"doffed" poems
An Oxymoron making sense.
A criminal with no offense.
A slamming door shutting soft.
A hatless man, politely doffed.
A heart that's pieces stayed together.
A sad somebody's moment of blither.
Even at the darkest dawn.
Something in us carries on.
Life the way it truly is.
Not to pretend its full of bliss.
Little moments come and go.
Reminding what we already know.
Life is short sometimes sweet.
In the little happy, joyful moments,
Life is the treat.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
Dedicated to John and Bob
From first flesh we move down widening halls
That lead to lives of wondrous walls.
Our spidered fingers gripped walls of brick,
Cruets, cups and candle sticks.
Incense clouded open graves
When we too believed we too were saved.
Between Annex walls we learned our phonics,
On tin-roofed walls we lived our comics.
Garage walls scaled showed different views,
Kitchen walls steamed with soups and stews.
Our school yard walls tallied pitches
That marked our summers of youth and wishes.
Now lift memory's pane and go back
To the white-framed walls of a secret shack.
There, in confusion we would cling
To the unknown wonders girls would bring.
These young boys' walls we both outgrew;
Now new walls sprang, as we did too.
Coffee House walls offered something new.
Wet kisses lingered near shadowy walls,
We heard poetry read in a backroom stall.
Recreationals made our new skin crawl.
Cliff walls were breached by stairs of clay,
Carved by Incas on a turquoise day.
Tent walls echoed with impish fray,
Green walls beckoned at the end of day.
These walls gave rise to hot desires,
Like Vikings planning funeral pyres.
New music, cheers and weekend guests
Stood us ***** to pound our chests.
Those walls no longer ring our shores;
Time swept us forward with worldly lures.
We doffed our coats of suede and frills,
And donned new clothes and workday skills.
The walls of work are a rocky climb,
Stones laid by us, for yours and mine.
Such towers & turrets of heart & hearth
Guard all we know of any worth.
I see distant walls on cliffs, in fields;
Where do they lead? What will they yield?
Yet, there three friends climb one more hill,
Climb one more wall. Then all is still.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
The air was brilliant, crisp and clean,
as he in walked in on a sea of green.
Kerry Woods, old 34,
at Wrigley field, his field of dreams.
Upon a time, old Cubs fans say,
He struck out twenty in one day.
He stirred some hope the “curse” was gone;
the hope that Cubs fans live upon.
The surgeon’s knife put hope to bed-
his blazing fastball all but dead.
He could no longer start in games,
As a closer he achieved some fame..
He journeyed there, he journeyed here,
At times, in flashes, it would appear,
That blazing fastball on the gun
that time and surgeons had undone.
We all come to that final day
when we can no longer play.
Upon the mound for one last time,
What would be Kerry’s final line?
He threw three strikes, the last one swinging-
Kerry had that fastball singing
When coach came out to take the ball
Cheers shook the ivy covered walls.
He held his young son in his arms
and doffed his cap to cheering fans.
Old 34 then disappeared
In the ancient clubhouse beneath the stands..
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 9:17 AM UTC
This is the tale of the gentleman who wore a trilby hat .
He spoke Uhum, to himself ,
and muttered things under his breath .
His dress was smart ,
but casual ,
and so the ladies would agree ,
‘What a strange man ,
yet he looks so dapper ,
I wish he would speak to me ‘
Now some of the larger girls grinned and smirked as he went on his merry way ,
he doffed his hat ,
and that was that as he passed them on his way .
He walked home ,
Key in the door ,
‘ hi dear I’m home once more ‘
to no answer came ,
it never did ,
he took off his hat ,
Placed it on a hook on the wall ,
took off his coat ,
and placed it on a coat rack ,
took off his shoes ,
changed into his pjs and slippers ,
and sat down .
His grammar phone played the laughing police man every hour of every day
It just wouldn’t go away .
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha !
stuck in the groove
Ha ha ha ha ha ha !
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 7:18 AM UTC
He took a shotgun out one night
'cause loosened teeth and injured pride
had driven him out of his mind.
He loaded her sat on a rock
while Douglas firs shook in the dark
and beetles crawled beneath the bark.
He laid the gun across his lap.
While beetle larvae squirmed in sap
he grunted once, and doffed his cap.
A slug of whisky stained his breath
yellow saliva flecked his teeth
stars shone upon the lonely heath.
A slug entered into his head.
When morning came, the sun had bled
into the clouds, and all was red.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
I recalled the smell of junipers warming in the sun,
Or maybe mice nesting under the cupboard.
Or bleached linen hung out by Mum,
Reminds me of something about Dad from long ago,
You ask me…to say if it was gin;
There are things I can’t tell you, Son.
Some people think that it’s a sin;
So just use your imagination.
Another time I smelled crushed daisies of
The housemaids, I remember from Kleßheim.
Thunderstorms rolled down from the Alps at night,
Then turned at morning into clarified, buttered sun.
They remind me of someone’s blonde hair,
I just can’t tell you when or where,
So use your imagination.
Scent is the most potent mnemonic,
Triggering mystical cells inside,
Creating a stream of biophotonics,
Rapture returns in histrionics,
Tracking things from skin and hair,
To lips and eyes, to a groan, an intrigued stare.
Things we can never tell another, even if
He or she or they were there
What happened in those brilliant days?
Only imagination can say.
Crystal hanging in the window at nine o’clock,
Rays strike the glass, opening up the past.
Before me spreads a wide, green lawn,
Ladies and lords stroll with their finery on.
I sit and watch, while the procession advances,
Tricornes doffed and stays undone in dances.
Until the satin, silk and brocades lie on the ground,
Gavotte kisses become tender, sensual rounds
And naked, youth flees into woods.
And everything is happening;
Everything is good.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC
Now on this wintry July,
Azoth doffed his Mercury rimmed hat,
despite copious icicles and barnacles abound
he sought those down and outs
read various sizes of shell embossed Bibles,
and realised they were partaking their past sins,
the World a navigable circumference
much ado like a carousel.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
Along the promenade we stroll
together hand in hand
Two strangers til this very night
both in a far off land
A chance encounter brought us here
but choices made us stay
Just how this night will end for us,
alone, I cannot say
We talk of home and family
of battles lost and won
We walk as stars and moonlight fade
replaced by the rising sun
At dawn we turn and head for home
or what passes for it now
And part upon your hotel steps
with a doffed hat and a bow
Tomorrow we will meet once more
in the centre of the city square
Where we can take a carriage ride
to examine this affair
One night alone is not enough
and I feel that I want more
I sense that you may feel the same
but I need to know for sure
So as we ride the promenade
sat together hand in hand
I will tell you how I feel for you
that you may understand.
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
Lydia sat
on the red
painted tile doorstep
waiting to see
if Benny
would come along
she breathed heavily
angry and frustrated
her mother had just
told her that she(Lydia)
and Benny could not
go to Edinburgh
or Southend by train
as they had wished
she had tried to explain
to her mother the plan
but her mother
wasn't having it
in fact she had bellowed
NO NO NO so loud
that her big sister Gloria
was disturbed drunkenly
in the bed
she shared with Lydia
she watched the milkman
pull up in his
horse drawn wagon
and take out 2 bottles of milk
and walked with them
across the way
and put them on
the doorstep
then walked back
the horse was eating
from a nosebag
Lydia sat
a few more minutes
if Benny hadn't showed
she'd go and find him
and tell him the bad news
the man with the boxer dog
walked past
doffed his cap
and smiled
then walked on
then she saw Benny
galloping(on his pretend horse)
up from the slope
and into the Square
she stared at him
then waved him over
he galloped towards her
she felt angry and tearful
Benny rode up
to the red
painted tile doorstep
what's up?
he said smiling
we can't go
she said pouting
can't go where?
he said
his horse vanishing
into thin air
can't go to Edinburgh
or Southend by train
she said
who said?
he said
my mum said
no no no
but louder
Lydia said
Benny sat on the doorstep
beside her
she said at 9
we were too young
Lydia said
looking at him
her lower lip
pouting more
I'll have a word
with her
Benny said
turning around
to stare
at the front door
won't make
any difference
she said no
Lydia said
persuasion can
sometimes work
Benny said
my mum said if
you want something
bad enough
you must
like that Scottish king bloke
try and try again
you can try I suppose
Lydia said
they got up
from the step
and Benny knocked
on the front door
and they waited
the door opened
(after a few minutes)
and Lydia's mother
stood there
hair in a scarf
and a cigarette
hanging from the corner
of her mouth
and arms folded
why'd you knocked
the door?
she said to Lydia
you bloomin live here
I knocked
Benny said
what do you
want then?
the mother said
we want to go
to Southend
Benny said
we are willing
to forgo Edinburgh
until later
but Southend is a must
for us as a sort
of a trial run
the mother stared
at him coldly
I've told her
now I'm telling you
you're too young to go
anywhere at 9 years old
so the answer
is the same
NO
she bellowed
and slammed
the door shut
Benny stared
at the door
Lydia sat down again
and stared at the milkman
walking his horse along
to the next block of flats
plan B
the Benny said
plan B?
Lydia said
what's that?
we go anyway
but say nothing
to them
he said
arms folded
a determined look
about his face
do we dare?
she said
of course
Benny said
working the plan b out
inside his
9 year old head.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
The stars above speak to me in many tongues and many ways.
I wish to know what these gods express, but what they speak I cannot say.
For alas it is only that I sense the magic that engulfs my soul,
from lengths undefined with this divine
entity that I do behold.
Their textures tease with mystic vibes,
only to know what I cannot describe.
Knowing I will never reach, never touch, never hold, never kiss.
Never…. Never.
This communal love is endless and I shall never give knee to ground,
my reach extends while they transcend,
the truth while lost but someday found.
Many moons have passed while yet I set my gaze aloft,
in faith I know not of while my hope inside be doffed.
In hopes for the unknown.
Unknown; what do I know?
The fire burning I must show,
for maybe I was all alone.
Is this right that by the nights I dream to dream a dream hath lost?
But was it waste now that that I face the dream to what that dream hath cost?
Nay….Nay.
Or perhaps I have been left astray.
My head fatigued, my eyes so weary,
my senses fade into the dreary.
This vessel is aged no longer gauged
for this world I part sincerely.
My stare now lowers to a shudder and view what be imaginary,
my reason blown, my brain has snapped, to view the scene that’s quite contrary.
Be you a star before my eyes in space no longer improvised?
I wish one kiss then be dismissed
unto unfaithfulness demise.
The radiance embraced my depth unto a fathom and time that seem prolonged,
and when I woke the truth was known that I had been shining all along.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
.
Others would scream,
The burning, the flame—
Such seering cold and hollow
Open grave, if they could ever
Breathe in as the dirt piled on
And the graveyard rushed, fell
To bury all that was, doffed flesh
My torment and pain, of my loss,
A name as even the wind forgot
As it wailed, lost, lone, keening
After banshee had spoken,
No— in my skin, others
Would pray, forgive.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
It is afflictive
For you have doffed the vault's key
Secrets lie, enclosed.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC