"fussy" poems
It’s something that try we should
To provide the parrot its basic food
Apple minus seeds mango banana
Grape orange guava papaya
As for vegetables cooked dried bean
With beet broccoli its heart you can win
Cucumber carrot and cauliflower
They surely love like they love a shower
Corn on the cob is fun for parrot
They aren’t fussy as them you thought
Hot peppers peapod lettuce
For them delicacies you can choose
Sweet and baked potato well cooked yam
They devour in delight add to their glam
Parrots are cute friendly and nice
Give them oatmeal millet brown rice
They’re not greedy from you they won’t beg
Though these birds love scrambled boiled egg
The parrot is innocent gorgeous and sweet
Can’t call them carnivore yes they like meat
Must talk to them and not keep your mouth shut
Your loving pet the parrot loves occasional nut.
Now words of caution what don’t do them good
Candy and chocolate and all junk food
I know you are smart and not at all mean
To offer this wonder bird mushrooms caffeine
Believe my words they aren’t my opinion
Use them in your food don’t give them onion
Dairy products for them are a big ‘no’ ‘no’
You surely want them to healthily glow
Give the parrot shower keep its cage clean
Give them just fresh foods no sugar no caffeine
Say ‘no’ to pesticides choose only organic
See in their bowel nothing goes toxic
Follow what I’ve said the task is not hard
Spend your time well with this beautiful bird.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
All what fussy ***** had got,
Something that started to rot,
Is nothing else but lofty tails.
Her most horrible trot,
Got her inside the slot,
Of someone called ****
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
did you know
that the
self effulgent light
of God it self
is **** shaped
as above so below
the inner revelation
******* above...light woven
*** hole below ...flesh woven
does this not infer
a magical operation
perhaps a hermetic
ritual of adoration
perhaps a puja
to the ****
with ornate
kaleidoscopic mandalas
replete with wrinkles
and folds
emerald toilet bowls
silk *** wipe
with full color florals
to be ingratiated
by **** art prints
and to be fussed over
and judged
by certified *******
clergy
then to cleanse
with fragrant ointments
that it may remain
unsullied by its
birthing labors
voluptuous
smoldering
fecundations
for purities sake
as god remains
free of limitation
it too
must remain
free of its forgetful
tarnished children
i build temple of ****
high above the people
the little *****
do they
even know
where they come from
how they may
devote themselves
to the grandeur
of the solar ****
and its bestowals
of clumpy torpedoes
the catechism
of the solar ****
to know
to adore
to prostrate
to proselytize
the glory of ****
to the
for corners
of the earth
to be faithful
unto it
to be obedient
and present
your *******
for ritual manicures
by the true initiates
the fussy
******* faeries
those who have
the secret knowledge
and remain true
to the lore
and precepts
set forth
of divine correspondences
to fully appreciate
its eminence
its glory
and have no
God before it
that mercy
will follow them
all the days
of there lives*
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
Friend Rockstar,
Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
I’ve never been maternal.
Put the game on. Abortion.
That’s what I’m about.
Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
I can still remember my first broken bone.
I can still remember my first broken *****
That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
can’t grow up
to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
Look upon all my beauty
I'm a traditional rhyme
Written so elegantly
Perfect in every line!
No, look at my free verse style!
I'm not prissy or fussy
I'm free as a bird with a free spirit
That flies within the realm
Of so many possibilities and directions!
Much less inhibited than you!
Nonsense! The camera flashes!
They are taking pictures of me!
Lovely, poetic form of old
Style, as pure as can be!
You're out of your mind!
You traditional snob!
All the oohs and aahs
Are really all for my poetic genius!
Move aside!
And so they soon got into a tussle, words flying everywhere....that is according to Free Verse
Traditional Rhyme felt so robbed
Free Verse, you trouble maker!
You may be the rage of the day!
But to me you are a faker!
Free Verse had such a harsh choke hold
On the throat of Traditional Rhyme
I can rhyme too... but not like you!
Perfectly? No! Not all of the time!
Traditional Rhyme called a truce
Finally accepting both ways
Sure, she had grace and she had style
But Free Verse would not go away
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 2:38 PM UTC
going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies
you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
with heaving *******
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged
but after all they where
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell
they walked like floats
in marshy air
never touching the ground
above frozen dark crypt terrains
with twinkly bare feet
and black high glossed toenails
staring out of blood spilled eyes
drooling cloudy mouth hollows
and a yearning hungry countenance
encouraging me
to get closer
to bite me all over
pierce me
with needly fangs
puncturing little holes in tender me
making me leak like bad plumbing
until i sloped into the bog below
of course, i was panicked
all trembly
but i had a big one
for these evil shadowy ******* too
so i thought
yes
no
yes
no
yes
no
are you gonna **** me?
i asked
they drooled
ooow okay, i thought is it gonna hurt?
they shook there heads yes!
and drooled
real bad?
i inquired further
ah ha
they lingered glaring
drooling
i guess, waiting for me to make up my mind
oh okay anything for you
you dark dreamy girls
dilapidated queens of hell
with ballet derrières
"down and down I go
round and round I go
in a spin, lovin' the spin I'm in
under the old black magic called love"
after all at ten years old,
i already knew i was
a horror *****
and just a little turned on
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
Even though they control my *****
claim over my lootie,
and they attempt to gaslight my sovereign multifrequency
I haven’t forgotten I am a certified Duesy!
You’re bumming off me, little mousie.
Even if you thought I was a loosy,
I adore my *****
I mean just look at the way it oozes,
sweet nectar that makes you goosey!
I’m too busy
keeping you alive from my *****
Orgasming at light speed to my divine presence, to behold you’d require a diamond koozie.
Call yourself a flouzy
for not respecting this sequency.
If you truly had one too, you’d understand why I am reclaiming my dignity.
They want to own what they do not revere in secrecy.
I can’t be bothered to slow down for you to drain my juicy.
I am too in love with my *****
They try very hard to downplay my power, so sussy.
Bow down or drown in this *****
Ordained into structured flowies,
life is mine, fulfillment With me can be so easy.
But if you’re not with this *****
don’t get too close you Will get dizzy!
So much life is brewing inside my *****
It’s ironic, all these dictators came through my *****
My lips spit you out even though you pretend to be so bossy.
True Power can’t be manipulated you fool, I’d be triggered too if my mind was that lousy!
Are you put off yet, *****
Awww, don’t be so fussy!
Thaw that heart out it’s too icy.
GET OUT of my *****
go elsewhere to be pissy!
Just not on my planet crazy,
you’re on your last mercy!
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 11:11 PM UTC
Before I take one last bow
Plunge it hard deep it go
I beg
*When history writes its page
Mark me not a savage
But one who loved his girl well
Till to the trap he fell
Of being too fussy
In love’s jealousy
A trait that breed
Possessive greed
Pay reasons no heed
In love blind and mean
Doubt the ******
And end up
Spilling misery’s cup
Cursing fate
Realizing too late
An act badly done
Killing the beloved one
Losing patience
To see her innocence
And then beg
The history’s page
Not to mark him a savage*
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, ***** parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
I will wait for you
on a crowded street
I will wait for you
on the busiest bridge
I will wait for you
on a fussy platform
I will wait for you
near the rushed office gate
I will wait for you
near a temple
I will wait for you
near your house entrance
I will wait for you
wherever you assure to come
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
i have a little budgie and i call him tweet
he his very tidy and keeps cage so neat
he his very fussy and dosent like a mess
anything he spills puts him in distress
he his always busy. cleaning when he can
it his fun to watch this house proud little man
he polishes his mirror till it gets a sheen
a house proud little budgie i have never seen
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
I Think I'd Make A Good Principal is just one of the stories within these pages, but you'll also find a recess superhero, some suggestions on where to time travel, a tiny guy that can't sleep, a fussy grandpa that lives upstairs, a zombie mouse, and several other funny and imaginative poems sure to delight both kids and adults. (Complete with wonderful illustrations by artist David Lee)
It's something that wouldn't be typical,
But I think I'd make a good principal.
The first thing I'd cut would be funding for math,
Maybe not fully, but at least in half.
Next on the list would be killing off science
Proudly shaking my fist in defiance.
Social studies is sure to get axed,
And geography class prob'ly won't
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
my feelings don't matter, did they ever i question?
where was your intention...im scrambled like eggs.
did you enjoy the taste? simply wanted to lay?
"oh it's no fussy!"
too often I say
i'm used to this way.
i've been cracked at the seams and tossed out in the hay
with nowhere to go except further misplaced.
but aren't we alone at the end of the day....?
that's probably why we never will stay.
so again -
i pray.
relinquish these emotions that are blocking my way.
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 2:24 AM UTC
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
from cars.
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles under their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,or was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
eccentric, weird.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
At the back of the cupboard
I skulk
You don't need me any more
So I sulk
Discarded and alone
Getting dusty
Hardly used any more
Smelling musty
There was a time long ago
When you loved me
You showed me off
When you made your friend's tea
You used to wash me and dry me
Make me feel smug
Now you've replaced me
With a tea bag in a mug
But today might be
My lucky day
I hear your Mother's
On her way
I know how fussy she can be
I know she'll insist
On a proper *** of tea
She'll turn up her nose
At your common mug
She'll want a nice tea ***
And a china cup
With some milk
From a proper milk jug
Nicki Tilston
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
What's a guy to do, when he encounters you?,
It's not even your looks, your nose is like a hook,
And inner beauty is void, you leave me so annoyed.
You prey on young men, luring them to your den,
Then you **** their funds dry, and will bid them goodbye,
You just toss them aside, god woman where's your pride?,
I can see what you're doing, it's not me you're fooling,
My man's not for the taking, you make no mistaking,
He sees what you're like, he calls you the town bike.
So move along ***** my love's really fussy,
He likes girls with class, not some cheap ******
Avert your eyes elsewhere, look, there's a teen, over there....
(c) eileen mcgreevy 2009
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 4:45 AM UTC
I hate you
But I need you
You break me
Yet I pursue you
You burrow deep into
My soul
Weeding
Weeding out all
My inner fears
And presenting
Them to me proudly
Ev
er
Y
Day
I fear your power
Yet long your presence
You claw your way into
My guts
I purge you out
So many time
Yet every time
You remain within me
I pray for freedom
Yet hold the key
Scared you'll leave
Scared you'll stay
I need draining
Detoxing
Filtering
Burning
To rid your presence from
My time ...
What scares me most
Is how you grow
And pass among
The lonely souls
I long for a day
Where you are no more
A fleeting nightmare
A sickening joke
You've taken friends
Of many sorts
Never fussy
For your curse
Bulimia. Anorexia. EDNOS. Binge Eating
So many masks you own
I pray a day
when mine
Is
Thrown .....
!Eating Disorders need bombing!
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
At eighteen I'm the scent of second-day hair with perfume in it
It smells like your bed, and my sweat, and your exhales, and my Juicy Couture Viva la Juicy . How middle school of me.
I'm the cool touch of unwashed sheets on bare skin because the thermostat is fussy and I like sleeping naked
Just me, you, and this body that I don't like so much right now, but I'm eighteen, and I'm working on that.
I'm leggings while they still pass for pants, and the chewed up ends of pens in twenty different colors
Chinese homework has really turned me into such a biter, and I claim to love all those darling pens equally, but I show my blue pens the most love
I've teethed them half to death
I'm not even close to halfway to death assuming things go well for me. Oh, please let things go well for me.
At eighteen I'm the taste of chai and menthol because that's what's **** these days
I'm all about what's **** these days. Apathy, really bad electronic music, bare midriffs.
Funny since at eighteen I don't want anyone to touch me
This body is my project, please don’t even look at me like this, all insecure and exposed. Please just let me curl up, and please let me be by myself.
I wish my mother were here to bring me a popsicle. My throat hurts from all the screaming I do these days.
At eighteen I guess I'm still a little angsty, but I just want you to love me
God, do I want you to love me.
I want you to patronize me with the warmth of your arms and undress me with strong, resolved hands
Don't touch me, just look at me and tell me that I'm perfect and naive because at eighteen I'm still milky white, soft, and broken
I'm a sight for sore eyes, a new sight, your sight
For god's sake
Just love me.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Normal and I dated for a while,
Normal was a little high-maintenance,
Normal asks you not to laugh too loud, that's not very lady-like you know,
Normal tells you to always wear lipstick when you go out,
Normal demanded perfection.
Normal doesn't like it when your hair is messy or your nails aren't done,
Normal gets fussy when there are creases on your shirt,
Normal says, straighten that wrinkle, scrub that spot and align your smile,
Normal means business, there's no time to be sad,
Normal won't let you show your weaknesses, you must be perfect,
Perfect posture, perfect smile, oh! and don't forget that lipstick.
Normal unfortunately, wasn't for me.
So, we called it quits a while ago.
Last I heard, normal was seen trying to adjust the smile of his current love,
As for me, I fell in love with wanderlust and he's been good to me so far.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
The old man sits on the park bench.
He feeds the birds.
He plays chess with an old Navy Buddy...
Memories shared with tenderness to valor
of the yester year that become fussy and dirty,muddy.
Flashbacks to the battles fought.
Families built on foundations of their own family names.
Defining the future of the grandchildren and children.
Humor adds to clear the pain of a lost yesterday.
As the elder whipes a misquito flying from near his ear.
Stories in the fashion of "Forrest Gump." brings color
as crowds listen in the park.
To listen to the wisdom of those who helped shape their "today"
Intrigued by their topics, they fail to leave, they pull up a chair and stay.
The two chess playing elders sharing whimiscal tales of old...
Scrolls of the writings of confus of fortunes fortold come to light
as people become warm through listening to great memories
and avoiding the void of connection which was the cold.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
♀ ♀ ♀
Hey you! In the vagina-hat,
frumpy feminist dressed in pink;
we men (what do you make of that)
would love to know just what you think.
We've heard of "ass-hats", anyway.
But we can see the other side:
it's orificial bombs away
as bridegrooms now behold the bride.
Gynecology on parade:
how weird. You think it makes your point?
It's more a vaginal charade,
and promises to disappoint.
You say your cap evokes your *****
feline foolishness, I say.
It's cat in bag when fems get fussy
showing patriarchs the way.
Show us yours and we'll show our own.
Well actually, it's kind of cold
to whip it out right here downtown...
We'll grant you this: you chicks are bold.
Your choice-aborted progeny,
disposed of in the clinic's trash,
might blame you for misogyny—
though spared the curse of diaper rash.
We'll keep abreast of all you do,
chanting, marching, fists in air...
yet still, you seem a silly crew
aflush with zeal (and ***** hair).
But must it always come to this:
biology devoid of God ?
Exteriorizing, hit and miss,
the secrets of your aging ***
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
I can't help but dream of you
and me, sitting, drinking cups of tea.
Talking, mildly discussing, of the color blue;
all its hues and its philosophy
Alone without the fussy world
distracting. To Be, no fear, simple.
And in the crashing waves of endless Time
we could stop.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
Messy Bessy
Pouty fussy
Screaming crying always *****
Ugly Bessy
Huffy Puffy
Yelling punching kicking kitty
Silly Bessy
Loudy mouthy
Mommy madly gives a slappy
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 12:57 PM UTC
Watch out, the stove is hot.
White iron teeth that will bite your tongue,
split chapped lips,
then eat salt and vinegar crisps.
Sharp streaks of nerves,
grinning with missing incisors
drip in lines down your chin
of green and brown copper.
If I had a fish pond
to throw these dimes into,
I would never have to know
where they came from,
why they didn't fall out of
my coat with the turned up collar.
Unwashed wool wraps and rots
round warped shoulders,
gnarling strained fingers
between ball and socket joints.
Fussy tea cakes and strands of hair
relinquished to the wind
hobble up and down outdoor train stations,
old-fashioned floral prints swept aside,
a puppet show of sickly chicken legs
pocked, potholed and pickpocketed.
Lost in the war, between couch cushions,
baked into blackberry crumble
in go egg whites, out come memories
of snow that tightroped power lines,
good dogs that stayed,
coauthors of the oxford english dictionary.
Badly rolled cigarette smoke in the streets
writes gregorian poetry for darned socks
snagged on shoddy repair jobs,
splintered wooden bones.
Pour yourself a stiffer drink,
it’s going to be a gangrenous winter.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
A Poem for June
Just why a cucumber should be so cool
Eludes the logical; a cucumber’s just
A vegetable a-lying on the ground
Awaiting consumption. But let’s accept
This vegetarian cliché’ simply
To get on with this cool descriptive task:
Whatever’s cool in the falling June sun
Descends through oak leaves, dark and summer green
And dancing down the air falls happily
Upon this cool cucumber cave where sits
Upon a wooden bench a lazy man
Who should be taking now another turn
With lawnmower, shovel, or shears against
The wild greenness of happy midsummer.
But, oh! Persephone surely won’t mind
If her allotted garden tasks are paused
By her appointed minion rustic who
Takes now his ease in her delightful shade.
For summer after all is more than work;
She calls for dozing too, and dreamily
Watching busy bees buzz among the flowers,
Like fussy matchmakers arranging marriages,
And hummingbirds humming in and out of leaves,
Their sanctuary leaves, to argue at
The nectar-feeders, as if there weren’t
Enough for all. The squirrels in the trees
Would never condescend to chitter there;
They glare at humans disapprovingly,
Like old teachers unhappily aware
That, oh, somewhere, somehow a child might be
Enjoying life, and that would never do!
Even the ribbon of smoke from the morning’s
Trimmings and cuttings and sawings appears
To be taking a nap in the summer noon,
There gently snoring up wisps of ashes
Instead of roaring, hissing manfully
As it did in the early hours.
The bench
Along the fence where the tired old man sits
Creaks as he shifts his weight, and watches
His backyard world doze in the leaf-laced sun;
He lights a well-deserved cigar, and sees
Its soothing smoke join with the ******* fire
Ascending heavenward with peaceful thoughts.
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC