"doggedly" poems
With cooler nights and soft warm days.
quilts for the beds, days breeze welcome.
We say goodbye to summer's blaze.
Gold, orange and red are my Chrysanthemums,
as fall doggedly leaves the desert kingdom.
Soon will be gone, the light weight jackets.
Leaves, will finally, dance from the trees.
Goodbye to all the Farmer's Markets.
While I warm my hands round a cup of hot tea,
powdered sugar snow, in the hills I see.
The bird bath has a coat of ice,
small creatures go off and hibernate.
My home is redolent with baking spice,
red berries in the bushes, so ornate.
It's Winters time to dominate.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
(a satirical pop at the Illuminati)
It's time to slay fatted consumer cows
It's time to fumigate the Great Unwashed;
To sow mutation's seeds behind the ploughs
To see the dullard's dreams forever quashed.
How movingly they pray not to be harmed!
How doggedly they work to make a wage!
How prettily they line up to be farmed,
Yet, how they long to be at centre stage!
The Useless Eaters eat their pizzas deep,
Their double fries and creamy mayonnaise;
Produce only some methane while asleep,
And fodder for landfill, throughout their days.
It's time for the superiors to win;
Unleash the virus, let the cull begin.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
O Buddha, the gold vein of thy sermon of mercy ran through gloom-gorged, rocky hearts, and illumined their darkness.
Thou loftiest soarer of renunciation's skies, beneath thy God-lifted eyes, the kingdom of sense-comfort, the rivers of gross greed, the vast and lust-scorched deserts of desire, the tall trees of temporal ambition, the cactus plants of prickly world-worries—all melt into invisible smallness.
Buddha, the arc-light of thy sympathy sought to melt the hardness of cruel hearts. Once thou didst save a lamb by offering thyself in its stead.
Thy solemn thoughts still silently roam through the ether of minds, searching for ecstasy-tuned hearts. Seated beneath the banyan bodhi tree, thou didst make a solemn tryst with the Spirit:
"Beneath the banyan bough,
On the sacred seat I take this vow:
Let derma, bones, and fleeting flesh dissolve;
Until the mysteries of life I solve,
And receive the all-coveted Priceless Lore,
From this place I shall stir, never, nevermore."
Thou symbol of sympathy, incarnation of mercy, give us thy determination, that we may seek truth as doggedly as thou didst. Bless us, that we may be awakened, like thee, to seek remedy for the sorrow-throbs of others as we seek it for ourselves.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
4.8k
The trouble with writing a
relationship through technology
is that the bygones are never gone.
Why do I pour a drink in your absence
and settle to re-read our old fights, heartbreaks
like *********** lips parted, heart racing?
I shudder through those weeks where you petted me, darling
but could scarcely afford to feed me the same heart
being doggedly masticated in the maw of another
I trace over my retinas the lines where you didn't,
wouldn't, couldn't love me, they scan me
for my identity.
My mug shot, beside
hers.
After how little it meant, how can you possibly love me now?
I could edit these now, you know, you're able to do that.
Everything I wish I had been and said.
The pages left blank, I should've painted red.
In the spaces, hiatuses, I recall your ill-suited suitors
I can't tell whether I feel grief, jealousy, or ecstasy.
At the time, you know, it was like falling upon
The Secret Garden
unbefouled by poison nor passion
to inhale the heady scent of white rose
and discover the brim of someone else's hat beneath the foliage.
The place wasn't secret. Oh, it wasn't mine. Never ever was mine.
I'm ahead of myself. Oh, for want of technology.
We courted on Facebook and Gmail,
it was a convenient torture, given the circumstances.
Now my mate belongs where I do.
Loving, tenderly, wisely true.
I cannot start loading the page for the future
so much as delete our archive,
a prelude to love
written in diminished chords,
sung by the jilted and ghosts.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
It has been raining all night long..
As I was singing sad love songs..
Look at the sky so dark and gloomy..
The air is damp and raw and lazy..
Looking out from my window..
The streets were wet and sloppy
and the rain came slowly and doggedly down,
as if it had not even the spirit to pour.
That exactly how i feel tonight..
Sad, emotionless, empty and lonely..
I pray for a little bit of sunshine...
Will there be a little light at the end?
Will warmth once more fill my heart
Banish sadness from my soul
Bring new joy after long wet days
A new life, new start for what has yet to come
Begone dark clouds of sadness
Begone wet cold begone
Welcome to this brand new life
Welcome a new beginning
Although the rain has played it part
The sun will warm the living
The storm has left my aching heart
No more sorrow no more pain
Dark clouds have been lifted from my mind
By sunshine after rain
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep.
So often goes the *** to the well that it breaks.
So long you heat iron, it will glow;
so heavily you hammer it, it shatters.
So good is the man as his praise;
so far he will go, and he's forgotten;
so bad he behaves, and he's despised.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So glib you talk, you end up in contradictions.
So good is your credit as the favors you got.
So much you promise that you will back out.
So doggedly you beg that your wish is granted;
so high climbs the price when you want a thing;
so much you want it that you pay the price;
so familiar it gets to you, you want it no more.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So, you love a dog. Then feed it!
So long a song will run that people learn it.
So long you keep the fruit, it will rot.
So hot the struggle for a spot that it is won;
so cool you keep your act that your spirit freezes;
so hurriedly you act that you run into bad luck;
so tight you embrace that your catch slips away.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So you scoff and laugh, and the fun is gone.
So you crave and spend, and lose your shirt.
So candid you are, no blow can be too low.
So good as a gift should a promise be.
So, if you love God, you obey the Church.
So, when you give much, you borrow much.
So, shifting winds turn to storm.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
Prince, so long as a fool persists, he grows wiser;
so, round the world he goes, but return he will,
so humbled and beaten back into servility.
So loud you cry Christmas, it is here.
3.4k
Strolling along
By the teeming docks,
I watch the ships put out.
Black ships that heave and lunge
And move like mastodons
Arising from lethargic sleep.
The fathomed harbor
Calls them not nor dares
Them to a strain of action,
But outward, on and outward,
Sounding low-reverberating calls,
Shaggy in the half-lit distance,
They pass the pointed headland,
View the wide, far-lifting wilderness
And leap with cumulative speed
To test the challenge of the sea.
Plunging,
Doggedly onward plunging,
Into salt and mist and foam and sun.
2.4k
Breathes through
A broken lung,
Gray air slithering in like
A snaking, sneaking
Through the street gutters
And down into a seedy underbelly.
From above,
You can see overpasses sprawling
Like swollen organs—
Cracked pavement,
Wet cement,
Heavy traffic.
In the thick of things
Is where the real soul
Lies:
Children playing hide and seek in
Thickets of rain and mud,
Damp yellow teeth brightening
Ashen faces,
Light feet doggedly dancing.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
The trip would be flawless -
water splashing, echoed shrieks in chlorinated sunlight -
except for these baffling creatures
patrolling the pool
Up and down they go,
up and down,
staring daggers straight ahead
and daring you to get in their way
Rubber hats and plastic eyes,
folded skin, wrinkled
like deflated dinghies
doggedly paddling
their pointless journeys.
A bit like clockwork bath toys,
but not as entertaining.
The safety notices are wasted on them.
No petting?
I should ****** well think not.
Bombing? Ducking? Anything fun at all?
Up, down,
up
and down.
Relentless as the baddies
in a ZX Spectrum game,
stuck in their lanes,
joyless.
They were there when I was six
and they're still there, you know,
a few more wrinkles now,
up
(and down),
spilling out their black slick second skins.
Whatever it was they were looking for,
the search
isn't improving their moods.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 11:40 AM UTC
You can’t imagine the things I have seen
You can’t imagine my dreams
you can’t think like me in every way
I am unique, I pave the way
I maybe distant
sometimes obtuse
I sometimes let loose
my fears and anger prangs
like a car hitting a wall
but I hold as much truth as you all
See I am schizophrenic
I hear voices
But don’t despair
I see choices
they hang in the air
I have been broken
I don’t expect you to always care
I doggedly battle on
Cause I still know right from wrong
even with whispers and shouts in my mind
I fight to be human and to be kind
Though I suffer with paranoia
the darkness which destroys
I love life enough to stay here and not be destroyed
so don’t have pity
Let me speak and write and sing
because I know sadness is a painful muse
but creativity is my thing.
#Alienpoet
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
Life stagnates as people start trickling back to their houses. Some look forward to the expectant faces of their children, while some others dread their churlish wives. As they saunter along doggedly, the day’s events play like a broken record in their heads – a mimicry of sanity. A crow caws somewhere as though lovesick. Streetlights come on and fireflies hover in a daze. Bicycles, cricket bats, and skipping ropes are lugged back home by children who are repeatedly beckoned by overbearing mothers. Almost in a trance, the buzz of the day fades away as a feigned tranquility descends.
molten skyline…
an earthworm buries
itself deeper
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Hidden in the grey morass out there amidst your workforce
Are Pearls in a lattice work of intricate disguise.
Gems of enlightenment and soldiers of conscience
Who battle with adversities’ regressive, shut eyes.
Clad in the rigging of everyday costume
Hidden to all but the discerning few,
Seeing the gold of the extra steps taken,
And observing initiatives made there for you.
Gold in the form of an everyday worker
One who excels far above average way,
Unrewarded and unacknowledged
Responsibly shouldering this all in his day.
Towering over the mass mediocrity
Holding the strands of a mess of loose ends,
Always dependable, doggedly purposeful
Easily marked as definitive friend.
Driven by his own hard volition
In striving for that extra won mile,
True champion of mans’ Endeavour
Unheralded in his own low profile.
The movers and the shakers all
Fly their flags of self acclaim
But the Pearls of the Unobvious
Shall be this nations’ future fame.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
24 November 2010
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
Dear...
This haphazard poem was written solely for you
Matterless, what you came garbed in
Fever elicited, passion anew
You’ve graced me, the repetition of ‘could-have-been’
I loved the way you speak
Of knowledge and triumph
And I, bumbling and meek
Tirelessly I sought and now still seek
Your council, your court
For my amusement, for my sport
Conversing over a poisoned well
I listen in genuine
Raise my voice
Sing with my friends amongst the din
Higher on the pillar, you I hoist
Pure skin my well intentioned hands mar
Clumsily, I lean into a similar heart
To discuss life and literature, fantasies these hands take too far
How eloquent the silk you weave, which you impart
Which inveigles and entices, cajole us into the city
On pale page, the street lamps and dim moon, art
Palpitations and liquor test the pity
Of light and fire
I cannot help but explore your shapely form
And yet, without bar
Across miasma, my guide is a cute little hand
Solitude, the pulsations do doggedly solicit
I just want to be close, you grant this
Bewitched by the creamy satin of pale skin
Distantly, warmly, I gaze in those God-given sculptures
Of the richest green and azure hues, bespeak feminine
Engaged in the other’s stare, two drunken apers
The night, black as sin,
The mould of outcome of we are the shapers
And I shape regret that rises with the sun
You come back vividly and lucidly
Distant and opposite, worlds across, you from me
A nondescript ghost in the corner
Who speaks so placidly
I remember with regret
I remember with exultation
I’ve ruined our relationship
Our relationship topical felicitation
I haven’t had time to apologize
I haven’t had enough time with you
If I ever see you again
I’d mend everything
I’d discover the girl behind the name
And cleanse the projection askew.
Love, Me
Dear... .
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
Sweat and rubber
Chafes against my toes
Polish chipped like a porcelain doll
Hurling juvenile patter around
Like drops of sweet rain
Cooling the smouldering tirade
Flying on horseback
Wind twirling non-existing
Scalding coils spurt up limbs
Bubbling out in incandescent mirth
Linking and tripping
Stumbling doggedly along
Ridged gelatinous arcs
Superior to the first incline
Propelling ever up
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then,
He groped and fiddled doggedly along,
His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng
The stony peevishness of sightless men.
He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again,
Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,
So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,
You hardly could distinguish one in ten.
He stopped. at last, and sat him on the sand,
And, grasping wearily his bread-winner,
Staring dim towards the blue immensity,
Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand.
He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir:
His gesture spoke a vast despondency.
1.4k
--To G. W.
The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then,
He groped and fiddled doggedly along,
His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng
The stony peevishness of sightless men.
He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again,
Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,
So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,
You hardly could distinguish one in ten.
He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand,
And, grasping wearily his bread-winner,
Stared dim towards the blue immensity,
Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand.
He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir:
His gesture spoke a vast despondency.
1.1k
You write. The table moves rhythmically.
Sip hot chocolate. Pages scattered.
A candle burns, shadows flicker across
Your face. Concentrate.
Inky blue fingers, bic lighters. Lucky Strikes.
You are studious. Hands in sleeves.
Rosy lips, hidden behind your shawl.
Velvet jacket. Passionate.
Your hand writing is bold, round
Friendly but forceful - excited or in a hurry?
You tear pages apart. Swear, and write on.
The only blank page is your face.
You write with your eyes.
Expression impossible to detect.
What do you think?
I want to know you. How will this end?
I will learn how to read you.
Know you. Second guess you.
Where will you be? I hope.
Fingers crossed.
To be scared, terrified of repetition.
Rehabilitation.
Finally I am tired. You have worn me out.
Mind Body and Soul.
Wonderful exhaustion.
But your presence keeps me awake.
Short sighs - of love ( I hope )
Just audible over your pen scratching doggedly.
Sleeves on paper edges. Leaves rustling. Sandpaper.
Kiss me again Ridiculous Girl. You pause,
Stroke my hair - an eternity of navy blues,
Greys and strawberry cheeks.
Paint in my hair. Sugar at the bottom of my cup.
I miss you, though you sit in front of me.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
It's been raining all night long
As I was singing sad love songs
Look at the sky so dark and gloomy
The air so damp and warm and lazy
Looking out from my window
The streets were wet and sloppy as the rain came slowly and doggedly down
As though it had not even the spirit to pour
Thats exactly how I feel tonight... Sad, emotionless, empty and lonely
I pray for a little sunshine
Will there a little light at the end?
Will warmth once more fill my heart?
Banish sadness from my soul?
Bring new joy after long wet days
A new life, a new start for what has yet to come
Begone dark clouds of sadness
Begone wet cold begone
Welcome to this brand new life
Welcome a new beginning
Although the rain has played its part
The sun will warm the living
The storm has left my aching heart
No more sorrow, no more pain
Dark clouds have been lifted from my mind
By sunshine after rain
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
by William A. Marshall
go ahead, it’s your story
it’s an extrapolation and
you’ve got the (tile) floor
for certain genera who listen
throw it up -
all over the **** place
in a documented assembly
or novel ode
your feelings hurl from the past
from petite chestnut corners
of your skull
rinsing the snow-white clips
and pages once innocent and fresh
now blotched up
in your porcelain sink
half digested commitments
mixed in a wicked soup
that flows downward, slowly
plunged in there - to the wrist
you did it to yourself,
doggedly unsettled
because it’s exclusive to you
to you and your mirror that talks
chunks of desire floating
in your opinion
how the hell do I know?
well, I’ve seen your sketchy
inactive pipeline up close
I’ve been clogged there too
and recall your lips stirring
but now I observe your smoking
sewer grill from the path
while fumes burn and hurl
from your
****
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Perhaps it's my memory
which troubles me
when I carry it around
like a chip on my shoulder,
waiting to have it carved
into a marble bust of Justice
in the hope that
something good would come of it.
Although in our time
the only thing it becomes
is its own caricature and nothing more.
Perhaps it's my memory
which doggedly trails me wherever I go
even when I wish to lose it in the hills.
I carry it
like a credit card
without an expiration date,
with a limitless line of available credit
extending back through the centuries,
to be summoned
at a moments notice to pay off any debt
no matter how ancient
for a pound of flesh can no longer
be considered good collateral for any loan.
Flesh has become cheap
as has life
and the interest rate is never
high enough to sustain
the sanctity of either anymore.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
Aberrant bloom, you doggedly ungrow-
once scarlet, now a pale and formless bud
(much tidier to nip when drained of blood)
writhes grimly down into the earth below.
O! fruitless vine, you hide yourself away,
ashamed to drink the stars' sufficient light-
and so, though worthy in another’s sight,
unworthiness begets a sick decay.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
And with this world I am done
Made to survive boredom on my own.
Told smile and make merry with bumbling fools
And kept from entertainment by idiotic rules.
You would believe your life meant much
Wrapped in ego, esteem, and nonsense like such.
You would see the world from your eyes alone
And from your own views, refuse to roam.
Five universes away, look there, I beseech you
Feel dwarfed by the insignificance born you were born into.
Earth spins on a mobile, a game for the largest child
And we beings are dust; unclean and wild.
Do you see yourself now, inane and useless?
That you would recognize the ridiculous gravity of this.
You mean and are worth nothing at all
On a cosmic spectrum you are infinitesimally small.
What can be done under the weight of inanity?
Nothing at all, live life striving for goals doggedly.
Whisper importance against a mirror by yourself
And not a thing you say will affect a **** thing else.
*This is disillusionment, I beseech you, I beseech
You insist you are free, you are not free.
This is disenchantment, I preach to you, I preach
You tell me you are saved, you are safe
Unaware it's a lie, you speak, you speak.*
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
I don't know if you know how tired I am
Tired of putting on the face of someone who's
Not crazy
Not terrified
Not overwhelmed
By the waves crashing overhead
My ears are ringing from how deep below the surface I am
My lungs are burning from holding my breath every moment
My tongue has teeth marks in it
My heart beats doggedly against its scars
And all the while, everyone stares at my drowning; tells me to stop struggling and just swim, ******
But they've forgotten that I never finished swim lessons from all the times I broke my arm growing up.
They've forgotten, but me? I remember.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
The humankind was never kind to them.
From their peaceful Pliocene graves
they were dug out, doggedly read,
their skulls and bones laid bare
gorged upon every finest details
all the apparent lunacy
directed to determine a link
always close yet too far.
Roaming that placid basin
they could not dream
to be a mystery past two million years
crazily pursued to be cracked open.
They have been branded Nutcracker Man.
These Holocene men are truly nuts.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC
I wrapped my hands up in your hair
to feel the pulse - your heat, your beat.
I reach again
feel naught but air:
the essence of a love,
retreat.
Often do I venture back,
roam into an abandoned past.
Dis-embalm these memories true,
packed on ice
yet damp with dew.
Cat treads heavy the surface of heart,
imprints
indenting,
g, d
n e
i s
d c
n e
e n
c d
s i
a n
g,
scarring my thoughts, my rhythm,
my whole.
Shifting my sacrum,
sheathing my soul.
Doggedly I trail behind
with a twisted eraser
just "try the eraser"
you said with a smirk.
But still I reach and I reach and I reach
rapt in your attentions as a wave to a beach.
There is a grain of sand in my eye
that can't be washed away.
Salt, fresh, spring
they all caught her.
But I've tried every type of water.
Still you persist,
a rotting orange's mist.
I allowed you to come; I also let you leave.
I remember with crude clarity
what happened in between.
Go, my love you let.
Go, your love I let.
The only question now I have:
Why then can't I forget?
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 9:50 AM UTC