Short Doled Out Poems

When I was young
The world I knew was very kind.
When I was young
My mama said to hold my tongue,
To not say things which harm or bind,
To offer help to maimed or blind.
When I was young.

Now that I’m old
The world around me seems less kind.
Now that I’m old
Kindness is lacking or is doled.
Each person searching wealth to find,
From Mama’s standards have resigned,
Now that I’m old....

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No matter how many you’ve had
your birthdays shouldn’t make you sad.
You are free to wear unmatched plaid
and not tolerate fools.
For oldsters not a thing’s forbad.
You’re allowed to break rules.

Don’t worry about growing old.
It is your turn now to be bold.
Be proud of the years you’ve been doled.
It is time to have fun.
Don’t listen to what you’ve been told.
Golden Years have begun.

Won no. 5...

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I Fret the Holiday Season

I invited it in:
insipid, insidious 
holiday hoopla;
and now rue 
my indolent heart
As time escapes
I inveigh aloud 
a tirade of syllables 
that berate my 
immutable, 
irascible self

I pine for insouciance,
iniquitously doled 
to some
not to others,
and wear the  ignominious 
crown, self-bestowed 
upon my head:
“Intransigent Queen.” 

I’ve only myself to blame....

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I wanted a buff body, to look good in my "snuggs".
But ignored advice doled out by fitness droids.
Like: never use performance enhancing drugs
or be tempted to use Anabolic Steroids.
 
After 6 months, I just look like a thug wearing a rug…
…with a Nasty Squint and Diabolic Hemorrhoids


[this poem was first published on my blog - http://wp.me/p2mUkP-eH
with one of my sketch doodles & makes more sense in context of the whole post]...

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A rose lies dying,
petals fall one by one;
scatter, wind blown and random.
upon fresh turned earth.

Bitter silence, 
cold,
indifferent,
wraps around my shoulders.
A quiet companion
I hold close.

Friends with strange faces,
smile sadly with inadequate words.
Doled out clichés fall
upon ears that hear only 
your forgotten voice.

Memories of years revisited
dusted off and polished;
lost days irreplaceable.
Life with out you carries on....

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Unblemished veneer caresses each fold
Glossy sheen with silken strands manifold
Face brimming with rosy hue; underneath satin sheaths scrolled  
Coarse fibers with satiating nutrients doled

My eyes peel each savory layer, delicately kneading each fiber apart   
My nostrils intoxicated by sweet, pungent aroma your core doth impart   
My fingers fondle and swab each, soft, curvaceous part
My lips drivel as the sugary juices from your mellow stalk doth depart...

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The Cross

Deaths solace, silence harsh words of fears unknown
dread not the reaper
unwelcome cross, mark not my threshold
belief shall grant no safe passage
condemned self righteous, what right to steal souls?

In whose name is derision doled?
contemptuous harbinger of tidings best left unspoken
thus spake Zarathustra, eternal recurrence
indoctrinating endless opportunity
offer up the gift to those who see and have seen
antiquity replaced by stigmata.

Stoic...

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Each night she left him bleary -
his mind foaming in a glass
of Guiness.

Disappointments wore her life thin,
nuptials picked to a fugue and dinge,
by his thick-tongued spiel.

“I can change him.”
Nothing changed.

Long she withered and waned.
Friends doled out sympathy
like spreadable butter,
yet her bread was dry.
Long she withered.

Daily she wiped
a vinyl calico tabletop
wet with spilled beer
and self-pity.

She got a second job.



...

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A sage with wisdom so erudite
Muse filtering hope, shedding light
Mentor whose keen insight doth shape, mold
Dr Ram's words are better than gold

Twining cultures with his harmonious pen
Idioms, aphorisms from his native kin
With adopted truisms, symbols doth fold
Dr Ram's words are better than gold

Verses sculpted with cunning concision
Accents, rhymes spliced with stunning precision
Crafty metaphors, metonymies freely doled
Dr Ram's words are better than gold...

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old men
wearing their caps
upon their head
emblazoned with words
of war, this is
what they said

old wars they now
fondly remember,
how time can play its tricks
when it was really happening
I doubt they had their kicks

so wobble on down the street
you brave old soldier bold
you've served well your good country
those memories to you are doled

we tend to remember the good things,
or so I think I've read
so soldiers, carry on,so proudly
until the day you're dead...

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Peace and war
Often lived here over the years
Even though initiated by the few
Tears were created between many
Relaxation and growth was the PS purpose
Yet they in themselves had to be fought for

Still, with time, peace would prevail
Offences are still doled and taken
Until all are free of mistakes so it will be
Perfection is not what brought us here, poetry is


PSing since '06 ;)...

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