Best Oohs Poems
The rainbow needs a new name.
What it should be I don’t know.
Its name before Babel surely a song.
Shimmering, glistening, magical thing!
Outlandishly colored, and elusive.
Common and yet somehow rare.
Momentary, yet ancient.
Its power only doubted when hidden.
In its presence we are left without words.
Brilliant men utter only oohs and aah’s.
At times we can’t help but cry
because of water vapor?
Tiny droplets suspended untethered!
Explained and still incomprehensible!
Artists paint in vain upon their canvas.
Their work trite, opaque and flat,
a ridiculous cartoon.
If pictures with their renown power fail,
how can we tell of the leaping inside?
Hint of another realm we all suspect
Like joyous recognition!
For all this we say, “rainbow.”
Like shooting stars, they pierce the dark,
painting the sky with bursts of light.
As oohs and ahhs follow each spark,
like shooting stars, they pierce the dark.
Fireworks explode over the park,
raining color onto the night.
Like shooting stars, they pierce the dark,
painting the sky with bursts of light.
I am part of a display team
we don't practice, we all just know
to twist and turn together,
as we put on our aerobatic show.
This display is called a murmuration
the visual delight, showing no fear.
The oohs and aahs of the watchers
as the birds shows you autumn is here
We are noisy birds
seemingly never alone
our green brown plumage
with buff spots we call our own
I am a gregarious bird
I squawk and quarrel all day,
can mimic about twenty birds
like a nightingale they say
If you have a nest box I will gladly stay
you being around won't worry me,
in it my four blue eggs I will lay
soon the youngsters will fly free.
I might be a noisy neighbour
yet no garden is alive without me.
The Robin is pretty but a fighter
blue ****,blackbirds sparrows you'll see.
So gardeners when you plant up your flowers
sow your lawns and baskets you hang.
Remember to also put up a feeding table
put out seeds for the starlings that sing.
Penned 11 May 2015
Penny for the guy
C’mon mister give us a penny for the guy
This little ragamuffin asked with sad eyes brimming
Need the money to buy food she said with a cry
We are poor mister tearful eyes still streaming
Overhead great sparking rockets fly,
The girls guy looked sad and cold
C'mon mister a penny for the guy
She shouted as the oohs and aahs echoed around
Great Catherine wheels spun round and round
Sending sparks far and wide, in a colourful array
The smell of hot chestnuts making us drool
November the 5th is a fine fun day
Then through the smoke of the bonfire
Enjoying the fun sparkler in hand …. I saw
A cracker jack was lit by the sad guy
He jumped so high, ran, staying still no more
The guy she pushed for many a night
Was her brother who had been bribed to stay still
He tried but was the fright of the cracker jack
that made him jump and run up the hill.
Penned nov 2 2016
I love to fart, it stands me tall,
the raucous rumbling, belly bell,
all look around with eyes aghast,
to witness such a mighty blast.
when before the beak for slander foul,
I gave him one that made him scowl,
“does Sir require a time alone?”
I farted down his crony’s phone.
and if I’m lauded, like Le Potomane,
I light one to produce a tongue of blue
incandescent flame; thus lit, the room
and shadows prance, about the room
the dragons dance
and when in battle we cower from gun,
and want to encourage my comrades on,
I crouch below hell’s muddy trench, and
thus release the devil’s stench
then running forward death all around, I
fart the bugle’s curdling sound, and to
the enemy’s quick dumbfound, so
soon we seize triumphant ground
you see for me it is no shame, to unleash
the belly’s dogs of war, and oft when
travelling by first class, I give them a blast
from boiling ass
when love speaks strong and passion cries,
beneath the sheets there are no lies, so ahhs!!
or Oohs!! I never start, but let rip a lover’s
orgasmic fart
look: tis not the wallet, watch or jewel, that
creates the jinx, and mocks the fool, a prettier
penny lies beneath;
tis the fart; and jealous mule, the thief.
There is no point
If you have ‘been there, done that’
Unless you announce so loudly
On social sites
Show the proof of
The ‘Happy Family’ moments
You see, enjoying those moments
At that very instance
Is secondary
It is all about looking ahead
Thinking of the future
And this is just the beginning
Because now you
Have to check, every now and then
Those comments
Of your friends
Their mushy remarks
‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs’
Literally dripping their love for you
These bring back the twinkle in your
Sleep deprived eyes
And instantly uplift
Your travel weary selves
If you do not get a response
From someone specific
And you want to know
Whether he is dead or alive
All you have to do is
‘Poke’ him
His reaction, a ‘thumbs up’ will
Give you the same satisfaction
As a complete meal on a hungry stomach
And your daughter will tell you
‘Now, it has all been worth it’
Your ‘Thank you’ replies
To hundreds such comments
Are bound to keep you busy
For weeks to come
So much for our craving
For some ‘social recognition’
If not in the real world
Then at least in the virtual one
Where no great achievements
Are needed to get those
‘Rewarding’ comments
circus performer
a family tradition
passed on to me
a big top flyer
Oohs and ahhs heard from below
in the spotlight's heat
higher I rise
reaching for my partner's hands
the moment of truth
I hold my breath
hundreds of feet above ground
grabbing victory
swinging freely
after somersaults flying
applause like music
an entertainer
my calling to defy laws
of gravity
There flows in the blooming fields of Master, Claude Monet
a tulip river that springs to life with each impassioned stroke
A painting into which butterflies would be tempted to stray
where flowers waft in currents, making oohs and ahs evoke.
A Don Quixotic windmill and an old farmhouse in succession
short strokes of crimson, muted greens and boldest yellow
blended on canvas, the artist's Impressionistic expression.
Landscapes in natural light was the genius of this fellow.
I would snip a fresh bouquet of tulips to adorn a crystal vase
and capture their scent from the canvas for perfumed potpourri.
If I could climb inside a Monet painting, in my arms I'd embrace
you beside his tulip river and then sip a glass of crisp Chablis.
Dreaming of creamsicle
vanilla and orange swirls
My tongue is swimming,
diving into the delectable
spoonfuls of tangoing
flavors of joy-bursting “ahh.”
Better yet - creamsicle milkshake,
that goes straight to the mind
with “oohs” and “ahhs.”
It’s only a dream. A tribute.
Only one spoonful -
it, sits on my tongue,
cold and dangerous,
then the current takes it in
like a sin. Sinful not
to lavish one bite.
10/11/2022
Suspended with roses, a garter and courage.
Her wispy white costume blows in the breeze.
Silky vibrations as she sways her bodice —
the Rapunzel-princess of the swinging trapeze.
Brunette hair and outfit bound with pearls and lace.
High with Magellanic clouds, marvelous outlander of earth.
Slender fingers wrapped around the seraphic twine.
Daughter of the heavens, from the day a trouper gave birth.
One...two...three, the excitement sounds, the air surfeits
about like maddening faerie dust. The open sky burns
with eccentric flame - crowd applauding like cherry bombs.
The darling of the sky, entices every cent she earns.
This rapturous virgin makes love to the dawn.
Her stupendous feat goes on and on, drawing
in oohs and ahhs...the climax as her knees
hang vaingloriously from the seat, outlawing
the silver and gold wings that flutter about
outside the circus tent, as this beauty shines
upside-down like an albinotic bat, frenetically
stirring the breeze… waving from the vines.
7/29/2019
When Jill was asked to create a “Pie Chart”
She believed her teacher meant a la carte
Using a Lego set
Jill felt her goal was met
When she finished, there was not one spare part
Her project resembled a Ferris Wheel
Huge peach pie in the center of the reel
And her passenger carts
Were scrumptious cherry tarts
But Jill’s effort had an Achilles’ heel
She took care bringing the pie wheel to class
Some oohs and ahs her project did amass
But the wheel in motion
Caused quite a commotion
Pies flew to faces with a forward pass
Kids didn’t mind as they ate the remains
But most of Jill’s friends had custard for brains
A class pie fight ensued
And Miss Bigbutt so shrewd
Gobbled crumbs citing eminent domain
*October 11, 2014
The skillet hung near the old wood-burning kitchen stove.
Aside from her family, Mom considered it a special trove.
With that blackened old pan she prepared delicious repasts,
That in my judicious opinion will ne'er be surpassed!
Ah, just to recall the tasty grub stewed up in that old skillet!
How it tingled my taste buds just sliding down my gullet!
The chicken, steaks and chops in that old pan she did fry,
Evoked oohs and aahs and many a contented sigh!
She liberally dolloped lard in the pan 'til she had it just right,
Then concocted stews, soups and fried taters for our delight!
Mom was never concerned about such things as saturated fat,
Or life-threatening cholesterol and such things as that!
I suppose medicos today would have a conniption fit,
If they knew of the dietary sins my Mom did commit.
She must've done something right - her spouse lived past ninety-four.
Her kids outlived the odds, each reaching four score years or more!
Self-anointed wizards deem cast iron skillets detrimental to our health,
But I think they're just peddling new fads to add to their wealth!
My dear spouse uses her old iron skillet most every day.
I feel fit as a banjo regardless of what so-called experts may say!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I guess it would cause oohs and ahhs
if I wrote of the doggie's doo dahs
So I'd best keep it clean
even though it will mean
this 'tale' will be wagging the dog, haha.
Whisper of silence drowns the air,
you stand in the distance as a guiding light
to my broken vessel
let’s look upon the midnight stars
and embrace the magic that floats high above.
Touch me at that spot that makes me close my eyes
and say all the oohs and ahhs
Let’s talk without speaking
let’s make love without motion
let’s look without sights at our given future.
Let us forget him and her that was
And embrace us that is now
your secretes are mine
your thoughts, your fears
your dreams and love as is mine
Make me breathless with your presence
and motionless with your touch
Look me in the eyes without speaking and say I love you
And for the rest of the night let’s just sit together in silence.
Holiday Dangers
by Odin Roark
‘Tis greater to give than receive,
Begging the question: “Of what?”
Stuff remains the easy answer,
Cloaked in its brightly colored paper and ribbons,
Urging “Oohs and Ahs” from receivers,
Few can resist .
But what of a kind gesture in place of goods,
The finding of compassion and sympathy for the truly less fortunate,
Exercising that ephemeral spark of humanity once primary,
But now rapidly becoming an endangered principal of our species.
Hope hangs on…
The aware heart knows,
Like much of nature,
Humanoids can’t last forever,
That gathering of a materialistic image,
Buttressing the seductive illusions of generosity,
Be they religious or secular,
Knows only an all-consuming downward spiral,
A self-destructive glitter that blinds
As it drills deeper into itself,
Disintegrating at the end
Into the loss of “caring”
Fate’s delivery to a wide-awake darkness.
How habitual these temporal leanings,
How belittling to what innate mankind once wished to be.