Long Doffed Poems
Long Doffed Poems. Below are the most popular long Doffed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doffed poems by poem length and keyword.
Fighting mid the strong and bold,
His eye and blade were keen;
Marching like a thund'ring storm
On foes of Faith, his queen.
Now returned in victory
Upon his mighty bay,
Set he off to Langley Tow'r
Her summons to obey.
"John the Squire," the footman called,
And held the oaken door;
Faith, it seemed, had gleaming eyes
Like never once before.
"John! 'tis good to see thee hale,"
The queen exclaimed, and rose:
Tales have sped to Langley's gates
Of many broken bows."
"God has saved me whole and well,
By prayers, I ween, of thee;
Tell me please, my lady Queen
What service I may be."
Saying thus, the squire bowed
And doffed his burnished helm;
Struck in awe by Faith, his love,
The queen of Arthur's realm.
"Gilbert saith," rehearsed the queen,
"That deeds of thee are done
Greater yet than those of Wat
Or even Henry's son."
Tears bedecked her youthful face,
And glistened in the light;
John the Squire, as she had hoped,
Had done her favour right.
"Nay!" the humble squire cried,
"This word is not so true!
How could I, the meanest squire,
Perform the deeds they do?"
"Hush!" It was a firm command;
"I'll hear these lies no more;
Kneel before me, Squire John,
A knight shall leave the door."
Down before the queen he knelt,
He pledged his knighthood true;
Swore her ev'ry small command
With cheerful heart to do.
From his side she drew his sword,
She struck the accolade;
"Thus the greatest knight," she said,
"Is from a squire made."
From her hand the sword did fall,
It clashed upon a stone:
"John, if battle claimed thy life,
How could I be alone?"
"God has prospered all my ways;
My Queen, I praythee, cease!
Soon these wars shall claim our foes,
And Britain be in peace."
Faith remained there by her throne,
With light upon her hair;
Not one maid of Camelot
Was even half so fair.
"God be with thee evermore,"
She bravely said at last;
"Guard and keep thee from the foe
Until the very last."
John the Knight farewell did bid,
And swiftly rode away:
When the wars were hammered out,
He'd be a king in May.
For the Famous Art contest. Inspired by the painting "The Accolade" -1901 by Edmund Blair Leighton.
Dixon Bullinger braced himself against
another frozen blast of winter wind,
riding through the front range to Denver
where his family was a-waiting.
It was morning on Christmas Eve,
and he was a long time overdue,
but Boss McChord had paid him double
to rescue horses from being consumed.
They’d taken out a problem bear
and had a drink to celebrate,
he’d exchanged good wishes with the boys,
then had set about upon his way.
He rounded a corner in a craggy gorge,
and there he saw a stunning sight:
Santa Claus sat on an empty sleigh,
brooding sadly amidst the white.
Dix rode up, and doffed his hat,
saying,”Father Christmas! What are the odds!
May I ask why you are sitting here though,
‘tis the skies that you usually trod?”
Santa then sadly shook his head,
said,”My boy, you don’t understand.
I stopped for a rest and was robbed blind
by a gang of five masked men!
“They took my sack and with it
all the gifts for the boys and girl.
if I cannot somehow get it back,
there’ll be no presents for the world.”
Dix frowned deeply at the thought,
a coldness creeping into him.
Christmas may have been more than gifts,
but try telling that to the kids!
He said,”If you’ll ride with a fool cowpoke,
I’ll gladly help you find the fiends.
A Christmas with no gifts to give…
that’s not something this world needs.
“I have some skill at tracking, see,
from months chasing stray cows.
If you point me the way they went,
we’ll lick these bandits, and how!”
Santa nodded and pointed off
to a narrow slot canyon,
“That’s the way they all took off,
when the foul deed was done.
“If you start along tracking them,
I will follow as soon as I can.
My reindeer are bushed from today’s work,
Donner is nearly all done in.
“But once they’ve had a breather,
I’ll fly them up into the air.
If you leave a trail for me to follow,
I’ll catch up and meet you there!”
Dixon nodded and removed
his brand new, red, silk scarf.
He cut off a piece and then said,
“This here is bright as any spark.”
With that he took to the trail,
riding down that rocky cleft,
to save Christmas for the little ones
he’d undue this savage theft…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.
You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.
Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.
As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen fifty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.
Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.
He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"
As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near
They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."
Alternately titled inferiority
complex since little boy
oft times ponder what
afterlife like beyond far horizon ahoy...
No matter scarce giddiness wave
did carry and buoy yours truly aloft
analogous to dwell amidst
hermetically sealed croft,
imagining small rented farm,
especially one in Scotland
comprising plot of arable land
attached to house,
where hat o' this gentleman doffed,
Thence beckoning thee
to get comfortably numb
nurse cocktail I doctor, ah yea
with good n plenti of rum
lamenting mein kampf
worth ordinarily absolute zero
on par with being
a harmless no good bum
reflecting scores of lapsed years
since bing hard school of knocks alum
lionizing American south antebellum,
Pace of existence found one
idyllic I exclaim
casually sauntering along,
quite welcoming if one lame
especially inviting nineteenth
century hamlet fictitious place name
crafted within A Stop At Willoughby
(think or Google twilight zone
Season 1 Episode 30), where
main character shed his shame,
I too could easily capitulate
if/when time travel will encapsulate
one to journey where simply
livingsocial appeared exotic and great,
versus twenty first century Schwenksville
specifically Highland Manor
each and every resident doth insulate
her/himself within four walls
affixed with memories,
a long gone mate
similar to mine nonagenarian papa,
whose spouse Harriet,
a prior poem
I did poetically narrate,
which rancor hardened filial me obdurate
considerably decreased, yet revisit loss,
now jars thee noggin o' this primate
smoldering resentment - a human trait
did poison when mother at death's door
objection to accursed
disease did undulate
within her cancerous kindled,
riddled, wasted body joie de vivre
loathsome beast could
never invalid date
grim reaper would not wait,
her passing fourteen
and half orbitz ago
Withheld a hug I never gave
presently wince with sorrow,
yours truly never forgave
himself eternal repentance within mine
soul asylum as unseen knife doth engrave
mine mean deprivation
bajillion miles separated us
unconditional love all she did crave.
At the beginning of her life
the flower blossomed big and
her pedals were bright.
Her skin shined with glow
and her laugh was delight.
Then one day
the storm came and
loosened her stem
by a nudge. More and
more it came around
as it kept getting
stronger. Even through that
she still kept her smile and it
has yet to knock her crown.
The wind blew
and the sun tried to shine
She cried herself to
sleep and tried to stay in line.
Her imperfections impacted
her greatly and she'd scream as
her leaves fell off.
Eventually, like the rest, all her
dreams were doffed.
When the next storm came back around it knocked her stem half way and she was forced to look down
But stood so droopy was her crown
Then her hope grew less as she wasn’t
able to grow from the sight of the sun.
Her roots were giving out
as she finally realized it was almost done.
When I went to visit that beautiful flower while the others came along she told us her time left wasn’t long
So the bed gathered to tell the flower
How beautiful she will always be.
She will always be bright and big
No matter how tall the trees got to be
As her Dark purple became lavender
Everyone got to say good bye, all except one.
When the last storm came it knocked her whole stem down. She laid there looking up at the dark sky crying and screaming “why?!”
And as her delicate heart gave out, her crown laid side by side to the beautiful flower that shriveled up
While everyone buried her and her coronal I cried because I never got to say goodbye.
And what I’ve learned from this beautiful flower and broken stem is to never take the time you have
with people for granted. You never know how long you have with them.
The Translucent Loft
The girls choir at St. Mary’s still sings there.
Shh, be quiet as we step inside
through these green rectangular doors,
Shh! Listen...
We can hear them up there,
in the translucent loft.
They are still cloistered upstairs in the saintly glow,
of stained glass fortissimos, and bare knees,
dressed in blue sweaters with plaid beanies doffed
upon the three dozen crowns of the virgin sainted;
And now before us, the majesty of the holy sanctuary,
the deep eternity of ever-swallowing horizontal constictions,
upon which the devout might meditate the spirit mysteries,
with blessed rosaries, scapulars, and communion wafers,
bristling miraculously upon flaming tongues of fire.
“Shh! Be quiet here in the church, it is a sin to talk!”
We must fold our hands in silent contrition to an invisible God.
We must say our prayers, memorized from old missals.
We must genuflect on bended leg, making the sign of the cross.
But still, a likeness of our creator, dead and naked,
Nailed and bloody, with sickening thorns and gushing crimson,
hangs before us most ignominiously, a dead creator.
How can this be, Father Flanagan?
Why are we being reminded of this, Monsignor Molthen?
Why dear saints?, all ye there, encrusted immaculately,
in stone cold tableaux, absorbed forever and today,
in emerald stained glass transfigurations, way up there,
high on the upper reaches of this long heavenly nave,
that stretches out like long arms wearing bracelets of infinity.
Why are we to be reminded of this?
The girls choir at St. Mary’s still sings there.
Shh, be quiet as we step outside
through these green rectangular doors.
Shh! Listen...
We can still hear them up there,
in the translucent loft.
A Lonely Christmas, Not So Lonely Afterall.
I closed the door with flowers in hand
Walked the side walk alone,
People passed me without a wave
Was going to read the epitaph on stone.
Flowers for my darling that passed away
Leaving me with children far away
To celebrate another lonely Christmas Day.
I entered the house of the dead
Where people find a final place to rest,
It was quiet, peaceful, solemn and still
Not a tune of wind like on blueberry hill.
I doffed my cap placing flowers gently down:
Remember meeting her in the busy town.
Sixty years together we spent in joy
Sixty Christmas trees built with lights and toys.
Children were small once, now all grown
Found their way, living in their own zone.
They phone to wish on Christmas day
With love and kisses from far away.
I walked alone trudging along
People passing by
Not a wave or nod or wish
Though their Christmas spirits were high.
Someone seated on a bench
Ignored my struggling legs,
I wanted to say hello friend
But he turned away his neck.
I entered a small café warm:
Splendid to the bone
A stranger offered me a drink
I suddenly felt not alone.
A little dog came up to me
Jumped upon my seat;
Petted him; he my hand licked
Then jumped down to my feet.
A lady seeing her dog with me
Came, greeting me with glee
Wishing me for Christmas
With a plate of warm pastry.
Her husband joined me at table
After hugging me warmly
I suddenly felt not alone,
That Christmas afterall.
An old soldier was laid to rest today with the doleful tones of "Taps."
Family and friends mourned, others respectfully doffed their caps,
To honor another World War Two patriot who saw the battle thro',
Suffering untold hardships to preserve freedom for me and you.
Only eighteen when he was drafted in nineteen forty-two,
He proudly donned his nation's uniform, vowing the foe to subdue.
Old photos displayed at his memorial showed a handsome lad,
Destined to fight in battles in a world that had gone mad.
For months he faithfully perfomed his duty in the European Theater,
Crediting his safe return to Mother's daily pleas to The Creator.
Coming home to a hero's welcome with medals upon his breast;
Lauded by many he modestly replied, "I merely did my best."
Sadly, he was largely forgotten by the powers that sent him to war.
Nonetheless, he reared a loving family - their hero they did adore.
Just an ordinary working man, loving his God, family and nation,
Passing on his unwavering values to each ensuing generation.
Alas, not many of these gallant warriors are still around.
Every day too many are laid to rest in hallowed ground.
To those still among us we should express our gratitude.
The sacrifices they made could have been of no greater magnitude!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
B Bewildered the Little Prince landed on Earth
S Surveyed the drought amongst plentiful riches
I Ignored the facades and gave earthlings a rose
X Xenial embrace warm welcoming and hospitable
O On the surface he seemed to be an outlandish soul
N Native of a foreign Universe that was called Love
E Enigmatic mysterious with a Three Petalled Flower
T The Turkish Astronomer married the Lamplighter
W Wedded they were under a Baobab Tree’s canopy
O Oblivious of haters they tied hands and good fortune
F From now on luminescent like Aladdin the cave gave way
O On its way to handing over the torch of naked freedom
R Relieved from oppression of thoughts action and feelings
E Elephant doffed his hat to applause of Boa Constrictor
V Vigorous in his passion he pulled the mask from our eyes
E Enter at you own peril if you dare to see the light of the truth
R Risk is not for the faint hearted but darkness not a good choice
22nd May 2021
B 6 1 2 is the name of Little Prince’s planet
May it live Forever in our hearts and narration
Xenial stands for the ancient Greek concept of hospitality
between hosts and guests from different cultures
The rangy longhorns were rounded up and tended to.
Over the Colorado plains a fearsome blizzard blew!
'Twas Christmas Day! The cowpokes paid no mind to the storm,
As they huddled 'round the potbellied stove all snug and warm!
While 'Cooky' stuffed the turkey for their Christmas fare,
Frivolity, fun and comradeship filled the air!
The old bunkhouse was decorated as best they could.
In a corner a tree formed from tumbleweeds stood.
They recalled Christmases past when they were boys,
Sharin' happy family lore and distant Yuletide joys.
One read from Luke the story of Jesus and the manger.
He is their faithful sidekick - to them He is no stranger!
They sang carols accompanied by a harmonica and guitar,
And sipped spicy cider and coffee as black as tar!
With cups of wassail they proposed raucous toasts,
And regaled each other with timely and witty ripostes!
'Cooky' yelled, "Come 'n git it, all's ready 'round the board!"
They doffed their hats for the blessin' and thanked the Lord.
Though the hoi polloi celebrated at the Ritz with gala parties,
That would never do for these range ridin' hearties!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved