Passel Poems

Possum Trash

This sandy shore is mine, I am its vassal;
building my fort, I was much too facile.
Just as I finished, here came a passel,
a passel of beach possums, razzle-dazzle.
I'm not quittin', though it be a hassle;
possum trash'l be an awesome castle.

Dreaming Again

From the old rockin’ chair
came the sound of his snores
that rattled the windows
and vibrated the doors

She looked o’er her glasses
but kept counting her stitch
as she watched his feet jerk
and his hands start to twitch

She knew he was dreaming
‘bout them places he’d been
Was out riding the grass
cross the highline again

She’d heard all his stories
knows most of them are true
Been little on the range
that her cowboy didn’t do

He had grown a fine herd
carved a ranch out of rock
Raised a passel of kids
that now care for the stock

Fought many harsh winters
to keep his dream alive
Spent countless holidays
out on some cattle drive
 
Had fought wolves, drought, and fire
blizzards and flooding rain
Busted broncs and some bones
not once did he complain

Always managed to find
a bit extra to give
He had paid well his dues
for this good life they live

Always held his head high
through those sorrows and pain
Said if he had a do-over
he’d do it that way again

In Praise of Washing Dishes

With hands immersed in suds and water warm,
I stand before the sink, humbled vassal,
To plates and dishes, grease and grime the norm,
My task to cleanse this polychromed passel.

Each cup I cradle with a gentle pinch,
Their curves and corners, every angle blessed,
Rinse them speckless, my soapy palm a winch,
A chore completed, my service at rest.

For though this labor at face is mundane,
It's in the simple things we find our grace,
And so I wash each dish with grateful strain,
And let their gleaming surfaces erase

The chaos and the clutter of the day,
A small but satisfying task, I say.

Peonies

From deep winter slumber, she slowly awakes, and a fresh cycle starts with rebirth.
By spring, tiny shoots in deep ruby red, set out to emerge from the earth.
A passel of stems grows healthy and strong, encouraging leaves to unfurl.
And young baby buds beginning to form, look perfectly round as a pearl.

Magnificent blossoms in striking dark pink, have now all begun to bloom.
A glorious show she displays every year, enhanced by her sweet perfume.
Now flowering is done, and swept by the wind, her once vibrant petals have gone.
But glossy green foliage continues to grow and lasts nearly all summer long.

Why Some People Hate

Some people hate because they do not know how to love.
I feel sorry for them; I wonder if they were ever loved.
But can I help them? No.
They have to figure out love for themselves.

It is easy to recognize these non-lovers.
Their sentences begin this way
I hate ….
I hate ….
I hate …..

I am not talking just three sentences, I am talking about
a passel of sentences; they hate all’s too.

I hate all
I hate all
I hate all

My neighbor told me that she hates all liberals.
I asked her if she has ever met one.
She said, “I hope not”.

I am the most liberal liberal I know.
I did not bother her with this.
What would be the point?

Running On Empty

Waiting once more for the wonders at dawn,
a tired, empty muse paces the lawn
struck dumb by notions refusing to spawn.

The new day arrives but dark does not lift,
an overcast sky now leaves her short shrift
as workers head home from serving night shift.

With nothing to prompt, she sneaks up the stair.
Some fifteen young bards enroute along there
went searching but found her out like a bear.

One ran errands for a friend who was ill.
Two ran a fever, three ran for the thrill.
Four ran their mouths while five ran up a bill.

After they ran, these bards pondered to pen
a passel of poems, then some again.


October 5, 2020
Silent One - When There is No Inspiration

Downtowns Deflowered

Condemnation, confrontation
  Nasty, no-compromise nation

Protestors plentiful, a passel irruptive
  Ornery out-of-towners, so disruptive

Downtowns deflowered in
  Portland Chicago, Seattle
Lawless looters ~
  Time to skedaddle

Aberacadabru Please and Thank You

"1...2...3... Abracadabru,  Please and Thank You!
Let The Light Turn...Green!"
Seven is a whole passel Max, not Mid,
But never shirk you did, never asked for a Bid,
Never also, we would not, you be Rid,
One O'Them, Rusty, the third floor Kid,
Lindsey was "Heart & Soul" 'til her digits did Skid,
The Rob, Brave Knave, yet 'neath a shore table Hid,
Kristie the Red "Incred" to Lee lovingly Slid,
Jen the Wren, Rambunctious Doer, her Rick Did,
Hilary, numbered John, even Lamp Lids,
Nori Pooh Bear gymnast, flipped Tom's Id,
Seven is a Duo, and How!, Plus a Quid,
All by Wooden Spoon marched, like navy Mids,
Your Caesars cut us 7 from rough Burlap 
"Veni, Vici, Vids"

Written to demonstrate that post-stroke I could still write verse on Mother's Day
that was 7 yrs. ago

****, Vaginal Or Rectal Or Pterodactyl

****, Vaginal or Rectal or Pterodactyl

Thee ae many things that may become fragile;
Either ****, Vaginal or Rectal or else Pterodactyl
So why to the poor only give them a passel?
While rich enjoy living in their ivory castle. 

Are always some plays known as razzle dazzle
Over which I presume people get in a hassle
When performance should be on schedule
Or end up in a danger that is perpetual.

At first was abysmal as well as abominable
Became perfect play such a phenomenal 
And then later we decently did admire
His igniting team setting them on fire.

Done gingerly lacked hindsight and grotesque 
That put the whole team to a turbulent task
Really being rascals like caddy coaches are
Turned each team member into a rising star.

Jim Horn

Meet Her At Byzantine

She has nothing to hide
She bathes from phoenix waters
Her face is a painting of emotions
Joy, fear, anger, sadness
Triumphs over lakes of unbelievable 
Her body is a shrine
Of Lady of Morals
The Titans bow to her
As she waves the indigo skies
Of dreams, of reality
And the shadows of the giant future
Her eyes are gateways of Renaissance
Her mind is a Continuum
A designed power set of neutrality
The plateau of paragons conceiving passel of hopes
Her heart is a great barrier reef---
Axioms of force and compassionate forbearance
Her embrace reaches the byzantine
No myths, no scales, no bottlenecks.
She, the Gaia’s daughter
The lover of Love
The love of Love.



©Ceri Naz/ March 07, 2015

Hail-Fellow-Well-Met

Hail-fellow-well-met had hair of the dogs
                               A little pipped up to scare off the fogs
                                               A sip and a trip
                                              A night of a strip
                                 All made Hail-Fellow a passel of hogs

A Little Problem

These midgit's live in a big castle.
Where getting around's a big hassle.
They looked for a way.
So that they could stay.
But the steps, too much of a passel*.

* Passel : large number or amount.

P. C. P. S. No offense intended with the use of the word midgit's. Peace. :)

Crush and Grudge

whn i lukd at u in clg passel...
a pinch of salt hs been aded im my lyf...
lyk nthin in my lyf cn ad more hustle...
dt crush and grudge hs always been a puzzle....

arm in arm our eyes gt strikd...
lyk nthin cud blame dt sexy bribe...
bt my jaws gt stuckd whn u cm n trouble..
dt crush and grudge hs always been a puzzle....

i cried a lot whn i dnt gt heard...
ofcourse its al about u my first love...
nthin cn hurt me as long as u cradle...
dt crush and grudge hs always been a puzzle....

although i knw u hv already been stolen...
dt sexy bribe hs nt been risd up n smoken...
bt my dear i also believe in gettin things riddle..
becoz i knw dt crush and grudge will alwayz remain as a puzzle...

love pari

if u liked d poem or evn if u hate it..plz gv me ur feedback through ur cmnts..i wl apreciate it..

The Year

How much difference a year can make,
If only a few moments of callow indiscretion I could take,
Away from a passel of newly forged mistakes,
New days are wrought with hopes of a clean slate;

From the cobwebs of my mind I rake,
Through the rift of whispering comments that resonate,
My past and that of my longed for mate's,
Whom without a care or folly forged my fate,
With but a pernicious word of hate,
Forever sealed my hope of love to a blackened crate,
Darkened - the windows of my heart closed to the beams of another day;

So the ruminations of my mind do grate,
On the rocky concept of harmony it can't be safe,
For the derision of love it shall forever state,
Beneath the wreckage beyond which most contemplate,
Until on the dusk of the season it will awake,
And yearn for a rebirth another year will create.

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