"scoot" poems
A little sight, him sauntering over to my side of the bed
pantless and looking eager as a child to see me:
he had her ******* in mind. I know now,
I only feel sympathetic about it, I know it pained him
when he touched mine.
He said her name so few times I just thought of her as the
animal homophone, and if I were anyone else,
I would not have worried when he said
she thought of him on occasion, because morning came
as morning still and he still had a big heart for a liar.
The thing is that our rapport was honesty –
if I laid on him too heavy, he would request I scoot over
if he did not want to sing me a song
in that baritone fluid, I would seek another shoreline.
Submissive, yet, I would ask him what I wanted without
asking if he could simply love being loved,
I could not understand. Only a scruffy teddy bear could.
But we do not talk about it, maybe I mention
a bunny an ex gave me, one I cut the ears off of when
the apocalypse came, but he has not a syllable.
Nobody wants their lovers to exist
with other loves, and sometimes we do not want ourselves
to exist with other loves even more so.
I only feel sympathetic about it, because I first felt I had
a sibling when we connected, became all carnal,
sweet nature handed me a body.
I only just understood that I was not given the right one.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
*Yee hee hee hee haw
ha ha ha ha ha
the old Laughing Santa wished
íFeliz Navidad!
with his eight little reindeers, carrying the sleigh
he came swiftly, flying our way
sleigh bells ringing, whooshing through the snow
his sturdy little reindeers, rushed in a row
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and *****
Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen
they swoosh and crash and dash and scoot
they bolt so fast, and look so cute
children singing and dancing with joy
as he showers some glitters of happiness in sky
It's an occasion of celebration
there's no room for sadness
let's spread the joy by doing
a random act of kindness
Yee hee hee hee haw
ha ha ha ha ha
the old Laughing Santa wished
íFeliz Navidad!*
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Why do you even talk to me?
I am nothing compared to anyone else!
Why do you scoot closer to me?
I have no warmth.
Why do you seem to want me?
I don't recall anyone else wanting me.
Am I even wanted?
I doubt it.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
her boogie woogie,
boot and scoot.
her goo bosh vibe,
so small and cute.
silly little Anju stomp,
unaware of self.
bite taken from a chocolate,
stolen from a shelf.
when we are free from this life
we will run in fields
and see the sunset and the joy
life with you yields.
Aug 31, 2023
Aug 31, 2023 at 11:38 AM UTC
The pendulum is a bull shark.
The hour of the savior is a pregnant bride's swan dive into the water.
The mighty mile is a figure 8 in the scoot of
non slop socks across the bare linoleum.
Blood and bright are the redness of the blanket.
divine terror at one hart beat per hour.
Finger nails green and black against a back drop
of the brightest, bluest eyes you've ever seen;
deep pools of liquid light that will shine when least expected.
And the obligation isn't one at all,
for when i breath in,
you breath out.
And when I gave consent 1000 years ago times 10-
you performed the exorcism under the shroud of my amnesia
and the spotted light from a crystal disco ball.
Shards of light moved upon the face of all the space between the stars.
My heart was in the highlands but now its in your hands.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 8:15 PM UTC
We plucked eyebrows
from the clover.
Caterpillars
contracting as
we pinched each one
between our plump
baby fingers,
expanding as
we lined them on
each other’s arms—
wooly train cars.
They would ripple
blindly, segment
by segment, scoot
across the floor
of the rusty
coffee can we’d
prepared for them
so carefully—
braided hairs of
grasses, flowers,
twigs, stones and all—
a crude and cruel
imitation
of their clover,
but certainly
better, somehow.
We were sure.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Skinhead
super short
military hair
with a strong jawline
jutting out
I saw you
One random
blindingly hot afternoon
In a jeep
I tried to squeeze in
the small space so the two guys
could scoot over
You’re the guy to my right
Reluctant to pass to the driver
my exact change
You sat upright
Your right arm lifted, hand
closed on the security rail
I could only see your profile
Your jawline and Aviators
Mouth set in a deadpan line
Lean, quietly confident
Dressed casually and carefully
Odd eggplant-colored shirt over
whitewashed jeans
You turned slightly,
your nose strong
chin dignified
skin clean, with slight
blemishes of stress
Pretty eyes
That never landed on me
Your lips slightly curved
as if remembering something
You are beautiful
Arrogant-looking
Bored
Worldly
You’re not from here
Not from common places
Not from this wretched community I belong to
Then my eyes traveled to the back of your head,
An inscription was tattooed
at the back of your skull.
Your hair growing, beginning to cover up
the past?
A dangerous past?
New life?
A mere change of look?
Where are you going?
Where are you from?
Why are you taking this route
to and from common places?
What is your agenda
on this high afternoon?
Are you a rockstar?
Are you a poet
A gangster?
Then finally it’s my stop.
I got up and wished you
were following behind
That we have the same destination
Just so I could look at you
in full view
I stepped into
the sad, bright afternoon
Then I turned around
You’re not there
You sped away
To some place
Some life
With your Aviators
And your principles
And it hurt
That I never even
knew what
your tattoo meant
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Jemma always running from table to table
deep in thought as you scoot about.
Your reassuring presence is always felt
yet will spend time to laugh.
Always pleasant and willing to chat
customers think a lot of that!
You help create a nice place to come
working here and at home.
Often I think I couldn't do the job
all the hours on your feet.
Jemma part of the hard working team
you most of all are the cream.
Distinctive with your pony tail and earrings
and many more fantastic things.
The Foureyed Poet.
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
Beneath the bends of Barrymore
On the southwest winds she chants some more
The clouds scoot by beneath the moon
Some say she's crazy like the loon
Dressed in black she cackles back
Tossing ashes from a sack
She throws her body down
And moans and sobs into the ground
A dagger she does draw it forth
Holding it up for all its worth
She shrieks and damns her birth
And plunges it deep into her heart . . .
So ends the life of the despised young **** . . .
Now the owls come silently in
Alighting next to still warm skin
All walk around the disposed young beast
Only uttering "Who" to say the least
Then the great owl comes fluttering in
He'd be a giant if he were made of men
He collectively surveys the scene
Takes a few steps before he says a thing
"Take her body to Evermoor"
The great one orders and implores
And all the owls take to wing
Holding the remains of the breathless thing
And take her earthly shell away
And as drops of blood fell from the flow
to the earth a white rose would grow
Leaving a trail
To the land as some will say
To the sacred woods of Evermoor
Yes sacredness in evermore
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
We were kids.
You shut the door on me in the pouring rain.
You had this wide-eyed, crazy grin on your face
all the time
amused with yourself
and that was enough.
How did I know
how to tell a boy I liked him?
I just knew your breath smelled like
listerine when you got on the schoolbus
in sleepy half dawn
You sat behind me and sometimes,
if I peeked my eye through the crack between
the seat and window, you'd smile
and share your headphones with me,
a simple song or two from The Postal Service.
On brave days, I'd scoot back to be closer
and breathe you in
in tentative girlish awe.
You laid your head down on my lap
to nap the rest of the trip
and I'd watch you, holding
my breath,
slowly playing
with your orange curls
spilling
through my fingers like sunlight.
Almost a decade later,
I've forgotten the schoolbus.
We're reunited with a group, eating
sushi, laughing until we cry
at my spicy face and the clumsy
way I can't hold chopsticks taunt.
But reaching past you, I brush
your hair on accident and stop short,
the sensation tingling my fingers,
remembering how
more than once I've
gazed at you in wonder.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
"Being lonely
In a crowded room"
You've heard that expression,
Have you?
Well, it's so much more than that.
It's down to your core,
To your very soul.
Never having more
Than the thoughts you already know.
No hand to hold
No one there to hug
No voices around
Except the voices in your head
Laying alone in a big empty bed
Sleeping all the way on the edge
Saving room for...
The "one" you think will never show
No friends to call
Knowing no one will be there
Falling deeper and deeper
Into despair
"Lonely in a crowded room"
That's just the beginning
When your still lonely in your head
The voices stop
Your every thought is dark, death...
Let me just tell you..
You think you're lonely?
Think of that empty grave
No room to scoot to the edge
No crowds to even feel alone in...
I promise you
There's nothing more lonely
Than dead.
Think about it.
I've felt this way, I don't know how,
But I've managed to pull through
I'm sure that YOU...
Well, you can too.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
I wish I could party with Leonardo DiCaprio
We'd be crazier than "The Wolf of Wall Street"
Johnny Depp would be there, too, riding in the backseat
He would come up and sit with Leo and I, at the party on the couch
And say "Arnie stop it, you're doing too much coke. AHA, just kidding now scoot over and let me have a blow."
After we'd wipe our noses, up we go
To dance, dance, dance and drink drinks that glow
Hours on end we would spend our money brutally
Because our money basically speaks english fluently
Yeah, Leonardo DiCaprio would be a badass friend
Johnny Depp too, we'd have too much fun in the end
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Often, the shallows are a good place to be,
Once out of there, no going back, not ever,
Once noticed, return is virtually impossible,
And all pedestals are shaky, no roots: none!
Ensure buoyancy, for one must sink or swim,
So much expected, so much demanded,
One may think shallows are unkind, a waste,
They are safe, though, friendly, pleasant,
Conducive company encouraging creation.
Once out of them, away from safe shores,
New challenges arise, new horizons, all new,
Making one desperate not to fail, not to sink,
One must swim, swim for your life; swim hard,
For it hurts to disappoint, it hurts so much.
Without the grassy bank and sandy bottom,
Creation is difficult, beware the sharks: teeth,
Scoot around the crocs, teeth snapping: biting,
Desiring your tender unsuspecting flesh!
See the glory-hogs wallowing, laughing at you,
Howling with derision; they know nothing,
Stupid hacks, every one of them, frolicking,
Performing in the deep, dark, dangerous-depths,
Unaware their blood will soon feed others,
The swirling waters running red: eventually.
Safer here with golden fish and humble toads,
Prometheus swims here as well as anywhere,
Savour the shallows, dance with creativity,
If you must leave, identity switch required,
Even then, watch sharks and crocs: teeth biting,
Often, the shallows are a good place to be.
©Paul Chafer 2014
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
In sooth,
A suit suits me not,
Nor does a suit soothe me a lot.
I am no snoot,
But it makes me feel like a brute.
After a pursuit, I did find out that
a suit is definitely not smooth;
Oh, shoot! It feels like a layer of soot,
Probably like a bag of jute
Without the color of Groot!
I shall no longer hoot about my suit
As I always scoot up to fruitful roots,
But y'see, this poem bears no fruit.
What is that you say? Season 6 is en route?
G'bye, I'm off to watch the Suits.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
Cats are cool,
They regally rule.
You think you own them,
But they own you.
Born as kittens they are so cute.
Before you know it, off they scoot.
Baby faces and big blue eyes,
Dopamine surges, what a surprise.
Pouncing on you as you walk through the door,
Kitty is lightning over that floor.
How we love to watch them play,
Brightening up an otherwise dull day.
The older cats look on with disdain:
They’d much rather use their brain.
More to the point cats love to sleep,
Waking only to take the odd peep.
So independent yet love a stroke:
Lots of purring you’ll invoke.
I’m not too sure of their table manners
But they’ve just got to be fans of canners.
I’m not too keen on them bringing a present,
Even though they might think that it’s a pheasant.
They can be cruel when they hunt,
But that’s their job, let’s be blunt.
Most popular pets, that’s for sure.
Feeling stressed? A cat is your cure.
Paul Butters
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:45 AM UTC
One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler
In tomorrows omnicience or the future proof of God
The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer
Wether speakerphone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog.
Conveyance of a threat to adherants of St Selfwise
Show athiest's are proof here, in belief of disbelief,
Haunted by the images painting painfull retribution
Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief.
A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction
Shows perspective of the calibre we now reserve for Saints
A paradox regarded as autistic fascination
In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints.
Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression
Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow,
Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution
Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now?
Marshalg
13 February 2014
© 2014 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
They scoot together slowly
Body language lubricated by *****
They are still awkward...
He tries to win favors with alcohol
And laughter.
She just goes along with it
Happy for attention
And free drinks.
An interesting courtship
Monitored by Pastor Smirnoff.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
feminism fails
when it disregards
those of color
for we know that every dollar
a woman makes
a man makes more
we seem to disregard the bit
where a women of color
make even less
than their white counterparts
feminism needs to stop
excluding
disregarding
those impacted most
it's a hazard to progress
pull up a chair
scoot down the bench
it's time we serve up
intersectional feminism
for the table can hold more
there's plenty of progress to go around
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
I really, really don't like myself sometimes. Most times. I like coffee, books, birds and flowers so much better. I've been listening to Ready, Able for the past four years. I'm still not alright. I'm no good at most things. Introspectiveness is not a talent. If I were a porcelain centerpiece, I'd scoot myself to the tables edge. My mum has reassured me that my head is not on right. My head, my least favorite accessory. I've yet to master the proper way of sock-folding. I've yet to master how to configure my heart. In less than five months time I'll be twenty-one. I get stupider with age. I like it when wine makes me dizzy. I wear old crazy-cat-lady coats in the summer because I can. My noir Remington is starting to build up dust. What use is it if not put to use? Useless, useless, useless like a harmonica without blow holes. I want to melt like ice cream in the sun of your pupils. Instead I sit here far from absent-minded, alone. I cannot be held still or perhaps I simply choose not to. If you wait too long for the others, I'll still be right here. Here, in the corridor of the memories we never had. I close my eyes in hope of seeing matters clearer. The world is composed of messy closets and ***** hands. Many youth wasted behind closed doors. Can we ever be sweet again? Will you hold my hand and mean it? Hollow voices frighten me but not as much as hypocrisy. I don't need to understand you, but I want to.
Lover, it's worth crying in your sleep if you've got somebody to dream about.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
This happy land of Diemens, dogs and bush-walks,
Creative flurries, chats over beer, spag bol and chocolate.
Van trip, scoot down the coast,
Wander along the beach.
Talk of this and that, laugh
And put the world to rights.
Thrash out ideas, share some thoughts,
Wonder if living could be easier?
Two friends who shared a trip to the Beach twenty years back take stock;
And find that from start they had more in common than they knew.
Now seperated by ten thousand miles, A thousand quid and two days flying,
They're closer than they were
sat facing front in that old escort van.
Another chapter ends
Or begins
Or begins and ends.
I awake and think of boarding,
My plane.
I hadn't realised how simple it was
To just be,
To just exist side by side
With an old friend who you connect with.
No need for the usual preambles
Just straight to the core.
Don't waste time, because 20 years fit badly into five days.
And What happens if you click cancel....
before the download has finished?
I'm so reluctant to leave.
These days have been so easy and fun and blessed.
Brotherhood is hard to find
And when will I return?
A red light shines through my window
And appears on the wall across the room.
It blinks yellow and moves as the people opposite
Reverse from their drive
And head off to work.
The daylight outside is growing,
The rumble in the air is not traffic
But waves breaking on the shore
About fifty meters away.
Soon I'll get up, make tea
And we'll all go for a walk.
Me, my frind Toby, Pablo the happy staffie
And Ava the lucky foster dog,
Wandering care free along the beach
as the waves break around our feet.
A plane flies overhead. Taking the ****
Okay I know!
All things come to an end.
And this too shall pass.
It's just I haven't often wanted to stay this much.
It's so fun here,
And life outside can be a bit full on.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
SANTA'S GETTING OLDER AND HIS EYESIGHT'S NOT SO HOT
HIS MEMORY IS FADING TOO, THERE'S LOTS THAT HE'S FORGOT
LIKE WHERE HE'S BEEN, AND WHERE HE'S TO AND THE THE HELL IS HOME?
AND WHICH WAY IS INUVIK WHEN I TAKE OFF FROM NOME?
THER'S PLACES THAT HE'S BEEN TOO, THAT NOW HE CANN'T FIND
IT'S NOT THAT HE'S FORGETFUL, I THINK HE'S LOST HIS MIND
THE ELVES ALL STAY AWAY FROM HIM WHEN HE'S AROUND BECAUSE
HE'S ALWAYS GOING ON ABOUT THEIR RELATIVES IN OZ
THEY TELL HIM HE'S MISTAKEN AND THAT OZ IS NOT THERE
THAT IT WAS JUST A MOVIE, BUT SANTA DOESN'T CARE
HE SITS AROUND AND MUMBLES AND TALKS ABOUT THE PAST
ABOUT HOW THINGS ARE CHANGING AND KIDS GROW UP SO FAST.
"BEFORE COLUMBUS SHOWED HIS FACE..I HAD THIS THING DOWN PAT"
"I NEVER MISSED DELIVERIES BACK WHEN THE WORLD WAS FLAT"
"THE TIME ZONES HE CREATED WHEN HE PROVED THE WORLD WAS ROUND"
"GET ME HOME TWO HOURS PRIOR TO THE TIME I LEFT THE GROUND"
"I LEAVE AT TWELVE, DO MY TRIP AND I GET HOME AT TEN"
"I CAN'T REMEMBER IF I'VE BEEN...SO, I GO OUT AGAIN"
"WITH ALL THE MAIL THAT I RECIEVE, IT'S GETTING RATHER TOUGH"
"SO LAST YEAR I COMPUTERIZED TO ORGANIZE MY STUFF"
"I DESTROYED ALL MY INFO AND STORED IT ALL ON DISC"
"I LEAPT INTO THE FUTURE AND I TOOK A MAJOR RISK"
"MY ATLASES I TOOK AND BURNED, MY LISTS I RIPPED UP TOO"
"I DIDN'T NEED THESE THINGS NO MORE, NOT WITH MY IPAD2"
"WAY BACK IN MID DECEMBER THE PLUG SLIPPED FROM THE WALL"
"I DIDN'T HAVE A BACKUP, AND SO I LOST IT ALL"
"MY ELVES THEY CANNOT HELP ME, IN FACT THEY SIT AND LAUGH"
"BECAUSE LAST YEAR WHEN I AUTOMATED, I CUT MY STAFF IN HALF"
"IT'S GOING TO TAKE A WHILE, IT MAY BE A FEW YEARS"
"BUT I'LL DELIVER EVERY GIFT WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM SEARS"
"YOU SEE, I'VE GOT A CATALOGUE AND I'LL ORDER FROM THEIR SHELVES"
"WHO CARES IF I GET MY STUFF FROM THEM, OR IF I GET IT FROM MY ELVES?"
"I THANK YOU ALL FOR LISTENING, BUT NOW I'VE GOT TO SCOOT"
"YOU SEE, I DROPPED SOMETHING OFF WRONG AND YOUR GIFT'S IN BEIRUT"
"DON'T WORRY YOU'LL STILL GET IT, JUST CHECK BENEATH YOUR TREE"
"IT MAY TAKE A LITTLE WHILE, BUT I'LL GET IT THERE....YOU'LL SEE!"
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
i loved every single thing about him. all those moments with him, of course, have already been betided. i desired to repeat the past but i don't behold the possibility.
i have ascertained that he had to scoot away from me. it made me feel woebegone. my fragile heart shattered into pieces. everything i saw bedimmed my mind.
he was my everything. he made me experience transcendence which brought my hopes up high. he just left without any farewells; i was too attached to him.
why did he leave without stating any motive? how could i move on? what would my life look like without his presence? will i persist loving another person?
i guess that i have to carry on. life goes on even though he has vanished. i deserve someone better. yet, it's the juncture to let go.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
Cracked an eye,
still a smooth blanket of dark.
Glue unstuck, the pebbles tumble
to my brain and scoot and sing
across a caffeine urge,
simple movement,
groggy knowledge.
Urination, caffeinated, contacts in,
rockslide.
The inner bump and stumble,
never slowing,
Dead awake.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
I've been having these...
Audacious ideas lately.
Ideas better left contracepted by reason
before taking root in my mind;
I've been playing hopscotch with What If
so long that I forgot he was just
and imaginary friend.
I've been thinking about you.
They're just thoughts but see,
These feelings I have for you
are so very contradictory
because the very reason I like you
is the reason you keep your distance.
You pray to a god I don't believe in
and according to my church,
you might be called a heathen
Yet I couldn't imagine anyone else in heaven
with more ease.
I've been having these...
Audacious ideas lately.
Ideas that took root and
for the life of me, won't scoot
for things like logic.
These here ideas are utterly tragic.
We share the same basic morals
but you stick to the script,
and I'm a little more improv;
with my Saturday Nights Live,
while you're at home praying
prayer number five.
Trust me when I say
I didn't mean to
think about you
dream about you
pray for you
constantly.
It wasn't until I heard you.
Every word was poetry,
and all I could ever do was stutter.
When I think of these audacious thoughts,
I begin to shutter.
Mainly because I'm walking
down the plank into heartbreak,
and those nudges at my back
pushing me forward are
the smiles you beam like
lighthouses in this dark world.
It's as if they start at the ground floor
of your soul, take an elevator
to the corners of your lips and
Spread.
I don't beleive in the prophet Mohammed
but am I a horrible Christian if I thank him
for inspiring someone to be so angelic?
Not only are you peaceful,
you're revolutionary.
You could change the world
with two hands behind your back
and still have prayer time in tact.
MSA President,
captain of the school team,
superlative for the biggest dream.
I like you for who you were, are,
and who you will become.
And it seems as though
every
one
of your actions
is rhythmic to my hearts drum.
I've been having these...
Audacious ideas lately,
Ideas better left unsaid,
Ideas better left dead.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 7:46 AM UTC
I'm not asking for
A soulmate.
The last thing
My soul needs
Is another piece to carry.
But if you ever
Want to hitch a ride
I'll scoot over.
You can sit
Next to Pain
And roll the windows down,
For once again
My chest
Is on fire
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC