lazy bones, bound in poverty’s grip
in a garden, where hesitation weeds grow~
filled with s t r a n g l e d d e l i c a c i e s…
a recipe of wisdom, never tasted
couched like a fly in an endless stupor…
abandoned in a ship, lost in the doldrums~
in a dark tunnel, where
echoes slowly f a d i n g
doomed to sail a sinking ship with no lifeboat
yet your arms can still push a boulder uphill~
so put your shoulder to the wheel...
never stop, reach the mountain's peak
sharpen the saw, dig for gold, tame white horses~
while sweat streams down your brow
for once you're interred in a grave
with nothing to illuminate the darkness
mountain of your strength will only enrich the grains of sand...
and fork in the road will give you no direction to choose
you'll just be lost in the maze...
like a deer in a headlight
as confused as a dog watching a magic trick
It is hard to be enthused when you realize your team sucks.
wasting a long evening witnessing that very fact
Next year will be better the season just started
next year never comes just the perpetual pain of losing
While everyone else improves and wins and reaches new zenith
your team stuck in the doldrums of gut wrenching disappointment
You watch in shock while your chicken wing goes limp in your hand
no one can play that bad, it is on purpose.
Sleepy Sunday after an exhausting Saturday of no way.
Had hopes dreams aspirations of a great season, championships
being number one and then they play the games.
Finally turning this program around but it just spins in circles
of loserville. Start rooting for hated rival, they're back and on top
and next to humiliate your team.
It's just a game but another season of no fun.
For someone to win your team will gladly lose.
Take a nap it's another sleepy Sunday.
Far away from the well-traveled trade routes,
In those latitudes few lubbers dare,
Lies a haven of peace and contentment
Called the Island of Don di von Kaire.
When the climate at home turns oppressive
And the tedium’s too much to bear,
You can bask in serene isolation
On the Island of Don di von Kaire.
On the Island of Don di von Kaire,
Feeling apathy blow through your hair;
When the pain comes around,
Let the rum numb it down
And have plenty of ennui to spare.
It’s a mariner’s self-imposed exile
And a castaway’s private affair,
For a spirit marooned in the doldrums
On the Island of Don di von Kaire.
The self
is but a wicked dream
that lifts you high
to let you fall.
"Inflatable", men call such boast
that stretches the imagine
so to propel the I
to heights unknown to none save "me".
A bloated thrill is I
whose bubble bursts too soon,
fading into the insignificance
of a splat of spit.
Why do we flatter ourselves
by raising pompous sails
to catch the wind that blows
in the doldrums of our self-esteem?
Beyond the Heart, the Head and the Soul reigns unsulleable Belief
How he blurted in a moment of self-lacerating glory-be pique
Who will in a thousand years retrieve my poems from digital rot
A thousand years grind grim in fermenting ocean-filth freak
Rather think in terms of a hundred or two twisted tight in knot
By then no scales may balance conflicting efforts set adrift
Wild tsunamis would have raged over lands and cities lying low
And the mighty and the rich abandon ports to set up amont aloft
And none will seek to extend meaning beyond the beclouded glow
None will batter brains split hairs over words poets proudly sow
No conniving committees allocate prizes as at musical-chairs play
Past the highest achievements scientific excellence on us bestow
For neither love nor purity of soul will be Man’s cultural mainstay
For the stunted Psyché still wallows in the Doldrums of Belief
By what we impute to holy Prophets Popes and Poets’ mischief
© T. Wignesan – Paris, November 7, 2019
In the doldrums of a hushed space,
Of a part of vacuous open to silence,
Undisturbed stares party to patience,
The essence shared natures reticence,
Lies a formidable barrier of hinderance,
Unseeable with a naked eyes abstinence,
Choose to remain adamant in forbearance,
At times happens between friends ignorance,
As we part our ways oblivious to circumstance,
That this started out to be an odd happenstance,
For it went so out of hand it led us to imprudence,
And sort of panned to us both losing our innocence.
Date: 06/02/2019
I'm stranded on a sailboat
in the doldrums of my mind,
but there's comfort within jail though
when I know just what I'll find.
There's nothing new. Nothing new.
You pushed me to the plank so
I knew I must sink or swim,
and I guess that I should thank you
for that's when I could begin
To be something new. Something new.
My chameleon skin is shedding,
and I'm not sure what I'll be.
Is my compass bearing heading
me to land or back to sea?
But it's something new. Something new.
My Phoenix form is rising like dirigible
towards the sun,
And there's something great or terrible
in what I have become:
Something new. Something new...for you.
10.16.18
Contest: Trying Something New
Boundary pushing rhymes:
Sailboat / Jail though
Plank so / Thank you
Swim / Begin (less boundary pushing)
Dirigible / Terrible
Sun / Become (boundary adjacent)
FESTOONS
A day of festivity in fresh air
Festoons forming an entry pair
Gorgeous drapes of silky velour
Incense having their share
Festoons in the doldrums
As one is one less than twelve
As one is one more than eleven,
As one is one more than twelve,
All were not in a row.
Flowers bloomed and withered; Seasons fell and flew,
Sun rise and set; Dates turned,
Days formed months, months formed years.
Festoons in linear pair they were all in a row
Being 11 – 12 – 13
Their dreams in day fact
Festoons in a variety show
Flimsy tango and merry samba
It wasn’t monsoon
but toxic rain.
Diya drenched
in the doldrums.
Her head bloated,
brain turned barren.
Her body curved
as a cashew nut.
Her legs and arms
dried.
Aches and anxieties
grow up
in the cashew farm.
Sad sap oozes
out of her mouth.
Her doll lies dead.
Now she isn’t a girl
but a remnant
on an empty mat.
[Endosulfan is a
deadly insecticide.]
Loose change with frayed ends,
my life feels snagged on acute bends.
Tangled threads surround me,
they seem to wind and bind me,
preventing freedom's trends.
I don't know how others do it.
Missing the rain when it hits.
My path does not stroll with their plans,
thus the way for me expands.
So I won't despair; my path is lit.
This is true:
I've been on my way since school.
Behind challenges left unresolved;
ahead my life's riddles solved;
I am ready to go and eschew
fate's cues that can not queue.
The path's magic I already knew.
I am in the doldrums,
of witch's cauldrons.
In it I follow the call.
The fear of cast inside perpetual.
Now That it is Settled
By Franklin Price
6/8/2016
Now that it is settled
For the Elephant and Ass
Who will be the winner
The answer's in the looking glass
Neither very popular
There are several reasons why
Can one help our recovery
Or will either make us cry
The Elephant appropriate
With all his trumpeting
Running down the opposition
Blustering is just his thing
The Ass is also apropos
She's stubborn as can be
But will she pull the plow for us
We'll have to wait and see
There's talk of a third party
That may come along the way
No super hero I can see
In the wings to save the day
Our need is for a shaker
And a mover as the POTUS
Must determine who to vote for
Elephant and Ass this is your notice
The people of this country
Are tired of government
By those who are elected
And don't care why they were sent
Although we're in the doldrums
Or the wind is in our face
Must vote for one and not stay home
In this presidential race
Old Mildenhall
Beyond the sprawls
Of sleepy vales,
Behind the stacks
Of woven bales,
Lie the dwellings
Of souls that fall
In the decaying ruins
Of Old Mildenhall.
A mish-mash mosaic
Of glass and stone,
The eerie rubble
Of shattered bone,
Where boarded windows
Entomb and hide
Its ghostly citizens
Still trapped inside.
With doors half open
And eyes half closed,
Grey peering faces,
Half decomposed,
Search empty spaces
For a human shape
Where there are no mortals
Nor means of escape.
Twisted, the fences
That surround each street,
Barbed in shackles
That tether their feet,
Nobody comes
And nobody goes,
Lost in the doldrums
Midst eternal woes.
Your spirits wander
Old Mildenhall,
Between heaven and Earth
And I see you all,
You were in my dreams
When, as a child, I slept,
We swapped our fears
But my soul you kept.
Beyond the sprawls
Of my eiderdown bed
They visit me still
Albeit in my head
Calling me, begging me
To help them die,
But without my soul
I'm just a passersby.
© RJVHorton2015
You could call him Mr. Lonely
’Cause that’s the way he feels.
He wants so much to find true love,
But thinks he never will.
He suffocates in solitude
And he drowns in despair.
He wishes there was someone else
With which his love to share.
He’s lost in all the loneliness
The world can ever make.
The deaf’ning silence from his house
Is more than he can take.
He goes to bars and clubs to find
The woman of his dreams,
But ev’ry lady that he meets
Just isn’t right, it seems.
He’s dying in the doldrums
A single’s life can bring.
He wants to find a special girl
And do that dating thing.
He has been lonely way too long.
He can’t take anymore
Of the deep and dark depression
That’s knocking at his door.
And when he thought that loneliness
Would be his only fling,
Then piercing through the silence, yes
The telephone did ring.
Perhaps he has another chance.
There may be hope, you see.
The caller on the other end.
Her name is Tiffany.
My solitude is
like drifting in the doldrums
waiting for a breeze.
From cradle to grave the sun baked
the skin leather, un-oiled
and rain did not fall
for Isis with held her tears.
From the bloody care of womb
children popped like bread from
the oven of women, the urns of life,
earthen were their colors
ocher, saffron, and
some as black as basalt, rich…
with a Nubian glow.
How the small ones squeal
at the wadi’s edge.
How the toes of man and beast
dance at the skirt of mother Nile,
sensuous, rippling with the wind,
or placid in the doldrums of summer sun.
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