A Pint of lager.
I did my best
To be a middle-class person
Drank good wine
That is what people of elevated taste do
I never liked wine
Upmarket vinaigrette
I only drink beer these days
Finding my way back to my roots
Those days, when we drank big glasses of lager
And criticized a fine writer
Someone as holy as Knut Hamsun.
We wanted to impress the girls, so I wore
A French beret, a serious intellectual who read
Every article I could come across before
Voicing an opinion
So we said many stupid things
But you cannot be wise if you have
Never been a dolt.
I have lost my precious
mien, it is so
Tiring to be serious about oneself.
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Tis the vernal hour when nature's luster peaks and winter dirges no more wend.
Airy notes from feathered breasts, dutiful drones, bejeweled butterflies ascend.
Upon the indigo daze of an afternoon, my angel in lepidopteran disguise
danced along this florid patch with plush pirouettes, calling "Rose, arise!"
"Still here, a bloom to seek and hold." Groggy, dolt, my petals of discontent...
quiet cold stole my blush, then by cruel degrees, I learned snow's resentment.
But in a sun-lit-breeze ballet, God as big as the butterfly, weighing like nothing
revealed the signs of a world renewed, and ushered me thru the rite of spring.
Is there no place to cast my eyes and look
Without the mug of the felonous crook
Ranting til he turns red
What was it that he said?
"I couldn't care less!" The attitude he took
He doesn't care if his tariffs raise prices
Obsufcation is one of his devices
Scooby Dubious is he
People are blind not to see
Vengeance is one of his many vices
It's Trump this and Trump that. Enough. Good grief!
Aleve, please. My headache needs quick relief
It's attention he seeks
With greediness he reeks
Dictator Donald: Kommandant in Chief
Americans are rising in revolt
Some in the party have started to bolt
In scandal he's basking
And many are asking,
"How ya like him now, that dictating dolt?"
Between a fool
and a wise man
who treads on who
Rushing forth
or holding back
many are the few
Who comes out
of the darkness first
the dolt or then the sage
One racing through
the jungle blind
— the other in a cage
(Dreamsleep: July, 2024)
BEING WHO YOU REALLY SPARKLING ARE,
MIGHT COST YOU A BALE OF POPULARITY ….
BETTER THAN BEING A CONFORMIST DOLT.,
THAN A BORE, LIVING A FAKE, DULL ,MORALITY!
6/9/2024
Thoughts staggering slowly
Resisting the release
Why do i now struggle
When the past flowed so free
Have I lost my touch
My talent gone through time
Who have I become
A thoughtless dolt
Where is all the passion
The strength within my mind
Where is that voice that spoke
Screaming out my truth
Have I lost my way with time
Changed too much
No longer who I was
But who am I just now
A wife and now a mother
I watch my daughter grow
To her I'll give my strength
And help her fight the world
I may not be the girl I was
But maybe it's ok
The woman I've become today
She'll learn her own way
I'll find new words
And I'll teach myself new ways
For my dear sweet child
All challenges I will face
My daughter full of spirit
The warrior goddess brought to life
May you grow with passion
And speak for all to hear
Feelings are born of choice
You follow the inner voice
and decide Or not
Which is also a decision in and of itself
The easiest way to describe it is
Bi Thinking of the cartoon trope
Listening to the horns or the wings
between ur ears
To choose which opinion on ur shoulders
you want to hear
To be By Arctic and Antartica simultaneously
Is to only possess one choice
To have only the two battle each other
Choose to follow whomever is louder
or not
Silence or shout
Smile or frown
It is not a fight won or lost
Not a wise one Or a dolt
Nor peace without revolt
It is singular or it is zero sum
How would it feel to toss a
coin and not be able to at least
conceive the concept of three outcomes?
Flip your own coin and wonder
if it could never land on
its' smallest thinnest most improbable
Side
what probability would you believe
Once again i get ahead of myself
Or is it Arrears
That's how
it feels
To be
Bi
Polar
Got fired for loafing on the job.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Crossing a street, a car hit me.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
A foul ball hit me on the head.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
My girl fled with a gigolo.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Got arrested as a tax cheat dolt.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Went broke buying high, selling low.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Got bit playing with a Great White.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Sold hens to pay bills, eggs got high.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Voted for change but have none left.
I shoulda seen it comin’.
Don’t know how to end this poem!
I shoulda seen it comin’.
1/31/2023
Two slow-witted goblins were tricksters who had no fear
They tiptoed up the staircase of a birch tree that was near.
They forgot that owls can gobble you down in a minute.
Their plotting was horribly stupid, no matter how you spin it.
Let’s throw a snowball at that one, the dumbest one said.
Let’s! Agreed the other, I think his name was Dolt Ed.
The owl was not happy when the snowball hit the back of his head.
And sure enough, within minutes both goblins were dead.
He was a handsome man with a face full of strength
We all thought he was marvelous, a king on the brink.
He will become famous, we assured one another.
He had a sultan for a father and a celebrity mother.
But is he genuine? A dolt asked me, not understanding him.
I knew she was asking not out of concern, only a fleeting whim.
He has been more than real to me, I wanted to say.
But I kept this humble opinion from her, far away.
I wanted to keep this majestic king to be to myself.
I put him in my dreams, way up high on my shelf.
I still have memories of him sweeping me away in the night.
On a marvelous magic carpet, with his arms wrapped around tight.
I met a strange man walking through the cemetery
He said, “Hey, If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you a ghost story”
I replied, “Those are dull.” He said, “On the Contrary!”
Then yelled “BOO” in my face. For that, he would be sorry
What he didn’t know, was that his tale of the grave
Was one I knew all too well from my own current state
And after his not so clever prank, it was time to misbehave
Besides, nothing I did now would change my current fate
I walked right through him, levitated, made some spooky faces
Did all the things the books say, to give him quite a jolt
He didn’t run or shake in fear as he put me through my paces
Just stood there with a crooked smirk, looking like a dolt
The issue with this failed haunting, is not for lack of trying
Or that the ghost in this lack of gory story happens to be me
But the fact that not only I was guilty, of being bored of dying
I guess it takes a little more, to get a rise out of a zombie
#5. A Ghost Story
July 26, 2022
One in 5 2 poetry contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
This tragedy is a farce,
A play within a play.
The king says one thing,
The queen another
And the pawn, lying broken
May never recover.
Romantic sop,
(he’s quite the fool)
Watching the battle go on
and on . . .
. . . and on the warfare continues -
A game of Armageddon.
With despotic palaver
The pawn is sent
To the enemy campsite
To sow discontent.
Rhapsodic dolt,
(he’s quite the fool)
An equerry running from side
to side . . .
. . . to side with those in grace.
Insane the thought of victors.
Hollow heroes
With noble guile
Bewitch the pawn
In villainous style.
Quixotic soul
(he’s quite the fool)
Standing in line for a Judas kiss.
Save Yourself
My soul they took for all it was worth,
These demons of the underworld
Who inflicted rules I shouldn’t have shunned.
But I dismissed their advice and chose fun,
And jeered at their jest and mocked their pun.
The elements fade the tombstone’s name.
Some ask, “Who there lies in that grave?”
And I yell from the depths of hell,
“Unhappy are they who come closer;
Run away from impending disaster!”
There is no hope of ever turning back.
There is no joy to partake in, just punishment,
Obstinate fool that I was, brash and relaxed.
And now I suffer in the aftermath of my acts.
“Save yourself from such a fate!”
The stranger drew near like a vacuous dullard,
Fresh as June, without a care in the world.
If only the prying dolt realized the stakes in play
And would heed the warning I’m giving
To avoid the misfortune of dire straits,
Rather than to embark on an immutable journey
To go up there, just to be sent down here.
Horror, my friend, your eyes will see,
Irrelevant as your name will be.
I tried to escape but lost the race.
When it comes time for a vote
Will America be free of this childish dolt
This stupid ass
Childish and crass
For the sake of the world, let's hope
What to Write?
Just be the real you, with all your might!
If people don't like you, they won't! it's
really alright!
And writing to please the throng?
Don't be a ridiculous dolt.
I've yet to meet a saint this in life.
Pretenders galore, filled with strife.
People are a delightful combination
Of both sinner and saint,
You have to read behind the poets word-
paint.
I like poets who tell it like it is!
It doesn't matter if I agree with them at all!
It's no different than being with your best
friend.
They are there to share the real them, not
a saint rising above your head.
I, too, get grabbed by the muse that only
produces words that please.
That's hardly the real world.
Just a poetic strip tease.
Panagiota Romios
4/22/2019
2:30 a.m.
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