
She-cloud, fuzzy and dark. I perceived her
on her godforsaken corner - was she on drugs?
Was she a nightwalker, runaway, bruised
and abused by stranger things? Did she call
out to God as I walked by; because I heard her.
I prayed for her diurnally yet I never met her.
She’s the lady of New England. She is void
of clam chowder and blueberry pie. There
is no laughter only dried tears in her eyes.
I have to believe my prayers matter. They
are just a splatter in the scheme of things.
Likewise the tears of a sister (in the Lord)
kidnapped, sold into marriage by soulless
demonic forces. Baby irises taunted, on display
as a child bride to the devil. Where is she now?
That was many years ago. God’s eye weaved
into a colorful pattern between children’s fingers,
so hopeful, filled with vigor, imagination and love;
and hate from those desperate to bruise.
It would be better
for him to have a millstone
hung around his neck and
to be thrown into the sea
than to cause one of these
little ones to stumble*
So I walk with joy and a heavy heart,
nothing I could do. But perhaps prayer
is bigger than Boston, Maine, Afghanistan,
my outstretched heart. Now and forever,
God embraces his little ones in the curve
of his pierced palms. With the movement
of our outstretched feet, our mouths
murmur something momentous.
8/29/2021
*Luke 17:2
Over time in the history of a people their recollections tend to become a little fuzzy…their memories a little blurred…which is why when we teach history every story must be heard.
What if you are happy and peacefully living in your country…then one day you’re rounded up like cattle….put upon a ship sent across the ocean and sold on a block like chattle?
What if you had no choice…no chance to agree or disagree?
What if your wife, your children…your entire family was sold off…separately?
What if you were made to work in households…on plantations…now called a slave?
What if there was a good chance this plantation would one day be your grave?
What if those who ‘owned’ you kept you chained, restrained…confined?
What if you were whipped and beaten if you dared to speak your mind?
What if one day you were ‘freed’ and you thought a new life you’d begin
only to be mistreated and abused because of the color of your skin?
What if the way you were treated befuddled and confused you?
What if they erected statues to to the very people who abused you?
What if the schools who teach our children decided as a general rule….
that these stores…your history…should not be taught in school?
Because anyone who looks at your history…has no choice but to abhor it…
But there are people who..instead of discussing what occurred…choose rather to ignore it.
But you know if all lives truly matter you must be brave…you must be bold…and these stories no matter how horrific they are to hear…these stories must be told.
They must be taught and discussed in homes and schools…for isn’t it absurd…to think we could evolve as humans…as a people…without these stories being heard.
I have a voice within my mind that never stops talking,
it is rattling and annoying and intrusive most of the time:
though, at times it speaks to me of random memories,
like the smell of grandma's cookies with hints of chocolate;
or the feel of my baby's soft downy hair.
But, there are moments when my voice is hateful to me,
telling me that I should do this or that now:
its voice rough, unfriendly, cold, yelling, and full of hate,
and I just wish it to stay quiet, depart, leave me alone;
then, it can be smooth and soothing.
At times, the voice is a whisper or a murmur drifting,
like the sound of music enthralling me to listen:
the air around me seems to smell like lavender scents,
and I hear the laughter of a little girl, me, as I run;
down a street of my past memories.
The voice invades my dreams at night disturbing me,
it says remove your fuzzy blanket and venture outside;
why, I ask, JUST DO IT, the voice yells loudly insisting,
outside in my dream, and put my hands in the snow,
cold, like stabbing me with a thousand needles.
The voice has no face, I have no concept if female or male,
is it a friend or foe, although, it can help me write:
most of the time it makes me feel sad, it is seldom positive,
I have tried methods to push it away, but it creeps back;
guess, it is just piece of me.
When it is just chattering away with negativity,
I shout at it (was that a real yell) to go away please:
and I imagine it whimpers and crawls away for a time,
only to return with its intrusive low voice in my mind;
on and on, but, I am not listening today.
Please primal ploys where wise ways will,
Lovely lines leap as aim allows;
Etch each envoy true telling thrill,
Aplomb asleep bright brilliant brows;
Sense secret signs that treasure time,
Use unzips urge where words weave way;
Reap rich rewind churning clear chimes,
Endow emerge deep dazzling day.
Frame fuzzy folds with warm wonder,
Rapture rooms reed by blooming brook;
Observe odd old proud play ponders,
Leave lovely leads leaping lithe looks;
Inkling inks ire framing free flow,
Charm claims ceasefire gifting grand glow;
Spread soul sweet sire sparking still show.
Leon Enriquez
09 September 2016
Singapore
The passing
It is so long ago; the memory is fuzzy as an old photo,
the room was warm, the coal fire burned lustily
I looked out of the window the street lamp swayed,
and snow fell. I turned to my grandmother and said
If the snow continues, I will take out my sledge.
she was still her reading glasses had dropped on the floor,
oh, yes I knew but kept looking out it looked
So peaceful I will stay here and admire snow fall forever.
I picked up her reading glasses placed them back on her
face, we had no phone I had to put on an overcoat and
tell our neighbour, but before living, put more coal
in the oven, a helpless gesture, but I didn`t want her to be cold.
Many people came; they took her away while I looked
out of the window watching falling snow
You guys are totally amazing
These friendships that I have found
Sends warm fuzzy feelings coursing through my veins
It's euphoria and it literally abounds
It can't be found anywhere else
On that you can bet your last buck
We're a most unique collection of loving individuals
Blessed to be showered with such luck
Must have done something very unique
To have earned this fabulous adventure
Whatever this thing was, it was sure worth the effort
You guys are smack dab in the centre
My life without this gathering of poets
I don't even want to contemplate
I'd walk around the streets kicking stones all alone
I ain't kidding, I'm telling you straight
You guys make an amazing difference
Getting up each morning's a great thrill
To see who's written these loving words to me
I am constantly thrilled by it still
Israel Beckoned...In A Dream
This secular skeptic beheld,
eyes hallucinated, harried, felled
and haunted by
holographic images gelled
that didst silently scream herald
ding exhaustively
roaming, schlepping, meld
ding and trudging across
elapsed, nor quelled
blinkered, bloodied dead souls
across fractured wartorn veld,
where bludgeoned ghastly
eons of pain did weld
throbbing inside my
scepter templed mount, aye
vicariously experienced
cumulative historical grief
past to present anti
semitism I decry
incomprehensible genocide, (though
not necessarily exclusive domain
of Moses troopers), nonetheless I
find mine existence
ably linkedin sigh
lent lee to the
bosom of Abraham,
no matter such
quasi confession doth fly
in the face, despite devout atheism,
a genealogical kinship inherently
peppers the genetic
mind of this
questioning (authority type) guy,
whose lack of
religion cannot dispel
no matter fuzzy, gauzy,
hazy, et cetera,
asper the existence
of heaven or hell,
and no idea what
will become of
Matthew Scott Harris, when bell
doth toll mine death knell
though methinks, i.e. this fell
low will merely decompose
forever oblivious to
global pell mell,
whose corporeal essence will spell
reincarnation relegating molecular
composition of this aging
ordinary physical being
whose existence particularly,
poignantly, and plaintively
punctuated with delicately
framed psychological housing
twilight years echoing
punitive hardship just barely shaking
free, whence adolescent
aborted suicidal effort
near cleft flickr ring,
anorexia almost got life
extinguished, gut wrenching
yank key undergo wing
life and death struggle rattling
the long gone souls
figurative rusted empty cages,
whose legacy aching Diaspora, ages
ago scattered tribes, especially sages
Exodus to Babylonian Captivity,
(c. 12th to 6th centuries BC),
proud unknown forebears rages
against contemporary
Hebrews existential wages
of experienced unfair recent gauges
(recording heinous twentieth century)
opprobrious persecution quashing
valuable vital and voluminous
absent contribution Jews
never written pages
forever hidebound historical legacy
unfairly demonized ever since pre
Biblical epoch anonymous stages.
Pique profound plush
Bloom bubbly blush
Frame fuzzy flight
Lift laughter light
Wear welcome wit
Feel fragrance fit
Feel fickle frame
Niche noisy name
Seek substance sweet
Glimpse grandeur greet
Veer vibrant voice
Cheer channels choice
Big buoyant blooms
Ripe rapture rooms
Prize poetry prime
Live lemon lime
Craft crazy clear
Freeze funny fear
Mind moody mist
Groom gaudy gist
Work willing words
Hype hurry heard
Notch nifty noise
Chase cheery choice
Apt asking aid
Prize pleasure paid
Laughs leaping lines
Frame feelings fine
Craft clever cheer
Plot private peer
Leon Enriquez
15 October 2017
Singapore