Dawdled Poems | Examples

Blame it on Hydra

It was a memorable evening, bright
with my beautiful, charming fiancé
(once my wretched, tormented heart's delight)
near the old village of Fatheringay.

Drawn by the lilt of a whispery voice,
we found ourselves in a dark, rustic pub.
An inner misgiving questioned our choice.
A man served drinks from a hook on a stub.
 
After imbibing a strange, bubbling brew,
we dawdled the full moon-lit countryside.
In the lunar light, her eyes shone light blue -
mine, a phosphorus glow, like Mr. Hyde.

We gazed at the Hydra constellation,
where the Ghost of Jupiter nebula
somehow unfastened my reservation,
as its image fell on my retina.
 
That my grandfather was a lycanthrope,
and a mad cascade of serpentine thoughts,
this myriad of disclosures doused hope 
(a demented disconnection of dots).

The vile dreams would slither back to their hole
too late for my near bride of eighteen.
The strong brew's effects had taken their toll.
My love was never again to be seen.  

No, my true love was no more to be seen.

A Lass Called Pat Limerick

                  There once was a lass who waddled.
                  She liked running, but she dawdled.
                  With one terrible roar,
                  She fell hard to the floor.
                  Pat gave up eating Mac Donalds!


                                
                     11/1/2024   Poem 4

DOOLEY'S DEVIL'S DELIGHT

Darling Dolly liked to dawdle
down past Dooley’s Deli.
Darling Dolly didn’t dabble 
in Dooley’s Devil’s Delight.
Devil’s Delight, a donut dessert,
didn’t do it for Dolly.
Darling Dolly didn’t delight 
in Dooley’s donut dessert.
So Darling Dolly dawdled home
without Dooley’s Devil’s Delight.

State of Insanity

I’ve doodled and dawdled in Delaware,
Piddled in Pennsylvania without care,
I’ve been to New York and Alabama,
Michigan, Missouri and Montana. 
I’ve travelled in every state, my friend,
And I can tell you that, in the end,
If you lose your mind - see how it can be - 
The very best one is insanity.

Dressing and Undressing

Is it too late to put on
a slouch hat and overcoat
or is it too early for a T and shorts?

I dress in the dark
allowing time and light
to expose its itself upon skin and eyes.

This afternoon I will be busy until...
This morning is late and cannot catch-up
for it dawdled.

As if aware of its own magical powered
the moment opens-up
I relax
let the sky-peeking window
clothe and unclothe me

allow the sun-shadowed walls
to attire my mind the way it always will
and should do.

P Is For Poverty

victorian canal life - the reality (a true tale  from from my maternal heritage )

We left our abode 
       in old Cowfair
  haggled a price 
for an old shire mare

Onto the 
     landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel 
        for a life afloat

farewell to our 
     Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living 
     from old point lace
dawdled slow 
   up to Cosgrove
 taking our meals
   . . around a blackened stove

our moveable house 
    painted castle& rose
not a life
    we would have chose

Eighteen fifties harsh 
&
mean
   coal cargo
 so nothing stays clean

doff your cap touch your forelock 
every two mile 
   at 
the gatekeeper's lock

Fresh food scarce 
     except for fish
perch & roach
       a staple dish

clothes dry 
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
  the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep 
    all too few
family life impossibly hard 
  so back  to a tied cottage
 in 
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007

Family Life Afloat

We left our abode 
       in old Cowfair
  haggled a price 
for an old shire mare

Onto the 
     landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel 
        for a life afloat

farewell to our 
     Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living 
     from old point lace
dawdled slow 
   up to Cosgrove
 taking our meals
   . . around a blackened stove

our moveable house 
    .painted castle& rose
not a life
    we would have chose

Eighteen fifties harsh 
&
mean
   coal cargo
 so nothing stays clean

doff your cap touch your forelock 
every two mile 
   at 
the gatekeeper's lock

Fresh food scarce 
     except for fish
perch & roach
       a staple dishc

clothes dry 
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
  the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep 
    all too few
family life impossibly hard 
    back we went to a tied cottage
 in 
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard

Old Town Past

OLD TOWN PAST

Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown

Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising
Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair

Then was school run not protected, chauffeured, in cars
But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market, rail station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened - no bars
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration

In that world we seemed in different incarnation
Can we thus discern immortality's intimation

Eyes of Mind

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
                                                                         -Anaïs Nin                              

Memories of heart, half buried in open graves,
expectations etched in enchanted dreams. 
Tear sodded sights, dry preoccupied minds 
unknown truth camouflage visible known lies.

Clear 20/20 vision all blurred beyond a veil,
thought filled head, blankets a dawdled mind.
Temptress of emotions, seduces and misleads 
distorted light bends, through eyes of prism mind.

Bright yellow refracts, into shades of sunset pink,
deep blue shimmers in orange hide and seek.
We morph and mould, a cocktail of our own,
rivulets scream soft roars, of invisible torrents.

I see sunflowers blooming on your snowflakes,
bumbling  butterflies, or insects in cocoon ? 
You see distant deep craters all dusty faraway...
My eyes blaze in love, as I see my beautiful moon.




7th February 2020

Sponsor	Maureen McGreavy
Contest Name	She Inspires Series - AN
Placed third in the premiere contest

The End Is Near

THE END IS NEAR

POSTED
on a telephone pole
			FANCY FONT
					…THE END IS NEAR

I slowed my pace
dawdled and lollygagged
pondered the possibilities
				….“THE END OF WHAT????”

My subscription to the
“WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT QUARTERLY
						,,,RENEWED,
the glass of DOUBTS AND FEARS
					….HALF FULL.

The road narrowed
trees snatching up shadows
		offering darkness		
				        …AT NOON.

I peered ahead
searching for the credits
that always precede
			  ….THE END

gazed into despair
as a message flashed…
			….FANCY FONT
					…..TO BE CONTINUED…..



John G. Lawless
©9/14/2019

Blue Yonder

In the shadows of galactic stars
The night dawdled onto the earth,
A nightly music landed softly
With chimes of melody reverberated
Around my aurora –all over me 
Like sparkles of  sapphire lights emitted 
From some crystal chandeliers,

In the tumult of emotion I  sat on the edge 
Of the bank, eyes musing on the water,
My conscience combines with dispensed thoughts--
In a pique, in love, in pain,
In blame, in guilt,
In many rooms of life
My emotions borrowed the wisdom of music
That could touch any blue yonder!

A Continuous Today

For the past, the future was never apparent
its dormant projection lay in unformed
no thought ever counted it of concern

Time tripped and dawdled, discovering playful as children do
a continuous today absent of tomorrow
the truancy of sleep the night merely borrowed

Only questions to remember
more important than the befuddled them to answer
a nursery-rhyme of colour designed to wonder

Why,why, why didn’t care to reason
but considered the importance of knowing nothing
and still, and still be in covenant with everything

There was no path to tread, no spirit to seek
no doorway held fast by rusted hinge
no separation between exploring mind

All was held in a delicate of light
those angel hands of every child
so unembellished in their witness never defined

So it is as in the continuous today
until the futures chain to changeable edge
rattles the bars and locks us all away

Such a scarecrow death insinuates
and by contemptible depiction reiterates
damnations end of miracles

Patricia

Patricia dawdled through the breakfast
Mom got angry, sent her to Belfast
There she learnt how to run
And how to eat a bun
And returned with the bread crumbs amassed

Passover Again

The recipes have dawdled
In their box for nigh a year,
But now they'll get some brand-new stains;
The holiday is here.

It's time to clean and shop and bake - 
From scratch, if you are able - 
And then to find that special cloth
To decorate the table.

The wine is waiting to be poured,
The napkins folded neatly;
The soup is bubbling on the stove,
The baby napping sweetly.

When evening falls, we'll gather 'round
With family and friends
And read the oft-told story,
Though we know just how it ends.

And then we'll eat the festive meal,
Familiar and delish;
To do it all again next year
Would be my fervent wish.

Her Vessle

So long ship,
go on your merry way!
I hope I'll see you soon,
when you come
stumbling back to Bay,
to Bloor,
and Yorkville 
where we last docked,
and rocked,
swayed,
and dawdled,
talking
into the night...

So long ship,
farewell my love!

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