While I dillydally in my spring garden
I smell the lavender before noticing the buds
Dusk in a symphony of lavender hues
Summer can wait; so can my coronation
Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
I pick a sprig to put into my pillowcase
To sleep, per chance to dream
A chance to see you again
Healthy, vital
My childhood friend and confidant … my king
The man I fell in love with
Before Life intervened
My thoughts melt into the lingering dusk …
Trailing naked toes, hat low peaked
fingers laced abaft head and sun,
white-water gently threading through
the webbed keel of one foot.
The sky is blasting blue,
splotching louder blobs of cobalt
around a midday solar blaze.
Even the river billows,
heaps uplifted ripples into crests.
An old man rests
his skiff rolling rhythmically
to a tune
the wind whispers
through reed quilled banks.
He smiles beneath a broad brim,
wonders how long further this journey
can flow onward
without a braced rudder,
nor clinched knuckles
upon an implacable steerage.
He wallows in his ease,
allows the world to float on,
to find its own effortless,
unhindered way.
trees dilly-O sing.
mellow skies surmise —
they’re not quite blue, white nor gray.
knocking in front and back —
pileated woodpeckers, shockers
with crests, crafty
to home owls and bats,
like royal courts of yore
dillydally the enemy within
mine walls.
the oaks shade their eyes,
press into my panes,
scratch during a storm,
rain on my parade.
yet, I can’t help...but adore
the pines and oaks,
ivy that wraps serpentine around bark,
wild flowers ready to leap
on ballet toes,
touch my nose with romantic scent.
so Spring,
the sachet of hidden things,
like a freeze game come to life
with intrigue, potentiality
of pairings — doves, robins,
crows and the like.
what if i could climb the tall trunk
high, below the unseen clouds —
easy does it.
my hair sailing like a pirate.
my grin foolhardy.
my heart doesn’t know what it needs.
it needs trees.
2/27/2021
I want to see what my old-dusty playhouse looks like.
It has been kept forever in the attic – it’s a 90’s childlike!
It’ll be such a delight to travel three decades backward.
But those were my years back when I kept looking forward.
I cared about nothing but dillydally games all day.
I liked to act mature because I was good at role-play!
My fellow kids did funny chores and I thought they were good.
They sliced grasses and roots; they turned into food.
The whole day was short to talk about lies with excitement.
There was pure joy in our eyes – it was such fulfillment.
I thought of that playhouse as a wistful piece of my life.
Those little memories inside will still live in my afterlife.
Contest Name: The Good Old Days Poetry Contest
A Jim-Jam Mickey-Mouse Poem
I think that you might never see
A poem as weird as this might be
For I’ll use luscious words
That otherwise might sound absurd
This poem may turn out silly-sally
Or even a bit dillydally
In hindsight this whole kit and caboodle
May come across as dipsy-doodle
I’ll find a rhyme for titillated
That’s quintessentially outdated
I might include a foxy lady
But not written like my friend Slim Shady
So there won’t be some randy blowhard
Gender-bender sleaze-ball retard
No hooligan with gizmo manikin
No easy rider glissade shenanigan
No penny pincher prude nitpicker
And of course no cowboy old ****-kicker
And I would be recalcitrant
If I were to use this poem to rant
Though I know at times I vacillate
I shan’t lambaste this tete-a-tete
I haven’t worked in balderdash
Bloke or codger or mish-mash
No Tallulah, no Colleen
No rambunctious Charlie Sheen
And there’s no dubious diddlysquat
But that’s abso-bloody–lutely all I’ve got
Mdailey 3/30/12