"fluffing" poems
staying up til 3:34am just thinking about his kisses
angrily fluffing pillows because they're not him
tossing and turning wondering if he's doing the same
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
a ****** of Crows
gather Carpe Diem;
fluffing their throat feathers,
commiserating
the dead-weight
each unshod foot
bending the world below
the horde of cleft feet align
leaving no footprint behind ―
bowing the antique
frayed telephone wire
party-line swaying with the wind
over the washed out road;
at any moment
the land-line
might break
from the overload ―
downcast,
abandoned,
level with the ground ―
but no one
on earth
even cares ...
they've got
the whole world
in their palm
beneath the sky ―
and the crows
have wings
to fly away ...
harlon rivers
June 2018
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
I’d only been home for a week or two
And Jeanine was acting queer,
Each time she’d pass the mirror she’d stare
And I heard her say, ‘Oh dear!’
I’d been away for five long years
But she hadn’t changed a bit,
Each time I’d ask, she’d cover her ears:
‘I have to go to The Crypt!’
I thought that she meant the local club
Where they drank and danced all night,
‘Aren’t you a little too old for that,’
I’d say, and her face turned white.
‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ she snapped,
‘If only,’ was my reply,
‘Whether we like it or not, we age,
And then, we finally die.’
She put her hands to her ears, and shrieked,
‘Don’t ever say that to me!
You can die, but I’ll still go on,
I’ll be what I want to be.’
I stood quite shocked as she raved, she cried
And turned and ran from the room,
I didn’t know what to make of her,
So sat, half stunned in the gloom.
She’d always worried about her looks
Had made up her face for hours,
I’d said, ‘You’re really compulsive, Sis,’
She’d take innumerable showers.
I said, ‘You’re washing yourself away,
There’ll be no oil in your skin.’
‘But don’t you think that I’m beautiful,’
She’d say, with an evil grin.
She’d never married, but dated men
Who would compliment on her looks,
‘He said I’m like Cleopatra,’ or,
‘Like Helen of Troy in the books!’
‘Words are cheap,’ I would say to her
And she’d fly right into a rage,
‘You’re always trying to put me down!’
‘You’re like a bird in a cage!
Always fluffing your feathers up
To say, ‘Hey look at me!’
Don’t you care for the things in life
That are not complimentary?’
But she would shrug and ignore me then
She was vain beyond compare,
I didn’t know that she’d signed a pact
With the Devil, in her despair.
The weeks went by and her mood got worse,
She was nervous, I could see,
Her hands would tremble and she would curse
Applying her toiletry.
The wrinkles set in around her eyes
‘So much for that cream I bought!
I’ll have to go to The Crypt,’ she cried,
And burst in tears at the thought.
One day I spied her out in the street
Down by a ruined church,
She forced her way past the battened door
And disappeared with a lurch.
I waited hours, out there in the street
To see when she’d reappear,
Then realised she’d gone to the crypt
In the bowels of that church, in there.
She came out walking, as in a trance,
So beautiful, redefined,
I couldn’t believe the change in her,
I thought that I’d lost my mind.
The girl I saw was only a shell
Of the woman who once was whole,
Whoever she’d met in that evil crypt
Had walked away with her soul!
David Lewis Paget
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
A silk and cotton stuffed pillow is now on my bed,
I use it at night to rest my tired and weary head.
How strange it feels lying awake upon it,
Inner laced fingers on my chest, hand on heart,
And then, my all-time favorite…
I fold my arms into the shape of the letter X.
I fantasize I am dead every night and I do it for just a bit,
The only part I do not like is…
Is when I fall asleep in the middle of doing it.
Fluffing it here and fluffing it there,
I try and give it much respect
Rapid eye movement sleeping eyes do detect
Daily nightmare’s approaching and one’s that just don’t care
Forever now on my mattress you will find it there….
(SirCARSr. 1-14-13)
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
The clouds of curiosity
fluffing up like pink cotton candy,
the kind you get at the county fair.
A blooming pink fluff of a sugary
capacity, to fill your mouth
with the most desirable thirst
for lemonade that you've ever had.
Allowing for the sweet granules
to melt blissfully on your tongue,
savoring each and every sweet
morsel
'til you don't even realize that
the pink fluff is all gone.
Then you are riding on a perpetual
rush from the sugar
seeping into your bloodstream
aiding your curious adventure,
seeking as the lights from
the Ferris Wheel tantalize.
The fear of the top of the ride
worth the rush on the way down,
the people seem much smaller than
you expected;
but the rush,
well, the rush speaks for itself.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
Oh
Yeah
mmmmmmmmmmmm
You know you love me, I know you care
Just make whale sounds whenever, and I'll be there
You are my significant other, you are my heart
And we will never ever ever be apart
If I was your wife, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House
Keep you on my arm, you'd never be alone
I can be your Thigh, anything you want
If I was your wife, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House
Girlie, girlie, girlie mmmmmmmmmmmm
Like baby, baby, baby nooo
Like girlie, girlie, girlie mmmmmmmmmmmm
I thought you'd always be mine (mine)
When I met you girlie my Hamstring went whale noise
Now them Iguanas in my Neck won't stop stop
And even though it's a struggle love is all we got
So we gonna keep keep fluffing to the mountain top
There's gonna be one more Hamstring going whale noise
One more Hamstring going whale noise
One more Hamstring going whale noise
Your Spine, my biggest weakness
Shouldn't have let you know
I'm always gonna do what they say (hey)
If you need me
I'll come groping
From a thousand miles away
When you grow beards at McDonalds I grow beards at McDonalds (oh whoa)
You fly big red dragons, I fly big red dragons
Hey
Na na na, na na na, na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
Yeah significant other
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
If I was your wife
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
If I was your wife
My friends say I'm a fool to think
That you're the one for me
I guess I'm just a skanky fool for my girlie
Uhh ohhh
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
wednesday
the squeaky-shoed boy day
the extremely annoyed day
the ice cold void day.
the boy who's all teeth
smiles with the girl in the cleats
drowning in bicuspids
telling her how he 'roughed it'.
sneakers scuffing
hair fluffing
smoke puffing.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
waking from a dream
of combing through
forgotten files
with neatly labeled folders
under “warblers”
I found a cellophane
envelope enfolding
a black and white bird
I opened the envelope
and the bird awoke
fluffing its feathers
in a cloud of dust
I offered
an outstretched
palm of seeds
which the bird ignored
hopping onto my finger
it glanced out the window
and sang -
forget the seeds
forget my name
open the window
- which I did
and it flew away
Tom Spencer © 2018
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
Yet sometimes when the backyard fills up,
and glows with that silvery grey light,
and I’m tucking into my big enough bed,
and fluffing all of the pillows around me,
my bones ache for your bones,
and my mouth waters for your mouth,
and my skin chills for your skin,
and my mind races for your mind,
and my heart cries out for your heart,
I miss you (and I shouldn’t even miss you).
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
the sinking sun keeps calling
poetic bones and walgreens; three am
flinging glass, nightmares, explicit
circles of the wind
singing into daybreak
shutters slamming shut; flickering eyelashes
and flopping into pillows fluffing up
shifting clouds of how you smelled
porch swings, heartbreaks
capturing breezes soaking skulls
red wine and "oh-take-mine"
tracing outlines imprinted
swaying grass lays flat
where you were,
but the summer sun keeps calling
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:35 AM UTC
sheathe thee
still earth in thy raiment so pale and daunting
a face i cup and hew with lips as cool as the wind
i've broken slander and maleficence that droops
so witless of the boorish plucking youth
do so i, kiss with excellent flavor, this season dewed in frost
meandering carefully my soul in a bolt of fluffing flakes
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 9:24 PM UTC
Light emanating from distant ***** of burning gas are intimidated from the children’s vision by the unruly, central licks fluffing about their little fire.
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The wind, streaming in from the warm side of the nearby ocean, picks up waves of genuine laughter and stunning, off-key voices.
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A bloodline of salt water curls the group into a circular haven where there is no need for corners to shadow defensive secrets.
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This is a time of absolute purity as the children’s minds drift to Never-never land and their hearts float within the red wine spilling into their mouths.
===============================================================
They are all the happiest that they have ever been - on the seams of their spines, dallying until the currents will overtake them someday to bury their bodies at the bottom of the sea.
===============================================================
Darkness thickly pastes the surrounding beach, longing for the fleecy little fire to cease its bravado so that the children can fall deeply into sleep.
===============================================================
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
I pray although it's the end of the time,
The angel wakes up to flutter his wings.
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.
Snowflakes are the angel's feathers, like springs.
They dance with the wind of change, in despair.
The sky glows pinkly in the shades of things.
We're like icy trees screaming at the air,
With icy leaves and crystal hearts, we dream
The crystals of wept tears in our prayer.
Within sky vastness is our bleeding scream,
Digging early graves in the war of crime,
While our thread of love weaves wounds for life's gleam.
I pray although it's the end of the time,
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
I bought a few sprigs of lavender tied with yarn from a boy outside the bookstore during the brightest days of summer.
The small decoration lay on a stack of books by the bed, scent fading with the passing days, inches from my pillow.
Meanwhile I ran about dusting and polishing, fluffing and waxing, making everything nice.
At night I fell into sleep moments after lifting my feet from the floor, forgetting all I dreamed.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC
Shhh!
I'm straining to hear
(I admit, this is my greatest fear)
thundering, rolling silence
boulders loosened
parched from a dry spell
not able to find the words to tell
nor a drop in the hollow well
a writers ramblings that freely clutter
thoughts, ideas, those clever lines I mutter
All taken for granted, perhaps there's just nothing more
needing to be said, it never before felt like a chore
Comfortable as clockwork, like a heartbeats drum
Absent, broken, chaotic ideas now that make me look dumb
A river of words, a waterfall of passion, that carries me
taken by the current now lost at sea
Dry and dammed, a beavers work,
also called 'writers block', a place where evil idleness may lurk
Reassured by friends and family to not worry
it will be back and come in a flurry
But they don't hear the voice
or comprehend inspiration is not a choice
Yet I should confess
I am responsible for this lazy mess
It's not as though I haven't tried
"I wrote a little today," I lied.
Sterile white paper mirroring my thoughts, blank stares
inky shapes, pixels, sans serif, no one cares
Interrupted by any distraction
Even the most tedious jobs holds some attraction
Mopping, scrubbing, fluffing, dusting
Acid in those scribbled notes on torn paper rusting
**** in chair with rolling fingertips like the roll of a drum
Waiting for that muse, my writing voice to come...
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
A Dreamer’s Dream
only Dreamers can dream,
a dream such as mine.
dreaming silly dreams,
like the stars that shine.
pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?
A dreamer’s Dream can only be
a vision of uncertain reality
You can do what you want,
you are finally free
pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?
I can’t take my eyes off you
standing there in the light of the moon
your dress is so perfectly blue
hold onto my hand and step into the room
pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?
Ferrets talking to snails
little white rabbits fluffing their tails
She only speaks in rhythm and rhyme
But i don‘t care because i know she is mine
pictures and letters,
thoughts through the night,
Won’t you come over,
and see me tonight?
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:04 PM UTC
.
What the hell is wrong with me,
where does this circus come from
Three rings that seem to open new tents in my mind
Dark tents filled with wild and dangerous thoughts,
pacing in a cage, waiting to be released
Yeah, you just try and make me
jump through one of those fiery hoops,
see where your head ends up and where
that whip is shoved
Sawdust everywhere as I parade around
Fluffing my feathers, thinking I know,
Proud ain’t even close to how I feel
as I swing from the trapeze,
sequins glistening,
looking for the meaning, the why
I keep asking why…why as I once again
light the fuse with cotton candy fingers,
shot from a cannon, screaming,
there is no net, not for me, not for these thoughts
Open this door and let me out,
I’m stuffed in this little car
with a bunch of clowns, painted on smiles
big floppy shoes and **** they are all me
(Send in the clowns, I hate that song)
and I hate these thoughts
Juggled about, like so many *****
flying through the air, never touching the ground
and there they are, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
children of all ages, staring, laughing, pointing,
shoveling popcorn in their faces
then running in fear as these thoughts
escape confinement once again
Don’t you get it, can’t you see,
this is real, this is me
I love, I love deeply, I can’t guess your weight
but I can feel you rummaging for tickets
in my heart and all I have is for you
Free admission, stop by the petting zoo,
Share a branch with a giraffe, share
Share, wow, maybe that’s it,
maybe that’s why I smile
when the tents come down
heading for another place
another town
another time
send out the clowns
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
I love slow,
not snailish,
random acts,
but where one is
relieved, revealed
in their yawn and
stretching of limbs,
a little scratch
in the ribs,
stomach
like an animal
absently fluffing
up fur...
a spread of charm,
wayward hair
strand curled
curled to a spiral,
deep guttural sigh
of a woman asleep
over her lush hair
or walking quietly
under the trees
trance-gazing
a stray cotton seed,
helicoptering dry leaf,
squirrel run...
I love slow,
gentle sidestep
dance to it,
revolve of
lissome waist to music,
liquid spread
in a hot pan,
still breath
between kisses
sea waves licking
up the feet,
slithering afar,
time nibbling
away...
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
promised them not to do this tonight,
please pass the potatoes, my they are light and fluffy,
promised them not to be so distracted,
they said if I keep going, it will be redacted,
asked them if they meant the turkey or the stuffing,
they said is that your feathers you are fluffing?
asked them where is the cream corn and the gravy,
"stop typing and we will pass them maybe"
thanked them for their generosity,
they said they "hadn't seen an appetite with such ferocity."
thankful that I am full and tasted some of it all, did not have to cook, only child mind and clean,
up after,
they said, if I "try to write a poem again during a family celebration," with irritation, my "serving
will be lean"
thankful that they do not know that I really will eat anything even if it is just white meat...
©DWE102013
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
concerning making the bed i’ve grown rather fussy even meticulous as far back as i can remember i’ve made my own bed even when i lived in my parent’s house many years ago i asked teresa the maid to leave my room untouched and as a child made my own bed i don’t recall being as particular then as i am now in fact when i lived on armitage street in chicago and enjoyed feral affairs with many women i slept on futon on floor with bottom sheet and sleeping bag but that was 25 or more years ago now i pull tight from foot end bottom powder blue sheet and brush area if i find particles or loose feathers i pick them up with fingers and walk them into kitchen deposit them into waste basket then return to bedroom to make the bed i choose to exclude top sheet next i pull quilt cover symmetrically over foot of bed allowing for some over-hang then attend to head of bed flipping and fluffing pillows adjusting duvet proportionately over pillows to top edge making sure if perhaps some woman sleeps with me she will find clean neat spot next to me yet no one has slept with me for years i sleep in queen size bed hoping praying for loving partner but becoming aware i will possibly likely die alone in this bed
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 10:10 AM UTC
On the days that I can't
even roll over in bed without
an internal sigh so deep
it would rival the heave of
the shuddering earth
and you ask me why
dinner is still cooking and
the drier is fluffing and
the dishes are crusting
and the dust is still lying
and my lashes are bare
and my hair is unkempt
as the sheets on the bed...
On these days when
I go to work anyway
before you wake up and
I get home after you
(you're sleeping on the couch)
and pick up after you
and serve myself after you
and you still think to ask
about the undone things that
your eyes see so well...
On these days with
these questions and that
look in your eyes
it's all I can do
to set my jaw,
smile,
and say:
"I just haven't..."
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
in ear shot, passing by
you can hear warnings on
the street signs
death,
it stops breathing,
holding holding
until you’re no longer separate
it sprints through city streets
gracefully stretches out of hospital beds
folding blankets, fluffing pillows
waits next to us
death is fragile,
shatters on pavement
falls in cracks and
drifts and dries
how many of us have died walking
through a doorway
could so much be forgotten
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
A faded white bird of beauty
Flapping like stars of ice through the breeze
Empty eyes bellowing
Losing faith that should not be
Feeble attempts to leave the ground
Fluffing out his feathers with dedication
As the ghosts of his heart begin to ascend
Collecting clouds imaging the heavens above
The depths of the moonlight
Strange and shard like barb- wire
Death fogged the interpretation of this place
You lay still and cold
With strings tied to your face
Almost impossible to forgo these wings
As the atmosphere melts on me
I descend into the breeze
Farewell with rust in my mouth
I go into a unstoppable wind
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Over by the old church spire
sits a very noisy woodpecker
fluffing his plumage for all to admire
this little chap is a wrecker.
The dark mysterious crow
knows the woodpecker drills holes
but he is more interested in the meadow
and the land around which he controls.
The magpie however is a smart guy
sitting in his black and white uniform
he only needs a lens over just one eye
surveying his prey from his platform.
The little finch meanwhile
knows every little square inch
down to the smallest pile
of what he can pinch.
The pigeon, thick as two short planks
standing in the purple of the shadow
he knows the sort of pranks
they get up to in the willow.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
It is on eves like these where
confinement to my quarters is perfection.
The crushing ideal to become the butterfly
who floats ever so gracefully
in the shadows of the neon lights
with fore and hind chitin
effervescently radiating towards
the heat source greater than my own
and pollinating each and every flower
gracing this beautiful Earth:
gratuitous metamorphosis
Tonight I will be the moth,
flickering near the light
and fluffing my feathered antennas.
My "drab" wings will shield me
from predators of land and sky,
an easy rest on this heart of oak.
Navigate me stars and Moon,
my essence attracts for miles round.
placid animation
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC