Long Scooter Poems
Long Scooter Poems. Below are the most popular long Scooter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scooter poems by poem length and keyword.
@ @ s c o o t e r @ @
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y ou carry me smoothly in the light
o n my journey, you’re great delight
u nwavering happiness along the way
r ight in your heart, I’m here to stay
// /|
@heArt@ @ @
Go ahead, ask me again
Am I proud of my dear son Scott
You can bet your sweet little bippy I am
Proud as one of them peacocks
Turned out to be a guru
In the fast paced world of computers
There ain't no problem my Scottie can't solve
Nuttin' can stump my Scooter
Destined to make big bucks
In the fast paced world of promotions
Not too long fore he's living on easy street
People will say what's this commotion
The commotion will be my Scottie
Setting the pharmaceutical world on fire
With ingenious solutions to all their problems
Reaching goals to which I aspired
Was once a guru like Scooter
Was a whole lot different in those days
No computers, just a big bunch of magic markers
Creating ads the old fashioned way
Go ahead, ask me again
Am I'm proud of my dear Scooter boy
You better believe it, I'm over the top thrilled
He's my absolute pride and joy!
The Domed Teapot Movie Team stores
good running electrical engineering supplies for
the apprentice vape tester stationed
for training with other code guy
system connectors near the
erectifying rainbow falls of
Mr. Mojo's Old City
WHEREAS(S)
the Eccentric Frontier Goldmine Foundation State has
discovered a recent reference model indicating that
the Eclectic Ghoul Aid Company has failed the
combined skating/scooter/car/bike and
forest river vehicle acid test (though they
did oddly OVER_perform with
dirty toothbrushes while on
motorcycles)
ALL OF WITCH LEAVES US WITH
an Elected Peach Boutique Box Collection of
shadow games and chic cottage band
energies perfectly suited to the
Enneagram Test Cook's home decor
NUT TO MENTION (MUNCH ON?)
the elliptically concentric doctor of the
Goon Power Kingdom where
mad duke predicament bosses are
obsessed with my contraption wheel
drop way of UNDER_thinking the
biased fallacy of self-data camera
set collectors viewing the erect or
oral bored college process that
involves repairing old farts for
recyling at flea markets.
A small dog (possibly irish)
fights a dandelion seed as it puffs upward
on a gentle breeze.
Pin sharp teeth snap at near misses.
I am unleashed walking around a park pond
the earth trembles with deep thoughts.
Father Thomas in his long black priestly frock
is riding an electric scooter.
He is smiling at me and nodding as if he knows me.
He doesn't, but I know him,
and I am not sure about the guy.
The sun is rolling out of a bed of clouds,
young mothers are showing up pushing strollers.
The infants toddle as they ride with their eyes closed.
They are dream-walking in their ears.
Five yellow ducklings dibble and dabble on a calm surface
They sound like lost kittens as they call.
An adult Mallard has its head underwater
its bottom tail feathers upended.
The yellow line of ducklings dibble and babble faster
as they converge upon the hope of being found.
Joggers are arriving in packs.
Soon this place will buzz and swarm,
kids will shout out 'mummy, mummy, mummy'
for no reason at all
and then it will all go quiet.
Guest lists will be compiled, reservation booked
for more perambulations, but for now
the throng disperses one by one
each in thoughtful solitude.
woman on her scooter scoops chili
from her insulated bag
onto plastic plates
deftly juggling movement while the motor idles
wounded humanity, street people with shock eyes
that smash against the heat,
form a line
their off beat grins that recall the fertility
of hope
men accepting plates of food, paper thin pride
soreness in bony bodies that have no words for
self pity
stitched to her bike, she dispenses hot food for the
mercurial
in city streets, a sparse ground with patches
of charity
fertile soil for those tossed like bags in a storm
burdened by a brutal calm
devoid of the green weeds of ego
Poem composed: August 18/21
A Bio of sort
I sometimes remember things I didn’t know I knew
it comes to me like a clear vision in black and white
I like seeing movies in two colours, say, Casablanca
as I like the contrasts between white and black.
When a child, sweets were rationed, and we had tokens
we handed it into the sweet shop, as I didn’t care
For sweets, I gave my share to my sister; that was
a good thing I still have got my old teeth.
My attitude to money is: spend little, be frugal
Yet, as an adult, I was a heavy drinker but had the
sense not to drink in a nightclub, the cheaper the venue
the better I didn’t drink for the décor but to get drunk
and lose myself in dreams of a better life.
When I finally retired, I had a nest egg and besides
my pension to get by; the idea was to travel, but now
monies go to pay for medical bills.
I have never been eager to exercise, walked a lot
and know that I have monster feet and useless
My idea is to get a mobility scooter, but the price man
The price!
I have offered to buy a scooter, but it appears people think
I’m rich, which I’m not, just a modest saver; I fear not
have money, poverty scars the out of me, I have
been there, and is no going back.
My Diabetes was under control, and I had legs like Marlene
Dittrich and liked to wear shorts to show off my other
wise grumpy exterior; then I got a problem with me
intestines, and spent days in the hospital; when I came out
my Diabetes was out of control, and I feel cross about that
But what the hell. many people are worse off than me
I still have the ability, to laugh!
4/30/17
Underneath what they consider lunar
Don't care if your name is super
So much for your future
And all of the rumors
There is nowhere you can go to outmaneuver
When I turn into Krueger
Take you out before the sound of the rooster
Whether or not on the computer
Or a scooter
Oh well that just makes one fewer
I don't care if you can't appreciate my humor
I come from the sewer
Not much of a snoozer
But a heavy duty boozer
Warning
Night and morning
The rage accumulating and forming
Before, during and after storming
In and out of areas with bugs that continue swarming
Feeling like Rick and not so much Morty
The temperature below, above or at the forties
In and out of different territories
Near and far from quarries
Coming in like Vorhees
It doesn't matter if you heard all the stories
Because nothing can prepare you for me
Considering that we all fall in different categories
And carry our own inventories
Mine can make it gory
Yours are empty normally
For you it just may end up horribly
Drawn out or ending shortly
I don't care about the glory
Or so called purgatory
A simple and friendly reminder
Don't have on your blinders
Think wiser
At elevations lower and higher
On foot or tires
Looking like Myers
In and out of areas devastated by fires
Above and below telephone wires
With a pair of pliers
Ready to eliminate any liars
Leaving behind no traces or fibers
Tried to go after me, but instead
He was caught, and pissed the bed
As it was off with his head
When I was Pinhead
Could be worse or better
More or lesser
Something that would do you some good to remember
Before I lose control of my temper
And become Lecter
Against whomever
Thinks their clever
Whenever
During any weather
The surrounding suddenly became redder
Not concerned about opinions
A one man army on a mission
They wanted to give me a million
Endless medical prescriptions
And to persuade me with religion
But I wouldn't give in or listen
Because I am a villain
By: Dalton Ogletree
Mister Miss
Mr. Miss is a man indeed.
He can't catch a cold let alone cold feet.
He lives in a house with his mother and sister.
Mom is named Louise Mister and his little sister is Missy miss Mister.
It just so happens to be a mixed family of Mother, brother and a sister; named Missy miss Mister.
I have a brother, Mr. Miss Jr.
Poor guy, he's too obese, he broke his scooter.
He doesn't live with us and he's absolutely no fun;
because he keeps braking chairs; every last one.
And even the couch, he broke that too.
He's my son and use to be a strong Mister by far.
Now he's so large he cannot fit into a car.
Liposuction filling jar after jar...
Poor guy has it real, real hard.
Kids call him names such as stupid tub of lard.
Enough about him.
Let's focus on us.
We lie cheat and steal and keep it on the hush.
Hair brush; no such
Fake teeth mold us.
Stretch marks that you can't even see
Make up and mascara
Brushes and red blush.
It's a shame that you and I are so dang insecure
Manicure pedicure spray tan and then some sort of perm.
A brother, a sister, a mother and a Mister Miss make up one happy family.
Funny fun names and it is oh so true you see...
Mr. Miss is a man indeed.
(Last poem submission for a while, I need a break, and to write some relevant poetry. You all are awesome! I'll be back soon.)
Guilt is immortal
Grief can live only in the tender hours,
in the sweet bittersweet tender days -
the days who number some number
unknown to all, felt by each...
If guilt makes its home where
seeds of grief are sown by circumstance,
watered by the downpour tears of the broken,
lit by shadow at the feet of those missing the missing,
will grief ever come to fruit?
No.
If guilt must grow.
(And only if.)
Let it be put off.
A hole in the canopy
letting light find the darkened forest floor.
There where rot rises and decay undoes all doing.
Here in the dappled understory each story comes to rest (at best.)
Here in the dappled understory where the rich soil flowers only in mushroom.
This is the onlywhere where grief can grow.
Grief takes root, takes hold, takes it torn form in only the brief.
Guilt is the mind displacing the work that each heart must do.
The brief needs of grief arise where and when the head might, of habit, of its own twisted comfort, displace the heartneeds with mindwants and revel in guilt.
Grief needs.
This.
Grief needs.
You.
Grief needs.
Now.
Will we not have Grief have its time, in its time?
It’s place, in its place?
In the light of the dark?
-ShhDragon
Oh no, Christmas is on it’s way
and someone’s stolen Santa’s sleigh.
He’s had to rent a motor scooter,
and become a land commuter.
The reindeer don’t know what to do,
they’re getting sad and oh, so blue.
Rudolph’s grabbed a sack of toys,
for the little girls and boys.
Upon the scooter the two flew,
both shivering, through and through.
Oh no, the bag of toys came open,
none are broken, Santa’s hoping.
He’ll have to make numerous trips,
to deliver all of those gifts.
On his scooter’s little place to sit,
room for one reindeer, Rudolph’s it!
No space for elves, they’re at home calling
all of the stores, as Santa’s hauling.
He’ll have to visit local stores,
to purchase tons of gifts, galore.
His elves will ensure the gifts are ready,
to be delivered swiftly, steadily.
Let’s just hope the snowing stops
so his delivery night won’t flop.