Best Lolled Poems
"Rise an' shine you lazy cowpokes! Time to saddle up yer hoss!
Time to move them moo-cows to summer range!" yelled th' trail boss!
"You've lolled around here all winter, now it's time to earn yer pay!
Jump in yer jeans, pull on them boots an' let's git 'er underway!"
All winter long they'd grown fat in th' bunkhouse eatin' Cooky's fare,
But knowin' that on that long, dusty trail, grub could be mighty spare!
How they'd long fer good ol' gut-fillin' grub as they wuz mendin' fences,
An' roundin' up them wily dogies roamin' over God's vast expanses!
Come supper time th' cowpunchers would lounge about a blazin' far,
Smokin' roll-yer-owns, chewin' th' fat an' nursin' cuts frum bobbed war!
Thankin' th' Lord fer their grub, Cooky yelled, "Come an' git 'er fellers!
Ain't much, but me an' my ol' Dutch oven done purty good!" he bellers!
Th' menu never varied but they knew better'n to complain about his cuisine,
Er Cooky could be as grumpy as a rattlesnake er a disgruntled wolverine!
Ever' supper consisted uv th' same ol' thing - a classic case uv deja vu:
Beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!
Frum across th' valley a harmonica's melancholy tune wuz heard,
As th' night guard kept a wary vigil an' soothed th' restless herd.
Th' cowpokes dreamt uv a hearty breakfast but they already knew,
It'd be beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
lolled, cowboy-western, funnytime, mystery, time,
Form:
Rhyme
War Heroes
Between black wheel tarmac
the crossing reflects a figure in polished paint
at the stagger of his old loose feet
crosses the barrier of traffic
with the beacons conversation meaning nothing
its flashing occupation signals his lolled neck stumbling
sucks the bottle for one last time
and forgets
Sighting on blurred reactions
sipping the spit of his dribble he stares at his daughter mannequin
wincing past his performance
begging her to listen
while her attention is fixed ahead
the traffic rolls slick full of monoxide toxic
breathes the waste of her distress
she ignores the principal wave of his bottle
releasing her breath with the clutch
the zebra smells like a mouse trap
the white ladder bars and black adder cars
bump pristine edges on his boots
he sways across
The market trolleys squeak echoes the ache
she steps on tender ankles
swollen while he eases her past the cardboard
the plastic bags of her life crammed to full
the tatters of memories
she thinks of china cups and lost children
on blazing streets that lived on rations
Some where in her mind he is a hero
medals adorning his battered uniform
the traffic roars as loud as the blitz
some where in his mind he sees her yellow skin
the gunpowder struggle and the munitions factory
have worn away her beauty but still her eyes are sweet and lovely
and the traffic blasts like the blitz
on the people they were before
Categories:
lolled, history
Form:
Free verse
THE WIDOW'S DAY
He’d been dead for forty years
But she carried on each day
Got up at eight and dressed
Ate luncheon on a tray
No bride was kissed as well
No groom felt more complete
And one year was their gift
When Fate served them defeat
She should have followed him
But life grabbed her instead
Who is to say what’s better
The living or the dead
Each day as sun drew low
She tossed a glass of wine
Lolled on the white porch swing
And took a dip through time
His shadow found her then
She touched his rugged face
It emphasized the fact
No one would take his place
And though she craved wild nights--
Cold loneliness was cruel--
she lived her life alone
becoming no man's fool.
Victoria Anderson-Throop
12/30/12 ©
Categories:
lolled, introspection, lonely, love, marriage,
Form:
Couplet
The Curach (currach) is a traditional Irish boat made from animal skins / hides (now canvass). The hides vibrate when a whale sings.
Whale Song
How gentle the waves lapped the boat almost bobbing me to sleep,
My liquid turquoise mattress with its secrets buried cold and deep.
A curious dolphin glided past, its snout smiled in its personal joke,
As it observed my ungainly presence, (this awkward land folk).
My man made curach of pitch, wood and canvass stretched taut.
As she masters the sea with courage to return the fish she caught.
Now as I lolled towards twilight a strange sensation vibrated the boat,
It hummed an angels tune that rippled the canvass, with a glorious note.
And there in the distance, a great humpback whale trumpeted the clear air
As I sat in heaven blessed company with nature, in the middle of nowhere.
The whale approached my flimsy craft with a natural grace that was serene
One of the most beautiful creatures that shares this wonderful marine.
And so the whale passed by with the gentlest disruption of space,
And I think it was amused when he saw the look on my face.
I sat there drained yet elated at this wonder I had shared
No camera or witness to observe the scene or to have cared
But I was there and my soul was touched like a child once again
To witness such beauty often befouled by the actions of men.
Now as I lolled towards twilight a strange sensation vibrated the boat,
It hummed an angels tune that rippled the canvass, with a glorious note.
Categories:
lolled, nature, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
Two girls lived upon Sycamore.
Close as any friends were before.
Despite rainy, spring day
They'd laugh and they'd play
In matching green dresses they wore.
Said one to the other in May,
"My dear, you look pretty today
In your beautiful dress.
What a grace you possess.
Forever will we be this way!"
But as time went by and they grew
The winds of change came blowing through.
Though neither knew why
And they still lived nearby
The times that they shared became few.
As dog days of summer lolled by
The ground like their friendship went dry
They both suffered alone
Thinking, "Now that I've grown
She has long since cast me aside."
At last on one September night
Beneath a pale harvest moon light
When neither expected
They both reconnected.
She said, "My dear, aren't you a sight!"
"Your dress, oh the color transcends
Though wrinkled and curled at the ends,
And see, mine is the same."
And once more they became
The closest and dearest of friends.
But each colder day that went past
Twas shorter the rays the sun cast.
Soon their generation
Succumbed from their station,
But they and their friendship held fast.
Together on winter's first freeze
They exhaled the autumn's last breeze.
With their stems intertwined
If you search you can find
Lightly buried in snow: Two Leaves.
9/15/2016
Categories:
lolled, friend, friendship, seasons,
Form:
Limerick
I've ventured far from Indiana, the home soil of my birth,
To many exotic and exciting places all about this earth.
I've seen majestic Mount Fuji from the Kanto Plain of Tokyo.
But I'd rather marvel at Pikes Peak right here in Colorado!
I've traveled the rugged Khyber Pass in ancient Pakistan,
And saw sumo wrestling and cherry blossoms in Japan.
The alabaster city of Casablanca I've visited in Morocco,
But I'd rather tour old ghost towns right here in Colorado!
Magnificent Mount Vesuvius I've seen across Naples Bay.
In Holland I've seen windmills and tulips in vast display.
I've seen the swallows returning to San Juan Capistrano.
'Tis more thrilling to see eagles soar the pristine skies of Colorado!
In Bermuda I've lolled upon the beaches of pink sand,
And have viewed the towering Alps of Switzerland.
Mayan ruins I've scampered over in Old Mexico,
But I'd rather explore the ruins of Mesa Verde in Colorado!
I've climbed the Tower of Pisa rewarded with a view divine,
And visited the quaint Principality of Liechtenstein.
Some folks strive for a lifetime seeking their El Dorado.
I've found mine right here in Colorful Colorado!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 Tracie's " Where in the World..." Contest - Dec 2011
Categories:
lolled, places, old, old,
Form:
Rhyme
The wind-chime tree
is singing in heavenly voice,
there are Angels beneath the golden rusty
red leaves,
There singing out in Harmony
a slow and sad ;'hymn in the soft
breeze
I lolled into the peacefulness
I kick back in my relaxing chair
close my eyes , and dream.
Aluminium Fairy's are dancing and laughing
on Green sleeves and Y shaped branches
They STOP, Spin clockwise in the wind
holding on to the tip of failing dying leaf
I hear them say
''WHO is she ?
Categories:
lolled, fantasy,
Form:
Blank verse
Slim was pigeon-toed and bow-legged from allus bein' astraddle,
Of his faithful hoss Old Dan and his well-worn creakin' saddle!
He'd spent 30 years gazin' twixt Old Dan's ears ridin' the spread.
Now both is retired and he took up writin' cowboy poetry instead!
On the porch of the bunkhouse he propped his boots upon the railin',
To muse upon many things he'd write about in this new unveilin'.
He wrote about Cooky's chuck of the usual taters, bacon 'n' beans,
And dressin' up Saturday nights to do-si-do with dance-hall queens!
Brandin' time in the old corral and fixin' fences he put to verse.
Ridin' herd on stormy nights when he thought it couldn't git any worse!
He wrote about cattle drives and the hell cowboys raised in Abilene,
Drinkin', fightin' and gamblin' 'til marshals drove them from the scene!
He expressed his views on wimmen-folk and why he chose to stay free!
He wrote of lakes, streams and valleys and distant mountains' majesty!
Of how fellers lolled about the camp fire enjoyin' a terbaccy chaw,
And how cowpoke Pete could fashion a roll-yer-own with his 3-fingered claw!
He wrote that he warn't a pious man to be corralled by a congregation.
He preferred to git his spiritual grub from the magnificence of God's Creation!
Fer his final verse he wrote, "I reckon cowboyin' was allus in my genes.
When I come to the end of the trail boys, jes' bury me in my jeans!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Categories:
lolled,
Form:
Rhyme
Even if you are the tanned sprout
tightly packed
in pretty cane
filled with olive oil
you could not stop to dream about ocean,
lolled by such hopes and illusions
seemed groundless absolutely.
But while your truth is hard and distorted
you will soon unavoidable
unpacked and go to the trip
to the Christmas table
where served with cheese and red wine
for the sweet departure
to the stomachs of more luckier dreamers and gourmands.
I wish you to be eaten by nice lady
if it would you relax and nurtured
for other form of coexisting
in body of whom who devoured us.
But if you are the ended atheist
white a little, headless sprouty,
all of them
who caught, cut, prepared, tanned,
mailed, sold, baught, presented
and ate you
will be combined together
chewed, crumbled, munched
and return to the soil of mother nature.
From where you will select,
ask and have full right to start
more preferable fate and future.
Categories:
lolled, fish, , atheist,
Form:
Ode
Do you recall that hut beside the shore?
It shook at dawn, to rhythm toss of waves.
We lolled in cycle round of driven love,
so young and pure of heart, we teased in love
without a clue of caution sign on shore.
We failed to see how angry rose the waves,
reposed inside till swept to sea in waves.
Beset by fear without one thought of love,
we prayed the wind propel us back to shore.
Love's ardor drowns if shore's awash in waves.
Categories:
lolled, love, ocean, wind,
Form:
Out the back
Behind gran's house
Halfway down the street.
The little yard with the mangle.
And the narrow concrete strip path
That led to the other end,
Where the walnut tree ruled.
A musty tangled wilderness
Of corrugated iron and wire.
Only bluebells were allowed
To grow in the cool shade
Of the walnut tree.
Spreading it's branches.
Like an urban exile camouflaged Subjects
Wood ants foraged it's fissured bark.
In the summertime
Drooling old moggies
Lolled, cradled among it's boughs.
Autumn,
Gran stooped to gather the walnuts
Stuffing them into stockings.
Hanging them in cupboards.
Until Christmas.
My gran and the garden
She shared with the walnut tree.
Categories:
lolled, beauty, boy, christmas, daughter,
Form:
Free verse
An unkempt man approached me one dark evening
'In pursuit', he said, 'of a favour'
'A drink' he explained, but I was unsure of his meaning
When he specified it should be of a refined yet peculiar flavour
Then as he percieved I was not repelled, he moved nearer to enhance his rapport
Until in the light of a streetlamp I could see the bottle he held
And I wondered what fate had in store
It was clear now he was dressed in strange clothing
Of a style that one rarely meets
Except for perhaps if roving, in a town of Dickensian streets
I failed not to judge as I leaned closer to hear just what he might suggest
I thought 'how gracious of me to humour this poseur
In his pale make-up, black bowler and velvet overvest'
On the bottle he held his black fingernails drummed
They were varnished as per his morbid fashion
And in his throat the tune he hummed
Spoke of past revels and passion
Until at last had mustered his confidence and a pleasing tone
In which he proceeded to intimate his desire
That alas, he possessed no blood he could call his own, so therefore he was forced to enquire
As to the possibility of a small donation, it would not take much time just a tick
The procedure requiring just two things worthy of mention
Those being a vein and a slit
Of course I recoiled aghast, and vainly attempted to call
As I found I could not make a sound
Then it was only when my head lolled down that I saw
His feet hovering an inch from the ground
I was unable to engage any muscles as a fingernail pierced my left wrist
Or when he filled his bottle with a pint of my best red corpuscles
Then pocketed it with a hiss
He said he could see why he might be reviled
For the comtempt he had treated me with
Then he parted his lips and smiled
To allude to the fiendish alternative
It was a smile of rapacious appearance, that made my heart shiver and shudder
For as anyone could tell from even that quick glance
His smile was a smile like no other
Then with a doff a wink and a smirk
He smoothly departed our puddle of light
And melting into the inky black murk
He receded into the night
Now whenever I am about after dark
I determine to not be so too late
And ever since that experience left it's cruel mark
I portage garlic cloves, holy water and a stake
Categories:
lolled, america, anxiety, art,
Form:
Free verse
Why do other people go into a store?
I have no idea,
But when I go in,
It’s a resale store, and I’m
There to buy something.
I don’t care if it’s a stuffed antelope
With an orange neon butt, and a grin
That makes me chuckle, and God forbid if
It makes me laugh, because
If it makes me laugh,
Into the cart it goes.
I usually fill up one red plastic cart, and
Check out, run back in, and
Fill up another cart, before
My daughters know I’ve started
Filling up their side of the car,
Amazing the clerks, but
Not my daughters.
In 1985, during a little
Weekly Saturday Caren wants to go
To all the garage sales in the state day,
I ran over a squirrel and we
All cried.
But we laughed again after
taking all of the furniture
And the bass boat out of
The car, to re-load so we could
Squash in a 9 foot giant stuffed lion
Whose big half-on head lolled out
Behind my headrest, waving in the
Driver’s window at oncoming
Traffic for a couple of towns or two.
My two youngest, happiest
daughters were
Laughing all the way home.
I think we sang too,
Leaving out all the words
I did not know, but at the
Top of our joyful lungs.
The 13 year-old daughter
was not with us, of course, as I was an
Embarrassment to her those
First 20 years.
What a great day!
A Caren Garage Sale
Frenzy day.
I live for those.
Categories:
lolled, cute, funny, how i
Form:
Free verse
Ah that last spring, my love!
We would sit in the forenoons,
Lone and free meadows grew almonds;
And recite my wet vaporing lines—
Praising the arriving nomads, and the tranquil country.
O the dusky woods’ view all around
And like we lolled in their restful lap.
And that history-man, my far-friend,
Would read it and re-read, and stop, and sigh!
And then slowly wrap up wiping with his finger
Tears ‘d accumulate on his lids—
As beautiful as are the sunlit dews in early-summer’s dawn
Or tiny diamonds glimmering on the gowns of
Arabian belly-dancers.
And see this spring h’w has begun!
It seems this whole spring, my love!
We have to be indoors in fear.
written in early spring of 2014 when Afzal Guru was hanged in Tihar Jail by the Indians. And Kashmir was shut for some two weeks...
Categories:
lolled, political,
Form:
Free verse
The new season did just start at last
slowly crept shedding its past outer
winter integument. Displaying
proudly attracting meticulous
attention with its graceful stylish
semblance. Scent of delicious greener
with elegant chromaticity,
art gallery of nature's sailcloth.
A wheelbarrow, pruning shears, shovel
and hoe parked in the backyard near a
blooming fuchsia bougainvillea
needing a trim. It frames a bedroom
window drawing attention as it
stalks up the red concrete brick tangled
with a lolled white sweet-scented jasmine
vine as it scans the highest rooftop.
A flicker of movement behind the
spiky thorns and fuchsia blooms a green
lizard scampered up the wall and vanished.
3/26/2019
Poetry Contest: Bougainvillea
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Categories:
lolled, flower, imagery, nature,
Form:
Free verse