Best Dash Off Poems
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
In late hours when I should be sleeping
Peacefully beneath the down duvet
My mind races on and tumbles over words
And thinks of things I've yet to say.
It starts poems running through my head
With endings just a little out of reach
And so I stay awake and write.
My creativity I beseech.
If thoughts would come by wholes not halves,
Poems I could dash off left and right.
But bits and pieces is what I get
While trying to sleep late at night.
So pen and paper my bed-mates be.
I keep them close in case of need.
To jot my jumbled thoughts down on
When the start of a poem plants a seed.
I should be sleeping this I know
But turn them off I cannot do.
So poetry starts and stops all night,
And these sleepless nights, I've had a few.
Our eyes met across a crowded room
You blew me a kiss and it lifted the gloom
Strode over to me and asked me to dance
I held on tightly – wasn’t missing this chance
The attraction between us now is woken
Our eyes conversing the only words spoken
I pull you close your shapely bottom I'm clutching
Our lips so close though not yet touching.
My eyes fall upon your left hand
There was a telltale ring sign – I didn’t understand
How could you be acting like you were really ‘free’
I don’t want to hear my wife doesn’t understand me
There is no ring because I was betrayed
If she had been faithful I would have stayed
I won't deny it was painful but life is too short for regret
Truth I've been seeking and truth I've just met.
Well I’ve heard it a thousand times before
We’ll end up as lovers then you’ll walk out the door
I need a man that I can really trust
Not one whose eyes are simply filled with lust
It is not lust within my eyes you see
But an appreciation of all that could be
Feel our hearts beating chest to breast
Allow the truth from our hearts put your fears to rest.
There is a look of honesty in your big brown eyes
I find you so attractive that fact I can't disguise
So lets take things slowly it's a chance we cannot miss
Out lips lock together in a tender kiss
Happy to take things slowly, what need have we of haste
I feel I am in heaven with my arms around your waist
I swear I almost fainted when we sat down on the bench
You reveal your inner passion with our kisses turning French.
Just as passion is rising my mobile phone it rings
I pause so I can answer it and the news it brings
My husband he is on his way, oh damn I forgot about him
Better dash off my love and forget this night of sin.
Written by Jan Allison & Darren Watson
6th May 2014
Birdsong wakens me at the crack of dawn
I try hard to get back to sleep until the early morn
Heading for the bathroom I ‘tinkle’ on the loo
On rousing I think its something that most people do!
Straight off to the kitchen and I turn the kettle on
I hear the button ‘click’ then make a cup of tea for one
The toaster pops up and I spread jam on the toasted bread
I always have some breakfast so I can face the day ahead
The radio greets me with news, some happy and some bad
Tragic events across the globe make me oh so very sad
I run the bath and relax then splash in the soapy bubbles
Wash away my cares and de-stress from my life troubles
Then after I get dressed I slam shut the front door
I’m off to supervise exams; it’s a job that I adore
My car engine purrs softly during my trip to work
I sing along to the radio, I sound a complete berk!
Into the exam room hall we creep and get it all prepared
Soon student’s sit in silence – some of them look so scared!
I dash off to the grocery store; tills bleep as they are really busy
The music in the shop is so loud it makes me feel quite dizzy
Soon I am home again and its time to prepare our tea
Steaks sizzling in the pan for my husband and me
I clatter around the kitchen busily clearing up the mess
Carelessly drop a plate on the floor, it shatters I confess
After tea I hear my husband loudly snoring away!!
These are a few sounds I have heard during my day
Sounds of the Day Contest Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
06~18~16
T railing along a serpentine lane, curiosity allows
H unt of one mysterious journey where glimpses trace
E vening's silhouette reflecting a dream-like scenery.
H eavy vines enshroud an old manor’s archway
A s I peep quickly through its blood-stained corners --
U nderneath, ravens hover while evening befalls
N ot knowing my dress gets caught on a thick nail,
T hat hands quake while freeing its hem. Grotesque the room’s decor
E ntwined are torn drapes, candelabra, and antiquated portraits... I run
D efying moon’s bold sheen almost vague now, undone.
H eart pulsates from loud whimper of voices in hiding--
O angels dear, I need to escape, what could be my options?
U ntil a knob opens through zoom of intemperate breeze
S hrieking, hollering down a cracked ladder, feet dash off to
E nd this TERROR, a night’s venture, macabre.
The Haunted House (Scare Me or Make Me Laugh) Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart 8/29/2018
“A poet’s pestilence – dash off from him away!
He is sickness and, because of this,
you, crazy, bring on home the plague
but you don’t know the verse bacillus is.
He’s garrulous, a tawdry trouble-maker,
plays rattle in the gaper’s front,
the rogue who wanna burn with water
and now he’s spoiling for the fight!
Like a musketeer he has a wick.
He keeps his powder in a musket.
With naked pendant, tight-rope freak,
of the untrodden thicket he’s a midget.
All jumble from the farce he takes.
He’s loopy not having any clue
and if you’re curious in ahs an` ohs
then you should know that all is from a glue”.
___________________________________________
The poet thinks all these words to himself.
God gave him gift not just for weight.
He’s bothering his soul to save
it from the wicked spirits hate.
Eldest daughter – I Praise
Twenty two years ago
December twenty second,
two thousand eighteen
"star student" born
this papa (and most
likely thee birth mother)
initially felt ecstatic,
dramatic (yes frenetic),
and careworn
as freshly minted parents,
but gifted with a daughter,
whose existence far
more precious
than any Earthborn
rare widgets, gewgaws,
gems, et cetera, despite
evoking unsolicited,
unpleasant, and
unmanageable forlorn
communication "dirt poor"
living (at least ten years
of wretchedness at 1148
Greentree Lane) unable
to toot your horn,
cuz unbearable, undesirable,
unforgettable, et cetera,
and manifold challenged ,
when beloved Shana
Punim evinced inborn
developmental delay,
(which severe electric
koolaid acid test
patience of this father),
much more difficult
than playing krummhorn,
now after tendering the trials
and tribulations, an
amalgamation of
poignant affects,
whereat your
permanent presence...
(must never NOT precede mine),
cuz..., I would definitely mourn,
your absence, thus felt the timely
opportunity to dash off
a birthday poem to you
in tandem with sharing,
(while comfortably numb
and figuratively licking war
torn psychological wombs) - torn
and ripped, queued,
peppered natty psyche
pockmarked with scorn
from self, (and those lives,
this dada immediately
impacted) particularly
your person roar'n
with cumulative anger toward
this insightful fellow,
(who claims to know
what thee feel toward me),
especially when ****
hours of valuable
time, now caught
(say, eh...approximately, fraught
upon the half life of rare Earth
element Eden), not
just strictly naught
heard thru the grapevine,
but forcing Math (hew)
analysis, via meditation, poetry
writing therapy, et cetera.
Hence...I apologize,
asper unasked for pain wrought
thee, sans being unemployed,
demeaning "mother Abby,"
bumbling, horrid house
keeper (Hagrid himself,
would turn down invitation),
plus Facebook fiasco,
imbroglio, and locomotive -
complicit in behavior
comparable to pedophile,
yet please let me conclude
by admitting total lack
of wherewithal.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DAUGHTER!
When writing a poem every day,
You shouldn’t let time slip away.
For what is required
Gets lost when you’re tired
And thoughts tend to wander and stray.
Yet hours at times disappear
When events and constraints interfere.
So you dash off some lines
Hoping when the sun shines
They won’t sound quite as bad as you fear!
I recognize they spot my back I undeniably do
Running keeps you in shape, when you’re stressing run, and my watch signals time to escape
When the handgun is fired you dash off leaving the opposition thinking what is he up to
Say goodbye leaving them high and dry my back spells FORSAKE, yet they stare at me with rage like I’ve made a mistake
What to do, untie my shoelaces, are you anticipating on an undo, or anticipating on a screw-up for you to try to outdo
For the sake of a snake, what do you hate, what’s the motive to be fake
Over a plain pair of twins my running shoes
That’s been gruelingly traveling nature even uncommon icky lakes
I can dip into your conscious picturing you with a hatchet waving for my shoes, but you calculated clumsily slashing both my ankles saying,” Timber.”
(Piles of Saliva Blew)
Your grin of achievement you acting as if you accomplished so much striking your chest like an irate ape
I get right back up, lace them back up, my ankles are as exceptionally as new
You jump up in a cold sweat in disbelief nagging your dreams for a remake
Was in arms reach of me but I flew, can’t grab me out of your hair like lice and shampoo, the loser mentality is a severe flu
Running through each state has my opposition on skates, I can notice the pearly gold gates and in my eyes view it’s straight
My spirit is renew, something bout me withdrew, and my feet is like whereto
What running has done for me is added a great deal of hate on my plate, have me up for debate, and beyond all this negativity I remain with a similar understanding that running is great.
- Loverboi
pickle a paper and print paint playfully pointing pins
Knitting needles in a fish and chip shop is about as useful or as necessary as eating a soup with a spade. Dramatic are the arriving interludes of splashing drops of juice omitting from the clouds above. Circling is not just for dove it is also used by spotted leopards who never wear leotards anyway so never wave goodbye dressed in a bright pink tutu if you are otherwise engaged in deep conversation with a clown ship. Oh giant wrath from canned peas. Do you not understand that you are only allowed to speak when you are boiling? Yes. Boiling. Now good go to sleep. And stop banging. Bring no erratic iron to a visionary contemplation gathering at dusk. And into one melting pot there is always much lava so please wear a balaclava and smile over fifteen times at a flame. And wave. Wave. Go on wave. It is the grin from within a flamed fork that the beetle most admires. Very very proud species with a tale of tantric takeaways. Often a sideways dash off to a milder tent. And always ensuring that the levels of the ground in a swamp are correctly adjusted to reflect the size and the weight of all the passing wildebeest, hooked rhinos, hippopotami and the sponge cake. Right now go and drink eighteen ladles.of tea and make a donkey sound loudly. Hahah. Missionary mice making meat. Hahaha lettuce loving leaping linguini. And a peppered steak grin. Xxxx hypotenuse Z z z
As my tripping footsteps
enter deeper into the path of intense darkness,
I start feeling the trance of trepidation
and much despised misery
seaps through me with a sense of admonition;
the night owls cold eyes immovably glare
to confine me into their scary stare...
until I dash off rapidly!
Sunrise,come quickly
to subdue my forethoughts of dreadfulness
into this night without stars!
I look up to a dark and unwinkling Universe...
exposing me to an enormous unrest:
will it be a deluge or a tempest
to end all traquillity?
Whatever threatens me invisibly,
or compels me to fret...
won't cause my courage to lessen:
contrarily, it will increase it even more...
'till I find another path;
its a risk worth-taking to befuddle any enemy!
Sunrise,come quickly
to bring radiance and harmonious sounds
over this tempestous sea,
which keeps away all the discontented gulls;
sunrise, come quickly...
my entrapped spirit longs for liberty!
(earlier this January 18th, 2019 belatedly
to acknowledge my LX birthday.)
Mine eldest sister
as I continue in the circle game
of life, (ye dear Amelie
McGeehan) darling dame
a modestly lofty poem I aim
to dash off (while riding away
high in the sky - belay
ying at Macht shnel blazing
saddles laser optic speed
in a white horse open sleigh),
and plaudits of course
without moment's delay,
your husband Richard,
one hunger re
chap, who wolfed
down his entree
(who introduced me
to fictitious song
titled Richard, Cory),
plus Harris patriarch Boyce aye
aver as gregarious soon tub be
a nonagenarian papa,
also one grand dad dee
glad this sole son did see
our father (thou wart tin...)
maintains sharp mental
a cue witty,
which does not mean he
willoughby immortal
till et tern knit tee
since the gradual
onset of death I bee
leave actually begins at
birth, but whee
ving and bobbing
(like a sponge at sea)
waves each person
closer to thee
cosmic creator, or re:
incarnate tid (three
times a day) tis key
unless otherwise specified
(if questionable issue at stake,
sans not so ease zee
as apple pie with gray vee),
hence power of attorney
in demand, cuz
this brother-hood
generated bupkis, and made prithee
coon fuse, nary a whit,
asper executor signed...
yours True Lee!
As the darker days are approaching and it's nearly Halloween I wrote this poem. . Also on my Instagram account daisymeadows2023.
HALLOWEEN
Lighting up the lanterns all around,
Witches cackling by the cauldron,
Can you hear that chilling sound??
Mixing up their mysterious potions,
Menacing looks in their eyes,
Don't be fooled by the witchcraft,
Or of any disguise!!
They are full of trickery!!
Don't hang around!! Run!!
Hide somewhere they can't see.
There are monsters and spooky shadows,
Children in costumes, roaming around,
Halloween again!!
Trick or treaters have they found??
The moon looking down with a watchful eye,
The misty, dark night scene unfolds,
Halloween begins,
As the mysterious story is told.
Chill in the air and howling sounds of dread,
I quickly shut my curtains, lock the door,
And dash off to my bed!!
Rise before the rooster that is caged in neighbor’s yard.
Hitting my knees before I open my eyes I offer up a dream prayer
of thanksgiving.
Bump my knee hard against desk as I go into bathroom
and just smile.
Teeth exposed I begin brushing them with white mint paste.
Fully wash sleep from eyes and begin collecting thoughts.
Put on running shoes and wrist watch and out the door I go.
Return in hour and watch a new sunrise breathe light onto a new Earth.
Reach for matchsticks and cigarettes.
After match is lit I smile and let cigarette fall from lips while I watch the short life
of the new energy just born, bloom, and fade away.
Shower and dress and nothing extra.
Until I reach breakfast table with food for thought and food for body.
Given thanks I proceed out the door off to work.
Greeting everyone with a smile for I know they may have stubbed a
toe or bumped a knee, too.
And I work hard as I can until it is time for lunch break.
Having had breakfast but not wanting to break my fast I go to the upper room and
only have food for the soul, food which lasts.
Return to work and work with joy in my heart and a smile on my face.
Check date and time and dash off to school.
Watch as Sun begins his peek-a-boo game.
After class walk to library to continue studies.
Return home with head lights on and a thankful mind and thankful face on.
After a delicious dinner with maybe some dessert or better yet a good
book I relax for an hour.
Then I undress and shower.
Hit my knees before jumping into bed.
Begin remembering all things I did and said.
And a smile opens on my lips as my eyes begin to close and I am
taken up rapturously in pure perfect ecstasy.
It begins in horror
A common laborer who's skin is stained
With the sweat and grime of work
Slowly limps through the crowded aisle.
He frightens all who looks upon him.
A chilling sight
The sweat and grime from work
It runs down his check like murderous blood.
The essence of an erotic dream
Sits across from me.
As her window carries the whiff of love
To a cruel and bitter world.
How statuesque she sits, clothed in forbidden lust
While eye balls peek and roll.
A cane slips from an old and bitter soul
Her head crashes on a littered step.
Tragedy spills from her skull
She displays a soap box smile.
They watch her body go limp
Than dash off-------
To destinations untold.