Best Dullards Poems
on my-
diaphanous gossamer filmy cloud-
sumptuous I float woebegone
flowers far and below
and bluebirds come
fluttering in the azure sky
twittering and its
beautiful
gossamer filmy cloud-sumptuous
the gobbledygooks with their nonsense
far and below
and bluebirds come drifting
from the garden and forest they fly
to
my diaphanous
gossamer
filmy
cloud-sumptuous
the dullards with their yada yada
far
and
below
come with their hokum nattering
and I
yell hey you
get off my cloud-
sumptuous you you
nincompoops
bluebirds
twittering and twittering
beautiful
assemblage of fluttering
whispering hissing
with meaningless words
you keep off my diaphanous
gossamer filmy cloud
oh gentle breeze
take this dreamer and flower picker
of buttercups violets
dandelions
I see them swaying far and below
in the meadows lovely
and I recall the little girl me
who picked them
for mothers kitchen ledge
oh let me drift and see far and below
on my
diaphanous gossamer cloud-
sumptuous
______________________________
May 28, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/my cloud
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-907-28
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Hey you, get off my cloud
sponsor, Skat, Judged 2015
Second Place
Categories:
dullards, bird, garden, peace,
Form:
Free verse
i can never tell you how displeased readers
are by that position the singular
moment when nothing makes any sense
to them at all but only to a few brilliant pebbles
that soar across the night canvas unknown
to
the dullards of academia
it is the ONLY reason
i write; to express
self to those very few
who HEAR ME.
the rest are noise and there is no
time
for wasting one's artistry on rigid brains
and stiff
necked human-geese.
Then again, my imagination never demands
an audience of understanding but more
of an emotional receptivity.
A slumbering shadowy cloud-vignette
seeping from
a tormented mind onto
freshly sliced paper cuts.
This is the
color red screaming in a dying ink stroke.
:: 07-21-2017 ::
Categories:
dullards, poetry, words,
Form:
Free verse
There is no denying the power of love.
It is a splendid teacher
Quite adept at instructing us
In ways that completely alter our character,
And telling us how to be what we never were,
Or never even imagined we could ever be.
In certain individuals
Its transformations are frequently nothing short of miraculous.
It breaks down all our natural barriers,
And in the blink of an eye
Can turn a niggardly pinchpenny into a philanthropist,
An obsequious milquetoast into a courageous and gallant knight,
And make a paragon of "politesse" out of an absolute boor.
The inveterate sluggard becomes a captain of industry,
And the most innocent of dullards
Becomes a wellspring of sagacity and worldliness.
What a marvelous whetstone for sharpening wits
And honing the senses is love.
Even its most hardened critics…
Those victims and casualties who proved to be intractable and unteachable…
Find it difficult, if not impossible,
To deny the power of love's ability to inspire
The most truly amazing things in a human heart.
Categories:
dullards, love, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
far and below you will find-
my favorite poem written in
free verse it is not just the theme
but the style of eecummings
that brings me pride
love the flow and no capitalization
and no need for punctuation
the gaps to create pauses
the crunched words
the made up words so silly
and wonderful
written-
at a time of cliques and bullying
by a few faded away
now into nothingness
proud they did not push me away
so come take a ride
on my- diaphanous gossamer filmy cloud
sumptuous
to where the blue birds sing
______________
my cloud
written may 28, 2015
on my-
diaphanous gossamer filmy cloud-
sumptuous I float woebegone
flowers far and below
and bluebirds come
fluttering in the azure sky
twittering and its
beautiful
gossamer filmy cloud-sumptuous
the goobledygooks with their nonsense
far and below
and bluebirds come drifting
from the garden and forest they fly
to
my diaphanous
gossamer
filmy
cloud-sumptuous
the dullards with their yada yada
far
and
below
come with their hokum nattering
and I
yell hey you
get off my cloud-
sumptuous you you
nincompoops
bluebirds
twittering and twittering
beautiful
assemblage of fluttering
whispering hissing
with meaningless words
you keep off my diaphanous
gossamer filmy cloud
oh gentle breeze
take this dreamer and flower picker
of buttercups violets
dandelions
I see them swaying far and below
in a meadow lovely
and I recall the little girl me
who picked them
for mothers kitchen ledge
oh let me drift and see far and below
on my
diaphanous gossamer cloud-
sumptuous
______________________________
November 7, 2015
Free Verse
Written by Broken Wings
For the contest, Your Favorite Poem, sponsor, Judy Konos\
First Place
Categories:
dullards, beauty, bullying, hope,
Form:
Free verse
“Go west young man”, the neighbors said; but they wisely stayed at home.
From pianoforte to pianoforte, saloon to saloon, town to town I roam.
Surrounded by Phillistines, “soiled doves”, cowpokes, and dullards,
Gamblers, dealers, dance hall girls, and other assorted drunkards.
If a fellow’s feeling generous, he might leave something in my jar,
Or even offer me a drink of the “good stuff” behind the bar.
I guess my fortune can be made where folks are hot, dry, and thirsty,
Playing sad songs on old pianofortes that are musty, dusty, and rusty.
I grew up playing Beethoven, Chopin, Bach and Wagner.
The only songs these cretins know are all by Stephen Foster.
A gambler in a pink silk shirt once asked for a Franz Lizt tune.
I was so surprised, I fell off my chair, to the amusement of the room.
The “faded rose” smells like a horse, and looks the worse for wear.
But if a few more drovers buy me beers, I probably will not care.
If I should wake up next to her, I won’t know what to say.
But she’ll just pretend to be asleep as I quietly slip away.
Through hazes I might recognize a face; or maybe they all look the same.
But in town’s like Rotgut, last night’s best friend won’t remember your name.
I hope someday, somewhere I’ll find a good pianoforte in tune--
But that’s something I’ll probably never find in a one-street town saloon.
If they don’t happen to catch my name, “Eighty-Eight Fingers” will usually do;
That’s all any of them remembers anyway, after they’ve had a few.
Categories:
dullards, addiction, america, humorous, music,
Form:
Couplet
Like an ugly lion I roared
Like a cute baby I smiled
Tried to scare Zillions,
Tried to fool dullards.
But everywhere I'd always carried sweet cute face
But my smile was so fake could match Chinese lace
I roared but all said "ncoow.. sweet little thing"
I went home to come back with a smile,
But they roared instead, "you rat good for nothing".
They ain't mistaken, I'm no Lion!
They ain't mistaken, I'm no smiley!
But I'm afraid to take off my mask,
Not for my sake but theirs.
They are my brothers, my blood sisters.
I don't wanna scare jealousy out of them.
I really love them wholeheartedly
But since they showed in many ways not to care,
I think that would make me a fool to care.
Yaay, I cared, I loved and of course I died for them.
But that was enough, enough to feed 5000.
I'm pulling off the strings, because there's no use.
I know envy will kill millions but hey...I don't care.
I'm just enough, to my greatest ability.
BEWARE...I'm mask off now...
Categories:
dullards, betrayal, change, conflict, courage,
Form:
Free verse
Who are these lug nuts?
Who are these featherweights?
Who are these slum bums?
Who are these cretins?
Who are these dimwits?
Who are these bird brains?
Who are these crumb critters?
Who are these sad sacks?
Who are these dullards?
Who are these rum raisins?
Who are these nincompoops?
Who are these louts?
Who are these Jim Dandies?
Who are these meat heads?
Who are these brow beaters?
Who are these fuddy duddies?
They all live in my bones
And sing like Tom Jones.
We are the chosen.
Later, Hosen.
Categories:
dullards, funny,
Form:
Free verse
White doves sit on our window sill
One ponders peace, eternal will
Countless dreams does it now fulfill
Cradled in hope's hands, not to spill
Dullards seek weak concepts to kill
Artists think up ideas that thrill
Extra effort helps climb the hill
Sometimes fail, not for lack of skill
To taste again a bitter pill
We all know too well this droll drill
Will wisdom wield the golden quill
Strike solid blows for good, not ill
Once finally fed and had its fill
Oh soulful sigh, fate's clock stops still
Monorhyme 14 lines 91 words
Poem Written 3/10/21
Categories:
dullards, art, death, dream, fate,
Form:
Monorhyme
***A childhood experience where I
recall my friends and I playing in
the rain, but we became sad when
the rain lifted***
The rain patterned dull, side the sill
to remind the chill to rise 'neath
the leaves;
to station the birds in their nests
(the squirrels cozy in terrace boughs)
watching the rain-drop and fall
in whetted breath
a certain Saturday morn
There were pools of freshet dream-water
spills, rubber boots filled
with little ones of all kinds
(aloof though children still)
celebrating somehow, the challenge
of new troubles;
skipping with Autumn's feet,
through mud and October's puddles
they danced, as dullards to the rain
The rain had passed, sun came at last
yet, now the once smiling children
shook the warmth, off came boot and
coat ----
and went on their merry way,
sopping, dry and sad
Categories:
dullards, children, memory, nature, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
Enough Already!
You’re dawn’s ghost of a chance each new day can find meaning,
dusk’s thanks to creation, for gifts we’ve received.
You paint rhythm on roadblocks blank minds won’t let faze them,
revealing new words to lift poets from daze.
You’re fresh insights rhyme brings to the stupor of dullards,
not dreaming muse drifts when they raft what’s perverse!
You’re the models of physics, a Truth not demeaning,
that yields aid to pilgrims though some get deceived
when they think that they own Truth (pursuers of mayhem).
Your Truth’s democratic, a Truth all can praise.
You dethrone all religions that hoist up gross retards
who claim they know Truth, though they prove the inverse!
Let us praise that we’ve Science that isn’t religious,
elevate what’s pragmatic instead of prestigious.
Don’t let faith that God loves us be faith that’s less humble
or confuse faith with Truth! That could cause both to crumble!
Brian Johnston
20th of November in 2020
Categories:
dullards, faith, poetry, science, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
Moist cocoon, most horrid home
What are these paintings for?
To fill, with glee, a shutters frame?
Or anchor awkward eye?
Those thick black strokes, do they pull upon,
All oceans breaking bread?
Or map out planets, which swivel around
A strolling dullards head?
Infra dig, moist cocoon
I’m burning down this dream
Mongo rides in the silent numbers
Reporters shake with mean
Infra dig, moist cocoon
Tearing postal seem
How we start, is how we end
The distal draft, redeem
Categories:
dullards, adventure, history, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
We the People,
We were never consulted,
invited or agreed to the the 1999 constitution
never resolved to live together as drafted by the Military lies in the document,
Invisible, indissoluble or
the sovereignty claimed were rhetoric of falsehood,
some crooked criminals who should be made to face Justice,
crafted a document
appended their signatures,
under a dictatorial agenda,
silencing us with the guns
imposed opinion fitting their agenda and called it constitution
We the People
Is a lie, How come my father was not there ?
My mother, my brothers, sisters were never there
even my own opinion is not represented,
Yet they say we the People,
t am not signatory to their lies
I was never part of their agenda
that is why I do not accept their oppression
We the People
where old men who should be great grand fathers
are seeking position of power,
where Politicians are busy stealing
where Police men abuse my rights
or stand on the way to collect bribes
where dullards in the senate decide my fate,
and they are too big to know my state
We the people
Is a Fraud, I was never part of it
I never signed my state or destiny to a sect
Now I see why I cannot achieve my dream
why I cannot fulfill destiny
I am locked up in a cell
The criminals are fattened
they call them Politician
They fly abroad from medical care
Leaving no health facility for me
they bask in gaudy wealth
No hope for my future
Yet they lied on me
that i signed my destiny away by a constitution
Citizens denunciation of Nigerian 1999 constitution
Categories:
dullards, absence, break up, change,
Form:
Free verse
A Nation, wearied, sapped traumatized.
This vast exotic land, fringed by lush emerald jungles
A spark rising from the west, once looked upon by all,
A giant?
No, faded glory.
Vistas of burning star and torrential rivers
Once revered, now a derelict of crumbled epitaph
Africa, This burden weighs heavily on your brow,
These monsters slow the speed of your growth,
Stunted by greed,
raped by men,
is this a country?
where profligate band of men overtaken by fraud and moral turpitude,
Where gangsters and criminals reconvene every four years to loot.
Lords over conquered Lilliputians
Their mission obvious,
their strategies similar,
their inducement a bribe.
Lewd lords, banished the reputation of the ancestors,
Greedy goons imposed themselves as godfathers
The urchins in Lagos to the desert of almajiris of Kano
From cult cloned rivers to the borders around the Delta
Felons, fit for prison makes the rules,
And the people so docile watch a drama of an unending bondage
No resistance?
Where are their men?
To stay the impending doom of the unborn innocent citizens
There are no heroes yet, they never let them live,
A nation, where criminals becomes governors,
Bandits as senators
And a never-ending interest from dullards to rule a people.
And four-year’s tenure makes rascals twice richer as the masses beg for sustenance
Mobilized by kingpins, barons and bandits once decorated with honor
There are no heroes here, they never let them live,
monsters fit for jail order this path for their greed.
A people battered by long years of oppression
What a nation! Countries of Africa be not like this,
Mocking an incomplete incubation from colonial oppression
Sending their offspring to a second beggarly bow to slavery,
Oppressed by wicked mere mortals gathering dust as riches
Yet in the same country
Many races live there,
The Proud,
The fierce,
The warlike
And Yet unable to break free from subjugation from their new tyrants
Categories:
dullards, freedom, heartbroken, hero, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Holbert
Brogans and overalls by Lee;
Making cotton baskets ‘neath a white oak tree.
A grandfather I never really knew
that smoked Prince Albert; it was tried and true.
Went by the name Holbert.
His wallet in his bib; no undershirt.
Sitting in a porch swing he made.
Across his yard the world he surveyed.
Once shotgunned an innocent crane.
Never had he seen such a thing;
Must be some kinda dinosaur.
One shot and it was no more.
Used a jar full of Morgan silver dollars
to buy tires for his ’49 Chevy.
Actions always prove who are the dullards.
No one ever accused him of being heady.
In the middle of the night once shot a stray.
Such dogs often killed our chickens.
Mortally wounded it died under our house
and started to decay.
My job to drag it out as my stomach
started to sicken.
Often to First Monday we would trek.
In his Sunday overalls he was bedecked.
Ripley a good place for selling baskets.
I would always watch to learn his tactics.
Soon old age came to stay.
Early in March he went away.
A lifetime ago it seems,
but often he returns to me
in my dreams.
Categories:
dullards, america, beautiful, character, family,
Form:
Rhyme
San Francisco Soulmates
You discovered the ever-seeking soul in me!
Looking for truth, for all of mankind to see!
Unaccepting of all common, unquestioned beliefs.
Ignorant, educated dullards brought to me,absolutely no relief.
Late, late into the foggy evening’s very last twinkling, summer star,
Plato and Aristotle, greedily we devoured, while riding on a cable car,
And, although you now are insensate and in an impenetrable grave,
See my soul, my sweet, for truth, it rants and in my poetry, madly raves.
Tribute to my Late Husband
With Deepest Gratitude
11/4/2022
Inspiration:” When You Are Old”
Author: W.B. YEATS
Categories:
dullards, aubade, husband, memory, philosophy,
Form:
Quatrain