Best Loll Poems
Time speeds away unmindful,
ages added on to eons,
piling changes on change, it moves on,
seldom posing lull and loll.
With the current rushing swift and fleet
we race past from old to new
from times primeval to times neoteric
watching the ceaseless chain of births and deaths
tasting life's vicissitudes of joy and pain
In this unwinding circuit of time,
how long is my sojourn here?
sixty, seventy or hundred
Does it count much?
does it mean more than a mere drop in the ocean?
Like the bubbling foam or the dying froth
constantly born and destroyed
by the rising and receding tides,
we appear uninvited and depart unnoticed.
We can’t rewind the hands of time
or the changes therein.
Many a thing is beyond our control
Shikata ga nai.
Yet I can be the catalyst of change
in a world that has gone cold.
How I wish to ignite the flame
when light goes out from many hearts.
I aspire to inspire, though I am a tiny mote,
just a miniscule in this vast cosmos,
through thoughtful acts of kindness
and hands reaching out to the needy.
With ears to listen and a heart to feel,
I can script a tale of love.
Between the rows of mighty forefathers who exited out
and the countless progeny lining up
I have squeezed a space to be a face
in a faceless multitude.
Invitation to a Valentine Bash
(Direction to the Venue)
I live on the Heartland Estate
across from the Elysian Fields,
At the corner of Lovers Lane
and Pure Passion Boulevard
in the town of Romeoville.
If you are taking a midnight train
Get down at the Juliet Junction;
Catch a bus to the Break-heart pass
and get off at the Harem Heights stop.
You'll reach my Pleasure Palace
before the break of day.
Flying of course is not advised
as it is impossible to dodge Cupid's arrows!
But if you are planning to drive,
Take the highway to Elysium.
You might have to stay
overnight at the Erotica Inn,
famous for sensual simulator kiosks.
After some luscious nibbling
at the Casanova Cafe,
You'll arrive before lunch
at my enchanting Chateau.
Bring your lust luggage,
Loads of love potion
and lots of charm.
Running amuck is strictly prohibited.
There will be plenty of time
to cuddle and coo
at the Pleasure Point hill,
Loll in a pool of honey and wine
and soak in the sensual glow
of a bohemian moon.
RSVP: A week shy of Valentine's Day
Or, please call 666-PASSION.
~12/25/16
for Mystic Rose contest
..............Baby Steps Out..
..........There's a waiting world
.......Doctors nurses eager staff
......A doting father, mother in pain
.....It is said that we chose our birth
....An act of free will, desired destiny
....The paths are all charted by our will
....This birthday I decided to recall..loll
......A memory jog, back to time of birth
.........An unborn peeping into his future
..............The little steps on roads ahead
.................Unfolding destiny milestones
.....................Cherished moments in wait
.....................Some vivid some smudged
.....................Hand drawn on masterprint
..................Paths to travel people to meet
................The resting places n thirst stops
...............Careful leaps on stepping stones
...........The journeys that were yet to unfold
.........All vivid in storehouse before take-off
.....In the sojourn I was told: Precious is birth
...In baby steps or our giant strides a purpose
.The joys or sufferings are like passing screens
There is an axis a polestar guiding & connecting
A constant the unchanging in all that is changing
Distracted get our senses by colors cacophonies
.Not difficult to lose the picture in such a journey
...Precious is birth- holds many a promise....es ....
......like many seeds...finding ground.. ..yes !!
.........pods germinate ..stored... ..loved ..
...............friends near far ...unmet :)
......................thank you.....<3.....
.................................Fam ....frnds
.........................................................for remembering
.............................................................flowing wishes
All are feeling anxious on the old camp ground this night.
Weary Yanks are girding for tomorrow's awful fight.
Young soldiers loll about, staring blankly into slowly dying embers,
Dreaming of home, recalling happier times that each remembers.
Supper is finished, the usual rancid coffee, hardtack and beans.
The sentries call out, "All Is Well!", one of their hourly routines.
Sergeants huddle with comrades, offering solace to their platoon.
From across the way is heard a harmonica's melancholy tune.
From afar, Rebel cannon is heard, a portent of things to come.
Men in gray are readied for battle to the beat of muffled drum.
The ebon sky is aglow with the cannons' awesome display,
Competing with the moon, overshadowing its mellow ray.
Here and there a Bible is opened to the Twenty-third Psalm,
To once again be comforted by that eternal message of calm.
Pensive eyes that on the 'morrow may be forever sealed,
Gaze upward, imploring God's embrace as their guardian shield.
Hastily penned notes read, "If I should be borne to heaven above,
Know that we will be reunited in The Father's gracious love!"
Gallant men draw upon their innate will, apprehensions to allay.
The dulcet strains of "Taps" lowers the curtain on another day.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Looking forward to a comfy Sunday at home
No frantic running around to the stores like a clone
A nothingness day
Around gonna lay
Read only the comics, world news makes me moan!
The shifting of many corporeal hands move across this dead cell,
A vacuums vortex, a psychic sponge, charging this battery of
Energy called the spirit board.
Paranormal phenomenon striking plate to enter realities plane
Of existence, for the ethereal challenged in crisis, seeking the
Threshold for spontaneous release, unto our spiritual realm.
Witchery’s board of trickery left in a polarized stance it
So entices the living with its tempting whispering of lies,
Incantations gate keepers wait on the other side of evils
Door way.
Memorizing the human sensory functions into a false
Sense of harmless mystery of the unexplained, it lures
These victims ever closer to weaving its spell of the demonic.
These capture being lost unto the hypnotic effects are
Transfixed unable to hit their override switch that controls
Their mental powers of persuasion, disabled is there strength
Of will power, they belong to the Ouija now.
Clasping do all for sides of the curtain of reality, times
Displacement begins in earnest, without hesitations
Momentary loll this dead cell bursts to life.
Black magic key has been inserted within the wooden
Door way’s heart and soul, a bizarre power bank draws
Forth the energy of the spiritual lost, swinging hells
Kept wide open.
The pancetta spins out of control, smashing against
The barriers of humanity, darkened ebony light shines
Through this doorway of evil and the flickering candle
Turns to a shades greenish blue wavering in the odious
Breeze.
The voice of a thousand screams echo in sheer delight,
We have been freed at last, broken is the trance, the boards
Hypnotic effects are dashed by the light of the dawn.
Dazed in bewilderment the voyeurs are chilled to their
Very inward bones, shaking, staring in awes amazement,
Wondering if these events really happened at all.
Then within these tented walls a voice responds to their
Questioning, laughing, as if a jackal at a fresh kill site!
Foolish mortals you know not what you have done, this
Night, but I promise thee this, laughing once again,
In a demonic under tone, none shall leave this domicile
Alive.
The entry doors lock without the human touch, the
Curtain windows pull closed, a momentary stilled
Scream, then all is silent, what remains is left up
To my readers to visualize, as the final candle
Blows out!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
PLIGHTS FOUGHT TOMORROW KNOWN
WRITTEN FOR DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. HOLIDAY 2016 (Versified!)
As days transpires, better we focus.
As life transgress, better our voice.
A walk, a talk, a political aspect of religion and righteousness.
Via the Founding Fathers we separated church and state.
Socio-political and socio-religious are the floodgates.
As we remember, tears may drop,
Is it the strength we possess that ruminates us?
We overcame our struggles and we are abreast to our accomplishments.
We are the United States of North America.3
Analysis of our external environment let us know
that we are a strong workforce.
That we are no more separated by the color of our skin.
That our unity is our identity of different nations of human beings.
That our mien is our self-image of economy –
the” big picture” of demeanor.
When we falter, we recoup.
We do not assume we will fall from what others do.
We are the people of our regions that are vast and wide.
We are negotiators of our lives.2
As we celebrate today in our mind-sets,
we know what may overwhelm us.
This could be how far we have come.
Or, it could be how far we will continue to go -
to climb the mountains that we must peak -
to deplete human suffering from the illness we perceive.
That is what is known and all the possibilities.
We have witnessed many tragedies from the
time of formation to present day.
But oh, we can find glory just as well in our beliefs,
creeds, and unity.1
Envois is this discourse.
Pro-activism edifice verbalized.
But to no idiom this loll.
We are all part of the same universe.
Each has his or her role to play.
All are formidable when the goal is stated.
May one be easier than the other?
May we strive to be a part of the same country?
Where we are awe-inspiring but together.
That is on the same page.
Where our lives are the similarity, and the same is our home front.
This is right outside our front door.4
The plight is fought and tomorrow is known!5
_____________________________________________________________|
Written January 16, 2016!
Step by step down the hall,
Head hung low, gazing down.
Healing from the fall,
hurt covered with a frown.
Others ignore him,
Drowning in the pain.
Holding you under, hope you can swim.
sitting alone in the rain.
He is an invisible boy
She dodges the remark,
Sliding past you in the hall,
Soft spoken, gentle heart
Healing from the sprawl,
too afraid to start.
Others ignore her,
Engulfed by fear,
movements a blur,
all to avoid the sneer.
She is an invisible girl.
Energy finds each other
Eyes meeting in the hall
Encased by bodies smother
Loneliness begins to loll.
Then whisked away,
Class starts anew,
His/ her face in their minds shall play
And their minds brew.
He is an invisible boy,
She is an invisible girl.
He built up the courage,
And walked up to her
Freeing her from the cage
Her mind began to stir,
Their eyes meet,
Acknowledge for the first time
Bringing up a feeling that can’t be beat
Excitement began to climb.
The invisible girl and boy have been seen
Now together they walk
Side by side
With no fear of the talk
Their tears have dried
Hearts jump in joy
No longer afraid of the crowd
One together, girl and boy
Their heads shall not be bowed
The invisible girl and invisible boy
The girl and boy are not alone.
[starboard port]
the ocean—an onyx plate predawn—
somnambulant ships preen with a swag of
warning lights
massive hulls: cargo ships, flotillas, tankers,
passenger liners loll; red lights buss
the somber slate of sky—spangled strings of
bawdy bulbs on the riggings—pole dance
beside the quay—ridged, behemoth smokestacks
toy with the flames of gold and white
[cabin’s lav—occupied]
waiting, my mind trundles to funeral pyres
Viking ships, then returns to marvel at
on-coming airport pot lights which
upstage the walled gasps
[very occupied]
the exodus to Singapore crescendos
we land—manned the plane performs
a ritual slide—ash and steam spew from
stacks of the other perpendicular
members
Touch down.
[the door opens]
First Published by Shooter Literary Magazine Spring of 2017
Growing Old
Women lose their pretty looks,
Some to petty cosmetic crooks,
Others dally on foreign beach,
Adonis studs their purses reach
But men just watch their bellies
Grow, and with big car, trophy
Girls to go
For summer is the mating season,
When men and women, lose all
Reason.
And as the years take on their toll
The older-aged and flaccid loll,
For hanging skin does not atone,
Or money help them when alone
If I were really rich, I would live in beautiful Bermuda,
Sipping rum swizzles and fishing for wily barracuda!
I'd buy a fancy sports car in which to cruise unbound,
And join the Mid-Ocean Club to play a daily golfing round!
I'd own a sailing yacht on which to entertain my friends,
Sailing 'neath moonlit skies as around the isle she wends!
I'd buy a splendid cottage on The Cut in Olde St George's town,
From there to savor dramatic sunsets watching olde Sol go down!
I'd dine on fish and chips at my favorite pub, The White Horse Inn,
Listening to quaint calypso music by the Talbot Brothers therein!
On balmy evenings I'd stroll Old Maids Lane and Shinbone Alley,
And watch the Gombey dancers gyrate as I leisurely dally!
If I were rich I would move there in a trice,
To loll on the pink sandy beaches of that island paradise!
Entry for Mystic Rose's "If You Were Rich Contest"
(11 November 2015)
Lines of youth on forsaken beach,
waiting forlorn for an unseen saviour.
Jagged metal machines of war lying lifeless,
once proudly ridden beyond the sea.
Billows roll where bodies now loll,
turning over in crimson foam.
The living watch, all eyes upturned
where riveted winged eagles clash.
Brave lads they all though terrified,
stood somber mid the bombs fall,
and yearned for Dorset Coast
whence came an unlikely fleet.
Remember them, you lads today,
forget nought they fought again.
They once young as you,
those lines upon the beach.
I Swallowed,
My Bitterness,
Down With Pride,
If I Said,
"It Tasted Great,"
I Would Have Lied,
Hate Got Stuck,
In My Throat,
Next,
To Regrets,
I Drank Last Night,
None Of These Pills,
Were Good For Me,
I Had To Play,
Referee,
"Foul Play,"
Was My Call,
As My Tongue,
Began To Loll,
With Much Distaste,
I Swallowed,
It All.
(Vickie Thayer) 2018
When shall end
Our foe the pollution?
Cabons cause flood or cease rain.
And bring gloom and pain.
When shall end
Sorrows from ethnic strife?
Some only lounge and loll under.
And seek shade and breeze
And sit thereunder.
When shall end
Those impediments ?
Belching smoke from chimneys
Choke innocent lives.
Some have taste only for destruction
Have no concern for protection.
They delight in chemical feast
And anywhere they dispose waste.
Is there no way for pollution to end
And tidy living?
Unlike the newspeak of today the media rodeo plays the bull clowns chasing a scripted delay boxed up and ready to go fast food for the loll the upper end following the lower end Yet political satire's even keel will transcend while the real bull gores the clowns He can be ornery when being contained coming like a federal expess roaring down newsmail bringing the letter restrained the same package to every town the same package of the willing consripts freight in the End a older railing bull holds his own wieght