Short Fussed Poems
Short Fussed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Fussed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Fussed by length and keyword.
A wild posy
Shriveled and perished.
The evening-warriors chuckled ---
But the day-warriors fussed.
A wild posy
Shriveled and perished.
Cats always love small spaces.
So I know this narrow passage is not scary for you.
Carrying only the beautiful friendliness from-
The years of being fussed over.
And soon the days of silent purring.
As evening fell,
Air gray and still,
My ears discerned
A cardinal’s shrill—
High in an oak,
He fussed, aglow,
While crouched a cat
With stealth below;
From bough to branch,
That bird flashed bright
Until his foe
Slunk into night.
Weeping and tears for the dead hero
It was when mother watched a film true
So big eyes when watched
Same one in next fussed
Asked," How do the dead come to film foe?"
February 25, 2023
Put Your Best (ONE) Limerick Forward (be like Rico Leffanta) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
There once was a picky young troll,
Who fussed over his supper bowl.
He loved human meat,
But disliked the feet
That came off of salty soled souls.
Until one day, he was cajoled
By an ogre out on a stroll.
Who said, “With some heat,
Those feet become sweet.”
Thus our troll was sold on soul’s soles.
For sweet and salty contest
My life in away feel's it's missing something yet what I can't really say.
It could have something to do with you but for me to say would put a game into
play.
My head feel's co fussed my heart feel's hurt but my eye's stay clear so I miss
nothing that would would help me to steer free from hurt and bet rail so I can see
where I sail never fail.
Form:
Life is based on just one crux.
It is trust, trust and just trust.
So easy to defile.
For it is most fragile.
Trust gives me passion to strive.
The power that will make me thrive.
For those, who don’t understand.
There’s no second chance, they are completely banned.
Yeah! To get it straight.
If the trust ablates.
For sure, rest is in dire straits.
YES! I'm not that fussed!
Why do you have to be so cussed?
Fred never bought a pedestal for Ethel's keep
and he provided her with only things cheap.
Despite being a grouch and miser,
it was oft clear Ethel was Fred's desire.
Ethel loved, fussed at and foiled her man
while giving his happiness all one can.
The more she and Lucy grew trouble,
the more she longed for Fred on the double.
... CayCay Jennings
January 12, 2019
From the first touch upon her lips
the young girl would never be the same;
There was a new sway in her sinful hips;
Awakening what a man could tame;
Call it a connection or simply carnal,
such starved eyes flicker with flame;
Now throwing out all of the formal
every word ended with a thrust;
So strong but willingly gave up control;
He knew what to do when she fussed,
just one touch led to instant lust.
Trump and Biden, a joint election win,
In the White House, they both walked in.
But the cat, feeling small,
Grew peevish in the hall,
Wondering who'd let the doggone cat in!
NYT News:
Trump and Biden, declared winners so fine,
Shared victory's crown, sipped the celebratory wine.
But the White House cat, oh, so peevish in clatter,
Fussed and fumed, with a grumpy, sour chatter!
W.C.Barry, White House Correspondent
Early this morning, I found, much to my chagrin,
the flowers in my garden were as if they’d never been.
Bitten off above the soil, green stubs left aground.
Mad enough to spit nails, I fussed and stomped around.
It was easy to discover who the culprits were.
They left telling evidence indented in the dirt there.
Their hoof prints tracked all around the flowerbed;
no blossoms for my soul today, food in their stomachs instead.
This Eighth Month of August
By Franklin Price
8/1/2017
This eighth month of August is very august
In the middle of Summer the AC's a must
If you have it in your house, it's working I trust
If not, open you're windows, put up with the dust
Now you're upset and maybe have cussed
Call the repair man he'll get there or bust
He'll soon have it working, you'll be sorry you fussed
Cool down with a cold one or your dry throat will rust
Her mother fussed
over every little detail.
And always finding something to adjust,
she'd scold, to no avail.
Her daughter wasn't as sexy as mom wanted,
she seemed somewhat scared, as though the stage was haunted.
But her sponsor smiled undaunted,
beauty contests flaunt naughty yet innocent lust.
(Crumbling Rhyme)
02/25/2022
Naughty yet innocent Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mohan Chutani
Chest Volcano
The painful spot on my chest,
stood like Vesuvius, without
the flow of lava-pus, or nue-
ardent of racing dust, to the
tanned, hot skin below.
A spot without pus, I fussed
and mused, how strange this
errant child?
The days turned to nights and
the spot turned to bump; a
minute lump of skin and
awkward cells, perhaps?
But now it’s fled, from hairy,
sweaty, manly chest; but, tell
me; where’s it gone?
Early this morning, I found,
much to my chagrin,
the flowers in my garden
were as if they’d never been.
Bitten off above the soil,
green stubs left aground.
Mad enough to spit nails,
I fussed and stomped around.
It was easy to discover,
who the culprits were.
They left telling evidence
indented in the dirt there.
Their hoof prints tracked
all around the flowerbed;
no blossoms for my soul today,
food in their stomachs instead.
Foul, black depressing mood - Begone!
Lift this mantle, you’ve made me don.
Let the smile return to my face
that I might meet the day with grace.
Thoughts and feelings, suppressed within,
struggle to escape, from depths wherein
my true blithe spirit still exists,
but which this alien mood resists!
So ill humour, get on your way!
I’ll not be fussed by you today.
No matter how the day might end,
I prefer good nature, as my friend.
Rhymer February 12th, 2017.
In quilting, sewing corners is
A challenge I can’t meet.
My sad attempts at mitered corners
End up in defeat.
I’m sure in every corner
Of the sewing world, there must
Be others who’ve had problems, too,
No matter how they’ve fussed.
Don’t back me in a corner,
Surely not one I have cut,
For the corner of my eye reveals
That when I’m in a rut
The tightest corner cannot hold
Some tricks that can be learned.
Forget my sewing – to the
Poets’ corner I’ve returned.