"doodler" poems
Roddy's Rooster, man! you couldn't
oust her
Standing up there on his dunghill fair
Announcing to the whole world, to All
everywhere
My **** He's the greatest doodle doer
O! that Roddy's Rooster.
He don't need no booster, does
Roddy's Rooster
He'd even go after the goose sir
Don't you fouster with this Rooster
You'd only lose sir
Now vamoose sir.
Very dapper and quite the scrapper
Patrolling his perimeter
Strutting around the farmyard pound
Invariably, henhouse bound
If you were to meet him
It'd be "Put up your dukes sir
Me! I'm Roddy's Rooster".
With his tail feathers all fluffed up
Like a feather duster
And his chest all puffed out
Quite the Dandy and always randy
What a Suitor that Roddy's Rooster
And O! what a Wooer, that wooey
doodler.
I I
He came a cropper though one day
When he fell in the Hopper
Now he's a good deal shorter
And not half as cocky as before,
Now he sits on his wall lamenting his
fall
Thinking of the days when he used to
have a ball
Has Lady Luck that Grand Old Duck
deserted him I wonder.
Sad to see, now he's a bit gammy
More Bandy than Dandy
He still South's in the Summer
But has doubts in the Winter,
Now he likes to crow his woes and
lows away
Climbing up onto his dunghill, he
greets the day
But now in a high shrill falsetto
voice
He sings in a whole different way
" I've been round the Ringer but I'm
still quite a Dinger
**** a Doodley Doo"
Now... now he's a ****** Blues singer!
O! that Roddy's Rooster.
Roddy's Rooster Yeeaahh!
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
For:
A person once noticed in a crowd.
A confident young girl with the world at her feet.
A dreamer who believed she could save the world.
The free spirit who followed wherever the wind blew her.
The singer, who may not remember every note.
The rockstar in the bathroom mirror.
The lover of language.
The bleeding heart of a humanitarian.
The nieve teenager.
The believer of promises.
The innocense lost.
The future journalist.
The wife who never had a husband.
The vain reflextion in every shinning surface.
The painter of worlds.
The doodler of notes.
The princess of the apple trees
The tomboy covered in lace.
The brave captive of twisted words.
The enlightened empress
The solitude of a silent sister that brought peace.
The queen of correct
The fighter of the feable minded
The deep thinker lost in her darkness
The mother of happiness
The old soul trapped in this body
The sensative spirit that feels more than the eye can see.
The sleepless gaurd of our home.
The hostess of friendship
For all is me
For all you will see
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
In a crowded place
Teeming with heads.
You find me in a corner
Buried in my own thoughts.
You find me weird
Not the one amongst you
Not a word
Do you get from me.
You give me names
You ignore me
While I only stare at the frames.
I am not dumb
I am not a wallflower.
I am just lost
Like the religious in a prayer.
I'm a doodler
Who has no word to express
A ponderer
Whose voice suppresses.
A doodler who vents his anger
On his living images
A thinker who lives and dies
Everyday in his sketches
I'm a doodler
In a world sunk in loudness.
Unheard, unnoticed
I live in my images.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
If I am to die with ink on my hands,
Please leave it be.
Do not wash even the smallest scrawled reminder,
For it is part of me.
Leave it to remind me that even in death,
There are things to do.
Leave open faced palms,
If they confess my love for you.
Know of the unexpected,
And if you see your name,
Remember why it is written.
You are not to blame.
Let my skin keep its faces
For when my own is no longer revealing,
How will you know what I thought,
How would you know what I was feeling?
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
We are all the leftover misfits people had promised to make room for but never did. We are all the scribbles the doodler swore to make art out of someday, but were never given the chance; the ugly friend, the childhood scar housing reminiscent places, familiar feelings. And somehow amongst the muck and the **** people tend to label as having friends we pulled through with the title, 'there' for them. There. Funny, how one word can invoke such feelings of those who remember what that word actually means when you speak with intent on your tongue. There.
How we were 'there' for them; dealing with their choices, while they're looking for security in a storm, when there's rain flooding the highest peaks of our reticence.
We are there. Somehow we found each other. In this weird **** world we all managed to uniquely fit the structures of what we called love into the base of what we knew. And our laughs broke the deepest silences, our voices chimed past the furthest room, and our judgments didn't exist because we were the best parts of the few.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC