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.


Premium Member scooter



                             @ @  s c o  o  t  e  r  @ @
                                              n
 
                                              m
                                              y

                                              w
                                              a
                                              y
  
                                              t
                                              o

                                              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@                                         @  @
© Len Gasun  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Shape


Premium Member Scooter

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!
Form: Rhyme

smile on the contrary

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.

The Earth Trembles

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.

Premium Member On Fertile Ground

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

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!
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Bio

Villain

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
Form: Rhyme

Miss Mister

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.)

Premium Member Tender Days

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

Premium Member Christmas Delivery Disaster

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.
Form: Rhyme

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