Long Give a hoot Poems
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I awake from winters slumber
As my sap begins to flow
My buds will shortly sprout
While my limbs begin to grow
I watch the many animals
That start to come around
To some I am a gym
While others lay quite sound
The birds will make their nest
In my many boughs
The weave each little nest
With great skill it's quite a show
I've stood the test of time
As the seasons come and go
When summer comes I'll be
The shade that you love so
There used to be some children
Who would climb my sturdy limbs
They'd play all day around me
Their joy to me were hymns
When fall comes to pass
I put on my favorite suit
With reds oranges and yellows
The owl will even give a hoot
My sap is what I'm famous for
It taste so sweet when boiled down
I tell you just one sip of it
Will make a smile right from a frown
Now When my days are through
My journey still goes on
I may become a bedstead
Or a table for someone
Someone may yet use me
For a ceiling or a floor
You see my wood is prized
For many things even a door
But now I will just stand here
For everyone to see
The majesty and wonder
Of me the Sugar Maple tree
Created 7/21/15 for the Trees Personified contest
Freedom Lovers
Know you not…that freedom is not free.
In each genaration, work at this assiduously!
Poets cringe at the any poem politicked?
They prefer rainbows as a subject, it makes patriotic, poets, sick!
You don’t have to go on a journey very far away,
To know there’s a country where you cannot have your say
I ponder if you would really give a hoot?
If somebody put a muzzle on your snoot?
Unless you develop a heart of steal.
Liberty might be gone, that your heart, made of mush, cannot feel.
So don’t allow brainless hordes, to scare you to death
Fight for every freedom, till you’re very last poetic breath!
I could not refrain from asking what it was that made her sigh
When each picture that she started she took down. I wondered why.
The young lady was forthcoming; said her thoughts were fresh and bright
Every time she started painting nothing seemed to turn out right.
Then she glanced at my own painting and declared that it was great
She remarked I found it easy to imagine and create.
Well, I smiled and softly told her that it was my special brush
That afforded all the wonders; careful handling with no rush.
So I told her she could use it, to be gentle for a start
Till they reached synchronization so that both could play their part.
What about the other brushes? Do not fret or give a hoot
Mine will be the instigator, all the rest will follow suit!
I went off to have a breather while she went to work anew
Gave her time to get on with it then returned exact on cue.
I could see her face was radiant and her work intense yet cool
She expressed appreciation at my most fantastic tool.
I will let you on a secret; I have played a hidden card
For my brush is only normal. You were trying just too hard!
You can paint, you have it in you. To your talent be not blind.
As you see there is no magic; it was only in the mind.
So good luck with your endeavours. Some advice, precise and brief
You can make the perfect painting; all you need is self belief.
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Note: This poem was written to pass on a message to all those who
suffer from low esteem. Self-belief is the way forward.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest (Favourite Poem...) sponsored by Carol Eastman
Placed: 1st
I am applying for the consultant position
of Office Manager for which I will audition.
I am undeniably qualified to deal with nitwits
and idiots I will immediately classify as 'twits.'
My solution to deal with those people is fair
It may not be righteous, but I don't care.
If your company is greedy to make money,
it's ok with me. Just give me my check, honey.
I don't browbeat employees with a big stick
when they come in late or say they're sick
I'll crack the whip on any numbskull at work
and there's one less lazy fool I'll call a jerk.
If you think my method is severe over kill,
you're right, because I don't show good will
to jackasses who keep making me mutter
words you would only hear in a street gutter.
I'll get control and do what needs to be done
and I promise I'll try not to pull out a real gun.
I'll need some handcuffs and maybe a jail cell.
Give me free rein and everything will be swell.
My resume' experience speaks for itself.
Once, I've even fired an Elf on the Shelf
I did it without a good reason or just cause
so you can waiver that harrassment clause.
You can hire me now for a trial run.
Keep me on or fire me, but I'm the one
you need to give brainless creatures the boot...
not due to my work ethic, cuz I don't give a hoot.
Steal This Poem Please
Please just steal this poem
and make this one your own
in plagiarizing poetry
you know you're not alone
If you think it's worth that much
you know what you should do
don't worry about the copyright
just say it's penned by you
Please just steal this poem
and publish it to boot
spread it round the nations
I don't give a hoot
The beauty of it all
You don't even need AI
But you can just press copy
Then Paste it on you site
Spend your time and trouble
making money with my work
So one day I can sue you
for all that you'll be worth
by JT Curtis (maybe ? )
mysterious as Lemuel
unlike hundreds of
other rowdy seniors
constituting the nineteen
seventy seven graduating class
of Methacton High School,
this now mooch older non "Warrior"
(alma mater mascot) alumni -
of late more astute,
(yea rather boyish looking edging
into age bracket,
viz ranked as ole coot)
far to late for
me or any brute
to gather rose buds,
fat and/or slim
chance i.e. remote
while I may in my dreams
play Mozart's Magic flute
at this late stage of life,
no harvested crop yield,
nor any sown
healthy product rendered moot
('cept tantamount to rotten
tomatoes and fruit)
all, cuz your truly
did not give a hoot
'bout his future,
later when the
requisite need for loot
would be absolutely necessary,
not necessarily to buy
a fine gold spun suit,
but more so to be financially
(non bombastically, egotistically,
nor inimitably) to toot
my own (baritone)
horn, no any which
ways appearing snoot
tush (more likely absent minded,
versus trying tubby astute),
no matter this myopic googly eyed
non-boastful logophile,
these days (lives duet
tough lee hand to mouth
existence) nearly destitute
his whole pro Lix life,
witnessed, and flaunted
(reed dit as) inked badge,
(regardless getting promoted,
but nearly failing every grade),
and ambivalent toward
dismal poor performance report cards
testament toward tummy
severely lacking ambition,
while analogously forced
to climb hemp fat tick rungs
jute dish shuss academic ladder,
no matter rope burns
squarely didst root
moost unfavorable outcome
to this wimp who mouthed
pop eyed expletive
conveying "oh chute",
whose then palm (olive)
oiled pilot size glute
more accurately boot
found me poor bum promoted
to higher baby boomer chair
despite favorably portentous signs
tubby potential vagrant,
who would lack self reliance,
nor give a hoot
to stitch survivalist parachute.
10/22/22
They try to get the inside scoop
By beginning to snoop
But they're just full of poop
Like the ground floor of a chicken coop
Rarely intentions honest, too many out to dupe
Pathetic how low they're willing to stoop
Against the opposing group
Regardless if they do it solo or with a troop
This cycle continues to loop
Spinning around in a circle like a cauldron full of soup
Back in the day I use to hoop
But now I hardly give a hoot
They often test close to their death in one fell swoop
It's the root of evil that they continue to bite like fruit
Sorry that it's a hard pill to swallow but it's the truth
Been this way since John Wilkes Booth
Babe Ruth
Also when I was a youth
The same can be said since way before then due to an old tooth
As well as being a sleuth
Continually I just fought
Taking much loss
At what cost?
Continual power shut offs
As well as human contact being cut off
If it does no good then stop giving it much thought
Easiser said than done, when you're recovering from such shock
From here to beyond New Brunswick
Ain't that some s***
That they too often judge quick
Where at all is there any justice?
They stay quiet as a mouse
Or bad mouth
Then drag it out
If there's one thing I know its that all this craps about
As bad as all these damn droughts
Such a sad route
Always passed out
From being blacked out
On top of burning through a half ounce
Inside empty, never a crammed house
Of course at one point I had doubts
Not just words but the truth I rap about
Regardless of if that counts
As a kid I saw adults live for the booze,
as though it must be done,
not a freedom you choose.
Socialise with alcohol,
all will reach a good mood,
and I found it funny as the drink made them rude.
Everything seemed to end with a drink or two,
All through my youth it's what all adults do,
So as I reached adulthood, I did it too,
I did it because it was something I knew.
I thought social events had drink at their roots,
everyone drinks 'til they don't give a hoot,
then you can behave any which way that suits,
as a kid I saw jokes, as an adult fruit loops.
Drinking evoked a silliness in those blokes,
As they were adults I believed they could cope,
But when I grew up I saw backs to the ropes,
Adult heavy drinkers are emotionally broke.
But drink was apparent in their parents so they parrot,
none think it apparent the experience brings havoc,
as they add drugs, to their drinks, intoxication kills panic,
repeating the act,
now addicted through habit.
What we saw as a kid,
Is what we then do,
it loops around
and ends tragic,
It's all that we knew.
Take our mental health, And repeatedly stab it,
We should change what kids see as the way of the adult,
And hopefully they wont take their life as a result!
The suicides I have known come from what we were taught.
You have to be sober when life becomes difficult,
cause you'll handle your emotions helped by clear thought,
we must learn and not teach our kids the same fault.
*We shouldn't teach kids racism, sexism, drug dependency or alcoholism,
when we know from experience all these things cause division.
Poetry is tangerine and other potent or poisonous colors.
It is the breath you feel at the nape of your neck and
the strong caress of flesh on flesh, defying death.
It is most certainly Spring with petal flutters and jays
flittering about. Melodies come alive…words almost too
ravishing to versify…like brilliant diamonds and crystal lines.
Poetry is rhyme and not…it is time well spent. The clock
doesn’t give a hoot. It’s cuckoo to stand on your head
to get just the right angle, the geometric high. Likewise,
the adjustment on a thin wire, with ink blots to examine.
But a poet does, again and again, pounding at raw meat,
to settle a matter…but we never settle…there is always
one thing more. Death, maturity, seasonals. Let’s dig
up that grave. First we jump in, holding onto leaves dyed
in various tinctures. Often we swing over, on our trapeze,
thinking we are invincible - we don’t see the six foot ravine.
Not feeling trapped at all, until the Ice Queen shows up.
We paint that buttercup white, as if it were virtuous.
She vividly holds up the scales to weigh our slights,
to slow us down…now,
we dribble upon the page…drivelling every nuance, as if
our kids (our words) were leaving home and we need to drill
just one more thing. Sadly our words will hang
and slowly scroll away…our scribbles fondly remembered
by a few for a while (and our smile)
Paint giraffes ouside the line, and gaffes - keep them in time.
Don’t be afraid to annunciate or not…to be literate or
alliterative…to be silly…oh do be silly…to be human…
to be common or uncommon…we all have our place.
We are the apostrophes, colons and periods. We stop
in mid-sentence a lot. We throw the hammer down
with an exclamation point or dot. We write run ons
or put out briefs. We admire awe. This is just a small
treatise of thought…a mud pie, but certainly not
a prize…but I say, the prize is in the beholder’s stall.
3/13/2023
I’m mad as a hornet, which means mad as hell,
Cause somebody’s saying I write too “cliché.”
Well, I’ve had it to here. Now can’t you tell?
I don’t give a hoot what he has to say!
So what if I’m not some snot’s cup of tea?
I’ll write however I want, for Pete’s sake!
He doesn’t know beans! Good for nothing is he.
I’ll just tell that nut to jump in a lake.
He says that my imagery is not unique,
Yet meanwhile, that no-talent writes for the birds!
Like a hole in the head, I need his critique!
He best watch his back, and them’s fightin’ words.
His high lofty thoughts - I need none of those.
In fact, I will shove them all up his nose!
(Just being silly, but this was fun)