Best Hooray Poems
Hooray For October
Pumpkin patches, Halloween,
Crunchy leaves of brown
Cool mornings, bond fires,
and the best haunted houses in town
Hooray for October
Fall festivals, cool nights,
pep rally's and football,
Breaks from school, ghost stories,
branch filled trees, and the beginning of fall
Hooray for October
Walks in the park, apple cider, the smell of pumpkin pie
Cuddling up next to a fireplace, trick or treating,
and the twinkle in a child's eye
Hooray for October
October 11, 2019
Poets October Pantoum Poetry Contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
Hooray! First of May!
We knew it was coming, a ritual Dad
Performed once-a-year, still
I always sensed the moment, when we
Were a captive audience, he would
Strike! the air would fairly Çrackle!
Me, my brother & sister would stiffen
In preparation to cringe! acting cool,
While our minds were clawing at the
Car windows
(a favorite spot for him to drop-it)
Mom would blush and feign shock,
While slinging a "soldier boy" (he was)
Glance his way, eye contact
Accomplished...
Ones thoughts would wander, shiver &
Shudder!
"Hooray! first of May! outdoor sex begins
Today!"
The routine changed in timbre & timing
As years moved on, but Dad's spirit never
Wavered...gallant and brave, a true
Gentleman, pirate-to-the-core!
I'll place my daily-am phone call to Mom
After inking this poem, she'll be expecting
It, I won't let her down! a toast to the
Greatest camp-master I ever knew!
Mom'll still laugh a bit! & we'll recount
Dad's bold & brazen yearly declaration!
I hope
Many more times
05/01/19
6:19am
Even at the very end
Mel Blanc was still cracking jokes.
It's hard to weep, reading his
tombstone inscription: That's all folks!
NOTE: Mel Blanc did the voices for all the Looney Tune characters.
Nesting birds and buzzing bees,
Flowers blooming, leaves on trees.
Floral scents perfume the air,
Rainbow colors everywhere.
No more winter's brown and gray,
Spring is here! Hooray! Hooray!
4/19/15
Hip Hip Hooray
Hip Hip Hooray for today Naseby Day!
On these Northamptonshire fields in the middle of England
in 1645 (given a calendar change around a century later)
the Parliamentarians defeated the Royalists in the most
decisive battle of the Great Civil War, to in full time created
this royal republic that to tell truth to power Whitehall and
Westminster will be brought to book as to tell truth to influence
much of the media specially the oligopoly Press with its self-righteous
arrogance will be altered for good by the judicial Leveson Enquiry
untying the Gordian knot tying party to papers as today most rightly,
should be sad too the as today is Liberation Day in the Falkland Islands
as we and the Argentinians remember the war dead, praying that
that these two Christian states and liberal democracies may truly
try to keep to the high principles that both claim as their truest cause.
Hip Hip Hooray for Naseby Day, for Leveson Days, and for Falklands Day!
Hooray!
Wet grassy feet fill my soccer cleats.
Hot sweaty teens run fast track meets.
She skis down sugary mountain tops.
He begs his coach to play shortstop.
Footballs, field goals, fumbles.
Touchdowns, tackles, tumbles.
My mother keeps warm with hot brown drinks,
as I learn to skate on chilly rinks.
A sadly splintered hockey stick, from a two-quick hat trick.
A winning catch is cradled in a well-loved mitt.
Tiger wins with a hole in one.
Miniature golf is much more fun.
Double dribble the whistle blows.
Excitement on the court grows!
Busy balls dunked in their hoops.
"Hooray" the three cheers for the ALLEY -OOP!
Autumn In The Air - Hooray
Respite from punishing
heat wave - yay
which above line,
could "speak" volumes,
and be a stand alone poem
offering readers
a reprieve nsync
whence roasting, sultry,
and torpid unpleasant
weather since yesterday
boot such brevity,
would disallow
me to extemporize,
but more importantly today
this intrepid word
smith doth "say,"
he would never
wanna miss trodding,
the formerly (golden
in their heyday now sketchy),
sections of said roadway,
now where digital electronic
rustily hinged, abandoned,
and gated haunting quay
a throwback, when
private manned schooners
(shaped like a beer stein),
perhaps headed to Uruguay
could ply outlying
waters of cyberspace,
why... just yesterday
when my troubles
did not seem so far away
versus this present opportunity
to risk live and limb
(and Kong like wrath
of my reed ding fans)
while getting way
laid "traveling as
Wilburys soul survivor
foreign ancient groupie,"
the dangerous, derelict, and dicey
dubiously dotting dilapidated,
dark corners information
super high way,
thus yours truly
doth not heed,
but flaunts like some cray
zee (NOT RICH, NOR ASIAN),
but rather some gray
beard (grizzled), curmudgeon
figuratively gnarled, toothless,
and weatherbeaten lackaday
lay about good for nothing
mellow flew wuss depraved
('cept mebbe "robbing"
precious and special time
of some bachelor
farmer from Norway)
all the above
essentially wrote for naught
merely (as diversion) to comment,
how this September day wrought
ascent o' fought
(a scent oh aught) tum caught
me wear'n a corduroy
long sleeve shirt since...aye taut
a "FAKE" hungry
Grimm gimlet eyed trumpeting lout,
germane Don apprenticed
how to become cannibalizing
(without accountability) fuhrer,
(and lastly rendering enemies
into sweet tasting sauerkraut),
this while learning das dialect
(tickle) Matt speak,
(which took me a lifetime),
this preceding the
quirky invention of the umlaut!
The Teachers Are On Strike--Hooray
By Elton Camp
When I was a kid, I’d have been delighted
If the teachers in a union became united
Not one single speck would I have cared
If an indefinite strike they had declared
It would have suited me entirely fine
To see them walking on a picket line
No more piles of utterly pointless homework
Assigned, but not graded, by some lazy jerk
No need to endure those unprepared for class
Wondering how, in college, they could pass
From sheer boredom what a great break
I wouldn’t have found that hard to take
I imagine Chicago kids feel the same way
And hope on strike the teachers will stay
To think no one cares about me?
It can't be my reality!
I have God; I have friends
To get me through the twists and bends
Aunt Anita was quite a help
Could have existed like a kelp!
What it takes to really believe
Somehow that I did achieve!
my navigation
is the best thing in the world
for our grand entries....
No Conclusions***
Can’t figure things out?
Never between
the lines.
Outside the lanes,
Staying spaced
In gray shadows
Or mist or fog…
Outlying and altering.
Possibly close,or
Beyond
Leaving,
Below or high.
Yet, wearing
pseudonyms,
Always being
Lost, then
Re-addressed.
Oscillating.
But, remaining
Persistently
ambiguous.
Ticking, dangling.
Indefinitely
“Durra lurra loo,
Durra lurra lay,”
Tick-tocking clock
Infinitely
Short morns.
Dragging afternoons.
Cycles of blue moons.
Possibly some
Random hours
to play. Hooray!
And sing,
“Tick tick toe too,
Geerie oh toe loo.”
A clock eternally
Maybe
Runs…
————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 9/27/21
Glory to God
the children all cheer
there will be no indoor recess
hooray rain they yell
glad to be inside
watching their inane U-tube
indoor children now
Hooray for Saint Patrick’s Day
Hooray, hooray for Saint Patrick’s Day
Hubby took steps unaided today
It may be only two
But at last a break through
A shamrock for luck, we’re on our way.
* * *
17th March 2022
Wearing a snapback on the highway,
cherry-stained lips from a sno-cone.
I fill in the blank ‘Zip code hooray’.
I have been waiting to leave all day.
It’s finally time and my mind is blown,
wearing a snapback on the highway.
Cannot work this hard and not play,
carrying a bag and a palm stone.
I fill in the blank ‘Zip code hooray.’
Oh the thrill of being a runaway,
leading that group or at it alone.
Wearing a snapback on the highway.
Zero knowledge of where to stay,
I’m chasing a cabin and cobblestone.
I fill in the blank ‘Zip code hooray.’
Four tires on fire the world drifts away
as nature swallows my entire phone.
Wearing a snapback on the highway,
I fill in the blank ‘Zip code hooray.’
A
dash on
excitement
tender passion
warm my leaden mind;
lavish, pungent perfumes
drift thru torn, intimate halls;
chuckling from the cookhouse table,
our constant, unique, only junction,
drown me amorously…and I am near!