fiddling with a magnanimous tootling - no tutelage needed
anonymity of the artful dodger - blaming innocent bystander
widespread whisper and stare, waving away any hospitality
scent swept under the rug - stinker with a wink and a toodle loo
“How-do-you-do?” the seminal leaves of Autumn wave.
“When would you like to fly away?” prickles the gust.
Maternal-oak holds on tight as one birdy takes flight.
The gust will have none of this ballyhoo, knowing
what he must do, calls for fingernails-on-chalkboard rain,
for the bad-wolf-wind, for lightning, insane.
“Toodle-loo,” says each spiderling-leaf, parachuting to earth.
They make such a scene; whirligig and wandering,
each drenched in colloquial colors, memorable, forsaken.
Each one in turn catches a potential eye even as it lands
in puddles, whirling and twirling, a final splash. They mourn
as blends of orange, yellow and red bleed into the stream.
Undignified, decomposing, going under, all poetry spent,
dwarfing and drifting; washed away down the drain.
Spring regeneration haphazardly avoids loose-leaf goosebumps.
“Off went the Postman, Toodle-oo! In his uniform of postal blue…”
—Allan Ahlberg, The Jolly Postman
RED CARDINAL
The
heavy bird landing
on his heart,
with joyful wings -
an angel’s.
As the dearly departed,
her name was uttered
in golden pen,
pronounced…
and it began.
The miracle, bright red!
The postal delivery
fed
the imagination
of the brave little postman,
not so little, instead,
not so unsteady -
his legs fed
by miles of mourning,
but he kept on going,
not looking back.
BUT
here he pauses,
admiring
the plumage
of this healthy bird,
its claws,
like a ruby ring,
round his finger - the
mother lode
comforting
to a
heartbroken soul.
Kiki Lindstrom had a dog
A tiny puppy poodle
When she took it for a slog
It flipped a puppy's noodle
Kiki think about your pup
And think about the clover
When you try to pick it up
You have to pick it over
Kiki Lindstrom name your pet
But not the same as Toodle
When you name the same you get
The blame to be a poodle
Kiki, darling, what is true
Except a world of fashion
Everyone depends on you
To lead them with your passion
Kiki Lindstrom, little one
Your game is just beginning
When you roll the morning sun
The same is true of winning
Kiki child of success
Much more than any lover
When you change from dress to dress
Your beauty is your cover
Kiki Lindstrom, is my chance
The same as any bumpkin
If you like to see me dance
Then spin me like a pumpkin
Kiki dear, as I watch you
Our clocks are ticking single
If we dance like lovers do
Our frocks are sure to mingle.
If you want to give people the slip
In England, years ago, you'd say,
I'm off. Toodle Pip,
If you are with a mate
With whom you are in tune
Toodle OO old chum
I'll be seeing you soon
Ta Ta, for now
Or TTFN
I'll probably see you again,
I don't know why I wrote this verse
It made me feel quite sad and terse
The French say the romantic au revoir
It rolls off the tongue
It's the best Ta Ta I've heard so far.
are we jealous or mediocre
no shows won’t know
class dismissed on with the show
more than one hand to clap
less than two fingers to snap
great minds work trenches
keepin’ track of one’s senses
as we trolley through space
last stop’s a perfect place
people share thoughts across lands
oceans, seas and golden sands
seems value of life caught in a twirl
must be the why’s and ways of the world
we’ve much to give to help others live
didn’t get the memo to forget and forgive
woe is the world with much askew
sheeple still sheeple no matter what we do
have a nice day and toodle-oo
“Okay then, alright then, toodle-loo, bye-bye!”
Sure love to hear that again
My first wife would end each phone conversation
With this familiar old refrain
Once uttering these words of sheer finality
It was over, finis, a done deal
Even though their words are heard trailing off
Time's up, no chance to repeal
Was definitely over when this sweet lady quoted
These charming memorable words
Am I dreaming or did I actually just hear them again
Can't be true, that's totally absurd!
“Okay then, alright then, toodle-loo, bye-bye!”
Love to hear those words again
Life has moved on but love to hear them once more
That familiar sweet old refrain
God is love, and love is what you always must do.
To get into heaven with a toodle-dee-lou.
Jesus said love Him with your heart and your soul.
To love God and Jesus is your ultimate goal.
Love Him when things are up, and love Him when down.
Love Him by sharing with others a smile, not a frown.
Helping your neighbor is what you can do too.
If you want your heart to do what Jesus would do.
Love your neighbor, a stranger, the young and the old.
Love is the feeling that will linger; she is always gold.
God is love and love is what you always must do.
To get into heaven with a toodle-dee-lou.
Words escape me, Away they go,
Where they go to, I don't know.
Flying off to pastures new
Until they are completely out of view.
Hello
Welcome, warm
Greeting, saluting, hailing
Salutation, address; farewell, toodle-loo
Parting, tearing, leave-taking
Sad, departure
Goodbye
May 22, 2021
My messy pouch was now full of goo
I was not happy between me and you
I looked inside and felt quite blue.
You have to go, Honey, indeed you do!
But I am merely twenty-two!
Argued my son, the kangaroo
What kind of life would I have boo?
If I left my sweet mother at twenty-two?
Come on I urged. I was forceful too.
You need to put on clothes and maybe woo
A female who could start a family with you.
It’s time to go, so Toodle-loo, my baby Kangaroo.
I'm feeling sad and blue
I expect you all are too
We've had enough
Of this Covid stuff
It's time to say toodle-oo
Got a question why did summer vamoose
It just started now we're waving toodle loo
It just ain't right
It's taken flight
Whomever's in charge, you're full of poop
My last poem will be a humdinger, will include
a hummingbird in a ruby throated cowl
sipping satisfyingly in Caren’s Krutsinger’s
faerie garden - we’ll be sipping tea or something
stronger. Our muses are quite old by then,
and surely friends. One’s feigning on a daffodil.
The other’s wrinkling her teeny eyes - a scowl.
Instead of Chris Green’s good morning verse,
mine will say farewell to friends. I don’t think
I could cut it short as a monoku but if I’m going
fast I might need to be brief. Perhaps I’d be
silent, as a lightning bug on a Summer’s day —
I’d have to have my mouth
wired shut, my hands in casts (they’d talk too)
I might say, “toodle-loo,” or “ta-ta,” if not too trite.
I’d turn out the stars and the moon, say, “good night.”
7/19/2020
If this was my last poetry contest poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Silent One
Toodle-oo ! Much I ride on holy rays,
Into the abyss, into gaiety of space,
Dwell over the illumination of divine,
Much is poetry too joyful and to twine.
En route, I grasped the origin of motion,
To attest the course of every emotion,
Remote, sturdy, destructive and decline,
Much is poetry too joyful and to twine.
The first-fruits held in the hand of a quean,
Not for me, a mortal so eager and too keen,
There’s a quest for what’s better, to sin or to sign,
Much is poetry too joyful and too joyfully twine.
But there’s the other hand, resolute in essence,
The hand that brings the balance and the sense,
All that starry sunshine straightened in a long line,
Much is poetry too joyful and too joyfully twine.
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