Best Dawdled Poems
Born Doris, named for our grandmother Doris Owens,
she is nothing much like grandma.
If anything, I am more like grandma
for my thrifty ways and down-to-earth practicality.
Doris, nicnamed Dorie, how we tease her when we hear
her name like the name of the spaced-out fish on “Finding Nemo.”
Dorie, who we teased as a child because she always dawdled,
always losing track of time; we never could guess why!
In that way, she never was like me, but was more like Dory
from “Finding Nemo.”
Dorie, who like me, is long-nosed and full-bosomed
and of all my sisters, has the most in common with myself.
Dorie, who got confused for me, particularly by our grandma,
the woman after whom Dorie had been named!
Dorie, who got to be the cheerleader I failed to be
but who majored in my field and never got to work as a teacher.
Instead she works today in a place for special needs adults,
working many hours now that she is divorced.
Dedicated, hard-working, studious and conscientious -
in those ways Dorie is the most like me
of all my other sisters.
Who else but Dorie would write me back 40 to 50-page letters
back in the day when all we had was snail mail!
My letters to Dorie I copied off each month as a record
of my hectic life when I was young in college and
also when I was dealing with my new role as a mother.
Dorie, my writing soul mate sister, who probably
does not write much any more and I doubt that she writes poetry!
She is busy working up to 60 hours a week!
But when she writes, her emails are long and detailed
just like mine.
Dorie, in whom I gradually saw differences from me.
More emotional, more hormonal, more maternal -
this is Dorie. More religious and in politics,
the opposite of me.
Despite all that, we love to chat.
We laugh and laugh, as I do with all my other sisters.
Dorie, who like our youngest sister Theadora,
shares with me a fascination for things such as nutrition,
all three of us sharing with each other our recipes
fitness hints, and special ways to boost metabolism!
Dorie, the sister who Mom says "leapt with joy"
inside our mother’s womb right before Mom went into labor
just for hearing the voice of me, her oldest sister.
I love all my sisters equally, but for many reasons,
Dorie is the sister most like me!
March 6, 2019 for the "What's In a Name" Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Categories:
dawdled, sister,
Form:
Free verse
In the morning I was impatient as you dawdled
and I told you to stop being so slow.
You just smiled sheepishly and said,
"Bye Mommy, I have to go!"
In the afternoon I spent most of my day on the phone
while you sang aloud and put your toys in a jovial row.
I motioned irritably for you to be quiet,
"Get your homework done right now!"
I rattled off like a sergeant.
"Okay Mom", you said seeming to understand
and sat straight at your desk with pencil in hand.
After that it was quiet in your room.
In the evening you approached me hesitantly and asked,
"Will you read me a story tonight?"
"Not tonight. Your room is still a mess,
how many times must I remind you?" I said in a muffle.
With your head down you wandered away from me,
but kept your dance-like shuffle.
Before long you were back and peered around the wall of stone.
"Now what do you want?" I asked in an agitated tone.
Without a word you threw your arms around my neck,
kissed my cheek, then "goodnight Mommy, I love you"
was all you said and hurried off to bed.
I felt a wave of remorse come over me.
At what point did I lose the rhythm of the day
and at what cost? I couldn't say.
You had done nothing to provoke my mood.
You were just being a child, busy
with the tasks of growing and learning.
I got lost in an adult world with responsibilities,
burning demands, and flip flopped priorities with
no energy left to give.
You became my teacher even after an arduous day
of tip toeing around my moods.
We have one life to live and I yearn to start the day again.
Tomorrow, I will treat myself with as much understanding
as you have shown me today. I will remind myself that you
are my baby and I will enjoy being your Mom in every way.
Your resilient spirit has touched me so I come to you,
to thank you my child, my teacher, my dearest friend,
for the gift of your love that will never end.
Categories:
dawdled, blessing, children, inspirational, mother,
Form:
Narrative
Patricia dawdled through the breakfast
Mom got angry, sent her to Belfast
There she learnt how to run
And how to eat a bun
And returned with the bread crumbs amassed
Categories:
dawdled, fun, funny,
Form:
Limerick
VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE
From the bridge, track the ghosts of line, goods yard, Old Town Station
Where we lingered and noted the numbers of each passing train
Web of steel and of steam entwined village and town across nation
'Til Arcadian rural slow lines suffered untimely wane
Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought in telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown
Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising
Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair
Then was school run not cosseted chauffeured, in family car
But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market and station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened, with no bar
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration
In that world we seemed in different incarnation
So are we the same people, and do we now view the same place?
Can we yet discern immortality's intimation?
The adventure goes on though perhaps at a difference pace.
Categories:
dawdled, nostalgia,
Form:
Elegy
A Psychiatric doctor poked and prodded in my head..
I was all screwed up, I think; he said…?
Was it because I claimed to see “purple elephants“?
Who amazingly did some acrobatic stunts?
The “doc” looked at me and shook his “mind”
I wasn’t listening, I was counting sticks; on the blinds..
He told me to lay down and all I heard was a “walkie talkie”
My mouth was racing before my brain, speaking jabberwocky.
The “doc” employed me to start a “wellness Plan”
On the ceiling; there were a hundred dots seemingly well spanned.
The “doc” read me the “itinerary” of this “technique” to apprehend...
I looked at him and my mind dawdled and couldn’t comprehend..
His “philanthropic” approach did not make me feel at ease..
I wanted to ride on the “purple elephants” and away I would leave!
The tick and the tock are never far asunder..
All the noises in the room sounding more like thunder….
“He” states now this hour is adjourned..
The dour doc pencils another “appointment” with the look of discern.
Categories:
dawdled, funnyme, me,
Form:
Rhyme
OLD TOWN ELEGY
The bridge still spans the road - with what design?
The rail that once crossed Ridgeway and vale to the sea
Erased and gone, with scarce residual sign
And barely more trace than near roads of Roman decree
From the bridge, track the ghosts of line, goods yard, Old Town Station
Where we lingered and noted the numbers of each passing train
Web of steel and of steam entwined village and town across nation
'Til Arcadian slow lines were suddenly made to wain
Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought in telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and complexions
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown
Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising
Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair
Then was school run not cosseted, chauffeured, by car
But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market and station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened, with no bar
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration
In that world we seemed in different incarnation
Are we the same people, and do we now view the same place?
Can we yet discern immortality's intimation?
The adventure goes on though perhaps at a difference pace.
Categories:
dawdled, nostalgia,
Form:
Elegy
How grateful I shall ever be for the creative gal or guy,
Who concocted and perpetuated the luscious "punkin" pie!
Ah! The thought of a golden "punkin" pie with flaky crust,
Stimulates my taste buds with sinful epicurean lust!
You can call it "pumpkin" or "punkin" pie, I don't care,
Just as long as it's on the menu for Thanksgiving fare.
Pecan, apple and cherry pies are pleasing to the eye,
But Thanksgiving just ain't Thanksgiving without a "punkin" pie!
As a lad I suffered through my Pa's interminable blessing,
Then I dawdled over a plate of my Ma's oyster dressing,
And toyed with a yam and piece of turkey thigh,
But all I really wanted was a hunk of "punkin" pie!
The perfect "punkin" pie, I can vouch, is made by my spouse.
I nearly swoon savoring the aroma wafting about the house!
To sample a wedge of that treat, my palate is just itchin',
But I am unceremoniously invited to vacate the kitchen!
I suppose the repast must include turkey and sweet pertaters,
And a relish tray with gherkins, olives and cherry termaters,
But upon this old but true aphorism you can rely,
Thanksgiving just ain't Thanksgiving without a "punkin" pie!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 5 in the "Dreamy Desserts" Contest - June 2010
Categories:
dawdled, foodthanksgiving, thanksgiving,
Form:
Rhyme
From the eyes of Shangri-la and words indited in bulletin
spoken by bellwethers and imagery on broadcasts
Felt the passing of breaths and federation menace.
The scourge abided by cause of hooliganism
By a group of libertine,
Held, ye plot to an affright baker’s dozen bams.
He who fended collared gravely, and he who
Fathered, headed for the hills.
Passing of breaths and the devour city
Bellowing mother’s cry and bemused father
The helpless baby yet addled with a smile.
The speechless contrarian and the stock market blues
Mongers fall back and the bollywood whodunit.
Queried world and hastening federations
The eventual address to make for red alert.
Staked City and yet another lionize attack
To their day of remembrance on the cause of vandalism
Dawdled to a tetrad later
Abided by the juvenility of their community
Held, ye plot to an heptad bams.
Office hour rushed shush dead to the world
Aghast citizenry and deplorable family
Her plighting husband to return and son’s oft exacts
Left apart for an unknown time.
Ruled by terrorism, shame upon faith
Around-the-clock yet another hark back
Abided by the army of pure
Held, ye plot to tenner explosions.
Challenges taken were overwhelm
An arrest bore witness
Yet,
From the eyes of Shangri-la and words indited in bulletin
spoken by bellwethers and imagery on broadcasts
Felt the passing of breaths and federation menace.
Categories:
dawdled, death, depression, loss, places,
Form:
Elegy
There's no other phrase that will get a lad's total attention,
And fill a young feller's soul with dread apprehension,
Than to hear the phrase Moms have used since time began,
"Just wait 'til your Pa gets home, young man!"
Cain became envious of his brother Abel and did him in.
This cowardly deed was done much to his Ma's chagrin!
"How dare thee slay thy brother, bringing disgrace to thy clan?"
"Just wait 'til thy Pa gets home, young man!"
As a lad even Jesus was not immune from this threat.
On one occasion He had His Ma in a most terrible fret,
When he dawdled at the temple expounding on God's plan!
"Just wait 'til thy Pa gets home, young man!"
Young Washington, it is alleged, went on a hacking spree,
Chopping down his Pa's favorite cherry tree.
Ma attempted to box his ears, but her he outran.
"Just wait 'til your Pa gets home, young man!"
Feckless youths from their Ma's have heard that dire phrase.
Any denial of their transgressions, 'tis useless to raise.
They'd prefer to hear their Ma utter any other expression than,
"Just wait 'til your Pa gets home, young man!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
dawdled, childhood, funny
Form:
Rhyme
OLD TOWN PAST
Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown
Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising
Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair
Then was school run not protected, chauffeured, in cars
But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market, rail station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened - no bars
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration
In that world we seemed in different incarnation
Can we thus discern immortality's intimation
Categories:
dawdled, history,
Form:
Rhyme
A dazzling blaze sews magic on warm eyes.
Hurdles were solved, and secret vows were heard.
I won't steer the yarns while holy denies.
My cheers are shorn, and my heart is averred.
All musings are being wrecked with a sword.
Bumptious, you believe, life tricks may apply.
So shut your eyes and bear yourself a few dries.
Earth life has an aim, yet we trust God's may.
You've swayed me; you hand a heavenly prize.
The stinks of anguish seep from veins and blood.
Astute thrives, teaching groups of soul and rise.
Bunk time dawdled on, yet death stalled ahead.
At which wayward tears of memory scoured.
Once the grave prodding heads him to comply,
How pointless would it be if no one believes?
Earth life has an aim, yet we trust God's may.
My inward beasts are swamped forward to seize.
I'm battling, yet my dense wheezes are heard.
We've pleaded with God for such a glimpse guise.
Too long, psyche harm has been our swear word.
Is it taut to earn a clear slant on the board?
Where has our keen the past sunk to decay?
Is it tough to grab a clear view of ties?
Earth life has an aim, yet we trust God's may.
This deep yearning proves that there is inbred.
Believe that God is love concealed in the sky.
Coldness and loneliness on a stark sled,
Earth life has an aim, yet we trust God's may.
Written: December 28, 2021
''B'' Forms, 10 Plus lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Categories:
dawdled, analogy, blessing, character, community,
Form:
Ballade
So long ship,
go on your merry way!
I hope I'll see you soon,
when you come
stumbling back to Bay,
to Bloor,
and Yorkville
where we last docked,
and rocked,
swayed,
and dawdled,
talking
into the night...
So long ship,
farewell my love!
Categories:
dawdled, love, places, sea,
Form:
Free verse
Today I walked the lake the wrong way round
and seeing such, the world seemed upside down.
What once was on the left was on the right
and shadows fell where once there was sunlight.
Agape, aghast and tipsy, I did toddle
all befuddled, as I dawdled, round the puddle.
Seeing sights I never thought I’d see,
meeting folks who walked a ways with me.
What a miracle, what sheer delight
to find some changes bring happiness not fright.
To find so much of what we see is mere impression
of how we walk, with whom and our discretion.
But, Widdershins* is the way I walk round
seems my right side up’s your upside down!
*To move 'widdershins' is to go anti-clockwise, or against the sun.
Categories:
dawdled, adventure, allegory, education, introspection,
Form:
Sonnet
The recipes have dawdled
In their box for nigh a year,
But now they'll get some brand-new stains;
The holiday is here.
It's time to clean and shop and bake -
From scratch, if you are able -
And then to find that special cloth
To decorate the table.
The wine is waiting to be poured,
The napkins folded neatly;
The soup is bubbling on the stove,
The baby napping sweetly.
When evening falls, we'll gather 'round
With family and friends
And read the oft-told story,
Though we know just how it ends.
And then we'll eat the festive meal,
Familiar and delish;
To do it all again next year
Would be my fervent wish.
Categories:
dawdled, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
For the past, the future was never apparent
its dormant projection lay in unformed
no thought ever counted it of concern
Time tripped and dawdled, discovering playful as children do
a continuous today absent of tomorrow
the truancy of sleep the night merely borrowed
Only questions to remember
more important than the befuddled them to answer
a nursery-rhyme of colour designed to wonder
Why,why, why didn’t care to reason
but considered the importance of knowing nothing
and still, and still be in covenant with everything
There was no path to tread, no spirit to seek
no doorway held fast by rusted hinge
no separation between exploring mind
All was held in a delicate of light
those angel hands of every child
so unembellished in their witness never defined
So it is as in the continuous today
until the futures chain to changeable edge
rattles the bars and locks us all away
Such a scarecrow death insinuates
and by contemptible depiction reiterates
damnations end of miracles
Categories:
dawdled, trust, truth,
Form:
Free verse