Best Doffed Poems
Fighting mid the strong and bold,
His eye and blade were keen;
Marching like a thund'ring storm
On foes of Faith, his queen.
Now returned in victory
Upon his mighty bay,
Set he off to Langley Tow'r
Her summons to obey.
"John the Squire," the footman called,
And held the oaken door;
Faith, it seemed, had gleaming eyes
Like never once before.
"John! 'tis good to see thee hale,"
The queen exclaimed, and rose:
Tales have sped to Langley's gates
Of many broken bows."
"God has saved me whole and well,
By prayers, I ween, of thee;
Tell me please, my lady Queen
What service I may be."
Saying thus, the squire bowed
And doffed his burnished helm;
Struck in awe by Faith, his love,
The queen of Arthur's realm.
"Gilbert saith," rehearsed the queen,
"That deeds of thee are done
Greater yet than those of Wat
Or even Henry's son."
Tears bedecked her youthful face,
And glistened in the light;
John the Squire, as she had hoped,
Had done her favour right.
"Nay!" the humble squire cried,
"This word is not so true!
How could I, the meanest squire,
Perform the deeds they do?"
"Hush!" It was a firm command;
"I'll hear these lies no more;
Kneel before me, Squire John,
A knight shall leave the door."
Down before the queen he knelt,
He pledged his knighthood true;
Swore her ev'ry small command
With cheerful heart to do.
From his side she drew his sword,
She struck the accolade;
"Thus the greatest knight," she said,
"Is from a squire made."
From her hand the sword did fall,
It clashed upon a stone:
"John, if battle claimed thy life,
How could I be alone?"
"God has prospered all my ways;
My Queen, I praythee, cease!
Soon these wars shall claim our foes,
And Britain be in peace."
Faith remained there by her throne,
With light upon her hair;
Not one maid of Camelot
Was even half so fair.
"God be with thee evermore,"
She bravely said at last;
"Guard and keep thee from the foe
Until the very last."
John the Knight farewell did bid,
And swiftly rode away:
When the wars were hammered out,
He'd be a king in May.
For the Famous Art contest. Inspired by the painting "The Accolade" -1901 by Edmund Blair Leighton.
They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.
You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.
Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.
As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen fifty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.
Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.
He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"
As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near
They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."
A fair maid took a stroll on the beach,
In the moonlight while eating a peach.
Afraid the juice dripping down
Might soil her gown,
She doffed it and juice ran down each.
At the beginning of her life
the flower blossomed big and
her pedals were bright.
Her skin shined with glow
and her laugh was delight.
Then one day
the storm came and
loosened her stem
by a nudge. More and
more it came around
as it kept getting
stronger. Even through that
she still kept her smile and it
has yet to knock her crown.
The wind blew
and the sun tried to shine
She cried herself to
sleep and tried to stay in line.
Her imperfections impacted
her greatly and she'd scream as
her leaves fell off.
Eventually, like the rest, all her
dreams were doffed.
When the next storm came back around it knocked her stem half way and she was forced to look down
But stood so droopy was her crown
Then her hope grew less as she wasn’t
able to grow from the sight of the sun.
Her roots were giving out
as she finally realized it was almost done.
When I went to visit that beautiful flower while the others came along she told us her time left wasn’t long
So the bed gathered to tell the flower
How beautiful she will always be.
She will always be bright and big
No matter how tall the trees got to be
As her Dark purple became lavender
Everyone got to say good bye, all except one.
When the last storm came it knocked her whole stem down. She laid there looking up at the dark sky crying and screaming “why?!”
And as her delicate heart gave out, her crown laid side by side to the beautiful flower that shriveled up
While everyone buried her and her coronal I cried because I never got to say goodbye.
And what I’ve learned from this beautiful flower and broken stem is to never take the time you have
with people for granted. You never know how long you have with them.
The maiden was carrying a basket
it was full of sweet flowers for market
once she got there she places a blanket
then lays the bunches around a casket
A toff came along and got one for Ascot
he doffed his hat showing a crew cut
the fabric of his trousers was tricot
made up fashionably in cross cut
He invites her to join him at Ascot
leading her down to a leafy short cut
intentions clear he opens his tricot
so she made good use of hidden off cut
Flees from situation most delicate
to get involved much too intricate
after all you must follow etiquette
to remain in the temple's syndicate
Collecting up her flowers and basket
she made her way home out of the market
she wrote never again in triplicate
as her cat came over to affricate
She sat down to a dinner of brisket
followed by a nice tasty biscuit
getting it down, she cleaned the musket
finishes day ironing her weskit
~~~~~~
affricate means to rub up against
Tricot is a fabric or material
weskit is a word for waistcoat usually very ornate
A gent in a tailored suit, sat by me and said,
I saw the ripest strawberries, fruit of ruby red
poured over a dish of vanilla ice cream
I pinched myself, could this be a dream?
He shook his head and whispered "You are a pearl of a girl,
Would you care to dare come with me, for a swirl?"
The sun was blaring in my eyes and down upon us
I doffed my sun hat, a warm sultry day, no need to fuss
No use resisting such enticing fun
Lapping away and dripping on my tongue
We were lost in that dream, a delicious swoon
A strawberry delight made for two on a hot afternoon!
6/25/22
On the Corner,
Around Midnight,
The Dark Magus,
Brewed a Bitches Brew.
Although we were
Walkin' and Workin'
and we were there
at the Birth of the Cool,
he was already
Miles Ahead!
From Pangaea to
Sketches of Spain, and
even Arghata, all told the truth.
Just a Siesta, and then
quickly to Live at the Plugged Nickel,
and I left, feeling
Kind of Blue, knowing
that the man with the horn
had gone.
He had gone
beyond Star People,
doffed his purple Aura,
had got down to some
Hot Spot,
and just because
We Want Miles didn't mean
that we could ever have him.
Miles Smiles,
In a Silent Way,
far beyond.
It’s not a bird, it’s not a plane
It must be Stephen Hawking's brain!
It’s big enough, it’s bold, it’s bright
It’s hurtling across the night
Towards an enigmatic hole
It’s Stephen Hawking! Bless his soul
The things that Stephen Hawking said
Went flying right above my head
The physics stuff, the quantum quips
Equations, tricky little slips
Of space and mass and gravity -
All mystery and math to me
And me and Hawking disagreed
‘The Bang!’ he said, I said ‘The Seed!’
And ‘God knows why or where or what!’
But he could prove stuff I could not
So, hat doffed to a geezer who
Knew more than just a thing or two
It’s Stephen Hawking! In the sky!
We watch his brain go flying by
A shining star! A scientist!
A twinkle-eyed ventriloquist!
And gone. Into a massive hole
Stephen Hawking. Rest his soul
© Gail Foster 14th March 2018
The rangy longhorns were rounded up and tended to.
Over the Colorado plains a fearsome blizzard blew!
'Twas Christmas Day! The cowpokes paid no mind to the storm,
As they huddled 'round the potbellied stove all snug and warm!
While 'Cooky' stuffed the turkey for their Christmas fare,
Frivolity, fun and comradeship filled the air!
The old bunkhouse was decorated as best they could.
In a corner a tree formed from tumbleweeds stood.
They recalled Christmases past when they were boys,
Sharin' happy family lore and distant Yuletide joys.
One read from Luke the story of Jesus and the manger.
He is their faithful sidekick - to them He is no stranger!
They sang carols accompanied by a harmonica and guitar,
And sipped spicy cider and coffee as black as tar!
With cups of wassail they proposed raucous toasts,
And regaled each other with timely and witty ripostes!
'Cooky' yelled, "Come 'n git it, all's ready 'round the board!"
They doffed their hats for the blessin' and thanked the Lord.
Though the hoi polloi celebrated at the Ritz with gala parties,
That would never do for these range ridin' hearties!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
There was a Goldfish who thought he was a shark.
He kept biting the lily pad of a Monk Frog.
Behave said the frog, for you are no shark.
I can if I want, said the goldfish, if you are a Monk.
The goldfish kept attacking the lily pad with ardor and *****.
He wouldn’t be gainsaid on being a shark.
As the Frog studied relentlessly to become what was wont.
Neither one believing the other… could become what he did want.
Now along came a snake to eat the monk frog on his ark.
But to him… this lily pad was sacred, and he didn’t want to disembark.
So the goldfish attached a leaf to stand straight up on his back…
And as he bit the snake’s tail the frog hollered SHARK!
Pandemonium ensued as the frightened snake did run off…
Thinking it’s better to be safe, than as some one else’s dinner doffed.
So some how, together they both became what they did want.
Living happily ever after, as friends in that great lily pond.
The moral my friend is you can be whatever you want.
Still, don’t stop as the path becomes hard, that you sought…
For if a gold fish can become a shark… and a Frog a Monk…
Then with work and friends made… you can become whatever you want.
As I was going to Saint Ives,
I met a man with a serious case of hives!
He asked me to scratch his back and I said, "No Way!"
I quickly doffed my hat and left there straightaway!
Jack and Jill rushed up the hill to fetch a pail of beer,
To quench the insatiable thirst of their papa dear.
Jack fell down and Jill tumbled down too,
Depriving papa of his bucket of brew!
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;
Alas, Humpty Dumpty took a fatal fall!
There was nothing left but a pile of dregs,
Consisting of cracked shells and scrambled eggs!
Mistress Mary quite contrary,
How does your garden grow, dear Mary?
If you'd weed it and spread some manure,
Perhaps it would grow better, that's for sure!
Hey diddle, diddle!
I saw a cat playing a fiddle,
And another tooting a bassoon!
Then, a cow jumped over the moon!!
No more booze for me at the local saloon!
It played tricks on me and I won't go back soon!
Jack, you'd better be nimble and very quick,
As you take a leap over that candlestick!
Jump high so as not to singe your fanny!
(And why you'd do that is rather uncanny!)
Dixon Bullinger braced himself against
another frozen blast of winter wind,
riding through the front range to Denver
where his family was a-waiting.
It was morning on Christmas Eve,
and he was a long time overdue,
but Boss McChord had paid him double
to rescue horses from being consumed.
They’d taken out a problem bear
and had a drink to celebrate,
he’d exchanged good wishes with the boys,
then had set about upon his way.
He rounded a corner in a craggy gorge,
and there he saw a stunning sight:
Santa Claus sat on an empty sleigh,
brooding sadly amidst the white.
Dix rode up, and doffed his hat,
saying,”Father Christmas! What are the odds!
May I ask why you are sitting here though,
‘tis the skies that you usually trod?”
Santa then sadly shook his head,
said,”My boy, you don’t understand.
I stopped for a rest and was robbed blind
by a gang of five masked men!
“They took my sack and with it
all the gifts for the boys and girl.
if I cannot somehow get it back,
there’ll be no presents for the world.”
Dix frowned deeply at the thought,
a coldness creeping into him.
Christmas may have been more than gifts,
but try telling that to the kids!
He said,”If you’ll ride with a fool cowpoke,
I’ll gladly help you find the fiends.
A Christmas with no gifts to give…
that’s not something this world needs.
“I have some skill at tracking, see,
from months chasing stray cows.
If you point me the way they went,
we’ll lick these bandits, and how!”
Santa nodded and pointed off
to a narrow slot canyon,
“That’s the way they all took off,
when the foul deed was done.
“If you start along tracking them,
I will follow as soon as I can.
My reindeer are bushed from today’s work,
Donner is nearly all done in.
“But once they’ve had a breather,
I’ll fly them up into the air.
If you leave a trail for me to follow,
I’ll catch up and meet you there!”
Dixon nodded and removed
his brand new, red, silk scarf.
He cut off a piece and then said,
“This here is bright as any spark.”
With that he took to the trail,
riding down that rocky cleft,
to save Christmas for the little ones
he’d undue this savage theft…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Tiny little glittered droplet
mingling the inner ear
of a heart protected by armlet
of a puzzle that never fear
doves flying in solitude freedom
caught the eye of a kid hence
followed the dove in random;
shuttered th' lost being sense
alighted th' dove an lazed e're
curiously th' kid looked hence
in th' eyes of th' bird an fur
hushed in him thou felt tense;
alike he felt th' bird
an suddenly felt dense
Finally th' kid were heard
from a dove thou soft
cured him an purred
shocked his face was doffed
joyfully beaming a cry
how doth never said goodbye
an flee where th' other's lie
escaped th' kid from th' spy
an let thy heart take his eye;
hiked he for days alone
searching for thou only friend;
a journey was then a hint
of life an many other precious gifts
given by nature to a kid
The nurses rushing
like bushels of people in Grand Central Station.
I was in a crowded room,
Yet I felt so alone.
My world had stopped.
Soon enough, the rush was over
and everyone seemed to be dejected,
yet my countenance
filled with confusion.
Why were people passing me
with glances of sympathy?
Now I know,
my world had stopped.
The constant “beep, beep, beep,”
had faded into the silence.
The heart monitor that was once
doing jumping jacks had died.
Now his world had stopped.
His skin was cold
like the breeze rustling the leaves.
The blanket had a nice fold
keeping his tiny body covered.
Not one breath
was yet to leave his chest.
Not a dream
yet dreamt,
his life was ripped
from the seams.
His world had stopped.
While I diverged
from the rest of the family,
I walked down the white hallways
where the cries still lingered.
The staff had doffed
their masks and hats,
some bowed their heads,
while others eyes glazed
deep into my soul.
The world had stopped.
The Translucent Loft
The girls choir at St. Mary’s still sings there.
Shh, be quiet as we step inside
through these green rectangular doors,
Shh! Listen...
We can hear them up there,
in the translucent loft.
They are still cloistered upstairs in the saintly glow,
of stained glass fortissimos, and bare knees,
dressed in blue sweaters with plaid beanies doffed
upon the three dozen crowns of the virgin sainted;
And now before us, the majesty of the holy sanctuary,
the deep eternity of ever-swallowing horizontal constictions,
upon which the devout might meditate the spirit mysteries,
with blessed rosaries, scapulars, and communion wafers,
bristling miraculously upon flaming tongues of fire.
“Shh! Be quiet here in the church, it is a sin to talk!”
We must fold our hands in silent contrition to an invisible God.
We must say our prayers, memorized from old missals.
We must genuflect on bended leg, making the sign of the cross.
But still, a likeness of our creator, dead and naked,
Nailed and bloody, with sickening thorns and gushing crimson,
hangs before us most ignominiously, a dead creator.
How can this be, Father Flanagan?
Why are we being reminded of this, Monsignor Molthen?
Why dear saints?, all ye there, encrusted immaculately,
in stone cold tableaux, absorbed forever and today,
in emerald stained glass transfigurations, way up there,
high on the upper reaches of this long heavenly nave,
that stretches out like long arms wearing bracelets of infinity.
Why are we to be reminded of this?
The girls choir at St. Mary’s still sings there.
Shh, be quiet as we step outside
through these green rectangular doors.
Shh! Listen...
We can still hear them up there,
in the translucent loft.