Best Droll Poems
lately, i have been in this female mood
for some kind of abandon, that
which exhales the tigress fire
out of my lungs digging the veins
from a week's' routine movements
pruned to the barest of a payroll’s droll…
antiseptic cubicles dictate the rags of
chlorine-infected lunch where rooms
i strut around have nothing except
robotic people, same rye snacks, basins
of expired coffee and files of schizoid
folio..
just outside, the sky coughs
of gas masks rendering a paper bag
of humanity to suffocate on clanking bones
along claustrophobic subways: such a
hemorrhaging day waiting for 5pm
to hiss, halt ,and heave…
i need to dance with the arms of a
jazzy moon fondling my back and
whistling the tunes of recklesness
when all but the spirit lusts for is just a slice
of raw breaths spiraling into tangy
punches of rockstar blues... spare me the cranky
claws of a friday so sore; i alight like
a feline dressed in black lace with cabaret wings,
feathers splattered on glitzy cobblestones...
voluptuous legs hot and wild sniffing sultry
lavender scent of friday night’s parade;
and the band notes howl, free like me.
Carol Eastman's Your Favorite Poem
by nette onclaud
Categories:
droll, adventure, woman,
Form:
Light Verse
Remember the story
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it isn't at all
the troll tale I will tell.
Now, Trolius Troll
was a timorous soul;
A more timid troll
you never shall see.
He lived in a hole
in the base of the bole,
(that is, the trunk)
of a turpentine tree.
Young Trolius Troll,
I ask you to note,
is a strict vegetarian;
he does not eat goat.
You might not believe me,
but, begging your pardon,
he eats only produce
from his vegetable garden.
One day, after harvesting
some of his crop,
with a basket of turnips,
with some carrots on top,
he strode up the path,
just as proud as could be,
toward his home in the trunk
of the turpentine tree.
Then, outside the door
of his pine tree abode,
was a sight that made
Trolius Troll drop his load.
There, with a chainsaw
and a double-bit ax,
stood a brawny, black bearded,
blue eyed lumberjack.
With his feet wide apart
on the green, grassy ground,
the lumberjack looked
the troll's tree up and down--
Then, laying the ax
on a moist, mossy bank,
he gave the saw's start rope
a sudden, sharp yank.
With a white puff of smoke
and an ear splitting sound,
the saw shattered the silence
for acres around.
The lumberjack stepped
to the tree's sturdy base
with a smile of delight
on his black-bearded face.
Then, the usually timorous
troll gave a shout,
and, pounding his chest,
he went leaping about.
With a wild snarl of rage
and a blood chilling wail,
the once timid Trolius
charged up the trail.
The brave lumberjack
was stricken with awe.
He turned from the tree,
and dropped the chain saw.
Through the ferns and the bushes
the tree feller ran.
and he never returned
to the forest again.
And so ends a story,
that some might find droll,
of a timid and timorous
tree dwelling troll.
But its message is clear,
it’s as clear as can be:
You may monkey about with Trolius, friend,
but you’d better not mess with his tree.
Categories:
droll, children, funny, parody, tree,
Form:
The grass
alas
is shorn
like corn
the dew
eschews
forlorn
this morn
the crowd
avowed
the ball
and all
then groans
and moans
clubs thrown
are known.
Embued
and hued
the words
like swords
wrong swing
the sting
bad lie
too high
the squeeze
on knees
in pleas?
to seize
the gold
and hold
glory
story
though droll
their goal
control
cajole
that ball
to fall
or roll
in hole
August 22,2022
For Brian Strand's Premiere Choice Contest
FIRST PLACE TROPhy!
POEM OF THE WEEK!
Categories:
droll, 12th grade, anxiety, conflict,
Form:
Footle
You can hear it whisper in the night
Passing on its tales of utter delight.
It moves between both quill and soul.
Of ordinary things, it finds so droll!
In its center, an eternal flame burns.
Like waves in the sea,it churns.
Singing songs of loves remembered.
The voices strong and of sensual timber.
Music of the Earth, is its symphony.
Of an eternal couple, forever to be.
An etched memory of no sorrow,
Before this day, beyond all tomorrows.
9/9/2021
Categories:
droll, imagery, inspirational love, romance,
Form:
Rhyme
~Sand-Castle~
***relaxing medicine***
dreams of the sand
Underneath the ocean stars
Sleeping with the wind
***the beast dreams***
Mr. Sandman's bag
Romantic, like pouring rain
Seashore bash
***the world is home***
Wishing well mirage
Homeless but rich sandcastle
Ocean wave pillow
***it takes two***
Heaven passionate kiss
hands create a mote
Drawbridge of sea shells
***hungry wings***
First class bay front seat
Seagulls land on tower
Essence of bird droll
***colliding fantasy***
Adventure hot day
Knocking beauty of the day
fantasy sunrise
~Sk~
Categories:
droll, adventure, analogy, celebration, fantasy,
Form:
Senryu
Going through some old things that just had to go,
I came upon something that nearly got tossed.
Memories came to me from long ago. . . .
I thrilled that my treasure was no longer lost.
Toys come and toys go. In the 60’s, one fad
was to own an odd doll not seen much today.
This doll had long hair and was scantily clad
but wasn’t a Barbie with which I would play!
Its body was squat and it had a pug nose.
I probably loved it because it looked droll.
Its hair could be orange, green, yellow or rose,
but if you don’t know yet, that doll was a troll!
How I wish I could dredge up some memory
to know what was happening inside my head
as a pre-teen with friends and what it might be
that we did with those dolls and what fun things we said!
The trolls that I owned must have been at least four -
both sexes so they'd make a small family -
their hair different hues, each a doll to adore.
But one day they no longer mattered to me. . .
I can’t say where all of my playthings got stashed.
When I left for college, they vanished from view.
But knowing my mom, they must have got trashed.
She doesn’t hang on much to things like I do.
Now four decades later, I looked at my prize,
bare naked and smudged but its hair still jet black.
It stared up at me with its cute amber eyes.
I couldn’t believe how I got that thing back!
It somehow had ended up in my new state.
Good luck for that troll, I throw few things away!
That doll would be learning soon of its new fate
and meet other troll dolls with whom it would stay.
Just like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow old,
and new trolls I’d bought with long bright spiky hair
when troll dolls again in the 90's were sold!
But I had to recall where I’d stored them….. oh, where??
(I found the dolls and added the old one to the new collection,
but my daughter's family moved in with me a few months ago.
My daughter is a clean freak like MY mom is (apparently it skips
a generation or something), and my daughter took my troll dolls
and put them out of sight somewhere so currently they are floating
around who knows where!
For Paula Swanson's "Yard Sale" Contest
Categories:
droll, nostalgia, hair, daughter, me,
Form:
Quatrain
A forehead wrinkles
at the pounding of water from the sky
It kind of wishes that
it could d
r
o
w
n out
thoughts and feelings
but it only serves
to m a g n i f y them
background droll music
to an overthinker's mundane life
a fold here,
a crease there
origami wings
that are limp,
drenched
looking pretty lonely and pathetic
under, that, crying, sky, , , ,
, , , ,
Categories:
droll, remember,
Form:
Free verse
It's Father's Day again,
but you aren't here.
There's no card to be bought;
no phone call to be made;
no visit possible.
I miss you, Dad.
It's been three years since I've heard
your voice speak my name;
three years since I've seen your smile;
three years since I've hugged you tight
and felt your kiss upon my brow.
I miss you, Dad.
All I have are my memories of you:
memories of your laughter,
and your droll sense of humor;
memories of special times spent together;
memories of the man I loved
and knew as "Dad".
But you can't hug a memory.
I miss you, Dad.
Happy Father's Day.
6/18/16
Categories:
droll, dad, fathers day, miss
Form:
Free verse
how sweet the love,
of the soul-mate soul,
who generates love,
that i can't hold,
to transfix her,
would be my measure,
the natural cuddle,
burning pleasure,
my mind,
the thought does mold,
like brainwaves,
yet of old,
the caveman has control,
of the never,
maybe never?
goal...
not clever:(
droll...
endeavour..
fold
xox
Categories:
droll, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
Here I go again, laying my head, on the line, how droll
As I rummage around for any last bits of my sorry soul
With the now vacant space my thoughts can roam free
But, no one is listening, so with silence, I cannot agree
Are not my thoughts not just voices, so I am not alone
The walls of my mind become a vast screen of my own
With the past and present flashing by, so future comes
Time have I to deliberate to the messages it succumbs
Each one of us, on our own path, chosen, or otherwise
Others amongst us, living their life under fake disguise
Does history repeat itself; yes, of that you can be sure
Will we ever learn, I am afraid for that there is no cure
Thoughts here, within my own self-made private space
As I'm severed from time, I can loiter at my own grace
This feeling of serenity is me as without contamination
All the facts before me without any missed information
Also, to see a life disregarding all the wrong diversions
But there is no pain, or anger, I forward my excursions
As I know I will return to this path of life all over again
When this time more knowledgeable of life's new reign
These grey walls around me as allude nothing from me
We can never change our fated lives unless we can see
Categories:
droll, mirror, self,
Form:
Couplet
Beautiful are folk with hearts of gold
Unsightly are those with hearts stone cold
Take some time to learn of someone's worth
You may get major surprise of earth
Women don’t need to be dressed in lace
A man doesn’t need a handsome face
Just to be a compassionate soul
A person who fits the friendship role
Would you befriend me, an aging droll?
Categories:
droll, beautiful, friendship, heart,
Form:
Rhyme
My muse opens my eyes to starlight, when in darkness I would cower.
~by poet
My dear muse is a faithful advisor
An ancient spirit, a writing treasure.
She guides my words, for hers are much wiser
with perception far beyond all measure.
We paint images; a pen is our brush.
Crumbled pages lie about in the den
where we huddle in thought, hour after hour.
She insists life shouldn't be lived in a rush
and smelling roses will heighten my Zen.
My muse is inspiring, a moonflower.
No vagabond muse, she's never wandered.
Nor stargazer, scanning constellations.
I always praise her for time not squandered
and cannot blame her for my frustrations
when I become distracted in mid thought.
Asleep and drifting in the midnight sky,
she fills my head with rhapsodies in dreams.
Romantic notions whispered to my heart ~
Lines for a sonnet to make readers sigh
when love is decreed beneath pale moonbeams.
More journeys than I, has my muse traveled.
Her metaphors are gifts offered to me
when I'm lost for words, a bit unraveled.
How grateful I am for her loyalty.
Without her guidance I'd surely fall short
of any claim of poetic success.
Somewhat feisty, yet whimsically droll,
urging me to write a mirthful retort.
Skillfully she directs me with finesse,
this glorious muse living in my soul.
May 25, 2022
Form O - Ode Contest
Sponsor - Constance LaFrance
Theme - Person (although a muse, real to me)
Categories:
droll, muse, poetry,
Form:
Ode
On the very darkest night;
The absence of reflected light.
When mortals are asleep in bed;
Mythical creatures begin to tread.
Among the dark and ancient trees,
Only the skillful ever sees.
The tiny fairies begin to dance,
Among their favored trees they prance.
Water sprites jump and play,
Out from the river where they stay.
Leprechauns hide their gold,
That they’ve kept since days of old.
Pixies have the only light,
Their tiny lanterns burning bright.
Elves are busy choosing sticks,
Used to build instead of bricks .
Dwarves are seeking the best stone,
A useful tool they will hone.
The gnomes their with faces droll,
Venture from the grassy knoll.
Beneath the trees they plant the seeds,
Of all the good and noxious weeds.
The little imps are always there,
Making clothes of leaves to wear.
Goblins with their wicked curses,
Try to steal the fairie’s purses.
Trolls beneath the bridges hide,
They carry swords at their side.
Mighty dragons have taken flight,
Eerie wings against the night.
In the thicket, the enchanted unicorn,
In the cover of darkness its foal is born.
In the absence of reflected light,
At the darkest part of night.
On night of the new moon,
These creatures caste a magical rune
Through the years the lore of old,
Became the story forever told.
y
Categories:
droll, fantasy, absence,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh, the gullible women threw themselves
at his intellectual poetry and prose.
To him, ah, he was as delightful as the scent
of a fragrant spring rose.
To their delicate dismay, they found him to
be a fraud and a sneak!
Inside, his forest green cape, they gasped!
Beware: HRM Prince Control Freak!
He was spreading evil talk amongst the princesses,
Causing dissension, heartbreak and not so
subtle hisses!
But Prince was simply righteous,out of some, to make fun?
The elixir of lies spread, by him was anything was droll
and humdrum.
He has changed, I am happy to loudly report!.
He has learned that others have their own views, not
in need of unwanted retorts.
8/6/2022
Categories:
droll, fantasy, vanity,
Form:
Rhyme
droll
slap you with a word
then, cross arms and wait
that's how she'd get you ... Grace Cleaves
out-of-the-blue idiosyncrasies that she'd notice in you
laid quite flatly in your lap
for you to comment on ... or not
all conversations started thusly
for she'd make all her determinations
(ie your character and humor)
from that initial punch-to-the-gut
brilliant, yet what most people despised about her
and what sent them fuming ... she, no worse for the wear
a sly grin and a wink to her dead husband
"We've lost another one, Hubert!"
I ... ADORED her for it, and it came to be something I depended on
she was brilliant, you see ... extraordinarily so
but few people tolerated her long enough to discover it
that was her point ... and MY gift
a gift I will always ache for.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Lady Down The Lane" Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
droll, appreciation, friendship, loss, memory,
Form:
Free verse