Best Scooped Poems
He scooped and he packed
He rolled me good and round,
When all was done, I stood there
Only three feet off the ground
I had wondered why...
Why did this teenage boy,
Build me up this way
No bigger than a toy?
No bigger than his dog
In fact, we saw eye to eye,
I looked around for answers
And still I wondered why?
Then I came face to face
With an answer that was clear,
When the boy in the wheelchair
Slowly came rolling near
With his teenage brother
Lending him a helping hand,
He placed a smile upon my face
A smile so wide and grand
My eyes, two big buttons
From Grandma's sewing kit,
My scarf, one of their Dad's
Was striped and hand knit
From their Mom's kitchen came
My nose, a long gnarled carrot,
My arms, two maple limbs
From the family's tree I did inherit
My heart, warmed by the boy
The boy who could not walk,
His eyes laughed when he saw me
Though he could not even talk
No prouder stood a snowman
That towered, oh so tall,
Than me, the littlest snowman
The proudest one of all.
Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal
Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see
But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day
Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural
The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground
The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon
All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout
To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole
Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile
What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task
The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash
In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech
No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!
_________________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016
Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016
The lake was still sleeping
a light mist rose above,
a weathered dock could be seen,
its aged wood; full of memories.
The air crisp, breeze light,
trees majestic; watching all.
Squirrels busy scampering,
as a flock of geese soared above.
Way over yonder
clear across the still lake,
shining brightly were yellow shutters,
on our cabin; our special place.
We had toiled the garden
planted yellow roses with great care,
we had painted the old wood shutters,
yellow paint; speckled our hair.
The roof we re-shingled,
one painstaking nail at a time,
we even counted the ouches;
when our hammers got out of line.
With nothing but smiles
on our weary, aching bodies,
we held hands, and went running,
into the still of the lake; giggling.
We swam out to the dock,
it was a race; he won,
my hand he took laughing;
as he quickly scooped me up.
Our toes dangled playfully
sending ripples in the lake,
as we gazed at our cabin;
yellow shutters; fresh with paint.
The trees swayed slightly
as if nodding with approval,
for our cabin by the lake,
was our private sacred jewel.
As we cuddled together
warmth filled our souls,
for our bright yellow shutters,
symbolized, our love's blossoming growth.
It was on this very dock,
air crisp, breeze light,
when he gave me a yellow rose;
and asked me to be his wife.
Love feels like it has gone far away
She used to exist everywhere it seems
Now she hides in fear of being used up or let down
Most now, don’t even remember what she feels like
I remember long ago
Love used to have big bright colors
lightening bugs would soar through the night sky
with dancing white beams that glowed in the dark
four leaf clovers would spring from green pines of grass
but would ever elude being found and plucked
by those wanting a taste of its Irish good luck
floral beach balls and pink rubber kick balls were the center of summers delight
camp fire girls adorned navy blue vests and strutted proudly holding red white and blue flags down main street on Memorial Day
lazy polka dot burnt orange black lady bugs
would sleep under the sun
waiting to be scooped up
each child hoping to find the lady
with the most dots
to win the game
cotton candy colored May Day dances held in the public-school yard always on the hottest and sunniest day of the year
each student excited about dressing up in colorful garbs from different cultures around the world
Love was innocent then...
Love had the best aromas too
tide detergent, vanilla extract
talcum powder, wonder bread
sweet potato pie
hot dogs on toasted rolls at the public pool
Chanel #5 on Church Sundays
lots of Chanel #5
Love had the most wonderful sounds
the rustle of fall leaves under your feet
the crunch of plastic sofa covers at grandma’s house
sitting on the porch listening to night crickets on dad’s lap
Maybe love is actually still here
Waiting for us to love her back
She has not been treated well lately
I hope that she will give us all another chance
And come back soon
Hopefully this time
She will stay
Strong Coffee Ate A Silver Spoon
Strong coffee ate a silver spoon
Blind feline lapped up the spilled milk
Sweet relief cannot come too soon
I slept on sheets of finest silk
Gone such dreams with vanishing moon
Dry toast from molded bread was made
Served with the world's gold gilded lies
Sides of temptations, well displayed
Seeds of regrets in cherry pies
I, a blind jackass, sorely brayed
Eggs were scrambled while feeling pain
Table sighed, "Why am I left bare?"
Except for heartache's tenured stain
and foolish pride that placed it there
I hear cries in horrid nightmares
Plum jam scooped from a broken jar
Morn's mirror showed my old hurts
bludgeoned by love's iron bar
Stove hissed at me, "Your just desserts!"
I deserved each deeply etched scar
Robert J. Lindley, April 2nd, 2002
Rhyme, (Early dawn, Breakfast speaks, Life's foibles)...
One lone rose tumbled from the basket,
the same as the others but set apart
All were beautiful. They congregated
in one basket, these Southern belles,
but she, with her pink cheeks, tumbled,
she’d cut her ties. She loved them, indeed,
but not exclusively. No one was there
to hold her by the hand. She knew
and cared about the world out there.
all the southern belles
beautiful, adorned in pink ~
one lone rose cut ties
She’d end up in a beautiful bouquet,
dusted off, picked up from the floor.
She was the bride’s favorite - was she
something new or something old?
She wasn’t sure - it didn’t matter,
she was used for a moment in time,
carried as the piano played, as
the crowd stood to admire the bride.
how the bouquet served,
open to severed flower ~
the pride of the bunch
Puffed-up in the part she played.
The lovely pink dustable would be saved,
dried, sprayed. She was loved, as surely
as if she was the velveteen rabbit, boxed
up - almost nearly ever gawked at. Her
favorite time was when a little girl, who
looked so much like the bride of years-
gone-by, opened the box and picked her up.
surprise opening
admired, crushed, and scattered rose
a little girl laughs
She was admired and crushed and
a puckered up lady scooped her up
and kissed her over and over again
telling her of her favorite flower - a foundling
she admired even with its scattered petals.
kisses are gathered
strewn on the cheeky lassie ~
she’s a gift of life
She gave one petal to the mischievous girl -
“God bless you! May this grow into
a pretty bouquet, special and unique.
I’ve been so blessed, dear one.
May your life be so blessed too.”
understanding not
but love was never forgot
for girl’s heart was full
Then the worn out rose saw the old
bride kiss her granddaughter, again,
as they laughed and the girl’s cheeks
turned an eternal pink, taking on the hue
of reignited petals. She would stand apart
from the rest, though she loved them all
would serve the world. Her name was Rose.
her namesake of old
ruffled, lacy, magi’s gift
a blessing from God
9/1/2022
A true story, based on family oral tradition
from the oldest part of the city of Bern,
capitol of Switzerland, where my mother was
born and raised, in the Nydegghoff)
He lighted the candle with a quivering hand,
his overcoat seeming to weigh down the old man.
He paused in the aisle to genuflect,
and wondered if God knew his heart was a wreck.
He found a pew and got to his knees,
hands clasped together, he sent out his pleas.
He is old and he's tired, now he's alone,
his wife died last Spring, now his house wasn't home.
They'd been blessed with one son, he'd died in the war,
and now there was nothing for him to live for.
He prayed until his knee pain was great,
then sat back in the pew and tried not to shake.
The cathedral was beautiful; he loved the stained glass,
but, oh, they brought memories of Sundays past.
How could he make it through Christmas alone
in a house that was empty, no longer a home?
The kitchen was silent and cold as a tomb,
but her scent lingered on in their modest bedroom.
He said one last prayer, then rose to his feet,
genuflecting again, he went out on the street.
He walked home near blindly, not even aware
of the snow that was landing on his shoulders and hair.
He was cold inside, his heart like a stone,
and he felt completely and utterly alone.
He turned down his street, saw his porch light's glow,
and only then realized it had started to snow.
He opened his gate, thought of making some soup,
but froze in his tracks at the sight on the stoop.
On his porch sat a basket, the old wicker kind,
he thought for a moment, he was losing his mind.
Inside the basket that sat on his mat,
were three tiny kittens and one momma cat.
What a pitiful sight, so cold and so thin,
he scooped up the basket and hurried them in.
He found some canned tuna and warmed up some milk,
gently petting the babies, whose fur was like silk.
He never discovered who left those cats there,
but, as his love grew, he no longer cared.
His wife had loved cats and this comforted him,
as they slept on his head, or tucked under his chin.
The kittens grew quickly, as they're wont to do,
amused by their antics, his love grew and grew.
There was laughter and joy 'til the end of his days,
for God works, as you know, in mysterious ways.
In Thrall
I’ve scooped plasma from the sun
To cook meals and heat my bath,
Moved Mount Everest just for fun;
None can ever walk my path.
I’ve had dinner on Saturn’s rings,
Kicked the moon like a soccer ball,
Plucked light rays like guitar strings—
I should adorn the walls of great halls.
I’ve swum the depths of every sea,
Journeyed to the center of the Earth,
Drunk molten magma like green tea;
My mind suffers no dearth.
I am the Law, the Order, and the King,
Free! Only to my mind am I in thrall.
I relish the escapes its figments bring,
Finding ways out of my every fall.
I’m a minstrel with an unchained mind
Or some raving loony in sanity’s cloak.
It’s no matter to what you are aligned,
Life is easier if seen, in part, as a joke!
Sept. 23, 2018
There’s a small village not so far away
anyone who hears it dreams to be there,
Its beauty lures like white fairies at bay-
their billowy gowns prettily unfurl;
As its homes sprout as mushrooms of winter,
scooped by mountains like petals of flower.
When we ride to ascend its spiral road,
curtains of snowflakes are crystals in view
Winter wonderland is right there, behold!
At the swinging bridge over river-snow,
when you frolic around, feels no adieu
Lulls notes of perfection, not made askew.
Night comes around, nocturnal critters sound
to keep its eternal fascination
While animals scamper on thick snow ground
lit by tiny lamps on trees, let’s sojourn
to embrace the glorious celebration-
Winter Wonderland’s Yuletide Season.
Takayama is Winter Wonderland,
Not so far away, it’s found in Japan.
Dec. 30, 2018 10.50am
A try of Urban sonnet in 10syllables
ABABBB- CDCDDD- EFEFFF-GG
A poem in remembrance on one of the cities I visited last March 4-7, 2018 in Japan.
As he slept in tranquil dream,
Suddenly he flew, it seemed.
Thrown and landing on the floor,
Shaking walls and splintered doors.
Just as quick, the room grew still.
Distant tremors he could feel.
Out the door, and up the rock,
There he stood in sleepy shock.
How could oceans disappear.
Then a hissing he could hear
And a trembling, heavy roar
Headed for an empty shore.
Sunrise turned a greenish hue,
As he climbed, a better view.
Seeming far too large, he saw
What must be a water wall.
Thought of ancient stories told
Of a wrath that could unfold;
Sucking oceans with a breath,
Spewing endless waves of death.
Instinct quickly cleared his mind.
Panic now, he clawed and climbed.
Up, despite the screams he hears,
As a village disappears.
Once an evil came to call,
Scooped them up and took them all.
Now he's old, his stories wane,
Of the morning Satan came.
Gene Bourne
08-18-14
.
.
It was the kind of day I had always dreamed of,
a source of energy was emitted by the sun,
the tiny leaves dancing like they were in love,
green, red, yellow and orange...I had to pick just one.
My arms wide open towards the rustling breeze,
my smile upright inhaling the heavenly atmosphere,
clouds so evolved into shapes I'd never seen,
startled I thought, “I think I'll pick the one right here.”
Not the red one....not even the orange caught my eye,
and the yellow seemed too rough around the edges,
but the green leaf looked lonely so I gave it a try,
For it was buried so deep in my front yard hedges.
It was not part of a foliage but buried under a rock,
eight sharp points creating it's own special star,
deepest kelly green seen from any tree on the block,
so I scooped it up gently and tucked it in my scarf.
Walking home I wondered why I chose a leaf so plain,
after all, there are plenty of colors during Autumn,
but I was looking for something that wouldn't complain,
and something to alleviate my mid-life boredom.
See, I am that green leaf that doesn't need to stand out,
I'm perfectly content being consistent and clear headed,
some people may not understand what I'm talking about,
being such a big part if this world, stay true and connected.
I pray I stay this way and keep walking down nature's path,
the exact way God had intended before I was born,
to be honest, sincere and carry on my own happy laugh,
for I'll always have my little green leaf to keep me warm.
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: January 14, 2016
I stepped into a cow pie, back a year or so ago, and I did fuss and cry!
Or so I am told… Then I found a Dragon egg, and as you will surmise…
The plentitude and size of those pies, unfolded before my poor, sad eyes.
I pooper scooped alone, as they all ran from me and it, no matter what I tried.
There wasn’t enough fussing or money, that could bring them, into my crew.
It took a great big honking cart, behind a tractor to work the deed, it’s true
Dragon wouldn’t cooperate, to even remotely, pile it wherever I did need.
In fact, he buried my rose bed: as he covered it deep, in protest, at full speed.
I thought my teenagers had capped that rebel and protest thing, to an extreme.
OH, BOY! Have I become enlightened, to what a true protest can really mean!
Yep! And then he taught the neighbors Dogasaurus, to cover my dear, old Car!
Pitchfork handy, I chased them, as an incentive to unload in another place, so far!
That was inspired, I had gamely thought, until they dumped upon, poor little me.
I became known as the Dragon pie lady, and that was not a treat, I guarantee!
And yes, the paparazzi, put it on the front page as I got my 15 minutes of fame.
At this, Grandpa Troll came, to my much-needed aid, to help me stop this game.
He put us across the lake, from each other, in time out, until a deal was struck.
When Dragon’s fire finally gave out, he finally agreed to help clean up his muck.
Dragon agreed to ash all deeds, if I’d sell it as fertilizer to buy him more ice cream.
A bargain struck, peace reigned, and a fun incentive brought about our dreams.
The moral to my story is: Anyone can start a fight… But a fun incentive can be
Golden and bring the end to any plight.
Abandoned
by your own mother.
How could she
leave you to die?
You were helpless,
bedraggled and weak.
When I saw you
my heart melted…
who could resist
those huge blue eyes.
I scooped you up
and carried you home.
You cried for your mum;
but she was long gone.
I gave you warm milk
you drank thirstily;
then fell asleep
in my arms.
I begged my mum
to let you stay.
From that day
you stole my heart.
I fell in love
with my first kitten.
Sponsor Ed Ebbs
Contest Anacreontic Verse 1
11~07~15
He'd had a bad day, he was snapping and snarling.
His behavior, it was anything but darling.
But I couldn't shut up, be compassionate and care.
Oh, hell no, not me. I had to poke the bear.
His eyes were red coals. He sputtered and shrieked.
Sure I'd just made it worse and now he had freaked.
sigh.....
Off to the store for ice cream for his highness
and to keep my rabid tongue from some of it's wryness.
In the line before me someone was hunting for money.
My ice cream was melting, my disposition, not sunny.
Instead of patience and a rational aire,
oh no, not me, I had to poke that bear.
"Hey Lady !, we're waiting, you could let us go through"
She threw down her coins and started counting anew.
sigh...
With running ice cream, home I now went,
where old grumpy-pants temper tantrum seemed spent.
I scooped out his ice-cream, delivered it to his side.
He glanced at it , then me, and made a comment quite snide.
I could have said "sorry, it melted somewhat"
but oh no, not me, I had a different thought.
I couldn't be contrite, compassionate and fair.
That just isn't me. I had to poke that bear.
After some comments about ice cream and his weight
I bit my tongue but I bit it too late.
sigh...
So heed my advice and just be aware
when things are going bad, just don't poke the bear
Disheveled hair, wiry and gray
an old lady hovered past my house each day.
I ignored her when she passed by
wondering what possessed her as I sighed
then in my own focused diligence
I slinked fast away, uncaring in my ignorance.
Wasn't sure where she lived but wondered
why in the world she seemed so encumbered.
Then one day when a little cold set in
I stepped outside my homey bin
and there lay bird wings on my mat
and slipped away some stray gray tabby cat.
Then as I queried in my beleaguered mind
that old lady waved, not surprised as to what I was to find.
There along the shade of the door's edge
just below the fully defined hedge
lay the gathering of leaves and papers torn
five kittens hiding unseen and newly born.
The old lady grinned, scooped them up and smiled
their mine she said as if they were her own child.