"dawdled" poems
I’d worked late the previous night,
programing applications.
When the alarm went off at four A.M.
I hit snooze- no hesitation.
Eventually my feet found floor,
I stumbled to the shower.
A routine usually done in ten
took me a half an hour.
I was running up the platform steps
but my train just left the station.
Great, I will be late for sure,
I thought, in consternation.
At least the day was perfect,
Warm and clear, no threat of rain.
I fished and found my ticket
and took the next westbound train.
The ”E” was fairly crowded
When I boarded it at Penn
I’d missed the first and I was glad
Another quickly came.
Beneath the streets of Gotham
The subway lurched downtown.
Above all hell was breaking loose
as two large planes were down.
I climbed the stairs up to the street
And entered the inferno
The sky now black from billowing smoke
Bright day turning nocturnal.
A Seven thirty Seven’s wheel-
I heard a woman screaming
I saw a body at my feet
Were we at war or was I dreaming?
I stared up at my window-
where I worked the night before.
Where flames and smoke leapt to the sky-
where my co workers were no more.
They’re jumping, someone shouted
I saw black specks launch from on high.
Better to die upon the street
Than to suffocate or fry.
I turn and ran, I am ashamed.
No Hero’s tale to tell.
I was a safe way away
when the first tower fell.
Had I not hit the button
or dawdled in the shower.
Had I caught my usual train
I’d be dead in the tower.
This is my shame and burden
To live when others died.
Preserved by fate and circumstance
From terror from the sky.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
We ambled the streets of Harare
Meandering aimlessly
Fleeting past wide-eyes scanning us enviously
Hand in hand we walked into the restaurant
Leisurely on Second Street
Our hunger awakened
Our appetites heightened
At almost closing time
With no one in overtime mode
A signal that here we could only dine on another day
Joina City was our next stop
Up the lift right to the top
'Closed' it read at the coffee shop
Into the nearest chair I went flop!
Though hungry, we gabbed non-stop
By and by we regarded the clock
It chimed 8 o'clock
And sadly, it was time to go home
Busy and noisy
Were the streets of Harare
Jabbering crowds, kombis hooting
Hawkers, vendors or is it hustlers now -
Calling for buyers or just huddled to pass time
No chill in Harare
Picturesque like a dream
Surreal…
Hand in hand we dawdled
In despair for a hot meal
In the shimmering distance
Like a mirage in the desert
The neon lights read
'Creamy Inn'
Something to calm our rambling bellies
At last…
Nippy evening air hit our souls
'Ice-cream tastes better at night'
I said
'I can't believe I'm having ice-cream'
He said
We frolicked
Hand in hand we danced past faces painted with adoration
'What a handsome lover!'
They probably thought:
My delectable younger brother
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
Tread Carefully
Tread carefully through the tulips
Rush through the bluebells.
The tulips are perfume free
And the bluebells have smells.
You’d get pollen on your fingers
And powder on your toes
If you dawdled through the daffodils
And sat beneath the rose.
Sitting for more than an hour
Under the lilac tree.
Finally you would disappear
I know believe me.
Wandering past the lanes
On a dark Autumn night
If you get caught by a blackthorn bush
It would put up a fight.
Wandering through a strawberry field.
Being here would be a dream
Don’t forget your spoon and dish
And *** of rich double cream.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
My high school ethics class taught me so much
For example, the fact it is completely fictional
Reminds me that I shouldn’t care
About the world we inhabit or our gaseous air
Why worry that we’re ****** every single resource?
Why worry about dying breeds of animals or melting polar caps?
Should we bother helping honey bees, or consider our affect on bats?
Would it be ok to take a person’s land then tell them what to grow?
When we took the land from natives, was it generous to tell them where to go?
Have you wondered why people living even now think it is ok to **** like Pol?
Or why some think we’re better off to be completely baffled by the genome?
When do embryos become humans, and what does that mean?
Is it ok to grind up cows in machines, or change their names to “Beef”?
Should we ignore terrorists sincere qualms?
Or refute their “strife” with nuclear bombs?
Are we making the planet a more peaceful place?
What a success my education has been!
Apparently school district officials were just challenging me
Because I would have found a purpose
If I knew there were so many chances for improvement
And I guess I should be thankful
That my dawdled years were not interrupted by concern
That one philosophy teacher might create
Because the way of life they placate
May just be in jeopardy
The day we learn that ignorance is greed
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 8:34 PM UTC
Garth lay still in the gilded cage
Unable to move a thing,
The bars were merely spiders’ webs
Of a faery’s magicking.
He’d wandered into the Faery Ring
Where he’d seen the mushrooms spread,
And now was caught in a faery spell
With the rest of the living dead.
With Tom, the Candlestick Maker’s son
And a barrel of candlewax,
He’d dawdled home from the marketplace
And lay in the beckoning grass.
He woke to find he was tightly bound
With a faery up on his chest,
She said, ‘Lock him in the cage as well,
Along with all of the rest.’
And Madge, the maid with a milking pail
Who was sent to milk the cow,
She’d wandered off on her way; she thought,
She needed to feed the sow.
She woke to mushrooms, ten feet tall
All towering over her head,
The stalks were bars, set under the stars
And her limbs, they felt like lead.
While Tim the Tinker was there as well
With his knives and sharpening tools,
His grindstone lay in a pile of hay
And the bonds on him were cruel.
The beggar lay in his filthy rags
While the rich man muttered, ‘Shame!’
He’d soiled his boots and his Regency suit,
Was bound with his watch and chain.
They lie not far from the caravans
Of a gypsy camping ground,
So Faeries say: ‘Let’s take them away
Before they’re seen and found!’
But dancing into the faery ring
Is the Gypsy, Mavourneen,
Who stumbles over the gilded cage
And steps on the Faery Queen.
The top flies off from the gilded cage,
The webs of the bars are torn,
And Garth crawls over the mushroom heads
To swear, ‘I feel reborn!’
The faeries weep as they carry their Queen
In death, to their Faery Dell,
There’s mushrooms still in that Faery Ring,
But now, Toadstools as well!
David Lewis Paget
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
Un-belonging
Undressed from teenage rhythm.
It’s a yearning for
The lost birds
Whose wings you rode
In talkless flight,
Til the silence got thicker
And woke up
Under the acupuncturist’s shadow.
And it needled it’s point as
Chinese wisdom, or as a well-meaning homeopath.
It dawdled all the same.
And you’re all sat right there.
Submurged. Happy as reflections.
Like an underwater photograph,
Mermaid’s song, gargles
Like the frog in my throat.
Almost Bauhaus, Picasso,
Almost watercolour, a mockingbird’s
Impression of a rock.
It was just
Undiagnosed sickness and I’m
Wading slowly into the sea with
my parents stones in my pocket.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Haunted ghosts host our waking hours
during sleep they transport us to places
indescribable by human words.
The ghosts lean on door posts
watching us, remembering their corporeal selves
Wanting to be warm blooded again.
Orchid scented air announce their presence
Morbid thoughts clog our senses
Do we remember them?
Do we want to remember them?
They are dead, long departed
Long deported off this realm.
Halted thoughts gloat at our minds
How those haunted ghosts once chortled,
fondled, and dawdled along.
Long dead; these ghosts are haunted
Not by us the living,
but the memories of them we bring.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Pitter-patter;
pelting peaking the poignant hearing of a peering, personable
person.
Awakened she walks;
waiting for water to weaken against the small windows,
withering away.
Flourishing souls;
stemming from spring came spitting droplets, refreshing flora.
Drab days;
dead development dawdled by dreary dates - winter is gone.
Joyful cheers!
Carrot's stones cherished close for colder days.
Winter disappears for departure.
Spring reappears for resurgence.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
So and so thousand of years ago we dwelled, dawdled, subsisted.
Connected by instinct and possible affinity.
What linkage, or seam could be listed?
D.n.a., dreams, common elements in our lunch?
I would like to esteem if we were to meet we would bore each other, and stare at our feet.
I've come to a modern conclusion that we came together through time with infinite cause.
Our gathering however would be brief in nature, because its probable we **** another without pause.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
The cornflower blue fields rolled to the edge of the town,
Held lavender and sapphire incense,
Absent produce just steaming scents,
Nestled in a vast valley,
Between pillars of countless smokestacks,
Churning out great sleepy coughs,
There was a place of milk and honey active consistency,
Where the lulled townsfolk dawdled,
The corners of their eyes and mouths thinned,
Within passing minutes and shifts,
From one scape to the next,
Predetermined and provincial,
As the sleepy smoke rose so did the passengers,
After a long and tired trip,
Leveled, gathered, proceeded on,
The machine's hum ringing in the air,
Slowly the air moved,
The townspeople gathered in their huts,
They barricaded themselves inside,
Imprisoned their own lives,
Content to be slow and easy-going,
They feared the one,
The One that they dare not acknowledge,
He strolled informally,
Chaotically, they say, he once lived in the fields,
The one greeted the sleepy folk,
But they didn't trust him,
Once he had been like them,
Until one day the One looked around and became hysterical,
No one know what to do with the one so they ignored him,
Day after day turned into year after year,
Soon the blue mist that rose from the fields turned navy,
It dyed the walls and the machines and even the people,
They became statues of alabaster,
Seeming to move now only slightly each day,
The one became a blur,
An invisible spinning, chanting, living, teraphim,
The one had lived a thousand years,
In a comparable minute to the townsfolk,
He only hoped that he could help,
But they couldn't see him,
Their slumped eyes had grown accustomed to the dream.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 8:18 PM UTC
To hold myself against myself is a habit of dark skin; scratching my olive palms across prickly cement. Take a bow in the mirror and see no reflection. Say you are reflected. Say something else. Say nothing. Those lucky charmed looks have spoiled your dying heart. Your intense desire for the forever lover has been dawdled. There, no one has discharged your respected, insubordination mind - they are too busy ******* the minds of cheap leached lips and tongue. It always was for that one special moment of feeling pleasure. Get used to fox fangs dragging you viciously through skeleton gravel. Get used to the skeleton. Have no fear of being contagious. Have knowing that I am insufficiently sediment. I want felicity again.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
"Mane, that girl's so fine,
I think
I might **** her," Heck laughs.
I don't know how the conversation
dawdled
to this.
I don't know where we came from.
But it's here now.
The bones are loose,
the mind is loose,
the lips are loose.
And we end up saying things
without knowing
that we're saying them.
We here ourselves talk,
and the hurt
is numb.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
It was a beautiful and warm Monday afternoon.
Everything felt in place—except her mind.
That day, she laid her body carelessly in a bed of a thousand lilacs,
Engulfed by her thoughts
She was unready for the day to consume her
Unfortunately for her, the world craved her undying attention.
The lilacs, nipped at her noise with pungent notes of jasmine and rose
The sun kissed her cheek,
While the breeze tousled through her hair
Rather than humming in curiosity, her mind danced along the brass of the wind
She could feel everything, but simultaneously, nothing at all.
Too much or too little, it never seemed to be enough.
Carefully, she listened to the breeze
She didn’t miss a beat
The rhythm felt smooth—natural
Trying to comfort her discomforting thoughts
Finally
It was quite and her mind now felt at ease
A sudden shadow casted above her undisturbed body
The lilacs comforted her in a way that her bed could not
The breeze silenced itself
Her thoughts picked up
Quietly, she listened to the raspy and familiar voice that would not stop humming
In a chuckle he asked, “why are you laying in a bed of flowers?”
He didn’t even notice that they were lilacs
Flustered by his sudden appearance, she opened her eyes and realized that it was time to leave the garden
She stared at him for a moment before she actually responded
With a slight nervous laugh, she responded honestly “I don’t really know.”
Dazed and confused, she gathered her strength to stand up “It’s been a while...”
But before she could even finish her sentence,
The brassy breeze started to chime
“Want to go grab some coffee?” he nervously said.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
My mind has gone to thousands of directions
I walked in dark alleys and bumpy streets
I dawdled in roads that were rough, treacherous and steep
Seeking silence, I turned around distracting thoughts
The humps, the bumps, the wrong turns and detours
The missteps, the slips and the stumbles
My road ahead is neither smooth nor easy
But on this beautiful path, I now tread in peace
With each tiny step, I feel the gentle breeze
With each little step, I see pretty flowers flourish
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 11:00 PM UTC
for a moment i dawdled, and now the crosswalk denies me. so i shall dawdle again.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
i fell down on your skin.
just before the mole hill on your wrist
the walk was bumpy, a bit creased.
And, well, I was looking more at you.
Anyway. Those tiny creases tripped me
on my travels i ended up stopping.
Stumbling right there, face down.
Sat for a bit in the chasm of your scars.
Dawdled. Happily. Very happily.
I did pull myself out, though,
i used the vines on your arm
you’re covered in them, all
soft. Something rest-your-head-on-able.
So that’s what i’ll do on my hike.
I’ll stay awhile.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
I got my favorite motto from a little avacado
Green is good, brown is bad, the pit is hard to swallow
We can drown in bottles
The good Snows' always yellow
And my Molly's always coddled
Got a Tab at the bar so I went home and thought I dawdled
Woke up hulking in a schoolbus dropped the wheel and hit the throttle
they ask me why I am the way that I am, aristotle
I reply why the ***** the world have to be so monochrome and awful?
And we just lie to ourselves, that what we find in this hell
Makes all the suffering that we endure all worthwhile well
**** that
Before you kiill yourself
they say call me up
it's 1 800
No one gives give a ****
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 1:12 PM UTC
I used to picture you
with a voice oscillating like ocean water, casting words
as nets on a surface shimmering effervescent green.
And even the handful of stars outside dawdled just
a while longer to see the fish rise up and wink
out in the morning sun, scales slipping together
the way clay lips slot against coral white heart-cages
and curved, ivory xylophones patterned like shadows
and gold strips of sun. Everything quivers; we are only a
cosmic moment singing aubades, horsehair and rosin falling
like shooting stars against mahogany and warm steel, origami
folded bed, redefined by sharp angles and all the ways I am not afraid.
When we rise to sleep, pressed sable will drip down
and the air will be rimmed with the sea salt tang of dried coffee.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
The morning chill
came with a thin drizzle -
dipped in tea and
served with tobacco.
Nausea was gulped
down the throat for
breakfast - the back of
palm wiping the mouth.
Trapped in a brown
jacket and your green
eyes, I felt a sudden urge
to ask you to follow me
to a place I had reserved
solely for your arrival which
sometimes smells of coffee
brewing in the morning.
The urge to approach you
was strong, and yet
I did not, for this morning
the sky shared an intimate
kiss with the clouds and it
began to pour - people routed
indoors and you quickly took
resolved steps, covering
your head with a diary,
the front of which had
a picture of two flowers
nudging each other.
Boys in warm sweaters
and girls in knitted scarfs
carelessly dawdled around
as I walked back home, alone.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 9:41 AM UTC
A red kite passed between the sun and I
momentarily delighting with its shadow,
a shrill cry launched at an empty sky, happy
Hot creosote of neighbours fences
smelt of care and the eighties
while my own untreated panels bleached
By the stream, illegal fishermen dawdled
while the world chose not to care
and for now this snow globe held unshook
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 6:44 AM UTC
we waited for each other on the corner
of the fever dream street at the border
our bus passed by but it was out of order
that's okay cause i know a way that's shorter
as we dawdled along the shorter route
so engrossed in each other like we're glued
talking about the tv shows that we viewed
and the sweetness of all the snacks that we chewed
the tide goes on and on and
i hope it doesn't stop and
i cherish every second and
i wish we could drift through this ice cream paradise forever
and
the tide goes on and on and on and
we're swept up by the waves and
we're taken someplace new and
we're carried slowly through this ice cream paradise together
and
i feel you on my arm as we watched the skies
stood in awe and secretly hoping one of us cries
protecting each other from our bored sighs
knowing we're in this together until our demise
then we made it back to your place, loving
the time we spent together, memories preserving
we spent six months in the front room, laughing
and collaging all our dreams together, photographing
later you laid me to bed and told me what i knew
and i still teared up cause it's coming from you
the sweet words you utter shine with a rainbow hue
and then we end another day by saying "i love you, i do"
i wish we could drift through this ice cream paradise forever
i hope we can drift through this ice cream paradise forever
i know we will drift through this ice cream paradise forever
i wish we could drift through this ice cream paradise forever
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:57 AM UTC
I made my first move soon as the traffic lights turned green.
Ran after you for I was following my heart.
You were with your friends enjoying your girls night out, when their faces turned to mine and they took me for a thief because i was all sweaty and dressed in rugs
Somehow you ignored them and listened to me when I asked you to.
We dawdled by the river side in the silence of the leaves adorably, sat by the river side admiring the stars and how the waters glinted with light.
Talking and laughing infectiously,
I saw perfection in you as I was already falling for you
I was desperate to make you mine that's why I sang you your favorite song.
I believed that day my life would be whole again.
A happier one than before for I saw it in your eyes
Unfortunately, the wind of change passed by and carried you along without a goodbye
Was it an illusion that gave me those butterflies?
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC