"doltish" poems
At school I had trouble socializing,
And still, The Owl, comes all too late?
My formative years are spent deep within caves searching,
Yet The Owl is never found there?
The failures and sadness accumulate over time,
Leaving The Owl traversing some other’s sky,
I feel life slipping away each day,
And still The Owl never manifests!
Where is The Owl? Does it not come with time?
Will cleverness induce her, perhaps woo her with rhyme?
Quell restless mind, The Owl reforge me so I’m freed!
Grant me your talons so that I may succeed!
And still, The Owl, who never manifests,
And still The Owl never manifests.
I curl chalky fingers into travertine-grip,
Aged ruin takes a hold, in my despair as I slip,
Sans which The Owl never did manifest,
To wit, sans The Owl, pounding sand as I jest,
So what, The Owl, never did manifest?
And still The Owl never manifests.
Life without The Owl, was no life at all,
No solemnity of greatness, a life of doltish pit-fall.
And still The Owl never manifests.
And still The Owl never manifests.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:02 AM UTC
Unapologetically Human
I am **** on the mezzanine
facing the darkened wet road
illuminated with acrid yellow tube light
better reds and blues surround towering palm trees
wooden fingers of ancient giant hands buried below
growing leafy green nails stretching skyward
little things, orange ribbons, endless cricks and dollops
bobbles and winches
Spirits
Play among the windmills
climb to the top of trees and sing into the warm wind songs of *** and heartache
as the universe ruffles along
Dive head first into the opponents forehead
grind the sand into his flesh with ram like resolve until the skin is red,
determine to die
This life is worth proving,
the stars are worth gazing,
and this body is worth bathing in the Maui air with naked delight
The ocean calls to my heart
water is a true lover whispering, kissing
inescapably feminine
I submerge my soul in joyful waves
always the tides follow the moon
like my silly heart, eclipsing
both light both night both day
simultaneously cycling
fully the light shines and our eyes perceive shadow faces in the dark blanketed clouds
the mountain gargoyles stand as titans, forgotten creatures
shoulders and heads, waiting for the moon ball
the ocean moon, tranquil bays
the air is sweeter with you near, a distant thought
cast about the horizon, the sun melting easy golden into my dreamy eye,
bless my drunken lips
dripping doltish songs into the friendly night
Wrestling with bulls of men
we kept our shirts on this time, yet blood was drawn in the sand
we madly danced in the moonlight to clapping hands,
kicking feet and knees
the ceremonial struggle toasting the stars
bottles were shared, some puffed on cigars
Come surf with me in the morning
or anytime the sun shines
even under moonlight would I meet you and we could paddle
come fill your heart with life and lust and romantic passions idyllic as freshly fallen snow undisturbed by worldly concerns
be not abashed for this embrace is a natural wonder of the soul,
join me,
forget what words of yesterday the prophets of doom chant,
we make our own tomorrow
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.
A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.
Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.
How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for slap-sticked power.
By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Doltish vulgarity among the begrimed-glitch and old-grown-boring Jive.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
I'm young and wild,
Adrenaline rushes through my vains
I have a roar that rattles a child,
That burns like eternal flames.
I vitiate a jungle with my rampant fever,
Rotate the world, the wrath of my paws,
My tyranny drowns all that preys the river,
My ambitions defy nature's doltish laws
My soul craves a sense of power
To roam freely whenever, wherever,
Let me sieze and live in this hour
Because no one is meant to live forever.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
I stood in front of the big glass doors
Of some sub urban shopping mall
Conversations buzzing by
Like flies in a bathroom stall
*What a ******* **** Break up with him!*
Slam
Honey I love you
Slam
Overdressed teenagers, women with fur coats
Slam
Broke fathers
Slam
Rich housewives
Slam
Lovers
Drunkards
Reprobates
Slam
So bland yet so intricate
So doltish, yet so innocent
And oh so bizarre
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Anxiety is a loaded gun. Once provoked, you **** the gun.
Your emotions crescendo as you pace the floor with your finger on the trigger.
You anticipate the moment you have the chance to pull it.
As pressure builds the tension rises, building and gathering.
POP!
A flash of light as your anger is released.
Your stress has reached its ******
That split second can influence the rest of your life.
The trigger has been pulled.
You feel a sense of exhilaration.
Energy is finally released.
The ammo hurdles out at untamable speeds, obliterating everything in its path.
The damage is done, and can’t be taken back.
Hurting yourself is the least of your worries as you start to see the pain you've inflicted on others.
The recoil leaves you tender and vulnerable, Open to the repercussions.
Even after all has calmed the smoke will linger on as a horrific memory of an unforgettable scene of mayhem.
As you try to fix the wounds of others you notice yours start to weaken and worsen.
How could you let such a doltish petty thing effect the life of you and the lives of others?
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
While I am mostly misunderstood...you my friend are misguided, doltish, immature, and very vain. The day will come where you will need to look in the mirror and recognize the wrongs that you committed. The people that you hurt most are the ones that are closest to you.
The hearts broken belong to you.
The tears shed are because of you.
.....
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 6:59 AM UTC
Feeling the lovely cool breezes
Cracking jokes, can't hold sneezes
Magical touchy scents the wind releases
Healing the hearts, broken into pieces
Drizzle drops splashing over the faces
Aromas like jasmine savoured by the gazes
Millions of things to enjoy if one traces
So lost, just eyed the wet inked pages
My pen aside, staring the lovely horse races
Laughing, conversing like never in the ages
Dancing the winds, roaming around places
Gazing with smiles at what the rabbit chases
Weights off the chest, lying in solace
***** doltish thoughts all erased
Humor spread in the roots of the heavenly place
Just the perfect definition of a colourful space
Watery turf in palms with tight brace
The period's short, no time to waste
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 5:32 AM UTC
to marry
the divine habitat
you!re lovely careless ******
the doltish armor of my candor
would be surly erratic blissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 2:13 PM UTC
I have but one fear,
The witty, striped, Cheshire cat.
His many teeth frighten .
He becomes still air.
I want to weep all night long.
Go away foul cat.
His smile still lingers.
As does his laughing, fading.
Why must you taunt me?
The taunting won't end.
I tear my ears out, oh oww.
I'm turning it off.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
Cranky gramps next door’s not well
Unwilling to listen, to mow his grass
Rumination’s ruination’s curb appeal from hell
Miserly, unfriendly, cussing and crass
Unwavering, a prejudiced old goat, jack ***
Doltish Scrooge with no family left
Graying graveside his home unkempt
Eaves and chimneys and curtains closed, yet
Openly racist with his dragon’s breath.
Needs a bit of love to soften such deaths.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
no matter what the peak arcs all descend
unto the earth from which they first arose
that's the most certain the most profound trend
even for one who best withstands the blows
of evil fortune or of cruel fate
falls to despair then rises to high state
no epoch should be measured by one rule
yet we insist that far beyond the cool
and shaded halls where measure has its sway
all things are governed by a simple tool
so each becomes the hero of their day
just past its height the moment seems to bend
with all the weight of ages that could close
cold time's long judgment that will never mend
either warm eyes or the dull hearts that froze
from lack of feeling or the heavy freight
of knowledge that would rise and not abate
from the bright ocean to the chiefly stool
while other wisdoms might in time unspool
we were not shown the truth but in one way
which was to lead us all back into school
so each becomes the hero of their day
there's nothing more on which we must depend
between the morning and the next repose
when all the hours will with clean music blend
so that our thoughts will come out sweeter prose
all of our motion take a smoother gait
while vision leave us with no dark to hate
returning light finds each beside a pool
bright with our hopes and in the morning cool
though being clear and apt enough for play
we can be certain that none is a fool
so each becomes the hero of their day
we have been warned against the last misrule
of ancient dodderers sunk in their drool
their grimaces the doltish things they say
enough to know we're past this basic school
so each becomes the hero of their day
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
I thought I heard you cry,
From the other side of this crowded room.
Though I could not see you through the crowd,
The sound is more clear and present
Then any other in this frowzy room,
Louder than the half-dozen doltish conversations,
Louder then the raindrops crashing on the window pane
Louder than the wind, as it howls outside threateningly ,
Louder than my own thoughts in my erratic head,
They scream "I did this", and yell " this is my fault".
Your would-be tears make me doubt myself
And question my very nature.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:53 AM UTC
The constant need
for you to judge me
will instill a new
doltish form of misery
The methods I've taken
blame's on you
Fought my carnal desires
because of you.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
This was it: our second chance.
It was the time to be better,
for me, for yourself, for the relationship
Yet you came into it the way I left
and my doltish optimism ignored it.
The first time was not an end;
it was a semi-colon in our sentence,
a thoughtful pause in a speech,
but not the applause, not the true end.
You think that this is another semi-colon
but I'm telling you, I feel it in my bones,
This is the period in our sentence,
The closing remark in our speech,
and what comes next is the eternal silence before the applause
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
They call me:..
Chuckleheaded Snollygoster
a.k.a
Blockhead Unscrupulous Individual
a.k.a
Doltish Unprincipled Human-being
a.k.a
Dull Conscienceless Organism
I just call myself:..
a Stupid Person!
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
I should not be writing.
I have nothing much to say.
I told my fingers
to do whatever talking
that will be coming from my frame,
but it's clear to me
that my digits are
as doltish as my brain.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 2:33 PM UTC
Maybe it's you
Maybe it's me
We just need one answer
Why we couldn't agree?
You told me to stop
But I still go on
I asked you to stay,
still you walked away
I am not perfect
So are you
But this love I have for you,
you know that it is true.
Every single words you say
Marked my soul like a doltish burn
It felt like you're killing me
But I loved you so I chose to stay
So I guess it was really me
this uncontrollable love that almost got me killed
I know now why we never could agree
You are different and so is me.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
An exotic fragrance
An evergreen dream
A fire of desire
An aid while I scream
A touch of mystery
A feather of affection
A face of reality
A 'wow' for perfection
And alas!
A long wait with a lonely breeze
A tinted smile with the play of bewitchery
A half written story, and my smile would freeze
A moistened faith of countless escape
Is what gets best of me.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC
For a silly moment
I felt like it was truly
real
I was happy
In this doltish second
everything had stopped
because
I was afraid
For the next moments too
my mouth was a fountain
of truth
and nobody
Not an eye in the stage
could hear
the golden candor
or see the hands of open scars
They shied away from
my literal thoughts
and my honest heart
because they really don't understand
That's alright
It's okay
I could never in a billion eons expect
for anyone
With a PhD in love
or friendship
or psychology
or the human mind
to understand in even the slightest
form
So I am sorry for spurting
Sincerity that you were not
prepared for
I'm truly sorry that I let you love
a person who will forever be
all alone
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
The world surrounds the in’s and out’s,
the truth in the authentic locus,
Millions of people move the scouts,
in order to increase their focus.
The corrupt world,
induces to follow the tradition,
Creaming the beneficial fold,
making the submerging the verification.
Contempting the placid,
that none other would do,
Blemishing the bracket,
elaborating the déjà vu.
Alteration is necessary,
and a proximate change we need,
Admitting the weary,
was a very doltish deed.
Trepidation should be removed,
the coercion it had built,
Destroying its aged bedrock,
and the selfish guilt.
Resuming the rejuvenate change,
the mutate we devoir,
Establishing the new welkin,
and the heavens we desire.
Commemorating the new holy,
we partage our obligations,
Rectifying our contemporary folly,
by deciphering our bygone praxis.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
I exist in the corners of your lips,
Self-centered, You.
Possessive and hoggish, I.
Your lashes are conceived there, in the cracks.
Your thoughts are just as chapped.
Cheapened, perhaps.
I would still perish to kiss you.
Spill my tacit words into your mouth.
I could taste the restraints weeks ago.
They were loud and young and doltish.
We both sipped them anyway.
A sample of suffering,
For a marked down pact.
Now I am dirt under your fingernails.
Embarrassed by the rust of my tomorrows,
My maybes, my next weeks.
I never even saw your smile, though.
I bet it feels like corrosion.
Then theres you.
You that makes me infirm.
I am afraid of myself, but you arent.
I have grown accustomed to being macerated and **** out.
Your silence speaks in ******* volumes.
Chest sunk into spine.
Lungs inflated into ribs that refuse to budge.
Oxygen thicker than soup.
Throat tight like I wished your hands were around it.
Empty cups know more about my emotions
Than my eyes do.
Jet black strands of hair are assassins.
I was a center piece.
For your antique table.
And you disintegrated before you even finished
Watching me hemorrhage.
I would have loved ******* you.
But I would have loved the sound of you turning in our sheets
Even more.
Maybe I should drink some more, because I am not a p o e t.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
How
Can you love me?
Broken and shattered.
You brought your own dustpan
And swept me, to a pile,
And off my feet.
How
Could I have been?
The blind one,
The lost one,
The bleeding and beaten one.
And still found.
How
Did you know?
That the love you shared,
Would heal,
The fractured chasm,
Within me.
How
Can I still be inflicted?
If only for moments,
From the poison
From the delusions
Years ago.
With all my faults
With my repugnance
With my doltish ways
You found, and find me
Shine light on my shadows
And bring warmth
To my heart.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Writing was an old passion,
replaced by 21st century's new fashion.
A broken poetry that contains a dead word,
written by a doltish poet— an absurd.
An abysmal masterpiece,
created by a splendid artist.
tear those works apart,
like tearing a broken poets' heart.
; An outgrowth,
of a blackjacked soul.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC