"stolidly" poems
I left this old world in the shadows of yesterday
Slipping silently, contentedly into tomorrow
I closed my eyes and held hands with nothingness
and slid my feet into the abyss
Calmly, stolidly moving forward into the unknown
I watch the starlit sky for the red-rimmed dawn
Every moment on the road behind a song
drumming in my veins as my heart beats
faster in the anticipation and wonder of it all
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
He cast's a long shadow
in the cool morning sun
striding with purpose
the job must be done
Out by the woodshed
quietly does he
make his presence known
by whistling softly
For many years now
he loved what he seen
the good and the bad
and all in between
Over the years
the joy's drained away
making this job seem
harder each day
***** long hours
spent oh silently
crouched in the shadow
of the old growth trees
Waiting for a sign
surely there will be
another visitation
patience is the key
He prepares himself
so stolidly does he
for the visitors
he must receive
Scare them away
any way that he can
keep the homes safe
from raiders of the land
Invaders without conscience
intent on the feed
no malice intended
but will not concede
The problem arose
because of what we
thought was a kind thing
was not to be
Disrupting the law
that nature provides
giving courage to those
by feeding their kind
Soon there becomes
no other way
to deal with the problem
the beast must be slain
So wearily the man
slowly does raise
rifle to shoulder
then he does pray
Pray that his aim's true
quick it will be
no pain for the critter
whatever it may be
Woe be to him
now he sit's silently
crying so softly
alone in the trees
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
My heartstrings
Stretch in harp-like synchrony
Waiting for the day when
Your fingers pluck them
Stolidly
Steadily
And from a mass at the bottom of the ocean I will
Gather and rise into an entrapped bubble
Burst up into the oxygenated world
Live in my head in ballooned ecstasy
Gradually rising to the ether
While you watch and giggle
In child-like innocence
And smile to melt the world.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
Green grass along a cerulean sky
Sought I
To write:
The perfect prose.
Thoroughly I searched,
Yet my pad remained plain and pure
And quite unquenched.
I strolled stolidly and walked wearily
To the water’s unexpected whims.
Amusing as it were, well…
With its lacking of lapping—
just somewhat lazy:
For the wind blew blessedly refreshingly,
Yet the waves seemed scared to surface—
Somewhat suspiciously.
Then my ears caught quite a commotion
Coming from behind me:
Chuckling and chasing squirrels
Pounced past perched pigeons
As if to bother the birds
Because of blatant boredom.
Deafeningly distracted became I
When all of a sudden
A fickle photographer focused her
Large lens
Dangerously, daringly in my direction.
Vainly I ventured to assume,
Yet I assuaged,
And I moved
Maturely… (as anyone should).
Pointed and positioned to the person of peace
placed in the park,
She snapped, and she snipped a picture or two
Inevitably to post on a wasted wall space.
As the sun set,
To be clearly cliché,
I wrapped up my writings
On my once plain and pure pad.
Had it had eyes,
It would have gawked and glanced
For my gaze in return:
“You call that a creation? Corny it is,
Not at all concise.”
Carelessly content, I closed the cover
Leaving my pad
Quite unquenched.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC
Enraptured in a façade
It’s the mirage that I am God
The question is not my sense of direction
But the of stale afterthoughts guiding an unknown dimension
Spraying down like lightening, glistening arced and frightening,
The power to transform the tranquil will of my wisdom lingers in the distance
Breathe that hope of remedy
Speaking with melody
Today the time is always now
Go forth
Tear down these deplorable walls
For what remains will forever stay the same
So while your stolidly masquerading with the absurd and obscene
My backseat dreams come complete with no buttons or seams
Go forth
Congeal that essence of being
And burn the blinding veneer
The burden can no longer drive our fear
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 7:01 AM UTC
Green grass along a cerulean sky
Sought I
To write:
The perfect prose.
Thoroughly I searched,
Yet my pad remained plain and pure
And quite unquenched.
I strolled stolidly and walked wearily
To the water’s unexpected whims.
Amusing as it were, well…
With its lacking of lapping—
Just somewhat lazy:
For the wind blew blessedly refreshingly,
Yet the waves seemed scared to surface—
Somewhat suspiciously.
Then my ears caught quite a commotion
Coming from behind me:
Chuckling and chasing squirrels
Pounced past perched pigeons
As if to bother the birds
Because of blatant boredom.
Deafeningly distracted became I
When all of a sudden
A fickle photographer focused her
Large lens
Dangerously daringly in my direction.
Vainly I ventured to assume,
Yet I assuaged,
And I moved
Maturely… (as anyone should).
Pointed and positioned to the person of peace
Placed in the park;
She snapped, and she snipped a picture or two
Inevitably to post on a wasted wall space.
As the sun set,
To be clearly cliché,
I wrapped up my writings
On my once plain and pure pad.
Had it had eyes,
It would have gawked and glanced
For my gaze in return:
“You call that a creation? Corny it is,
Not at all concise.”
Carelessly content, I closed the cover
Leaving my pad
Quite unquenched.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
It feels like I am alone.
The streets are empty, and the houses sit stolidly and lifeless.
The only human sound is my footsteps.
I should feel like I'm being watched,
but I don't.
The birds are the only ones who see me.
The sun is at my back,
and the birds sing their morning songs without an audience.
An otherwise cheerfl morning.
I like the feeling that nothing is wrong.
I like how my problems fade into the sky.
If only they stayed there...
It's at times like these
when it feels like the world isn't half bad.
It's at times like these
when I feel like peace is attainable for me.
It's at times like these
when I look down at the ground and realize
that my shadow is prettier than me.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 9:44 PM UTC
coffee steaming, in ceramic cup.
eyes cast down, toward pine boarded floor.
i breath in and then exhale.
the coffee then passes my lips.
i sigh once and then once more.
stolidly, continue to study the splintered floor.
struggling to surmise.
the reason for the sadness in your eyes.
the problem in a nutshell,being at the age
of just about four.
you have no idea of the score or even,
how to play...
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
It is decommissioned, off-limits, outright verboten,
Yet is traversed nonetheless,
Its patrons a mix of the pruriently curious,
The thrill-seeker, the merely woebegone.
As they have time on their side,
The hub-bub of school buses and suburban commuters
No concern as they navigate the buckled and broken asphalt
(The conflagration underneath changing the topography
Daily, sometimes even hourly)
They will stop to paint some phrase, some bon mot
On this roadway-cum-canvas:
Mostly the narcissistic monologue we bray at the universe,
The assertion that we were here, are here,
And (though it is plaintive yet unspoken) that we always may be,
Augmented with light hearted double entendres
And grim, hectoring Biblical quotations,
While not far away, the re-directed two lanes of blacktop
Carry onward, indifferently proceeding on its way
Through these stolidly scruffy old anthracite towns,
Their landscapes and the ground beneath them
Quiet as the sepulcher, the vagaries of their fates above the sod,
Stalking them impassively yet implacably.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC