Best Dilatory Poems
Blessed in abundance that manifests in our
stressed daily interaction with our fellow man, and the sincerest
form of our inner wellbeing is the outpour of laughter.
Dormant in the face of adversity, while we empathise with
modern populace at large and try to bring some
modicum of humanity and relief of the pain.
We’d all experience this from time to time and this is
seed of essence in our reality that is forever fraught.
Felled by ulterior motives – punished like Sisyphus by our
fellow peers – as the dulcet tones of compliments, the sweetest
wrung encouragement that soothed our souls like songs
sung at our cradle; the melodies now forgotten. They are
symbols indelibly edged into our subconscious and those
cymbals that tend to want to drown us out so that
we spin in the vortex, but vector us towards the stories to tell.
Be it to explain the tumultuous emotions raging beneath the surface of
our designer exterior – this is by far the saddest
hour and we, eventually, rather opt for the dilatory thought.
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Percy Bysshe Shelly – To a Skylark
Spying
dilatory lagomorph
hole in one,
curious Alice tumbles while
following
I was born at great heights,
For the peak of morning rays and the glacial snowy nights ,
I never listen to my parents nor their way,
And when my mother holds me I escape and melt away,
At the verge of pride I fall,
Like a giant silvery foaming waterfall,
With huge sound and lustrous array,
I pound the rocks with bubbles of spray,
Always showing my blue and white smiles
I travel long and long miles,
From a frisky satin shower
To a turbulent young river,
Sometimes I run under your feet like a acquifer,
And sometimes over your head - along the hillside of peach and juniper,
I am swift, I am rapid and now a women of magnificent features,
With bends and curves called beautiful meanders,
Shhhhh! I have fallen in love and my man name is Tributary,
We joined at confluence with slow dilatory,
And now I am a Mother – mother of countless tiny rivulets
Forming a whimsical family living in a small hamlet
Sometimes when angry I cut off a loop for wrong,
Shortening the channel and forming a billabong.
My anger travels deeper and deeper for long
Leading to gorges and grand canyon,
I work from dawn to dusk without rest,
And carry on my back minerals and alluvium rust,
I have promised to deposit them on the banks
Not the commercial one but the river banks,
Alongside the bed of a river, creek, or stream.
Marsh, swamp, slough estuaries of beautiful dreams
After much travel I decide to retire as deltas
Even at senectitude I look like evergreen esmerelda,
My journey finally ends in touching the feet of Poseidon,
The Olympian God of the Oceans and king of the sea lions
When I turn back to see my own travel,
I have crossed so many floods and baffles,
But still I have provided fertile Agricultural lands,
And served as habitats for ubiquitous freshwater animals and plants
Although a river I keep moving even if I fall,
Why not humans who are the best creation of all.
22 May, 2016
Play Station
It’s not entertainment
But a relief from boredom
Purchased with the mesmerized hours of a working life
And save for love and friendship
To highlight the continuum
There would remain nothing to relieve the endless waltz of boredom
So desperate and insatiable
This need for new experience
The human passion continually outstrips
The worldly measure we are given
Though capable of dreaming
Imagining almost anything
Still we are tied to realities realization
Limited in it’s dominion
These dreams we have will never be
And as we slip from the pinnacle of our potential
Having merely glimpsed
The vistas of possibilities
Returning to the level where wonder and inspiration
Are a repeated indoctrination of acceptance
This is not how life could be
This is how life will be
Trendy little idiom
Wrapped in facile fashion
A cult to thieve away any individualism
Dressed in plagiarized opinion
A walking talking vacuum
The bleating sheep of humanity
Searching for relief from its obligatory boredom
And the intricate little details of fast cars and even faster wars
Are lost in the political greed and national gluttony
For the higher paid heroes and newer roll models
Reflecting in this dilatory need for belief in the latest craze
We are nothing more than a play station
Buy another game and press
X
Oh, does the night come some quickly, creeping
into my room unannounced just as I raise my
head from saying my nightly prayer. As I
snuggle into the warmth of my satin sheets...
As I began to tumble and toss in and out of my
dilatory sleep... in a desperate attempt to catch
Morpheus in my dreams…in and out of my
somewhat comatose state I toss and turn
as I clinch my pillow over my face. As my
neighbors dog bark on and on repeatedly...
in his endless effort to protect his master from
the unseen. It’s as if he seems to delight in my
peerless chase of a good nights sleep? And the shadows
that always seem to play endless and abundant mind
games as they jiggle and wriggle and almost seem to sniggle
at my errant attempt to catch Mr. Sleepy times call for
my exasperated body to fall asleep. Passing cars
and their never ending lights that seem to play tricks on
the mind…as I linger in and out of my
semiconscious state of mind. The old grandfather
clock that sits downstairs, just below the bottom
landing of my steps… it just never seems to stop
ticking as its swaying pendulum keeps on a clicking.
Wandering sounds that seem to flood the late
night air and never seem to dissipate, they
only seems too get even louder into the wee hours
of the night. While I still rumble with my body in
my futile attempt to get a good nights rest.
Finally as I do start to get into my morbid state
of sound sleep…in through my windows and
crashing through my broken window shades and
awaking me from my desperately sought sleep?
That old Silly Sunrise… now demands me to
awake from the comfort of my semi warm satin sheets.
Cloaked in black she sat
with covered eyes from a broad rimmed hat.
Encircled in a wispy shade of cerise
that dripped to fade into the fleece.
Lines that linger on the chair
follow her finger like liquid air
as she stencils out the curlicue
depicted with pencils in her view.
Down the wall with a dilatory slither
and intent to enthrall by use of his myrrh
he skillfully eluded his own detection
making her mind his chamber of protection.
His volcanic eyes thrust into her thought
erupting the lust she longfully sought
igniting her vision like a candelabrum
an incision devising her to succumb.
Licking the salt from a lover's lips
speaking the scripts in hum
becoming embossed in indium
and forgetting fault of nothing but tongues.
Silhouetting the cast of questions surpassed
indulging in the treasure of temporary leisure.
Her guard was let down as she started to drown
in the light of the fire and her own desire
Unforeseen antecedently.
A scene drawn out by a welcoming invasion
she remains devout to enamouring persuasion
Still life flickering and unceasing to amaze
Like a liquor releasing inward
The inebriating reward of her very own blaze.
A man I knew once,
A man I knew as friend.
Within his indenture he turned on us,
Fed up, we no longer could contend.
A man who asked so much from us,
Our support, so little we lend.
We weren’t there when he called on us,
We weren’t there to help him mend.
Left with guilt as vile as puss,
For we were negligent and dilatory in his sickened end.
04/20/13
The stores are heaving, hear the tills jing-a-ling
Dilatory Charlie hasn’t purchased a thing
He’s on a mission, buying last minute gift
Better get something good or it’ll cause a rift
But it Christmas time, I hear Charlie whine
Shelves are all empty – didn’t get there on time
Can’t get wifey a present, no gift for the tree
It doesn’t bode well for this family!
Charlie goes to the garage to get her some flowers
The bouquet’s half dead it’s been outside for hours
He heads to the pub where he’ll sup lots of beer
and then stumble home full of dread and fear
Cos its Christmas time, I hear Charlie whine
Shelves are all empty – didn’t get there on time
Dead flowers as a present, no gift for the tree
It doesn’t bode well for this family!
HAPPY CHRISTMAS SOUPERS!
25/12/19
Stephen not Steve when I am gone
A gentle man with a backbone
A sense of humour that jealous patrons bemoan
A un-pretentious faith that hath constance shown
An innovative mindset that others copy then hone
A diligent worker; an example for dilatory employees to emulate
A constant companion when my mate's fealty did degenerate
Civic-minded patriot even when government was stagnate and dispassionate
Son who learned from his mistakes gaining his parents approbate
Exhibiting a wisdom above his scholastic endeavours that others did educate
Sweet memories are bitter;
For some reason it is for it is
No rehab no cure for this overlong slumber,
Nor a mistake for this miss
I thought we can go through this – together
But that’s just a hope for a crazy; demented man
You had only bitter it up – forever
I don’t think my heart will cure since then
Don’t think of saying sorry or getting mercy
Though you have that good-looking eyes
But a human will always be like Mr. Kersey
Forgiving, kind and nice
That person will never be your friend
Nor a backpacker companion for thee
I think I will go through sea and land
I will be at your heart immediately
Walk through the isle like a man
And gracefully like a woman
I don’t know how much pain
That I will have to suffer
Never had the thought of having inclination with you
Like they said in the story of an unseen story
Where a bitter getaway will have to get through
Or else it will be a pain cause of a dilatory
In the world of viruses criminatory
Quick Heal is the best category
Which I chose as my advisory
And freely continued my story.
Viruses made my PC dilatory;
Looking into browsers defamatory,
Inserting memory cards accusatory,
Unsafe browsing was dormitory
Hacking my info was depository
And to stop this, there was no jury;
At this juncture came this Hoary.
Quick Heal is the best category;
Quick Heal removed PC’s quarry
And made my PC safest Glory;
All ill things made eliminatory.
Among all it is the best Allegory
And is really a judgement priori.
There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.
Restaurants steeped, not in nostalgia,
but in a comfortable inertia;
diners that serve
broast, broiled and breaded,
drive-ins where the movies you missed
can now (if you have a mind to),
miss again.
We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for archived time-warping selections.
Beer here has a fabled and dusty history,
and is brewed as meaty as a rolled-up forearm.
Astronauts are grown here,
the moon is their backyard,
their silvery spaceships
launch each year from every State Fair.
We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way,
we are as post-modern as Jetson reruns.
We dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.
Rumbles of boredom
lead me to eat
but then there are the unwashed,
the residue of the crumbling
and smeared. Greasy utensils
sneaking like sharks
amongst the soaking dishes.
We need to refresh this pond
with chemical bubbles
yet hands are too dilatory
to be daubed by yesterday’s food.
One has to judge with perfect timing
whether to wash the plates or
leave them to poison the sink
for another hour or two.
The essential factors are smell
and guilt.
When the sludge of the once edible
blossoms rudely in your sink,
or the shredded rinds
of a latent rigor mortis
coat themselves with the pimpled oils
of a nibbling fungus,
only then is it time to reassess
just how peckish
you are for leftovers.
CRYPTIC CALLS:
i
The night called out to him
A man of plane fleet
Gloved in illusion of machete and strength
To beat out from the web of sleep
And answer the howling cryptic calls:
Cryptic calls of hooting owls and chirping crickets
Cryptic calls with lurid eyes of a marauder
A marauder in the parapet of silence…
The chameleon has changed its colour
The cloud refused giving out dew
And the moon (in monocle) beat down on the glimmering grasses
To forewarn him of the hatching egg
Bearing horn as fang
Bathing with fire…
Ii
He heard the sound but did not see the cryptic step drawing near
Yet another proof that the pearls have to be forgone
But will man’s weakness play low on him
To forfeit the fishes in the hooks-
The Fishes renting net
He has gone out for:
shattered cries in the air
Echoes down the river stream,
The forest will tell of the glees
Of the meat that got a meat
Who went out for the fish;
Broken bones and splashes of blood
Wanton break of breath-
Had it been a crocodile
Joy of death not to have taken a dilatory step
Along the verge of the smothering weight…
Iii
He galloped him down a whole-
Termites crying for no crump
Vultures for no corpse
People for no man-
One has taken the joy of all
With community answering another cryptic calls
But who born the devil -
The spider with million hands
To lay cobwebs on the road
That they may not see the pregnant python at the river bank.
No rhyme nor reason why
yours truly recalled how
me late mother
(earlier in her fitbit livingsocial years)
non verbally communicated disgust
(insync with audible sigh)
quite often ultimatums
blasting fulminating nauseating
scathing well nigh
she loosed loathing against
grungy looking son (guess who)
futilely escaped wrath of Harriet Khan
clamoring upon rooftop high
offering birds eye view
out of earshot and eyesight aye
catching sunbeams while smiling wry
cowardly lion sought divine intervention
courtesy sheltering sky
acres of shingles I sprawled
these lovely bones did lie
property of garden variety generic guy.
She who helped beget and birth
sole heir inheriting gamut of behavioral quirks
linkedin with many predecessors,
who trod, slunk, roamed...
across planet Earth.
Best bet said present day scribe i.e.
poetic, nonesstablishmentarian, liberal,
jesting, humble, freelance, dilatory bummer
whose hindsight evinced a student dumber
than his classmates wheedled
(as targeted scapegoat) by bullies their flummer
re: entrapped - worse louse than lice
internalized trauma left figurative tread marks
analogous to raging road runner
pressing accelerator pedal of hummer
driven by (an actual person) one Roger Kummerer.
Despite agonizing vicious tongue lashing
against flesh and blood,
which venomous invisible whiplash
never petered out
(even when sundry bloke
got married and gladly left home)
abusive treatment markedly
left appalling, loathing and percolating
ambivalence if though mama passed away
(these last seventeen plus years) wrung
cash crop of poetic endeavors,
albeit resultant lackluster
literary crafted aspirations.
Memory of mom overshadowed
by similar facsimile thereof
think shrieking banshee,
an indelible psychological imprimatur,
I strive to acknowledge
emotional reverberations to date
(May 27th, 2021).
My trademark wordsmith fashioned communiqué
impossible mission to shake off bittersweet feelings
toward once (former) Arthur Murray dance instructor
which fancy footwork synchronized with favorite
debonair handsome young fella (papa)
both flirts buoyant with elan and energy
only thru death will angst become free
interestingly enough hands will clap with glee.