His call reaches me each day
Constant peace is mine
Walls of dread destroyed by his pressence
Truth is I am Forever and I have my peace
Blue birds and black birds and a red Cardinal
Questions on the sky smiles in my eyes
I can grow old alone is fine he is within me I have peace
Doom averted Salvation avowed I am brought to his many rooms
This world is passing away my world is forever
My world is his world which is in another place yet to be
No fears nor doubts only bliss
Truth in my blood and in My bones
His breath is inside of me I am at peace
Why is this human body
enshrouded in so much shame
Who decided we must cover up
and play this crazy game
It seems to be the greatest hang up
entrenched deeply in our psyche
Do we each have physicality different from the rest?
apart from gender difference seems we're all alike
The saddest of it all is what I term
the Hollywood commercial sex sale image
Suspenders, stockings, g-strings, bras
designed to show a bit of cleavage
There was a man so shy, when he was partly naked
one day I really scared my Dad, I almost saw his bum
From that day on I often wondered
was he ever completely naked, in front of my Mum
Some days ago my wife forgot to wish me all the best
for my seventy seventh commemorative hoot
I tried succinctly to remind her
by sitting in the sun, in just my birthday suit
If I could choose a place to be, when I am reincarnated
A first nation naked man in Arnhem land would be highly celebrated
Footnote: Arnhem land a sacred reserve for the original inhabitants , the Dreamtime
People, in the Northern, Australia
Not hoot
Nor loot
Root moot
There's a lot to be said
for silence
but you won't hear it from me
I'm satisfied tongue-tied
as the less said the more I see
and even if the point is moot
'tis a wise owl
who don't give a hoot
YY UR YY UB IC UR YY 4 ME
(Too wise you are too wise you be I see you are too wise for me)
They were all out standing in their field
with an ass or two and a few moose
along with a stray Canadian goose
when someone let the Appaloosas loose
not a welcome sight nor pretty view
while the moose who cud did slowly chew
the well-trained colt did not bolt
or even buck to shuck us
the goose didn't give a honk or hoot
but the asses kicked up such a ruckus
and if mushrooms you have half a mind
to seek (not the magic kind of stalk)
be aware take care of where you walk
as there by the end of the week let me remind
the field was knee-deep if not chock-a-block
with what the livestock left behind
Today is the first day of the rest of our lives
No matter how much time we have left
A sobering thought as we reach our golden years
Our number could be up tomorrow, next week, next year
So we must enjoy life to the fullest, make every day count
We don't get to go around twice
When we're young whipper snappers
Old age is eons into the future
Our main concern is dealing with everyday life
With all of it's ups and downs, it's uncertainties
With romance, with choosing a vocation
But when all is said and done and we near retirement
It's all water under the bridge
So what I'm saying to all you young folks
Live your life to the fullest
Make every single day count as if it was your last
Tell your loved ones every day how much they mean to you
In case you don't get another chance
Life's a hoot...
enjoy it!
Sherbertta was elegant, but did not put on any kind of airs.
You talk to her, gnomes were whispering, making dares.
A hoot owl flew by and gave them a dirty look which was odd
Thought they were nocturnal, said a shy gargoyle named Rod.
Sherbertta had flown in on her monarch wings to help them out
Most of the fey greeted her with a cheer, hip hip hooray or a shout.
I thought she was the prettiest April faerie I had ever seen.
Dressed in this Renaissance dress, she would make a fine queen.
Wide-eyed hoot owl, landed on her right arm, as sky thundered.
What about that lace sleeve? Will it be harm I wondered?
Asking if we had wishes to be granted, she took requests from the fey.
She said she would do what she could, and she did fine that day.
If no one seems to give a hoot about a poem you've written,
try reading it out loud to your dog or to your kitten.
And if, as you read it, all the while,
you see their tails wag and their faces smile,
it was worthwhile ~
at least ~ from where they're sittin'.
Glowing fireflies light up the night
Showing their gleams, shining so bright
Moon remains hidden by dark clouds
Soon clouds will pass, release the shrouds
Hoot of owl echoes in the dark
Astute on its perch, finds its mark
Flight of the owl as fireflies glow
Right to its prey, its talons show
Hoot, the owl sitting
on the fat branch in the tree,
eyes staring at me.
As a child at night, tucked up into bed
counting sheep would never work for me
counting only up to three
then drifting from my head
An imagination Big enough
self-sabotaging dread
a shadowed figurine
with glowing eyes instead
whistling gusts of wind
the creepy creaking shed
What if something hungry lurked outside
looking to be fed
its favourite snack was little girls, with ringlet curls
who wore Pjs colour red
scared but curious, I tiptoed across and carefully I tread
perching by my window
oddly sitting on the ledge
was a creature looking back
tilting slow its head
A frightening hoot so loud
was why I spun around, and to my parent's room
whizzingly I fled
So oft I see the moon at night
And wait until the time is right
To swoop and catch a bat in flight
So that I can have a midnight bite
Although, I'm wise and very old
I see at night with eyes of gold
On Halloween my face gets bold
And spooky tales of me are told
By mornings sun I'm full and fat
From last night's meal, that tasty bat
And for breakfast I ate a large black rat
That I had stolen from a large black cat
So now I'll tuck my face that glows
And hide my yellow beak-like nose
Because the sun came up, and I suppose
I'll hoot and hoot and then I'll dose
They come close to my backyard.
This is their frontier,
a borderland one windowpane thick.
Inside my room, my weakly ticking brain
like a deflated blimp, is wedged
between one ear and the wild beyond.
Sound carries visions at night, details shine.
It’s like you can see, only it’s their
eyes projecting on yours.
When alien cultures meet in the in-between,
they camp at a distance from each other.
They sing, do their daily dance,
they do it close enough for all to see.
The deathless humor of survival
is a ritual.
The hoot owls said all this to the dark,
while my ears scanned an inner wilderness
squeaking like wagon wheels.
They come as close as they can.
The tree line is a frontier edge
between them and the brick barricades.
I imagine them peering over their world
into mine, and though their hooting
may be only a prelude to nesting,
this night they speak
on the multilingual lips of transmission.
When such divergent beings
encounter one another, they meet at a distance,
skirmish and scout. They lookout
from a catbird seat.
All sounds speak of something.
Where light and dark converge
much can be overheard, much discerned.
Tonight the hoot owls speak though
that same interspace, their modulations
are haunting, the way the wind haunts
the very breath in our lungs.
Miss DLL Sue is a gorgeous polka dotted blue
Said the owl soldiers assigned to the loo
She has a merry attitude and disposition too
She is down to earth, not all fru-fru.
What is the maiden’s name? Asked Little Stew.
He was one of many interested, not just a few.
They call her Hoot Owl Daisy Lee Lynn Sue.
She twirls and dances a dainty petite soft shoe.
Many enjoyed having this quick overview.
They rarely see a new owl with a pretty hairdo.
She attracted most of the bachelors at Battalion Q.
She had so many suiters, that soon away she flew.
Written 4/28/22
Contest: To Lighten the Load
Sponsor: Angela Tune
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