Home » Poems » Best » Scupper Navajo » Best Scupper Navajo Poems

Best Poems Written by Scupper Navajo

Below are the all-time best Scupper Navajo poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Epic Limerick

There once was a girl named Sabine
The cutest one I’d ever seen
She had curly hair
And a teddy named Bear
And her bedroom was perfectly clean.

Sabine had a brother named Jude,
A generally radical dude,
Who liked to play games
And call Sabine names
Until Mommy said, “Stop being rude!”

Jude and Sabine lived in France.
Their parents had met at a dance.
Scupper, their mom,
Had said, “Whoa, you’re the bomb!”
When she first saw their daddy, named Lance.

Along came a baby called Paul. 
He started out small but grew tall. 
He slept through the night
In darkness and light
And his parents said, “We have it all!”

Lance built his family a house.
It was just the right size for a mouse.
And a spider or three
And an ant colony
And a partridge, a quail, and a grouse.

The lot of them moved to a shoe.
A kitten lived with them too.
His name was Réglisse
And he loved to eat grease
And the occasional chocolate fondue.

The garden they grew was a dream.
The bees in it made clotted cream.
The milk cows made honey
And the apples looked funny
And Scupper killed weeds with hot steam.

A pigeon lived in the arbor.
The grape leaves provided safe harbor.
It pooped on the bench
But it spoke quite good French
And eventually found work as a barber.

All of the children grew up.
Their parents adopted a pup.
Jude made perfumes
Sabine painted brooms
And Paul invented the cup.

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

A Time To Dream

Some say we’re in the hands of fate
But decisions yet to come
Will only prove that we create
The people we become

The future has an unseen face
And vague as it may seem
These years are ours to find a place
This is our time to dream

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Note To Self

Capturing memories
With a net full of holes
Tends to let slip the good ones
And leave only trolls

Focus on treasuring
The joys that you feel
Instead of rehashing
Wounds that won’t heal

Pull happiness inwards
And let it take root
Be generous with others—
Kindness bears fruit

When your spirits are bright
And and you’re in a good mood
Find someone who’s touched you
And express gratitude

Put down the net
Let your emotions fly free
Don’t let fear crush you
Peace out, and let it be

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Scents of Purpose

A student, a linguist, a mom and a wife,
I would never have guessed
The next stage in my life.

I wanted out once—well actually, twice
But decided to stay
And keep rolling the dice.

Opportunities blossomed, and a dream that I had
Suddenly happened for real
With support from my dad.

It ain’t over yet! At age forty-four
I’m just getting started
And it’s far from a chore.

I love what I make, and may even sell
If my olfactory art
Has a great enough smell.

My teachers passed down their methods and flair
And now, even I
Know how to tame air.

Perfume is my future, beauty my muse.
Optimism guides me
Because that’s what I choose.

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Numb-Out

At the back of my palate
Near the top of my throat
Lies a region as holy
As the blood of a goat

Now feeling numb
Insensitive to scent
I wonder just where
My smell mojo went

Will COVID return it?
Can olfaction come back
As piercing and strong
As a hammering jack?

It comes in quite handy
In professions like mine
Where years have been spent
Designing a fragrance line

Cheese tastes like rubber
Soup like salt slurry
Coffee’s thick water
Hurry, nose, hurry!

Once you’re back in my life
I’ll be sure to cherish
Your powerful gifts
Till the day that I perish

Perceiving dimensions
Sensing textures and pitch
My nose, bump and all,
Has made my life rich

For granted I took it
Even knowing the threat
Now it’s on strike
And I’m starting to fret

“Wait a week,” they all say
And I don’t have a choice
By next Wednesday, I hope,
I’ll partake in rejoice!

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Condiment Cabaret

Split pickle, sliced pickle, crisp pickle, knife
All in the jar planning the night of their life

Paul pokes a pinky in, eyeing his snack,
But this time the gherkins decide to fight back

They jump out and land with a splash and a splurt,
Wielding the knife, but no one gets hurt

The stunned little boy retreats to the den
And the pickles go crazy, like a pig out its pen

They snort and they stomp, hollering “Boo yeah!” and “Woot!”
Till they hear the door crack, and the boom of a boot

Mommy’s home now, with burgers to fry
But she sees the jar empty, and rolls her eyes with a sigh

“Buddy boy,” she groans, “has got to my stash”
No pickles tonight - just patties and mash

The sly little veggies dash out the cat flap
Hoping not to get lost, for lack of a map

They pick up on a beat, and file along
To the neighborhood night club, swaying hips to the song

Elated and dilly, they burst through the door,
Disco ball turning, then head straight to the floor

It’s Saturday night and the fever is burning
The moves that they do have the novices yearning

These pickles are partying - they own the house
Other creatures start stirring, even a mouse

The sight of them all, an unforgettable scene,
Draws onlookers round, except one of them’s mean

It’s a bitter young man, not a fan of bland food
Chased by his mom, yelling, “Wait up, dude!”

Paul gets to them first, and he’s armed with a fork
He bares his teeth growling, and pops like a cork

Hungry and brimming with anger and spite,
Paul gobbles them up, with a crunch and a bite

But the pickles keep wiggling - the show must go on
And Paul’s tummy is bouncing - he’s up until dawn

Like a croc with a clock, from miles away,
The dancing belly's still heard, all night and all day.

The moral, my friend, is that revenge may taste sweet,
But when food comes to life, you’d better not eat.

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Elementary Mathematics, 101

“After one-hundred, which number comes next?”
inquired Ms. Colvin as she studied her text.

All of us kids raised our hands high,
then Ms. Colvin picked Brett, this one dumb guy.

“Two-hundred,” he said with complete confidence.
“Geez,” I thought, “he sure is dense.”

So I sat up straight 
and I felt really great
’cause the answer, I knew,
was one-hundred and two.

Details | Scupper Navajo Poem

Tinted Window

His poems were about racism.
About the white man who wouldn't hire him
	because he was a “dirty Mexican.”
My mind shivered in disgust.

In the end he said, “…and I thank my wife…”
He spotted her in the audience, nodded, and
	smiled lovingly.
I immediately turned to look for the Hispanic
	woman in the crowd.