Best Hoppy Poems
Paula parrot is my name. I'm from the wild, but now I'm tame
A chatterbox who likes to talk!
Have news to share? Let's take a walk!
Now tell me what's the latest scoop?
Oh! Watch your step! There's Dodo poop!
I often fly around the zoo, and likely make a friend or two
Some call it weird, or quite absurd, to chatter with the other birds
I like to share a joke or two, with Ollie Ostrich, and Ed Emu
I can't deny, I wouldn't lie, I look the Cuckoos in the eye
We shoot the breeze, and share some pie
and when I leave, with teary eyes, they flap their wings, and bid "Good Bye!"
I pass on by, then say "G'day", to Hoppy-Hobo Kangaroo
I greet Giraffe, we share a laugh, a "How are you??" to Mr. Gnu!
I chat while the Chimps, do acrobats, and say "Ell...o" to Elephants...
Poor Tiger's throat is very sore.......he's caught a bug, and cannot roar!
I offer honey for his grrrrrrrr.....so he can growl, just as before!!
For Penguins shivering on the ice,...I gave them boots, and sage advice
(They are rather bashful....but very nice!)
I'll take a swim with Dolphin friends, then saddle up, my pal, the Whale
He wants to know some shocking news, and promises he'll never tell.
Zack the Zebra can't decide, so dresses up in black and white
He's my friend! We never fight! Whether black or white, or fancy stripes!
They are all my friends and what's to lose? Lucky me, with friends to choose
It seems bizarre to talk to those, who live a life behind those loathsome bars...
So, if you like to talk a lot....give strolling through the zoo a shot!!
______________
For Contest sponsored by Constance La France ..."Z" 12/31/13
So sad..Hopping in and Out of one' s life....
It's Peter Rabbit for Pete's" sake...
He comes by each and every year...
For this they say we should fear ?
Just to share a Spring holiday ?...
He's a horrid creature, so they say...
He has big ears and a cotton tail...
And sometimes he even carries a pail..
Full of candy, and colorful decorated eggs...
This day is between Valentine hearts , and Green Beer kegs....
He's rarely ever seen...
And has never ever been mean...
So why are all these American States...
Having all these holiday debates ?..
I await my basket filled with a chocolate kiss..
I only hope his picture does not end up on...
The Post Office " 10 most wanted list "...
I went to the Zoo and saw an Okapi,
Unlike the Hare, he did no hippity-hoppy.
But, like his cousin the Giraffe,
It truly had to make me laugh,
Its long tongue kept its ears from getting sloppy.
I love to see to see bunnies, so hoppy,
with small twitching noses and floppy,
cute ears or a llama,
the cause of such drama.*
I'm charmed by the unique okapi!
Stumped viewers are always inquiring,
“What IS that?” They stare, so admiring
this zebra-giraffe,** for
it is neither one nor
the other—and so awe-inspiring.
*a reference to the popular children’s story “Drama Llama”
(about a llama that gossips and stirs up trouble among the
other animals) and the topic of entertaining videos
**another name for the okapi, native to the Congo
For many months my wife and I have seen a little brown bunny frequent our back yard from a field in the back that has coyotes, foxes, deer, opossum and raccoons. It returns to the field each day and we always think it will be its last day. But a few days later there it is again. A survivor for sure!
little brown rabbit
in a field of coyotes-
hoppy survivor
sleeping (( COLLABORATION * Don Johnson ))
by~ DON JOHNSON
The Nullabor it does abhor
the desert in it standing
The broken heart
he keeps apart
where Eagles are a landing
kangaroo is prolific cos good seasons bring in millions
they shoot them for the last hundred years,
Hoppy is still there in millions
Almost a plague after rain
The cure the joy the madness ploy, just catch a little Shiela
but broken hearts tend to self destroy
The one true love, to feel her
so searching for the lock of eyes upon the Nullabor
kangaroo does abound, dead straight the road for sure
Ironic tale sour grapes inhale,
He sleeps upon the plain
his swag is near the old Ute, and the dog is ever watchful
his protector is a beaut
~civilization calls~
he has to go back to the city streets
And searching ever searching for the eyes of lady sweet.
***by~ POET D:
Searching and searching till weak eyes fall asleep.
~civilization calls~
Calls the plague of raining streets!
The sleeping kangaroo took me into the abyss of sour grapes.
A wildlife with wildfire turned over by wildflowers.
Seascapes; full of sand that no one dared to understand!
Drowning underwater in a universe that had no expand.
Where the passer-by's felt the expression of sadness in his sleeping face.
All it took was experiencing the world with one lonely look.
A grain of salt, in the night sky!
Where clouds ‘walk-sneak and / clouds-cry like a whirlpool’,
Tears from a near by fountain deep in a valley.
Where we can sing for roo's sleeping heart.
Death in a wild flower mourning asleep on the hour.
Seeing’ is believing when Shiela appeared.
Drying tears with her sweet eyes over the desert lands.
A Collaboration with *DON JOHNSON
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~
My ol' memory is hazy
And sometimes things don't seem too real;
But I can still recall the night
That I danced at the Wagon Wheel.
Well, seems I was in a good mood
And was puttin' on quite a show;
Prancin' on top of that slick bar
And yellin' like a crazy crow!
I wore my new black Hoppy shirt
And a pair of Gene Autry boots--
They say I danced till 'bout midnight
And did all them ol' cowboy scoots.
Then outside that saloon window
Comin' in was a gent in black;
They said he was that bogey man--
Since that night I never been back.
So ends my honky-tonk story;
Like Red says: "It's saucered and blowed"--
I never danced for drunks again
Like back when I was four years old.
What would Westerns be without Horses
Would our heroes be as well known
Without their equine companions
They’d chase the bad guys on their own.
Roy would be lost without Trigger
And Gene without Champion - no way
Hoppy relied upon Topper
To keep the bad guys at bay.
“Hi-Ho Silver” yelled the Lone Ranger
Tonto followed with “Git em up Scout”
These guys relied on their horses
That’s what Westerns were all about.
Tom Mix rode Tony The Wonder Horse
That goes back a long time ago
Cisco Kids mount was Diablo
Red Ryder rode Thunder, I know.
There were other well known horses
Like Flicka and Thunderhead,
Fury and National Velvet
Black Beauty and of course Mr. Ed.
So as these Heroes rode the range
To find an outlaw who’s hiding
Lets pause and give some credit
To the Horses that they are riding.
Theme: Horses
Contest: Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes
Written by: Ralph Taylor 7/28/10
Sponsor: Constance~A Rambling Poet
When there’s just too much news
That has more wrongs than right—
I watch those old westerns
In good old black and white.
I’ll watch that Rocky Lane
Or that Johnny Mack Brown—
Tim McCoy or Buck Jones—
Ones that once were around.
Ken Maynard and Kermit—
The ones that we forgot—
They come alive on film;
Show us all what we’re not.
They’ll never come again
In daylight or the night—
They ride on in our minds
In good old black and white.
There’s still Fuzzy St. John
And big Smiley Burnette—
On scratchy cellulose
That we’ll never forget.
Lash, Dean, Steele and Wakely,
Still grace that silvered screen—
Roy, Gene and old Hoppy
Were the best that we’d seen.
And where have they all gone?
Gabby Hayes, Andy Clyde?
Yes, we can still see them,
Even though they have died.
Yes, when the world’s too much
And we can see no light—
I watch those old westerns
In good old black and white.
My father was my link to beer
And Rheingold was his brew.
That red and white can held the only
Lager that I knew.
As I grew up I switched to wine -
Sangria was in style -
And even learned to like some booze -
Tequila, for a while.
But years ago I drifted back
To early brewski days,
Especially when I discovered
Hoppy IPA's.
Back then, the stores had just a few
So I scoped out my faves.
I tried to spread the word but
Very few confirmed my raves.
Yet happily for me, today,
The craft beer movement's hot
And with so much to choose from,
There are loads I like a lot.
My dad, if he were still alive,
Would sip and shake his head,
Rejecting all those crafty brews
For Rheingold-types instead.
But each of us would raise a glass
(Or bottle, can or mug)
And share a father-daughter toast
Before we'd smile and chug.
If women could stand up to pee
Oh how happy we all would be!
In half the time
She'd spend her dime
And then leave the seat up for me!
Champion retort:
Let's hope her aim
Is not as lame
As most men's seem to be!
Michelle Faulkner Date: 9/27/2018 6:35:00 PM
So you think you know just how us cowboys should behave
But listening to your jawing, I hear Chisholm spinning in his grave
A Cowboy who don’t drink or cuss, I’ll tell you that’s not right
Ain’t you heard of Old Whiskey Row, Where two cowboys got tight?
To go to tying knot’s in the Devil’s tail took more than lemonade
There’s been liquor on the bar in every movie John Wayne made
Back when Chisholm blazed the trail & cattle claimed the West
It was music round a campfire, as the hands settled for a rest
They’d often talk of home or sing a tune to pass the time
You’ve seen that in the movies, when it only cost a dime
They sang of Laredo, Lil Joe or maybe Annie Laurie
Right then & there you decided what a Cowboy ought to be
There are some things we might share with Hoppy, Roy & Gene
But real cowboys won’t ever be like those on the Disney scene
Any buckaroo can sure clean up sharp for a Saturday night dance
Even be persuaded to use pretty words when sparking a romance
We pick a little guitar and some can make that harmonica wail
But you’re just as apt to hear La Bamba as you are a song of the trail
Those cowboys that you talk of, all slick & squeaky clean
All pressed and starched, with proper speech, they ride a silver screen
You see that feller in the corner, all tattered & dusty, that’s the real McCoy
Battered old Stetson, mud & manure spackled jeans, a bonafide Cowboy
He might be rough around the edges and his language a bit coarse
But when he sets to working cattle, You swear he was born on a horse
We are only human after all; sometimes we just need to cut loose
Shoot out the lights, kiss all the ladies; drink our fair share of the booze
We still love our mommas and say grace with most meals
We just don’t handle being boxed, can’t stand the way it feels
Those who don’t tolerate a lot of rules choose the cowboy way
Much like this cowboy you see here before you today
I can see you are trying to sort this out in your head
For all you know of cowboys is what you’ve seen and read
I surely hope this little talk about cowboys made it all a bit clearer
The only one we answer to is the maker and the face in the mirror
I hate to burst your bubble, still you best here it from me
Cowboys can’t be pigeon holed; they must be wild & free
Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 19, 2005
Smell of fresh horse dung on the breeze,
Not far away, just north of here,
Keep walking on the rocky ground ,
No panic, yet no fear,
Palm island Prison, I escaped,
Swam ashore, I nearly died,
Saw the fins of noahs arks, (sharks)
Dog paddling, still so tired,
Black tracker follows me,
I see him in my mind,
Jacky sticks like glue, does he,
My tracks are pretty hard to find,
The Traps they come, at walking pace,
Tracker picks the way,
Up or down the river ,
Might cost em half a day,
Eat a few mussel clams,
found under the waters edge,
just a creeping through the water,
doubled back under a ledge,
Traps they hurry away to the west ,
follow them, I might find,
And now I’m tracking Jacky ,
I think the buggers blind,
So the Traps get tired of looking,
My track just can’t be found,
So they return to the coast,
say they think I’m drowned,
So I walked inland four hundred miles,
Went home to live in the bush,
Lived off the land, Goanna and Sheep,
In the land of the wait awhile.
lovely Crayfish that I keep,
In my home land I do sleep,
me Boomerang goes woosh,
no need for me to bloody rush,
wild duck will have me fed.
Don Johnson
Dedicated to Bill Hopkins who did just that....know as hoppy...
Those days of faithful sidekicks have all but passed us by,
We’d rather watch car crashes or someone blown sky-high.
Playing the second fiddle was Gabby’s first jackpot:
For Tom Tyler, Hoppy, Roy and even Randolph Scott.
But in a world gone loco and too-filled with this and that,
We still wonder what became of Gabby Hayes’ hat.
He was the shabby coot we could barely comprehend,
But when all the chips were down, we knew just who to send.
His hat was folded back, dog-eared, battered and threadbare—
Rough and scratchy like his face, but he was always there.
But now too few remember his rasping codger chat—
We wish the world was simple as Gabby Hayes’ hat.
Is it now in a museum or sold for cold, hard cash
Or buried there with him or thrown away with the trash?
They just don’t make any sidekicks like Gabby Hayes now,
With that gray-whiskered mug, long hair and that furrowed brow.
And there’s no singing cowboys unless from Nashville town—
And now they just wear the hats but not the cowboy crown.
Yet as the world passes by and we grow old and fat,
We still wonder what became of Gabby Hayes’ hat.
The horses of my childhood
Do you remember too
Mr. Ed and Fury
Just to name a few
Roy had his Trigger
Dale had Butter Cup
They were stuffed and mounted
When dead – just look it up
Spin and Marty had Skyrocket
On the Mickey Mouse Club show
Hoppy rode in on Topper
That’s one you might not know
When he rode in on his Traveller
Robert E. Lee looked stately
Comanche survived the Little Big Horn
You don’t hear of them much lately
Lone Ranger had his Silver
Paladin had his Rafter
The Cisco Kid - Diablo
They brought us tears and laughter
Which one was my favorite
Why – the last one that I’d seen
There upon my TV
Or on the movie screen
Mdailey 5/30/11
9th place finish in contest