In this lifetime she is a mutt,
Small, Scrappy, sleepy, sweet,
Blinking eyes and gnawing teeth,
I'd know her in every lifetime,
In the one before she was tall,
Aching legs and honeycomb eyes,
Dutifully beautiful, kind, loyal,
A shadow with a wagging tail,
Before that she was white as snow,
Playful, pitiful, pretty, pale,
Sitting on the carpet awaiting my dad,
as I played with her ear and paw,
I didn't meet the one before,
I'm told she was quick, smart,
Like a pistol shot, a starting gun,
rescued, for a good life somewhere new.
I hope, when this lifetime is over,
I will meet each version of her,
Maisie, Lucy, Suki, Bonnie,
And we'll venture into the next one.
An initiative unforeseen
Supported by the Countess Aberdeen
Motivated several politicians and were
Encouraged to convene
In the year of 1920
When issues were aplenty
Delegates backed the Cork City charter
And elected MacSwiney, our dear martyr
Yet as many were to grieve
Others would also leave
They were faced with a new mandate
Upon founding the Irish Free State
However not everyone was happy
And things got rather scrappy
With views diverging ever-more
Making it hard to keep the score
The dust took a while to settle
And tested our civic institutions’ mettle
Though issues were left unsolved
Causing city councils to be dissolved
New problems were to be addressed
That would get the people rousing
Occupied with public works and housing
Making the managers obsessed.
That’s an oversimplification
For a topic deserving of dilation
An overview of a creation
Being the Municipal Association
Scrappy, pugnacious
a fighter from birth
The wee lad felled giants
of super-sized girth
Spectators cheered him on
there was no dearth
of the bubbly downed afterward
and good-natured mirth
They say, ‘The Bigger They Are, the Harder they Fall'
of those who stand tall ‘n rigid, not flexible at all
Ya gotta bend with the wind and go with the flow
‘cos if you stand there stock upright
~ Down you will go
In April, the Chicago Cubs almost always play Scrappy ~
Come late July, their 'S's' fall off and then they play Crappy
My feet are stuck in the muck, cried Chuck the duck.
Sean the swan came to his rescue across the lawn,
Chuck, grab my wing, and we’ll swing into the spring!
Chuck used his beak, as chic feathers tickled his cheek,
They flew out of the muck, we’re now unstuck, Sean clucked.
Chuck felt happy, Sean felt scrappy as they fished for crappie.
Chuck felt struck with luck as he caught one, but it stuck,
Sean the swan, brave and brawn, caught the prawn.
Now a pack, enjoyed their snack, as they happily clacked!
He is a lonesome young lad, not happy,
with curly hair he thinks he looks scrappy.
Dunks his head in pool with spin,
cold water his nose sucks in.
Tangled hair straightens, but he feels crappy.
For the love of Salt and Sea
A man,
Standing tall and feelin free.
With his old raggedy clothes,
Pipe
And his sunburnt nose.
On the bow of Ole Navy,
Just watching,
And waiting for the Jubilee.
With a voice that is raspy,
Calling out
For his old dog Scrappy.
The sun will soon be risen,
nets to be lowered,
boats could be seen on the horizon.
For the love of salt and sea,
A man,
Whose home was never in Tennessee.
Bent to touch waters of blue,
A smile,
A rendezvous.
A knowing,
His days were coming to a close,
Peering deep, forgoing.
For the love of salt and sea
A longing
Now a spirit set free.
© Deborah Seale Schnadelbach
Absolutely
Unfettered
Goodness
Undaunted by the eventual arrival of fall
Scrappy summer month hanging on
Thank you August
Perusing some recently mindless & unlabeled
shelfed works (my recently ancient poems),
benumbed fingers pluck jumbled words;
musings that had much meaning once
but now seem more like
the random scattering of monkey turds.
A thousand keyboards are buried in my brains landfill,
and here come the plucky and ribald seagulls
to peck at the words still wriggling through
unplugged motherboards.
Still and all, there may be a line or two
that have escaped the ravishes
of times disinterest and ennui,
there may be a poem here - somewhere,
its small, quivering spirit still hopefully squeaking:
"pick me, pick me!"
Be happy
For the peace of mind
Be scrappy
And celebrate to go blind
Of the joy you've find
Never permit
The drabness in your situation
Never admit
It could stoke up your reason's activation
To drive home happiness for there is no permanent situation
Be glad
For in life exist CHANGE
Be mad
To try cover up in range
That people wonder greatly; how strange?
Keep the fun glooming
Which braces your ways
Keep the emotion flourishing
Twist of ways to enjoy your days
And hope all wishes aren't mere says
The assurance ranting in you
Is enough to keep you moving
The precious flow of your muse ever new
Is enough to keep you inking...
And get the world whirling . ..
No doubt
Can delay the glory
No cutout
Can stop the lorry
To all threat, is a big sorry
In Christ
Rest your success
In tryst
Rest your redress
Just choose right and be not stressed
Shine bright
It's still your day... Jude Chukwu
Olábòsóyè Wèmímó Oláolúwá cares...
Little yappy dog
why do you bark at the sky
and not piddle nor poo?
I let you out a time ago
but you will not go
yet sniff and foot it around
trampling over the flowerbed
and not doing what you ought to.
Still as I watch your skimpy
scrappy form, got to smile
and must love you.
You yippity-yappity mutt
you.
predictable pairing
like plans and lovers
two sparrows fly, flirt
wing beats hyped
to dull the scent of overcrowded news
in spring air, grinning
scrappy species
two birds that pitch and swoop
an operatic flow
their sheen of relatability
braided together
a courtship gallantry
in circled bolts
when two birds fly about you
suspenseful joy
like an untroubled sigh
re-directing thought
seasonal movement
a flight of promise
that opens to the sky
My blessed My Love, you inspire me to write.
How I love the way you feed, fly and bounce,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the dazzy pounce.
Let me compare you to a secure moon?
You are more lucky, flappy and happy.
Pure sun heats the nappy peaches of June,
And summertime has the sappy pappy.
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your manifest Arms, Smile and eyes.
Thinking of your scrappy Smile fills my days.
My love for you is the snappy disguise.
Now I must away with a yappy heart,
Remember my sure words whilst we're apart.
FREE CHOICE OF LAUGHER AND SMILE
Laugh & Smile.
It doesn't cost a thing;
Not because money comes in,
Or because you're feigning.
Laugh & Smile.
It's not bought even...
If it's freely given,
It's willingly released when driven.
Laugh & Smile.
It doesn't cost a thing,
but your choice to sing
and to be joyful or happy
even when all things becomes scrappy.
Laugh & Smile.
Choose to be grateful
not bcos of affluence or your jar is full.
Choose to laugh, Smile again,
That is what we all must sustain.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© October 28th, 2021.
Once there was a hideous troll,
With a broken nose made out of gold,
A glistening complexion, oily slick,
And scrappy hair that was made of sticks!
The Knights were sent on a mission,
To rid the Kingdom of this vision.
But she possessed a magical spell,
That would send her enchroachers straight to hell!
An army of fairies would join the fight,
To cleanse this Earth of such a fright, to make her right!
They would cover the beast with pixie dust,
Where the sticks would break and the untaintable metal would rust.
A princess to be was their goal,
But her black heart persisted; this gnarly troll.
All help they gave her, even rehearsed,
Simply made her ugliness worse!
Eventually, they would let her be,
Hidden in darkness by the nastiest of trees!
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