Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

For Jacqueline Marie

To wed my love,
a chance at bliss
whose odds are fixed
in every kiss

Life and love
held hand in hand,
sparkling in 
each wedding band

The shimmering Sound
could not divide,
Family and friends stand
by our side

Work proved an easy place
to fall in love,
Forever grateful
to the Lord above

Happy 10th Anniversary, my love! (Weird Long Beard Press)


When my life does expire
my poems will roll on like a tire
even though the words
and thoughts aren't new
the arrangements will give people 
something to chew on and on
as the threads become smooth
the next generation will feel my groove 
and light their own fire
with ditties that inspire 
as they roll on like a steel-belted tire.

Tire by D.W. Dowling (Meredith M. 1998)

Other poems:

Thank You Lord

Thank you Lord for the ability to make a wrong a right
and coffee and aspirin after a late night,

Thank you Lord for another chance to run and laugh
and for declining the penalty after an ill-advised gaffe,

Thank you Lord for treating us all the same
and for being impartial to our endless blame,

And thank you Lord for listening to my prayer
and letting me know you're always there.

Ireland Baldwin drinks coffee (Pinterest).

Other poems:
·                     Confidence
·                     The Good Outweighs the Bad Fifty-Fifty
·                     Bluff

Unre quit ed

Unre quit ed is a bitch
A back to scratch that doesn’t itch
A nose to pick that always bleeds 
A potted garden full of weeds
A towel to dry unwashed hands
A container filled with rubber bands
Unre quit ed is a bitch
A gaping wound with no stitch
A mirrored ball with no dance
A matching top with no pants
A drink in hand with no thirst
A thinking man’s muttered curse
Unre quit ed is a bitch
A name I’d say but just can't snitch.

Working Man Blues

When that odd day comes
and I'm finally out of debt
I shall sit in a soft chair and
light up a cigarette
I will enjoy a good smoke
then I'll let out a sigh as
I think of all the days worked
and the time gone by
The bills will be paid
my stomach well fed
I'll watch some TV
before I go to bed
and dream of all the things I have
and those I should get
and in no time at all
I'll be back in debt.

Other poems:

Mourn the Slain

Mourn the slain
of every color and domain
Oppose the violent and profane
and wisdom of the criminally insane
Violence begets violence, there ain't no gain
Tyrannical politics fanning the flame
No common decency to ease the pain
Just surging hatred toward fellow man
In the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave
Nobody's right unless someone is wrong
Each one of us deciding who does belong
Not a different tribe or religion
Blindness stands in way of our Founders' vision
that we are endowed by our Creator
Who sent forth a lover, not a hater
Who stood only as tall as the smallest one
and told us to love each and everyone
But we keep trucking a different lane
At speeds too fast to mourn the slain
and foot too heavy to hit the break
and a fury too blind to see our mistake.

Other poems:

Loss for Words

Loss for words
Planting grass seed for birds
Picking up doggie turds
Outside in the sun

Can not think
Ground needs a drink
Birds don't blink
Kids shrieking with fun

Pause to breathe ...
Birds starting to leave
Kids start to believe
New green grass will come.

Image courtesy of  Weird Long Beard Press.

Other poems:

February Comes and Goes

February comes and goes
Where the days go noboby knows
March comes in like a hungry lion 
to eat President's Day leftovers nobody's buyin
Beware the Ides says Great Caesar's ghost
or was it a Hollywood Oscar host?
Easter risin like a cat on a spring
jumpin upon you like a sudden fling
Pollinating flowers into new born buds
Sittin on a cooler knockin back suds 
The days grow longer with nothing to do
The heat presses down on your frizzy hair-do
The leaves change and the air grows brisk
while Wall Street portfolios mitigate the risk
The holidays swirl and smack you like a tornado
New Year's Eve ball drops at midnight, wait though ...
I haven't had time to change my clothes
Another February comes and goes.

Dog at Greenwich Point Park, Conn. | Photo: Bob Luckey

Other poems:

The Words

It used to be the words dripped off my pen like honey,
now it seems they're only in it for the money,

They come and go as they please,
proving to be no more than a tease,

At times they'll disturb my sleep,
coming on in torrents that appear too deep,

Moved by the fear that I may drown,
I reach for a pen to write them down,

Then I get the feeling that they're only using me,
waking me from my sleep to set them free.

Other poems:


What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore -
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over -
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode? 

- Langston Hughes, 1951

Langston Hughes in Harlem, June, 1958.


I'm worried this won't come out right.
I worry that I eat too much and drink too much.
I worry that I'm not getting my money's worth.
I lie awake at night worrying about not getting enough sleep.
I worry that I'll say the wrong things or that I won't say anything at all.
I'm worried that people will see the real me and not like him.
I'm worried that I'm not as good as I think I am.
I'm worried about not enough time and not enough money.
I worry that I've made the wrong decision every time I get dressed.
I worry that my sons are going to turn out like me.
I worry that they will learn as I did, the hard way.
I worry that I haven't learned enough.
I worry about who may read this and who may not.
I worry that the joke is on me.
I worry about the outcome of football games even when I don't bet.
I worry that I've made the wrong decision at the checkout line.
I worry about home invasion and infestation.
I worry that I may lose control.
I worry that I that I was never in control.
I worry that I'm not as sophisticated as I need to be.
I'm worried that I'm not rugged enough.
I worry about getting old.
I worry about saying goodbye and saying hello.
I worry that people I know won't remember.
I worry that I won't remember.
I worry about paying the hard price for telling the truth.
I worry about being eaten by sharks.
I worry that I worry too much.
I worry that if I ran out of worry, I'd really be worried.

Other poems:

Pencil Skirts

Bryant Park autumn breeze
quaff a half-dozen Long Island iced teas
among a swarm of honey bees
circling burgers smothered in cheese
and girls in pencil skirts above their knees
whose allergies to cats make them sneeze
while handling lobbyists with grace and ease
until happy hour's over and she flees.

Jennifer Aniston

Other poems:


Confidence is in short supply
even in the wink from a sure ally
Whether pulling a rabbit from a hole in hat
or pulling a tight sweater over a roll of fat
If you got it, you don't have to pretend
The outcome is certain, press play, hit send

Confidence is the antidote for anxiety
as often purchased throughout society
It is the bare leg of Angelina Jolie
and triple sevens, holy moly!
It is the steely gaze of a man who can't be beat
and the polished wingtips that adorn his feet

Confidence is a soaring note in an emotional song
and no need to apologize after it all went wrong
It is a trait we seldom possess
fragile as a liar under duress
It's something we all want to follow
to keep safe from regret that may find us tomorrow

To know the outcome before the event
To be sure of oneself, that's confident.

Angelina Jolie, Oscars 2012.

Other poems:

Hawaiian Surf Princess

Kauai, January 2008. Northbound Highway 56. Surf report on the radio.

Hawaiian Surf Princess

Malia Manuel

Point your board toward the next run
Waves rolling on Kaelia Beach 
where one long day runs free

Sea sun glisten off taught brown body and 
navy wet-suit top
and bright blue bikini bottom

Lakey Peterson
Shot like a bullet through a barrel
Rip the surf and fall like an angel 
To rise and ride again and then return to shore 
where I am paralyzed by your beauty

Throw your board atop a friend's car 
Pop the trunk and rinse your mocha hair
Its length, the only excess on your sleek frame

Malia Manuel

Breeze blows your ethereal mist in my face
as you peel your top off your taught back
Aloof calendar pose, 
"Was doing terrible before you showed up"

Board a bumblebee and scatter off  
Sunlight kisses your lips and strokes your hair
Heavenly statue in the parking lot of Kaelia Beach 

Lakey Peterson

The sea is your throne 
the fragrant air your kingdom
A gallon of fresh water, your coronation.

Kaelia Beach, Kauai

One Take

Leap year into forgotten wonder bra commercial 
where a young lass’s hair ain’t all that bounces like a quarter 
off a sticky bar or the driving rain off the hood of a car port 
in a quaint New England town overlooking Long Island Sound 
and the spawn of a million oysters to end up as empty shells on tables amid fables of barroom romances from a century ago and actors like Grant and Gable who were able to say more with a wink than a good long Plato think on the underprivileged and lack of clean drinking water or vapor in the form of Vader and the force that pulls us all in some precarious direction or perhaps to the top of the masthead in a magazine or a vessel of blood drop oozing from the corner of a wolf’s mouth somewhere in the deep south of Jack London’s mind behind the steaming carcass of progress and inevitable debt and dirty diapers that the earth brings to the unsuspecting moms who accept the challenge in return for fading beauty and eternal memory of all to be accomplished and soon to be forgotten until the next spin of the dice thrice more behind 
the creaking door where Poe did urinate his poetry on solemnity or crancousity or some other absurd word never heard before I wrote this post so that most could turn a blind eye and rattle the center stone within Nathaniel Hawthorne or woebegone internet porn and teenagers broadcasting their boredom to anyone who will listen or write some trite nonfiction of catastrophe and blasphemy while grabbing their balls and spitting in the ocean to be devoured by the oyster before it is devoured in the eternal circle of life and death and backwoods crystal meth to promote sleepless anxiety 
for pharmacies to tackle like a crooked quarterback sweating steroids from his eyeballs to the glory of a million more who will wake up sore and check the score of the price of wheat 
before they beat their feet to the drum of another day whose outcome lay amid the fray of a medieval hangman’s noose.

Other poems:

Work's an Easy Place to Fall in Love

I sure as hell ain't no Justin Bieber, but I am fascinated that this "music video" was shot on an iPhone and published to YouTube in the time it takes to fry an egg, although my eggs tend to be more palatable.

The days of recording on a four-track and then mixing tapes to play in the car or wherever else you had a "captive" audience are shrinking in the rearview mirror.

Thanks to my son, Shane, for contributing his background vocals on this track.

PS - Happy Birthday, Mom!

Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001

My lungs burn with the ashes of the desperate,
The last gasp stretches across the river and into Brooklyn,
From the roof, the triumphant towers' boastful predecessor,
Green on St. Patrick's Day, purple for Gay Pride,
Red, white and blue on the Fourth of July ... Now black,
The Empire State in mourning,
The wondrous skyline, majestic, awe inspiring,
Raped while I watched helplessly,
Now thousands of people all looking to help
Thousands of people who can no longer be helped,

New York, New York, the city so nice
They built the tallest building twice,
A master plan destroyed by a mastermind,
Newly fueled jets, United, American,
Strike the heart of money and American defense,
Allies of Israel, enemies of bin Laden and the Islamic zealot,

Thousands of refugees on the Manhattan Bridge,
I stopped and stared, the Mona Lisa lost her nose,
The masterpiece wrecked, the smoldering tragedy, unequivocal,
A ferocious bite taken from the Big Apple,
The restoration and mourning will loom larger than the structures,
A beleaguered mayor, a confident president, an undetermined
Enemy and the continuing threat of more media coverage,

To witness Babylon's fall to the sea,
To witness the long line at the blood bank,
To witness girls eating ice cream on Ave. A,
New York, New York, on a clear summer day,
September 11, a state of emergency,
The dream has not died bin Laden, your mark, the latest on this town,
But you underestimate me and those by my side.

The Face That Launched a Thousand Ships

The face that launched a thousand ships,
I wonder if she had your lips,
I wonder if her kiss was gold
and who listened to her stories told,
I wonder whom she deeply loved
and whose tired shoulders she may have rubbed,
I wonder who watched her comb her hair
and whether or not she minded their stare,
I wonder how beautiful she looked in her clothes
and how many if anybody truly knows,
I wonder what secrets she kept in her heart
that set her so many miles apart,
I wonder if it was possible to possess such a thing
or how it might sound when heaven's angels sing.

Michelle Borth

Other poems:

True Writing

True writing is a confession of the soul.

Auguste Rodin's The Thinker, originally named The Poet, is perched on a toilet.

The Thinker by Auguste Rodin

Other poems:


Waters meat
Gilmour gravy
Pink is sweet
Floyd is lazy
Band complete
barrett crazy.

Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd

Other poems: