Best Scooting Poems
Oh, how wonderfully innocent
and juvenile, 'twas for me.
You, scooting surreptitiously.
closer and closer to me.
Like a soft, gentle caterpillar,
slithering and smiling.
Making its way home in the
still of the night.
I clutched my lovely, flowered
handkerchief.
Then my gold cross with a
sparkling aqua gem upon it.
Really, wanting to not say, no.
My blue eyed Tommy boy.
In the Elmwood Park Spring, we
were about to kiss.
Fireflies came to celebrate this
celebratory bliss.
When we were moving beyond
flirtation.
It was as though heaven were
sending particles of stars,
To bless the softness of this
sacred night.
Of huge elm tress, your strong
arms about me.
Finally, those soft, tender lips.
There in God's silent moonlight,
I had my first teenage kiss!
August 30, 2019
Inspired by writings of Robert Lindley.Thank you!
Categories:
scooting, car, first love, growth,
Form:
Free verse
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
Categories:
scooting, life, me,
Form:
Free verse
blackbirds in the rain
walking among the fallen leaves
under the old mango tree
with dripping leaves
bathing the grass below
blackbirds diligently lifting
the rain soaked fallen leaves
peering underneath for insects
and worms
flushed out
by the drizzling rain
pausing to gulp one down
then scooting off again
searching for more
sitting under the shed
with raindrops playing their music
on the galvanised sheet roof
with a beat
that resonates
within my inner being
putting me in a trance
connecting me to the rain
and the puddles on the ground
with the raindrops
gently tapping the water's surface
creating rings that collide
with one another
disrupting their individual shapes
creating a dynamic new pattern
reflecting their unity
and bubbling with energy
in the drizzling rain
O what a deep feeling
of peacefulness and serenity
with the rain
the dripping leaves
and the puddles
serenading my spirit
with the eternal song of Nature
and merging it into the
Unity Of All Things
It was raining today. There was a constant drizzle for hours. I sat in a shed attached to the house, watching the blackbirds in action in the rain, searching for their food. The constant rhythmic sound of the rain on the galvanised sheet roof of the shed and the gentle drama playing out in the backyard with the blackbirds was a spiritual experience for me connecting me with Nature and the unity of all things as mentioned in the last verse.
.
Categories:
scooting, bird, insect, music, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Nanny’s come a-visiting,
We’re playing in the lounge.
Lottie’s on her kiddie car,
Scooting all around
Lost within her tiny world –
Doesn’t know I’m there –
Moving all her little toys
To table from the chair.
Reach for toy, put in car,
Climb on car and then
Scoot, scoot, get off car,
Pick up toy again.
Turn around, step, step!
Put it on the table …
She doesn’t know she’s walking yet!
We didn’t think her able!
Step, step, back on car.
Scoots to chair and then
Mum comes in, Nan murmers, “watch …”
And off we go again.
Scoot, scoot, get off car,
Pick up little cow.
Step! Step! Put it down …
Mummy grins, “Oh, WOW!”
For my daughter Verity, and her daughter, Charlotte.
Categories:
scooting, childhood, children
Form:
Verse
Age three, crisscross apple sauce, hands in your lap.
Age five, scooting a few inches, to let whole class in.
Age twenty-three, fresh out of college, a brand new teacher,
Criss-cross applesauce in the circle with your kindergarteners.
Age thirty-four, sitting on chair, in crisscross circle with kids.
Age forty-four, attempt at crisscross on floor, kids snickering.
Age fifty-five, on chair again, in crisscross circle with kids.
Age sixty-eight, on floor, crisscross for thirty minutes.
Legs fall asleep, can barely stand. Would kick myself if I could.
No idea this was going to happen. Standing unsteadily,
Both feet asleep. One of the third graders comes over and hugs me.
Thanks me for coming, and I cannot walk out the door yet.
Age does matter.
Categories:
scooting, age, school, teacher, teachers
Form:
Light Verse
Scrubbing dishes in a cold kitchen,
on a tabletop rats nibble
through a leather bible cover.
She turns,
a lock of sweat matted hair over one eye,
shakes a red knuckle at a wailing child
sat on the floor by the door.
When Mary, in washed-out despair,
leaves, she leaves a bible, the rats
and a child there.
Mary drying his feet with her hair.
Mary at the temple calling for him.
Mary full of sperm on a street corner.
Mary full of a Grace,
a face that makes her invisible
to rabid dogs and drinking men.
I want to put all of Her together
old and young,
fat Mary on roller skates,
sweet Mary sucking candy,
badly handled and shady Mary,
to speak now for all the wet and dry virgins
slobber some words from a beaten heart,
for all the mother’s, all the worshiping foot washers;
a patchwork Mary, a working Mary.
Let us adore her from an upstairs room
where the cockroaches scuttle near
having no fear. if we don’t,
she might one day castrate us with a steely smile.
Today I walked for Mary,
the sky was a blue egg, robed with light.
I ate a chicken sandwich, lips slick with grease.
In the Chick-fil-A a family was praying over their fast food.
The joint was hopping
kids scooting in and out of seats.
A dozen Mary’s were trying to corral them,
get then to be nice like Christ.
Later I spoke to her at the foot of a crucifix,
told her all my s..t,
felt better, a kind of peace,
knowing she knew all the things I do in the dark
when she comes to me for forgiveness and rest.
I make the sign of the cross,
I make the sign of the cross.
I mean why not?
Categories:
scooting, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
“Quick smart struck onion!
You metronomous fishy tail!
You’ll not be taken in by me,
you fraudulent legume!”
I seemed to have soundly unsettled her
Set her mind cross firing, flailing
But it’s not such a thing to be nettled for
No reason for wail and paling
“Quick, smart, lush young-one!
You’re melodious, pithy, hale!
I’m already taken much with you;
please do let me resume!”
Still I unbloomered my hand and bloused it
Found her skin a singin’ an’ tinglin’
Thrilled firm and brazenly arouse-ed
Her dissent clearly dissemblin’
“Oh quick, start, rush lovin’!
My ‘band’s a louse, gritty, stale!
But he’ll not be taking long from now,
or so we should assume!”
That’s when I heard an unsettling foot step
Eared hobnail booting scooting
And so sought out the exit I 'ad free kept
Flash fear foul intention mooting
Quick; dark, hush, re-button!
Your ‘band sussed our betrayal!
I’d best be taking my leave ‘bout now,
I’ll see you in no time soon!”
Categories:
scooting, funny, husband, passion
Form:
Narrative
yearning
of ritual
lethargic
in thunderstorm
through
huge chasm
of window&
watching
sky
darkened &
drizzle
dropping &
gust
howling
non-stop
yet stipulating
coldness
within
intimacy&
a glimpse
charming
longing
for flowers
blooming
rooting in
womb
relishing
drafting
sun and moon
elysian fields
of yesteryear
& blue oceans
crave
scooting
&
alleging
obsession
musings
notification
compelling
1St place contest winner
Written: August 1st, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Categories:
scooting, analogy, appreciation, care, cheer
Form:
Other
Our forest habitat
gusts breezes
across our skins,
as darkness slowly turns
toward bright sky light.
My son
who cannot walk
nor speak his name
talks vociferously forth and with
and adding as this morning breeze
together part of Her embrace,
playful tickles
across his advocating happy Yanging face
teaching out and taking in, as possible
what and whom is impossible
for any of us to see,
whether blind as he
or sighted as we
might actually hope to be.
D is an avid scooting son
toward virgin forest greetings,
able to smell and feel morning seasons and rhythms
of days and night,
dark and persuasively gusty bright
flow of solar and lunar breezes
across our democratic EarthBound skins,
nurturing solidarity
older than concrete avenues toward cities
of overwhelming unforesting,
unraveling
tribes producing what once was nutrition,
good food more than fake food,
healthy love of gusty bright mornings
over toxic repressed-yin darks,
nightmares of climate acclimation
to separating multi-sensory linguistic pathologies.
D's life is liturgy of love
blemished only by occasional aversions to entrapment
and suffering alone
when we might become possible
to produce healthier webs of cooperative nurture
together,
Dad and D
as We.
Daranyani D,
celebrating sacred forest winds
as feminine matriarchal principles
gracing his brown naked skin.
Diversity of days and holonic nightdreams,
democratic nutritional pluralism,
principles of forest reweaving civilizations
older than cities
surrounded by fading cultures of wealth
through deforesting this EarthTribe Morning
which,
on its very best warm gusty day,
has become worthy
of concelebrating Daranyani D's
forest optimizing breezes,
liturgies of EarthTribe's
Secular Out and Sacred In
brightest elder
matriarchally principled
(0)Soul bilateral sacred brain-dance,
Elder RightBrain
Still-PolyCulturating Light-RainDance
Choreographies Sacred (0)Sum EcoPolitical
BiCameral Green-Dominant.
Just like his preachy, but basically happy, ElderDad
co-eco incarnating
our forest habitat
gusts breezes
across our naked wrongs and rights,
as darkness slowly turns
toward bright returning sky light.
Categories:
scooting, discrimination, earth, gender, happy,
Form:
Political Verse
The Stars
It sings "twinkle twinkle little star" over and over again as it flickers on and off like a lightbulb.
I look up and see the stars.
They aren't stars but suns.
I close my eyes and I see Cancer the crab scooting over to say hi to Gemini.
As they chatter on about their neighbors Hercules wonders over to the hydra and slays him again.
Leo the lion stands waiting for Orion to mount and ride off to go on a hunt to find Scorpius.
Then Perseus on the Pegasus and Sagittarius riding the Phoenix fly away to go find the Sculptors home.
The Taurus himself ran from Orion many times but was caught in the end.
I blink and wonder what I just saw.
I don't dismiss it has a dream.
Why?
As I walk away I take one look back up and see Orion on Leo waving at me
Cancer and Gemini continue their dispute and the others continue their business.
These stars have something to hold in them.
Worth more then gold and silver combined.
They hold memories and possibilities.
Something we here at home can't give.
This is the story they told me.
Categories:
scooting, adventure, art, fantasy, children,
Form:
Light Verse
Garbled sounds of familiar yet compassionate love.
Surrounded by warmth and tender melodies as if warbled by a dove...
Soft beating sounds and liquids a flowing 'round and 'round,
Gentle movements, percussion's harmonizing soothing sound...
Breaking daylight unfamiliar sounds and brightness...
Sensations not felt before, warmth and cold with noises loud...
I scream... What is going on? Nothing is the same,
Awake, asleep, what is this a dream?
Never having felt a touch, never seeing light...
Stretch, kick wiggle and scream putting up a fight.
Soon wrapped up and snuggled close, familiar voice and sounds...
I'm settled down and warm as beating heart it pounds.
Soon I wake from deepest slumber,
Belly growling must be hunger.
Stretch and shout feeling pain,
Reaching screaming hoping gain.
Then soothing warmth and flesh a kneading...
Softest rhythm, two hearts beating.
Hunger pain has gone away,
Stretched out sleeping as I lay.
No worries, no pain all needs met.
Oh, but wait, what is that, wet?
Is it beneath me? That I bet!
Again, unfamiliar movement.
Feeling coldness strangely bent.
Soon by loving hands caressed,
Warm again awaiting rest.
Melodies so softly hummed,
Like a medicine I am numbed...
Off to sleep I fade...
Awake smiling, giggling too,
Looking up and cooing at you.
Everything so bright and new,
Wondering what next we'll do...
Much the same from day to day,
And surprises are on the way...
Rolling, tumbling and scooting with joy,
What is that bright and colorful toy?
Bells a jingling, blinking lights,
Stretchy bright and colorful tights!
Rocking, bouncing, sitting up,
Smiling waving, a sippy cup?
Soon I'm crawling full fun,
I'll skip the walking and start to run...
The time it flies so quickly now,
Days to weeks and then years somehow...
Daddy, Mommy, yes and no,
That’s a potty? I'm to go?
With my clothes myself I'll dress,
Shirt for pants, Oh what a mess...
But I can do it wait and see,
And when I do please jump with glee!
Run and jump and skip all day,
Talking and talking with nothing to say...
And then warn out asleep I fall,
With in my bed or in the hall...
Good Night All!
Categories:
scooting, baby, birth, child, family,
Form:
Rhyme
With chips and fries, girl buddy Pam and I
Lounged on a diva for night- time cable,
When Travolta caught our TV- tube eyes
Hips gyrating to Night Fever’s wiggle.
Our feet tapped as we looked at each other
“Let’s hit the town and paint it red”, we said;
In a flash, we dolled up and tossed our hair
Scooting the bar where pop- tunes drowned ahead.
We paced the dance floor wiggling our hands
To the height of beats like ‘ole college days
Then, more late 90s theme songs rocked the band
While starry eyes begged for music ablaze.
The crowd mingled to pass few drinks around
As we jigged along, romping like prom queens,
Till street lights dimmed to imply---‘homeward bound’
No way! It’s Girls’ Friday till morn , supreme!
Daren Watson's A Girls Night Out
by nette onclaud
Categories:
scooting, fun, night,
Form:
Quatrain
My daughter made her entrance
while in the heavens Hale Bop danced
We lived high up on a mountain
and the signs weren't great
the car had broken down again
I guess you'd call it fate
Is there room at the inn today?
Her father knocking on doors
pleading for a bed for us on any body's floors
Dolce the innkeeper s mother
She looked me eye to eye
And knew that we were ready
That kinda look don't lie
A big old key for a small barn door
Our maternity bed ,a few coats on the floor
So she was born in a barn that day
Amongst the bike bits,the crates and the hay
And the Angels sang
"Waaaaah" she exclaimed
as her sister poked her in the eye
making sure that she was real
And really was alive
"Happy birthday" cried the Bombaderros
With a smile that lit the gloom
"Your a little late " I mutter
and hugged my newest wee sweet bloom
Born strong my youngest daughter
Strong and Pure and True
and "Shut the bloody door" we shout
As she's scooting out the room
Categories:
scooting, birth, children,
Form:
Free verse
There was a dead little cat
Splayed in the middle lane of Washington Street
While I passed
And there was a man clumped to the curb
Pinching his chubby chin
Between his thumb and index finger
Like a final played poker chip
His eyes as flattened as aces on cards
In a corner bar across the street
While the police rubbed his shoulders and pencil notes
From the rotten sounds ground between his teeth.
Another man a driveway down
Has a nose displaced a million miles from his face
Smeared into his hanky.
Hoping no one notices
A woman wiggles in the wind out back
Like a Fentanyl clothesline clipped with a menu
Her age is a choice.
A third man on his back naps
In that front yard
Clutching his hands
To a samurai sword’s shiny blade
Slippery and stood straight up
From under and through him
Bubbling
Like a park fountain of roses.
Did it all start this morning
In their tiny crooked house?
Their cat scooting from underneath
A missed kick and through a crick
Of an unhinged front door
Out to the busy road?
If that for them
Was quite simply the last straw?
Categories:
scooting, addiction, betrayal, cat, city,
Form:
Free verse
With Jethro Tull playing in my ear
On a night whose memory I still hold dear
In my college dorm my Freshman year
Of virginity status I stepped clear
The intent was to study history
Biology, to me, still a mystery
I could sense her scooting close to me
When we got to D-Day there was victory
Our relationship didn’t last too long
My performance that night wasn’t real strong
But the memory still brings a big smile on
Of my very first night in a time long gone
Categories:
scooting, life, night, memory, memory,
Form:
Monorhyme