Short Dully Poems

The home we shared, an empty shell
  Robbed of grace by death's cruel knell
Its face, once sweet, now dully stares
  ~ I'd tear it down, your life to spare...

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The cry of the dead
  the wail of those gone
unheeded by the uncaring living
  who dully carry on

Are their pleas any different
  from the screams of those unborn
aborted by the uncaring living
  who dully carry on...

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Wherever borne is The cross,
Christ is The Sure Boss:
His Kingdom, a good distance from loss,
Your guaranteed profit in gross;
Your dully painted walls, Brilliant Gloss,
Every rolling stone clothed in Moss…
No room for the coins gamblers toss
And a dying interest in somebody else’s Ross....

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[bard1]
To wit, sans pearl, mere grit and sand,
an irritant, sebaceous cyst,
expressive as a mongrel’s gland,
self-seeking randy churlish tryst!

[bard2]
Eccentric heel’s ethos raised grand,
eschews finesse, rough skewers gist,
a numpty dumpty, brillig panned,
thou frontal lob, now dully bris’d!...

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The Solemn Sparrow Sings a Lonely Song
Swiftly Swaying Sweetly Saying
Soaring the Sky Somewhere Above

Tearing the sky with Terrible Tears
Telling Tales To Those who listen
Taking Time To sound Traumatic

The Solemn Sparrow Sings
Weeping Wearily on the Wings of Heaven
Daring Dully Desiring Death

The Solemn Sparrow Sings...

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A blank screen faces a writer
   Intimidating  
   All that open space
What are the writer's odds?

A blank face stares dully at the psychiatrist
   Unwavering, unblinking
   Unengaged, uncomprehending
Where does the psychiatrist even begin?

A child looks vacantly at an empty plate
   Listless, disinterested
   No expectation of food on it
   Not today, not tomorrow...

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You‘re shivering
And your voice quavering;
A wetness on your right palm
And inability to remain calm…

Crazily twisting your middle finger,
Your replies beginning to linger:
Seven words per minute,
With a face dully lit.

Only a straight look at your eyes
And punishment becomes your prize.
Now, you ‘ll have to release “the true”
Or you shall be jailed without a shoe....

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A clean way to big tears dry 
Is it make a fresh bold try:
Not in fury's red pan fry .
Nor wear a smile dully wry .

You may into stars' lives pry :
Those  who'd made it planting rye .
Yet, this could make a bloke cry 
Or wish one did not it try .

Your mood should often be shy;
For cash be ready to fly,
For God's fast out the time carve: 
The things you long for many 
Please, fly straight to Germany...

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Such sunlight shining down on me. . . .
No clouds above, like dungaree, 
hung dully, shielding everyone
from beaming grins of Mr. Sun,
who graces us with bonhomie!

Some folks might seek a shady tree
or others go inside to be
less hot, but I’m not one to shun
such sunlight. 

Although there is no guarantee
that gloom will not eventually
descend to spoil my friend Sun’s fun,
before his brilliant show is done,
I'll stay here in my revelry.
Such sunlight!...

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The playground hadn’t opened;
The sun had yet to rise
And many might think walking
In the dark would not be wise.

A mist hung by the river,
A tugboat pulled a barge;
The cars inched down the F.D.R.,
Their headlights looming large.

The puddles, partly hidden,
Glinted dully in the gloom,
Soon to saturate some sneakers
Not expecting them to loom.

It was magic to be walking;
The few others I did see
Were the regulars who love
Their early exercise, like me....

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Some oddly dully think
About their teeth that stink,
When they should’ve sounded some bell
About all not being well.
Some away choose to walk ,
When it has become the talk
And Dental Caries for chalk…
Tactless teachers of it stalk!
 
Folks who know a face that scowls 
And far-off pain that howls;
Of winds in the forest
That understand no rest 
And widows who often grieve  
Wanting to finally leave…
Care for teeth not by blows,
For A Youth’s orders blood flows....

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I carry a burden on my back into the game room
I leave to lay my head down for a brief rest –
and see out of my window a blanket of white
reflecting dully into the dark night
a mantle of a thousand icicle stars
a silent, yawning ocean for the sleeping ashen trees

Woods, will you remember me
When I’m long gone?
Will you mark my name
in your solid oak memory?
Whisper of me in rustles that never cease.
Murmur, let me rest easy. Do not
howl of a wolf in the doleful darkness....

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