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Tim Gronek Sep 2013
HOOTY HOO’S

Every night Misty and I take our walk
Walking ever so quickly as we have our talk
From tree to bush to rock we go
Sniffing to see who’s been by-she has to know

Overhead I hear the familiar sounds
Of two owls making their daily rounds
They have come to know Misty and I
Always waiting for us with a close, close eye

Hoo Hoo, you can hear them say
Just to let Misty and I know they are okay
I ask to see them in their silent flight
As if to honor me, they fly by just like a lost kite

Smooth, quiet and graceful as they soar
From tree to tree me always wanting to see more
They trust Misty and I as we wander by
I always make it a habit to just say “hi”

On our way home, they hoot some more
A language all their own I’ve learned to adore
I call them my special Hooty Hoo’s
The perfect nickname for these owls I knew
multiple efforts and attempts got made
to communicate feedback sans the young spirited female - hoof from this hoarse neighing stranger - for bravery gives ye Top most grade
   gena buza - whose spinal cord became frayed
thus, an audio file plucked inside me - i.e. loss one must not evade
   though unsure if anyone of the heart felt emotion got conveyed
sorry to be a nuisance if inxs of umpteen copies
   of my sincere literary endeavor might induce editors to up braid
me - cuz...life lesson encapsulated within that tragic automobile accident -
   if me left quadriplegic - i would be afraid.

from n anonymous respondent who counts himself as a decades old penny wise
and pound foolish die hard TIME MAGAZINE patron -
   whose own emotional travails evoke empathy
   with another bound by barriers well he doth consider a worthy prize!
i became transfixed n enamored at your beauty
the wheelchair vanished to bequeath a duty
to commend you - from this papa whose sentiments
   take wing and fly toward poetics somewhat fruity
yet...a tenderness prodded me - a blowfish who swims
   in the cyber seas - without giving a hooty

that this dada of deux darling young adult daughters
   can seemingly make a buffoon of himself
while cyber surfing the muddy waters

if only to bring a smile
to a complete stranger (whose captioned picture with an online archive file
posted in TIME, whereby these eyes saw an agile
beautiful nymph - preparing for a high school prom
as your mom
brushed debris from your wheeled golden chariot
   to prepare your queenly debut with aplomb
knowing that no handicap
can undermine the maternal love - in whose lap
u suckled, nestled, molly coddled b4 your ***** trap
left thee paralyzed - yet the will to live fate did not zap!

from...matthew harris
postscript: my humblest apology for any duplicate messages. such redundancy can be attributed to uncertainty if this commentary in reaction to the JUNE 20TH 2014 ISSUE TIME MAGAZINE LIGHTBOX reached the above sublime in question.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i don't understand america, i really don't,
the american export is either
the west coast, or the east coast,
and very little in between...
   let's just say: west / east coast americans
are embarrassed by their middle
"cousins"...
      well, that's how it looks like:
esp. from a european perspective...
middle america: is america -
  but you rarely see it as an export material;
it's as if "america" doesn't want
you to see america -
   and that bogus facade of contempt
from anywhere else in the world -
i poke my nose into the air and merely
say: do you smell it? do you?
the air is rife with fear;
point being? i have the least concern for
"middle earth" america,
  i actually find it as glorious as my
little essex **** hole: **** great -
that it's boring & quiet,
i can walk down the street in the night
and turn into a large imposing shadow,
height's there, weight's there,
   all i had to concern myself with,
once upon a time, was a marijuana grower
high on coke, trying to tell me his
life story and his bruised knuckles,
so paranoid that he thought i was a police
informer, so he started touching my chest
to check whether or not i had
the sort of equipment you put on for
others to listen in...
the sort of **** hole that allows you to write
something, speak very little,
   and, watch a ******* rainbow appear
in the sky...
   but that's england,
and as everyone in england will tell you,
essex being the "laughing stock" county
of the isles... well... who would have thought
that depeche mode came out of...
basildon... or all places!
the best snooker players come from essex,
namely ronnie o'sullivan & steve davis...
**** me, even the prodigy:
seem to be a nice little **** hole, after all;
but that's beside the already made
point... we, in europe never really see
middle-america,
sure as **** we see the east / west coast
glamour, the crème de la crème:
but rarely the usually uniform globally
    intrinsic: mundane.
shame really, we hear it though,
     in bruce springsteen songs, but we rarely
geet a chance to see it, howdy howdy.
sure, by comparison europe does feel
claustrophobic, we live in tight compartments,
just shy of japanese housing economics,
but what you see, is, really what you're
going to get;
i have to admit though, watching these
youtube videos, rarely do i find myself as
flabbergasted as when watching
   heartbern... now, that's my sort of american,
american intellectualism of the "higher"
variety can disappear,
    personally i love the "banjo" twang of
the accent, the root veg approach,
the tumbling **** metaphor when enough
or too many -isms have been used by
either coast america intellectual...
  i swear, those are the worst, aren't they?
and my, isn't the ***-crack of america huge,
**** cheeks either side of this massive
***-crack...
                 that's the sort of american i imagine
myself having a beer with...
wallah bamah way-bey boomah,
       ****** ****** *******...
     arkansas, hannibal lecter,
            states combined the size of belgium
x50, the flatness of it,
      the tornados,
                       cowboy hants and hooty...
**** me, even the bible belt...
           yes ma'am, yes sir, come 'ere boy!
i can't seem to fathom the other america,
the one exported, the american east / west
coast...
  like i once said: i like drinking,
and no woman likes a man drinking,
thankfully i aspired to the karate belt of:
     to live life, as if it were sunday traffic;
it takes some sort of diligence,
to fill all that free time as a cat might with
sleep...
      sometimes it seems harder to
not think (reflect), than it is to think (reflex)...
you really think a dog's or a cat's
consciousness, is orientated around a woof
or a meow, that somehow, it's longed up
in there like our ego that morph into thought,
exfoliating like a flower?
animal brains are pure optical instruments,
those things run on optics,
  look at them long enough,
esp. catching a cat unawares when it's looking
at you, with the veil of severe solipsism (autism)
is lifted... you can see right past it...
i'm starting to wonder whether i forced
these words out,
that would be unusual,
           since i hardly write anything
within a sober framework...
        well... then again, i did have 4 pints
of beer before setting these words
              on beelzebub's pixel canvas.
Jill Tait Oct 2020
On Lily of the Valley land just beside the forget me nots there are three magic mushrooms, scarlet red with white stems and spots..and inside these white stems each with a crimson canopy, dwells Vinnie, Minnie and Winnie all are as skinny as can be..

Each run around amidst the darkness of the night, looking like lean runner beans such a frightful, funny sight..A trio of thorny stick insects, as green as fresh cut grass.. six snakey, slanty emerald eyes sparkle like slithers of glass..and they live nextdoor to one another without a sister or a brother, they are nocturnal little creatures created from the earth Mother..

Vinnie is vivacuous, she loves to dance and sing as hooty Owls joins in her chorus.. with the Pipistrelle Bats upon the wing..Minnie is the most mischievious of them all, this thin, frolicsome friend drives the other duo up the wall.. But betwixt and between Vinnie and Minnie lives the loveliest of the lot, her charismatic charm mixes in their melting ***..So these three green grassy hoppers live amongst the woodland copse, side by side in a magic mushroom with the bright red tops

— The End —