"totters" poems
suppose
Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
young death sits in a café
smiling,a piece of money held between
his thumb and first finger
(i say “will he buy flowers” to you
and “Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters,life has a beard” i
say to you who are silent.—”Do you see
Life?he is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
asleep,on his head
flowers,always crying
to nobody something about les
roses les bluets
yes,
will He buy?
Les belles bottes—oh hear
,pas chères”)
and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else
there is a lady,whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death,is slender;
likes flowers.
84.3k
A Giraffe, with its
Long
Long
Long
Long
Long
Neck is looking down on me.
See him stretchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh up to those high-tree leaves
And grasp them with his massive tongue.
Two males are having a fight
To decide who will mate today.
They swing their necks at one another
Madly
Until one of them falls.
A battle captured all on video film.
The loser seems quite dead
But then comes round
And totters to his feet.
Magnificent creatures,
All mottle-flanked,
With tiny horns
And telescopic legs.
Giraffes!
Paul Butters
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
1722
Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot—
Her hand was whiter than the *****
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves—
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.
4.6k
On the face of it, there isn't much about this bird
To stop me in my tracks.
Brown, oblivious, busy with the ground
It totters along on stilted legs
Probing among the frozen fields.
It's the name that's the trouble.
Childhood hours spent copying pictures
From the Readers' Digest Book of Birds
Call to mind the name, 'Curlew'.
In my house, though, birds had Scots names
and my dad, a linguistic David Bellamy
Urged us to conserve these rare words
or lose them forever.
Goldfinch? Gowdspink!
Starling? Stuckie!
Blue *** Umm...
But the undistinguished gentleman before me
was definitely a whaup.
Curlew or whaup?
Which is it to me?
The English of books
or the fading Scots, maybe closer
to the bird's wild home?
Textbook reality
or romantic poetry?
Or both - can the creature sit
in two states at once?
"Schrodinger's Curlew", I think with a smile.
("Schrodinger's Whaup!" bellows the bit of my dad
that lodges in my head.)
Here, under a cloud of my own breath
In the low winter light,
Neither seems quite adequate.
And then, untouched by my musings
The bird spreads its wings and lifts,
Naming itself, with a long, pure note
And my heart, in two states,
Leaps
and breaks.
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.
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Lady, weeping at the crossroads
Would you meet your love
In the twilight with his greyhounds,
And the hawk on his glove?
Bribe the birds then on the branches
Bribe them to be dumb,
Stare the hot sun out of heaven
That the night may come.
Starless are the night of travel,
Bleak the winter wind;
Run with terror all before you
And regret behind.
Run until you hear the ocean's
Everlasting cry;
Deep though it may be and bitter
You must drink it dry.
Wear out patience in the lowest
Dungeons of the sea,
Searching through the stranded shipwrecks
For the golden key.
Push on to the world's end, pay the
Dread guard with a kiss;
Cross the rotten bridge that totters
Over the abyss.
There stands the deserted castle
Ready to explore;
Enter, climb the marble staircase
Open the locked door.
Cross the silent ballroom,
Doubt and danger past;
Blow the cobwebs from the mirror
See yourself at last.
Put your hand behind the wainscot,
You have done your part;
Find the penknife there and plunge it
Into your false heart.
2.9k
_Marge_ retrogrades lazily towards the hills;
Her name, printed the width of her cab-over dinette
In crinkled cobalt cursive,
Totters eccentrically as her handbrake fails.
SNAP-AP
Oblivious to errant camper vans (and centripetal forces in general),
Barney speeds maniacally along a deserted city street;
Golden coated and joyously poochie,
His tongue flabbers as fast as his bicycle courier dad can pedal.
SNAP-AP-AP
Mr Blue buys buckets at Bunnings
To match his cerulean suit and shinier-than-shiney satin shirt;
Periwinkle rhinestone shoes carry him unabashedly passed the second glances and sideways looks;
There goes the best dressed DIY-er in town…don’t ya know.
SNAP-AP-AP-AP
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 7:01 PM UTC
I
And, like a dying lady lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp’d in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The mood arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.
II
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
2.3k
I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan’t be gone long.—You come too.
I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan’t be gone long.—You come too.
1.8k
These rushes called "crushes", a concept aptly titled
You can't let it crush you though, your perspective can be vital
Your mind begins to wander and stomach starts to flutter
Your tongue becomes tied which can lead to a stutter
Oftentimes you find that the feelings are one-sided
So you'll do anything you can to conceal and to hide it
While love can cloud judgment, a crush can bring haze
But seeing their face gets you through dreary spring days
It's amazing what a simple little crush can do for us
How when you listen to a love song, little angels sing the chorus
It teeters after "like" but totters before "love"
A seesaw, emotions that fit you like a glove
The thought of them, the sight of them sends you a frightening jolt
Cupid's Arrow hits with the force of a lightening bolt
Of energy, of excitement, an indictment on how you feel
It leaves a lasting scar, it seems that no one else can heal
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
small irregular steps, like
a little kid top-toeing towards
a cookie jar, his jar
a lonely lady
buried in her latest ‘good read’
behind her now, his hands
eclipse light, ‘guess who’
**** you’ she moans. his fat ***
teeter-totters on the chairs face,
his eyes catch her shut book,
denoting a ****** title, laughing
he jokes about windmill dunking
it in the tableside wastebasket
scoffing as she claws at the book,
before 180 dunking it in her bag,
which resembles a shelter for some
petty, puny & pathetic dog
she bibble babbles blah blah,
his eyes entranced on her chest
hoping the slightest bump will
blast her ***** through her blouse
like an airbag. distracted
by bowels, he debates cutting
cheese. gas leaks through a forest
of *** hair. overpriced coffee odors
mask the lingering stench as it floats
like a boat through espresso &
cappuccino airways; docking
my attention to a tech boy blinded
by his desktop. to infatuated to notice
the pair of blushing blue eyes blessing him
from a corner table. an old man
at his starboard laughs as he clings to his cane
like it’s the decaying hand
of his deceased wife.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
A newborn calf totters on shaky legs
Trying to balance and focus all at once.
Then seconds after birth a big cat pounces
With searing jaws.
The calf’s whole experience of life
Captured on film.
Paul Butters
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
She paints her face in glitter, coal, and fire
Her hem is cut as short as can be
She totters on spikes that are sure to harm any
She lives for the brightness that comes at night
She sways and bobs under beating lights
The curve of her ****** lips
The rise and fall of her tanned chest
Turning her hideously beautiful face this way and that
It takes such a girl to exploit Nature’s gifts
A glance that feels heavy as shared love
A peek out of her curtain of dark curls
Then that crook of a finger, she knows you can’t resist
She doesn’t have to look over her shoulder once
Anyone would know that you will always follow
As one will always do
But it is in her faults, not yours that sin lies in
Pinned against walls, curled up in corners
Plotting who she will love tomorrow
And carrying the one she will love for always
And never have.
Your brother, your sister, your husband, your lover
She does not discriminate in those she steals for her own
And after all, who could resist such an archangel?
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
He makes his rounds bounding around town between cobblestones
And I am last I never mind but I am always last
And you'd feign quelle surpris at how long I would wait for this uncourtly gentleman
Although that is a reaching description because he totters between gentle and aggressive
Just the way I like
We have nothing but the way we have everything
It's nothing permeably enviable but oh if you knew I swear you'd just seethe
Neither of us belong to the world and the world does not want us
We are far too content in our miseries to fathom fear of change
I have others and he has his but I know his body aches for mine thousands of thoughts away
I don't know all the triggers that makes his mind wander to me just as he will never know that when I smell new rain on old earth it's he who comes first
But I think just knowing that there are things that bring him back to me warms my ever pumping heart until the worlds sees fit to cease it's beat
And with that said I hope he's there to care and I am not last forever
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
Two years old, he totters towards his mutti's skirts
She turns away, for the decanter, and locks him in his room
Oh! He wails, pounding his little fists against the floor,
But she finds him asleep on the rug, clutching an old poppet to his breast
She lifts him to his crib and kisses his sodden cheek, checking her abuse at the door
Her smile is smug, folded away into her adulteration of love.
Five years old and he asks after his sire,
Tracing the beading of her mourning dress, as she kneels with him
As if he were a snake and she was stricken,
she drops him squat on the cold floorboards. Pulls herself within,
Then reaches to him,
Whispering condemnation and condolence
He backs away, burning his hand on the fire grate, the love in his eyes as dim.
When he is seven, the boy takes up a twisted love for architecture, swears he'll become a sailor, far from home
Her eyes are a cooling, somber grey-blue, they alight then smolder with a hiss
The boy's eyes are green, flush with life and innocence
They're his .
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
You are the bright oasis in a dark lonely desert.
You are the playful butterfly kissing my cheek.
You excel at pulling my heart strings,
But the social butterfly you are-
You forever flutter to flower to flower;
Petals licked and devoured.
Anything serious teeter-totters.
Anything Real topples over.
You ARE a Great Escape.
One to ride and pass over;
A brief flash and thunder.
Oh, what a Scream you are!
I want to scream.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
The little lamb totters around on unsteady legs,
Pretending
That its limbs are sure and strong.
It diverts from the flock,
Frolicking and prancing around in the mud.
Oh! What’s this? Grass! Green grass!
Better grass!
It charges forward, fast as its scrawny,
Spindly legs can go.
The lamb’s almost there, when
BLAM!
Silly lamb.
There’s a wall there, you know.
No matter how hard you try,
You won’t get pas—
Oh. You did.
The lamb munches happily on this new grass.
It finishes and looks around.
It bleats in alarm when it sees
How far the flock has gone.
It bleats again, charges forward…
BLUNK!
Stupid lamb.
The wall’s gone and sealed itself.
KUNK!
THWUNK!
It won’t reopen.
Stupid, stupid lamb.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
Like a discarded folly it stands abandoned
a building for the people.
Yet now it's been neglected by the council
there in that prominent position.
Time and weather has not been a friend
as many wish for it's end!
The council did not want the listed building
letting it become a wreck.
Repairing and upgrading others around
urgent repairs had to be done.
The owners who bought it for a pound
just couldn't be found!
Boarded up and classed as still unsafe
even with a grade two listing.
Yet it totters on the edge of its destruction
oppressive when you stare.
The building for years has not been used
watching it being abused!
Discarded this was the communities centre
that should be preserved.
Give that splendour back to this town's core
a focal point create a roar!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
Touched by the Divine
Kissed by a strange breeze where does it lead first to the still only a star can tell
In the den and rush we push and shove all distorted we traded blessings for naught
The thunder announces a secret we twist and turn all our concern reveals just an empty well
Into the depths we stare nothing outwardly exposed then why do you suppose all is unutterably well
Moments before the world all was a tangled mess who understood this darkest wood
All ventured forth can there be any more clueless confused lot all seemed lost
The stirring in the mulberry trees now separations hardship in full bloom now truth understood
Expectation emerges out of the deepest well that faith alone can only delve victory at midnights twelve
At the last hour the seat of power totters by him alone God chose to divide to himself
No one can find the arm of invincibility while he craves the comfort of the crowd
The unquenchable never ending cry of a perfected soul will taste the thorn and die to self
For the promise born since youth no other cause or purpose ever given a thought
The pinnacle is only reached by those who consider shame and dishonor worthwhile attainments
Submission the ultimate reverse of human endeavor by this blade alone can ignorance be cut away
The future holds change do you really intend to give everything to be a loser through estrangement
This fading gem you would hold when he offers you the universe and your deed to heavens wealth
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC
My childhood was ripped out
along with the merry-go-rounds
and the teeter totters.
The rose tint of my youth faded to grey
and my imagination was deflated by reality
like and old helium balloon.
Ironically, everything was smaller as a kid.
The neighborhood block I lived on was my world,
everything I needed
and the biggest place in my tiny existence.
But things changed.
Somewhere between the toilet paper tube swords
and the pillow shields,
we grew up.
The stories of the “volcano” on the way to my
grandmother’s house turned out to be nothing more
than a nuclear power plant belching its steamy breath
into the sky like clouds.
We traded in our toys for
credit cards,
car keys,
and a funny thing called responsibility,
and yet, we long for the days of our youth,
when we could kick off our shoes
and kick off from the ground
because when you were young you believed you could soar.
I want the memories of my childhood,
like the smell of blown out birthday candles
or of freshly fallen snow
because flowers only remind me of funerals nowadays
and age makes you sore
and long for the days of the past.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Something so unreal it has to be a dream.
Something so logical, I know that it’s not.
Something I’m so sure of now,
And thus have no choice but to question.
I know I should run,
Run and never look back.
But as soon as I’ve left the door,
As soon as the quarter totters between heads and tails,
I will know I’ve made a mistake.
Or I will know I have not.
No matter, it will be too late.
But if the door is never touched,
I will never leave.
I will never see objectively.
Forever swept up,
Forever locked up,
Forever so sure of him and me.
“Welcome to the game of life,” says he.
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 6:33 AM UTC
No matter how old we get Any
Man of Mine will always
remind me of you and teeter totters
and long curly hair pulled
back into perfectly parted
piggytails. I hope you
carry a little piece of me
wherever you go in life
(and you're going to go big
places, I'm sure of it) and
know that your heart
can always find mine
because you're the only
place my heart has had
any sort of safe home.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC