"coots" poems
In this park there are birds atop ice cakes
stiff mittened kids, cold nosed and half froze
they slide on paths of glass, toward home.
A small stream cuts through this place,
black water humming with coots and ducks.
Long toothed icicles waiting to impale the earth.
Beneath our feet, we crack and shatter tiny frozen ponds,
revealing muddied blades of grass, green as in summer.
A myriad of birds in the sun, come to puff and quiver,
but soon the mountain clouds will come to shroud
the day, the sky so cold, a frost in grey and silver.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
The colour of fir seeps over the water
A bright spritely white tail dashes past
Home to it’s tea.
Mirror glass ripples as
It’s mist gently rises in the dusk
To form the dew that soaks the grass at sunrise.
Brilliant arcs swell behind
Coots tending the nest.
Blackness has nearly set upon the lake
A ghostly orange tinge on the
Horizon signals the dying of the day
Cold fingers and brisk steps.
Willows make rainbow archways
From bank to water
Lime green fronds dragging the current.
The platter of water drenched moss and spatter on stone,
Blossom trees fit to burst
Dozing in purple twilight
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 5:39 AM UTC
^¡^
everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar
some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets
ALL
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
O why do you walk through the fields in boots,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody shoots,
Why do you walk through the fields in boots,
When the grass is soft as the breast of coots
And shivering-sweet to the touch?
1.3k
Walking through the cottonwoods
along a blue-green sea of reeds
the spring pond ripples
with ducks and coots
glint of red on wings
the singing blackbirds
silver minnows flash by
and wriggle in beaks
of fisher birds, so swift
the time to live
and die.
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 3:57 PM UTC
When you come around
Come around this little town
There's a story that you'll hear
That makes you smile and shed tears
He was a little boy
When his momma told him "Son,
There ain't nothin' hear for ya,"
But he found a way to have his fun
He knew he should try harder
And make his mom and pop proud
But they were just farmers
And he fancied his pop a coward
So one day he said "Momma,
I'm leaving this town for good.
I'm packin' my bag and hoppin' on a
Big ol' train," and do just that he would
His momma kissed him goodbye
His pop just bowed his head
And off he went to the city
There was not a tear he shed
He then met some boys around his age
They liked to shoot and loot
He didn't mind the ruckus
Or the terrorizing of old coots
They robbed and they shot
They stuck and they stole
And they laughed all the way
He was happy he got himself out that hole
But then one day the sheriff
Flicked his badge and said
"It's time for you to leave this town,
before I shoot you all dead."
His friends put their hands up
And slowly backed away
But the ol' boy had drunk his share
And thought it time for the sheriff to pay
So he pulled out his revolver
But before he could shoot
A shot rang out and smoke fluttered
The sheriff let out a hoot
Our ol' boy laid on the floor
Bleeding like a pig
He smirked and he died there
But he never felt so big
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC
How is the night treating you? I am asleep,
but not. Half awake, but not. I am hope,
but not. I want to scream, but don't. In this
half-morning, I want yesterday, but don't.
Tomorrow has poured in, but hasn't.
Now these itchy feet. Itchy tips of hair
that rub the cheeks. Itchy heart where
love smoulders. Some sweeter itch:
but, itch, nevertheless; itch in my sleep.
I want to know if this is an itchy night?
The rain falls like an itch on the rooftop.
This is some funny farce of a farcical night.
Tonight, I love the teals more, but don't.
Coots seem darker than the sky, but aren't.
In this deep night, I am love, but not. In this
last 'but not', the 'not' part is small, I mean.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Driftwood, basking,
in the early morning sun,
beside the stillness of
the water;
the day has just begun.
Warmness, creeping,
up my back and neck,
pastoral scenes abide,
at my call and beck.
Coots and loons, float by,
in a wet and dreamy landscape,
Jax and I are strolling,
it's our eight a.m. escape.
Cormorants speed by,
in fast and hectic flight,
bound for who-knows-where,
they're awesome in the light.
The walk is quite refreshing,
nature's face unfurled,
and today, at this one moment,
all's right, with all the world.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
Some people say I’m sheltered
And perhaps that is so
But if that means watching slugs
To shelter I’ll happily go
That’s the way it is in Muskogee
It’s a trip to go and get the news
And the biggest scandal of all
Is when Mr. Scott blew the local fuse.
We just sit and watch the world go by
We still raise the old Union Jack
We still don’t know about foreign policy
We just think I can’t be too late getting back
Got to get the washing in
Got to put the food on the fire
Got to get in from the rain
Livin’ free is our only desire
And to go down to the freehouse
To have a tipple of ale
We know alot about the weather
What to look for in thunder and hail
We just cherish these honest values
We just know no more can be done
When the dark sets in
And we start at the rise of the sun
It’s quiet but it’s nice
The last untapped reserve
Free to do as you wish
The Internet don’t get on your nerves
You just talk to your neighbour
When you want to know
What the sport was last week
And he’d say off to the shop I’ll go
Come back two hours later
With not much really to say
Other than about the chicken he strung
And that ‘rain stopped play’
Being an Oakie from Muskogee
That’s all you had to chew on
You sat and stewed over a brew
Until the rain was gone
Then you were back out and
Sure enough you’d get a laugh
As two old coots tried in vain
To back a tractor down a path.
I here people talking bad
Sayingthe way things ought to be
But life here is good
If they would only come and see
You don’t get no emails
You don’t get no one bossing you
The last place where you can be free
And do what you want to do.
I say do what you want to do!
From An Oakie
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 8:07 AM UTC
I hate to break this to you
But I've got some awful news
Seems our parents as we grew up
Weren't telling us the truth
Life is not the party
The older that you get
Adulthood's gonna **** ya
If it hasn't already yet
Never once was mentioned the fall out
Starting with the hair and teeth
I'm not sure they even would have told us
If they hadn't first lost their memory
Or that the ache
When you first awake
Will be the best
That you feel all day
And what the taxman doesn't take
The undertaker will
That is if you have anything left
After a lifetime of paying bills
Yes, never did they tell us
As we were quickly on our way
That we'd live every waking moment
With some sort of stabbing pain
Or that if and when we make it to the end
We'd lose all our self respect
Having strangers bathe and change us
In our state of drooling mess
I'm sure they thought it funny
Those wild old crazy coots
Keeping age a secret
And us out of the loop
Not sure I could ever forgive them
For all the lying that they did
I guess the only option is
Not to tell our kids...
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
Daffodils and campanula in full bloom
In my garden
But a lawn to waterlogged to mow
Birds singing their mating songs
In branches with fresh leaf buds opening
Bright sunlight glinting on the rippled lake
With coots ducks and swans in abundance
Families walking,alive to the spring
Here in the South, in the depths of winter
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Behind my eyes, colors flash
And you and I my sister dash
Across a field of stinging bees
We run beyond the frozen seas
With thoughts of sun and mossy roots
We sing and laugh with phony coots
And by no rules, do we abide,
for in this world
we’re side by side.
And I without you, could not see
the sister you will always be
For you have been so good to me.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
A viaduct looms over my daily commute; trains rattle above.
I pass through its belly each day.
A canal ambles beneath one armpit,
Scrubland loiters under the other.
In the belly , glaring headlights inch forward towards their kin;
Metal, rubber and glass jostle for place,
Engines thrumming.
Shiny shoes pinch and stiff collars tighten;
Fingers start drumming.
Deadlock.
Gridlock.
On the indolent canal a barge floats serenely, fat fish meander and
Skinny - legged moor hens tiptoe through the reeds.
An old man in rough tweeds pokes his stick through the scrub land on the other side,
Searching for blackberries.
Lights change futilely; amber, green and red.
Engines rev and teeth grit.
The belly rumbles.
Ducks fly in and land on the still water of the canal.
They swim in formation under the bridge.
On the other side the old man sits to eat his fill
His fingers purple with juice.
Clouds scud, a breeze cools and the sun appears.
Collars stiffen, indicators tick, nails are bitten
As the cars inch forward.
The bloated belly heaves
As a few cars cross the border to meet another impasse.
Concentric circles appear on the surface of the water
And gnats flicker above it.
A family of coots sets out for a morning outing
And a kestrel hovers above.
Deep in the undergrowth field mice
Scurry away from the old man's boots.
Dry sticks snap under his heel
and the sun warms his thinning pate.
He takes the slow path through the undergrowth,
Meets an ancient lane
And strolls the familiar path home.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar
some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets
ALL
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
All except for the parrots.
They need to be plucked!
What kind of bird are YOU?
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 1:39 PM UTC
with forever endless shame comes desperity
an age old curse whos result is ended with integrity
overcoming difficult challenges and making it through tradgedy is the beggining
but with a foundation of great potential will yield a treacherous journey of sinning
you can't stop it and nobody will help you
keep a cross right near for the people wont tell you
with infinite lies and horrible realities
creates flowing selflessness and standardized propriety
conformity is the way! says the political figures
and what about korea and their endless adventures
coming our way is inevitable nuclear destruction
so why should I stay in class..
and conform to your arrogant instruction
it seems like a learning center for youths
and a haven for the classmates playing kahoot
but when the flash hits slow and its officer coots
you might as well pack up and lace your boots
because you are about to experience life
life comes in variety and they are all different
some smoke **** and others stay indifferent
new colors and sights to experience
bring new joys and less time for inteference
being alive and breathing now
is much more than the meat you ate from that helpless cow
share more possesions and loosen up your laces
soon we will become nomadic and will be able to visit places
karma is always good to have if you want to win races
but yielding trust and honesty will bring smiles to all your families faces
no one could ever express the importance of fun
but life is filled with with mystery
so why not jam and strum
and grow out a man bun
or create a new handgun because its what fun
without a little pizzaz you wouldnt even fathom
that one day you'll realize your whole life was at random.
all I ask is for individual personality
and neverending anti-propriety
and hopefully someday
someone will make a reality check on society
and spark the game of life.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
This poem is not the more
traditional fare,
in fact, my humor can
actually scare,
Fartina is a twenty-five
pound, quite pooty dog,
most of the time her
poots make no sound,
But, trust me, your
olfactory sense will
know when she's around.
Debilitating flatulence
emits from her ***
trust me, you'll run,
it isn't fun-
being in a room with her,
in fact, you'll cuss the little cur,
When salespeople come to
the door,
the only way to get them to
leave, for sure,
is to pretend Fartina is a
well mannered mixed breed,
then, when they pet her,
green clouds arise,
and their faces scrunch up,
no surprise.
She has her own waiting room
at the vet,
because her gaseous emissions
are the worst yet,
so, if you need to give your
in-laws the boot,
give Fartina a burrito,
they'll run, the old coots !!!!!
May 27, 2020
May 27, 2020 at 6:28 PM UTC