Best Droned Poems
the daily news droned on and on
as hope gave way to gloom
every ray of sunshine doused
by raindrops spitting fumes
war and murder everywhere
no part of earth untouched
I pulled my hood up over my head
the burden was too much
Categories:
droned, rain, sunshine, world,
Form:
Rhyme
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
Categories:
droned, dark, death, imagery, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
The Shaman sits upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.
The sky above, the earth between;
took in her sincere pleas
tinksha’s toned, soft flutes droned,
her mantra’s dire decree.
To be the light on darkened paths,
within the night belayed;
and be the brave dark in the glow,
of God’s pristine light portrayed.
Her life long work no sacrifice
a love of mankind to display.
*One may be of any race or of almost any religion
and walk the Red Road. The Good Red Road is a path,
a way of living. It's full meaning is the way one acts,
the methods one uses, and what directs one's doing.
There is more to the Red Road than spoken word
or written words on paper. It is behavior, attitude,
a way of living, a way of "doing" with reverence -
of walking strong yet softly, so as not to harm
or disturb other life. The Red Road is a pathway to truth,
peace and harmony.
Categories:
droned, dedication, devotion, on work
Form:
Sonnet
Today, meandering through the clutter of the local antique store,
I almost tripped and fell over an object partially hidden on the floor!
My hands came to rest on an old-fashioned school desk sitting there.
It reminded me of the one I occupied in my school days, I do declare!
My thoughts drifted back through the misty past to reminisce and ponder.
As I caressed its oaken surface with my fingers, I began to wonder.
Did it once grace a simple one-room prairie schoolhouse in Indiana?
Might it have come from a rustic schoolroom in the state of Montana?
The slanting top of the old desk was scratched and with ink was stained.
I saw faint initials carved by an idle lad whose attention span had waned!
The varnish was worn off the folding seat by many a squirming kid.
Wads of chewing gum still adorned the underside of the folding lid!
I recalled sitting at one of those uncomfortable desks trying to stay awake!
As Miss Ruth droned on and on, all I could think of was the recess break!
The room reeked of oranges and fried egg sandwiches we'd bring to munch.
Kids of means paid a dime to eat finer fare in the lunchroom for their lunch!
I recalled the thwack on my knuckles of Miss Ruth's ruler to get my attention,
And what awaited me at home for misbehavior with growing apprehension!
(A clerk noting my glazed eyes asked, "May I help you sir? Is anything amiss?"
"Nah", I replied. "If you please, I'd like to stand here awhile and reminisce!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
droned, nostalgia, school, school, me,
Form:
Rhyme
*
It happened in a moment, during my 7th grade English class *
As we studied classic literature; “Evangeline”, the poem
A substitute teacher, wearing shoes of polished coal *
His soft style, hair neatly combed, engrossed in reading poetry…
Pubescence slumped around me, nodding off, slowly being lulled...
Young minds. filled with clutter, gathering dust, from ancient stories
With glittering eyes, he read each verse * *
The soft, eager voice, that stroked each word…
He would wait, on occasion, to look around the room *
With wistful hope, I would suppose, to reach one heart, one soul
At the start of the class, I had been watching the clock
But, as I sat more enraptured, time just seemed to stop…
I turned the pages, one by one …and slowly fell in love
The beauty of old words, drifted through the stuffy air
Like the gathering of dust motes, glittered, hanging in suspension
Filtered in the angled light, of the afternoon’s warm detention
Sun filtered through window glass,…while voice of bliss droned on….
My heartbeat sped, with growing passion
I restrained my hands from reaching,… grabbing *
To catch each word, and keep them captive…
Dust motes, and words, were spinning around *
I was head over heels…for my substitute teacher…
I was head over heels for an old man named Longfellow….
Thirteen years old, I loved two older men….
Fell in love with the classics,....on a mid-day afternoon
While gathering dust, and the magic of words
……………………………………….
For the Contest: "Gathering Dust"
Sponsored by John Lawless
Categories:
droned, love, nostalgia, old, ,
Form:
Free verse
The memory, of old, returns again
and tiptoes in like summer rain.....
If I close my eyes, I can feel the night
that wraps me close, beneath the stars
There were sounds of laughter all around
And crowds were milling all about
A saxophone was softly speaking
and Sinatra's voice was crooning, ...pleasing
For with a midnight tolling near
One by one, they drifted home...
Just a few of us, to dance the floor
All sense of time had halted course...
With shoes kicked off, and jackets hung
We couldn't bear the evening's end
Cheek to cheek with you that night
The last sweet dance would soon begin
The music stopped, but we did not
We couldn't break our tight embrace
We couldn't tear ourselves apart
And while we danced in pale moonlight
Our eyes were closed, you kissed my face
This was our own, enchanted place
You held me close, we danced alone
The night was ours to keep....our own
Though not a sound at all we heard
The lonely saxophone droned a tune
The record of Old Blue Eyes crooned
The music had no end
Categories:
droned, lovedance, music, dance, music,
Form:
Free verse
All those lies,
The creaking on the stairs
Glazed fixed eyes
Upon scuff marked boots
My abrupt croak,
Droned-out by sudden humming
From the refrigerator
My voice falls,
Pitched to the floor
Like suspended in time
To look upon these photos now
Hold nothing but false pretenses
A mirrored hope,
To escape for plummeting slopes
Our roots untouched lay
Fuming in collective dust
Along the many volumes
None would ever breach
Poisingly I held my chin,
Towards the cupping sun
Lapping in all it's warmth
Knowing with just two words
I'd stop the flooding dams, "No More"
Categories:
droned, loss, lost love, sad,
Form:
The Oxymoron
Dark light flood - seeped the small room,
Music droned loud with a dull sharpness.
As people stood and danced alone together,
Violent sways of percussion brushed my ear
A teenage adult smiled grimly as courage fled,
When I, dared to ask the girl woman to dance.
I stood shuffling in brave fear like the living dead,
A serious joke that I hoped no one laughed at.
Her smile frowned as she moved in an irregular pattern,
I made my forward retreat to the other side of the room
And watched her then in the now deafening silence,
With such sweet sorrow, as she danced with another.
Categories:
droned, fun, funny, giggle, humor,
Form:
Free verse
As I walked into the room,
the fan turned slowly,
beating a gentle rhythm, singing a gentle tune
stirring the warm air overhead
while down below, blankets and crisp cool sheets,
opened onto a large fluffy bed
in the corner a small lamp burned low
columns of light danced in the air
and sunlight streamed thru half closed blinds
While A fly droned on somewhere
a low voice from the radio
talked on and on into the now emptied mind
The books pages blur , while the head starts to nod
And the feet propped up on a stool keep time
To a quiet room and a sleepy mind
Dreams gently called with wakefulness gone
Of lazy days and warm green places,
And the stars shone on into the night
While the heavens turned slowly in their eternal paces
Categories:
droned, day, dream, peace, simple,
Form:
Rhyme
In this last strike, how many did you lose? We lost four....oh wait it’s you? You don't know and they don't show, they showed two but we lost four, my parents and poor two more.
They sit silent behind the doors, shut up and say no more. Talk about peace, but mean just ****. We intend no harm, we mean just peace. But how can we proceed, when they hit us with such speed? All our hopes and dreams are shattered, but to them, does it really matter?
At times, I think it will be over soon, or maybe it's just a dream. May be I'll wake up one day and see my mom, my dad and me, talk and laugh like we are free.
Categories:
droned, violence,
Form:
Alliteration
The Mourning Morning 100 and 50 Years On
Robert Graves lies in Wilfried Owen’s grave ponders the War
to end all Wars that continue with nothing else for us in store
and Barry Mc Guire sang summed it all up in 65 in destruction’s
eve thereof a cold dawn of reckoning conscience lost ever more
My Lai lives on and Srebrenica in naked truth of persecution
soars Wall Street Abrams Challenger Tanks as the best solution
for keeping pacifism social justice common sense at dismembered
arm’s length and loss still counts body bags for the good of delusion
Wounded Knee White and other blood rivers Tigris Euphrates
Nyabarongo swell swollen this morning today at great ease
with buried tears pounding of drums the pride and disgrace’
falsified messages broken walls shots of money’s droned lease
You can’t bury the dead and not leave a trace but attempt very well
to photo-shop engage propaganda erase meaning and sell sell sell
Marches alone will not consign madness ethnic cleansing proven
genocidal greedy insanity but disapprove sin and continue to tell
About 'Eve Of Destruction' like Graves Ghandi Mc Guire 50 years on
tune protest poetry and rock ballads shout clear in more than a song
Contemplate on the call up imagine a battle and nobody goes forth
scream howl against dogs of war and their masters please sing along
31st August 2016
Categories:
droned, war,
Form:
Rhyme
They buried the FAT kid today.
The little KID cried.
The parents of both kids just smiled.
“Isn’t it a pretty day?” They asked each other.
The voice of the Clergyman droned on.
Categories:
droned, life, mystery,
Form:
Narrative
I do not know
Whose excitement was the greater
My dad’s or mine
As we boarded the bus
To a long-lost dream
Of verdant fields
Rich with the fruit of native soil
Of crystal clear streams
Where laughing youth
Was spent in carefree
Abandonment.
My dad’s eyes gleamed
As they spoke of glowing hearths
Clustered around with pots and pans
With music of bubbling broth
And the sweet smell
Of meat
As the fat simmered and sizzled
Stirring the rumbles
Of those gathered around
Listening to great grandma tales.
Sweet were his words
As scenes of pastoral joy
Rolled off his tongue
With vividness imbued
With longing
For years gone past
These two score and ten.
Come, lad, he said
With wistful smile
And a soft ache in his heart
You’ll meet ole Gran
And Uncles and Aunts
And Cousins in droves.
The bus droned through the night
And at crack of dawn
We alighted
At a ramshackle stand
With nary a soul
But a lone
Wizened man
Who had seen better times.
With a quaver of despair
My dad fearfully asked
Of such-and-such
Great clans once there
Of streets and of temples
Of markets and yards
Of fields and their tillers
Only to be met with
Stony silent stare.
There was a rise in the wind
As dust-devils danced
The torpor was mounting
Till the man finally spake
The families you seek
Have moved on
To the beyond
Ten years or so
There was a quake and a storm
Now there only be ghosts.
Now we awaited
The bus
To take us back home
Saddened son
And a ghost of a dad.
~19 Jul 2016~
Semi-fictional
Contest: Long lost family
Categories:
droned, family, father son, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Nervous Hands
Did you know nervous hands can cause problems?
Let me tell you, folks, I know they can!
Hear my tale of a fidgety woman
and her equally jittery man.
At a conference, they became restless
as the speaker just droned on and on.
Though they tried to give him their attention,
they just couldn’t. Each stifled a yawn.
He began to drum HARD on the table
with his fingernails—thumpity-thump.
The presenter and others shot daggers
with their eyes at this troublesome chump.
Then he popped EVERY one of his knuckles,
dropped his papers all over the floor,
rattled change in his pockets—jing-jingle.
Sitting by them, I silently swore.
She was busy with her own distractions,
searching noisily through her huge purse
for her Bic, which she clicked with great fervor.
Could things possibly get any worse?
Yes! She rattled a hard-candy wrapper
in each hand on and on with true verve.
Then she “combed” her long hair with her fingers.
These two trounced on my very last nerve!
You must wonder why nobody told them,
“You can leave, or we’ll toss you head first.”
You just can’t eject business owners
even when they’re the absolute worst!
written in anapestic meter
July 30, 2018, entered in Nina Parmenter's A Rattling Rhyme Contest
Categories:
droned, anger, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
COLLEGE STUDENTS SHAPING MY WINGS
"She did this" and "She tore my paper, I’m red mad!"
"Miss, tell her to quit copying my lines!"
Every nail of rampage was tolerable,
as bright awakenings made semesters less tough.
They joined clubs and played a sneaky gang war
all the crammed jigs my college students fulfilled
only to grin, "Did our exams fly high ?"
"Please, can we have a make-up work, right now?"
The weeks of campus sermons droned along,
Graduation came, in a flash, they were gone!
I remember how the bonfire days used to flame
our summer nights warmed... unbidden and long.
I watched them grow and warmly discovered,
the different shades of patience in my nine lives.
The boyfriends came and then they disappeared,
oh now what? Some became instant brides.
Another set arrived for academe's rites,
while new batches of rogues began to stir.
Again, party hopping rolled with dreams on flight
that's when my wonder sparked a renewed glow.
With folios of ideas marked,"Let's start".
Each one carrying gifts of awe so dear,
I tossed them all with glitters from my heart…
but, these groups flexed my wings to stretch wider
as a more untamed troop outsmarted the last!
For Silent One's Contest
A Poem That Time Forgot
Categories:
droned, caregiving,
Form:
Free verse