"fluffed" poems
The scorching of the sun diminished
Black clouds fluffed up the skies
Thunders and lightning hit the drums of change
New winds have traversed in
And the trees danced to their gushy choir
Pearls of rain drops fell down to earth
And the sands have welcomed them with joy
Behold! I have arrived.
The monsoon said.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
It's cold in Duhallow this morning and the fields that were green yesterday
Lay chilled to the frost that the night brought a cover of silvery gray
And the little dunnock on bare hedgerow too cold and too hungry to sing
On **** branch he perch sad and silent the hardship that January can bring.
The robins and sparrows by back door like beggars they wait to be fed
In hope that when breakfast is eaten the housewife might throw out some bread
With no thought for song or for nesting their battle is to stay alive
How many will live to see April the Winter so hard to survive?
The first heavy snows of the Winter have fallen on the higher ground
On Clara, Shrone and Caherbarnagh the hills are so white all around
The blackbird and thrush on the bare branch their feathers fluffed against the chill
And hare has come down to the lowland there's nothing to eat on the hill.
But I can remember the bright days when sun shone on the leafy tree
And robins and thrushes and finches piped in the woods of Knocknagree
And to her nest on barn rafters the sparrow brought feathers and hay
And out on the dandelion meadow the pipit sang all through the day.
Young calves and young lambs in green pastures were full of the frolics of Spring
And joy too had come to the river the song of the dipper did ring
And moorhen was out with her babies and she chirped loud if human was near
Her first lesson to them survival to teach them the meaning of fear.
It's cold in Duhallow this morning the thrush silent on the bare tree
And gray on the fields and the hedgerows and gray over all Knocknagree
But I can remember the bright days when nesting birds piped all the day
And hedgerows and woodlands and meadows smelt sweet with the blossoms of May.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
velcro wallet
was navy, i think
gray plastic zipper
grandma gave you
i had a locket
it had your picture inside
but you threw it away
because you looked like a rabbit
apparently
hair fluffed, eyes puffy
two teeth and two hours
of squirming on a photo booth
plastic coin pouch
small crayola blue
walmart sticker on a side
but it never made me smile
not like that piggy bank did
yard sale treasure
dinosaur-shaped
no smashing to withdrawl
our tooth fairy dollars and dust
still, you crammed stink bugs
down the long neck's back
now, a denim bag on my bed
rhinestoned one in the closet
and your wallet is
real leather, i think
has superheroes on it
rough and grungy
as the comic books in the attic
or, did you toss those too?
who needs a screwdriver
without a *****
that's all money was
just hardware we didn't have
much use for
but there is more than one way
to use a tool
so here, i'll paint it straighter
who needs a coffin without a corpse?
especially when we were
so full of life back then
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.
He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre.
He laughed himself to the centre of himself
And attacked.
At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
Shadows flattened.
But the sun brightened—
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.
He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.
"Up there," he managed,
"Where white is black and black is white, I won."
10k
Smooth out the wrinkles
before I sleep
don't forget
to tuck in the sheet
chill the fluffed pillows
sprinkle soft scents
floating light as air
off to sleep I went
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
it's all a buzz inside me
cotton fluffed between my ears
and ceaseless crickets droning,
like a tuning fork that never ends
but always holds the pitch
of time and undivided space.
an empty shell peering out at life
stuffed with eternal noises
of neurons crackling.
where's the fun in cotton candy
when it's stuffed inside my head?
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
I hope your new life is free
Cool breezes
No stress
I hope you stretch your legs
With no worries
Your pond full of shrimp
Your heart full
I bet your feathers
Are positively pink
And always fluffed
Admiring your admirers
And I hope you know
While you hangout with your flamingo flock
Forgotten, you are not
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:40 AM UTC
In the early dark of the morning,
dark inside the crypt of my bedroom--
you sparrows came to me there.
I had only said in mind these words:
a forgiveness of sparrows
And there you were, feathers
all fluffed out, and I
searching inside myself.
I think now to tell the better truth -- to say
that mixed in with my need for calling you
was Brueghel, his painted picture with the crushing board,
trip-cord, and feed for bird killing
and my imagining snapshot young Hemmingway
capturing pigeons in Paris to eat them
and feeling the presence of
the one small bird I'd shot as a boy
out of the apple tree
falling falling falling
Sparrows, forgiveness flies all around me!
The world cries out, everywhere!
A police car slides down my street,
as I hear your first chirp in the morning.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
Its as if
A solemn oath
To reminiscence
Had memories
Had dreams
Are you tired of me yet?
It just seems
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Explaining the simplicity of slumber
Had a memory
Your a dream
Are you gone from me yet?
It was fact
Actuality
Nirvana upon purple hills
Had memories
Haunted dreams
Are you done with me yet?
It was peaceful
A gloomy rainy day
A solemn oath
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Nirvana upon purple hills
Delicious night
Filled by yellow pills
Are you high off me yet?
Its as if
You were a memory
Within a dream
A haunted nightmare
So it seemed
Stuck in limbo
Or purgatory
No longer deserving your glory
Naive
Gentle
Kisses
Sweet and simple
Sent me flying high
Are you tired of me yet?
Leave me to runaway
I'm Wilson
Castaway
I am gone from you yet..
Nirvana on purple hills
Fought the fray
Are you done with me yet?
Roaming
To home im phoning
Airplanes
Night walkers
Street and sweet talkers
Getting high off me yet?
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Ticking the days off was exciting
Yet became a living nightmare
She’d had an invitation to the ball
She now worried how to get there.
It was the End of Year Fairies Ball
Where the best of the fairies went.
She’d got her gown, her fairy shoes
And had made her rose petal scent.
She had chosen pale green for her dress
And had sewn buttercups to the hem.
Little golden flowers cascaded down her
With tiny leaves still attached to the stem.
She had a buttercup upside down on her head
With golden thread under her chin
Daisies draped from her arms held tight
By a tiny golden wrist pin.
She looked adorable but so did the others
They all looked like a story from a fairytale
Nerves sometimes got the better of her
So the breathing slowed down, a slow exhale.
The buttercup fairy looked divine as she did
Always and mingled, taking her time
She ate raspberry pips and drank blossom juice
And had her first sample of apple wine.
She sat under an acorn and arranged her wings
A robin provided a pillow for her which was nice
Before he knew it she had fallen to sleep
But was she about to pay the upmost price.
She had missed the best dressed fairy time
When all fairies were judged by the chief elf
Instead this tipsy little fairy fast asleep
And was sitting on a very expensive shelf.
She awoke with the sound of little bells
Announcing the winner of the best dress
She tutted at the robin for not waking her
She as angry because now she was in a mess.
She now wore a face as long as a fiddle
And did not care about anyone or thing
She had prepared for this day since the
Beginning of this year’s spring.
The moral of her story don’t nestle
Next to a naughty little robin with fluffed chest
Otherwise you fall to sleep all afternoon
And then end up seriously depressed.
The buttercup fairy found some comfort
In a super little bar under a mushroom
And smashed her way through too much wine
Which for now ended her doom and gloom.
Staggering her way home in the early hours
Singing over the blackbird’s morning tune
She perched herself under an oak leaf
And slept until the new light of the moon
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
Fluffed pillows with a sunken spot where your head was,
Ruffled sheets and messed up blankets,
Your toes stick out from under the comforter,
Exposed to the cold, winter air that has
Infiltrated the warm bedroom you sleep in.
The bed is warm and so is your skin
As is the spot you two were sleeping in.
She's still sleeping;
Lying peacfully wrapped around you,
With your head on her chest,
You listen to the song her heartbeat plays.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Not so far away girl
still so impossibly far
why must we wait until sunrise
to fall asleep?
Why is this beauty only conceivable
after the bottle dripdrips empty?
sinking deeper and deeper into saturn's orbit
youthful vibrant fluffed up peacocks
clucking on about research chemicals
and music festivals and last night and 6 days before
about banking and obamacare
and oh, my they're all talking
all at once
talktalktalking about this this this and that
not even asking for audience
soundwaves echo into nothingness
screaming lungs void of substance
fleeting purposes
failed courtships
unheard unimportant words
and oh, my, what a tedious thing
the night has become
but to stay at home alone
would be even more unspeakable.
Outside the party across the street
there is a tree
splayed out overhead and undergound
soaking up carbon growing tall still growing
slightly sad tree breathing in the silence of our sighs
dancing fallen leaves wrapping up the deadspace around us
deadworld space where we two sit under the edge
of revelry and absurdity
laughing, drunk, with the moon and the stars and
for just a second
feeling
slightly less impossible.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
No vices, no difference
I have some things to do tomorrow,
I think I’ll just take the wagon
I’m just waiting for something to happen
to help me make up my mind
I always imagine tragic
someone dies and they’re so close
I don’t believe in fairy tales or souls,
but I don’t even want to write their names
for fear I’ll have a hand in why they lost life’s duel
or maybe we’re all just an election away from
anarchic warring states,
where I must defend my beans and cucumbers
from slugs and marauders
If we hold it together, red China could invade
so would I rather be a prisoner or dead?
Perhaps, I’ll just meet some girl,
where I’ll feel “some” as a description does her deep injustice,
because the love will be enormous
Now, I’m courting a chickadee that’s never dull,
but her name doesn’t quite roll off the tongue
Her name is Adventure and she rolls like hills and mountains,
and speed popping truckers with their eyes and ecstatic smiles
If I’m still seeing her, I might be a gat slinging ******* out west
bumming around San Jose or Cambodiay
Hearing all that talk, I think I just want to leave,
and I guess the pay is better anyway
My mind is made up
it’s not something real
It is, was, and is still fluffed up with schooling and the words of persuasive people
their confidence in what their saying is like a lightning bolt ******* into my stem
they jammed us into waiting rooms for something called progress
they even separate the sick people
I closed my eyes to see what was real,
and saw nothing
There is no waiting room at all
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
You see, I know this guy,
with bright and gentle eyes—
sunflowers against blue skies . . .
A true angel in disguise.
He’s known since before he could fly
that he wasn’t like the other guys,
or the him in their minds, that decoy,
that never dreams of kissing a boy
for the purest joy. . .
No, he’d have to strengthen those wings
not to tangle in the strings
that sting, and cling, and sling,
to save his prince—
his king.
A feathered, armored knight,
he soars with grace and might.
In a weary world of fright,
he’d invite any height –
loyal beyond first light.
And you see, there I was, drowned in muddy water,
with gills choked on death’s slobber,
****** by the wave’s merciless slaughter
of hope, that bled and foamed atop the marauder,
and lost like the sea king’s youngest daughter,
I, a merman bobbed below the knight’s shadow.
He saw the faintest blush
of my lost soul and rushed
to grace me from my grave, flushed
and bathed me amid the rainbows in the waterfall, hushed
my toxic tears, that cursed and gushed,
and pecked my lips, as sweetly as a thrush.
His feathers fluffed, my scales standing on edge.
I nested in the angel’s white down hedge
till my heart and soul was nursed to fledge.
Our skin taught with tingly warm bumps, an intimate pledge.
I a he fell in love with he a him, and love became our kedge.
So you see, while my worries ebb and flow like the moon’s tide,
bringing questions of where a bird and fish can reside,
I trust in him I can confide, never to hide, but cast my fears aside.
We’ve already broken the surface where the air and water collide,
we need not the world far and wide,
we need only to carry each other inside
our arms, and together glide,
feathers and scales side by side.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
I have to make him a turkey sandwich,
crusts cut off, mayo on the left piece of bread,
in two triangle halves every single night
before he goes to sleep on the right side of the bed
with two pillows, fluffed twice each, slippers
tucked neatly underneath the bed skirt.
And every night I wonder
what would happen if I forgot the pickle on the side,
like the one time
we ran out of cheese and my car had a flat tire
and the supermarket was so far, but boy
did he give it to me. I’ve never seen someone count
to one-hundred so fast with their finger taps
before the table flipped. Never have I seen
someone clean up glass so slowly, each piece
thrown in the trash individually
just like my pieces
that have been carved away year after year,
loaf after loaf, as my eyes droop backwards
and rest on his haircut that I give
every six weeks on a Wednesday. Sometimes,
I try to kiss his neck when I let the scissors slip,
but he always reminds me that this slot
is “haircut time” and there’s no necessity in kissing
anyway. And I’ve tried to respect
his attic closet compartments with the key
that had gone missing when he was fifteen,
and I’ve tried to wish on misshapen pieces of cereal
in my bowl because I’m that desperate for a miracle.
Do you know?
Do you know how hard it is to lie next to someone
who you know doesn’t dream of you, not because he doesn’t
want to, but because he can’t. He can’t
do so many things and sometimes I’ll lay out a green tie
on a workday instead of blue just to watch him blow up
because at least that’s a feeling. At least that’s not white walls
and another **** turkey sandwich. And I know that’s sinful,
and I also know that I fold my hands wrong when I pray,
but I’ve tried to shape him for years and all I’ve gotten
is a cast with nothing to fill the mold. And I know my suitcase
has been packed for weeks, but. . . Dear God, you know I’ll never leave.
I save my laundry for Saturdays, don’t tell him why I’m crying
myself back to sleep, and check the fridge one last time
for the right deli meat.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
a piece of you, in a different form.
a piece left over, from the storm.
in my existance,
came all the resistance.
shortly after, the roof caved in.
& with an end, we watched it begin.
daddy left, you stepped up.
an empty glass, you filled the cup.
little did we know, it had a leak.
it's dripping slowly, as we speak.
over bumps we built bridges, rocky roads we held hands.
next to me, by my side...you'd always stand.
then, my hero ****** up.
he spilt the cup.
but he wasn't to blame,
no guiltiness, no shame.
you mopped the floor,
and again..you poured.
the cup freshly filled...
until the next spill.
the crack grew longer,
our bond grew stronger.
but little by little,
it grew too brittle.
his pillows were fluffed.
mine came unstuffed.
his blankets were warm.
mine came torn.
his bed was made.
but, you see i was afraid.
he didn't come home.
my secret is left : unknown.
i hit a blindspot in your rearview mirror.
i tried to hit the wipers so you'd see clearer.
& i tried with all my might.
to get into your sight.
but he was standing there, in the headlights.
& you...flicked on your brights.
there, i stopped, i tumbled...i fell.
no mean to get up, no energy to compell.
so now, i'll try and help you understand,
why i only hold plastic cups in my hand.
i was tired of competing with the one who broke the cup.
and watching, everytime, as you filled it up.
i was tired of running, when he got to walk.
i was tired of staying silent, when he got to talk.
i didn't know you had to fail, in order to win.
i didn't know you had to say goodbye, in order to begin.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
Bitter pill picnic
tables set to
prepare the
banquet
Pilgrims gorge until
pillow stuffed
full of itself
and doubt
Doubled over tummy
ache: dummy done
did to itself
-regrettably-
Pillow fluffed and
mattress flipped
to fight the
mighty itis
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
There are five stages to grieving
I've been through them all
At least twice, some three times
I'm 45 and single
Very single
Husband...cancer
Daughter...war
No dog, no cat
single
You know, I'm the only person I know
who lost a daughter in the war
Was I mad, really spitting mad
I can still see that poor fellow
The one who delivered the news to me
Not his fault, but....I think I tore enough
skin off of him to last a thousand lifetimes
There was denial, she's not gone I thought
She'll come through the door one day
She'll phone, but it hasn't rung yet
And if it does....Houdini can't be far behind
I miss her, truly miss her
I've come to terms with it
It wasn't easy, but I understand now
I've moved on, and she has too
This year, I had to relive it all over again
I do, anyway....every time I hear we lost someone else
someone else's child, their son, daughter, husband, wife
father, mother, someone who was loved
This year, the fifth anniversary year of all years
I've been asked to go to the ceremony down town
They want me to be the Silver Cross Mother
Not nationally mind you,
But here, in my town
The town my daughter grew up in
They want me to show my grief
In front of all of them
Again
Now, I'm mad again
Not at them for asking
But, at war,
It stole my daughter
It took away my chance at watching her grow
Grandkids, school plays
selfish reasons, I know,
But, I hate it
I'll do it, **** right I will
She deserves it
They all do, each and every one
And when I do,
Not only will I be there for her
I'll be there laying that silly fluffed up
plastic coated ivy and poppy wreath
for all 158 mothers who have lost children
In this war at least
And for the ones to come
Which I hope is few
And most important
I will show them another
New stage of grieving
PRIDE
Pride in myself
Pride in my daughter
and Pride in my Country
The sixth stage of grief
From the heart
I'm Arlene Watson
And I lost a daughter
And I'm mad
And I'm proud
and on November 11th
you'll see both
I miss you dear....
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
I don't know where to start... I feel plane
infinite points traced around my brain.
Many ticks ***** injustice migraines
Right now I wanna vent on hot air blimps
self proclaimed pimps
till my tongue twists limp
or turn a loaded gun on immature mutual funds
my grain is rough
and I've grown bitter an tough
my mind metal is scuffed
I Dizzied my Gills be cheeks blowin up guts
what happened to the wonderful world
musta been the Tea.. now I'm Ralphing up Chucks
high society
in memory
it used to be
where I wanted to be
Visa Via
English living was the life for me
guess I'd traded up for some Hot **** reaL-It-Tea
I think I've had enough
guess I stuffed and over fluffed
had too much empty v (MTV)
sipping on that 4 twin Tea
Now I gotta V!
I vibrate so viciously
I violate all variations of conform Ahh!, Tea
Been too long slipping on and spilt ma Chi
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
It leaves you, no active power, no direction,
Listless, unable to program, build,- a mockery.
Worst, the low depairing. embarassing shrouds.
Without that centre; a discrete despair - please don't mention.
Hopelessness remains - just so much broken crockery.
Contempt rises from old mates. Passed fluffed up clouds!
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
Heavens gates were opened wide as they waited for them to arrive
The wings were waiting fluffed up and ready as the line
Moved quick and steady.
When at the gate they did reach and waited for that heavenly speech
SAINT PETER there in all his glory telling everyone CHRIST S story/
That they are there because of him and their wings they did win.
Departed souls as far as the eyes could see all happy as can be.
Inside the gates was family - waiting for relatives patiently.
The greeting process is hard to describe as their lights blind your eyes.
It looks like millions of fireflies lighting up the entire sky
They say all the souls lit up - creating the brightness of the sun
And the color of the moon are the souls which will enter soon.
There‘s a reunion going on in the heavens above
Where friends and family are showing their love.
,No more tears , no more pains , mo more bigotry, cause we‘re all the same
All the heaven will rejoice when they hear the LORD S voice
So there is no need to shed a tear , for we are all under GODS care..
© L . RAMS 100515
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
I despise you cat
fluffed ball of bone and undying hatred
you scratch
you scrawl
you torture me so
cat of fatty bulk and inquisitive uncaring
you will suffocate beneath your girth
please cat roll away
if your lazy hiss choked you
I would be ever happy
you blob upon the floor
you the scourge of all mans happiness
I would slaughter
with that of a hatchet or cumbersome pillow
I would slaughter
you the scourge of all mans happiness
you blob upon the floor
I would be ever happy
if your lazy hiss choked you
please cat roll away
you will suffocate beneath your girth
cat of fatty bulk and inquisitive uncaring
you torture me so
you scrawl
you scratch
fluffed ball of bone and undying hatred
I despise you cat
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 1:48 AM UTC
That ******
Cicada.
She won’t let me sleep.
She won’t let me sleep!
Won’t let me sleep –
When I’ve worked my shift,
I’ve paid my rent,
I’ve fluffed my pillow.
Won’t let me sleep –
In between harassment,
In between the bill collectors,
The brawls and the ********
Won’t let me sleep –
When people fail,
When bombs fall
And children perish elsewhere.
She won’t let me sleep.
She won’t let me sleep!
That ******
Cicada.
She won’t let me sleep.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
when I tuck her in, sheets tight under her chin,
pillows fluffed three times wide ways and long ways
(we just might have a type A child yet!)
I notice her eyes. wet, round dinner plates.
there's nothing I need to ask. she has nothing to say.
nothing that hasn't been said in the glances we
exchange over a teddy bear we clutch,
arms slowly ripping from the seams.
she grabs my hand and squeezes,
tighter than I did when she was born.
just five years ago, I screamed,
tossed back my head, sweaty hair
clinging to my scalp like soggy noodles.
the doctor held her up, Simba style.
I closed my eyes gently and slept through the trumpets.
now we're here, in this bed, in this fear
that neither of us can speak.
when her eyelids befriend her cheeks,
and the dinosaur music box hits its last run,
I creep to the door, edging one creak against another;
then I hear it,
barely a whisper, but loud and clear:
why do the good guys have to die?
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
Today I am human
Today I got two legs out of bed to face a world that is sometimes cold
Today I walked tired feet just to make sure they still do their job right
Today I ran fingers through hair and remembered there were teeth to brush, a face to wash
Today I woke to a bottle of water half full by my nightstand
Today I drank it's contents with a handful of vitamins
Today I remembered the importance that breakfast holds so I had it
Today I dressed a body that now and then can feel unfamiliar
Today I pushed the sheets back on the bed to make it almost neat
Today I fluffed a pillow to its full extent
Today I put lotion to skin that is too dry from the California sun
Today I put gas in my car
Today I fed myself without guilt
Today I filled my stomach with meals instead of anxiety
Today I breathed
Today I sighed
Today I did what most consider to be routine, but is so much more to me
All of these simplicities are proof of surviving
Doing so is not always easy
But I do
Today I lived even if I did so quietly
Today I am alive
And tomorrow I will be as well
Tomorrow I will say thank you to today
Tomorrow I will appreciate the effort of before
Tomorrow I will be too proud for too little
Tomorrow I will repeat
Tomorrow I will try again
Tomorrow I am human.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC