"roscoe" poems
I was flabbergasted when given the chance
To join the renowned Roscoe's Oddity Of Circus
With no actual talent to speak of
I was pretty much dead in the water worthless
But Roscoe in all of his wisdom
Put me in charge of the Bubble machine
Low and behold people
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I started out with simple patterns
Blowing one treasure at a time
As things progressed rather quickly
I soon had Bubbles dancing in Mumba lines
There wasn't a Bubble imagined
In which I could not achieve
But like I said at the very start
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I even perfected what I like to call
The "Fantabulious Bubbles De jour"
In the Bubble circles in which I blow
I've become quite the Bubble Lore
My Bubble forte soon became
Floating Bubbles of Super Stars
*I'm not one to "POP" Bubble names*
Suffice it to say you know who they are
These days you don't have to go to the Circus
If you'd like my talent to see
I'm the one who does those Bubbles with the tiny words
In the Sunday comics you read
Why I've even been to the U.N.
Where the "Big Cheese" was highly pleased
The way I blew name tags and place mats
For all the visiting Dignitaries
But my favorite pastime after all these years
Even with all the fortune and fame I've found
Is relaxing with my Circus buddies
And blowing Bubbles of "Bubbles the Clown"
Just think when I joined the Circus
I had no talent in which to show
Who knew all it was that I needed
Was one good bubble to blow
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
You say I O.K.ed
LONG DISTANCE?
O.K.ed it when?
My goodness, Central
That was then!
I'm mad and disgusted
With that ***** now.
I don't pay no REVERSED
CHARGES nohow.
You say, I will pay it--
Else you'll take out my phone?
You better let
My phone alone.
I didn't ask him
To telephone me.
Roscoe knows **** well
LONG DISTANCE
Ain't free.
If I ever catch him,
Lawd, have pity!
Calling me up
From Kansas City.
Just to say he loves me!
I knowed that was so.
Why didn't he tell me some'n
I don't know?
For instance, what can
Them other girls do
That Alberta K. Johnson
Can't do--and more, too?
What's that, Central?
You say you don't care
Nothing about my
Private affair?
Well, even less about your
PHONE BILL, does I care!
Un-humm-m! . . . Yes!
You say I gave my O.K.?
Well, that O.K. you may keep--
But I sure ain't gonna pay!
3.1k
We share the same fate you and I. I never knew you, yet we are the same.. Master's to our feelings.. we let them show.. Overbearing they were.. Now we must go.. However I'm lining up permanent question marks for unanswered questions. A discord in our hearts, seem to be testing us, truth please respond. This imitation freedom is not what we wished for. Were you trembling haven forgotten your name don't worry, I know everything about you, even if tears won't come out, I'll cry for you. You were too much Roscoe.. To many issues for one to handle, a perfect disorder of emotions. Only my eyes can see the truth, I bet you wish you could too.
Should of stop.. the trauma of your past you should of forgot. But you couldn't could you, now the one you love was taken from you... You were cast away you did too much.. now you can't stay. Don't worry we share the same fate. We only have ourselves to blame.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
The yellow dog was dead,
starting to bloat on the side
of a more rural stretch of 169
hwy.
It was easy to see,
despite the brevity of
our time together,
that the yellow dog had
belonged to, was part of,
a home, a family.
Even in death,
the dog looked like a
Dutch, or a Butch, or Jeb, maybe Roscoe;
like a dog that belonged
in a setting such as
this.
Not,
however, on the side of this
two-lane piece of asphalt,
but in this patch of fly-over
country that he had, just a
while ago,
snuffled.
Or,
living in the horse barn,
sleeping on the loose caroms
of straw, maybe catching a rabbit
for his supper now and then;
his master bringing him into
the house for a warm bath,
some table scraps, when the weather
cooled.
However,
today is warm,
the sun glints off of the white fluff
of a rabbit’s **** and the chase that
ensued was magnificent…
Unfortunately,
it led the yellow dog
to his less than enviable fate,
lying near the sweet summer grasses
with a look of disappointment etched onto
his face.
Upon my return,
passing the same spot,
I see that the yellow dog
is being given a wake.
The vultures,
their congress having voted,
their kettle having stirred,
landed near this fallen hound
and prepared to feast.
Though,
again my investment in the scene
was brief,
I couldn’t help but notice that
the yellow dog still wore a sturdy-looking
collar and that his tags shone brightly
in the late afternoon sun.
So,
I found myself hoping
that as he’d lain at the edge
of his last green horizon,
he looked up at the clouds
and thought:
“This isn’t so awful. I made the best of it.”
Then,
as the wake of vultures
began to feed,
I hoped they too might consume
some fleeting memory that the yellow dog
had about chasing rabbits, thrown sticks,
rolling in mud, or perhaps even this particular
misadventure,
the one that had led to
his wake.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2018
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
Yes indeed, oddly enuf.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMX)
Let William Caldwell Roscoe's line fr'intents
Sift to the 'fore while sapphire blue skies hail
In warming black's first light, the moon's detail
Upon day's eastern rim, just as he thence
Wrote centries ere, a sliver in suspense:
"The eastern hanging crescent--" in betrayl
Does not climb higher as he'd said, though how pale
Blue heavns 'gin now to lighten in defense.
And she must have been younger, cuz in her
Love he felt resurrection. Ah, but to
Effect ist? I shrink from old men, as twere.
Why maunt a young man cherish me and woo?
The moon is lost as surly racks now stir
Rich pink's blush of chagrin. O what we knew!
13Mar18a
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
He protects me
He looks after me
He cares for me
He listens to my problems
Everywhere I go he goes
He's my son and he's my heart
To my turtle, roscoe
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
...past my waist as her-- "to my foot's glee--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDVIII)
I wanted coffee, with auld sonnets thence
As erst wont, Missus Browning's sweet detail
From lo, "the Portuguese," as I sipped stale
Last ounces from four nights 'go like's good sense,
With mair than I'd known ere for all intents,
And laden praps as Roscoe was't? thought, frail
Erm, as my seeing more clearly to avail
Just how much we've in common is't? from hence.
One friend some years back said I'd be as her--
Was't cuz I begged for romance? or through
These diary pages shewed I had as twere
That lonely life Miss Barrett ere me knew?
Where now, since losing Mum I feel in poor
'Scuse kinship like my friend claimed, sold to YOU?
09Nov18d
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
Hallelujah Tree Tappers
Songsters of the morn
Signal the warbler , the jay and
the thrasher of the coming dawn
Good day curious crow
Surveying the wetted green fields
of soy and June corn
Alert the valley that a new day -
is born
Hallelujah !
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
In quiet rooms, your barks fade,
A shadow left where memories wade.
A battle fought with weary grace,
Now emptiness fills your gentle space.
Time moves on, yet still I grieve,
For every moment I can't retrieve.
Though cancer stole what I held dear
I love you still
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 7:10 PM UTC
i am walking towards sunset and gower in hollywood, california
an aged man tap dances for me in the echoing garage of a foreclosure
a bug is sleeping between the quick and the dead when a raindrop falls on it, jolting it flamboyantly
a small boy with perfectly combed and pomaded hair, and carrying a briefcase, follows proudly his mother (?) down the sidewalk
a bum's heavy load is thrown over his other shoulder in a bright spank of sun
a rare yugo parked in the driveway of a duplex, egg splatter drying across taillights and rear window
the crass bebop step of an old ******* nearing the ***** section of the sidewalk newstand
a sudden gust of wind flattening the fur of a standing collie
a silver/gray tourist bus passes slowly, the voice of the driver unintelligibly droning energetically
i open the screen door of roscoe's house of chicken and waffles, and see a vacant table by the window
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC