Long Scooters Poems
Long Scooters Poems. Below are the most popular long Scooters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scooters poems by poem length and keyword.
I have lived in other northern towns
with the loud noise of scooters,
of racing cars that deafened the ears,
but in this town of very soft sounds
the lowest sound is a canary
that wakes me whenever he pleases;
I simply named him," Happy "
for his harmonious chirps so groovy.
In my younger years,
it didn't matter much where I lived,
now it does; the clean street flanked
by beautiful oak trees
is the perfect heaven created by ingenuous hands
that foresaw a happy living...
and with flora and fauna enduring,
all the revealed beauty is shared in joyful moments.
Whenever another sunset approaches,
silence soothes the lonely soul in contemplation;
the children have gone home, the ravens
don't croak, it's time for prayer and meditation...
I sip compliance from a cardboard cup. Tight fine steel lines, hoist five lifelike life sized paper mache white swans. The birds seem to wing from sunlit atrium up and over an oak railing to the mezzanine. Dazzling beneath skylights, they depict ascent, flap, glide, brake and then descent towards wrought iron tables. They mimic our trek from mall entry up the escalator to feast at the food court. I sit alone at the railing, gliding swan overhead, and pretend to eye my phone. Today I secretly study humans. Food court stuffed with youthful staff, bargain hunters, transit transfers, mobility scooters, mothers, babies, bags, phones, the braggadocio of men meeting, gaunt faces of the needy. Bodies milling, streaming, yearning. The bubbling cocktail of pop rock, chit chat galore, languages, slanguages, giggles, and that one guy yelling. The carnal essence of commercial cookery. Unspoken competition for tables, at times nearly a blood sport. Each of us tiptoeing through our daily hopscotch. Only children wonder at the swans. Do mall swans search for lost wetlands, or do they strain to join us? Mythology has it that swans shift between human and avian form. The enchantment of Tchaikovsky’s swan, princess by night pirouettes into swan by day. In the wild, sudden bright white, raucous landing, huge bold birds calling, splashing power and grace. I wish we each burst into swan. But flight feathers do not anchor to my bones, nor contour feathers pierce my skin. I vow to visit the wild ones, and leave.
published in "Unbroken" 2025
The Hush of Christmas Past
It came more slowly then.
After Thanksgiving
the lights and decorations
started showing up.
The excitement started to build.
Santa showed up at the
department store, The
ads in the newspapers
were larger, some even
in color. There was talk of
“the list”, and “naughty or nice”.
It was agonizing – waiting for
the night Mom said “OK, let’s
go buy the tree”. The trip to
the back lot behind the
super market, “This one…
NO! THIS ONE!” We carried
the tree - by any means possible -
remembering Mom’s warning:
“Remember, you will have to
carry that big tree home.”
The tree was somehow decorated.
Lights, tinsel, bulbs, each one someone’s
favorite, ribbons, bows, a picture
of the cat. Now the speculation
began in earnest. “Whadaya
think you’re gonna get?”. “OH,
I hope, I hope, I hope”, “But I can’t
tell you, it’s a secret.” We knew there
would probably be sox, some new
PJ’s, mittens – the usual. But there
would also be those other nicely
wrapped gifts – from Santa.
The baseball glove, the skates,
the “un-wrapable” scooters, bikes,
baseball bats, hockey sticks.
These were always brought by
Santa Clause. Santa supplied the
dreams, Mom and Dad the gifts.
We provided the unmistakable
sounds of Christmas morning.
There would be church and a
Christmas dinner, lost amid the
joy of dreams. Dreams of snagging
that line drive with the new baseball
glove, of racing down the hill on
the bike, of Bobby Orr like moves
with the new skates.
The colored lights took their cue
from the setting sun as we gathered
around the table and savored the
sweet, juicy, succulence of Mom’s -
never to be equaled – Apple Pie.
John G. Lawless
11/22/2014
submitted to HUSH OF CHRISTMAS PAST – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Mystic Rose
In days of yore when I was four, in my memory I'm sure
there was nothing that you could buy called low fat
you got meat from a cow, and pork from a sow,
pound of lamb from NZ and that was that.
Butter from a pack, there was nothing that it lacked,
spread it thickly and then top it off with jam
or on it's own when times were hard,
and cook your chips in a pound of lard
and deep fry lots of lovely fritters made of Spam.
On the high days and the holy finish off with roly poly
burn it off by playing footy in the yard,
as we kids all stuffed our faces the majority of cases
found that doing up our laces wasn't hard.
So I think it rather strange how the times they've slowly changed
in our best interests to make us really thin
that the products we are buying really must be surely lying
as so many are now bursting out their skins.
In the papers every morning there's a scientific warning
of the problems that we store up for ourselves
as we go off on a jolly with our supermarket trolley
desperately trying to empty all the shelves.
As I sit and watch the fuss as they struggle on the bus
using scooters sticks and frames to get along
all I'm seeing is human beings and before my thoughts start fleeing
in my head they ask 'where did it all go wrong'?
In the beginning it was just a smell
a smell i could not quite make sense of
a smell that the city was, a smell that the people in it were
in the beginning it was just a smell
a smell that dragged swarms of people of their homes
onto the streets, into the trains, into the strangers’ eyes and their uncharted territories
slowly i realised
all cities are, first, smells to the outsiders
and Tainan was smell sound taste touch to me
there were moments when i felt
this city is just people, so many of them; how beautiful
that i do not know any of them, yet i know them all
sometimes i would think if i emptied the city of all these countless faces
and bodies jostling with each other, what would remain of the city? would it still beat if i put my ears into the hearts of the depeopled Shennong Street
at the dead of night?
i came to Taiwan for the same reason
that a Vietnamese, an Indonesian, or an American comes for,
to chase my dreams, to become more of me,
instead I became it
it wasn’t as easy and quick as they make it out to be;
it took time, for love has its own mysterious ways
i started to embrace Taiwan and its culture
huge numbers of scooters and cars
Everyone follows the traffic rules
wait patiently for the green signals
one in Tainan city never feels pity
city buses and t-bikes are the best friends of a wanderer in the city
people are always helpful,
they adore you as they adore ‘hello kitty’;
small parks almost at every half a kilometer
elderly people like Mr. and Mrs. Wang use them for exercise
sometimes the parks provide sweet beds to the homeless;
i often use the underground passage of the Tainan train station
i look at the people sleeping there
they have made their small worlds in the underpass
they eat, they sleep, they chat with their neighbours
people look quite strange and funny without boundaries around them
their small worlds haven’t yet known the ways of the boundaries, the frontiers; these people are happy in heavy rains and in extreme cold, are they happy?
Tainan has a home for everyone, i guess
when I feel bored, i go to the sea
and bathe in the sounds of its waves lapping against the shores
sunset-platform lets you enjoy the majestic sunset and calming breeze born of the boundless deep
_____to be continue in part-II
Dear People of 3025
a thousand years ago we were doing what you do
living, working, eating, sleeping, dreaming, hoping, listening, learning
but now we are dust while you are where we were
your world is probably a lot different than ours was.
We went from putting man on the moon – possibly a hoax
to personalized phones and computers
we thought we were high tech
the more we became tech-savvy the less we were family oriented
in my youth (1950 to 1970) children were outside most of the time
riding scooters, riding bikes, playing ball, jump rope or running games
after technology got ahold of us the children began staying in the house
they were no longer a part of a child community of laughing and running
they gained weight, and began ignoring their families
the parents also became addicted to computer, phone and TV screens
People stopped having family dinners. The laughter was not the same.
The sense of joy was gone, no one listened to anyone else.
It got worse and worse and worse, which may have been the end of our civilization.
It is unclear to me, for I did not live past Year 2044.
Here is my advice to you. Pay attention to your family – play with your children.
Go outside and run, jump, skip, hop. Eat healthy vegetables. I wonder if you are
still eating animals now? It is something to ponder.
Be a family. Play games. Spend time listening to each other.
Most of all – love each other. God put us here for one reason.
To share as much love as possible.
Which is why I am sending this message to you.
I hope it gets to you.
Love, a Person Who has Learned
A lifetime of service, of lines and of power,
Standing strong for us through every shift and every hour.
Now the tools can be lowered, a long rest is due,
For the hardworking man who always pulled through.
You have never been one for big, sentimental views,
But your love is written in everything you do.
It’s in the quiet Scooters runs where I always get my way,
And the smile behind letting me call you "Old Man" each day.
I still hold the memory of you standing by my side,
Waiting hours for Harry Potter, putting down your gruff pride.
And the way you slip your wallet out to pay for my things—
The stubborn, unasked protection that your generosity brings.
It makes me so mad when I see you pull out your bill,
But beneath my frustration, I’m so grateful, and always will.
You claim that you hate them, with a sigh and a frown,
Yet you soften completely when my cats come around.
You’re out in the garden, or fixing the pool,
Pouring your energy into the earth and the tool.
And when my own life is in shambles and breaking apart,
You show up to build it back up with your generous heart.
You’re the first one to step up when someone’s hit a wall,
The steady, unchanging anchor whenever we call.
And I watch as you look at my brother and your grandsons, and grin,
Passing down the old truth where your wisdom begins:
"As you are I once was, as I am you soon shall be."
A legacy of love that binds our whole family.
You wear a grumpy outer shell, but we all see right through,
To the beautiful, fiercely loyal heart inside of you.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad, to the best man I know—You are loved so much deeper than we ever could show.
Ah, to this land of the monsoons
or should it have been the sunsoons?
Yet for frozen land tourists, a tropical hot boon.
Where bullock carts, stray dogs, horse carriages and cows
pedestrians, goats, bikes and rickshaws
scooters, trucks, motorbikes and cabs
all compete together in quirky medley of traffic jams
On crammed roads you could ram into bulls and rams
So brakes forever screeching, the cars forever honking, hooting
while beggers begged and pickpockets could go a' looting on a footing
But where else you'd see, ducks and ponds in the city
buffaloes wallowing in mud without fear or pity!
Urban jungle eh, you'd think with a wink
and in many's esteem this land shan't ever sink.
Then pass the huge expanses of paddy fields and the rice farmers
and next come face to face with those Indian snake charmers!
Ah and the imposing edifice, Tajmahal, one of the seven wonders of the world
is no where else found, nor are the epic himalayas on any map unfurled
except for India, and a whole ocean with her name
The Indian ocean knows and salutes her fame!
As for me, meeting relatives there, is the best best part
then shopping too in each and every crowded mart
shopping like crazy, filling my spree's shopping cart!
I need it now! My irritating little sister was shrieking.
Her mask was not finished. The paint was still streaking.
My mother said, “It will be dry when we are ready to go”
But she kept griping and complaining. my sister, Mo.
It was Halloween of 1996. My own costume was a table.
Complete with teapot, plates, and cups, made by Grandma Mable.
I was enchanted like the Beauty and The Beast.
I was proud of my costume, it was finished at least!
There was a knock on the door. I heard someone yell Andy.
I was hoping it was my uncle with my Halloween candy.
He had promised me a Babe Ruth the other day.
If I could figure out a table costume, and here I was so hey!
It was my neighbor, the one who used to do all the car egging.
He was coming over again to do a bit of begging.
Can I borrow your scooter? He asked me. I have a costume to get.
I knew his reputation for wrecking scooters, so I said, “Just forget it!”
He left angry, but I did not care. Halloween was almost in sight.
I was too excited to eat supper, heading out into the night.
Hey! Our mother said, Be sure you take your Trick or Treat light.
I rolled my eyes, but did it, so we could get out all right.
I had not realized when I decided on my costume of enchanted table
It is difficult to get close to the trick-or-treat candy bags not really able.
The people pretty much had to choose from me, which was not so great.
I was disappointed when we came in with our loot at a quarter ‘til eight.
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck,
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck,
Blocking all the streets
In the centre of town,
To all intents and purposes
Closing the city down.
The police were very tolerant,
Withdrawing their attack
After more than one officer suffered
From a wielded walking stick's whack.
The atmosphere changed
Soon after that
Lots of bonhomie
Banter and chit chat.
The action was called offi
Promptly at five to three
Thus allowing each
To be home in time for tea.
The action wasn't called
For any cause or good:
No it was carried out
Just to show they could.
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck.
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck.