Best Lollygag Poems
THE JESTER
Jester jingles
with madcap medusa-bells,
dressed in melodic-motley uniform.
A sea of foamy frills
frame the famed renaissance storyteller,
a creature feature
of phantasm for frightened children.
His ghost-white face
with comedic war paint.
Highly educated,
acts the fool,
preaching to the pompadour.
Folly finds the frolicking ear
of the entertained king,
even at the news of sinking ships.
The king’s delighted,
as balls lollygag around his throne room,
and pins dance before his eyes.
Mesmerized, hypnotized,
spirals spry and smiling.
Claps his cacophonous hands.
The puppet court amplifies the sound.
The buffoon’s very wise,
buried behind his makeup.
His strings
control the crown.
Royally screws the court
with tasteless remarks
and they bow over in laughter.
In the backroom formulates his investment plan.
Jester jingles,
of drama and lies,
of liberties and surprise.
8/3/2017
Kai Neumann’s Jester Contest
1st Place
Each book in my library must be read, each one, each and every one,
vagrant, homeless papers must find a forever home, I must
edit, amend, revise, reword and condense a poem-
Rattled, I search for my keys, oh collywobbles!
Yearning for tranquility instead of this constant dither and tizzy, and
daunting days of jitters, willies, shivers and heebie-jeebies,
and my heart in a knot of anxiety!
Yes, I have days of cliffhanging moments!
Inside my soul, I just want to dilly-dally,
silent, I want to make each day count, but
apprehension and anticipation always keep me on tenderhooks.
Consternation, worry and anxiety, creep, creeping, and
like an unsettled butterfly, I flutter befuddled.
Inside my soul, I just want to lollygag!
Fearful, I face each new day undaunted, taking
first one step, then another and on and on and on . . .
hoping my distress is unseen and undetected.
And I step off the cliff that is my life each morning, oh
no one can escape some anxious days, of
go here, go there, get this and get that, oh collywobbles!
Edit, amend, revise, reword, and condense a poem, but really,
really I love my crazy, hectic, unpredictable, anxious life!
_______________________
February 24, 2017
Poetry/Acrostic/Everyday is a Cliffhanger
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 879-893-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
love doesn’t dash, it loiters
with repeated movements like music
and beautifully crude endearments
love doesn’t dash, it lingers
with rhythms like dance?
and boastfully rude aphorisms
So dally with me my love
lollygag, lounge and in a while
we'll share breaths and mess about
Pink plumeria, midst the boats.
Hibiscus buoyant in moonlight.
A Hawaiian sunrise, she floats.
In my teal eyes, a blinding light.
Fluorescent peak near New York Bay.
The studio lighting with ties.
A brightened set, no quiet quay.
Smiles big, as she chats with the guys.
Those ties lollygag, with fashion,
whilst their counterpart shows her smarts.
Big blue eyes batting compassion.
In their midst, she’s the ace of hearts.
Natives interrupted
Guns pointed to their chests
Blown away like beautiful dandelions
Into that sweltering sun
Americans lollygag
In their newly claimed land
Under that grand old flag
Slaving away, picking cotton
Under the South’s heat of injustice
Scarred with inhumane treatment
Sweating tears and pain
Burdens heavier than sandbags
Yes, they’re slaving away
Under that southern flag
Stripped away from homes and work
And terrorized prior still
No voice spoke louder than the writing
Of no. 9066, President FDR
Away from homes they’re dragged
Into camps full of prejudice
Under Franklin’s flag
My old friend Alice
Just arrested
For obstruction of the traffic
Roads men proudly trample on
In handcuffs she was dragged
Into a sad, sad prison
Under Wilson’s flag
A poet in the midst of Caesar
On a shelf in Alexandria
King was shot and killed
Right of speech suppressed
Six feet under in a grave
Betrayed by the very country
He tried so hard to save
Yes, six feet under, toes tagged
Underneath that grand old flag
Spying on the enemies
Can’t afford to lose
Separated by a dumb old party
Worldwide on the news
There comes a couple lads
Down at watergate
Under Nixon’s flag
Furious and crazy
Past the point of no return
A noose is hanging for Mike Pence
Violence calls to burn
A mob gone mad
Pardoned from hurting their own police
Under Trump’s old flag
Marching home from the military
To a world full of hatred and unacceptance
Comes the obedient soldier
Disregarded as a crime
Yes, called hideous words like you-know-what
Barred from inclusion
Protected in the constitution
Under Trump’s old flag
As the days turned to night we would find ourselves pondering our futures
The sky was red in the west as the sun set upon our dreams
We would drop the sails and let her drift
The current our only salvation
Take us where you will and damn the rest
For we had nowhere to be and no one to see
Sometimes we would drift for days and lollygag about the decks
Swimming in the sea or fishing for tuna
Ah what a fight if we managed to hook one
The men would soon become restless and we would once again be under way
Heading north into the teeth of a storm
And pushing her as hard as we could
The work seemed to keep the men hard and clean
And gave them a reason to live
Tales to tell when we reached port
But we never did
We would take what we needed from the sea
And drink rainwater to quench our thirst
And if the rations became low we would pirate what was needed
Nothing like a good fight to get the juices flowing and feel alive again
The wolf of the north was always at our call
Port of duty: anywhere but here
I am wondering if who of you out there really spent your day wisely.
Does anyone else think this way besides me?.
Of all the things you've done today, did you accomplish what you wanted?
If you had a problem, did you step back? Or confront it?
Did you wake up early to make sure the children had their lunches?.
Did you smoother them with love and hugs all in bunches?
When you seen that family stranded on the road this morning, did you stop and assist?
Or just think to yourself, man if that was me right now I'd probably be pissed?
When you woke up, did you go in to make a honest days pay?
Or are you one who goes out to make a dollar in any way?
When you were giving your task for the day, did put forth your all?
Or did you procrastinate, lollygag and stalk?
Did you do well on that exam you studied all night for?
Or just skate through the day thinking I wish I could be doing more?
Guess I'm just trying to see if you did all your deeds of the day without regret.
Cause time comes only every second, the next one, you might not ever get.
couplets and goblets are not costly or fine
doublets and snubblets are simply mine.
words parade in my brain and do their back flip.
Adjectives and adverbs give me a tiny bit of jazzy lip.
there is a cadence to my poem today I see right away.
The prepositional phrases are on top, getting in everyone’s way.
What about the nouns? Are they doing anything exciting, poet?
You mean the circus, monkey, clown, and popsicle throwing a fit?
Yes, there is a zoo inside my poetic brain today for sure.
My muse is throwing out words like lollygag, and cow pie manure.
I roll my eyes as other words come sliding out as if in the sea….
Who is writing this stuff? I no longer feel my ideas are from me.
My muse is laughing her petootsie off, kicking her legs in the air.
Verbs like swirling, twirling and flicking give her their holiday stare.
I swear to the mythology gods who live in the clouds above,
Writing down words all day long is something I truly love.
Just the whiff of pink rose
growing outside my front door
brings my heart to my throat, stirs a desire
to don frayed cut-offs and white tee-shirt
and climb into the womb of my childhood fort,
to dream, to write, to lollygag to my heart’s content.
I lollygag as much as I can
As I travel from meadow to prairie
Grandma packs me a lunch
Knowing she will not see me for hours
It is 1960. She is not frightened I will be found dead
Kidnappers only go after the Lindbergh baby.
I reach a fence and sit down,
open my grandpa’s secondary black lunch box.
Pull out the water and take a big swig.
It is lukewarm, but it is okay today.
I am eight; not picky, just glad to be alive.
Grasshoppers, and a ladybug call my name.
My identical twin sister is back at the house
Pleasing grandma, cooking, cleaning, baking.
Doing all the things girls not like me like to do.
I am irritated that I was not born a boy.
I am a pirate, a pilot, a race car driver.
I am so damned mad to be an eight-year-old-girl.
Boys are allowed to yell out the answers. Damn it!
Eat the sandwich a voice urges me.
I really want to, but it’s early so I just take a pinch of it.
Peanut butter and jelly. Maybe another tiny bite.
I polish it off and stare at the apple.
I was irritated when grandma made me take it.
Now I’m rethinking that.
I hop the fence and get pricked on the barbed wire.
This is irritating! Maybe I should have listened to grandpa’s advice.
Never go over the fence. But I am there now.
I follow a well-worn path to a little brook.
Take off my shoes and socks, wade around.
It is so cold and delightful. There are tiny things swimming.
I strain my eyes but have no idea what they are.
A weird cough. I look up to see the flash of a white tail deer.
Almost perfect day. More perfect if I had been a boy.
So what country did you make?
Is it a penthouse, or a rented cubbyhole
in the same sky high city where the difference
is the size of your hold-out that can also peer out.
When the TV is silent and sullen
do you wonder
what other country you belong to?
Do you risk getting shot
for just looking out of a window,
or do you lollygag over fine wines
and does your bowtie spin
when you grin?
Do the people guard you
or impinge upon your sovereignty
with their greasy knives and forks?
Did you register as a foreigner
with the borderless guard dogs?
Did your country come with
a trash compactor and a rattrap?
I also come from a land as isolated as yours.
I travel incognito
as a stranger known to be unwanted
until kidnapped.
Did you choke twice
over an olive in your dirty martini?
Did you vow to stay far away
from the drug-dazed
and only send out or call in
for your own addictions?
Does your country salute you
for having regular bowel movements,
for not clogging up the toilet bowl?
I, like you, wrote my own constitution
it is written on an old postcard
that I sent to myself.
Are you a founder or a spy
snooping from an eye in the sky?
I may visit your county;
feel free to borrow my nose hair trimer,
my first born.
We, the Emperors of just enough space
should ratify unworkable treaties,
we may need to test
the limits of a mutual hostility.
When you turn the TV back on
do you, like me, wonder what country
this is that hates us from afar?
Blow smoke, smoke blow, suck when necessary,
bruit a patriotic vapor
into a rattling air conditioner,
never surrender.
Please do not ask your children to contribute to your family or the world.
Raise them to think they are entitled kings, queens, and princesses,
do their work for them.
Keep them lazy and spoiled, let them develop an attitude of entitlement.
It would be silly for you to expect them to do their share.
Let them lollygag around,
doing nothing while you sweep and vacuum around them.
Fix the meals, clean off the table, wash the dishes, while they watch TV.
Let them know that manual work is beneath them; it is better suited to you.
When they go to a job interview, do not be surprised if they are not hired.
People who have been taught to pitch in and help, readily spot the lay-abouts.
And they do not leap across the desk to hire them.
Love doesn't dash, it loiters -
with repeated movements like music
and beautifully crude endearments.
Love does't dash, it lingers
with rhythms like dance
and boastfully rude aphorisms.
So dally my love - lollygag,
lounge and we'll share breaths
and mess about.
Each book in my library must be read, each one, each and every one,
vagrant, homeless papers must find a forever home, I must
edit, amend, revise, reword and condense a poem-
Rattled, I search for my keys, oh collywobbles!
Yearning for tranquility instead of this constant dither and tizzy, and
daunting days of jitters, willies, shivers and heebie-jeebies,
and my heart in a knot of anxiety!
Yes, I have days of cliffhanging moments!
Inside my soul, I just want to dilly-dally,
silent, I want to make each day count, but
apprehension and anticipation always keep me on tenderhooks.
Consternation, worry and anxiety, creep, creeping, and
like an unsettled butterfly, I flutter befuddled.
Inside my soul, I just want to lollygag!
Fearful, I face each new day undaunted, taking
first one step, then another and on and on and on . . .
hoping my distress is unseen and undetected.
And I step off the cliff that is my life each morning, oh
no one can escape some anxious days, of
go here, go there, get this and get that, oh collywobbles!
Edit, amend, revise, reword, and condense a poem, but really,
really I love my crazy, hectic, unpredictable, anxious life!
__________________________
February 24, 2017 (re-post)
Poetry/Acrostic/Everyday Is A Cliffhanger
Copyright Protected, ID 17-1217-135-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest, Strand Select 12
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
2200 E High Street
Pottstown, PA 19464
Upon making a purchase,
yours truly murmurs bonjour
to the man/woman clerk
manning cash register,
(perhaps another day)
maybe soon as tomorrow
January twenty four -
two thousand and twenty,
I will explore
Moonlight madness sale
fifty percent off all merchandise
across the expansive floor
after getting weary and footsore
snagging garments for near future
return home to stock wardrobe (mine)
satisfied with basement bargains galore,
aye attest bang for buck heretofore
wearables specially bought with difficulty,
née impossible mission finding clothing
to fit this hunchback named Igor.
Rather than pay top dollar i.e.
as prestigious patrician wag
hashtagged with extremely
high price tag
(think chic boutiques)
uninviting to token
garden variety scalawag
(i.e. namely yours truly),
who feels more at home
attiring himself courtesy ragtag
garments, particularly scant legal tender
jangling within me threadbare moneybag
plus deformity drawing
less stares when I lollygag
(matter of fact many "Zerns people")
populate said very affordable - egad
even amiable animals
amble along to stash their feedbag.
Impact on very limited budget
affords me more bang for buck
upon locating rare find,
I feel analogous to lucky duck
quacking and fluffing tail feathers
scouting around for usable goods
another shopper did finish
with thence did huck.