Best Tootle Poems
I so love this form called Footle
It allows the poet to doodle
With so few words
Whether right or absurd
Now read , short trip, lets tootle
p o k a
bye, yay, dag, ayo,
until, vale, slan, ciao,
ahoj, baai, later, ta ta,
aloha, soon, chau, adieu,
jaa ne, adios, antio, joigin,
viszlát, peace, daag, TTFN,
cheers, velom, addio, peace,
as-salaamu 'alaykum, näkemiin,
ja ne, tootle-loo, vaya con dios, shalom,
goodbye, nabadeey, dos svidaniya, hooroo,
namaste, donadagohvim, auf Widersehen,
sayonara, hwyl fawr, catch you later, tootles,
hasta la vista, happy trails, vida parayunnu,
take it easy, bhaalo thaakben, elalleqa,
Allah hafiz, khodaa haafez, tschüss,
au revoir, see you, take care,
so long, farewell, zai jian,
till then, I’m outta here,
God’s speed, al weda,
bidaa, see you soon,
tot ziens, bye-bye
When cowboys sprawl 'round the camp fire after the days work is done,
They strum guitars and tootle harmonicas and sing to have fun.
Real cowboys don't sing Honky-Tonk or She Done Me Wrong stuff.
They leave that to rhinestone cowboys, considerin' it to be so much fluff!
Real wranglers sing about ropin' dogies and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Roundups, brandin' time and the magnificence of God's grand expanses.
They sing of home on the range, rodeos and dinin' on bacon and beans,
Cattle stampedes on stormy nights, the old corral and dance hall queens.
They harmonize about ghost riders in the sky who've met their fates,
Tumblin' tumbleweeds, cool water, tin cups and eatin' from tin plates.
They sing about bein' back in the saddle again and the streets of Laredo,
And belt out songs about horses named Old Paint, Ol' Dan and Tornado.
They yodel the cattle call and sing about when the bloom's on the sages,
And croon about their yellow rose of Texas and their pitiful wages.
Real buckaroos sing about Christmas in the bunk house and rye whiskey,
Cattle drives on the Lone Star and Abilene trails and a life so very risky.
They sing of the grumpy foreman and when the works all done this fall,
And tweedle about ragtime cowboy Joe and many a barroom brawl.
Real cowboys sing about ridin' the range, the chaparral and dusty trail,
And leave Hank Snow to warble about lost love, honky-tonks and landin' in jail!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Poetrysoup Footles
1. Poem Taking a Vacation
Footle
Tootle
2. Poison Pen Poet
Stinker
Inker
3. Long Poison Pen Poem
Septic
Epic
4. On Suffering Writers Block
Lamebrain
Quatrain
5. On Finishing a Heavy Going Poem
Complete
Concrete
6. Short Asian Religion Poem
Hindu
Haiku
7. A Poem Written in Europe
Metric
Lyric
Tootle Lou clamored to enter the hive,
Snooty queen's pheromones said, "Your antenna's not jive."
Tootle Lou retired to her bachelorette tree,
A wasp with child declared, "No vacancy!"
Tootle Lou landed in a virgin's church hat,
Escaped with her life as the boyfriend slapped.
She entered a bedroom of sugar and spice,
Nestled to sleep with Teddy's blind mice.
Tootle Lou awakened to warm sunshine,
Searched for bright flowers of nectar sublime.
Tootle Lou befriended an overstuffed dove (good thing, too)
Who said, "Tootle Lou, fly west, that's what you should do."
So she buzzed to the west -- her wings nearly fell,
Predators savoring her exo-shell.
A spotted man pasted with honey and bees
Beckoned her stop for a drop of lemon tea.
Tootle Lou now holds her court in a darkly lit royal cell,
Laying out her progeny with prolific excel.
This queenly quote to all outsiders from a lucky mother's daughter:
"Perseverance really rocks but fate rolls out the order."
Margot cooked a sweet maggot-pie
Birds were rapturous one was shy
She was so little
A tootle tittle
Got the jump on 'I am magpie'
I am magpie/Limerick- copyright© rajat kanti chakrabarty 24 November 2014
Tootle Lou met the gang at the McDonalds by the sea,
She shambled in with pants too big and stains for all to see.
We chewed and swallowed but never tasted,
Brain receptors craving stuff that Tootle Lou had wasted.
A carnal exchange that blew on a dime;
For that, it is true, she was always on time.
One after the other, our loads made our minds.
It was later in the decade that I opened the blinds.
Tootle Lou has a baby -- a spawn not of this earth:
Rings in her nose, unwashed hose, a pain she can't desert.
Come one, come all, and abuse her,
User after user.
Tootle Lou reads poetry -- her voice is smart and sad.
A pretty face lies buried in a made-up, phony fad.
No prince of old is coming to slay the Mongol hordes.
Tootle Lou is a friend in need, and no friend shall I abhor.
That day I came to need her, she was lost in powdered fluff.
Her eyes I'm sure they saw me, but her mind was in the rough.
Her perfumed arms I warmly held while lifting up her head.
My Tootle Lou was smiling. My Tootle Lou was dead.
A Footle?
Explain
Again!
~
Boot?
Coot?
Bottle?
No Footle
What makes a Footle?
A Footle’s a pootle, you see
You first take a mootle, a small twist of tootle,
then you fattle your fettle and fittle your futtle and that’s how a Footle is made!
~
For Yasmin's Footle Fun Competition.
My poodles love to eat noodles,
oodles and oodles of noodles.
My poodles love to draw doodles,
oodles and oodles of doodles.
They sit on their stoodles
listening to flootles tootle.
They are so cutele
sitting on their stoodles
eating oodles of noodles
and drawing doodles
while listening to flootles tootle.
I love my poodles.
By: Carole O’Terry Duetootle
Copyright: 4/6/2019
“All Rights Reserved”
Things we can compile
Depending on poem's each style
But it might beguile.
Were never right type
Like yippy dog which would yipe
Hard had been my hype.
Don't want things fatal
All about neonatal
And baby cradle.
Love should be like mine;
Always good and mighty fine
Be my Valentine.
Was a cute poodle
And love my apple strudel
Then loo and tootle.
By for now my friend;
To Poetry Soup should send
Poem I did intend.
Have Happy New Year
You will never shed a tear
My poems are all here.
Jim Horn
My creeping beeping peeping Tomlin Murky
Sent his ballsy brethren Beetles bumpy bun
All looked at him an ass in haste post chaise Oh
Bunny sunny money nanny all Tom loves
Gentle Timmy tricky tootle off to none
Happy sappy Beetle Tomlin's job is done
Beetle poet makes his journey million years hence
Thank you Tomlin thank you Timmy thank you all.
An old felt hat adorned her head
Her wicker basket on her arm
A life alone, she'd never wed,
A gentle soul, so full of charm.
A tootle down the shop most days
A warm "hello" she had for all,
Her little dog there by her side
Always at her beck and call.
Then one day she disappeared
As a child, I did not ask
I thought mum had seen her though,
I heard her say, "old Martha's passed."
Flageolet’s loud toot
Doesn’t sound like a flute….
Sounds much more acute
smitten with a forsaken long lost love
*** plus years ago,
aye since didst roam'n o'er hill and dale
as one heart broken beau
twas being cow warring utter oxymoron,
whereby thy perfect match I do
frankly admit foolishly out sourcing
of (good NOT FAKE nor bad) grief emo
shun hull distress disgraceful,
which hide de lee recognize coveted prime mate,
(who shared love of playing scrabble,
and born same January 13th birthdate,
yet six orbits thy senior)
mine golden opportunity to lose,
viz ma mish mashed aggravating huff flew
vee yam this then
young asinine buck unwittingly
inflicted long forgot 'til
ear layer t'day thee spouse
showed me an photograph,
when suddenly this lix spittle
curmudgeonly bard
unexpectedly experienced
abysmal love stricken agony
(that despite pro missing to pledge -
while taking a knee -
troth Abby Robin - hoo
became thy lawful legal wife - of Jew
whoosh heritage juiced like me, and knew
instantaneously upon
setting eyes this then boyish lad -
hood bid tootle loo
at bachelorhood, when she eyed thyself
(wedded now deux plucks decades),
though no moo
nee tomb aye name,
thus har courtship rocky, hen new
idea how tubby affectionate,
hence early married life
pitched 'tween Scylla and Charybdis
fondness (albeit ex post facto) hike queue
this poetic beat (fashionably late love note)
ye, whose Capricorn astrological sign
didst bid eternal happiness
now delayed repercussions I rue!
Dang It
Those
Aren't
Poems.
***
Hmm-huh-hum-tootle-oo-too-too...
Tweet-tweet...
This
One
Might
Be.
Nope.
I Disagree
To Disagree.
I Always Wanted To Say That!
Now's My Chance!
Does It Fit?
Kinda.
What Are You Doing?
-Gray Squirrel
05-14-2025