"druthers" poems
Narcissist I
Money questions hidden in cultures
Instead of debates, we have the vultures
They will overspend whatever their budget
Destroy years hard work, their odour pungent
Often called users, epiphytes of highest order
Those that cannot earn sufficient to quarter
Or manage their own, so they use others
Spending, unfettered, is their druthers
Cannot accept responsibility for damage
Continue to feast on their host, they ravage
Hollowing out from inside, funds they suction
Weakening the structure for eventual destruction
And weakened, debates then start about savings
Too late, funds gone, too late for the cravings
Absent conversation, leaves a bad situation
Long ago, train of debate left the station
What we have now is death and decay
All caused by silence, as the vultures flay
It will not be long until they seek a new host
Just when their former home needs them most
So leave they will, to claw the next poor victim
Removing their talons of love and devotion
Moving on, leaving behind just carcasses
Warm used bodies, mark of a narcissist
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
8/9/2011
Just one quiet ride...
Neither knew we'd collide.
There I already sat,
Longing with, you to chat.
I guess it wasn't meant to be.
From where I sat I'd only see.
Your eyes and their sparkle,
Big and dark like charcoal.
We shared glances and eyes met,
I made you smile I bet.
I looked away fast,
Smiling away the past.
If only we had talked,
But opposite directions we walked.
One day I'll meet another.
But for now...
my heart had no druthers.
My eyes say hello
And yours say hi.
Quite a cute find
For such a short ride.
Just one quiet ride...
Neither knew we'd collide.
There I already sat,
Longing with, you to chat.
Fate didn't have us planned
I guess your in it's hands.
Au revoir pretty thing.
Here I sit, remembering.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Manipulating information
To craftily plot your lore
Is necessary if you want
To continue an information war.
Specific example: Deny Russian
Collusion and interference in
U.S. elections, and do not stop
Seeking info that you can spin.
After months of denying Russian
Cyber attacks and election meddling,
Then admit the possibility
Through a little backpedaling.
Say that well…maybe they meddled,
But hastily add: so did others.
Say you'd still end all queries
And probes if you had your druthers.
It's vital, of course, that you keep
Bashing the press. Be sure to accuse
Investigative journalists
Of making up tons of fake news.
Finally, say the Russians will
Interfere in the U.S., and that's
How in elections this November
They plan to help the DEMOCRATS!
Why? Because you're so hard
(Wink!) on Russia. You'll be winning.
Your fawning fans will eat it up,
And you will have all heads spinning.
Your friends on your favorite TV station
Will help you criticize and demean
Those who don't agree with you.
Praise to your propaganda machine!
Who cares what the world thinks?
You've got your fans; you've got your base.
There's no match for a stable genius
Who says to the world, "In your face!"
-by Bob B (7-25-18)
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Do you See
the cracks
in the pavement
and you are the hammer
Sometimes it hurts
to exhale
You are it
a more i'd roller-coaster
What if, you
gave life
to bring our dreams
our intuition and morphology
Becomes we
and i will replace
every me with
the druthers of you
i no longer
exist in singularity
because it's only need
is an abstraction of idioms
Heartstrings & Intangible Things
Strung out like
prayer flags
and telegrams
twelve dots and dashes
i'll forever
make it
My pleasure
to find
infinite endeavor
Me way
to say
.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
you might have to stare into neutrons
to un-bond the Marmaduke con
your large doggerels are farcical in a feline fashion.
what harm you do -
fondles the rabid scabies
of our scathing
debutantes.
we are
an affront to the baklava
where the syrup is fierce
and yet the spirit
is amber
locking swift Hymenoptera
into place....
you might have to stare into space
to see me...
but be me,
and you might
gain a wee thing as fabulous
as when we bent knees to no god
but had demons
in our **** larceny.
you polished the rogering,
you foggy bogged
the biscuit.
had your druthers whisk
the cinch a
bit.
till we nipped, went.
had our coffee
spent.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant ***** as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ********* letter onto writs of demand.
I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:
You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.
Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.
Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.
Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 4:43 PM UTC
I would that I could clasp hands, at once, with every diasporic man
And our hands could merge and rise up as a single fist
And all the subjective shades of our own colors and the
Daze of our own druthers would be shed in the process
Yes, I find that I absorb the pain around me like a fine osmosis
That unifies the minds forged in our generation’s social suffering
And I wish my skin would grow akin and reflect a synthesis
Because there is no bliss when men bisect people into “us” and “them”
I would that I could turn my insides out and transform my ***
Organs, as a moth does surge inside a closeted cocoon
Only to emerge with wings and the power of new found flight
And I wonder if I too could sing the perspective of new heights
Because there is only ******* in a world where those who
Share the same ****** shape cannot share the same heart
Are condemned to be kept apart by taboos viewed through institution
Started by confused men, afraid to admit that making love is a free art
I would that I could push my hand into the ground and grow
Roots that drive deep, past the sand, beyond the rending flesh
Of our loved ones’ bodies and mesh with the immortal earth
As if I could bolster, with my chemical composite, the site of true birth
Because when the mightiest of the world’s glories can be
Bought and sold for the price of arbitrary ******* figures
Written in the blood of forests, in the torn face of mountains
Then we can stop ignoring the forlorn thought of dark days before us
I would that I could bring back all those lost before their time
That a rhyme could sting the cold cheeks of slaves who never
Saw a western sunrise comprised of multicolor, of many brothers
That I could brush softly the minds of couples buried not together
And scream to them that time left some bereft of victories
Yet to shape their scene, yet to substantiate their dreams
Then I would quickly reseal the doors of slumber that guard
The restless dreamers of the past before revealing the
Horrors of societies stepping once forward, then twice back
Yes, before the haunting words of hateful choruses should
Ever shape their reposeful, moral-less, and peaceful sleep
For the hopeful eyes of soulful passing activists should never weep.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
The point of differentiation,
not the point of contention,
the point of no return
continuation relative
to knowing subtle forces
ostensibly contained
in the whole truth,
and nothing but,
to which no doubt,
you are personally sworn,
under penalty of cognative
cacaphonic gnosisnot cough
to reembodeize, embody abide
completely centered, self aware.
Then, the fiber that fuses string
theory and determinism hooks
a loop in time's SYTF problem set,
so the set that made young
Earl Russell paradoxically famous,
from now on, one may learn and learn
from now on, until one disintegrates,
dissipates as cloud forms disperse,
to show us how it works, wooly
clouds meeting the reflected wind,
and the winds from the pacific,
pour down one side of my valley
and up the other side, to make those
parrallel feathery shapes one can watch
form on fine days
with nothing needing done,
if the determinists are right, what matters
if I use my time chosing to bend clouds
into vast wings involved in making me think.
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 5:59 PM UTC
in the valley of our anon
you're not the only... but that's not your " what ? "
you venture forth of course
with less mad meter but plenty.
you gem your brevity
with terse goiters. you force no order of magnitude
to enforce your oblique corners.... your poetry
has it's druthers.
but alas -
we humans lack the knack to be twice true.
we acknowledge our acknowledgement
and stake claims we claim
we name true
and I've met you
in the cyber what
of our collective
**** the happy naked !
we rumpus in the gizzard
of a lost gator.
wrecking the Ruxpin
of our Teddy Rosey
welts.
Poets Know Who Hurt Happy and Joy The Next.
we are well met, yes.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Well, here it is
It’s nighttime again
It was a beautiful day in paradise
And it went way too fast
The air was nice, the breeze was soft
I hated to see this day past
My issue is not the flashing and showing
It is the speed of the coming and going
With the right power I would make the Sun go West to East
For the second time in its life it would obey Me
Joshua made the Sun stop, didn’t he ?
In My Solitude She sang as if She understood
And She knew the right tune
When I get started on Brother Sun
She will handle Sister Moon
The cool breeze of evening ease pushes gently
Against the tops of the straining trees
My heart stops as the remnants of sunlight drops
Behind the very last of red Spanish tiles that smile
It’s getting dark. Here is the start of another night
In My druthers, there would be many more hours of marvelous light
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
As a boy thinks about his durations
Of walking through his field of striped carnations
He spots one that was different than the rest
It was of a lovely color which we all know is best
He was stunned of the beauty as he froze
As he starred at the magnificent rose
The boy became active again
And soon his walk came to an end
In his mind trying to retain
The past compassion he had spend
With life filled with neglections and rejections
To where he had posed imperfections
With curious thought he ought to sought
Which he hope wouldn't end in naught
But as nature always deny
The one thing he wants of endless supply
Only to be buried
Discarded by many
With emotions so varied
And unseen by any
So as he reaches for the flower
With his mind so sour
The rose transform into the others
When given the druthers
So the boy remains alone
In his house not known
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
even to hold a piece of a cigarette, people be staring at you like you're a rascal.
even to buy a piece of cigarette, people be staring at you like you're depressed.
even to smoke a piece of cigarette, people be staring at you like you're nothing but an innominate kid.
aside from being given the badge of being privileged well-being, and fulfilled the standard of life, neither smoking could be the best druthers.
therefore, she went undercover, caught a paper, and rolled it into a form of cigarette. the undemanding shape.
she imagined,
she felt,
she wondered,
the great feeling that emerged when one blow smoke escaped out of the stick, thought up all the life's crises gone in a blow.
just a blow.
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 3:03 AM UTC
Happiness,
A silly thing.
Happiness,
A trivial thing.
Does one only have to sing?
Choir and priestly men may argue yes,
But I can't help but think, maybe this is all in jest.
Does joy really come from the gospel?
Or is it all just a psychological spell?
Must we look to the savior for love?
Or should love be handed to us?
I went on a bus,
Just last Tuesday,
I was puzzled by the lack of happy faces.
Snarls, apathy, stress, boredom.
Is happiness only in God's kingdom?
The search goes onward,
It's everyone's quest.
Must we rid ourselves of our everyday pests?
Pry the day away and yet no one can tell me,
What does it take to find happiness?
I am pleased whilst lucid,
For I am incoherent and I may live from within.
Is happiness right underneath my skin?
Does this indeed imply,
That death is always the best state we will ever be in?
Does this tell me to act as I wish?
Is one really at best immune to others?
If I had my druthers,
I would paint myself pink,
And ride a fuchsia elephant,
Alas, I can't!
Society stops me in my tracks!
Is happiness perfection?
Or simply satisfaction?
Then why oh why would the world lie?
Does true happiness exist?
If it did, it wouldn't be so very sly.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
a
thing of beauty must
be deployed
In our blue we have our grey
and these days, we have our nights
dastardly.
we aspirate cyanide to untie the blight of our last glut of sharp knives
you choose cruel lugers from your armory. you leave
your lead in me,
often.
we shoot from the hip or blast mad laughter in caverns of rotten.
I croak a **** of lungs you clot
and never do we charm a lot;
we’d rather our druthers be other words that ****
words that abandon blood troubles for ill will.
our love, hates still.
a thing of beauty must be deployed.
In our blue
we have our days. and that grey, is parched
no matter the threat
of rain.
we last and fade, grasping at straw suns
with moon fingers
as we may.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
Amazing nature keeps calling
Greets and wakes me every morning
Song it sings differs from others
Pleases me with its own druthers
Boosts my spirits with out failing
Keeps changing as per its timing
Gives enough room for my musing
Wonderful things that it triggers
Amazing nature
In seasons, it remains blooming
Though its changing keeps me grooming
Thrilled I shall be when it answers
Adds essence for my new ventures
For ever it keeps me guessing
Amazing nature
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
There’s a farmers market near campus.
A young couple has a pizza oven on a trailer.
They make a breakfast pizza - bacon, mozzarella
some egg and green peppers. It’s SO crispy and delicious.
ALL I had to do this morning was say “breakfast pizza!”
and six of us were ready to head out fifteen minutes later.
Let’s wax poetic, shall we?
*There are some young ladies who live in a dorm
sometimes it seems like they only have studies
but once and a while on a Saturday or Sunday
if we have our druthers, we get out, in swarm
and find ourselves some pizza-like brekkie.*
.
.
Songs for this:
PIZZA by Oohyo
Le Breakfast Club de Paris by Gabrielle Chiararo
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 8:56 AM UTC
It’s raining,
And I’m taking refuge,
Watching a bridge
Withstand a river deluge.
Drinking the sight of waters rage,
The ebb and flow of each new age.
My faces are glazed,
Until I exchange my gaze
For a traveler
Treading
Woe.
In a hastened pace to stave disgrace
By their cultural need for saving face.
Their mind unlaced,
Glancing through
Time’s passage;
They can’t see the message,
Blind to choosing a clue.
I assume their fear
For failing to adhere
To societal passages,
Spurred by the purchase
Of each new dear.
I feel their urgency surging waves of gravity;
Tied tides, I can taste the apocryphal surgery.
It hurts me,
To see their druthers change hue
Just so they can drink the dangers they’re daring,
Slaking their need for this fixed way through.
Un-damming a plea,
Steeped in empathy,
“Be patient. Please,
May I help you see?
That this river is
Swifter
Than you or me.”
All spilling from my heart's case,
And my mind.
“Can’t YOU see?
I haven’t the time and hardly the space.
I must keep trudging if I’m to keep pace,
In the race for the sun
And all that’ll never come
Undone.
Now keep you to yourself and--oh, never mind!”
Damming their course,
Leaking remorse lined remedies.
With each new step, the last one readies,
Traveling rapidly towards temporal eddies;
Vexed whispers in the flow of things,
Watch this fellow in the context of streams.
This friend thinks they can churn and rage
Against the turning of an age.
I really thought that they could too,
Oh! How I wish this stream’s course true.
Instead I watch the warrant
Of ridged destiny
Abridged,
Tearing under river's torrent;
I’m drinking in a travesty,
Of purely slickening torment.
The levees brim then burst.
The waters rage and rumble,
Spilling over bridge a-tumble.
“Don’t take me!”
My neighbor’s footing starts to crumble,
Their mettle and meter all a-jumble.
It is a tragedy.
“I’M DROWNING IN COMEDY!
What do I do?!
Can I do?!
Will I do?!
Should have done?!
Would have done?!
Could have done?!”
Nothing.
So I watched my dear friend swept
Away and wept
Into my hands.
I gave them a rope,
And found them hanged.
Then,
Looking up,
I realize something:
It’s raining,
And I’m taking refuge,
Watching a bridge
Withstand a river deluge.
Drinking the sight of waters rage,
The ebb and flow of each new age.
My faces are glazed,
Until I exchange my gaze
For a traveler
Treading
Woe.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
“And this drab spirit craving in sad eagerness,
Many basilisk twist and snarl afore my feet,
But every hour I am saved from that eternity,
Something silent is surely more deserving,
Far on the ringing plains of windy ancient Troy,
I am a part of all that I have met all once before,
Yet all is a reality in mind forever and ever,
To rust spotted to always shine in use!
Altruist of courage where fore art thou,
Though the eupnea to my trivial life,
Endeared face of dawn from twilight glows yet,
I shall follow the sinking star for knowledge,
I don't know if time is passing or not,
Does it come together or as druthers?
Or is my future to be piled all at once,
Seek I still the truth divine in hopes to gain,
Take my hand and share divinity with me,
Abolition me thoroughly from my iniquity,
Surely it takes a lifetime to get over such pain,
I never thought of an unhappy ending to procure,
I spent an entire life stuck in the labyrinth,
Thinking about how I will escape it and say,
Imagining what the future may hold for me,
How it will be on that formidably glorious day,
By Andrew Guzaldo 09/26/2018 ©
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
just outside the city lines, bout half mile down
stands the old stucture, guiding folks to town
legend says its an arch, pass under it to be free
my thoughts are still pending, not sure to believe
the sun sets early now, as we say good bye to summer
Its shadow seems longer now, least I remember
the people welcome in the fall, the season of colors
the crispness of the air, cleanse the summer druthers
It seems to stand guard, firmly gripping the ground
the people amass and gather round
could it be an ancient stargate, from a forgotten time
built to keep the human race in a lockstep line
now if you look closely, where it bends and streches
the fading words still spells its message
welcome all you strangers and old friends alike
relax, take care, hope you stay awhile
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
If I be Christian
Where then is my Bible head?
Do I just keep that book beside my bed?
Do I know it word for word or am I unread?
If I be Christian
Do I bring about change I want?
‘Cause I rather sit here and taunt
And blame those that have ‘caused’ my daunt
If I be Christian
Do I keep less than 90%?
Do I sit with my child like discontent
Because I know better of where it should’ve went?
If I be Christian
Do I carry church as a burden or joy?
Do I build or destroy with my ploy?
How long until I O.D on soy?
If I be Christian
Does music hold me back from helping others?
I heard once about us all being bothers
But instead we fight over our druthers
If I be Christian
Do I love the Lord?
Because His is the greatest reward
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:17 PM UTC
.
Foam at the mouth
And breath becomes shallow
For Water is mortar,
To the man of the cowl
Shall I'll spin you a tale
of the knight of great might and
Of he who fights evil and villains of fright
On ,one fateful eave much like most others
The captain of batnis
Found he and his druthers
So
Took to the sky
In seek of his prey
The usual crooks
He fights everyday
But this battle is solo
As he is alone
Robins got bird flue
And is roosting at home
So muster did he
Gotham's great goul
Saw a shuffle of poodles
In a battle most cruel
An easy resolve
For this billionaire fool
The champion of right
And Harvey dents tool
And funny for he
who takes to the air
Would fly to a roof
Of dogs in despair
For wise is it not
When signs are unread
That said
hasmat, caution
Or end up most dead
But
Never of him
For the cat ******* bat
never retreats From simple a spat
But caution was missed
With that I'll gotten ******
Fogged his good senses
And made him less a match
For the black knight had blue *****
And saw not ,
the plot hatch
Of the bird of Ill flight
And jester of king
Road roughshod around him
And traps did they spring
On landing he slipped
And did finally see
That he landed smack dab
At the.
C
D
And
C
And oh with his logic
His ego did ****
For did appear
A crazed, snarling mutt
With a maddening sneer
And unsnipped of nut
For Distemper the mentor for mangy the mutt
He has
no vaccine
And dogs always bite
And survival one bitten is so very slight
So the tables are set for the guano
Fueled duel
With mankind's best friend
That kills with his drool
Chapter 1 the bat and the hydrophobic hound
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
The night grows dark; still darker.
My eyes in tears and water,
The stars fall far, then farther,
Until the sky is gone
The cold has dipped
I shiver.
The world has slipped
The river
That trails so far
I wonder
Does it taste of salt?
I wrap my shreds about me
Both wisps of hope and worry
As vague sanctuary
From bright reality.
I stand alone
Though others
Have come and gone
In druthers
As if some story's chatter
Moves still
Though I have stopped.
I keep my curtains shuttered,
Yet light, however battered,
Still fights, shines on my shattered
Spirit, still wracked with grief.
While my quiet's
Unfinished
And life must stay
Diminished
It's good to know
That sunlight
Still waits most patiently.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Growing up country...A day in the life ©
I lay on my bed awake staring at the ceiling
No need for an alarm cause I have two
One is brooster the rooster and the is
A holler I call “father”
And then there it is the shout from below
“Get up you slugs we have things to do and places to go”
I leap out of bed toss on some clothes no need to be picky
For we ain’t likely to see nobody this way today
The race down the stairs is on, only three brothers to beat
Getting to the kitchen table to get a seat and grub to eat
The smell of bacon permeates the air
And mom is at the bottom stair to give a hug right there
As we chow down we all look around at each other
Knowing full well the list and which one we druthers
There’s tillin the garden with a *** muckin the pens with its stench,
Fence mendin with barb wire or ridein that metal steed named Deere
And on this day through luck of the draw or Dad’s decision
I create furrow after furrow with precision and after awhile
And many circles complete the mind tends to wander into a haze
As you slide from side to side on that hard seat amidst a glaze
What will this fall harvest bring after the chores are complete
A trip to the fair and rodeo to compete and there I will be the winner
In that girl’s blue eyes as I lift up that grand prize
She’ll notice me then, that pretty little thing and proudly wear my ring
The old John Deere will transform from a metal steed to a pickup I will need
For those kids who will be taught to heed, respect their elders and lay seed
We’ll live on a farm just like this one built on strong backs from generation
To generation hoping to build a better nation
Andreas Simic©
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC