Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Doir Mar 2021
Foreign Interloper,
Your arrival long foretold
  Years prior to your birth
The message by the wind,
Your tears by way of rain
You’re desecrating footprints,
Upon my sacred earth
While for seasons unmolested,
I cherished this terrain

Foreign Interloper,
With copper clad bravura
Courage in a magazine
Frailties you ignore
Who hears your lowly moan?
Our fluids ill-assorted,
Lying on the teeming floor
Dawn is fast approaching,
Cry for now, cry for home

Foreign Interloper,
Scars you bear from long ago
Of no concern to me
Unflagging pompous pride
  Trifling anger too obscene
Ripe with righteous fruit
  Dangling from your moral tree
Peach fuzz baby face
  Sordid shards of worlds seen

Foreign Interloper
Bewildered vision less amused
  As the life blood oozes forth
Search high my azure cover
  Who is it you set free?
Absurdity of adopting war
  Redundant hostile idiocy
For honor, or for country
  Perhaps you’ll never see
Southeast Asia 1969
Doir Nov 2020
Waterfalls, Duck tails, Pomade coifs
Up tight, Stuff shirt, Parental scoffs
Boar bristle, nylon, Fuller brush man
All summer long, Surf-side tan

Chinos, Polo, Wing tip shoe
Jewel T, Helms, Good Humor too
**** Clark, Teen club, cruising’ the strips
Customized Levi, Hugging one’s hips

Johnson, Edlebrock, Holly, Carter
Appleton’s, Baby moons, Delco starter
“Uptown”, Wall of sound, Kudos to Phil
Fats on the ivory, Blueberry hill

Influenza, polio, pandemic scares
National pride, Nam, County fairs
Calling dibs, Coonskin cap, Watching Ed
Bologna sandwich, two bit bread

Twitchin’, *******’, Juvenile lingo
Going study, Making out, Back seat bingo
Fuzzy Dice, Give the bird, Afterschool jobs
Angora yarn, Brodie knobs

Late nights, Swappin’ spit, lover’s lane
Far out, Class ring, hanging on a chain
Button collar, Pendleton, Saddle shoes
Thongs, go-go boots, Monday blues

Prom date, Limos, Boutonnieres
Parental sanction, sundry fears
Dad in an Edsel, Souped up short
Mom wears brogans, smart retort

Cool, a blast, *******’, uptight
**** and *****, out-of-sight
Race for pinks, toolin’ around
Stoked, ****-*** AM sound

Raunchy on the radio, two dollar bill
Tina Delgado, she’s alive, still
Channeled, Dagoed, Nosed and Decked
Broken curfew, lunar effect

Twice pipes, Bookin’, split and spaz.
Rock and Roll, a little Jazz
A smatter of country, a wee bit folk
*** a ***, Jinx, you owe me a coke

Jump bad, Jelly roll, on the horn
Five page essay, Teachers scorn
Wasted, ****, wiped out, wired
Toolin’, shine it on, Never tired

Solid, ******, Sosh or Stud
Crusader Rabbit, Elmer Fudd
Scarf, shotgun, Surfer chick
Fink, Flake, Far out, Flick

Greaser, Glass-pack, Stacked or Square
Midnight auto, Bee-hive hair
Lay some scratch, Dork or Dude
Score some *****, if you could

Hangin’, haulin’, Hip and Hodad
Simply rad or acting bad
Bogart, bread, brew and ******
Righteous, groovy, endless summer

Cooties, Dip stick, Groady to the max
Right on, Righteous, Just the facts, Jack
Foxy, Fuzz, Far-out and Fink
Big Boy, Harvey’s, Skating rink

What a drag, Dibs, Chevy van
Have a cow, your old man
Knocked up, ******, What a ditz
Stud, The man, Date night zits
As a teen in the 1960's this may make sense to you. Local name of Delgado is from the Los Angeles area radio.
Doir Nov 2020
When the earth receives my final tear
And words of me is all you hear
When no longer in your presence
And unable to hold near;
This is the day grieving begins

When the common time of sorrow
Does shorten day by day
And sunrise on the morrow
You waken and you say
“of them I remember little”;
This is the day that grieving fades

When no longer from your lips
My name does easily flow
Perhaps a thought of me just slips
Bringing not the usual glow;
This is the day that grieving ebbs

When no longer does a scent
Nor a sound start to present
A memory of yesterday
Of what I was or what I meant;
This is the day that grieving dies
Doir Nov 2020
Once Bitten

Sitting sidesaddle upon her big gun
Whilst men were dying from sun to sun
She smiled and bowed as customary
Hollywood intellect rosy and merry
Face-time and ego her mainstay that day
As bodies in bags they still carried away
Used me as I was an immature teen
Politics and war caught in between
Spat on me once and said I’ve done wrong
There were years ahead to forgive and be strong

But as history has shown they won’t let it pass
Still say we killed babies and smoked lots of grass
And political garbage still liters the land
From a shadowy figure of a tall slender man
Used his dead comrades as young as they were
To increase his good fortune if that he prefer
But I’m alive still and being spit upon twice
Older and wiser let me give some advice
Rhetoric you drivel may sway your own kind
But we’re the ones that watched your behind
I started this poem much earlier and it was only about the communist Jan Funda.
When Jon Kirey came on the political scene it irked me to no end so I was compelled to add the second verse. You don't have to add to the poem to explain it, IF, it isn't already obvious from the body.

Written by
Doir  72/M/La Mirada, CA.
Doir Oct 2020
The Package

I placed an item within a package, filled with bubble wrap
And took it to my master, where I placed it on his lap
I asked him if he’d open it, and send a message back
And not to overlook it, and place it in his stack
There are others who have questions, of that I am very sure
Being only human, egotistic and insecure
I have no time for others, or to rely on simple fate
The answer I require, is something that won’t wait
Perhaps if I do penance or some other protocol
He’ll help me with this venture, not allowing me to fall
I know he really need, not open up to see
The package that he has, contains a piece of me
A heart that’s sick and hardened, for lack of some belief
That there is someone out there, who can bring one true relief
My wish is from that box, he’ll find the thing inside
And with his hands he’ll hold it, and let his love reside.
Doir
This I wrote shortly after my business had to close it's doors and I was somewhat depressed. Written around 1990.
Doir Oct 2020
A giant of a swede
Who drank local mead
Mighty rivers he made
Whenever he peed
And from his belly a sound
Growing louder each round
‘til his pants were undone
And his innards were freed

With each hand as big
As a small suckling pig
He’d pound on the bar
“Over here with a swig”
Then he’d pick up a beat
With his humongous feet
And cause the building to shake
With his wild country jig

Whilst laughing and singin’
The phone began ringin’
And no one could know
The news it was bringing
With gaiety and fun
From moonrise ‘til sun
The barroom was rockin’
Rollin’ and swingin’

When finally a break
The party did make
One with good hearing
The phone call did take
The voice on the phone
Wanted Swede to come home
And without a second to wait
A leg he did shake

His head though be pounding
His feet were not grounding
As each corner he reached
He swiftly was rounding
When just up ahead
He could see his homestead
The stretch of his pace
Was simply astounding

Upon reaching the landing
Where the doctor was standing
Nodding and smiling
With a physician’s understanding
He became sober and quiet
While his face did turn white
At the site of his new family
Their attention demanding

In the midst of the bedstead
Lay a tiny new redhead
On a quilt filled with down
Stitched with blue colored thread
And with a tear in his eye
Oh! Such a macho guy
Says “my drinking days are over”
“I belong here instead”.

Doir
This was written a few years ago and was sitting on my computer, so here ya have it.

— The End —