"dotingly" poems
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
from cars.
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles under their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,or was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
eccentric, weird.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
To be left a rotting corpse in the inky depths of my screaming, vacant soul
To taste the freshness of the air only to have it ripped so unnaturally from my shriveling lungs
Once sitting atop that merciful beacon of hope,
I find myself tumbling, grasping, gasping, clasping for some hold onto the beautiful signal
And who is to blame?
Who?
Certainly not you, for it was your hand who found me troubled in the merciless murky vapor
Your hand that lifted me from the bowels of hell and so dotingly destroyed my detriments
But had it not been for you I would have so happily, so cheerfully accepted my vacant vocation
Of restlessly, recklessly, ruefully running around without any remorse for my forlorn reality
For it is not the force of you freedom that loosed my heavy chains, but rather the form
That vicious vigor that stuffed my spirit with a seemingly ceaseless, incessant self-assurance
But for my essence to not identify isolation, to not recognize regret seems so conceited in comparison to yours
Which is ever growing, ever loving, ever laughing, ever knowing, ever telling, ever asking, ever showing, ever…
After all it was your being there that showed me how lonely I truly was, how pitiful of an existence I truly led
So now I state the obvious
Why?
Why go through all that endeavor, all that effort of effectively and essentially helping me escape my insanity just to throw it out the
Door is where you went, leaving me to collect the shambles and shards that was the life you made
Leaving me to collect these silly splinters just so that you could prove a point
A point well taken, a point notably noted, and a point you called no return
Return?
Return from what?
From the friendship promised, or the friendship broken, or the new twisted friends of which you’ve hardly spoken?
And so I take my leave, but I will return
I will not leave such a dear thing to burn
Burn in the essence of what we call hope
For, after all, you were the one who threw me the rope
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
hot tea kisses nurtured
lips
and the morning is patient
and barely speaks.
cold hands are warmed
under bedsheets
and wordless admiration
silently exhales.
mundane tasks become
a thoughtful feat
and sitting by the fire at night
i flutter into a loving sleep.
gentle time passes
dotingly
for she knows of such innocent
longing.
satisfaction beyond peace embraces
day and night,
being is effortless here
there is no need to take flight.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 12:29 PM UTC
points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.
curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.
a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.
you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.
the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.
and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...
along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....
this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
I wish I could tell you
how much I like you
I can tell you like me back
by the sound in your voice,
your excitement, your choice,
to be involved
to come to me asking,
to be enthralled.
Yes, yes, I will,
just tell
Me where and when?
I want to see you
I want to have
a shared acquaintance
or companionship
Please,
to me,
Open Your Soul
and in turn,
I,
(who never tells)
her secrets
for they open acceptance
of Control
for others
to use
against..
But no,
I cannot
I know I'm weird,
absurd.
I am for real,
because I Am Me.
So you be you,
and what is True,
will show
within me too.
I shall not hide,
please be wise,
I do not easily
show this side.
They do not listen,
they do not see.
so I show Nothing.
a facade,
a face,
a mask, does dotingly,
quickly,
replace.
to adapt,
protect,
change,
to become
surroundings,
feelings
emotions,
flowing.
If comfortable, I bring what, is me.. out
enjoy, escape, be
that's me
my friends,
the close ones,
only ones to see.
But You,
there's something,
I cannot describe
A mystical mystery
like science
to be discovered
or maybe uncovered
but that's half the fun.
I won't say out loud,
you are the One.
I like you a lot.
so you are the one I want to show
you are the one I want to see
will you too, then, show me?
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
It’s raining outside. I know it’s raining outside.
It bothers me. Not the rain. But, the knowing.
Knowing is bothersome, as much as our minds are vexing.
That’s where all resides – all that is worthless.
The sound of the rain is gentle, it relaxes the spirit.
The rain, like nature itself, cares deeply and dotingly.
It’s the calling of a sea, it’s the promise of endless Springs.
It’s magical, more than magical, it’s motherly and reliable.
God speaks through the rain – Nature is hallowed (undeniably).
Yet, to my mind, it’s annoying.
We should slaughter the mind!
I don’t know the reason in things.
I don’t want to know the reason in things.
Let them be meaningless.
Let me be meaningless.
Isn’t love the reverse of reason?
Well, I prefer love. Even that foolish love
that blindly walks hand in hand with sorrow.
Even then, I still choose love.
If I could, I would not think at all.
It’s raining outside. I know it’s raining outside.
It bothers me. Not the rain. I bother myself.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC