Doris is a duck who likes to overindulge whenever she can.
She overcompensates because she has no dog, cat or man.
Today I saw her eat three boxes of chocolates in an hour
Then she drank a bottle of wine, to give her happy power.
I have no advice to give, and I am glad that she does not ask.
A second ago I watched her drink something out of a flask.
Why don’t you set her up with a friend? My husband asked me.
She has never been satisfied with a husband, scratching out three.
Doris was dowdy, drab, and draggle-tailed too
Forever frumpy, frightened, a failure, at age thirty-two
Jaundiced, juicy-gossipy, jealous, and July jailed
Slovenly, slithery, shipwrecked, her moment had sailed.
Doris was quick-thinking
quick-acting, clever, and shrewd
But pointedly polite and polished
Never abrupt or rude
Her knowledge of psychology helped her get by with much
Fooling relatives, acquaintances, coworkers, and such
they were eagerly outsmarted and outmaneuvered by her.
She had an open heart, and a face that was open and pure.
Doris Ann was busy catching hearts, dragonflies and bees.
The giant pink frog was waiting quietly, smiling with ease.
Wait until she sees me, the creature thought, she may think I’m a toad.
But Doris Ann ran past her, straight down Mercy Road.
"Doris to Rock"
No. I said,
erratic, not
erotic.
Just
pillow
talk.
Doris was a beet who was well-loved
she was symmetrically and artistically beautiful.
the entire garden decided to hide her,
because they could not bear to see her eaten
carrots, radishes, green beans and peas took turns
camouflaging Doris, so the eaters would not notice her.
she thrived all summer long, getting bigger and bigger
by the time the farmers noticed her, she had petrified.
weirdly enough, Doris did not stop growing.
she was twenty-two foot tall by that winter.
and she had turned into a beautiful gray tree.
a rare beet tree, beloved by a garden.
A puppeteer and a columnist
Two greeting persons of great talent
A writer and a simple artist
Met in New York on a bench God-sent
Acquaintance that brought humor and scent
To watchers and walkers awed with skill
Moving and talking puppets that shrill
I just read the Kama Sutra Richard Johnson said,
It could leave you ruptured or very possibly dead:
But him and his lover Doris went ahead and tried.
Less than three weeks later she very suddenly died.
They’d been progressing
By slow and steady stages
Until Doris sadly, mistakenly,
Went and turned four pages.
What started off as easy
And looked so very neat
Had been turned into
An almost impossible feat.
The ambulance men said
Even if they’d been able
To save her life, she’d still
Have been so very disabled,
And at her funeral
Poor old Rick
Was still dependent
On a walking stick,
Still wearing a fixed
And shocked grin
As he was gently
Escorted in.
So, very slowly his mind healed
But for evermore his lips were sealed.
At the village library, it soon got about;
Long waiting lists to take the Kama Sutra out.
Doris was an unhappy girl; her stepfather was stern.
Her mother never stood up for her, no matter what.
She did not like herself when the Cherokees grabbed her.
But they showed her a new way and renamed her.
When they had finished with her she was a new person.
Little Light Cloud, a maiden who had fallen in love.
When white men visited the village, she hid out.
Never wanting to return to being unhappy Doris.
Doris's cause of death will probably be:
Dementia, at age 100
~ Character Cause of Death Profile ~
Death
Probable age of death 100
Probably cause of death Dementia
Other likely causes Cerebrovascular Disease
Chronic Lower Respiratory Disease
Lung Cancer
Noteworthy funeral attendees Anthony Maya Garcia, aged 101 - husband
Basic Information
Name: Doris Read Well Garcia
Nickname: Old Doris
Reason for nickname: Descriptive
Date of birth: Tuesday, 23rd Jan 1934 (Age 88)
Star sign: Aquarius
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Social class: Middle class
Religion: Christian
Education: Some college
Course: Sports science
Political views: Far right
Relationship status: Married to Anthony Maya Garcia
Career path: Athletic
4/14/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
The tales they told of Doris
In the hills of Tazeltoff
Are remembered by the others
Who would jeer and tease and scoff
It seemed that little Doris
Was a timid little thing
When trolls of young and old
Would always laugh and run and sing
She hid behind the bushes
When other trolls would call
But then, one day they tricked her
And they tossed to her, their ball
And as she ran into the glen
How they were all amazed
For where she trod, now mushrooms grew!
Instantly! They praised
They saw that she had magic feet
Though all she knew was shame
She felt that being different
For her shyness, was to blame
Realizing she was special
As the trolls loved mushroom stew!
Doris learned there was a place for all
A place for me and you
Celebrating Diversity
Doris, the Magic Troll
A brontosaurus by name of Morris
Fell hard for Doris, a stegosaurus
His tush landed right on her
Sliced open by her armor
Lover Boy Morris had quite a saurus
my pillow has
become you
but you have
become my
pillow
soft but not
feathered down
shape shifting
to fit my girth
and width
spray some
of your
favorite
scent
and
then you send
me away but don't
push me away
befuddled
i only want
to
cuddle
…Polyester jewels ravage her neck;
Her clothes are stylist and yet;
Money she has no remorse;
She’s gotten all she got, from being divorced;
Darling Doris Dollar;
Got more monies than any others;
It’s a shame the next man she gets;
Gonna have to sign a Prenup…
12/8/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
TRIBUTE TO DORIS DAY
“Que séra séra,
whatever will be will be…”
sung to me sung to me
like a lullaby crescent moon
“when i was just
a little girl”
the softness of her voice
my mother’s
resounding on t.v.
remembering reminiscing
Doris Day
the girl next door
beyond the stars
young once more
5/13/2019
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.