"muzzy" poems
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'
nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
*its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man*,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the
*other bad good girls,
who got there first,*
but we will write of
nipple-rings and
other crazy songs you sing
it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"
which line is a joke,
which around your neck is
your customized yoke,
which is why:
plaintive wail to no avail,
the regret that never can be sated,
the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just,
(and unjust)
just enough
to make a semi-satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear
whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy writing
and the return of
my no longer muzzy^
Ms. Minx A. Muse-me
<£>
2:13pm
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
He only imbibes because of his dipsomania.
She only practices onanism because she's afraid he'll impregnate her.
He despises her monomania.
She's too affable, almost to the point of being obsequious.
He's too acrimonious and muzzy.
She knows she's a bit of a coquette.
He thinks he's a cuckold.
She used to be flighty until she fell into this convoluted dystopia.
He used to find it scintillating to get sozzled.
She just wants a lark once in a while.
His iniquity makes him want her to be lascivious.
Her every fatuity leads to a cabal.
He's too opaque and insipid.
She has to iterate and reiterate everything she says.
He feels his infatuation is unrequited.
She finds this unproblematic.
He doesn't imbue her with anything anymore.
She thinks he's unpitying of that.
He'll malinger tomorrow.
She'll wonder if it's all adventitious or kismet.
She can't handle his odium.
He can't stand her ten dollar words.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.
2.1k
harbouring virtuousity, curious to express
exhibiting, she firmly held the pen
to jot down the mystic emotion,
the exquisite dream
oblivious of the mounting stress
pouring
the dissipating words recklessly fading
confused up wit
unable to sought down, the oblivion of sleep
knew not what to indite
unable to contemplate the very dream
but thoughtfully only was such the fuddled sapidness
the psychic images ; a subtle dream
dreary eyes
thirstily awaited
till the very amnesia faded
for the sole muzzy feeling, this the only manifest
suffice the unenviable question
whence crept the feeling?
whence the love aviate?
where rested the answer?
sudden diaphanous streak
stroke sorely to the pounding wit
paralyzing her for the moment being
the sudden egest
whatever the persistent burden
gone
for now
them thoughts voyaged operosely
beyond the abyssal pupil now dwelt
the glamorous face, snowy heavenly dress..
the very words ; euphoric conversation
lasting gentle tepid touch
that had dourly crept and haunted
throughout the delusive night...
penned down
finally incurred
peace
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
i want to bury your roses
before they become too real
- before they realize that they have been
murdered
and begin to decay
untethered
and stinking of age
and loss
and grayness
i want to press your muzzy
sleep-warm kisses
in a cheesy paperback
- bodice ripper
so they cannot evaporate
into the commute
of my soul to yours
and only lie
innocent and wondering
at the juncture
of where we will meet
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC
Cocooned in groggy haze
swamped with torpid emptiness
jaded sea of inert vacuum
laden with muzzy loneliness
sharp tick-tock of the weary wall clock
I lie awake with my eyes shut tight
striving in vain to dream dreams
caged in a mute indifferent night
inertia of stodgy listless being
wait is long… no sight of dawn
Exhausted ceiling-fan rotates
loose rusty rod, old dusty blades
creaking & groaning every two rounds
lazily it swings & sways
just like fan & the clock
I too am a mechanical zombie
wobbling thru’ the night... barely alive
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 7:45 AM UTC
I got ******* caught in my nose piercing
and the *** was overwhelmingly
disappointing.
He tried to spoon me
but I just don't have time for that,
you know? I just don't want that.
He was a **** kiss,
probably had no notion of a female ******
he's a country boy stoner
doing **** all ever.
They used my student card
to chop up the coke
while I puked behind the car.
That's home though. That's life here.
And you, you ******
when I woke up I missed you.
I really ******* miss you.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
I saw him that day
Not when he woke, like
Any other morning, next to
The warm naked body of his girlfriend
Still muzzy with sleep, half open eyes
Searching to see his face, unbeknown
To her for the very last time,
That sweet smile,
Not as he kissed her on the doorstep
She, wearing his T shirt baggy on her small
Frame, hiding slim undulating form,
After a breakfast of toast and Marmite
Which he loved, but she had always hated
The taste could still be detected
On his moist lips,
Not when his bike exploded to life
Fireblade thunder, exhausts spitting
Wrath and fury, the voice of an engine
Wanting to go, go, go, like wind
As though the Devil gave chase
To his helmeted head, full faced
Soon hiding death mask grimace,
Not then, but later,
From a motorway bridge, wondering
Why all the traffic had stopped
Checking for my return journey,
He and the bike lay across the lanes
A little way apart, neither going home,
Next week she’ll move back with her mum.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 6:49 AM UTC
I am a bug
mew mew mew
hi lets all wave to the stew!
bubble bubble bump
stew down my shirt front
hi shirty stew
can you mew?
Indeed I do too!
mew mew mew
look the grass grew!
mmmm sunshine on the dew
dew ten feet high
that grass REALLY grew
and now i must say good by to the stew
but he did leave some mildew
green green and fuzzy!
ooh so lovey dovey
i just want to stroke it all day;
and not in a lewd way...
green and fuzzy
like grass;
only grass is not fuzzy
though if you get close enough
it does become blurry;
and blurry is bluzzy
and bluzzy if muzzy
and muZzy is muggy
and if you get that close
then the grass will mug you
just hand you a big mug of hot coco
mmmm hot coco
it melts dew!
it does!
hot like stew....
but stew doesn't melt dew
but will melt bugs.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
swooshed the wind right through me
as bleakly whispered in my ear
the unspoken muzzy words
left my stun as they steer
for now I knew something
I knew not before
as I saw the utmost ray of hope
consumed by the darkness
craving for more
such was its haste
mollifying the very urge
just like sun relieves its ray
right at its verge
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
the memory starts clearly aged ten. kept in the fitted cabinet, second drawer down, mother’s scissors. i guess they were around before in a more muzzy state in mind.
she may have kept my fringe tidy when i was not taken off to the barber in the village. he used a plank across the arms of the chair to seat me. i was small then.
she said that hers were special, hairdressers’ scissors. we were never to cut paper with them, yet we did. once i saw her cutting greaseproof; different rules apply.
we had only one pair. just one pair that i remember. i felt that mum gave them great importance, transfered this feeling.
i wish i had kept them, even with the damage. the incident was one afternoon .
a lamp needed moving, plug removing and my brother put it off for various reasons. we heard the noise, the bang , we saw the feathers.
those days many people had budgies, ours was blue usually. i think green was a different price?
so mum cut the electric wire with her special scissors to remove the plug, still plugged in. a hole then in the blade. mother put to bed, we probably took her tea. the budgerigar tidied and settled we all moved forward with experience.
i wonder still if this is why i collect scissors here.
sbm.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
I lost myself in you.
Your eyes, your words, your thoughts...
They all seem to leave me in a muzzy state.
You absorbed me.
My heart, my mind, my soul...
All of it is gone,
Buried deep within you.
I can't seem to find any of me,
And that is absolutely terrifying.
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 5:06 AM UTC
Fraught yet tender the day begins
Unexpected effort is surprising
Time is the ruler
As simple goals are thwarted
In the end winning through
And seems a greater achievement
Muzzy head makes the effort
More difficult, strenuous lethargy
A careful check of the time indicates
Not everyone made the mark
Not everyone gave the same
Or achieved what this poor soul
Was even too weak to decree
Continue is a trait
'Keep going' a phrase that
Could be emblazoned on the carved
Headstone of my tomb
But going where at that point?
No medal required, no shout
Of appreciation
Just an understanding that when
All is lost or seems just too hard
My natural instinct is to continue
No deviation or side swipes
Solid unity of mind and body
Not even clever but just how it is
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
I sit for most of the day
almost always by the window
I place my muzzy body in a tall wooden chair
run my fingers through my eyes
smear dreadful thoughts
which begin with pain in my left thumb
deadness plocks
I am captive.
I want. I tell myself what i want.
I want it to be mine, to come from my aching bones and tingly devilish spasms
petrified
patricide
but its not me. or is it
a solemn search
where the lights are off
I want a vessel to open
in soft creamy sunlight streaks
with warm feel
gushing the stupidness out
numerous arms will captivate me
others. not mine
in crisp air
easy kisses
plop
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
It was when my waking eyes
shank into the dent in the bed
that I knew.
Torpid, little tense in the neck
the phone dead,
my hand snaking through
a mesh of wires
to get to the muzzy
crux of it,
it was yourself
I turned up tangled in,
found ensnared, redrawn,
in throws, and throngs
of a clonic cupidity.
That was us
who mangled in the night
like cobras with empty stomachs
Churning round
small nocturnal animals
in the dark,
even in the dark,
I swore your skin was pellucid.
Sleepy-headed still,
I skedaddled outside
to swallow the rain,
and slumbery remember summer,
when I hopped as light
as bird from brier,
up rises my spirit,
down falls the foot
caked in muck,
schlepping slowly
through the mire.
You've slept in my bed
it seems, for as long
as memory serves,
just one of the many things on Earth
I've noticed and subsequently
can't unnotice,
like the way in one hears a clock
tick.....tick.......tock......
only when one is listening.
I have noticed
that dent in my bed
grow into a dozing silhouette,
noticed the garden-gate
creek in F minor,
silver cobwebs in the loft,
distant dogbarks
and a pomegranate stain
on your mother's blouse.
Once, so thickly laden
with expectancy,
now I know
that I am
no longer
Waiting.
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 4:20 PM UTC
Two can play at a game,
but you had this
And you flaunt it.
You were muzzy & you left
Numskull skinner that I am remain.
Before your people
My head down and fingers crossed,
You crossed over, my hand outstretched
But in vain
Knowing all this, why didnt you walk inn?
You should have stood in my shoes,
Seen what is saw,
The agony I went through.
Thee art like mystique
Hence i did that but,
Little did I dream you would gimme a death blow like that.
It's true that I sinned
The debt remains
My dignity hit the sands of time
Now I gotta be the Prince of Persia
How did you Imagine
I would bear the pain?
Or.. Did you at all?
You saw me being destroyed,
Atleast you should have asked
Why is this? What of it?
Wait;do you need a firm mind?
I thought you had.
But in battle, I must live
I must embrace my spirit
Embrace and struggle for my lose(dignity):(
It was my naivety that was the cause
You tried to clutch me out ;alot
But i managed to reject it in pain
&kept; coming back
If I clutch you you would know, and if you then me
But you know i wouldn't.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
the metal strainer fizzles
as it comes in contact
with the flighty liquid of
adventurous spirits
muzzy and discontent
not so insincere
not so friendly
to make amends
just yet
Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 5:59 AM UTC
can be muzzy things, caused by a
sincere lack of liquidisation,
or a symptom of another particle.
substance is taken, ibruprofin, after
hunting the bags, the old bathroom cupboard,
which is tidy now. tea then, and typing, ensuring
the jaw and neck are slack, no tension.
think of montgomery, the garden, relax, and know,
that others have worse than tight head pain.
maybe this is smoke inhalation,
maybe it is nothing at all.
no hormones, no alcohol required.
bandages are useful.
sbm.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
You wonder about the celestial walls of my heart
And surely the mutinous eyes
Undoubtedly about the mortise lock over my Ruby Lips
That with a touch can destroy your warm
ice
Diamonds fulfilling the sky do grace you at night
But my little star gazer
Intervening the black,what's the value of
white
You had just gazed my lapis lazuli like smile
But darling inside me a universe resides
Having no noticeable boundary till million miles
You can't bear my hocus pocus mind honey
From my Muzzy vision to my elegant walk
Clumsy alone dumb coward girl to
Glamorous happy intelligent Fearless girl, I carry in journey
My eyes are my magical stick
Beware, my inner self can make the hell out of you sick.
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 5:15 AM UTC