Tooting Poems | Examples

Snippets of Spring vol 3

Meandering meadows broken by a tossing garbling brook…strewn..rocks hewn embossing...marbling and moss flossing

Awoken whispers spoken..cantankerous coughing eddy wheezes..then a curmudgeonly icy mirror hush

Reckoning breezes yield cats' paws beckoning…teases across the flanking field

Fairies’ wield spells conveyed in lush dappled glades of plush bluebell dells 

Stacked cumulus collage..shield montage cracked by dazzling azure shard mirage

Chubby clouds’ japes..conjuring cannily hung faces.. shapes...far flung places

Strife is rife..resurrection introspection survival..brings carnival of retrieval

New things...nothing can rival..primal primeval revival..Spring sings life!

Lost Ground

Somewhere in the general melee
we lost our imaginary horses,
                                  their ghostly neighing
added pathos to this momentous moment.

It was decided, we boys, and one sister
of a boy we hardly knew,
that Custer must die, the Indians win,
there could be no sudden victories
              plucked from certain disaster.

We had no Indians,
one bow with a rubber-tipped arrow
does not make a gathering of the tribes.
We had no Custer,
six dark haired kids, no long flowing hair,
no mustaches.                        Undaunted
we marched on to meet our heroic death,
lip-bugles tooting, makeshift flags flying.

A fertile field of battle was selected.

At the site of our coming glory,
it was disheartening to discover,
a growling construction site,
giant bull dozers,
tractors, and iron-toothed diggers
busily tearing up
our hallowed ground.

Jim (my best pal),
loudly proclaimed: " fork it,"
to no one in particular,
then sloped away,
                  hands in pockets -

an event which I now consider sadly ironic,
for ever since,
we have lost all sorts of battles
                                  over many a fertile field.

fall is a reminder

Fluffy tailed rodents chasing rings around trees
Cool air, bringing a realism with harsh new breeze
Leaves redressed in yellows, oranges, golds and reds.
Nothing but brown ugly things in my flower beds.

Autumn is here, tooting her coronet about winter.
The wood on the porch is rotten, the edge has splintered.
Jackets and sweaters are searched for, I discover my old blue.
Mittens are almost never a match, you find one, but not two.

Fall is a reminder that the world is tensing up for snow.
Frost and sleet, ice on the roads, hope you do not have far to go.
I scrunch down in my chair surrounded by fluffy fleece.
Eating warm foods like potatoes with gravy made with grease.

which planet shall we relocate to

Mars is too hot
Saturn is freezing her snot.
Pluto is tooting its gold
Neptune is way too old

Jupiter is almost ready
Let’s go there, suggested my steady
Venus snickers a bit
Mercury threw her bi-polar fit

Which one has hospitality?
Come down to earth and reality
There is space creature life on Venus we were told
They eat you too, so you do not have burden of growing old

This did not in any way appeal to me
I visited the keeper of the Milky Way galaxy
What suggestions can you make? I asked
Relocating to a new planet is a dubious task.

Witch G Bawing

She eats her lunch while precariously balancing herself on a line
None of us clearly know why, but she tells us it keeps her feeling fine.
Several ebony crows come by cawing, hemming, tooting and hawing.
But does she fall off? Not ever, she’s a professional, Witch G. Bawing.

O For the Wings, Eyes and Ears of An Owl

O for the Wings, Eyes and Ears of an Owl
~~~
Assuming we could do eye-popping things
As does an owl flying the night on wings
When no one knows of antics in moonlight
O for the mystique of a silent flight.

Imagine having circular vision
It'd be alike watching television
If we should be as farsighted as owls
We would never miss anything ourselves.

Should we have eyes in the back of our head
We would still miss out on lots, our dreams unfed
Unlike owls who with rotating heads seek
Prey fit for a sumptuous midnight feast.

If we had owls spectacular eye sight 
And stupendous hearing for sounds of night
Imagine when we were walking around
The hot gossip and secrets to be found.

What a hooting tooting it’d surely be
To be a wise owl sitting in a tree
Hearing and seeing all right through the night
What wonderful poetry one could write.
~~~ ~~~

8th October 2022

A Spankin New Bum For Tommy

Tommy fell off his bike and broke his bum 
When he set off to find a new one
Big, tall, or one size fits all
A man he met at the mall,
offered a new bum but for a large sum

Tommy looked here, there, and everywhere
Even the stores where they sold underwear
To venders who had his back 
But his bum still had a huge crack!
Something was still wrong, how very unfair

His bum was so noisy it brought him shame 
It made weird noises and he got the blame
Tooting, hooting, and squeaking 
when anyone started speaking
His bum sounded like a video game 

When he discovered he had the loudest, 
his talent made Tommy the proudest, 
A butt trumpeting bold, 
better than a pot gold 
His sound-system backside, the best!

Sonic blasts when Tommy bent over
He picked a perfect four-leaf clover
A gas that blew him away
well into St. Paddy’s Day
A blast heard from Dublin to Dover

Turnips

Triumphant he eats greens

Tooting his trumpet proud

Tearfully I gathered

Them, my back ached, tender

Tendons, twisted muscles

Those greens were cooked well done

Thank you, no not a one  

Date: 4/26/2021
Contest: Pleiades T
Sponsor: Kim Merrymen

1Triumphant he eats greens 6

2Tooting his trumpet proud 6
3Tearfully I gathered 6
4Them, my back ached, tender 6
5Tendons, twisted muscles 6
6Those greens were cooked well done 6
7Thank you, no not a one 6

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Irish Limericks

On March Seventeen on St. Paddy's Day 
Finbar and Connor drank close to the bay          
they ate green saltines 
and caught wild sardines 
but without any jacks, they couldn't stay 

they whized and staggered up dingle harbour 
sat at the marina, and ate hot spicy chowder
they whistled and sang 
while their stomachs? oh dang !  
out to the jack, they pushed it out farther    

Finbar and Connor off to Dingle, County Kerry
to join the big parade of pompous dignitaries 
light and airy feeling Holy 
tooting out just like a Dooley 
the day just fell away like wind in the prairies.  

Feb. 26, 2021

Farmer Fred Shed's

Farmer Fred went on a diet
Nancy said, “You got to try it”
Fred began to “Feel the Noize”
Tooting like the Beastie Boys
Really it was Quiet Riot

Farewell Mother Goose Farewell 2020

Farewell Mother Goose Farewell 2020
David J Walker  (12/21/2020)

Old Mother Hubbard was
Dancing a jig
To a tune of long ago
The little dog laughed to
See her swig from a cup
Of his yellow snow 

While little boy blue
Was tooting his horn 
The cow jumped 
Over the moon
Little Bo-Peep was 
Singing forlorn to a year
That was out of tune 

And little Jack Horner
Abandoned his corner 
The candle had burned itself out
And three little kittens made 
Face masks of mittens
And went on their way about 

Then Hickory Dickory
 Annoyed with Dock 
Could wait not longer to chime
Pushed on the hands to 
Hurry the clock 
To end this weary rhyme

Audios 
	So long 
		Farewell 
2020
Aufweidersein
		Adieu
The clock will strike 
Your final hour
As we wave goodbye 
To you

Longfellow's Arc Angel

A sprinkling of fairy dust early in the morning
an airy dawn arrives on the wings of an angel
music of nature flutes by with all its first bring  
I own daylight quills and Longfellow's archangel
While the rose sleeps beneath the moist earth
safely beneath the snow  waiting for rebirth
guardians of the galaxy are closing in on stars
I don't hear a sound not even the tooting of cars
Outside the breeze is slipping through the trees
as quietly as the memes of God's silent smiles
I own hopes so big they bring me to my knees
and a belief that will help me through the miles
Dance while you still can He says to my heart,  
as I hear the sound of music, ... I do my part.

A Rose Beneath the Snow

A sprinkling of fairy dust early in the morning
an airy dawn arrives on the wings of an angel 
music of nature flutes by with all its first bring  
I own daylight quills and Longfellow's archangel
While the rose sleeps beneath the moist earth 
safely beneath the snow  waiting for rebirth 
guardians of the galaxy are closing in on stars 
I don't hear a sound not even the tooting of cars 
Outside the breeze is slipping through the trees 
as quietly as the memes of God's silent smiles 
I own hopes so big they bring me to my knees 
and a belief that will help me through the miles 
Dance while you still can He says to my heart,  
as I hear the sound of music, ... I do my part.

Pomp and Pageantry

I remember the grand parades
  Memorial and Independence Day
All their pomp and pageantry
  Many faded jeans ago, so far away

Our boys in uniform we'd be saluting
  For the good ole USA we'd be rooting
Now it's political rancor at barbeques
  ~ From either end we're tooting

Brain Chemistry

long term thinking is a creator of appetite
but brain chemistry can play tricks 
like a rattlesnake bite can play tricks
once you toss your conscience into the gutter
and the desire for being the most free
becomes last year's wavy banner fallen
venom fresh in the blood of life
parasitic feeble deprived and manacled
where free enough is free enough
leaving behind far less collateral dementia
the old school vs. the new school
which is which it's hard to tell
barking dogs from mewing cats any longer
the spilt shadows are that long
the tapping of striped canes that grim
the gullible have erected a stockade
because mama loves her babies
an accretion of idiocy by definition
it comes down to people don't know
long since sent to the evaporation pools
where permanent revolution is still a thing
and the Wurlitzer dialectic see saw
is a steam locomotive straining for traction
against the sparking anvil of the elder ironsmith
shoveling party slogans into the boiler
as if they were the color of sky
rather than a long dark gestation
now skipping and tooting down Elm St.

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