"muffed" poems
Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”
Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”
Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:
“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”
Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”
Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”
At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles
It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
The Tigers were sent in to bat,
Could England make the most of that?
Tamim was put down,
Sidebottom did frown,
Then he bowled much too short, the pratt.
One hundred did Tamim then make,
When needed, he applied the brake,
But the rest of his side,
Though I'm sure that they tried,
Come on guys, stay in for Pete's sake!
When batting, my England weren't great,
The Tigers gave the match on a plate.
The catches they muffed them,
And the keeper he stuffed them.
Shape up Tigers, before it's loo late!
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 3:16 AM UTC
Live, Fight, and Die;
But try, try to mottle the lines of the night;
The lines of Right versus Might, and the social norms,
passed down from new born to new born,
to see our repugnant state.
We, the sole bearers of a torch,
which was ignited by the past frames and constructs,
Carry a dying flame.
A flame, of hope and progress, chilled and quelled,
by the relentless and bitter chill of Man’s, no Our,
greed.
So, will you and I break the bonds and chains,
which were placed around our necks, when our eyes were shut
and our ears were muffed by our desperate hands,
the Chains that were placed to bond and bind our brains
to a "so called" normal, or formal, way of thought?
Shall we, hand over hand, climb against
the craggy grain of past ideologies?
Shall we fight, back to back, fist to fist, against
a multitude of trivialities that hide the true nature of our State?
Or, blindly, will we toil on, in a monotonous cycle of consumption,
devouring anything and everything placed in our reach,
never staring up to see what hand it is that guides us?
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 7:05 AM UTC
theres an unabridged sorrow to her voice
an open and silent feeling behind the
winter feilds of her eyes
their tilled rich soils
plowed under to a uniform dark dead brown
as her hand rushes through her wheat hair
like a skyth
she sends you to her fathers farm
on the north road on the grand island
her picture on the shelf in her
childhood room
smiles with a green toad
another picture of her lesbian lover
one of me
juxtapose the tread of the man
come to wrench the breath from
the bird at nightfall
his ***** hands are silent
and his thick red jacket a muffed rustling
as the gasping goes on and on
the terrible need for ceasing the desire to flee
his hands slowly stop their motion
and he steps away
you are left in the room
with this now silent dead creature
this signifigant kiosk in the chapter of your travel
this strange night
he brings you his wife
and the two of you drive back to town
i will never forget that
small creature in that room
its silent death a reproach
to us all
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
stuffed up
ruffed up
muffed up
rough enough
this cold, it never goes.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
I wonder what you think about when you can’t go to sleep at night.
What do you think of when you’re lying on your bed, staring at the blank spaces, muffed in the blanket you’ve had since 5.
Do you stil need to put on those indie records on the defaced HMV Fiesta your french neighbor gifted you with?
Do you stil need someone to read to you your favourite “Tender Is the Night” for the rest of the night?
Oh how I miss when you would loll back to me while you reverberate these words, “hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.”
You pull me in, as the souls of our youth radiate through the night
You lay me down, as the moon watch over this witless night
What we wouldn't know is,
Past this adrenaline of desires,
Are torrents of pain and pretence
The darkest of the night pulls us all
In a pool of deception
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
Her real confidence can make the thorns shriek
Her grace, make the roses bloom for weeks
But ofcourse, she's dwelling in her awkward fears
She woke up everyday in a box with her 'perfect peers'
Sit up, talk dont taunt, oh please learn to take a joke
Maybe wear something else, what's wrong with your face
Oh no, another poem on girl problems, that topic's broke
Just like the concept of personality in the 'human' race
Yes, sure, in this little world there are bigger issues at hand
But won't you please believe, maybe they are all intertwined
Especially when she's not paid as much for her added poise
Especially when she's not even spoken & you muffed her voice
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
I am con-fiding
myself blocked crossed cuffed muffed mopped
satire Sen-ry-you'd
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 2:27 PM UTC
Muffed myths mystically mediocre
might make muzzled men mighty mad
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
there's a certain texture to this moment
to the bare walls
that have surrounded me all this time
and that I've only noticed now
although the room is quiet
I still hear the city's noise
and the muffed din
of those next to me, but far away
the din of those
who aren't spending these moments
to stop, and smell
the absence of roses
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC