Best Tooting Poems
~It's a Beautiful Day~
Under every star,
A smile waltz-like no other
Once a simple cherry blossom girl,
enjoying puppets and lullabies.
Sitting in front of the screen
Anxiously waiting for him to come in
through the front door, whistling a song,
trading a suit jacket, for a zippered sweater;
made with love. ---My day just got better---
***It's a beautiful day***
In a charming little town square
A servant, serving a friendly atmosphere
Welcome to the land of make-believe,
where all my friends are real.
Here comes the speedy delivery
Mr. McFeely and his letters.
Prancing puppet skin in love with
Beautiful Lady Aberlin.
Henrietta, a mighty and feisty pussycat
My favorite strings are the king and queen
Before the show ends, Trolley's a friend
tooting around from make-believe to reality.
***It's was a beautiful day***
Oh the innocence of my childhood,
My neighborhood is gone
By: PD
Categories:
tooting, appreciation, celebrity, child, environment,
Form:
Free verse
O for the Wings, Eyes and Ears of an Owl
~~~
Assuming we could do eye-popping things
As does an owl flying the night on wings
When no one knows of antics in moonlight
O for the mystique of a silent flight.
Imagine having circular vision
It'd be alike watching television
If we should be as farsighted as owls
We would never miss anything ourselves.
Should we have eyes in the back of our head
We would still miss out on lots, our dreams unfed
Unlike owls who with rotating heads seek
Prey fit for a sumptuous midnight feast.
If we had owls spectacular eye sight
And stupendous hearing for sounds of night
Imagine when we were walking around
The hot gossip and secrets to be found.
What a hooting tooting it’d surely be
To be a wise owl sitting in a tree
Hearing and seeing all right through the night
What wonderful poetry one could write.
~~~ ~~~
8th October 2022
Categories:
tooting, fantasy, muse, mythology,
Form:
Rhyme
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
Categories:
tooting, beautiful, butterfly,
Form:
Rhyme
I grabbed my shin guard and boot
And head out with my team unto the pitch
The crowd goes wild, old and young, all hooting
The horns of the cars and the vuvuzela’s all tooting
Super Sports, Sky Sports, BBC and ESPN- all reporting
The game kicks off, Tony in post
Anchored by Fish, Tuga, Razak and Bruce
Pirlo on the left, Tsidi in the middle, Speelo on the right
Saviola, Siyabonga and Blagodzi will be at the fore-front of the fight
Souls wrestle for supremacy, the crowd still alive and sparkling all night
Go Mighty Panda! Go Mighty Panda!!
The away crowd in purple, black and Green cheers wildly
Referee whistles for a foul and issues Tuga his second yellow
Two yellow cards means an automatic sending off of Tuga, my fellow
Down by a man yet not giving up, Coach makes a substitution as Noni comes on for Speelo
We’re taking things cool and calm
The opposition getting frustrated after 80 minutes
My teammates attacking and defending with an irresistible power
As the pendulum of action swings from one tower to the other tower
I took the game into my own hands and blast a ‘gargo’ shot in the eleventh hour
The home crowd goes silent
The 40,000 hooting crowd goes quiet
That thunderbolt from Siyabonga won us the cup
When the game is over the wining team gets a thump up
The losing team goes home to prepare for next season and to get fired up
The Poet Preacher © 2013
Categories:
tooting, adventure, soccer, spoken word,
Form:
Quatrain
There was an old driver called Thorn,
Who said, 'I’m the best ever born,'
As he spoke of himself,
And his talents and wealth,
Despite all the faces forlorn,
He kept right on tooting his horn.
For FJ's trash-talking I Spit Fire contest
A 6-line limerick to meet the contest's minimum line requirement
Categories:
tooting, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
I'm sipping my sparkling fine wine,
And taking my succulent sipping slow;
Watching the beautiful bird, bees, and
Ants always busily beaming on the go.
Twinkling stars winking down at me,
This taste has me toasting—floating;
Gliding with grand space and time,
My horn I am still blowing—tooting.
Tonight a charming magic carpet ride,
O with rising sun I’m a happy fellow;
Darkness diminishing to calm day light,
On fluffy pillow head shall be mellow.
I'm sipping my sparkling fine wine,
And taking my succulent sipping slow!
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph, 9/21/08
© All Rights Reserved
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
tooting, fantasy, funny, imagination, life
Form:
Burlesque
As we departed for a long journey,
My heart punned with jocundity,
Had heard a lot about its beauty,
But didn’t know, will ‘be welcomed so haughtily,
As I propelled on non-native soil,
It seemed so preposterously royal,
Still there, ah I missed my home,
Oh where I could fearlessly roam,
Where the noise of rickshaws,
It seems so soothing the way it draws!
Where we wait for that oily heavy breakfast,
While licking my fingers I bet! I in contrast!
They pour so oil in them that would‘ve surpassed
The oil in deep ocean … that America cast!
They call east is submerged into Spirituality’s aptness
No but it is more traditional I say, tooting my profoundness!
Here nobody would be bothered if found felonious,
But if disobeyed family, would be considered vicious.
I’m telling you about the preciousness of my land,
About the norms people engulf, in my homeland,
We gather now and then to celebrate,
The loves we give each other, make us grate,
In my home, neighbors are never left alone,
Such a hospitality inn! Greeted as are our own
Girls wear the shirts, better shawled,
Which west calls modest but I say,
These are the values, in which they are mold,
These are our norms practiced since Islam borne!
Please don’t turn over from its today’s view
it still is the paradise though dark, I construe!
Categories:
tooting, beautiful, blessing, feelings, islamic,
Form:
Rhyme
Tommy fell off his bike and broke his bum
When he set off to find a new one
Big, tall, or one size fits all
A man he met at the mall,
offered a new bum but for a large sum
Tommy looked here, there, and everywhere
Even the stores where they sold underwear
To venders who had his back
But his bum still had a huge crack!
Something was still wrong, how very unfair
His bum was so noisy it brought him shame
It made weird noises and he got the blame
Tooting, hooting, and squeaking
when anyone started speaking
His bum sounded like a video game
When he discovered he had the loudest,
his talent made Tommy the proudest,
A butt trumpeting bold,
better than a pot gold
His sound-system backside, the best!
Sonic blasts when Tommy bent over
He picked a perfect four-leaf clover
A gas that blew him away
well into St. Paddy’s Day
A blast heard from Dublin to Dover
Categories:
tooting, holiday,
Form:
Limerick
Let me say that the family involved still tend the grave to this day;
There in the brook, face down he lay;
While the log train slowly continued on its way.
When he fell, he had hit his head.
Yet no one realized that the man was dead.
He'd been to town for some fun and drinking,
(Or so those who found him later were thinking.)
The ride back to the logging camp was pretty rough,
And the train's vibrations probably threw him off'
Two hunters in the woods in a light rain,
Came across his earthly remains.
Who he was they had no idea,
But they knew they couldn't leave him there.
They dug him a grave in the midst of the wood,
With a river rock for a headstone, it looked pretty good.
Every year, these two returned to care for that site,
Clearing the brush and making sure all was right.
They continued this task as long as they could,
Then others took over tending that grave in the woods.
The annual trek requires about an hour all told,
But the satisfaction of serving is worth more than gold'
His name, his family, or the place he called home,
Have, for more than a century, remain unknown.
Only God knows whether he was lost or saved,
But be certain that He knows the man in that grave'
We will all end up like that logger some day;
We will also be forgotten in a similar way.
Our lives should impact the lives around,
So memories will linger, once we're placed in the ground.
Tooting our own horn isn't the point of this story,
But rather, being remembered for displaying God's glory.
Arthur Ball(H.S.L.P.)
June 15, 2006
God Bless all at poetry soup.com keep up the great poems, Amen Robert.
Categories:
tooting, familygod, god, grave,
Form:
Rhyme
October 8, 2013 at 2:34pm
Best Seat In The House
Sitting here at the kitchen table this morning
drinking the blackest of coffee letting the
most amazing cool breeze envelope me through
the back window I forget for a moment that I am
still in the city which for me is a love/ hate relationship.
Sun streaming through the screen wondering if this
should be my writing spot from now on........
As I let my senses wander, a flock of geese fly by
not seeing them... only hearing the sounds I let my mind
take over such a calmness it is new to me.
The cat trying to decide if she would rather lay on my
keyboard or jump over me to the window sill for a game
of let me THINK I can catch the birds,yet she is to confined
AS AM I
Why do the geese fly south for the winter why do they run from
the breeze as I run into it letting me feel like there’s a chance.
I have so much to do and so little time yet I let it get away
getting distracted so easily even the sound of the street cleaner
out front has me jumping up to go see while I’m in the middle of
writing. So many sounds... the stir of a spoon from across the alley
someone else is hammering on the wall two doors down.
Trains tooting their horns while the birds chirp frantically fighting
over a crumb... the wind chimes from the front porch make their
musical appearance right in the mist of the black cloud coming
from a speeding tractor trailer, today the best seat in the house
is the kitchen table where I draw my inspiration so I can actually hear
the words that I write in turn helping me to FEEL just that much more.
Debbie Kelly ( Debbie Philly)
10/8/2013
Categories:
tooting, life,
Form:
Free verse
senators seeing stapled starkers
Loopholes. Lanky long. Llama Klamath llama please do not lean on those bent gables. For gables are gargling and gargling sounds very eerily similar to a gaggle of geese. Mission endeavour is a plane in a prism. A pram. Circling. But not a curdled crisp. Boot not a rebooted tooting train. For trains are teams and team is neither a steam locomotive nor a mystified heron on a penny farthing. Part board part hoard and a collapsing crash of hands. Figure a fakery is an idiomatic meaning of a didactic form of unilaterally placed flowers. And the beak says hi. But not before the fire arrives in a bowl of plankton. At noon. In a square. If travelling in a circular ship travel light and only carry one tray, one mug, a beaker, a wheel, and a supernaturally charged frog. Interesting to note how the enhanced forms of wit is involved in intergalactic war games. Playing on a two ton tea towel. Very very heavy. Heavy rock and heavy metal is in a school eating cereal at the back of a classroom. Haha. And the deafening boom of bell brings balls to halls and hallowed singing in a line. Youth yawn yearly. And a little micro dot of a hedgehog plays the bass guitar with a sparrow, a nine foot semi eroded dustbin, a mentally disturbed earwig, a corrupted cucumber, and a non digestible house brick. Wow. Such enlightenment from a factory of frozen peas. Hahaha the wine is in the winds. Hahaha message board secret speaking to a pen. Hahaha number of stolen goods dancing with the police. How apolitical and jar of gold coasting coats. Xxxxx Palladian ponies. Xxxxx geometrical gnome. Xxxxx synchronous swanky swans. X uncharacteristically z z z z z. At 689% of a slice of pear cider. Personified x
Categories:
tooting, april, arabic, art, august,
Form:
There isn’t a road that shan’t have music
So, my fiddle is played with skipping
The musical notes surround my steps
There's celebration in dancing
A rhytmaical mode of partaking
Down the untravelled paths, singing and playing
Everywhere, and all places ventured
Tooting a rhythmic razzle-dazzle
And this is the best way travelled
By night listen to the rhythm and blues
Sleeping under stars and The Moon
Razzle-Dazzle ©8/12/15 Bonnie Jennings
Categories:
tooting, dance, muse, music, travel,
Form:
Free verse
4/1/17
Flowers blooming
Spaced out or in a tight-knit grouping
All around things looming
In space objects still or moving and zooming
Birds pluming
And other animals grooming
Downloads queueing
Electronics in need of a rebooting
Or powering off, to enable cooling
Below, on and above the roofing
Toxins spewing
And other particulates polluting
Some of which are made for fueling
All weeds were removed by uprooting
Trees and bushes getting a pruning
Especially any areas that are drooping
There's just no excusing
You'd better stop snooping
And assuming
As well as tooting your horn
Or ridiculing the poor
What the hell are you fooling for
When deep down, you know you could be doing more
Ocean life caught by fishing poles, harpooning
Or cage using
Die hard fans rooting
Or booing
Times of booming
And continual losing
Certain insects and people cocooning
Humans continually feuding
Suing
And fuming
As if there is something they want to be proving
Major scale jobs, including
A lot of or very specific tooling
Drugs and alcohol others may be using
And possibly abusing
In the right conditions, water pooling
Near and far from any rocks protruding
Live a life of your choosing
Continue pursuing
Knowledge, and ways of improving
With or without musing
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
tooting, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
West coast, east coast
This question is for you in the waist coat
What about us in the mid-west?
People like to boast
Pork and beans and roast beef
And other simple stuff
Like dumplings and toast
All the things that perish with the eating
Sleeping through productive meetings
I know you think I'm tripping
But get a grip
I'm also guilty. No kidding
You ask me how I know all this
And the answer is simple
I saw you sitting under the fig tree
Go figure, you are the whiz kid
But in a moment I'll clue you in
You say people look like trees walking
Singing twisted lyrics about feelings
You say you just want to make a killing
No hard feelings
It's all about the Benjamins
Images of bags filled with greenbacks
But I doubt it, and I'll tell you about it
Some are drowning
Runaway notions about emotions
I see you loud and clear
You'll have to know I'm not far but near
You keep on causing commotion
With your explosive concoctions
Contorting misdirected souls
She sang beautifully in the choir
But is now hooked on synthetic fire
Unfettered thoughts and desires
I hope you feel my ire
Tooting horns and screeching tires
Choo-choo, there it goes
Iron centipede
Runaway train speeding across town
Stop the world I want to get on
Collection of lost souls chasing a lost cause
Moving fast, hurtling past, grabbing about
Hoping to get their name announced
Jostling for their name to appear somewhere
Stop the car I want to get on
Get me on the fast track, I'm going nowhere
Stop the train I want to get off
Categories:
tooting, addiction, allusion, chicago, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme
Whit dat tight till - say
yes, aye wool thank ewe
mooch at least for today
hoof fully (this Joe kerr)
can easily bide his time weigh
beef hoar rammy cows come home.
Meantime India interim
lemme clover - reaching
far out on dam moost precarious limb,
bot do nut inspect me tub bark prim
and proper, nor procrastinate for tim
marrow, cause spontaneous whim
will lose heft, no matter how inane
poetic palaver could by then
elude ding me noggin to explain
nebulous jibber jabber hokey folderol
even confusing to a Great Dane
a dog (of course)
man's/woman's beast friend,
not hounding visa vis discovering
you improperly verb (bait him)
bone a fied with noun (sense)
barking up wrong tree
dangling modifier as gerund
faux paws and inquisitive,
nonetheless countenance do lend
sincere cachet gnome hatter compared
to average superficial *****sapien
said former doggone creature just thru
facial expression can mend
"broken" heart and soul,
which rhyming tangent did send
yours truly off scent, asper initial trend
actually truth be told, no paw tickle har
matter, I sought to sink teeth into,
but let babbling stream of consciousness wend,
where petty full extemporaneous tooting
oh my didgeridoo, which initially scares
the dickens out gills of hooting
blowfish until they recognize
this bloke juiced pooting
air thru a long wooden tube, be yule
then their piousness piqued to pisces,
gather together as if attending school
always mindful to follow
the goldenfish rule
i.e. aldi tom not erring,
floundering, and getting
tricked, royally suckered, and
hooked becoming gruel
resulting within tummy higher
up the feeding chain,
survival of dragnets cruel.
fission expedition for
salmon to hope fillet
enjoys almost done hook,
line and sinker - hooray,
sans to steal mental energy,
and precious time may
king another reason to be
persnickety and every ray
zen to be guarded, when
wading in cyber seas tay
king precautions, once
I return from Uruguay.
Categories:
tooting, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse