"rooty" poems
Rooty toot toot,
Let's all give a hoot
Because today is your birthday!
Hip hip hooray!
It's your special day,
It's a wonderful magical thing to say!
Bring out the cake
Let’s all gather around
And raise up a musical
Birthday song sound.
Yippee hallelujah
It’s time to celebrate
We’re here for you
And we really can’t wait.
Rooty toot toot,
Let's all give a hoot
Because today is your birthday!
Hip hip hooray!
It's your special day,
It's a wonderful magical thing to say!
It’s always a good day
When your birthday begins;
The minute you wake up
Your birthday begins.
And if we are clever enough
And do it the right way
Your birthday continues
At least for several days.
Rooty toot toot,
Let's all give a hoot
Because today is your birthday!
Hip hip hooray!
It's your special day,
It's a wonderful magical thing to say!
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Foot meets the metal of a cold shovel
with a sun beaming down
booted foot pushes the *****
into the soft and rooty ground
one mound of dirt
sweat forms above the brow
two mounds of dirt
salty bead slithers down
three mounds of dirt
tuned into the sounds
four mounds of dirt
birds chirp all around
stopped by a thick root
extra force must be used
give that shovel a pogo of boots
and we are at the fifth mound
six and seven are easy
as the hole starts to round
eight nine ten eleven twelve
a tomb has been found
carried your sheet covered corpse
laid you in the hole
cover you with what was uncovered
creating a man made knoll
Six years of memories
laid underneath this red dirt
many years missing
that time gone subvert
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
Our grandmother sat in the corner, an irish-plaid towel hung over her legs, in a wheel chair, drinking two litre bottles of apple juice and orange juice, the little droplets hanging off her chin, her head tilted back. She said as a little girl, she would always try to get as much vitamin c as possible if she felt herself getting sick. Now she just drowned herself in the stuff. We kept telling her orange juice is not a viable cure for cancer, so she started drinking apple juice too.
She got diagnosed with cancer a few days after our grandfather died. They say couples always pass within a few months of each other. My grandmother hated my grandfather, so her vigorous orange and apple juice guzzling was really an ambition of divorcing his name from her in death; she didn’t care whether she passed or kept on living another hundred years, so long as no one associated her death with his.
As I left I locked up, remembering to leave my key in the door for Rooty (whenever he got home). We could only afford one key, and couldn’t afford a doormat to leave it under.
I told grandma if she just went two days without buying lotto tickets, we could get another key. She says it’s just her luck that one of those days would be the day her ticket goes to someone else. I didn’t see it mattered, she was gonna die any day now anyway. She wants to win so bad I often think if she did win, she’d die right there on the spot, her life’s greatest ambition crossed off the last line of her to-do list, and being too dead to claim it would be forced to forfeit the prize leaving us here alone with one key, a cellar full of juice and still no doormat.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Some lost flower part
sparks into my vision
field today. The abrupt
edge of a prepared land
welcomes the color
and new shy stock.
Neighboring higher
life forms succumb
to delicate nibbling,
after the moon 's squinting
dance partner settles into
the vicious dust.
My long tube of
garden fluid
appears each effervescent
morning to envelope
the rooty darkness
with a fill of
such precious sipping.
In shorter daily periods
what is left dwindling
below is yanked from
an unfruitful oblivion
and added
into the content of a
pleasant April uprising.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
there is a place by the river
where i sit
and where i think
and where i watch the water
and the trees.
there was a person there today -
he had long hair
like a boy who used to love me,
and he was playing
a song
on his guitar
that i knew,
and it carried down the river,
down from the rocky spot where he was
to the tree-rooty dirt spot where i was.
in places like that
a stranger's music,
it seems natural.
it made me remember
that i am young
and joyful
and that the world is vast beyond my imagining.
it made me feel content
and whole
and it filled me with things i've felt my whole life
and still don't have a name for.
and later,
when i saw him walking up from the river,
carrying his guitar
and singing still
i thought,
he and i were,
for the length of a few songs,
the same.
that's what places like this
do to people,
and it's why i come here.
and i walked home
and i felt all the peace you can imagine.
i remember good things,
and this place is a good thing.
the boy who used to love me,
he is a good thing.
the sun on the water
and all my small joys,
those are good things.
a stranger's music,
a spot on the river,
it can remind you
that things are good
more often than they are bad.
it takes a certain place and a certain headspace to think like that,
but today i did.
there is a place by the river,
and that's what it does.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
Rooty to Quay I leave at 8:30.
At 7:30 I had my breakky.
People are rushing, I am chilling.
I am seating, they're standing.
Hello howr you?, I'm good thank you.
These are the words that will meet you.
Arrived at 10, a big show will happen. Staff are even, waffles will be given.
Quay to Rooty I leave at 9:30.
At 11:30, I sent a "nightie."
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
Some Oz towns sound quite ill,
Yes, there is a town called Rooty Hill,
Where quims are waiting for the quills,
And everyone forgot the pill,
Lots of babes in Rooty Hill,
Heaps of girls for boys to till,
Only in Oz, could there be Rooty Hill,
Guess what folks do in Rooty Hill...
Let's all raise a glass, like a pack of dills,
Yes, it's beer o'clock in Rooty Hill!!!!!!
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 3:59 AM UTC