Long Scooping Poems
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The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
(my octogenarian
widower father, a transplanted urban
cowpoke father, and late outskirts
of poker flats mother) than
experienced livingsocial in the country,
cuz aforesaid domain didst span,
and encompass,
one hundred plus acre estate
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man
blueprints drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity
yet, impossible to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition
analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
who hammer away,
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
who maxim eyes
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
their limited choice sans, may
be there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
Digging mind, started an excavation.
Continued scooping to find sublime soul.
Deep thought roaming in my introspection.
How soul is functioning? Does it control?
Mind yearns for, brain to direct, analyze.
Digging mind, started an excavation.
How soul operates, I cannot surmise.
Sinking deep in mind on contemplation.
I need solid proof not an assumption.
What’s the status of soul? Does it hold shape?
Digging mind, started an excavation.
to know: After demise does soul escape?
Whether soul exhibits identity?
Getting no solution, but confusion.
No concrete answer for its entity.
Digging mind, started an excavation.
Second Place
'This or That Vol.4 ' Contest by Edward Ibeh
WHEN I DIE
Wash me, wrap me, dig
some earth
Buy me a casket if you must
Love, when I die don't let
the holy man touch me.
For the life of dirt I lead this
here
Could a year of prayer wipe
a slate
Engraved with gold and
blood of theft and tears
And greed and lust and hate
Many a foetus robbed of
breath and
Seven nights and seven
days of orgy
Drunkenness and rape
Of scooping icings off some
cakes and
Much disdain for day of
death?
Wash me, wrap me, dig
some earth
Buy me a casket if you must
Love, when I die don't let
the holy man touch me
Lest he contract a death of
sin.
The Garden of Eden
Some people believe that the Garden of Eden
Was in Africa, Asia, Australia...not Sweden.
The presumed site of its location
Is assumed from the interpretation
Of which Good Book's being read…and who's doin' the readin'.
Noah
Noah's ark, neither yacht nor a sloop,
Was constructed to be one big animal coop.
On his crew It must have been a strain
That during forty days and nights of rain
To keep forking in fodder and scooping out poop.
It Ain't Necessarily So
Pious people are prone to become agitated
When agnostics assess their belief's overrated,
And the words that they're liable
To find in the Bible
By mere men were created, not divinely dictated.
Oh Dear Alien, I hear you've been,
buzzing me in recent days.
With flying saucers and drones,
scooping down here in droves.
Well I for one would love
you to come, and land for me,
To swoop me off my feet,
up into your cool dude craft.
Oh Dear Alien,
far away out there.
I sent you a message
to show that I care.
You gotta get me outta here.
I don't care what you look like,
green of skin, or pop-eyed as well.
I've seen you in the movies
and E.T. looks just swell.
So common Mr Alien or anyone!
I'm looking to hitch a ride.
To somewhere else, anywhere else?
Out of this, my stale ale abide.
Oh Dear Alien,
far away out there.
I sent you a message
to show that I care.
You gotta get me outta here.
Clusters of refugee bubbles
Expelled from the side of my tank
Rise expanding in upward travels
Escaped depths, burst at surface
Forging against their vigour
Persuasive stream broken
by my bulky silver body
Interrupting incoming ongoing
Enthusiastic thousands
Spurts of filter flung hum
Tickle my sheer cycling fins
Tell me to nose dive again
Breaking trails of oxygen globes
Until Billy Bully Salmon slices in
Languid flicks follow frantic fro
Gyrating spotty specimen vie
Lunch pellet plops induce swished thrashing
Tumult on top flung untimed as ocean fury
Gaping lips capable of feeding incidentally
Cylindrical home groans, crowded by peers
Graduates from Tank Eight are due soon
To meet with intention, purpose imposed
Sight of orange net scooping candidates
Occasions mayhem, frenzied to catch bus
I surge with the fastest, fattest prime
For my place in net destiny
Overexposed oxygen exhausts me
Begins cressendo to deliver my bounty
Dry eyed tribute to nurtured practice honed
My splatting undulations
boast industry success
Cod calls me to lemon rained plate haven
Farmed fellows raised by deliberation
Egg nursery, microscopic sluge whirls
Infuse infant entire crew with dedication
To feed, to fulfil, crisp silver skin served
If you think eating me equals ocean depletion
You'll be pleased to imbibe controlled science
Take it from me, fat salmon, Raymond
I am desperate to get in your gut!
My reason for existence is to be ravished
Don't reject majestic fish - re-examine
The pearly peach flesh down throat glide
Indulge charitable fridge wrapped salmon
Chocolate Lover's Delight
Chocolate cake with tons of buttercream chocolate frosting with a touch of flavored espresso powder to enhance the flavor
An aroma of seductive passion delight and an intense creamy bittersweet taste of chocolate that melts in your mouth
A romantic treat that comforts my soul that is an epitome of elegance and good taste
Nothing beats the smooth, creamy delight of homemade out of this world vanilla ice-cream with a yummy slice of chocolate cake
You may never eat store-bought vanilla ice-cream again!
I’ve fallen under the spell of Chocolate Lover's Delight
Childhood memories of licking my fingers for the last delicious taste of buttercream chocolate frosting
Scooping the crumbs lying about on my plate with my fingers and putting them in my mouth
I shed a tear when there’s no more chocolate cake with tons of butter-cream chocolate frosting and smooth, creamy homemade vanilla ice-cream
10/27/2015
Contest: All This Melts In Your Mouth Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Olive Eloisa Guillermo
Unable to escape my fate,
alas I am a denizen of the night.
As darkness descends my adventures begin.
Such freedom in soaring flight,
a freedom that humanity will never experience,
exhilaration beyond measure.
Under the magic of the midnight moon
I live my life.
Skimming ponds and lakes,
scooping up water, so refreshing.
Gripped by a ferocious appetite
and driven by hunger:
Night-flying insects beware!
Resting awhile near my favourite
tree and nearby hedgerow, perfect for
foraging, an absolute feast.
Sounds of the night are crystal clear.
Listening intently because
dawn has a special symphony.
Creatures of the night
begin to think of home.
Somehow I have got separated from the swarm,
hearing them now an echo on the air
rushing wings that swoop and swirl.
Waiting for the perfect moment to re-join them.
Swiftly we navigate, as dawn breaks,
fluttering frenzy of wings and screeching
into our roost.
That dank, dark cave high on the cliffs
far, far away from humanity.
Perfect home for a colony of bats.
Creatures of the Night
Free verse poetry
Sponsored
by:
Julia Ward
08/06/2022
Pixabay image by: BeaTzjoody
She plucked up the courage
To help these stricken creatures
Strewn across the
High tide mark
Scooping one up
From the sand
In her little hands
And threw it
Back in
Shacking her hands
And little fingers
For the bite and sting
that didn't begin
A second
Than a third
Always the shake
Of hands and little fingers after
Her courage collapsed
At the sight
Of so many
I thought
She's going to walk away
She took
Three steps
Looking at those
That were left
Too my surprise
She dropped
To her knees
In the shallows
And brought her little hands up
To her face
In prayer
She whispered
Silently
Quietly
Her prayer
For the ones
She didn't have the courage
to save
In the shallows
And lapping waves
How refreshing
To see the faith
of the young
I looked and inspected
My faith
In that sunny moment
Bruised
Battered
Dinted
But some how
This little girl
With the show
Of her courage
and faith
Renewed mine
Just a little
In the human race
If dogs could think and maybe they do
How would they describe their life
It's a dog's life, not one to be treasured
Restricted and told to be nice
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
“I don't always feel like playing nice
At times I'd like to bite someone's face
If I do, they'll probably muzzle me
Don't want that, an ultimate disgrace
Just once I'd like to poop on the lawn
Without a human putting it in a bag
Scooping it up and taking it home
The smell even makes me gag”
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
If dogs could think, would they be happy
That we call them man's best friend
What would their thoughts on the subject be
Would it drive them round the bend
Man's best friend, but we treat them badly
Make them sleep in a dog house too small
Feed them gross yucky looking stuff
And teach them to chase after balls!
© Jack Ellison 2012