Best Ducking Poems
My self-awareness is clear.
Blunt.
It's ugly and painful. To call it enlightening, is putting it lightly.
Honestly though, it's relieving, intriguing, and totally necessary.
Character building, and damn near life-saving.
They say "seeing is believing"... But what about these feelings?
The temporary, non-factual, and oh so ing deceiving.
I prefer to walk this life in honesty. Real, raw, and owning responsibility.
Without concern for the possibility of living "lonely".
My truth.
Your truth.
THE truth.
I struggle to grasp how it's so hard to direct all my best efforts...
ANot for you, not for him, or for any of them. But for me. And at least for now, only me...
Like clockwork. One, two, three.
The bad decision making.
I always have been, I am now, and always will be, my own worst enemy.
Some will say that they "admire" my ability.
My ability to rep nothing more, and nothing less... Then just me.
Inside I'm laughing.
It's almost really ing funny!
With a head clouded thick and smokey and a heart I seem to keep on freezing.
Painful realities,
I continue to keep on stuffing.
Like it's all okay. Right here, right now...
see in my eyes that my lips are saying it.
Again.
Sell off another piece of my soul & commence to feeling nothing.
Turns out with all this ducking and dodging of reality, I myself am being robbed of the real me.
The chick they so ignorantly pretend to be "admiring".
It's gotten to the point of what I deem as wasteful & petty, being sold short...
Ultimately starving your life, my life, and this bag Society, of true, legit beauty.
The crimes of passion that fuel within me.
The answers remain exposed. Ever so transparently.
As I once said, my self-awareness is more than a blessing.
Granting the ability to understand what blatantly lay before me.
Allowing my swollen eyes to see ever so clearly.
Observing, the chaos and defeat.
hear me say, although I'd prefer to scream....
No matter the faulty choices, or the seemingly impossible hopes and dreams...
I can be my own muse, my own Mentor, I will be just me. My own home team.
Completely denying the hopelessness that the greatest of evil strives to feed within me
TED
A cheating farmer called Teddy McClure
Thought that his wife knew but he wasn't sure
Oh boy she knew alright
Cos when he took a bite
Of his sandwich it contained pig manure...
AMY
A flat chested girl called Amy Sparrow
Went for a boob job down in Palermo
Now cant keep her back straight
Because of the dead weight
And she now has to use a wheelbarrow...
FLYING HERD
Have you ever thought what if cows could fly
Imagine ducking as a herd flew by
You'd have to wear a hard hat
Or risk being hit by a pat
And goggles in case you're hit in the eye...
THE LOVERS
Two lovers went in the woods all alone
Lots of oohing and aahing and a moan
They're on Utube on show
And what they didn't know
Someone filmed them from above with a drone...
FRED DYER
Did you hear about poor Freddie Dyer
Fell and mangled his manhood on barbed wire
His bits they couldn't save
But opera fans rave
His falsetto singing in the choir...
Written 29th April 2020.
Tiny wavelets on the pool today, a gentle
breeze and raindrops fall with a rhythmic
pitter patter. The ducks and wildfowl pay
no heed, around the sedge bob and feed.
The Heron standing as if frozen, his
cunning eye a prey has chosen. And the
elegant Swan glides, the Cormorant
beneath the water slides. And the grey
clouds float on by on this quiet day at the
pool, the reeds sway and insects hide away,
dry wings are required to survive. The Otter
on its back dines on an unlucky Crayfish,
seems well at ease with his surrounds, and
the Water Vole enters a hole to the squeak
of hungry mouths. In the centre of the pool
a love dance, two Crested Grebes court,
ducking, bobbing, all magic to the eye. All
this beauty in the pitter patter, life goes on
it does not matter. Nature gives in many
ways, and as always this heart enslaves.
I'm curse with pride the golden child surrounded by scream and cries.
Standing tall I refuse cry speaking the truth I don't believe in lies.
Raise in the streets but yet I still can't stand the heat my mind wondering I'm in too deep.
Right now my words is my only drive I'm ducking death so through the night I creep.
Carrying the world on my back the heart of a G standing tall while I face my enemies.
And because of my pride you will always remember me.
Because I believe in loyalty so I will always represent for my family.
Cause to me their love is like heaven to touch and I need their energy.
But why is this world fill with misery why can't we live together in unity.
It's time for a change and we can start by changing our community.
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The weed interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
"And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…"
Passionately we kiss.
True romance,
I scroll,
softly kiss the collarbone.
Grab my lance!
lets dance,
on sheets of satin,
moan for me in Latin.
We both knew this would happen.
I feel you yearning,
body churning.
I'm learning,
your hot spots.
Burning,
feverish,
my swager
tied in love knots.
Palms a little sweaty,
bug-eyed by
your back-shot..
For months we have been ducking each other,
friendly exchanges, flirtatious winks,
and booty slapping
in passing.
Masking,
our true feelings,
lasting impressions, left silent
in our daily dealings.
Evolved finally into
sexual healing..
Dripping,
sweat soaked,
provoked,
under my yoke,
I stroke.....
Jared Pickett
1/19/2010
Asavvy1
...inspired by a Dylan Thomas short story.
A breezy day, and two boys biking down the lane,
past meadows green with envy, soft as spring.
Picnic-packed and ready for the day's adventure.
They passed hikers. "Hey, lend us yer bikes!" they cried.
The lads whizzed by, not giving them a second thought.
"I bet them's fire cows," Jimmy said, (he had a wild
imagination.) "Nah, them's Holsteins, don't be daft!"
said John. The air was full of magic, and the sky
alive with seagulls. The ocean glinted to their right,
sparkling like the twinkle in a young girl's eyes.
They hurried to their destination, breathless with
anticipation, hurtling to a Neverland they'd mostly
seen in pictures, a rocky outcrop, pounded by
the waves, a fearsome confrontation with the sea.
A playground where imaginations wander.
“I bet there's dragons in them caves,” said Jimmy,
"and trolls and such, with fangs and fiery breath!"
“You're crazy!” countered John, (he read the Bible),
“'sides there's Jesus, He will shelter you from death
for now, make sure you're well and in good health."
Skittering on slabs as slick as ice fields,
tottering like lambs who've found their legs;
they played until the frigid water beckoned,
then splashed and frolicked, ducking from the heat.
Opening their back packs now, they settled down to eat.
It was then, the first time they'd discussed it,
Wally, Jimmy's brother, gone to God;
dead from cancer barely two weeks previous,
disconnected, laid beneath the sod.
Their tones were sullen, conversation somber.
“Is Wally with the Angels?” Jimmy questioned,
“Yes he is,” said John, “and safe at rest.”
They cycled home in silence, friends together,
and settled in their beds, forever blessed,
the moon endowed their dreams, a welcome guest.
When we first met, in love we used to glide
on waves of bliss like pairs of sunglow swans,
now we slowly totter,and try to hide
our orthopaedic socks and thick long johns.
We still hold hands like back on that first date
but now it's less a gesture, decades on
else I'd walk off ahead then have to wait
while you found something firm to lean upon.
You said you'd like a skirt to match your eyes
I did my very best but must confess
I went to every shop but no-one buys
or maybe no-one sells a bloodshot dress.
you run your fingers through my hair a bit,
these days I marvel just how fast it goes
these greying locks ,well, what remains of it,
from off my scalp and southwards to my nose.
Annoying habits met with just a sigh,
you snoring on the sofa after tea
or ducking as my nail clippings shoot by,
or leaving used bags out when making tea.
Love's outer shell is merely just it's name,
inside it's precious pearl remains the same.
I can't begin to fathom
What it must be like
To be filled with fear and terror
While running for your life.
I can't begin to fathom
Looking all around
Searching for some shelter
And seeing bodies on the ground.
I can't begin to fathom
To find a loved one lying still
Begging them to wake up
Yet know they never will.
I can't begin to fathom
Hiding and in wait
Ducking in the shadows
Afraid of tempting fate.
I can't begin to fathom
How a human, same as me.
Could rifle down the innocent
Destroy lives and families.
I can't begin to fathom
The confusion,trauma, pain
The survivors have to live through
To go on with life again.
I can't begin to fathom
How such bloodshed still goes on
When will we come to realize
We're doing something wrong?
This has to be the end of this
There can't be one more time
How many more must lose their lives
Before we draw the line?
Let's crush this senseless madness
Don't leave it up to fate.
We need to find an answer
Before it's way too late.
It watches it stares
My God it's always there
In the shower, when I read a book
It even gives me dirty looks
NO PRIVACY ALOUD
It moves in malice all about
No hiding, It's there
Even when taking off my underwear
Nowhere to hide, it will not leave
It's moving closer
What could it be?
A confused ex, or an ex friend
I want to be free, IT'S STALKING ME
I can remember when it all began
Ducking behind trees, and the sound of crushing leaves
Sometimes I think it's on my sleeve
It's in my phone, It should go home
Inside my bed, It even crawls inside my head
I want to breathe, I want to scream
I sometimes wonder what it wants from me
I feel its presence, I can smell it's breath
Is as if something crawled from death
I pinch myself when I awake, because I know that this is not my fate
I will not run, I will not hide
I feel this parasite inside
So time has passed, It will not leave,because it holds this jealousy
I want it gone, To feel again
I even feel it when I take a swim
When I rest, It screams at night, I even lose my appetite
Its in my car, under my seats
There's a crazy demon stalking me
When I pray, it lies in wait, just to make me feel its pain, guilt, and low self-esteem
Because I'm not the one it expected me to be
I am Calm, quiet, caring, kind and still
And I refuse to let it steal my will!
What kind of world will we leave for our children,
one that is shackled in hate?
Tying their hands in the wake of the future,
sealing the edge of their fate.
Killing of innocents minding their business,
filling the shadows with fear.
What is the plan to relieve all this worry,
now that it’s already here?
Why is it right that we turn against neighbors
just for the clothing they wear?
The color of skin and the faith they believe in,
did we forget how to care?
Racism churned from the bellies of monsters,
pointing their fingers in blame
When will they learn that we’re in this together,
regardless of language or name?
Why do we hide always ducking for cover,
waiting this terror to cease?
When we can stand up like sister and brother
walking together in peace.
We are all people who live on this planet,
being the best we can be.
It’s up to us what we leave for our children. . .
why not a world that is free?
Each summer my parents would take us to my grandfather’s ranch in Southern Texas to help with different jobs. It might be branding cattle, digging fence post holes, or picking cotton! My parents had told us stories about the cotton fields as I grew up. I wasn't old enough yet to partake in this miserable job.
One fine morning my brothers and I were awakened before daylight dressed, fed, and taken a mile down to the cotton fields! We were handed heavy cotton ducking sacks, they were over twice as long as I was. Diligently we all started filling our sacks with cotton. Under the hot summer day sun, which was beating down? The field was elegantly plowed with neat rows, lined with brown dried plants, with beautiful fluffy white soft cotton and seeds in bolls. A protective vessel that does its job with sharp burrs that make picking cotton by hand quite painful, and bloody.
I walked up and down the cotton rows dragging my heavy sack. With blistering sun overheating my body, I had begun to ache, getting weaker, the sack got heavier every minute My hands had swollen up with cuts that were bleeding from removing the cotton out of the bolls. After a while I started feeling faint, running a fever, heaving, and then I collapsed to the soft plowed black soil. My family runs over wondering what had gone wrong. I had developed heat-stroke!
I was never again brought back to the cotton fields.
©By: Eve Roper 12/8/2014
Contest Name : Jobs 12/ 11/2014 Honorable Mention
I live in a very small very old village
In England where everyone knows your name
But what makes the place rather odd
Is the locals who are very strange.
There's Gina the window cleaner
Her bum the size of mar's
And Lady Quinn
Who drives like a mad lady
In her Bentley car
There's old Doctor Mckenna
Who always complains that he's ill
And young pregnant sally who forgot
To take the pill (again)
Farmer Giles and his sheep
Tom the butcher boy who walks around naked
In his sleep
Norris and Horace
the identical twins
And gambling Fred who backs the horses
and never wins
Old Nelly at the post office
And Nora who has the local shop
And P.C plod the nervous local cop.
They all get together on a Friday night
In the local pub and get merry and gossip
For it's the communities hub
Many tales have been told
About a Headless horseman
hereabouts who rides through the village
around midnight when the lights go out.
Headless horseman?
It makes no sense to me
Because if he was riding a horse
How the hell would he see.
Every year we have the village fete
and people from all around cue up at the gate
we used to have a morris dance
But morris can't dance no more
Because Morris hung up his clogs
When his feet got very sore
There's Mollies stall of home preserves
And paddy and his performing fleas
That leaves everyone scratching
And heading for the trees.
The old church stands on top of the hill
and long after the bells have rung
Your ears are ringing still
When anyone does something wrong
they have to face the old ducking pond
I've been ducked a time or two
And got completely wet through.
It's claimed Robin Hood
Met maid Marion in our local wood
Bet they were up to no good
And his merry men got really merry
Down at the local pub.
If you ever visit us at our village
Hogs bottom's end
We might be a bit strange but we'll greet you like a friend
But be wary
Many a visitor never leave
And meet a grizzly end, ha ha ha haaaaaa.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. July.
The tune of the pipes
Calling your name
As the bike warms up
And awaits your arrival
Weaving and swaying
Through the concrete jungle
Dodging and ducking
Traffic lights and cars
Pollution drives us
Out of the city
Cleanse our faces with the salt
From the sea
As we rumble past
The roaring ocean
You and I
Melting together
Racing along the
Foothills of the mountain
Washing out our lungs
With farm fresh air
The tune of the exhausted pipes
The angelic manurers of the bike
Are romancing the mountain
As the bike becomes alive
And protect us like a lover
The overspray of the waterfall is
Washing the city out of or hair
Replacing the oxygen in the
Paws of our skin
Exciting our sensors
Wetting our appetite
Launching out of the forest
Racing along the plain
Travelling faster than light
Floating into space
The Engine running on galaxy gas
The tyres run on star dust
Our journey never ends
And quit frankly my dear
With you by my side
And a highly polished bike
I never want this journey to end
Conditionally,
“unconditional”
comes with its
vast conditions,
don’t you agree?
we invest our love,
and all of ourselves
into the adoration
and dissection
of all forms
of muses,
who will,
or will not
be found
swimming amused
in each others'
minds,
in each others'
poetry;
we are a muse
ourselves, egregious
to the rules of iambic
and other rigid romping
rhythms and rites
to be righted,
that we daily play
dodgeball with ardently,
it's like ducking from
incoming magpies
guarding their nests,
circling their
small-worldly boundaries,
establishing their tiny
very tight territories,
they fly in at us hard
with their sharp beaks
and their spit, they assert
they are allied with the best,
those well informed
highly schooled scribes,
who largely mistaken in mind,
dunk others less than less, and wait
for the curs'ed to float,
but in the sinking
those curs'ed
drowned muses,
in that terrible
horrendous misfortune,
tied to their dunking chairs,
eyes now wide open,
find diamonds
at the bottom of
their damned pond,
as they swiftly pass
schools of wayward fish
with no clear direction in mind,
and other monsters
pulling out hearts
with their pre-prehistoric
saber-toothed grins;
hellelujah for those
who bespoke for you
freeverse from the ego
within the heart -
it’s the mind that cuts
without hesitation,
draws lines in the sand,
limiting us to couplets
in greeting cards
sans ampersand,
conditionally
"unconditional";
the curs'ed
eventually wake
and they rise,
spilling tea
stirring
sugar 'n spice
into the bland,
who eventually
open their eyes
and their minds,
unconditionally
“conditional”
sans ampersand
heart
mind
Candide Diderot. ‘24