Best Scoots Poems
Only Leaves
Their numbers are overwhelming
golden and brown transversing my path.
I abandon every one in each step forward.
Green lives, lived,finally
fallen to the battlefield of my morning walk,
some burning red, the last fire extinguished.
Others are dry and crisp,
burnt toast of maples,
drifting and rolling as Mariah scoots them.
Is it the wind;
or are these pointy little corpses
positioning for Halloween tricks?
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.
* Ey, gt d cr kys…m mtg ^ wd d crw ds f-dy nyt…
ur brgr pak s in d ref.
-----
I’m hitting the breeze, painting the town red
fine leather and stockings dressed
with rockin’ gal friends in tow
The car scoots on Friday night’s bar near west
dance steps, cocktails whirl jazz lights…
while you’re TV couching
-----
*Hey, got the car keys… I’m meeting up with the crew
this Friday night… your burger pack is in the ref.
Text Talk Contest of David Williams
Here squats a Black Widow spider,
who sups a swig of sweet cider.
He spies her there,
scoots close to share
and sips the hot brew beside 'er.
She darts with aim to devour,
her size gives her lethal power.
She fakes a hug,
then snags him snug;
true bliss defines his last hour.
For some who deceive are gifted
to mask when power is shifted.
The prey's surprise—
he's soon incised—
his parts all broken and sifted.
Autopilot tired
broken wings
sore in soaring flight
fluttering, down-spiral
clouds streaming beyond fog
drowsy
then,
three barrel rolls
swirling through silver light
simulcast storm shakes black topsoil
mineral enriched,
vitamins collide,
seep through porous skin
providing synthesized eruptions
cataclysmic spasms drop knowledge undetected by erudition
Thick walls wobble, crack, then begin to close in on the thin skull
a metaphysical transformation manifests
three!
three!
threes permeate
preserving Oblivion...
Earth, moon, stars
proton, neutron, electron,
mother, father, child
Fertile land dissolves for the horizon
turquoise soaks toes
and so
an enigmatic awakening
idle imagination swiftly shifts gears here
from stationary stone
to being thrown through the moon
effervescent agitation bubbling oceans strewn
triggering intensity
tridimensional trepidation
sleet sheets pelt clipper ships
Parochial, no longer the vision
mood scoots through sinister to happy-go-lucky
three grim blankets lift from melodramatic souls
This mighty universe revolves
aflame with AGAPE...
(*sappy to sophisticated)
The final oscillation
©2014 ~JSL PoetTreez Publishing
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.
As far as Jesus is concerned
Authentic faith
Meaning day-in
Day-out intimacy with Him
Isn’t it difficult to understand
But frequently difficult to do
Faith is in a nutshell
Do not be afraid
Jesus gives this advice to a heart-broken father
He gives the same advice to each of us as well
Day-in
Day-out
Though the word has many meanings
In the context of a Christian spirituality for everyday life
Faith mainly boils down to one thing
Trust
In the midst of all our big and little fears
Jesus scoots up next to you and whispers in your ear
Do not be afraid
Work on trusting me
Who am I? I am not Fred Flintstone, nor am I Billy Goat Gruff,
And I am not Will Shakespeare, nor a Scotsman named MacDuff;
I am not Tom, I am not Dick, and surely am not Harry;
Not Goldilocks, not Tiny Tim, nor Mary Quite Contrary;
I am not a famous movie star, Bo Peep, or the Tooth Fairy,
And I most certainly am not Frankenstein…you’d find that way too scary.
What am I? I am not a mouse,
Nor a waffle iron, nor a ring-necked grouse;
I am not a little teapot, short and stout;
This is not my handle, and this is not my spout;
I am not a praying mantis, and not a Brussels sprout.
And I clearly am not a billiard ball, that’s just not what I’m about.
Where am I? I am not in Coney Island, in Denmark, or in France,
Nor am I in (I’m glad to say) some weird hypnotic trance;
I am not alone in the jungle, with nothing to eat but roots;
Nor am I weightless on the moon, wearing ridiculous astronaut boots;
I am not in a line at the airport, not Chicago’s or Beirut’s.
I think I’ll stay right where I am ‘til I gets up and scoots.
When am I? I am not in prehistoric times, with a T-rex for a pet,
Or in the way distant future (at least I’m not there yet);
I am not with Mister Gutenberg, who invented the printing press,
Nor am I with Orville and Wilbur, whose airplane flew, more or less.
There are lots of times in history when I might have been born, I guess -
But I’m glad not Pompey when Vesuvius blew. Boy, was that ever a mess.
Why am I? The reason I am upon this earth is a thing I have yet to find,
I may spend my days playing baseball, or maybe I’ll help mankind;
Perhaps I’ll find the cure for some terrible disease,
And once that’s done, I’ll buy a yacht and sail the seven seas.
I’ll make new friends and spread good cheer and maybe learn Chinese.
One thing for sure, as life goes on, there’ll be lots and lots of me’s.
He poked me, he definitely just poked me
Who is this boy?
I'm facing him but he's turned away
Oh how cute he is
Again, he poked me again
Maybe he's flirting...
Perhaps I'm just crazy
But he definitely just poked me
Facing him again, our eyes meet
He isn't shy to hide his grin now
My cheeks flush crimson
So he is flirting.....
Why with me though?
This better not be a dream
I really hope this isn't a dream
But he is definitely dreamy oh my
Do I talk to him?
Poke
Alright, he asked for it
Fingers crossed
"Pardon me, did you just poke me?"
His pearly grin is back
He scoots closer
Success!
[Limerick Sequence]
There's a sparkle of glee in his eyes
when he catches a glimpse of my size;
he scoots my way
to make his play,
but I throw him a look to demise.
My soft body lures him as a flame
and he hopes all demurrals will tame.
His move is quick,
his line is slick
in maneuvers to stake his claim.
His façade is quite handsome and bold
as he reaches with strong bands to hold.
He dare not miss
with his first kiss
as my lips draw a line tight and cold.
But in lust I succumb to his will;
his embrace zaps my nerve-ends a thrill.
He pulls me in
his feathered den,
sinks tentacles deep to drink his fill.
Me good old mate Henry Hawkins
is prankster intent through and through.
He’ll play those silly practical jokes
on the likes of both me and on you.
But I don’t think that he ever thought,
one alone could give him such remorse,
when a trick he played on his daughter,
gave Henry the grounds for divorce.
This night I called in on old Henry,
for there’s fish that we need to chase.
He was home alone with his daughter.
His wife was at her girlfriend’s place.
And while we discussed our fishing trip,
his daughter said to me “Hey mister,
you have got two little girls at home,
I do wish that I had a sister.”
Then Henry could not help himself;
he expressed a prank that’s untrue.
“My darling you do have a sister.”
And wide eyed she answered “I do.”
“That’s right” Henry uttered and grinned,
with his practical joking once more,
“Each time you come in through the front,
your sister scoots out the back door.”
I just could not help shaking me head.
Now his poor little daughters confused,
and so she goes looking for answers,
in the truth that fool Henry misused.
But then innocence brought out the truth,
and a scandal was quickly abuzz,
when comparing her sister by asking,
“Do you mean like my other dad does?”
LIFE CYCLES BY INCH CRAWINGG CATERPILLAR TO A RADIANT BEAUTIFUL COLORFUL BUTTERFLY
life cycles by inch
crawling caterpillar grows
by inch life cycles
crawling inch by inch
caterpillar spawn scoots on
inching, inching on
nibbling off leaves
flowers, grasses, flowers, trees
now beautiful Butterfly now flies
soaring bright adorn
life cycle butterflies flies
colorful insect
5/08/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
The bell tips, it's a fire
Drop it all and leave it there
Peoples lives depend on us
There's no more we need discuss
Slide the pole or down the stair
To prepare ourselves for fire
First thing on is those boots
Then on with the coat
Be sure you zip it right up to your throat
Helmets on all aboard out the door our engine scoots
Racing towards that fire
First on scene what a mess
People scream and shout
Focus now do your job get those people out
Afterwards a release of stress
Another put out fire
Pick up all that hose
Its more than half the thing
Must be quick another bell could ring
We wish we had dry clothes
You do not want a fire
Trust my word its the smoke
Which ruins all your things
It always makes us mad the misery it brings
Fire is no joke
For the first time
since the end of Summer,
Mr. Nobody wears his socks to bed,
a sad admission that
things were going to get worse.
Can't count on the
warmth of mother nature's breast
to keep his mammalian nature intact.
When he wears his socks
and he pulls the thin duvet and the
extra purple woven Dacron blanket
up over himself he feels
warm enough to sleep.
The cat, Missy, who sleeps on his bed
wants to go out. This is Mr. Nobody's worse fear,
like a fear of urination
a fear that keeps him from resting.
Mr. Nobody throws off the blankets, rises,
swings his legs over the side of the bed
and rests his feet on the cold wood laminate floor.
He shuffles to the door
Missy follows.
Opening the back door, he feels
the dread of the betrayal.
Missy scoots out.
Now, before he can sleep, Mr. Nobody has to remember
to find her and let her in again, realizing now that
William, the male cat had been let out earlier.
He will have to recover them both.
Mr. Nobody doesn’t know why he cares so much
about the discomforts of the cats.
He doesn't know if they suffer the terrors
of the failing pact with nature as much as he,
probably they do not.
Mr. Nobody returns to bed, pulls the cover-sandwich package
over his legs then over his chest. He rests,
planning to rise in an hour to go out and find the cats.
Mr. Nobody is certain that when he calls the cats
after an obligatory time
they will agree to follow him,
almost as if they know what's
good for them.
An old man in a Frosty the Snowman
hat is driving a beat-up Ford truck.
A woman beside him, scarf wrapped
round her neck, gazes at him,
touches his face, then scoots
closer, head on his
shoulder. Seeing
this, I count
them as
rich.