Best Druthers Poems
Mara loves to steal from others
A skill well learned with no druthers
Paraphrase one word or two,
Hoping no one has a clue
Her poems formed from another's
Mara cannot hide behind her word crime
And pretending to, is a waste of time
Poems and words can be traced,
to a new plagiarism case
She needs to stop and find a new pastime
This is a message to children who lack sincerity in school. Hard work always gives easy success. Whatever hardwork we do during our school days, decides our future for entire life. Its not only about studies but the sincerity which is developed along with it.
This is a story of two brothers.
Who lived together forever.
Both enjoyed the dignity of a patrician.
Well bred with values and tradition.
Sharp contrast of a Strategician and a tactician.
JUXTAPOSITION OF HARDWORK DURING SCHOOL DAYS
Given his druthers, Veerang would skip studies,
Would escape to play snooker and pool with buddies.
A boaster, prodigal spender and his pathological lies.
Hard work during childhood is just about studies, he didn’t realize.
Krishnang, sincere and studious, positive and jovial.
Help to mom, a great company to sisters, extremely capable.
Topper in school, loved by all, he was just so amiable.
Yes, both grew together.
One believed in hard work, another preferred leisure.
JUXTAPOSITION OF HARDWORK DURING ADULT HOOD
With freedom comes responsibility.
It’s not only about us but our family’s and parent’s dignity.
Hard work during childhood decides our ability.
Yes, our capabilities and the possibilities
In a way our acceptability and applicability.
Krishnang, goes for holidaying across nations.
Veerang is still striving to boil the ocean
What an irony, hardwork now is a compulsion.
JUXTAPOSITION POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by: Silent One
Date: 21st Nov; 2020
Shades of autumn were in her smile,
and red maple hues her eyes afire,
Clung yet to spring breeze
and blossoms to hide,
playful levity in all its wile;
In her druthers,
winter walked with the ice of her touch,
But balmy her kiss in the cool of night,
her hand he held wild within
manna (moonlight),
summer too spent with fiery breaths
Not the temperance of frost born blooms,
and rains smoky with wisps
upon October's moods....
quicker neath the sheets....
more soft the touch of skin....
and warm wraps of arms in heat,
delicate to need love akin;
But never the sweat of July
in the throes of summer's pyre
But the swoon of love's desire,
by firelight neath (soft furs tickling)
heaving for the warm, and cool
naked of skin, lips moistened
with a lover's dew;
Seeking union to riddance,
bliss of a world without,
lonely ----
(Compared to silver lunar lamps)
these longing roses are one,
reaching soul to each,
their hearts warm the iced-glaze
neath,
breathing in the mist....
Ere April rain, a wisp upon a kiss
they meet upon the hills and tulips in may,
and red and orange and yellow
of Summered Indian days:
Her smile had tinges of autumn in her shades,
and red and maple eyes,
(he said)
I remember the good old days of what now seems so long ago
The year was twenty nineteen. What parties we used to throw
Family and friends gathered for weddings and festive holidays
Smiles were seen before flashes of illness and dissension blazed
Parents went off to work; their children educated at school
Life was much easier then; and people didn't seem so cruel
We laughed and joked at neighborhood restaurants and bars
Hope in the future was bright, and shinier seemed the stars
It was a time when we took for granted, many simple things
When never would we have imagined the wrath of viral stings
Nor how much we would sadly miss the nearness of others
the signs of affection we'd still give, if we had our druthers.
There is one special memory from those "The Good Old Days"
that will never be forgotten in the grateful voice I lovingly raise
The blessed news of a new family member; a healthy baby girl
I pray her future will be worry free, as I watch her life unfurl
January 13, 2021
The Good Old Days Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Blue Jays and Black birds and half a dozen squirrels.
Sprinkled with Sparrow's, it's become quite a world.
Occasional Cardinal to add a little spice.
They seem to all be getting along fairly nice.
The neighbor, he feeds them plenty of food.
It seems it is working, they've become quite a brood.
As long as the house is buttoned up tight.
They're not a problem, I sleep fine at night.
Out in the front, a chipmunk does play.
Scurrying around and having it's way.
A Robin or two might ruffle their feathers.
I wouldn't change a thing if I had my druthers.
It feels like I'm blessed to have such a mess.
Nothing to do but enjoy it, I guess.
God certainly does have mysterious ways.
How he shows us his love in these warm summer days.
Going within the shrine of my heart's hidden mind,
In things without, the truth I often do not find;
I dream of greatness. This I expect in others.
As each, in life, have individual druthers...!
The facts of my universe are truly well-known,
I should meditate on my true forms clearly shown;
'Cogito Ergo Sum' - Descartes so proudly said.
Mind and body are not one. Thus, he went ahead...!
I love dear Plato, for his world of ideas.
He gave us Platonic love, highest from above;
No flesh in it; none touches before hearts touch,
Only such love can free me from every grim clutch...!
I do love and respect Aristotle, the great,
Who reduced truths forms to a great idea- bait;
Knowledge comes from within the realism does hold.
To unrealities, often, my conscience is sold...!
Metaphysical epistemological,
Each philosopher, for me, has been logical;
Excellence in beauty and divine perfection,
Is there, to idealism, any exception...?
Socrates accepted the bitter cup offered,
For his idealism he did greatly suffered;
Who he did not ever in his life influence?
Each heart and mind should flow in his great confluence...!!!
19 January 2023
In the avalanche, I lost track of my guiding light.
I fled my fireside. I had to evacuate my homestead.
Driven far astray by frenetic frozen fright,
I was just a cowardly racing rescuing airhead.
The wounded wooden face of my brother
lugged away by paramedics in a wheelchair.
My tomb of sleep was my 3 am druthers.
But I called 911, puzzling at my sibling’s stare.
Living and dying from underworld to mountaintop,
the EMTs raised him off the floor like a bag of potatoes.
Everything was breathing pollen and allergen nonstop.
All my raw instincts lacked right or wrong thought flows.
It’s true; I lost poetry. I abandoned my paintings, my pottery,
as though the subverting season of AI sophistry reigned supreme,
as though all creativity was randomized in a human lottery,
as though all consciousness is reduced to a particle beam.
Vacant, these weary eyes roll up in my head.
Vacant, how much long-term despondency to endure?
My brother lives and dies each day in his bed,
defenseless, like a never healing wound with no cure.
My days are distractions, a mad confusing deflection.
I vacated my poetic home, my fireside muse.
I raft the unfamiliar caregiver currents without reflection.
I can’t live forever homeless, maintaining the caregiver ruse.
Sleep now, my brother, knowing life offers you another aim.
Tap resilience from your broken body. This will clear your mind.
My pallet for tending, nourishing, and wiping deserves no acclaim.
Nobody asks for these duties. No one can ever put them behind.
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude” —Unseeking Seeker
the passersby wailed in laughter
with a blink of an eye she sought the here after
prompting hatred she'd rid and had been
gone the sun's soul beaming within
left are the pieces contusion once dealt
exemplification deep purple, blue/black welt
anticipating that it is all in the imagination
innuendo scorns, undertones as intimidation
the nuances of facial expression and body language
an undercurrent hides beneath an open bridge
the windy storm blows farther its opaque steam
whilst whispering mantras gently stream
uttering phonemes begin and she softly chants
deep breaths balm lofty thoughts further enhance
‘I choose and listen how my inner voice druthers,
and not the random opinions of others’
forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds—perfume
on the heel that has crushed it, where sweet aromas loom
Rick, you got me once again;
I'm tired of feeling dumb.
Curse your mindless hyperlinks!
Kiss my big fat bum!
Rick, I'll never pass it on,
On this day or another.
Let the halfwits have their fun.
Let them have their druthers.
© 2011, R. Erin Lenth
Life has cruel ways of muting emotions
Over time in how we treat each other
Manifest and shameful self promotion
At the expense of loved one’s own druthers
Forgetting the passion igniting fire
With the excuse we’re busy and stressed
Denies quite natural human desire
Honesty and fidelity to test
Love backs up our romantic interest
Keeping us engaged emotionally
Denying love creates awkward distance
Lonely nights and lonely days equally
Prioritize now and do not delay
For we are never given tomorrow
Promote passion today, too busy at bay
Jump start romance and save yourself sorrow
Some guys are cut out for retirement
That certainly doesn't apply to me
If I had my druthers, I'd still be working
This is surely not my cup of tea
Used to be such an active fellow
Was hard at work twenty-four seven
Up until virtually all hours of the night
Now I'm lucky if I make it past eleven
This poetry site is my saving grace
Without it I'd surely go berserk
Well maybe that's overstating my case
But you get it, I thrive on work
Perhaps there's a big surprise in store
I'll inherit a million big ones
From a distant long lost cousin of mine
Might be getting too much sun!
© Jack Ellison 2013
This is dedicated to my new friend, Hope. Thanks for keeping my spirits lifted!
A spirit lifter
Lifts up your spirit
To a higher level
Than you can get
They pull from inside
Our God given light
To share with others
As we shine so bright
Now every spirit lifter
Needs their spirits lifted too
The more their spirits are lifted
The more spirit lifting they can do
They are always so busy
Lifting the joy of others
To ever pick up their joy
And that is their druthers
There are times they notice not
That their joy has fallen down
It’s not until they see their face
To find it is wearing a frown
That’s when other spirit lifters
Will come and jump right in
To be quick as possible
As they really do save them
The Spirit Lifter Queen
I finally met and got to see
That she carries roots as strong
As a magnificent old oak tree
Her light shines so beautiful
Hope is the name we call her
As she is the picture of hope
And the root of a spirit lifter
Her roots run so very deep
And her light shines on everyone
As hope is to expect with confidence
To cherish a desire with anticipation
I feel most privileged
To have acquainted with her
As even one of her joyful giggles
Always lifts my spirits higher
When the joy bubbles up from in me
I gladly bounce them back to her
As she really is the Queen
Of all the other spirit lifters!
Florence McMillian (Flo)
The twenty-first son born with a brat his caul and three sevens in Gaelic knot once apon a fairy tall Upon the distant drum seven clocks ring as a banshee the kenning she does sing Morriganus looking through the gallowglass Laughing hooligans interrupt the sweetbriar lass The galore of whiskey erupts in the shebeen A Irish rose on with the tall brave little colleen all dressed in green the leprechauness spins a dream from the corrie a turlough of the fairy ring What of the lad of fate and the fairy godlover Let your imagination sing have your druthers How coming of age he must drink the poteen of four-leaf shamrocks a glass slipper it seems Chasing rainbows can do you no harm but beware the gift of gob its golden charm
Bring Back Our Girls!!
To their mothers and fathers,
to their sisters, and brothers.
We know ONE escaped you,
but we want ALL the others!
Bring Back Our Girls!!
To the people who LOVE them!
To the people who NEED them!
The ones who pray for them EVERY night,
and wake up praying that you've freed them!!
Bring Back Our Girls!!
So that they can one day
be wives and mothers!
And, they'll be doctors and lawyers,
if I had my druthers!
You Need To
Bring Back Our Girls!!
Or, we're coming for you!
You'll find no place to hide.
And, you'll have nowhere to run to!
BRING BACK OUR GIRLS!!
Even with innocence lost.
Or, we'll see you all burn,
No matter the cost!
Bring Back Our Girls!
BRING BACK OUR GIRLS!
Please,... just...
Bring Back Our Girls!
THE COYOTEE SONG
I'm just a poor lonesome cowboy.
Ridin' my pinto, out on the prairie.
I'm Roundin' up these longhorn, all day long,
Me and my pinto, and my rusty six-gun.
I love a floosie from Philly.
She got some eyes, that really turn me on.
She plays with all the cowboys all night long,
Guess I'll shoot myself with my rusty six-gun.
Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.
I'm just a poor lonesome cowboy.
Livin life in my Levys til its done.
I know that redhead won't remember my name,
But I'll always have my old rusty six-gun.
Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.
I love your howlin, but your sound is as sad as can be.
If I had my druthers, I'druther have that floosie sing to me.
Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! coyote!
Yippy-KiYo! For me!
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet