Best Lolling Poems
Frightend children under the baobab
Of elders discourse playing
At the deep edge of rites
Of passages
With no Atlantic dream.
There is a beauty here
Before the other world began
Forgetting its origin
And taste
Of white milk in black breast
Beautifully caressing
The tongue
Outside the jaws of greed.
The time of pyramids
Lolling
On the golden sands
Full with the jewels of history
Civilizations gone
And dead sphinx to come
To Alexandria dreaming
Far from the distant
Wonders of Timbuctu.
And after all that gain
Suddenly a flood
Of nothingness
Carrying totems
Of laughed animism
On children's head
Like weed.
Stale rum sizzling
In the heat
Of deception
Crackle lies
The missionary and prelates of doom
Smile when the boom
Behind us burst
Crankling chains
Move to the shackle of the feet
The heart coffled
To the suddeness of defeat
Stared at the deception
That could not win
Without the foul
Practices bred in smoke filled bars
Of cold desolate
places making a wave.
We come
From banks of river
Surety to insurance companies
For new ships
That carry us promisary notes
Of golds to cotton and cane
Replacing the earth hidden
Treasures
In a mother's bowels
We come
Dying
To change the mosaic to come
Into a place
Where you know may know
I am
The father of the race.
By Elton Camp
Tex had a longhorn he hoped to sell
But it was too dirty to do very well
It’d been lolling in the mud and dust
To get it all cleaned up was a must
So Tex pulled into the car wash bay
He put in coins and began to spray
He washed the critter nose to tail
Got it all ready for the cattle sale
But loading it back onto the truck
He got gored and was out of luck
So here’s the moral to this tale
Wash a cow and it may impale
The Little Dog ( Scotty )
I’m only a small female
Little legs you see
The other two are huge
Males big pawed and hairy
Great tongues lolling
But they protect me
They are nice to me
I’m only small
The human is a giant !
If I look straight ahead
I can only see the shins
And while the other two are off
Galloping and romping
I am trotting behind
Little legs you see
But the human
He waits for me
I think the human is male
He must be
As I feel so drawn to it
And its kind hands
And kind eyes
He must be male
I am female
I know these things
I love to go out walking
The human he takes us all
All three !
I have to skip over boulders
Which to them are just pebbles
And sometimes all of them
Have to wait for me patiently
Little legs with little paws you see
I love them all
Especially the human
And especially when he feeds me
Even more when he tickles my tummy
Do you know he built a little house for me
Just for me
I curl up on pillows at night
Nice warm and cozy
So because I love him
And even though I am rather small
I growl and bark
When he needs protecting
And I can see him smiling
So I know I am being a good girl
The human has a “ H U G E ” kennel
So big a dog could get lost in
And when he returns from being gone
He always lets us in
But never up those little floors
Which go to the place he uses for sleeping
Never mind
I am content
Like the other two
To curl on the soft fluffy bit of the floor
And wait dozing
Occasionally sniffing about
The place food is kept in
Till the time comes
For us all to go out walking
And then I can barely contain myself
In jumps and circles
While the other two are whimpering and whining
Time for them to go off running, snuffling and playing
While behind I follow
Steadily trotting
Little legs you see
But the human
He waits for me
Crystal Morning Song
Smokey dark clouds ooze steady slow across the evening sky,
Green patchwork hills slide stiffly to the bland suburbs.
No birds glide the sky of quite calmness at this moment,
Perhaps already resting. In perches of lofty sways and rhythms.
Lolling asleep in small feathered dreams of exhaustion.
Of lands new yet old, of flights long and necessarily made,
To rest and feed and start anew, a spring of blessed rebirth.
Still by mornings new and rested sleep I shall hear them sing,
Awakening me with crystal morning song from my sleepy sway.
2012 © S.de B.
Applauding an Acrostic Aria
Bopping to a Ballade Ballet and Blank verse Berceuse
Clapping to a Cinquain Cantata and Couplet Chorale
Dancing to a Dizain Duet
Exalting in Etheree Etudes and Elegy Ensembles
Frolicking to Free verse Folk songs and Footle Foxtrots
Galavanting to Ghazal Gavottes
Humming harmonies to a Haiku Hip Hop
Inhaling Italian sonnet Instrumentals
Jiving to a Jueje Jig
Keeping time to a Kyrielle Khaliji*
Lolling to a Limerick Lullaby
Marching to a Monorhyme Minuet
Napping to a Narrative Nocturne
Ovations for an Ottava Rima Overture and Ode Opera
Praising a Pantoum Polonaise
Quieting my quarters with a Quatrain Quadrille
Rollicking to Rondeau Rondos and Rhyme Royal Rhapsodies
Singing to Sonnet Sonatas and Sapphic Stanza Symphonies
Tapping toes to a Triolet Trio and a Tanka Tango
Unwinding to an Urban Sonnet Unison
Vocalizing a Villanelle Villanella
Whistling with a Waltz Wave Waltz
eXulting in Yaltos and Zikets
// Lines consist of a verb, a poetry form, and a musical form //
*Khaliji = modern contemporary music of Central and Eastern Arabia
Tarkay lids of merlass
Royal purple hue
Smooth glass surface
Sea of gemstone blue
~
Siren sisters taunt the sailors
Weaving in and out of looms
Seductive creatures with lyres
Luring the lustful to their tombs
They didn’t heed the gentle merlass
The whispers of the foamy sea
Their greedy eyes now single minded
Caught in a seaweed net - not free
Courageously the merlass tries to cut the ties
Siren sisters just increase their blinding noise
A plectrum choir captures lolling tongues
Ahoy sailors! They're no longer men - but boys
Mild merlass looks away from the frenetic fish
Her wild rose eyes notice a face, sweet as a kiss
One who's not succumbed to the scum of the sea
Like an ear to a clamshell, her heart pounds out bliss
~
Tarkay lids of merlass
Royal purple hue
Smooth glass surface
Sea of gemstone blue
4/21/2017
9th place/Premier contest
Poems Written in April Poetry Contest (not for contest)
Neither mad dogs nor Englishmen
rejoice as sunlight growing thin
allows the tidal sands to shift
through moonlight’s vapor growing dim
Yet still the beasts of lolling tongue
huddle with their shaded young
beneath a cloak of crimson red
abandoned nests now left unsung
Whilst I enjoyed this mingled tryst
as lovers passing gently kissed
and danced beneath a smiling sun
embracing moments others missed
Soft rustling limply humid leaves
deny the creep of autumn’s thieves
grey squirrels stalking acorn fields
from high upon a church apse eaves
School children race through tanning grass
rejoicing in their sunset dash
pursuing dusk into the dark
as dog day’s breath goes panting past
©9/3/2018
for The Dog Days Endure Poetry Contest
lolling on a hill
in glossy days of summer
cherishing blue skies
fat bumblebees hum
tunes of sweetness and sunlight
purple rose delight
gurgling brook's laughing
then the fall, and mum's the word
chrysanthemum craze
calico cat frisks
in the mystery of hours
colored by beauty
Weekends are a little like
Bookends
They stop you falling
Or lolling too far over
So you don't appear untidy or
At least not so
Uncomfortable
They keep you straight
Give you
Purpose
Show you in your best
Posture
Vertical spine
Keeps you looking fine
Without life's bookends
We just become
Untidy
Unrested and sometimes
Unread
What a shame
When people stay closed
So thank you
Weekends
For keeping us
Perky and
In good order
Perhaps an enthusiast will
Choose to engage with
Our words of wisdom
Adventure
Poetry
Simply because
We appeared at our best
"Life is an expedition to unknown territories. Adverse winds may veer round and the calm may be disrupted any time, but don't lose hope and pull on" ~ By Poet
Leaving the sheltered confines of the past
We embarked on an expedition, fresh and new,
With the present volume and its contents closed down
To open another and pore over its pages anew.
Everything was calm and still as we set out,
Except the pain of being cast loose from our anchorage
Over the swelling magnitude, we sailed past,
To alight into the novelties of another world.
On the bosom of a tranquil sea, with fleecy clouds above
We moved on to realms, fanciful and new,
And continued to sail over the lolling waters,
Gazing at the finny herds in undulating waves.
But sudden was the turn of wind and weather.
The waves rose to mountain heights.
Thunders bellowed over the wild waters.
And the sea into an aggressive fiend turned.
The billows lashed and crashed over the rocks.
All around was the booming sound of rushing waves.
Flashes of lightning left rents in engulfing gloom,
And the ship, adrift in the roaring currents.
At a point when it was about to drown
The tempest subsided; the sky turned clear.
What Providence has saved us from our peril?
We keep wondering now and ever!
Knowing that tempests will again strike,
And our vessel will be rocked hither and thither,
Now, with greater caution in every move,
With the riggings once more fastened tight,
And with the blue line of a cherished past,
Receding quickly away like a cloud in the horizon,
We continue our expedition, braving the waves,
And sail past to regions far and unknown!
On Pebble Beach's seventh green
I paused to watch an otter.
He dove, cavorted, spun around,
An acrobat on water.
Then lolling, drifting, eyeing me
He twitched brown nose and whiskers.
His thought, that moment, mirrored mine:
"He plays all day, that rascal."
Rain seeps into every crack and crevice
chilling to the bone
Winter has arrived with a vengeance
and summer is forever gone.
Ice slicks the asphalt, into a
glittering glistening death trap.
Here begins the slow invasion
of the unrelenting cold.
This grubby little mutt follows one day,
His hair matted, claws overgrown.
You take pity on the poor thing;
Starving and probably ill.
(A miserable pup with big sad eyes)
And leave blankets and scraps out the door
You wonder of his owners forgotten
He’s no street dog- well behaved and gentle
Perhaps abandoned, lost.
But maybe not. He’s ugly, scarred
Hairless in patches- He belongs in a kennel.
You don’t want him- and feel an inexplicable deep hatred
The wag of his tail infuriates and the curve of his snout enrages.
You slam the door.
A glass spills and everything is red.
Merlot on the carpet, scarlet on the bed.
You knock over the roses
Deep crimson of condolence
You want to draw blood, you want to destroy
You crave another’s red bloody torment
Schadenfreude, be damned
His whines pierce-
through the cold air of the night,
and the solid wooden door.
The royal blue E minor: the laments of the abandoned
You can’t help but join in song
As the wretched creature
howls expressivo at the starless sky
a symphony of loss.
Violins screech to his scratching
with trills, mordents and turns.
The descending melodic line fades and echos;
As the merciless tonic pedal of time ticking
crescendos.
The clarinets wails accompaniment;
subdominant, tonic, leading.
And with a plagal cadence, the mutt droops his tail
Morning arrives- painfully slow
The rising sun thaws anguished aubergine
And leave only tender lapis of fingers frostbitten.
They struggle; falls a familiar key
As you reach and bend
Moist; a warmth unexpected and wet
As the mutt licks your hand
tongue curling around a corpse’s digits
nuzzling his cold snout into the back of your knee.
Tongue lolling, tail wagging
The mutt never leaves.
The frost on the tree branches promise
Of how you’ve lived and grown
They shimmer like precious silver
and accent the beauty of home.
The fresh biting air,
with great gasping breaths you shiver.
Here begins a new journey
With your most loyal friend.
Lazy, long, leisurely lunch,
Lolling, laughing, lingering,
O'er lamb-stew, linguini 'n lager.
In Louisville, Los Angeles, Las Vegas,
London, Lisbon, or Lyon;
At Los Olivos, Las Palmas, La Paloma,
La Scala, La Baguette, or La Castilla:
Let lunch lie palatially on your palate,
Let lunch slowly settle in your limbs,
Let lunch last always:
Let it lustrate and luminate
Life lived long and lived well.
Villanelle : Trust no one even wife/husband with personal secrets
Trust no one even wife/husband with personal secrets
Some day shame will stalk as flames at villain stake
A reticent tongue policy ensures a pact of no regrets
Today’s bosom pal is tomorrow’s cause for threats
Even pillow indiscretions can put one’s life at stake
Trust no one even wife/husband with personal secrets
Fly with the heron hoards and watch out for the egrets
Closeness of the species call not home the same lake
A reticent tongue policy ensures a pact of no regrets
Yet he who holds his lolling tongue well often regrets
Another’s running commentary on lives on the make
Trust no one even wife/husband with personal secrets
When the moment comes as it must in joined couplets
Consonance will with assonance dissonance make
A reticent tongue policy ensures a pact of no regrets
Even Allied Nations covet one another’s vile secrets
As Top Dog power struggles scramble what’s at stake
Trust no one even wife/husband with personal secrets
A reticent tongue policy ensures a pact of no regrets
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Two Aloha-shirted Hawaiians
of generous girth were strumming
their ukuleles
on a small stage in front of the hotel’s poolside bar
in the late afternoon,
rehearsing for the night’s performance.
It must have been the low season,
as both bar and pool were deserted.
and the singer, unburdened
by a leis-laden audience’s
Mai Tai-soaked expectations,
was going through a mele
as if trying it on for size,
his voice loose-limbed with an easy grace.
Wrapped in the ukuleles' lolling strains,
his falsetto notes tumbled out into an
uncongested airspace,
where no ceiling formed by small talk, disjointed laughter
or tinkling glasses impeded their progress,
so they unfurled their wings,
lifted themselves into the hibiscus-brushed breeze,
and climbed,
hopscotching and frolicking on their ascent,
skipping from Tiki torch to treetop to balcony.
Some straggled, loitered on windowsills.
Some, afraid of heights, fluttered back down
to rest on top of beach umbrellas
next to shadows of palm fronds.
Still others hang-glided out over the sand
and the lapis water,
lured by the marigold light.
So that, when they alighted on my
hotel room balcony ten floors above,
they were fragments,
excerpted by the intervening air
from the upflowing cascade into
a broken yet voluptuous murmur,
a soft, lilting South Seas benediction
floating around my head.
I’d just sat down in the balcony chair, alone,
my wife being inside the room busying herself
with the correct placement of luggage
after we’d checked in.
And so it was that I found myself looking out
at the beginnings of a sky-painting Maui sunset
accompanied by air that quietly sang.
Maybe it was my senses unwinding
after the bustle of the journey,
or maybe it was simply that I was caught unawares,
but the feeling of contentment,
the almost Zen-like awareness of the here and now,
that overcame me at that moment was something
no convergence of sights and sounds
has been able to reproduce in the 20 years since.
It was, to be sure, an experience I’d paid more than
a negligible amount of money for.
The irony is that it was the first time
I truly understood the simplicity of happiness.
Mahalo.