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Best Poems Written by David Dowling

Below are the all-time best David Dowling poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | David Dowling Poem

Wounded Warrior

For the torn,
for the meek.
Toward the storm,
toward the beast.

For the scorned,
for the weak.
Wounded warriors,
for the free.

In the dirt,
make my bed.
Firefight,
overhead.

Live on hope,
consume hate.
Rusted spoon,
rusted plate.

On this stage,
in my role.
Home one day,
never whole.

For this goal,
in the name.
Different soul,
though the same.

Take my life,
use it well.
Build your heaven,
on my hell.

Don't you cry,
I'll always be.
Wounded warrior,
for the free.

Details | David Dowling Poem

Grumplicious!

Why are you so grumpy?
Pray, what made you so?
What gave rise to those dark eyes,
and snivel on your nose?

Why are you so grumpy?
-Don't give me the charade!
I see through that bright red nose,
upon that white clown face!

Why are you so grumpy?
Oh, come now, don't hold back.
I know you know that I know well,
the way you always act.

You cover and hide,
and hurry your stride,
you act as though I'm clueless.
Pout and weep,
mumble and freep,
I know that's no word, BUT YOU DO IT!

So if you're feelin' grumpy,
don't let that raincloud set.
The day that comes after this one,
could be your greatest yet!

Details | David Dowling Poem

The Mother's Day Ant

On a hill, by a pond, by a tree, in the woods,
underneath a shining sun, tucked away and overlooked.
There stood a line of ants that had come from far and wide,
and with them each, a flower, for the Queen perched at their side.
what a marvel to the eye, to see the colors in a row,
from all creatures, save for one, who held fast close a pebble.
The other ants were curious, and some questioned the motive,
still, he had no taste for Daffodils, Tulips, or Roses.
This pebble he clutched closely was by far the least impressive,
no unique shape did it take, and not two colors caressed it.
It smelled of nothing special and lay heavy in his hands,
and the steps he took were short within the long parade of ants.
But no regrets had he, and no doubt would strike his heart,
for he would proudly shield his prize from rain, and light and dark.
And thus, the day arrived when it had come, at last, his turn,
so there, before the Queen, he laid his offering to her.
The Queen looked down upon the gift, then quietly to him,
she asked what had he brought to her and he returned with this;
"My Queen, it is a symbol, and no ordinary rock,
it is the ground, of which, I worship, upon which you walk.
It represents the love I have for you in its stern face,
though one color it contains, that color will never fade.
It will not dry and crumple up or ever blow away,
it shall stay for generations, and endure and not decay.
-and I know I'm one of many, but I’m grateful just the same,

my dear Mom, my Queen, my highness; 

have a Happy Mother’s Day!"

Details | David Dowling Poem

A Poem About Apples With a Title Longer Than the Poem Itself

apples.
Fruit for thought!

Details | David Dowling Poem

The Worm and the Apple

There once was a worm who lived in an Apple,
he lived there, and quite comfortably.
He found dirt deplorable,
but Apples, adorable!
The rent was affordable,
and cheap!

There once was a worm who lived in an Apple,
he lived there and never came out.
"This is my Apple coreable,
nothing I love moreable,
life outside's ignorable!"
he'd pout.

There once was a worm who lived in an Apple,
he lived there and liked it just fine.
Sometimes, rain would pourable,
with great thunderstormables,
and when the wind roarabled,
he'd hide!

There once was a worm who lived in an Apple,
he lived there, but one sunny dawn.
He noticed the floorable,
which looked nice beforeable,
had become deformabled,
with rot!

There once was a worm who lived in an Apple,
he lived there, but was forced to leave.
And how he complained a lot,
till he saw an apricot,
and he did proclaim this thought;
"It is now that I see;

-that he who lives only inside his own head,
finds it is a small world indeed"!

Details | David Dowling Poem

A Poem About An Apple That Is Sure To Disappoint the Reader

I see an apple.
There it is.

Details | David Dowling Poem

Anna Banana

Anna Banana liked to eat fruit,
fruit was her favorite of all other foods.
And of all other foods, she liked bananas best,
so all of her friends called her "banana head".
But Anna Banana was fine with this trait,
she ate her banana under the tree shade.
She ate her bananas all night and all day,
and smiled a smile that lit up the place.
And all of her friends took note of her mood,
and decided they wanted to smile like that too!
So they asked if they could have some of her fruit.
and she said "it's my favorite of all other foods!
-Yes, of all other foods, I like bananas best!"
and no one again called her "banana head",
they sat and ate bananas with her instead!
And that is the story of Anna, my friend.


..and this The End!

Details | David Dowling Poem

The Moth and the Star

Once upon a time, in a place, not too far off,
In the dark, by the moon, there lived a family of moths.
Now, for those who don't know, a moth is like a butterfly,
but instead of vibrant colors, their wings are pale white.
Moths are known to come out and dance around fires at night,
and though it can be dangerous, they love its brilliant light!
When the sun would end its job and it was time to leave,
a family of moths would begin their late routine.
Their tradition was to dance around a yellow glowing flame,
of a streetlight, freshly lit, every eve, the family came.
-But there was one young moth who never did take part,
instead of dancing by the burning host, he preferred a star.
It seemed merely a twinkle, upon a branch of a great tree,
he felt, someday, if he could gain the strength, that star he'd reach.
Now his mother and his father scoffed and both would ask him why,
does he not join his brothers and his sisters by their side.
"Your brothers all are greatly singed, when will you take your turn?
Your sister's wings have turned to black, yet, you don't have one burn!"
Despite their scolds, despite their taunts, the little moth still aimed,
for that shining star he never knew was trillions of miles away.
He'd flap his wings, though he'd fly high, he could not ascend,
and every night, he'd fall just short and wait to try again.
But then, one day, he turned around and saw he was alone.
His entire family was gone, burned like butter on the stove.
And now that he was an old, old, moth he finally came to see,
that he, indeed, had reached his star, and it wasn't above the tree.

Details | David Dowling Poem

8 Planets

Vast and giant objects cast onto a canvas of black,
amidst them sprinkled dust and ash reminiscent of a fiery past.
Gas and energy burning, light,
a sight fit for man and gods alike.
In this particular family dwell,
eight celestial bodies to tell.
Each unique, this Milky Way,
does man and life alike partake.
So let us, a trip, embark upon,
through stars, and heavens, and things beyond.
 
In line before all does Mercury fall,
composed of iron covered in mantle and crust, this ball.
Romans of old saw it move swiftly,
and named it for him with wings on his feet.

Sometimes called sister by our dear earth,
the unforgiving atmosphere blisters and burns.
Venus, thy name though fair,
could not sustain life with poison for air.

Earth, man's Eden, of blue and green,
in it's protection we live and breathe.
Four seasons rich, I will only ask this,
please take care of this wonderful gift.
 
Of all the planets, this one's reputation,
captured hearts, and sparked imaginations.
-Though alien beings might escape us thus far,
no soul will deny, there's life there on Mars.

The giant of gas with a red eyed storm,
could hold every planet within it's large form.
Jupiter, on its axis, so fast,
less then 10 hours a d ay there would last.

Saturn, the name has quite a ring,
and a density that won't allow it to sink.
Rock and ice particles comprise its belt,
for a spec in our galaxy, it sure stands out well.

Uranus it seems you are always relaxing,
you lean on your side with a tilt of your axis.
Named for the god of the sky by the Greeks,
you even have rings, my aren't you unique!

The one body predicted before being discovered,
is Neptune, behold, it's name fits its color.
The winds howl at speeds much uncanny,
distant, unassisted, your existence,  man can't see.

Thus ends our 8 planets, unfolded of late,
now what else can you find in our Milky Way?

Details | David Dowling Poem

A Recipe For Disaster

Add one part boredom, two parts hate.
A stick of narrow mindedness, you may adjust to taste.
Crack open shallow influences from a broken home.
Make sure the loathing stays, but discard the shell and yolk.
Stir up trouble for about 5 minutes.
Some choose to use a pinch of cultural indifference.
Preheat the oven to 365.
Procrastination warms up fast, watch the temperature rise.
Butter up the tray with a nice thick glaze of doubt.
Put hope on the back burner...you won't need it now.
After half an hour your excuses should be done.
Take them out, frost and cover them with oppression.
Garnish with ignorance, now, your disaster can be unfurled...

A last meal...
on the table set...
you could say...



...it serves the world.