Best Ditties Poems
Sarah’s Story - Mental Illness
Sarah, the “Crazy Lady,” was a familiar sight,
roaming the streets any time of day or night.
Her foul body odor announced her presence,
as she paraded around in her filthy, smelly garments.
Walking barefoot regardless of the weather,
in her state of mind, she couldn’t do better.
Children teased and made fun of Sarah,
reciting ridiculing ditties, adding to the drama.
Behind her a lively entourage would follow,
taunting and calling her names creating a sideshow.
They howled with childish laughter,
as Sarah hurled angry profanities after.
An avid collector of all kinds of trash,
she transformed her abode into a garbage stash.
Sarah’s odd behavior made her fair game,
to unkind people who had no mercy or shame.
While many folks turned a blind eye,
young boys threw rocks and other missile,
at the roof and windows of the shack she occupied.
Behind bushes, they would scamper away to hide,
as Sarah furiously dashed outside,
brandishing a machete, cudgel, or broom,
screaming out curses, damnation, and doom.
Like a cancer, her mental illness had devoured her brain,
and before long, she was officially "certified insane."
Most agreed it was for her own benefit,
and for the good of society to be rid of this "misfit."
But even though she was locked away in an institution,
no psychiatric treatment could cure her mental condition.
When Sarah finally died, she was unloved and alone;
her passing was hardly noticed, and she was mourned by none.
Note: This piece was inspired by a true account. While we have made great strides in the study of mental illness and understanding it, unfortunately negative attitudes and beliefs toward people who have mental health conditions are still common. Thus, as a society, we still have a long way to go to improve our attitudes and to show more caring and compassion for those who suffer from various types of mental illness.
08-06-2015
Contest: Mental Illness
Sponsor: Nathan D.
Placement: 7th
Categories:
ditties, crazy, depression, hurt, mental
Form:
Rhyme
A whistling wheezing hamlet, whispering and emanating, tunes euphonic,
In a remote isolated valley, far-flung from the abode of the temporal,
Warbling quietly to whistle scads of tranquil cryptic songs;
Lying spasmodic, a sparsely inhabited mellifluous hamlet, Kongthong!
Not to hyperbole, a singing utopia, uncustomary to the core!
Where innate and mellow are the naive dwellers' rustic tinkling timbres!
A rover's riddle, the natives' pride, a unique heritage, their blissful strains!
Ringing with an ancient tradition of tune-giving in honour of the root ancestress,
Customary to the matrilineal surviving unknown folk of the thorp!
The chirping region's dispositions and practices outlandish, vague and obscure,
Primitive and bizarre, mere to merge with nature's absolute accord!
Voices buzzing in whistles, murmuring and chattering, lilting,
Arcane, pervading the virgin thicket of the sacred thorpe!
To entangle, passerby and wanderers in dream like metaphors!
Those magical murmurs in quirky tunes, mingling the breeze of the secluded hamlet, intoning own tinkles!
Blessed are the tuning terrain's offsprings, nameless!
Rared by ditties, hailed sacred by the clan's conviction!
Outlying, by the uninhabited enchanting wilderness of East Khasi Hills,
Sleeping quietly the untrodden, nature's lulling lullaby, the whistling Kongthong!
Yell! Immaculate and serene, the saga of their undeciphered airs, mumbling in exquisite ethos!
Inimitable and gripping to eye, how the denizens of the tribe,
Are crooning to dub and call each other by indigenous intonations!
Pitching and whooshing, to tune their melodic identities unique!
Whew! The picturesque terrain is tweeting, whooping, and whizzing!
Heaven! Bless anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
The ringing Kongthong, God's own whistling hamlet!
Categories:
ditties, community, earth, education, encouraging,
Form:
Alliteration
Poetrysoup's Jan is quite a lass
Whose poetry is always first class
She writes ditties with ease
About mountains and fleas
Nothing phases her pens brilliance
Categories:
ditties, anti bullying,
Form:
Limerick
(Thank God, when I posted my poem a second time , I could enter it in the contest. But I am retaining my old post as I have many comments on it . I thank all my poet friends who helped me with suggestions, especially Mystic Rose Rose. My soupmail is non functional most of the time)
The naked hills are clad in snow
Blurring the houses that line up in a row
The wind that blows is icy chill
Freezing cold is the water of the rill
Trees, stand stripped and bare
But so much gaiety is in the air
Lightings from all houses shine
Sending out a radiance divine
Christmas trees stand finely decorated
Cribs are colourfully illuminated
The day has come when Christ was born
In our midst as the greatest boon
He came not in glory arrayed
But in a poor man’s rags clad
Took birth not in a palace of gold
But in a deserted manger of old
Poor shepherds were the sole witness
They beheld his radiant face in stillness
The whole world is under his magic sway
As love for all is his wondrous way
Jesus came down from Heaven on Earth
To offer the world its true mirth
To dole out the priceless treasure of peace
To see all bitterness and enmity cease
Merry ditties shall echo from every street
And children will sing Christmas carols sweet
From the angelic band will rise the refrain
“Peace on Earth and goodwill to all men”
Nov.20. 2022
~ Placed Eighth~
Most Beautiful Christmas Poem Contest
Sponsor – Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
ditties, bible, birth, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
KOMOREBI
The Land Where Poems Are Made
Chorus chords of
Sounds mutter, iambically
Especially forming tongues throughout the ages
To give birth to rhyme in metered rages
Ancient rants, bellow from the depths
Of hollowed souls, needing to be refueled
As a lamp that all too quickly burned its wick.
So, yes, I toss and turn with loads, puns unsought
And words, dance wildly in my sleepless mind.
Yet, drifting bass-backwards through the woods,
and weeds of thought.
Ah yes, I am chasing dreams and nightmares too.
Hoping doors will open in the whimsical worlds in time.
That I may be the wise woman that writes the poem;
Whose poetic flute plays the tunes that pied the poets’ minds
Mimes leading them to that open space-
Where the light shines through the cove of trees;
Where ditties and missives, are the leaves that glisten.
Where rhymes, and poems nod and dance in the breeze,
And hang like wisdom’s fruit off grand poetic trees.
We pluck, we eat, we deliver that which we seek to write.
Remembering KOMOREBI
… We then finally, peacefully, now spirit-filled, we sleep.!
Categories:
ditties, beauty, inspiration, inspirational, light,
Form:
Verse
_attempt at a sonnet
A cuddled country voice nestles its'
Turbulent vibration deep in my skin
Land locked and dreading winters'
Icy fingers combing my body for oblivion
Tumultous currents rock us by and by
Leaving no one untouched by its madness
Isn't it funny how at death we still lie
Ne'er remembring that shadow of sadness
Indian Summer mentholates our lungs;
Our trembling throats mutter oceans
Long after sand castles are washed away, we've sung
The gritty ditties, fortifying our emotions
Dug in deep, foxhole country, warmth subsides
Blistering our memories where affection resides.
--------------
Categories:
ditties, passion
Form:
Sonnet
I Have Spun Tapestries Of Golden Words
I have walked paths from dawn's glowing birth
across oceans spanning earth's massive girth,
from mountains scratching on high, heavenly skies
to mysterious realms others oft deny.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
I have spun tapestries of golden words
sang ditties with most beautiful songbirds,
swam in wondrous lakes with waters crystal clear
all with impunity, without any fear.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
I have prayed under giant black-oak trees
sincere solemn prayers upon bend'ed knees,
as a lost lover once blinded by my greed
sacrificing all, for this love to feed.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
I have seen sights breathtaking to behold
heard dark ancient tales so wildly told,
with crestfallen despair, wrote life is not fair
begging for forgiveness, for love to share.
A soul wandering, sometimes lost in space.
Eagerly seeking her vanishing face.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-29-2019
Romanticism
Categories:
ditties, appreciation, art, desire, lost
Form:
Romanticism
Love is being there for them every day.
A disappointed love taken away.
Cupid’s aim is higher than we believe.
We search for the one who will never leave.
Love is kind when our mundane tasks are done.
Love can be laughter, joy, and gobs of fun.
God gives us empathetic eyes to see.
Expecting happiness for you and me.
Love comes from flowers, from air, and the sky.
Love survives death, for our souls never die.
Love comes from lambs, puppies, furry kitties.
Love sings her song in cute little ditties.
Worthy treasure hunt, love is all around.
Your soul will know when the right one is found.
Written 03-08-19
Poetry Contest: What Is Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Categories:
ditties, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Sonnet
Written: September 10, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the tapestry of twilight's shroud,
Where dreams and wonders are allowed,
Jewel winks, shooting stars ignite,
Guiding us through the cosmic night.
A rubied mystery, the universe's womb
Whispers secrets, casting gloom.
But within this darkness, a symphony plays.
A serenade of stardust, a celestial ballet
Astral ditties dance on moonlit cobalt.
Their melodies are enchanting, never to halt.
Nestled on the wings of thunderbirds,
They soar across the heavens, spreading words.
Words of love, of hope, of dreams,
Of endless possibilities, it seems.
Strewing drizzles of diamond dust,
They shimmer and sparkle in a cosmic gust.
With each twinkle, a wish is made.
As shooting stars glide and cascade.
Their paths are a canvas, a masterpiece,
A sight that fills the heart with peace.
Argyle tapestry they weave,
In patterns of love and belief,
Lyrical luster of garnet ember,
Igniting passion, extinguishing slumber
On a summer night, they paint,
Colors of wonder never faint.
The stars, as diamonds, shine so bright.
Guiding us through the endless night.
Stardust serenade, a celestial hymn,
Bringing comfort when the world feels grim
So let us gaze upon the sky.
And watch the shooting stars fly by.
For in their beauty, we find solace and grace.
A reminder of the magic in this vast space.
Let the stardust serenade cram our hearts.
And ignite within us a love that never departs.
Categories:
ditties, analogy, beautiful, beauty, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
Darling, will you love me still if I weren't a poet?
Will you hold my hand if I hypothetically happened
to pause my pen from poesy?
If I didn't use alluring alliterations to express my emotions?
If my soul stayed silent with no more stimulating similes?
Will you respect me if I refrain from rhyming ruminations?
Will you really care for me if I didn't use
imaginary imagism in our intimate interactions?
Will you share my worries if I were to withhold myself from writing?
Will you miss me manufacturing meticulous metaphors?
Will you caress and comfort me
if I cease to construct colourful canticles?
My handsome hero, will you accept me if I were a normal girl,
And not your special sweetheart with spectacular songs?
Will you tolerate my tantrums if my tongue terminated those tugging tunes?
Will you hold and hug me if I were to halt my hand
from creating clever, catchy compositions?
Will you value me verily if my verses vanish and vaporise?
If my muse turned morose and mum, will you still stay by my side?
If my moods metamorphosed into melancholic mysteries,
will you be mad at me or motivate me?
Will you still find me mesmerizing if making melodies escape my memory?
If I discontinued my ditties, will you discard me or defend me?
Will you be fond of me if I freeze my fingers from fashioning your fanciful fantasies?
Dearly beloved, will you still lavish me with love forever
if I were not a person to present my poetic preparations?
If I were to discontinue my direct declarations, will you still delight in me?
Oh! Will you appreciate me anyway if I abandoned my artistic abilities?
Tell me, my dear and I will stop my stuttering soul and muttering mind...
Will you prohibit my passion for poems...
or accept me as I am?
Categories:
ditties, imagination, passion, poetry, true
Form:
Free verse
Woke in night writing poetry,
and I do this a lot;
Grabbed a pen and piece of paper
so that I could then jot;
Down some lines, not that great,
but mean a lot to me;
Hope that I can capture some
internal magic key;
Don’t care if readers love them,
my ditties are for fun;
Cause in the end I really write
for readership of one.
Categories:
ditties, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
Some Old, Short Ditties
(doggerel)
I.
Our sojourn on Earth
is of diminutive worth.
Our small time is spent
(and no more are we lent!)
long before we're ready.
II.
Drunkening wine of heady
illusion obliterates thought
and causes confusion.
III.
Fleeting is life!
Fruitless existence!
'Ere any purpose
is completed
life is done --
and we're defeated!
'
Categories:
ditties, anxiety, art, blue, death,
Form:
"DRIVE"
Imperial
bulltwang
oligarchy
number crunching
serial winners
cornflake box
cracker jacks
sing some songs
that cut some flack
Pats on back helps
cut the slack from
wind ringing chimes
hot air bumcracks
anonymous blast
dredging up
saccharine ditties
from the past
tolling bells
zero oceans
fathoms
zero five
deep dive
swallows
air
chirping
feathers fly
ring-a-round-the-rosies
sing-a-song of posies
bubbling honey
bee hive.
Serious insects
marching bands
beating drums
semi-alive
hour glass
running
out of sand
Metronome
kisses
missing time
keep on working
for the Man.
Black Balls
White Ball
rolling dreams
quicksand
sinking
out of rhyme
Take a walk
in the forrest
stand tall
Rain comes
dance some
turn your face
to Number One
Brave.
Get in the car
wave
your hand
foot flat to the floor
burn the engines
face to sun
put dark
glasses on
what's to be won?
survive...
listen to
silence
DRIVE.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
White Rose Parade/Lady of the Sunshine (Angus Stone)
https://youtu.be/h0njhzs2bDA
Smoking Gun/Lady of the Sunshine (Angus Stone)
https://youtu.be/K6aLm8aY6fE
Categories:
ditties, adventure, imagery, inspiration, life,
Form:
Free verse
O burgeoning soul of sweet things
mellowed to summer's surge,
with autumn's dim appraisal
loitered to a final song of ditties,
the oozes of eve ferment
my fewest keen-felt purges;
Apollo upon his throne spinning rhyme
wild and weary in his gilded city,
shall he sing thy posy prims
in deep delved halls
with lamenting love on his lips ----
stars his eyes,
moons his garland,
and zephyr, his breath
honeyed in Elven tongues?
How I faint to find my words
whistled in wind,
some blacker beauty in light,
some arrayed longing
begging from dark,
Mountain to moe-hill
in the shades of vales,
the swell of seas
soothed in tinge;
Mother Earth my palette ----
She of rainbow hues
and Bright Stars!
How kingdoms fall harsh,
lidless in forest dim
darkness! darkness!
too barren, too ravished....
naked without even shadow;
shall I clothe thee with wisdom?
Sprinkle thy skin
with the canvas of the heavens?
Steep in the silts of rills
and the leavened soils
of bubbling brooks
drink thy vintage feverish
for the nectar of nightingales
soaked in song
the gods shall push thy pen
prancing, dark winged
as smooth-perched rooks
O wan child fettered and foiled!
thou needed a swifter love all along;
thou canst express with bitter deeds ----
idle words too sober without melody,
a better posy than Shakespeare's?
Categories:
ditties, tribute,
Form:
Ode
I don’t get that much time alone these days but I’m not complaining.
She’s at the gym she says but who can say for sure; you know how they are;
But this isn’t about her it’s about me and I miss my little ditties.
Like the guy from Nantucket and the old man from bras;
While the iron maidens boyfriend picks at the hasp.
The young girls with dresses that they lift from the floor;
Having sex with the bad man and screaming for more.
Jill, she took jack; to a place on the hill;
But he couldn’t have her; because she ran out of pills.
Dylan and Guthrie; looking for jobs;
And the girls with their chap stick; all drunken on grog.
I could go on but what does it matter;
It’s all just some gypsum; apparently splattered.
So I’ll loan you these two packs; if you’ll pay me five;
And tomorrow it’s coffee and listening to jive. .
Categories:
ditties, funny, me,
Form:
Rhyme