Best Drawls Poems
Notus comes creeping furtively from the south
hot and bothered from the blazing summer sun.
The wind of change...concealed it launches sudden storms
as clouds pile up across the sky, dark and towering,
lightning flashes, thunder drawls, torrential rain descends;
rivers swell to bursting point; fields are swamped, crops destroyed.
Then once again he sneaks away, planning his next move.
His neighbour, Eurus, wants to show he’s no less able.
Bearing his inverted earthen vase he goes along
clumsy in gait and spilling water on dry soil.
His forays from the east tend to be unlucky.
Autumn fades with a sigh on Aura’s gentle wings
as ice-cold winter rushes in impatiently
from northern frozen lands to take its place
goaded by the domineering force of Boreas
who moves ahead with strong, intense authority,
his violent temper uncontrolled. Despite his age
he pushes his galloping stallion to the limit
riding forth relentlessly, cloak billowing behind,
his white beard curled; shaggy hair spiked and frosted.
Roaring, across the land he speeds with utmost haste,
a sacred conch shell grasped firmly in steely hand;
tremendous power he exerts and blows aloud
while humans cower in dark caverns, shivering.
They know his moods and fear his devastating wrath.
In their minds, princess Oreithyia’s forced abduction,
rape, and carnal satisfaction are still fresh.
They yearn for winter’s bitter ally to move on
so that the gentle Zephyr enters from the west
bringing with him rainbows and showers of spring,
calm serenity, greenery, flowers, shades and hues,
romantic feelings, fiery passion and intense love.
Ultimately, all four have to heed and appease
King Aeolus, firm ruler and keeper of the winds.
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*Aura = breeze goddess
*Oreithyia = mountain Nymph
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18th December 2014
Contest: Gods of Winds
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placed: 2nd
the serpent sleeps
coiled, reclining at my feet
dreaming of deceit
tempting marshmallows:
do not rush. Delay will bring
gratification
morning dew glistens
she cried her eyes out all night
let the sun shine bright
almond trees blossom
lightning flashes, thunder drawls
do not be afraid
Mint stars reaching out to greet the sky
Cool zephyr blowing across your cheeks
Much nearer, your silhouette appears
Like a fog carried by beams ,you advance
With sequins on hair tossed by the breeze
As your flowing chemise billows like a sail
To throttle on bare toes across our woods
I seek your face rising from scented grass
A nape blushing like jasmine’s breath
I become an orbit twirling summer’s fire
That my eyes behold a sigh in the light
And the edges between us grow tighter
While your fingers moan to whisper this lore;
“The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together...”
And this magic frees me to sing in drawls
You murmur,"soak in the pour of rain,"
While we lay on the meadow of my arms
Allowing the lanterns that hang on air
To consume a flame kindling our breaths
Until you and I become one stem.
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*Inspiration from the poem of Sufi poet, Rumi,
( A Moment of Happiness), a stanza highlighted
above.
Any Poem Contest #4
A life time of eating junk food now my body is sick once I eat a piece of candy my body reacts never knew that it could go to my nerves and my bones start to ache, I get headaches n dizzy spells,even tho I have to watch what I eat sugar is silent and sometimes it creeps,up and down it goes every day I never know but I can just feel the sugar With drawls,sleeping every chance I get,meds making me lose weight little portions on my plate,sweating sugar out my pores, I'm so sick I can't take it anymore.
Sooth this irrational rage resplendent in its affliction
See through the foolish drawls that make up my surrounding core
Understand I see each flaw of mine in light of your brilliance
Not to compare yours to my worth as wretches do thrash in vain,
But to mold along your own tapestries,
And rightfully, in threads of gold, sustain
Oh, can it be as I request your stay,
That you are truly aware of the magic in your poetic sway
Of a life so drawn to the scaffolds of your welcoming mind
To see its dream, structure, and its whole, combined
It must be so, oh enthralling writer,
That we see through lenses reflecting all shimmers of might
Sifting and searching beneath all shades of blue
To find our reflections have touched surfaces we still yet discover
Within myself and you
And my love, it must be so,
That in your makings, your labors, your loves
I find myself not only nearer, but clearer,
As this budding rose no longer wavers in irksome winds of her doubt
Tremoring in such loathsome drawls birthed by some distant, parched earth
You, in your magic, cultivate and reward such growth
So that this rose ever rejoices her new mirth,
And with your sure, steadfast direction,
Out the very canals that gush your soul’s purpose
You seed her worth, feed her worth, and know her worth
Just as she worships yours
We entwine among boughs
of leafy trees in graceful fluidity so evergreen...
and whisper of love's harvest after gentle drawls
rising with petals from coos of evening,
when branches drape our secrets
in glossed foil to amble on,
beyond tremble of stars.
Until midnight wraps our kisses in its cooling veil,
thanking a god for breaths which drift
into curled wanderings ,
to awaken us upon the scent of day's blossoms…
lips stain teacup
while gauzy air cuddles our ardent pledge,
as we become one forest
under our shade
that I rest calmly knowing you are my home.
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8/11/2019
Contest of Lu Loo: My Home
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Re-post dated 02/01/ 2017
The Dream Visit
It is in the shadows of the night;
When the moon is awake.
That you come into sight;
And offer me your hand to take.
In the stillness of the eve;
My heart beckons across the divide.
All I need do is to believe;
Once more you are alive.
And as it slowly begins to rain;
I embrace you friend once more.
Your gentle voice calls my name;
We are one as was before.
Your nightly visits within my dreams;
Keep me walking in a good way.
To hold you forever in high esteem;
I dare not ask you to stay.
I awaken and you are gone;
And though my eyes fill with tears.
My path in life leads me home;
Each step drawls us near.
By: Darlene Doll Smith
She swaggers over to our table
Whips out her pad from her apron
Pencil poised
What’cha want Hon?
She drawls
Soft pink lips in a little twinkled pout
The white frilled design
Bust’n out in all the boxum places
Our “Two Specials with coffee” reply
Brought a smile
I like it fast and easy like that
she laughs
as she saches her swagger back
to place our order
you can’t help but notice that
her perfume lingers
in still air
as if the shadow of her swagger
was left behind
written 9-5-2019
SWAGGER Poetry Contest
I hear the clarion bugle calls at Fort Carson when conditions are just right,
Sounding "Reveille" at break of dawn to the mournful sound of "Taps" at night!
"Reveille" 'wakes soldiers from their well-deserved rest to begin another day
Of training to protect our freedoms, though they do it for very meager pay!
The bugle sounds "Chow Call" at noon for lunch, the most welcome of calls!
The dining facilities peal with laughter, Yankee twang and Texas drawls!
The bugle calls "Retreat" and the roar of cannon is heard to end the day.
Old Glory is slowly lowered, solemnly folded and tenderly stowed away.
The plaintive sound of "Taps" is played at ten PM echoing as clearly as a bell!
Its peaceful call heralds, "You've earned your rest, God is nigh and all is well!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!
The grace, the flow, the singing vibrations.
I'm ready, I'm ready to pull my bow across the river of time.
Time that steadies the flow of these rippling musical notes of mine.
I'm ready to connect with an extravagant classical insturment.
To be one with a delicate and delightful viola.
I'm nervous and shy, for playing in front of someone feels like I'm exposing my inner self through my third eye. I release my self and put my soal into my gracfully flowing fingers, in hopes that they don't deceive me and unintendedly linger. I trust in my abilities as a musician and let my viola sing. Sing for me, and spread my talent and soal, thoughout my music. I stead myself and let the time engulf me, for I am fixed and doing my very best.
As the time drawls to an end, I send my last note and let it linger in the air.
I leave knowing I did my very best, but will that be good enough to get where I want to be? Am I truly talented, is this meant for me? All I can do now is hope for the best and have confident in myself. If putting your heart and soal into something isn't the best, than I don't know what is.
After much stress, I get to know if I achieved my goal. It turns out that I wasn't able to achieve that goal after all and now I'm sad. Sad that my very best wasn't good enough, sad that this is the first time that I haven't reached my goal in music. Everyone else passed and moved on, but not I. I who works myself hard and long to secced in my goals, was turned down. I who comes to class on time, sits up straight, and practices at night on the weekends until late. None of this was good enough, or maybe I'm not as talented like I thought I was.
Warm, wet, tears stream down my face and seep into my skin.
Many things cross my mind this is one I can't simply mend. Should I give up and end? Am I not fit to be a musician? My heart aches to know the truth, to know what I did wrong, but I'm not strong, too afrade to ask. Instead, I cover my deep blue eyes with these small hands of mine. I weep. My brain says to give up, that I'm not good enough, while my heart tells me to keep going, that I have spent too much time, loving and caring for my viola and music of mine. Everyone and thing is putting me down?
I'm truly lost and crying tears, tears of failure so dear........
Yes, it’s all too regular, this kind
of setting--- the language of rooms
exposing littered notes along slit wrappers
gone wild: oh half-asleep kids
still run amuck over marathons of toy games
igniting lithesome squeaks
through comedy and banter…
And when near evening pleads
for flavorful remnants --baked ham, chowder soup--
this day after Christmas becomes
a world that gives and takes a refrain
from soothing drawls, on to the gratitude
of hours passing heaves of joy...
~*~
12/26/2016 For Anthony Slausen
The Day After Christmas
Oh God there he is again,
back room, is he waiting?
Did he know I was coming
or something?
He's tryin too hard, too hard to be cool
as he drawls how are you?
I just say fine and you?
Wish he'd talk without the drool.
His buddy's lookin like
she don't look like
your girl you described.
Yeah dude, you're right.
Never should've danced with him that night...
If I could spit out words I really meant
I'd spit like tobacco juice and never regret.
Throw full armed insults and slams
I'd never take back.
I'd say it right.
I'd say it like:
I hate your squinty eyes,
your tall skinny body
and your sweaty hands.
Should've never went out with the girls that night.
He asks me
do I ever hang with his groupie?
Well duh dude,
I said you tell me.
I'm trying so hard
not to rip you apart
barehanded,
Lord knows I can.
I decide to let you be,
leave you intact
if you don't bother me
or even react.
This time when I leave
your eyes better not follow me...
one eye open, Light flickers through
some die smokin, boots, whickers, booze
drawls and the draw, one liners move
sunsets on set, squirt bottles make dew
tossing and a turn around, naps till noon
suns rising high, pink sky, red lips bloom
she made love with someone, i never knew
he left, I cuddled her, just two in the room
text alert, nothing hurt, a bit of bad news
my love from across the states, my true boo
long nights, and sweating shadows, only few
knives cutting deep, as I sleep, are nothing new
I rhymed in my dreams, have had a lot to chew
murderers and lovers, both happiness and doom
running away, driving fast, whistling a tune
falling down, making sounds, morning light soon
at this moment
thinking of you
scared of commitment
mind around you
senses tell me no
my soul drawls me
I just don't know
your name follows me
like the sun comes
like the wind blows
giving warm feelings
thoughts of you flow
through the darkest hour
I think of you
reality chances may sour
then I really knew
I go on with life
with many choices
days go by
with these voices