"doles" poems
The dark hours
Provide
My light
The best of me
Pops up
At night
A disco nap
Before I go out
Elated
Once the bass
Doles out
Energetic
'Til after dawn
I will continue
As long as
The music is on
And once I
Flit home
My morning song:
Streets in silence
Still playing techno.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
My world is a-spinning,
I chase wild deer -
For pleasure, not trophies -
My conscience is clear.
I chase ‘em through forests,
Through grasslands and doles.
I find giant craters
And tiniest holes.
My eyes are wide open,
I hail all life,
Asleep all these years...
But now I’m alive!
I’m ready to ponder
The sense of it all.
My mind doesn’t wander -
This time, it’s my call.
I challenge old habits -
Deep-rooted they be -
My deer chasing rabbits
While rabbits chase me.
I’m easily happy,
My cry is of bliss,
My tongue fires wisdom,
My shots never miss.
I eagerly travel
Through darkness and light -
All myst’ries unravelled,
My troth here I plight:
To battle for freedom,
To fight for the poor,
To champion peace,
To ignore all the lures.
I never will falter -
My mind is my guard,
My faith is my altar,
My love is my God.
My world is a-spinning,
I’m dreaming all day.
My vision a-clearing -
Ill thoughts fade away.
And what of the wild deer? -
You might want to ask.
Gone home to the Highlands,
They’ve finished their task.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
those quiet
lonely nights
when long shadows crawl over defeated days
and the red orange sun drowns beneath dark waves
a resonant loneliness
washes over me
dulling love and light
and hope
like the slow deliberate movement of the clock in the kitchen, hands that mark the passing time between jade scarabs
like the soft lilt of a sparrow left outside my window, alone in the twilight
as a church bell doles its distress, slow and deep in the distance, breaking the still darkness with its lament
water cannot cover the spectre of memory
I pour another whisky
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
Jehovah Jireh is more than just a name,
More than just a collection of letters,
More than a generous God who doles out gifts and things,
Jehovah Jireh is a place,
It is a place where we see emptiness,
But God sees opportunity
It is a place where God fills the gap in our lives.
God introduced himself to Abraham as Jehovah Jireh
As he was preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice - his son.
In the same way, God takes us to a place
Where we are willing to strip ourselves
of our most valued possession,
Then says,"Stop!
You don't have to do it, I just needed to know that you would. "
Then Jehovah Jireh provided a lamb
It wasn't just a lamb - something tangible
Something you hold, see, feel.
Jehovah Jireh provided a way
A way to get to closer
A way that was an acceptable sacrifice to reach the Almighty God.
Jehovah Jireh is a bridge,
The bridge to faith and trust
The bridge that takes us from the
place of
Uncertainty and doubt.
Jehovah Jireh
Our provider
Povides more than just things
He provides a place
A lamb,
A bridge
A way,
A way out of our distress
A way out of our confusion,
A way to Him
A way to live.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
Letting the ivy roam...
Moonlight serenade, to a begun favor:
Sense in a gentler breeze, the thought to own
A grace, a fastidious space, for a little face...
Pink, the through and due, irony we seldom
Stink and prosper, the alienation we souled?
Together in legend, we tell a tale to a God's question:
Letting the ivy see, is a redress of futures, fools?
Paces and setting a catch, of futures in the light?
A wavering kiss, and the doles of redemption
Have their solemn kin, taken to remembering a night?
My name is a person, order and truth, to another selection...
Of hearts or the ivy...
Spare to fore, we conceive a notion
Made to tailor, a secret, an irony sighed...
Like the bird it was, a concern that lead to devotion...
Ivy sleeps, shadows play...
In the breeds we assume are, the peace of decency...
That has awoken, and seen the sun come, for why...?
Persuade a kind from dread, our fruit is a gift of agony...?
Building halts; continuing salt...
When has a legend presumed finish, of soon's reasons?
The tow of exception, is a wind to defer to a copious fall?
Looking ivy in the eye, asking nix for not, a needs seasons?
The fight is brutal, letting ivy is like a breath between friends
Aching at the completed hour, the duty of they and strange smiles
Set in similar pasts to a redefining must, that only with help, lends
A role no greater than now, a whisper that ended a world's defiled?
Ivy wants your life for a silence...
Ivy has the stomach to turn direction into beauty...
Ivy seemingly aloof, to worth to realize a gift is fast, to the chin...
Ivy knows you, like a taken privilege on the other side of saying we...
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:06 PM UTC
freedom is a funny thing
what would dreams bring
but calamity (and loss
tears superfluous waste of water)
slow treading in treacle
hold absent flora to the wind face
cross eyed glory on a pale mask
no extending big hand
to the child who doles out water
to babes from ***** papercups
scratching scoops of brown mess
amid domesticated fauna
in the middle of nowhere land
feet rubbing for warmth
an ever going stipple wagon
a small blanket the only cover
one scooter holds too many
open beauty closing too soon
supply demand coercing blank stare
impasse holds the keeper hostage
some up - some down
no break from unbroken cycle
the dreamer lives forever on
inside the tightest cage
and knows there's little cure
yet within full ironic view
lies the priceless key to unlock
dark eyes implore me to take you
anything is possible
yes
anything
dreamer, dreamer
open dreamer
open your dream wings
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
*Pixie dust to soar up high
Magic carpet gliding through the sky
Pumpkins giving carriage rides
True love's kiss for eyes to open wide
Her head nestles on her cloud of pillows
Her mind welcomes the Sandman's approach
A pinch here and there taking form
Exuberant fairies waltz around her head
Carelessly dropping twinkling specks
Strewn and sparkling around her bed
Her world is perfect, as you will soon see
She swims with Ariel, deep under the sea
Her best friend is Genie, she gets wishes! Three!
Unfazed by ticking, Pan always helps her flee
A carefree child, she's got the key
A sprinkle of magic solves everything because*
She believes...
His forehead hits the tabletop
Exhaustion winning out
The corner of his eye catches sight
A book flecked with glittery spots
His lips curl in distaste
These tales are not to be believed in haste
His gaze alight upon
The little girl deep in slumber
The outside world is a scary place
He wants her well-prepared
He fights the knowledge he has to face
He'll shatter her dreams with words because
He doubts belief...
**Belief is not a terrible thing
It offers great resolve
It strengthens hope
And doles out joy
Imagination lavished upon
Belief can come in many forms
Especially when facing a storm
When all you see are clouds' anger festering
Belief discerns a silver lining
Even when fairytales are all grown out
In memory they abide
Fairies wink as they sip from buttercups
Awaiting the mind's rollercoaster ride
When trouble arrives, emotions run high
Their lazy potion licks at the tracks
A shower of sparks
And there a new path lies
A yellow brick road so tranquil and wise**
*It's simple really
Simply believe*
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Flecks of color amid the gray wash
Rivers once formidable now only bothersome
Steel and concrete
Voices shouting
WAKE UP! an advertising sign screams silently
Still unheard a man jangles for change on a street corner
While church doors hang wide begging charity
Hockey games and unspoken rivalries
Except on national T.V
Bike shops, bus stops
Messengers and a mail box
Highways to by ways
But no one knows the right way
Got Junk?
Emotional maybe
Bentley's, all the baggage you'll never need
Oh please, words flow in chorus
Dramatic gestures following fluid as trained actors
Therapy is the way for me
Why not with M.D degrees being handed out like fortune cookies
No real complaints until you find yourself on Dr. Fill in the blank
Listening with glazed eyes as they doles out advice like Opera
Glass half full until its pushed off the metaphorical table
But how does that make you feel?
It's all become to much now
As directed on the back packaging
Please recycle your brain matter
They may need the ad space
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
Never the woman,
always the other woman.
She-poets have sung of it since
they first gave words
to the wet knot of their hearts.
The consolation prize, the late-comer
who must be the one to wash his
***** hands. Not a goddess but
the amazon who presses on his
body’s weakest points. The villainess.
The other woman has no power.
He doesn’t need to know her name,
her fears, which books made her cry as
a girl. He already has his golden idol,
but he wants a clay vessel on the side.
He doles her out careful smiles under
pinkblue bar-lights or in smoky kitchens.
He tells her yes you’re beautiful
but I’ve got a better one at home still
can I see the shape you make in my bed?
And she is hopeful and lost
but finds his arm and lets herself be led.
Never the woman, but a girl who
plays games in the mud, dirties her dress,
blacks out her face, her soiled lips.
And women speak of the other woman
like she is a crow above their doors.
Watching them make their love
through greedy eyes while
nursing her barbed and tangled heart.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 7:55 AM UTC
*2002
Dearest Klara,
hope you enjoy
the poems as you dream to write
one poem
happy birthday*
There are still many books as though
parliament. A miscalculation based on coordinates
in a wry scene.
Two bookshelves creating a labyrinth, enough that you
are alike. Juxtaposed to scent are many words
and the day is almost done. Ignore fragments once,
but never overdo. I can outlast moonlight’s procession
into a dark cathedral by the window.
On this side – reason; the other, hesitance.
This is no heist. This is what belongingness refutes.
What willingness bandages. The absence of sentries
made for easy rapture. You slid your hand into the dusty
fort and in between them, the paperbacks ached.
“I will do it.” and after that, cursed at the farce.
Slid into your bag – you, surrounded by the tense air
of silence. A dilettante at being a fugitive. What is it that
you stole?
Your body, elsewhere. Flailing. Failing. There are still
many marvels in the scene, but says precision is key.
Cuts as if contravention. This was as calm as painting a child
in his early years, the hue of anomaly.
Quiet in amplitudes doles out a mystified sense of completion.
I can hear an ajar mouth unwind a soft humming.
It was time to go – tomorrow when we rise with no memory,
it will be all but one and the same fault together with many others,
as if your face that day and your image now
compels me the cold of a foreign city. Riddance.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Sought without treacle
Added forces, that knew me
Actual lip for a liberty to still
The oncoming voice of reality, which to live is anarchy
But sakes, with resolves ice?
Brazen futures of dismay
In the harkening ordeal of wonder's spice
Given the gift of today, is any and all may?
Ripeness of worth, on the behalf
Of simplicity, there always a reign
Of suppose and its final victory, sass
Ancient as a cloud of virtue can be, there is always pain...
Till we understate the dreams of another
The courtesy of a somber wish, with it to show...
Caught like timidity was a choice, of sincere bother
Letting love be the lucre of the day, a curiosity we owe...
Is a long-standing debt, to a wishes heart...
Which came first, the chastity or the ecstasy?
The doles of harmony, are saviors of shrewdness that art?
Space for lingering in the paces and shadows, of intimacy...
Is a lover's ghost for any who would, or am I the doting meant?
A chance of risen honor, that has the time...
Welcome me to youthful pasts, if not passion in the charm lent
A presence of mind, with a wish as the only way to a soul's kind?
Drinking with also's ghost?
Haven't to fuel, a conversation to live better, than a carnal know...
Of imagination and voiced seldom to favor, a wish that included a host
Of vice to fall in lots of sincere vanity, that was promised how, to a worthier world...
Aug 12, 2024
Aug 12, 2024 at 7:50 PM UTC
jingle clank jingle clank
Money in the bank
more like in my pocket
because I don't have a wallet
clack tap clack tap
The shoe strap on my shin
makes no noise,
but my soles
have their destined doles
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
Little children will monitor speech
for the hint of a racist remark.
Veterans cannot be trusted with guns,
there’s a risk that they’re violent at heart.
Is healthcare a tax or a fee
in the land of the formerly free?
Old white men to the back of the bus,
Check your privilege, leave the driving to us.
Barbarians encounter no gate,
freely enter and live off the State.
They‘ll vote Democratic, you see
in the land of the formerly free.
Our President, a liar and phony,
doles out largesse to all of his cronies.
While our roads and our bridges need work
We’re distracted by some twit that twerks.
It’s all misdirection you see
in the land of the formerly free.
Taxpayers are only half free,
constrained by demands of the State.
Despite their Utopian schemes
Inequality grows to extremes
They divided to conquer you see
in the land of the formerly free.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
And one more day will cut away to fade into the bubble wrap
where I can trap the memory to
film and file and in the circuitry where I can find the me
I picture history among the jewellry that sparkles lustre-ly.
One more night to fight the demons that arise to
whistle plaintively
as one more daylight dies
and who is there?
and who is there to battle fallen dreams that fell off sunken bridges to drown in flowing streams and who is there to lend a moment of their time and if in a moment would I resign myself to the night time mockery?
where Satan doles out misery and charges me to join in miserably.
Oh bring me the day with all its history as yet untouched by hands that want to hurt and much good would it do to see
someone waiting especially for me
it cannot be
that all I have is bubble wrap to tap into and clap my eyes upon
where has this life of mine disappeared to and where has it gone?
It is just another trap to think like that and waiting as I do for some full on attack
I reset and play again the pack of tarot cards
and life is dealt to me as if I was a wind up toy whose mainspring went
oh boy
it couldn't could it not that I have drawn the hanged man
the final dot
black spot
a truly Pirate's lot.
I got no hope to make it till the morning comes
the sand runs and my life guns itself into the fast lane
another all the same
and if it's just a game
why do I always lose?
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
(Sonnet)
Owl, silhouette of lilting sun,
Sentinel on branch, ********* out
Death, the sky, bleeding darkness rung
On the skeleton of ancient trees,
Your eyes are apparition, eternal flame,
Oracle of palliative, divining moon,
Which doles out fettered wisdom, misery
Cloaked in smokes, deep darkening dusk
Loud as silence in wide plains open,
That flay as creeping deserts do unravel,
O how wanton moon shouts like feather death;
Merest whisper as pale wanes on a bough,
Like some wraith, in whirls, conjures mercy,
Only to rail like gust in cupped tempest.
.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Like-wise, bitten?
By love, to know a caring
Sojourn to little more, than a fitting
Response, to an eye out and sharing...
King's savior?
And the heat of irony to a new rule of came, desire
Welcomed staring else's, to a wish in a beauty, dour...
The reasons of courage and it's season, should be no denial
King's passion?
Long in truth's to defy a giving hour, subtle stilled
Is a many frustrated act, with poise to ask heed in kind?
Is a wish come by a strength unknown, the prayer of hell?
King's heaven?
Totaled by the court of decision, as a world goes by
Living the point, and realizing a marriage is god given...
Will we keep the obvious, or is oblivion the other side of this lie?
King's conscience?
Avid in roles and its herald, future coping
Has the remembered today, and peace, for when patience
Is but a stoney gift to liberty, to refuse a silence is hoping...?
Asking's decision?
Wealth of deeds reach, is in the embrace of sigh's, significance...
Worthiest in a days means, the name of solace and timid intuition
The pale trust of each other, earning the doles and shared justice, we named living chances...
Dec 10, 2023
Dec 10, 2023 at 12:58 PM UTC
The mind creates a world in which it controls what is right and what is wrong.
It executes the punishments and doles them out freely.
It refuses to acknowledge the unraveling of itself.
Like yarn, threading throughout itself in a tangled mess.
Knotted up until no longer light can be seen.
It sits behind a nest of cotton.
Bear in mind there is nothing that can usurp it from its throne.
The mind heeds no rules or regulations and without hesitation it will turn the most heinous of realities into a commonplace find.
There is nothing like that which can make light out of fog and spread plagued whispers throughout its own successes.
Tirelessly it works to reach a state at which it must work no longer.
A state at which it can finally and utterly be recompensed with what it has decided it needs.
There is no such state.
What soothes the tattered remains and gives it peace?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
"I want to be happy."
"Content woman."
"Successful."
"have a rich husband."
every teen girl's dream,
when asked what the future holds;
what happened to unicorn fantasies,
and our hearts of gold?
now instead of golden hearts,
we want men with trust funds and charm.
turning a cold shoulder to our true selves,
yet complaining about rude names,
when called ****** who're only after wealth.
why do we do this to ourselves?
we're so capable,
yet we'd rather lean on,
somebody who mistreats us,
and doles out small amounts,
of love and care;
we try so terribly hard,
to grasp on,
onto that slippery piece of feeling,
and when it leaves,
we're put back into that pit of empty,
pitch black and dull,
until they come back when they want us,
but we're still left wanting for more.
so, please.
learn from the story of millions.
stories of girls,
with so much potential.
don't force yourself to be content,
when you can bargain for more,
then,
only then,
can we step up the ladder,
to be even to those,
who jeered and mocked,
and took advantage,
of our kind hearts.
-YYC
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Hello, anarchy
Which to fame, has us at a loss...
Speed and deliberate need
Come compare the such, much more than what was
Life in the shadow
Of couth, the tale to tell
In the reach of so, the only more
To well put sorts, give a hell...
The flight of fate, in a fanciful eye
Succor and the distinct, preparing a same
To rid a single now, of roles of reversal in line
With the cares of seclusion, a worldly name...
Made ours, for doubt or pout of adding avarice
Such as known, no man without his hap...
Making souls a redoubted glance, a have of what sides
Of reason meant, a dross made sensation, keeping only apt
Done with the total of seem and decision taxed
Here to aim, the solace of strength, at could
Whimsy in whether's esteem, the doles of wisdom's act
Is a child of avidity, come by you, with an eye for should...
Aug 17, 2023
Aug 17, 2023 at 6:35 PM UTC
The hills are quiet, meditating
when will it rain?
the cyclonic storm in a neighbouring
area has abated.
When?
Sun kissed hills you wait for fervour
even though you know soon, soon
it will be winter.
And streams will clear
with everything you hold dear
in the summer storm you see how
rains shackle men, women and summer time
wishes. How rains storm the hills uprooting
trees, houses and flood homes.
How people die.
How the government doles out some money
and platitudes. How in a neighbouring place
the thirsty river swallows.
But winter will come
and pine trees will shade hurt
and in the mornings winter
finds a home in hearts.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 7:59 AM UTC
Sin's an easy enough contract to get into
(no one reads the small print)
just sign on the line and have a great time,
it's a caper on paper, creating the kinks,
and if anyone thinks it's not so,
go.
When you sign and you've had your great time
you should look up the terms and condition number four,
states,
'what did you sign for?
I'll be waiting for you at the doorway to hell when you're through, meet you there, come prepared to be scared it's now my time for fun'
The terms run on long after you're dead and gone and the tortures continue, terms and conditions sub-section two,
'you'll be here for eternity or at least 'til infinity comes into closer proximity,'
the wheels on the rack go round and underground the wheels go faster and faster, as you wear out the tread on your own eternal disaster,
master of all, master of none when you're gone.
Sin's so easy, delightfully ****** practically impossible to refrain from staining your soul,
The Devil doles out no favours, there's no fruit pastille flavours or chewing gum treats,
only long winding streets filled with pain, a bit like Bradford in the rain,
I prefer Salford in the sun so I'll hold off on the fun, won't sign on the line, and have a reasonably boring but much safer time.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
Once one crosses the forbidden line on the wrong side of sixty.
Not to venture further into the next arithmetical digit.
There begins the journey to another world, even where the angels fear to tread.
All on a sudden one comes under uncountable whammies.
A jinxed land you stray into, full of a craggy jagged reef.
Razor sharp rocks you feel at every step and bleed.
Another shell shock I devalued you are as a condemned jalopy.
Looks of all you love, speak a strange lingo: you get a creep.
It is anything but the old warm vibes of those years golden.,
Rather an overdose of pity and compassion over-laid with mushy emotion.
A good enough gesture to an infirm or a ******* or one in dotage.
A man past his prime and relevance like a mast broken of a boat sunken.
Written off the priority roster, stowed in a corner,
Dusted, sprayed and showcased as a piece of curio rare.
mothballed with care in medicine on rationed air.
Lest unseen germs of umpteen infections catch them unaware.
An appendage fit to be dumped in old age home.
A social cure-all, as they say, concerned so unwillingly,
A haven as safe as God’s Elysium for progenitors.
To be lionized as the epitome of pride and wisdom.
So adored they are but shunned cannily by every social connection.
A persona-non-grata in all spheres save for gratuitous complimentary doles.
Being in the jinxed circle of seventy is the sin only committed.
A few blessed ones manage to wiggle into the favoured positions.
A few ministerial ballasts, a lottery coup, or a few sine cure slots, a safety net of power & pelf.
The rest for a wallow in the morass of delusive expectations.
Oodles of stale dry sympathy, deceptive tears and bogus bonhomie.
Old raw sores get abraised-the world turns deaf.
……….
It’s a poetry by late Mr S M Ghosh, my late father
An educationist, history teacher and retired principal of Central Schools, in India.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Tasteless...
Jokes, I'd died for...
So whetted an appetite, for bests
And a single worst, shapes to form
Adage, with no history
Accept a joy, has you in mind
Sorry, but *** is no epistolary
When two is more, one is only kind...
Faces that ace the test
Marks and redoubt, to tell the tale
Sorry, but *** is for lessons
That eat rhymes, that know when to fail
Future misery:
What has a cough, fit for a king
But ate the queen's pie? luridity
Is a child with a thumb ******* a playing's aching?
*******
Red is our forte, similar finger's
With a reach, asking only doles
Is **** a friend, when reality linger's?
Mar 20, 2024
Mar 20, 2024 at 6:17 PM UTC
Yet in the grasp
Of music I release
From its earthly prison, in case
A little star on the horizon, has me for cease
Pence in the fun, wouldn't a life
With a curious silence made true
The better side of courage, a whimsey and a strife
Mighty as I am, being a risk in the foolery…
Is like a dance with dread, and the ancient misery's
We dote among, the music comes
Like a reason in the mix, we serve to each other for history
And the doles we found, in the years, what some's!
Playing the fool, just once
Mind owed mystique, and a wholly made needs
Reason with me, the skill of bared conscience
To look among the stillness of many, and see the deed
Urge, are we the tows of a renamed irony?
Once the backward stare of portent, needing a gift
Of reach and remorse, powers of unique harmony
Have been the suddenness, of me, time with eyes to lift
Voices to assure...
The taste of requirement, that has a vice we adore
Rancor and peace in the miracle we name, a cooler purity
Of ourselves in truth and dismays mirror, where even us, is more
Liberty, and the image of unity we verify as life
Taken to dry minds and heavy hearts
Live for now, and the best we have to offer, a rainbows right
Luck and synergy to attest, loved, is where it all starts...
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
A storm doles out this dismal night
Rain drops drizzle down cobblestone course
Beast and bird burrow safely till light
No stranger to me, this tatty leather chair
Shadows dancing, cast the flickering fire
A creatures den, for the wretched a lair
Hoping of hopes, dreaming of dreams
Of such I have lost all desire
Rain knocks on my door,
Gloom enters once more
His attendance perceived
Lest my sanity leave
By the string that I cling as before
I long to surrender
The ability to remember
My fall into torments of hell
This chair, the fire, misery befall
The devils that dance on the floor
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC