Best Give A Hoot Poems
Don't bother me with conformity
don't bother me today-
with things I should (or shouldn't) do
or what I shouldn't say!
Don't bother me with conformity
my house is not “obscene”...
Orange, purple, and lavender
look lovely with lime green!
Don't bother me with conformity
I'm much too happy, carefree
to wonder why the neighbors all
keep staring so at me!
Maybe they're jealous of my tail
I really don't give a hoot!
Surely they have seen before
grown-ups in zebra suits?
Don't bother me with conformity
...too busy to follow your lead!
I've whatcha-ma-call-it thingies to build
and unicorns to feed!
Don't bother me with conformity
don't worry me this way!
You've stepped on all the faeries toes
and run the elves away...
Don't bother me with conformity
you're being such a pest!
My mud pies were quite fabulous
and not a “filthy mess”!
Don't bother me with conformity
my music's not so loud...
Accordions are delightful-
See? It's already drawn a crowd!
...Respectfully holding their applause
until I reach the end-
Oh no- they really love it so!
You're quite mistaken, friend!
Don't bother me with conformity
come dance a jolly jig!
You really should loosen up a bit
you sad, forlorn, old prig!
Don't bother me with conformity
No thanks! I've had my fill...
of boring, bland, and deathly dull
no doubt that boredom kills!
Don't bother me with conformity
Oh, what was that you said?
Well, I think you (and your boring lot)
are the crazy ones instead!
I could not refrain from asking what it was that made her sigh
When each picture that she started she took down. I wondered why.
The young lady was forthcoming; said her thoughts were fresh and bright
Every time she started painting nothing seemed to turn out right.
Then she glanced at my own painting and declared that it was great
She remarked I found it easy to imagine and create.
Well, I smiled and softly told her that it was my special brush
That afforded all the wonders; careful handling with no rush.
So I told her she could use it, to be gentle for a start
Till they reached synchronization so that both could play their part.
What about the other brushes? Do not fret or give a hoot
Mine will be the instigator, all the rest will follow suit!
I went off to have a breather while she went to work anew
Gave her time to get on with it then returned exact on cue.
I could see her face was radiant and her work intense yet cool
She expressed appreciation at my most fantastic tool.
I will let you on a secret; I have played a hidden card
For my brush is only normal. You were trying just too hard!
You can paint, you have it in you. To your talent be not blind.
As you see there is no magic; it was only in the mind.
So good luck with your endeavours. Some advice, precise and brief
You can make the perfect painting; all you need is self belief.
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Note: This poem was written to pass on a message to all those who
suffer from low esteem. Self-belief is the way forward.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest (Favourite Poem...) sponsored by Carol Eastman
Placed: 1st
A lonesome coyote howled deep in the wood
And a MOST unwise owl somehow misunderstood
Oh, alas and alack!
She rashly hooted back
(And she hooted as hard as she possibly could)
"Who the heck heeds my howl, for god's merciful sake?
Could this perhaps be my potential life mate?"
..."Give a hoot who you hoot at
if you don't know just who 'dat
You hoot at!" screeched the owl a wee bit too late
The gossip that followed defied explanation!
Squirrels scolded scathing and righteous damnation
The eagle screamed from his peak
"Don't even show us your beak!"
(An owl with a tarred and feathered reputation)
The coyote's good name turned muddy and mucky
Rumor spread like the plague so he never got lucky
"Your character is fowl"
Hitting up on an owl?"
(Last I heard he migrated to Kentucky)
Last night I stole a little - from time.
Don’t worry he’s got plenty on his hands
You could call it daylight robbery, but that wouldn’t be strictly correct, since
It occurred on the first of spring, at a minute past midnight.
But it’s really only semantics – isn’t it?
Oh I intend to give it back, but not until fall, I promise you that.
So for now, I intend to give it to those who
Hate waking to insipid mornings but instead,
Prefer the comfort of a long, alluring evening…
Time still has enough on his hands of course
To wake me in the usual way, the additional
Daylight finding gaps in my louvered blinds, it
Finds me; blinding me with stripes, a colouring of
Dusty motes with that angelic silver
A sliver of morning’s grace piercing my sheets
But the mornings are for birds…
And they don’t give a hoot about what was stolen.
Oh there are plenty of people who wake up to that inky blackness
Or even that rusty red, that bleeds all over the horizon
Oh they’re definitely not receivers of stolen goods,
Simply lovers of a pantomime, albeit in the morning.
She is one of those lovers… My wife Bronwyn,
A Welsh name to match her pale pearlescent skin.
Skin like perfect porcelain, that’s not in
Need of the proceeds of thievery.
Bronwyn stands over me now, the daylight interrupted
My slivers of dust broken
My colourful stripes stolen
Grace no longer piercing my sheets
Instead a finger piercing me…
“Get up!”
I did get up, for I needed to
Spend a little of the proceeds from my crime
Let the morning unwind naturally, feel the hush of
Time press upon my skin, when the sun is at its zenith
And ease into the evening like sliding into a warm bath…
John Lawless’s Poetry Contest – Saving Daylight
14 February 2015
From my mother's womb I yelled into the room,
mattress on the living room floor,
my bro I replaced as the youngest, his face
as he screamed and ran out through the door.
I tell you (no fooling) my years of hard schooling
I'll remember as long as I live
Johnny Cash got it right sometimes you gotta fight
but my name isn't Sue, it is Viv.
My first crush was Joy, she beguiled the boys
with her cool attitude and demeanour,
but in the school yard I didn't try very hard
and lost out to Nigel who was keener.
My senior school was a boy's own affair,
all mortarboards, chalkdust and gowns,
atmosphere never placid, like Hogwarts on acid
at home it took hours to come down.
Exams taken and passed and so onwards at last
out into the big wide world of work,
how well did I do at my first interview
I'm surprised that they'd take on a jerk.
After six years of grammar that felt like the slammer
with no females on a daily basis
this place was Nirvana I tried to keep calmer
in this female infested Oasis.
For a short while I waited then finally dated
the friend of a colleague, named Ruth,
wedding plans from her lips, I took fright and jumped ship
I was too immature, that's the truth.
From there my next job for an extra few bob was in warehousing,
driving fork trucks,
stacks of pallets to lift on horrendous night shifts
but to honest I didn't give a hoot.
I was by then resolving with my problem solving
to find me a niche in I.T,
nine to five, air conditioned, needing no permission
to break for a smoke and a tea.
Nine years flew by me and also my family,
my mother began to be ill
I quit work and stayed home, looked after her alone
watching sadly as she went downhill.
She finally went and as was her intent I care for my youngest today,
these trials we have to bear, no-one said life was fair
but I won't have it any other way.
The good lady's poorly and sometimes I'm sorely
being tested, but I keep good cheer,
the days may seem long but I cannot go wrong-
I've got Poetry, music and beer.
For contest 'where are you from', sponsor Joseph Soper
If only I could respond to this woman who shrieks
Who knows so little about whereof she speaks,
Belittles comments she so desperately seeks
Her social and political rantings go on for weeks.
I am amazed that her poetry is so ungrammatical
We would all be better off if she took a sabbatical,
Or spent her time in some more profitable pursuit
Hasn’t she learned that most of us don’t give a hoot.
Today she ignored all the facts and hit on vaccines
Spewed more venom on our president, it seems,
Took a few shots at the world situation in general
Has nothing positive to say, it borders on criminal.
I’ve noticed the recent absence of others of her ilk
They seem to have wilted like early fall cornsilk,
Apparently, folks like her do not fade with neglect
Poetry Soup is best when everyone shows respect.
Those poets who choose to share their beliefs
Are welcome, great; hatred, however, offers no relief
Putting down my country, my president, my politics
With disrespect, I will respond to these lunatics.
Written October 1, 2021
44th on Best 100 Poems of the Month
Poetry Soup, October 3, 2021
POEM OF THE DAY
October 2, 2021
Poetry is tangerine and other potent or poisonous colors.
It is the breath you feel at the nape of your neck and
the strong caress of flesh on flesh, defying death.
It is most certainly Spring with petal flutters and jays
flittering about. Melodies come alive…words almost too
ravishing to versify…like brilliant diamonds and crystal lines.
Poetry is rhyme and not…it is time well spent. The clock
doesn’t give a hoot. It’s cuckoo to stand on your head
to get just the right angle, the geometric high. Likewise,
the adjustment on a thin wire, with ink blots to examine.
But a poet does, again and again, pounding at raw meat,
to settle a matter…but we never settle…there is always
one thing more. Death, maturity, seasonals. Let’s dig
up that grave. First we jump in, holding onto leaves dyed
in various tinctures. Often we swing over, on our trapeze,
thinking we are invincible - we don’t see the six foot ravine.
Not feeling trapped at all, until the Ice Queen shows up.
We paint that buttercup white, as if it were virtuous.
She vividly holds up the scales to weigh our slights,
to slow us down…now,
we dribble upon the page…drivelling every nuance, as if
our kids (our words) were leaving home and we need to drill
just one more thing. Sadly our words will hang
and slowly scroll away…our scribbles fondly remembered
by a few for a while (and our smile)
Paint giraffes ouside the line, and gaffes - keep them in time.
Don’t be afraid to annunciate or not…to be literate or
alliterative…to be silly…oh do be silly…to be human…
to be common or uncommon…we all have our place.
We are the apostrophes, colons and periods. We stop
in mid-sentence a lot. We throw the hammer down
with an exclamation point or dot. We write run ons
or put out briefs. We admire awe. This is just a small
treatise of thought…a mud pie, but certainly not
a prize…but I say, the prize is in the beholder’s stall.
3/13/2023
Those who love love
Put up your hands
Wow! There sure are a bunch of you guys
I knew there was a lot of you
But this is totally amazing
Saw one lady who didn't raise her hand
But she was holding a bag of groceries in one arm
And a sweet wee babe in the other
But I did hear her yell, “I do!”
So if everybody loves love
Then how come there's still so much strife
Is it because we get all wrapped up in stuff
Superficial stuff that we shouldn't give a hoot about
But because of all the negativity present
Small things tend to annoy us
And when they're all added up
They become a difficult mountain to climb
Take heart all my dear dear friends
I have the answer... attitude!
Yep, it's as simple as that so give it a shot
And let this old guy know how it works out for you!
© Jack Ellison 2014
The world's abuzz with soccer
Though I couldn't give a hoot.
I wouldn't even have a clue
For which team I should root.
The bars are packed with rousing fans;
I don't begrudge their cheers,
But I prefer a tennis match
To savor with my beers.
I'd also watch the Yankees play
'Cause baseball's what I know,
Though baseball-haters claim the game's
Inordinately slow.
So while the teams do battle
With the World Cup as the prize,
I'll find a book or other show
To occupy my eyes.
I awake from winters slumber
As my sap begins to flow
My buds will shortly sprout
While my limbs begin to grow
I watch the many animals
That start to come around
To some I am a gym
While others lay quite sound
The birds will make their nest
In my many boughs
The weave each little nest
With great skill it's quite a show
I've stood the test of time
As the seasons come and go
When summer comes I'll be
The shade that you love so
There used to be some children
Who would climb my sturdy limbs
They'd play all day around me
Their joy to me were hymns
When fall comes to pass
I put on my favorite suit
With reds oranges and yellows
The owl will even give a hoot
My sap is what I'm famous for
It taste so sweet when boiled down
I tell you just one sip of it
Will make a smile right from a frown
Now When my days are through
My journey still goes on
I may become a bedstead
Or a table for someone
Someone may yet use me
For a ceiling or a floor
You see my wood is prized
For many things even a door
But now I will just stand here
For everyone to see
The majesty and wonder
Of me the Sugar Maple tree
Created 7/21/15 for the Trees Personified contest
i'm a country boy,
as country as can be;
i'm barefoot when i go to church,
don't give a hoot 'bout society!
i sleep naked in the back yard,
go skinny dippin' in the lake;
when i use the outhouse,
the ground's gonna quake!
i eat with both hands,
possum, squirrel, an' coon;
cook 'em on an open fire,
an' use my fingers as a spoon!
bouncin' rocks off turtle shells,
sippin' moonshine from a jug;
sweet as a store bought teddy bear,
it's okay to give me a hug!
i love my thermal underwear,
they're red, with a cute lil' flap;
i'll curl up in the chicken coop,
for a long afternoon nap!
i ain't much for fightin'
but i don't take no crap;
if you push me in a corner,
get ready for a scrap!
forget that bottled water,
i'm drinkin' from a well;
next time you're in the country,
stop and visit for a spell!
Well, he's goofy and gangly and thin up on top
And his real last name once began with a "Cop"
But I don't give a hoot about all of that
'Cause his box office draw's made his wallet grow fat.
If you listen quite closely to how this bloke talks
And you then watch how oddly he lists when he walks
Why, you'd think to yourself he'd be good as a clown
But I'm not trying here to just put the man down.
He's admitted that comics were where he got "Cage"
And his movies have made that fake name all the rage.
I've not kept a close count on how many there are,
But I tell you, my brothers, his fame extends far.
See, he's got this charisma that can't be denied
Plus a talent for acting that's as high as it's wide.
And he likes to take risks, gotta respect him for that,
Using methods that sometimes will end up falling flat.
One is called, NOUVEAU SHAMANIC, a phrase all his own,
And, then, WESTERN KABUKI, at which you might groan.
So his style's informed by the books that he reads
And he'll work it to death, or until it just bleeds.
It's a high wire act but with no safety net;
His unwavering panache makes me jealous, you bet.
Though I've tried my damned best to perform like this jock
On the set I'm as lame as a bump on a rock.
See, I've wanted to act since I was in 5th Grade
But allowed time to pass, maybe one whole decade
Before trodding the boards once again on the stage
So far back in the days when there was no Nick Cage.
I was hamming it up before Nick changed his name
Unsuccessfully striving to get in the game.
But to date Central Casting is as far as I've gone;
About all I've done there is to camp out on their lawn.
So I've hatched me a plan, will you please hear me out?
Take the shillings you're saving for Nick's latest flick
And, instead of enriching that overgrown lout
Send them here to yours truly, and best make it quick.
POOR CINDERELLA
poor cinderella
her pumpkin coach was delayed
castle clock struck twelve
once again a chamber maid
the handsome prince was dismayed
she was dressed in rags
her glass slippers were old boots
her hair a disgrace
the prince didn’t give a hoot
he knew that beautiful face
so? what did he do?
i’ll not give you the answer
it is up to you
please write an ending, dear friend
to my comments then please send
Mused the owl roosting on a pine tree shoot,
"My colleagues think I'm not very astute,
But I wisely perch in pines,
Not on hot transmission lines!
If they singe their butts I don't give a hoot!"
The Clock is Ticking
What a sad state of affairs
Seems that no one in Washington cares
The politicians know that they stink to high hell
Yet they continue to do nothing to lessen the smell
What happened to compromise as a possible solution?
What happened to “country first” as the proper resolution?
It would seem that those we elected to serve
Put their individual party needs as those that deserve
The next election is all they give a hoot about
And they are deaf to the protests no matter how loud we shout
But with the streets full of those taking exception
The ground swell of protest takes on a new powerful direction
Deaf dumb and blind the politicians may be today
But the time is coming when they won’t have their way
What they are doing to this country is a crime and that is a fact
For destroying it from within is a treacherous act
The choice is ours and we must take charge of our fate
Act know, speak out before it’s too late.
©Copyright Charlie Gragg December 13, 2011