Daubs Poems | Examples

The Corner Shop

They closed the corner store some time ago
the ciggies by the two we now forgo
our lucky bags now a recollection
as is browsing in the comic section.
Mechanics' Social Club no longer stands
their topless barmaids, striving local bands
and Sunday morns' all-comers talent show
both pubs have closed, there's nowhere left to go.
They closed the corner store some time ago
finally called the time and stopped the show
The cafe, bank the chemist shop, all gone
the street is quiet, not much going on.
We'll have a Tesco store sometime, they say
we know they're sure to place it far away
you'll need an Uber car, too far to walk
We'll miss the bench where you could stop and talk.
They closed the corner store some time ago
Nail salons and vape stores, now come and go
barbers, bookies empty charity shops
you see the homeless sleep, you see no cops
once walking up and down the street in pairs
graffiti daubs, the windows smashed, who cares?
An out-of-towner builds an HMO
inside the corner store we used to know.

The Luggage Light Brings

Light arrives from its flight
wheeling behind its suitcase of shadows,
exposures, echoes and consequences.

It spills its hoard across the floor,
and gathers remnant dark 
remains from dim corners. 
It daubs and stitches 
black silhouette capes and patches 
behind all it passes.
These shadowy figures are light's wind vanes
tracing where its being seen.

Light reveals the cracks, dents, dust and flaws
hidden by unrealized expectations.
It dusts the scene for fingerprints
and other forensic traces 
bringing all the hidden 
unseemly before and afters
into stark relief.

Nothing escapes light's black valise
carry-on bag.

Debris Of Decrepit Heart

“The fervent garden grieves as the frail flowers called love 
enwrap the shards of broken heart” – Quote by poet 


The rhapsody of rainbow morphs into morose mélange,
bleeding colors bleached from the twilight zone clouds 
that rainstorm daubs as blemish on dilapidated essence   
when the shades of grey paint the frayed linen of love.

The requiem of roses resonates in melancholic medley,
the petals pine for dripping tear drops of mourning dew, 
desiccating in somber sunshine in the deserted mind,
while the fallen flowers make frail bouquet of passion. 

Cacophony encapsulated in the cauldron of mute melody, 
chaotic symphony dismantles on the discord waves of desire.
Strained smiles sneer the scarred scenario of the senile life,
music turns to convoluted noise echoed by the battered soul.

As you drift away blowing a devastating storm of apathy, 
my fervor is fragmented to lie in the debris of ecstasy.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens
magnifies into the crooked contortion of decrepit heart.

Aquamarine

It lies in between two moods, 
with sighs of seas, and breath of skies,
not quite green, with a little dose of blue,
a mid-dream hue, for dainty touch-ups, 
to revitalise those bluesy daubs and splashes

Mirror's Grab

It's too dark for her.
She daubs mascara on glass.
The mirror has no arms...
Night's just in the morning.
There existing, the eyes ran

Upon former years, tears 
The mood stops, reflecting
Make faces, she's mine
Broken embers from limbs

Vice and crash,
Both's empty blood —
She's twisting surfacing

Barbwire that
Blocks out

Shards

Eschewed Essence

Rhapsody of rainbow 
morphs melted 
into morose mélange,
scattered in sullen sky. 
Bleeding colors bleached 
from twilight cloud 
ruinous rainstorm daubs 
as derelict blemish 
on abandoned shards 
of broken heart.
Shades of blue 
permeate pining
frayed linen 
of lost love.

Requiem of roses 
resonates profound
in melancholic concerto.
Drooping petals languish
for dripping tear drops 
of mourning dew, 
desiccating dismayed
in somber sunshine 
in deserted mind,
where for bracing 
cold desolate stone
fallen flowers 
make bouquet 
for deceased passion. 

Cacophony capsuled 
in suffusing cauldron 
of mute melody,
lost in tempestuous sea
of incongruent tune,
chaotic symphony 
dismantles harmony
on discordant waves.
Synthetic smiles sneer 
scarred scenario 
of lonesome life.
Sanguine songs turn 
to convoluted noise, 
echoing in solemn soul.
Lattice of life 
seen through 
languid cynic lens
magnifies mystified
into crooked contortion 
of eschewed essence.

Wily Wind Whisperer

The unseen maestro, the wily whistling whisperer,
Cunningly twirls a sway in the bending trees,
Dabs, daubs and draws impasto clouds in the sky,
Lilts, entices, leaves to dance in tune, as it whistles on by.

The field of grass compliant, bends to lithe gusts sly.
Laughing to tickling tongue secrets, beholden in every sigh.
The wind teases waves, torments lakes to ripples.
Their surfaces combed and drawn to rugged stipples.

The wily whisperer winds its way into cracks and holes.
Creating drafts that shake the drapes like ghostly souls.
Defying all attempts to block their breathy intrusion.
You can feel it breathing in and out, expiring confusion.

Oh wily wind, your whispers collude and unwind,
The peaceful slumber of earth and heart entwined.

how paints a poet? -

(inhale)

aim, undetermined ...
what purpose do I serve?
what is poetry’s primal essence?!?
my words only
cover pages that ghost
the spaces of better intention ...
that garland upon
my brow bleeds 'neath the
clawing shadows of
naked branches, thorns twisted
and braided with the
lightness of feathers, and pressed with
poetic care to let my
red ruin run ...
it drips with the weight of
indifference and
careless consideration, and clots
about my feet ...
cold witness, there, the moon -
it's visage smiles from the
surface of my weeping veins, puddled ...
such impeccable beauty
there in the coagulating remnants
of my mortality ...
and though it's a lie - just the
mirrored image of the
heavenly beauty that daubs
the great expanse,
it is enough ...
sufficient grace to squeeze
the last languorous
gasp from these tired,
grateful lungs ...
LIFE, I love you with my being ...
your breathtaking elegance
and your exquisite pain,
and I am naught but blessed to
have simply ...
breathed.

(exhale)

The Ballad Of Two Young Lovers

where the pipeline meets the lake
spewing sewage in its wake
several snowdrops grow and help to paint God’s earth

and as acid rains from clouds
upon the litter strewn by crowds
lines of daffodils speak more than words are worth.

next to piles of household waste 
tipped by those who fly in haste
there are bluebells growing wild on urban floors

and as plumes of factory smoke
suffocate disperse and choke
there are birds migrating to these hallowed shores.

where graffiti daubs the wall
like society’s wrecking ball
there’s a patch where tulips dance beneath our sky

and as shards of broken glass
lie in pieces on the grass
two young lovers holding hands walk slowly by.

Out My Window

"To look at the world without purpose is to stare into space"

The morning's lambent light illuminates my window
and daubs shadows on its sill, from the leaves of trees,
that rise and fall when disturbed by the wind.
This hole in my wall is where I escape,
to welcome the coming of dawn.
I will sit quietly and contemplate while being a witness,
to where my eyes are drawn.
This morning the grass is covered in dew,
it sparkles and glistens from dawn's first light.
I watch its soft glow wash across the wet grass
and welcome a new day that appears bright.
With my window open I can feel the breeze.
My thoughts become peaceful and at ease.

Spontaneity An Art Form

Diluted ink blots
splashed
at random 
mingle 
as  improvised 
calligraphic doodles
Spontaneous 
accidental drips
drop to & fro
Daubs pressed upon
the virgin white
Wet,wet colour
 a sponge 
soak-stained
a
happening 
in memory's
drawer
 of the moment
forever frozen in time

Distorted Essence

Rhapsody of rainbow morphs to morose mélange
Bleeding colors bleached from the twilight cloud 
Rainstorm daubs as blemish on the broken heart
The shades of grey paint the frayed linen of love.

Requiem of roses resonates in melancholic medley
Petals pine for dripping tear drops of mourning dew 
Desiccate in somber sunshine in the deserted mind
Fallen flowers make bouquet for deceased passion. 

Cacophony capsuled in the cauldron of mute melody 
Chaotic symphony dismantles on the discord waves
Strained smiles sneer the scarred scenario of lone life
Songs turn to convoluted noise echoed by the soul.

The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens
Magnifies into crooked contortion of distorted essence.

Clerihew Degas

Edgar Degas did not mingle
so shy he remained single
His art self contained & absorbed
perfect though expensive 'daubs'

A Wilted Rose

Wilted rose petals
unable to attract bees.
Concubine's mirror
holds the reflection of gloom
as she daubs rouge on wrinkles.


Date: 08/19/2022

Note: For the contest (Bite Size Poem no51) by Line Gauthier.
         Honorable Mention

Grandmother's Hands

As a child I would place my closed eyes
in them
while she hummed Gaelic melodies.

Her smock, it was brown
like a butchers apron
but without a speck of blood,
just daubs of fruit dumplings
and the savor of elderberry flowers.

Grandmother had large hands
working hands,
when they closed
it was as if her story book
had closed
at the end of every day,

and that is how she goes away
always very quietly
at the end of every day.
© 2 days ago

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