Best Dusters Poems
Down south of a dirty delta town
after double-winged dusters sweep low
White hats, bent backs and bloody hands
sway to the rhythm of summer snow fields
Backed by a choir of ten thousand crickets
reaching up to touch heaven with a song
School black boards,
No dusters!
While lounging in my duster* watching news,
I have my morning coffee. When I'm through,
I wash my cup and saucer and admire
their elegance and pleasing shade of blue.
Like other lovely things I own--handbags,
Americana wreaths, and jewelry--
my dusters, cups, and saucers all came from
the popular Blue Daisy Company.
************************
Blue daisy plants don't flourish where I live;
and, even if they did, they wouldn't thrive
for me. I'm death to flowers! So I have
the artificial ones. They look alive!
Most of my rooms are graced with vases of
these blue silk beauties that appeal to my
calm, meditative side or to my sense
of whimsy. Then they make me smile and sigh.
*housedress
written June 18, 2017, and entered in Mystic Rose's Blue Daisy Contest
Country girls are a special breed
Their love is straight from the honeycomb
The simple life is all they need
For love is the heart of their home
Sacrifice resides in their DNA
Their work is never done
Tender hearted is the country way
But so is shooting a gun!
Her horse her boots
And those painted on jeans
Are staples in a country girls life
Like her garden growing lusciously green
A day in the dirt smudged on her nose
Simple beauty from her head to her toes
Cut off shorts and white cotton top
Brings a country boys world to a stop
Fields of daisies brighten her day
Content with her neighbor miles away
Her Hilton is a musty barn full of hay
In the arms of her man where she lays
Stealing kisses
That taste of sweet tea
Cowboy hats and Dusters
Make her man look heavenly
The spurs the blood
Eight seconds of glory
All the dust and mud
In love with a rodeo story
A country girl dances alone
Yet together all in a line
Sisters shaking hips making a scene
Till her man arrives and twirls her
Where dancing with class reigns supreme
Sunday drive on a pretty back road
In a jacked up truck snuggled close
Country music and a six pack of beer
Simple pleasures the country life knows
Yes indeed we're a special breed
The country life ain't for all
But it's the only life for me it seems
Hope life is as sweet for ya'll
If you stroll a wild colored garden
Down thin and dappled paths;
Where bluebonnets bloom on Spring’s black floor,
And mockingbirds above are happily singing, see
New limber-legged colts and calves dancing in the sun,
And chartreuse baby leaves pasted to gnarly live oak trees,
While spirals of gnats like tiny dusters move across the land.
Blue brooks rippling and giggling from rain’s both storm and tease.
And then
An infant black cloud blows a shadow across the sand;
Prickly pears burst and bloom one on one like an amoebic flower;
A trail of smoke and smells from a miles away evening kitchen;
Tired working horses and fence mending riders wending home.
It’s Springtime in the State of Texas
Thanks, you sat like a good boy.
For, once you bleached all the clothes
When you tried to wash them.
Thanks, you didn't do anything for the whole long day.
For, once you tried a hand in cleaning and you turned some of my expensive t-
shirts into mere dusters.
Oh thanks, you watched T.V. for so long.
For once you cooked something, that can’t be named.
And left the kitchen, just a little more than a mess.
Thanks you didn't bathe the baby.
For once you did this and somehow locked him inside for more than half an hour.
Thanks, you didn't help the kid with his home-work.
For last year you solved all the sums and he was punished for doing them wrongly.
Thanks, you didn't buy any grocery this time.
For last month you bought tons of less needed things and flour, rice and sugar -
you bought in grams.
Thanks, you always answer me with "I don't know.".
For every time you tried to answer sensibly,
It was outstanding no doubt, but sorry, out of my reach.
Thanks dear, you didn't bring a gift for poor me.
Once you brought – you remember that?
It was a horrible mask that made me faint.
Thanks, for I know you love me.
And behave like a mess so that I can feel myself to be important.
Thanks, for your cooperation, which is beyond limits.
Date: 2/2/2014
Form: Free Verse
Contest: ...Just Because I Said I Do...
By: SKAT A
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5th place win in the contest
They came for the Gypsies,
The time tribe Romana's grand Gypsy trust
To manifest in feasts of fear, horrific best,
The Crucifixtion as a culture test
Is sycophanted phallic prophecies;
Mixing spells where river's dwell
And will reveal third eye infusions
That dillute foregone conclusions!
The starkest of illusion will confer
The dead of deadest property, I'm sure!
Pillaged by proud Nazi's reeling
Who have not a friendly feeling
One God-Fearing German village
Saddles soaked in sorrow
Silently seduced bone marrow
Or from sweeter water billage
With Genetic trace
In hemolytic face;
A truth no German yearns to borrow!
Where fallen angels care
And Gypsyfied the wounds
With age-old Gypsy healing rare;
Where tinker-tapping dusters dance
A dance to Gypsy tunes
On pointed pins appointed special flavor;
As pointed pins do point and prance
Well-pointed pins provide a good and precious savor.
Hemolytics is genetics with inscription
Inscribed inscription's indecision.
If Gypsy wounds could fill the forest
With this Gypsy dance so true
Then everything I thought I liked
I think I still would like in you;
In fact, the things I know I liked
I soon would love.
Genetic indescription must be fact
As power angels grab a power pact
The fallen angels with their power prayers
Heal Gypsy wounds nocturnal during flairs!
Fluoresence fills the forest
Where tinker-tapping dusters dance
As pure and naked dilettantes appointed
Point of every perfect pin's romance.
COWBOY WINDS
Stinging pink cheeks neath winter wool,
The cowboy winds begin to blow,
Dusters rolling tumble weeds,
Scattering about the hollyhock seeds.
Whistling, the leader puff drags his crew,
Of dust devils, sands from last year’s blew,
Children’s legs chaff amid the smiles,
For all know in a little while,
There will be the storms of overkill,
Rolling over all yonder hills,
And hardy zinnias and castor beans,
Will color the west ‘neath returning wings.
Then when it settles maybe in May,
And the colts and turtles dance and play,
Serene blue and orange skies will show,
Curls of where cowboy winds did blow.
Sitting and waiting in a field full of olives is not a bad way to spend an hour but an hour can be long and long is a length and a length with a leaving leading light is not a dividend, a milestone, or a key part in a global televised production of cow ballet. Cow ballet is very pleasant to watch but so are peeling pansies whose playfulness is amusing to pandas who watch with baleful stares at pretty petals whirling around and around and around. Astound no Peking duck in a village tent because the quacking can turn grass into ultra large crackers. Murmur an atmosphere to a mild day and see the sunset sweep away the times. And times take training trains turning tulips tempestuous tantric tanks. So rank not a sergeant pea horn today. And deliver no stalks that talk to a laughing leering longboat. Bathing brilliant beanstalk battles. Ha a dormant dormouse delivering doors. Ha a milkman mouseman in a cloth bringing caskets of dew. Ha a kneading knee says hi to a shawl on a bedroom rug. Pillar post posting prating pirates. And clap clap then hop sixteen times on a left leg. Hee hee hee from first genetic milk buds. Xxxxx catastrophic cat climbing. Xxxxx actualisations z z z z z z at forty four spoonfuls of dough to seventeen foot of pie mixture. Z attempt leaping now then? Z
There are all sorts of pupils in my class
Class management is becoming a nightmare each day
There is Shakespeare in my class
When asked questions he talks in riddles and proverbs
I have Ronaldo in the front seat
Once in class he kicks dusters and chalk all over the room
Galileo cannot be motivated
At the back of class he is all the time dreaming about stars
Michelangelo is never amused
As others are writing, he is busy painting and drawing images
Socrates has puzzled me
In tests he asks floods of hair raising questions- not answering
Oprah Winfrey has caused me sleepless nights
In class she is all the time dramatic in all responses to tasks
Karl Marx is ever on the move
Class to class he moves to ignite revolution against rich pupils
Mother Teresa is an enigma
While in class she is busy to praying and meditating
But there is one pupil who knows not his names
To answer simple arithmetic he runs all over school looking for calculator
These prodigal pupils in my class
Have sacrificed my professional etiquettes on the cross of incompetence
The Dishwasher’s Loaded
The dishwasher’s loaded,
The plates are all used,
The cups are all dirty and the plates all confused.
My clothes are all ragged,
My shoes scuffed and worn,
I’m in need of no revamp to replace all that’s torn.
The hoover is silent,
The dusters lie crushed,
The paintwork is cleaned and the TV’s been hushed.
My tanks are all empty,
My vehicles SORN’ed,
The MOT’s need update and insurance informed.
My mortgage has run,
My tax is all paid,
My bills have been cleared and ‘For Sale’ signs displayed.
The drawers are all empty,
I was running on fumes,
The past is all gone, each small bit consumed.
You need to reorder,
To restock the shelves,
You need to invest and replenish yourselves.
My race has been run,
My round had been played,
I shot level par and four birdies I made.
No need to cry,
No need to regret,
The world keeps on turning, it does not forget.
©Keith Murphy
The sun rose in bouquet of sunflowers
It shone effervescence into the silent night
The moonlight and the stars where excused
The mood of the weather bliss
The smile of the wind blew a kiss
The seeds took to the soil like mother’s milk
The wind of jingle bells like feather dusters cleansing the air
They’ll grow into a forest of yearlings
This year, yearning to be ploughed by Christmas
They’ll yield all our wish lists
Into presents at the root the trees
Into the sweet taste of dreams coming true
It rains once a year from clouds of happiness
The sun shines down love all year round
For the perfect conditions conducive,
For growing fruit of joy all around the world
The forest is both magical and spiritual
It’s evergreen grazing for his reindeers
Trimming them into perfect cones
It’s Santa’s best kept secret
His most treasured of tools
He spares no effort to protect it
From the loveless deforestation
For if the lumberjack had his way,
Where would he leave our presents otherwise this year?
Monstrous rabbits often visit sea turtles with a view to drinking vast amounts of salted tea located within shells. Oh see how wise that horse is reading encyclopedias seated in it's wicker chair. If branches cry out to atoms and air laughs it is said to be the time when even the hop of a frog could invade the grasslands. Hoop hop then in a daring skirt of colours. Scuba diving snakes discover many ship wrecks on a global scale. But scales are not just la la la spoke the suited and booted dolphin. Scales are for weighing. So place ten dusters in the bowl to seek exact measures. When a possible argument could erupt with a balm cake call upon the wise words if the smiling bearded chocolate bar. Banal is the calling cards of a very annoying orange. Chitter chatter. Radio signals a ceaseless firing voice. Vast vistas visiting visionary vested vessels. Question not an oath of silver hue on a sunny day. And first to arrive in a race are the last prawns to be called to an award ceremony. Race risked risk rushed rushes reeds read. Xx and when a booming banging rat knocks lock all the doors. Deliver design drag. Deliberation. *** remuneration. Cloud clap of 89 degrees. Fossilization. *** duty bound excrement. Xx hahahaha
Stow away the congeries of aches
overtly attenuating the life-force
Joints grinding bones as growing muscles waked
Oft, stomping like an apoplectic horse...
Under strained newness, a glum disposition
reeked nervousness, clamping a chest distraught
No diversity, glared their position
Such eyes that stabbed, could snap a breath taut...
Of schooling, what silent complacency!
Jailers with fingertip-busting dusters
or canes that cracked and smacked decency
Umber-burned bruises on smartened clusters...
Raking nails scratch to assuage a mind
New migraines need compulsory unwinds…
(4/23/21 For 'Aches Prompt' contest hosted by Constance La France)
Old Cowboys, forts and shootouts
Black for bad and White for good
With a spinning canvas background
And cactus cutouts made of wood
The desert sits behind them
Fifty yards away at most
The heroes don't ride horses
They sip drinks and sit and boast
About their celluloid adventures
singing songs all dressed in white
While behind them in the background
The stunt men do it right
A canvas background rotates
Through valleys, hills and streams
While the hero rides his deck chair
And the director yells and screams
Central casting fills the tribes out
With Italians, and made up stock
While our hero stops an avalanche
Of fake paper covered rocks
Cardboard Cut out Cactus
And heroes smiling in the sun
Most have never seen a cowpoke
Let alone shot off a gun
But, it's magic when it's finished
the dusters up there on the screen
All the fakery and snake oil
Are all hidden, never seen
The white hats beat the black hats
The hero sings and gets the girl
And the background on the spindle
Is still spinning, watch it whirl
A celluloid adventure
Cowboys no where close to what they were
But..watch the next show for a nickel
And don't forget your spurs!!!