"idler" poems
A is the Alphabet, A at its head;
A is an Antelope, agile to run.
B is the Baker Boy bringing the bread,
Or black Bear and brown Bear, both begging for bun.
C is a Cornflower come with the corn;
C is a Cat with a comical look.
D is a Dinner which Dahlias adorn;
D is a Duchess who dines with a Duke.
E is an elegant eloquent Earl;
E is an Egg whence an Eaglet emerges.
F is a Falcon, with feathers to furl;
F is a Fountain of full foaming surges.
G is the Gander, the Gosling, the Goose;
G is a Garnet in girdle of gold.
H is a Heartsease, harmonious of hues;
H is a huge Hammer, heavy to hold.
I is an Idler who idles on ice;
I am I--who will say I am not I?
J is a Jacinth, a jewel of price;
J is a Jay, full of joy in July.
K is a King, or a Kaiser still higher;
K is a Kitten, or quaint Kangaroo.
L is a Lute or a lovely-toned Lyre;
L is a Lily all laden with dew.
M is a Meadow where Meadowsweet blows;
M is a Mountain made dim by a mist.
N is a Nut--in a nutshell it grows--
Or a Nest full of Nightingales singing--oh list!
O is an Opal, with only one spark;
O is an Olive, with oil on its skin.
P is a Pony, a pet in a park;
P is the Point of a Pen or a Pin.
Q is a Quail, quick-chirping at morn;
Q is a Quince quite ripe and near dropping.
R is a Rose, rosy red on a thorn;
R is a red-breasted Robin come hopping.
S is a Snow-storm that sweeps o'er the Sea;
S is the Song that the swift Swallows sing.
T is the Tea-table set out for tea;
T is a Tiger with terrible spring.
U, the Umbrella, went up in a shower;
Or Unit is useful with ten to unite.
V is a Violet veined in the flower;
V is a Viper of venomous bite.
W stands for the water-bred Whale;
Stands for the wonderful Wax-work so gay.
X, or ** or *** is ale,
Or Policeman X, exercised day after day.
Y is a yellow Yacht, yellow its boat;
Y is the Yucca, the Yam, or the Yew.
Z is a Zebra, zigzagged his coat,
Or Zebu, or Zoophyte, seen at the Zoo.
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Love mourner
Angst angler
Thesaurus eyer
Rip-rapper
Suet idler
Dream creamer
Cascade scribbler
Intro-pee-er
Guts gusher
Endorphinater
Sonnet snoozer
Trochee tripper
Iambic lamer
Spondee sniveler
Whisper whipper
Music quencher
Apt-less adjectiver
Yeast yearner
Simile stitcher
Metaphor monger
Exclaimationizer!
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
WE sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, "A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, "To be born woman is to know --
Although they do not talk of it at school --
That we must labour to be beautiful.'
I said, "It's certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.
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The desert is a hummingbird
With wings of hovering heat.
Weightless idler,
Forever in love with the acanthus leaf
And the nectar of the far Aegean.
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
In my memories
you sleep.
Sleep,
you have dreams tangled in your hair.
Sleep,
sleeping heals everything:
your skin rash and your busy hours.
Sleep,
I wait wide awake as I look at you.
Sleep,
because you always say you never sleep.
You sleep
so much that your eyelashes seem
to be sealed forever.
Sleep,
because I love you and yesterday
you loved me too and loving
requires a lot of effort and strength.
Sleep,
even now
that we don't know each other anymore.
Even now that we are strangers,
sleep.
Sleep,
because you are an idler,
always late,
sleep,
because the term is over.
Sleep,
because I sleep
and dream,
because I never remember my dreams.
Sleep and dream me,
even if we don't know each other,
even if you know where my birthmarks lay.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC
Free from the whims - of politics
And the shifting tides of state
Bitcoin remains unchanging
Impervious to love or hate
Free from the whims - of power
In any of its ugly faces
Bitcoin performs its duties
At all times and in all places
Free from the whims - of greed
From those who reach and steal
Bitcoin continues like clockwork
Holding scarcity as the ideal
Free from the whims - of looters
Who mandate the “sharing” of gains
Bitcoin rewards the hard workers
Who break from the idler’s chains
Free from the whims - of anyone
Who might alter or change the code
Bitcoin stays governed by rules
Staying firmly on freedom’s road
Mar 30, 2024
Mar 30, 2024 at 12:26 PM UTC
When juiced a spore sized embryo, early in utero; fetus
evinces atavistic miniaturization,
where nascent differentiation wrought
physical resemblance to - seek reachers,
sans Tarzan and Jane forebears,
or exemplification of religious embodiments writ upon taut
lee helical real to reel strung nano deoxyribonucleic acid,
where dome min ant
ander recessive traits pop sic cull, and/or mom genes sought
took comb hing gull, where foxy fiery hander chrome hat tick
microscopic threads ineluctably
hired bot to weave warp and woof for naught
heard interpretive soundcloud issue onomatopoetic beat,
whether as:
the Marseillaise, muezzin, or reveille blown in the wind
by alimentary mechanic, *** killed in all manner of ought
tow mobile craftsmanship, which possibly inflated and made pregnant,
when one seem n
thrashes within timed zona pellucida drawbridge,
hooping an ova to snag,
though odds stacked against the most basic cell fish competition fought
in the **** z of evolutionary biology informing **** sapiens
one errant or defiant game gamete perhaps hinting a gamine
tubby wonderfully woven with wisps viz The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do a ha at last that renegade oocyte
nabbed, analogously the Michael Phelps re: among the flagellated
madding crowdsource qua squirming sperm-faction caught
thence the commencement when trappings for a newborn bought
years later reviewing prenatal sonograms with grown son or daughter
pointing out how ***** editorialized, epitomized, and exemplified
in miniature (no bigger than any letter of the alphabet),
and closely resembled many creatures extant throughout the briny deep
such as an amphibian, reptile or Argonaut.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
Fantasies ruins lives like chocolate ruins diets,
the highest ecstasy we inject into our lives,
the night collides with the day and fantasies
are alike planted seeds, they grow and grow
till daytime's glow is invaded by dreams.
Fantasies of the heart, fantasies of the mind
are so unkind like torture and nurture,
like the hard worker and the still idler,
neither would suggest to be perfect or good
but could they be combined, art is formed,
hearts turn warm and work is completed.
Love...is the ****** of human emotion
an ocean of joy but a deeper sea of ache.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
As we go marching, marching
In the beauty of the day
A million darkened kitchens
A thousand mill lofts gray
Are touched with all the radiance
That a sudden sun discloses
For the people hear us singing
Bread & roses, bread & roses
As we go marching, marching
We battle too for men
For they are women's children
And we mother them again
Our lives shall not be sweetened
From birth until life closes
Hearts starve as well as bodies
Give us bread but give us roses
As we go marching, marching
We bring the greater days
For the rising of the women
Means the rising of the race
No more the drudge and idler
Ten that toil where one reposes
But the sharing of lifes glories
Bread & roses, bread & roses
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
A rhetorical question finds me asking
(to no one in particular) why I recall
the names of grade school teachers
approximately fifty years ago (whose
names listed below), when the need
to retrieve necessary information due
ring examinations (less time ago)
often found me seized with sudden
inability to remember any vital ants
sirs (even including my name), thus
grudgingly handing over blank test paper
analogously surrendering a vital
document gracing terms of defeat
into the scaly claws (zen nay), sans
first to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout,
Missus Shaner, or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably majority of first thru
sixth grade accorded accredited
ancient authenticated creatures.
They freely exercised diabolical
churlish ******** animalistic zeal
us yakking, wickedly unprintable
upon (unprincipled urchin) at
receiving end of fiendishly grue
some hellish instructions. Assign
ments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period
earlier in dawning primate con
sciousness. Lesson material kindled
with justifiable license in league
with garnered insignia. Heft
to bring pupils to heal predicated
via warp and weft woven wonder
fully. Wrought writs welcomed
whips with warranty whenever
recalcitrant ruffian refused
respecting reptilian rubric repre
sentative rattling (The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of
the ***** and Whipping Cords
Will Serve You More Than Ropes
Will Ever Do), which loosely
rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons
freedom granted to interpret
as one decrepit, hawkish insignia
certified one beaming Eve and/
or stud deed brute soffit. Education
often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to and/or from Aunt
Emma. Nefarious mean linkedin
kickstarter jawboning torturous
treatment tolerated, asper imps
of the pervert, mutant Ninja
Turtles duty bound antsy
youthful yokel yodelers
weathering ululating sing-song
and quintessential precepts.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
What doth compel a man to love a cat?
The dog is better suited to his pleasure
than this idling creature often grown fat,
whose indulgences know no steadfast measure.
Yet I'm drawn by this natural conceit,
that a common beast should groom its coat,
and in idler moments still, lick its feet,
rather than on some human master dote.
For it is said that the feline is curious;
as am I, a monkey with simple verse—
redeemed, if not altogether spurious.
Besides, I can imagine what's far worse.
Better a cat with a cautious, easy stride
than a politician without due pride.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Waking up today with slimy face,
thoughtless about the future.
Like an idler, I think
my destiny awaits for miracles
For one of them will be HER
whose smile is more beautiful
than my morning dreams.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
The very sky fell to greet a wandering shade
Only by a falling light
His form and frame were made
Calling, with his silence
A Solsticine, on whom
None could find reliance.
What of this world walked with the fog
But he, small,
In mist, walks without his giant
At the fields of Arcad’
To golden plains
A Dasein, in which nothing is flawed
Standing at media
Fit for the amused, too tall to walk
On and on, on shoulders the sun takes its leave
Its rest.
To giants the day is drudgery, when one dawn falls
And moon, I, dreading it won’t find me
My idler goes in wistful mists
On to the breaking light
Onward to the reddened night
My idler goes in wistful mists
Silent, absolutely.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
the healed are chewing their hands beneath posters of fast food taken from the walls of god’s cell. poetry is dead. prose the bone placed in the bowl of a frostbitten dog. nothing burns. not like a baby’s ears at an oyster farm.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
The king in the courtroom boasted like a bird,
"I can sing like a Nightingale, if I stay a bit alert,
I mean alert about the notes and pitches and scales,
Heigh ** You pianist play some music that sells."
The piano made music as soft as a feather too bright,
G sharp major said the singer at sight.
"Yes Monsieur, surely and at once,"
And the king went on singing like a donkey in a trance.
Etched and wavy, and linings of link less placed tones,
The pianist went on smiling, as if the king was like a dog with all his bones,
And the courtroom listened and everyone was but happy, "there, go gentle gales."
And The king nodded to the music, as a dog wags his tail.
Everyone clapped like a good old cheers to the king,
The pianist went over to say, "Monsieur! O! Monsieur you are the only one who can sing."
The queen kissed his hand and greeted him all the way,
But it was music and the piano who had nothing else to say.
Next morning, the town knew that the king sang out loud and good,
And they told their families that all music might be dead, but not the king as it never should.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
best of liars
worst of women
haunted soul-child
death a'kindred
never answering
always asking
chronic idler
multitasker
using borrowed
nothing youthful
no more time left
no more fruitful.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 12:30 PM UTC
Let not strange whimsy wither,
Strangled by grievance.
True - idler am I,
As words have fallen from grace,
So, too, a poet.
My lot once would vend
Letters to the unlettered:
Proud obsolescence.
The world’s not at fault,
Rather my own vagaries.
Tell you a secret -
My vain, feckless reach
Falls ever short of my grasp.
No heaven for me.
And so I tumble
Upon wild winds of fortune,
Tousled, torn and tossed.
I struck this match with
Scant tinder for inferno.
I apologize.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC