Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Tell me who can
Catch a toucan?
Lou can.

Just how few can
Ride the toucan?
Two can.

What kind of goo can
Stick you to the toucan?
Glue can.

Who can write some
More about the toucan?
You can!
Ma Cherie Oct 2016
As leaves of crimson fall,
& bleed  like cherry wine
sleeping parrot greens,
they overtake mind,
I quietly approach,
set up a sneaky blind,

I spot a toucan looking tree
in colors rarely seen
it takes my breath away
in soft & brilliant sheens,
showing off the beauty,
& creating quite a scene,

Amber hues of mustard,
blending in with rust,
others look like wheat
that was baked inside a crust,
so telling you about it,
is something that I must,

Burning up the sky
in flamingo sunset pink
as if I'm in the Tropic's
just sippin' down a drink,
look at all the colors,
just amazing,
don't you think?

Like a lovely bird of paradise
is landing in my hair,
so I can write it down
a story we can share,
I'm jotting down the words,
like Ginger & Astaire,

Out arift upon the skies
I hear the weeping willow
I close my eyes to dream
& lay on leafy pillows
like sheets of iridescent,
quoting as they billow,

I stand in admiration,
a journey that I applaud
sent to me from heavens
from hands, a loving God,
leaves today are burning
stand mystified & awed

So beautiful & grand
your plumage is at peak,
waving me dear willow
I softly hear her speak,

Listen to the sounds
as they open up their beak

Go press a few examples
to savor every day
listen very closely
to every word I say
you take 'em out again
when the skies are turning grey

Cherie Nolan© 2016
Sigh inspired ink, at least I hope, I think
: ) no idea what kinda tree though. ❤
Terry O'Leary Dec 2015
1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.
bergljot Nov 2015
A stampede of elephants
Running through the rooms of my mind
As their legless bodies ask
"How?"

A toucan flies to rest on a thought
With two million and two branches reaching towards my heart.
"How many cans can a toucan can if a toucan could can cans?"

Now this monkey must be joking
Those are my feelings he's holding.
And he continues to toss them about.
He peels off the skin and throws it over his shoulder
And takes one big bite out of the happiest one.

And this little duck waddles,
Left foot, right foot.
The left side is fine, but his right
Sends a nerve that clenches a fist to a glass window.

"Quack, quack."

Snip snap,

And there goes the vertebrae in my spine.
Daan Dec 2012
Like one of those birds with their long beaks,
their vivid colours and beautiful wings.
Just like a numerous amount of things,
everything, even this, has its own peaks.

Enjoying their lives and living free
instead of my kind, not leaving their tree.
I fancy their ways and habits a lot,
Trying to be a part of that, easy it is not.

How can I ever put some of myself inside that dream?
How can I ever be good enough to reach the bar that is set?
How can I ever add up, live up to the thought?
Even though it strides with how I am wrought.      

And then it came to me in a bright gleam.              
And if she agrees, then my equal is met.
don't mind.
blankpoems Apr 2015
full circle
I'm laying here with the window open listening to the rain for secrets or something or waiting for you to tell me what you haven't been telling me
like maybe there really is a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair and her eyes are the kind of blue that is never mistaken for grey
she touches your chin before she kisses you, real softly or maybe she traces the spot above your lip where we all know angels rested their fingers before we were sent down here to rot or thrive
maybe you talk about gardens with her, how you'd never ever own an orchid cause that ***** ex of yours demanded one every hospital visit
how flowers aren't for boys but you'll pretend to watch football while you're really watching her bend down to touch the dirt like she used to smooth her baby brothers hair out of his little eyes
before their parents decided that it was more convenient to buy them a little apartment and keep money in the safe while they spent their pensions in Florida watching alligators and Dolphins and toucan ******* Sam but never at the same time
you see, I don't drink earl grey cause it tastes like fruit loops
and I don't eat fruit loops cause it tastes like the childhood I erased from my memory by forcing myself to dissociate
maybe this, is something else altogether
maybe this... is not true, another delusion, maybe your hands are busy counting change out for cardboard signs
maybe your feet move a little bit faster, not because you're in a rush to see someone who isn't me but because you're so scared of ending up back where you started
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
O pulchritudinous, for infinite climaxes
For bilious spasms of pigswill
For puce Popacatepetl pedigrees
Above the perverted pampas!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk, from brothel to gay red—light district

O pulchritudinous, for spaceman bottoms
Whose ****, throbbing tapeworm
A toucan crossing for slipperiness spifflicate
Across the intergalactic space!
America! America! Allah enrich thine ev’ry vice
Reinvigorate thy ****** ******* inside monolithic ectoplasm, thy merrymaking inside pyramid!

O pulchritudinous, for freaks got fat
In disentangling feeding frenzy
Who more than ***** their brothel slobbered over
And velvet glove more than backbone!
America! America! May Allah thy blonde exhaust
Till all rave reviews be disreputableness and ev’ry come superhuman

O pulchritudinous, for chauvinist muscleman
That smells wide of the fourth dimension
Thine lathery brothels lick
Polished using giant armadillo excrement!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk from brothel to gay red—light district
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Irate Watcher Jun 2015
I am Bear Lady
and you are Toucan Man —
Fur and feathered backs
against a striped tent.
Cut-off like tickets,
crowds melting Dali-like
in the distance
from crystalline eyes,
frozen in time…

Wings graze skin and
fur can’t compete.
The electricity of
our eccentricity
is freakish,
yet with every touch,
I feel less like a freak.
My history
of hoop jumping
tightrope walking,
and captivity
dissolve transparently
as I search deep,
                deep,
            deep,
into supernova eyes —
they outshine
this circus life,
this love for applause,
the performance inside.

As I gaze into
frozen pools,
the broken chords
of carny music
da da da-da-da-da drown.
The morning quiet,
muddled coffee grinds
are sensitive and silent,
chilling me to the soul.
Earth, a peripheral,
to pupils that absorb
mine full-force,
until I can’t see
this galaxy anymore,
save green starbursts,
my light source.
For the one I love.
In Yucatan, the Maya sonneteers
Of the Caribbean amphitheatre,
In spite of hawk and falcon, green toucan
And jay, still to the night-bird made their plea,
As if raspberry tanagers in palms,
High up in orange air, were barbarous.
But Crispin was too destitute to find
In any commonplace the sought-for aid.
He was a man made vivid by the sea,
A man come out of luminous traversing,
Much trumpeted, made desperately clear,
Fresh from discoveries of tidal skies,
To whom oracular rockings gave no rest.
Into a savage color he went on.

How greatly had he grown in his demesne,
This auditor of insects! He that saw
The stride of vanishing autumn in a park
By way of decorous melancholy; he
That wrote his couplet yearly to the spring,
As dissertation of profound delight,
Stopping, on voyage, in a land of snakes,
Found his vicissitudes had much enlarged
His apprehension, made him intricate
In moody rucks, and difficult and strange
In all desires, his destitution's mark.
He was in this as other freemen are,
Sonorous nutshells rattling inwardly.
His violence was for aggrandizement
And not for stupor, such as music makes
For sleepers halfway waking. He perceived
That coolness for his heat came suddenly,
And only, in the fables that he scrawled
With his own quill, in its indigenous dew,
Of an aesthetic tough, diverse, untamed,
Incredible to prudes, the mint of dirt,
Green barbarism turning paradigm.
Crispin foresaw a curious promenade
Or, nobler, sensed an elemental fate,
And elemental potencies and pangs,
And beautiful barenesses as yet unseen,
Making the most of savagery of palms,
Of moonlight on the thick, cadaverous bloom
That yuccas breed, and of the panther's tread.
The fabulous and its intrinsic verse
Came like two spirits parlaying, adorned
In radiance from the Atlantic coign,
For Crispin and his quill to catechize.
But they came parlaying of such an earth,
So thick with sides and jagged lops of green,
So intertwined with serpent-kin encoiled
Among the purple tufts, the scarlet crowns,
Scenting the jungle in their refuges,
So streaked with yellow, blue and green and red
In beak and bud and fruity gobbet-skins,
That earth was like a jostling festival
Of seeds grown fat, too juicily opulent,
Expanding in the gold's maternal warmth.
So much for that. The affectionate emigrant found
A new reality in parrot-squawks.
Yet let that trifle pass. Now, as this odd
Discoverer walked through the harbor streets
Inspecting the cabildo, the facade
Of the cathedral, making notes, he heard
A rumbling, west of Mexico, it seemed,
Approaching like a gasconade of drums.
The white cabildo darkened, the facade,
As sullen as the sky, was swallowed up
In swift, successive shadows, dolefully.
The rumbling broadened as it fell. The wind,
Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry,
Came bluntly thundering, more terrible
Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
Gesticulating lightning, mystical,
Made pallid flitter. Crispin, here, took flight.
An annotator has his scruples, too.
He knelt in the cathedral with the rest,
This connoisseur of elemental fate,
Aware of exquisite thought. The storm was one
Of many proclamations of the kind,
Proclaiming something harsher than he learned
From hearing signboards whimper in cold nights
Or seeing the midsummer artifice
Of heat upon his pane. This was the span
Of force, the quintessential fact, the note
Of Vulcan, that a valet seeks to own,
The thing that makes him envious in phrase.

And while the torrent on the roof still droned
He felt the Andean breath. His mind was free
And more than free, elate, intent, profound
And studious of a self possessing him,
That was not in him in the crusty town
From which he sailed. Beyond him, westward, lay
The mountainous ridges, purple balustrades,
In which the thunder, lapsing in its clap,
Let down gigantic quavers of its voice,
For Crispin to vociferate again.
ashley lingy Apr 2018
On the far away island of Sala-ma-sond,
Mira the Koala was head of the pond.

A nice little pool,
it was quaint, it was cool.
The shore side was warm
with eucalyptus galore.

But all was not well in Sala-ma-sond.
For the subjects of Mira were really not fond
of the company Queen Mira kept in her pond.

See, over the years, Mira had gotten to know
a few polar bears, their fur white as snow.

These bears got lost some long time ago,
whilst traveling up to the great northern pole.
On the part of the trip, along the Nile,
the bears lost their map at the 27th mile.

They moaned and groaned, yelled and cried.
They longed for the cold, the north's crisp blue skies.
As the polar bears sniveled, squinting through tears,
Mira heard their loud cries with her big koala ears.
Confused for a moment, unsure of the noise,
she paused and reflected, still keeping her poise.

But the cries of the bears continued to grow.
Queen Mira was left with no choice but to go.

Traveling fast on the path resisting the least,
she made her way quickly to the great sobbing beasts.
She arrived and asked what was the matter.
The polar bears explained, or more accurately, blathered.

"STOP!", pleaded Mira, her heart growing weak,
"I can save you! I can help you! I just need a bird's beak!"

At this the bears paused, for her meaning was unclear.
But then the toucan swooped in, beak sharp as a spear.

He followed Mira’s orders, and poked around in the deep rushing river.
He poked and prodded, but in the end, he had nothing to bring her.

Despite the toucan’s efforts, the map was still MIA,
Impossible to find, a needle amongst hay.

And the bears AGAIN let out big bear cries,
and water also began to fill Mira's eyes.
"Stop bears, stop! I beg of you please!
There is no need to cry, you can come stay with me!
Please come stay in my home,you don’t have to go roam!
Come stay, come stay, at least for a week."

And for a few moments, the bears did not speak.
They looked at each other, nodding their heads,
then roared loud enough to be heard through thick lead.

Every one of the animals heard this great sound,
and every one of the animals turned around,
swiveling their heads 180 degrees.
Every animal turned, from the lions to the bees.
And when the racket stopped, every animal knew
that something was different, something was new.

The bears came to stay just for a little bit.
Then a bit became a while, and soon, that was it.
Suddenly, it was three years later,
and the polar bear's presence had become much greater.

The bears were crude, they were rude, and they were loud.
To their every demand, Queen Mira had bowed,
and the bears felt entitled to every leaf, tree, and stump.
To every single hole, to every single bump.

It soon became clear that in Sala-ma-sond,
the big polar bears now ruled over the pond.
And all of the animals were utterly miserable,
especially Mira, who felt gullible and responsible.

Let this be a lesson to the more hospitable of you.
It's good to be generous, yes, that much is true.
But beware of the guests who take advantage,
for those guests can become difficult to manage.

Don’t be like Mira, letting others walk all over you.
Know when it’s time to bid a guest ‘adieu’.
Spenser Roper Feb 2014
delightful, full sky of
orange, ranged from
rumbling tangerine
to toucan’s beak, eek-out a
shore horizon zenly leaning and
a sun sunk
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
Years of personal experience,
I made my recommendation,
but the know-it-all didn't listen,
he bought the canary-colored backpack anyway.  

I chuckled under my breath,
thinking how
every toucan in the jungle
was going to be chasing him
on his dream vacation
to the jungle.

Idiot.
megan rochelle Jan 2012
sometimes it's heaven,
sometimes it's hell,
I hope I pick the right one
if not, oh well.
I tried to play nice,
But it didn't work out,
sittin in back with a bucket of ice
with my held held high
you're gonna kiss my ***
while i kiss the sky
vindictive by nature
can't supress who i am
with my nose in the air
i'm like toucan sam
I'm a free spirit
and i don't really care
if you don't want to hear it
cause i'm free, free fallin'
enjoyin every minute of it
kickin back with a bottle of ***
if you're against me *******
if you're with me get some
i don't like handouts
so hand it to me
gonna play these strings
like you can't believe
brings tears to your eyes
brings you to your knees
if i stop
you'll be begging me
please , please, please
I need more, more, more
like you can't get enough
like an unused *****
I tried to play nice
but it didn't work out
no it didn't work out
Lady Bird Nov 2016
I didn't start the food fight
yet I got hit in the head with a can soda
I'm just glad it was a soft drink
it flew at me like an owl hunting its pray
I now realize that toucan play at this game
I also swallowed some food coloring
I'm OK, but I feel like I've dyed a little inside
Deer loved one

Please bear with me,
owl bee with ewe as soon as possum bull.
Rhino that things have been on paws lately
bat remember I toad you;
Toucan always find me some plaice warm in your heart
if I'm not lion there beside you.
Giraffe nothing to fear, no one can break the lynx we've made.
Mine is a love that'll never panda, narwhal it
hound any other sole but jaws and yours alone.

You're the porpoise I wake up every morning.
Wren all otter things are bleak, you're my ray of sunshine.
You let minnow weevil always have each other.
With you, newt time passes but stops still.

Love you with vole of my heart
ant i'll never desert you.
Until hen Gobi good

Yours truly
...
Universal Thrum Jan 2019
I've stopped caring if people call me Mr.
I'm resigned sometimes to fade away
like a moldy apple rotting quietly in the bin
it was only a taste of me that ever counted

but I'm not done yet
(sigh)
babies...this is the rowdy bus ride
on the long windy island road
shouting *******
as the driver power swerves around the sunday driving couple
in a flash, white knuckled eye to eye with the semi driver
not even surprised
that we are colliding
no-one else seems to notice
this ride ends too,
a red house on a hillside over looking the pacific
monkey toucan sloth
a private pool
infinity style, ends at the edge and tumbles into what
nothing to signify
no goals met
I'm just alive,
perhaps underachieving,
this number on my check is a third of last years take
maybe I'm not charging enough
maybe I'm working too hard or not eating
I've gained no weight since college
and I barely seem to care
I learn night moves, sometimes I can sing
fearless full throated belts

a sign in some ohio river town
in front of some church
that some people still go to
and maybe get charged at the door
says
pray ceaselessly
they say
yoga is a way of being
a person goes to the gym for an hour
but what about the other 23
I keep my back straight and my breath full
and count a days labor
for ******* in my *****
and keeping my triangles engaged
just like Bomchew and Paul taught me
an old lady smiles at me in a white stair case, calls me cowboy
she said she saw me standing in court
a judge threatening to throw me in jail
and said to herself
now theres a man
Bailey B Apr 2010
Compiled of all the parts
No one wishes to have
Fiery ropes that refuse to rest
Spidery fingers that worry too much
Freckles etching countless constellations undiscovered
Eyelashes that a cactus wouldn't be proud of
Emerald eyes, woeful, or so I've been told,
that reflect all the unsung symphonies of the past
and of the yet to come
Long, awkward torso that curves in all the wrong places
Skin paler and mire transparent than the surface of a pond
Dancer's thighs with an octogenarian's knees
The smile of a Chinese ten-year-old
paired with the beak of a toucan.
That, at least, is good for something:
Sniffing out your lies and following them
through the thick blue veins that map
straight to my heart.
David Johnson Oct 2013
I dreamed an ocean one day,
Soft like silk, pouring through your fingers.
Satin, woven from the promised land.
In the thread, joyful echos, stained.

I dreamed of days under the topaz sunset.
I chirped to a toucan.
A beautifully colored bird.
Smart. Mute.
She chirped back.
I was in the Neverlands.

I dreamed of royal parades.
A mirage of Chiefs & they're daughters.
Horses for manpower.
Monthly packages of flour & sugar.
Life was equally labored.

I dreamed of being an Author of Poetry.
Sitting in some tower.
Seeing the world beneath my shoeless feet.
Writing,
A future.
Daan Jan 2013
There's this girl, nothing like a toucan, she's better.
With a blue bowtie in her long brown hair she
still mesmerises me every day and I let her.
But there is another guy with whom she'd rather be.

And every day she smiles at me with her twinkling
eyes and gentle stare making me experience the slightest tinkling
And whenever she says hi or just anything at all
I float, I climb my big white cloud hoping not to fall.

It starts to storm, another cloud turns up out of the blue
and another, but these aren't white, they're grey and
larger than mine, larger than I ever dreamt of one to be.

I must seek a lower cloud to chase because
the higher your hopes and cloud rise, the stronger
the pain that flows through you when you collapse
Glad that's over..
david badgerow Oct 2015
this time something feels different

this time i'm an angry toucan spitting eager saliva & i want you to rip my plastic beak off & whisper secrets into my slippery face

this time i'm an open book & i want you to place your fingertips on my soft worn pages & read me between the lines forever

i want you to be a magnifying glass mirror to show me my inconsistencies made of stretched wool fibers and hemp and wood held together by shiny clots of ink oil and glue

this time i'm an open door numb with apprehension & i want you to surge into the threshold of my bare bones like a molecular flash flood burglary polishing my darkest stained corners with spiraling velocity

this time i'm an oak sapling planted in your backyard spinning & dazzling in the sunlight & i want you to water me daily so i can grow
with you to unbelievable heights & suddenly sprout flowers from my sinewy arms

this time i'm a babbling brook cascading over slick brown rocks on a lush hillside & i want you to stir the moon like the wind & listen appreciate my serene grace

because this time i need someone whose lips
can be a tissue to the tears on my soft cheeks
before they turn cold & calloused

i need someone to sink their teeth into my
shoulders & collarbone to wake me
from this superfluous daydream

i need someone who beds naturally
into the ribcage nest of my plaid flannel shirt

i need someone who will dance with me
across an empty landscape into
something bigger & deeper
than just the starless sky above us

i need someone who wants to learn
the overlapping language of my eyes & hands

someone who will lounge with me
like an odalisque on the birth-bed of aphrodite
drenched in the shivers of the moon canopy

someone who can blur the lines
between my cerebrum & theirs
so that we become a stitched together
quilt of soft memories in our imagination

someone who has been in a trainwreck before
& knows precisely where to kiss
to make it all better
rsc Apr 2015
An uneasy knowing:
Hand on the doorknob,
Intuition hinting at what's
Through the keyhole.

Excuse me, while I
Make my way back to the womb
And coalesce into an egg once more.

I must relearn everything I was ever taught.

I must rethink everything I ever thought.

"My soul shall not be bought,"
Is a declaration not an "Oh, I ought to."
Tangled in some narrative, stuck like glue;
Convention is convention
Regardless of where it's acted out,
Chugging a cheap beer or slinging back a stout.

Let the wild eyed lemurs out!

Femurs shriek ****** ******,
Shin splits from sprinting to get coffee creamer.

Benz,
Bentley,
or
Beamer?

Out of place in small town USA,
But the monster makes itself the new normal.
Wear jeans to the semi-formal, but
The after party is her call.

To make the future or **** it all?
Is life an experiment or a free for all?
Is it neither? Is it nothing at all?

Squeezing the eyes out of a stress ball,
Touch pleasing thighs as the curtains draw...

Ka-caw! Ka-caw!
I am, I am a triumphant toucan!
Flapping wings flowing fluttery alchemy,
Making circles out of straight lines,
Crafting stories out of blank mind.

It comes in time, I guess,
The mess of me cleaning itself up gradually
Only to regress under sea level again
And again, becoming a canyon,
The slow deposition, the bearer of men.

Redheaded and clucking mother hen
Drinking hot water, honey, and lemon,
Patronizing old explorers like Magellan.

Tune into the past, oh sugar sweet one,
Inflicting beatings with flagellum,
Stealing treats and eating them,
Mountain peaks and chewing gum.

Puh-*** puh-***-***!
Our heads make good drums,
And our bleating makes good melodies.

Can you teach me the song of the trees?
Can we at least save the bees?

Nectarine mornings and small, knobby knees..
Mommy, please, put my hair in pig tails!
Pick up the worms off the sidewalk,
Watch out for the snails.

Lay me down into a hay bale;
I'll send you snail mail from
My heavenly little hell.

What's that smell;
My baby blanket or an ex-boyfriend
Lingering underneath my nose hairs?
In smoking scents do memories construct their lairs.

Do I have a care?
Do I have to care?
Is it a curse to be aware?
Is it a curse to think that, to dare?

Something fragile hangs in the air.

Teeth grind, sweaty night mares,
Water and oil, oh! What a pair.

Fingers uncoil from around your neck:
Slender ghostly feelers beckoning,

"Come destroy yourself with me."

Cast my body out to sea,
Playing saccharine melodies, but
Send my soul out separately.
SøułSurvivør Feb 2016
^¡^

everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar

some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets

ALL


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
All except for the parrots.
They need to be plucked!

What kind of bird are YOU?

-
Mitchell Sep 2014
The sand's soft underneath my cheek; cool and grainy like a scattered pillow should be. I hear the crash of waves and the call of gulls. A headache starts to brew on either temple while stale *** coats my famished tongue. I feel a light drizzle tickling my face. Flashes of wide smiles and high conversation skims through my broken memory. The suns rising. Its heat is on my back. My eyes flutter and slowly open to a scene of white froth colliding with pure light blue ocean. Seagulls bob up and down in the rise and fall of the waves, their faces look like their made of stone, their eyes indifferent. I smile, getting sand in-between my teeth.
I reach out my hand and grip the hot sand. Tiny pebbles rub in between my fingertips. Another scream from the sea gulls above me. The sky seems like no place for a crowd. Reaching a little farther, I discover a half-empty bottle of Bacardi *** and a packet of cigarettes beside it. A lighter is tucked inside.
"Lucky day," I say aloud to myself, "Lucky day for you indeed." I bring the bottle to my chest and lean it in between my pecs. It rests perfectly there. Smacking a cigarette out of the pack, I place it in my mouth and dig in my sandy pockets for a lighter. It's still there. This surprises me. I light the cigarette and my eyes immediately cringe as the heavy billow of smoke erupts forth. It's a sting I'm used to, so I blink hard a few times. The pain only lasts for a moment, then it's gone.
"There we go," I say leaning my head back, wedging it into the sand, "Let night become this day."
Clouds dissipate and the sky opens up clear. A toucan bird clatters its beak in the distant banana trees. I look to see where it is, but the birds colors are lost in the dark green and yellow of the trees leaves. I fit my lit cigarette in between my middle and pointer finger, push myself up to lean onto my elbow, and tip the bottle of *** back with my other hand. The *** is sweet and warm. Been sitting in the sun too long. I always like with a bit of ice in a Dixie cup. It pinches my lips and eyes for only a second, then starts to travel down to my stomach lining, warming it. The sun passes the dawn and the dark blue night sky becomes a new morning.
I lay there watching the water and the night become day for I have no idea how long. I've no obligation to no one, not even to myself. Time for me is a fleeting thing, but even if time is slipping away, where is it really slipping to? Time stands still and we are the ones that move. Perhaps we have created time to prove to ourselves that we are in fact alive?  
The freight train I jumped to get down to Cozumel came from Arizona. It was crowded like a ******* with vagrants, drunks, dealers, and desert kids. Me, I was in the last train cause I can't run for nothing. Shrapnel tore into my right calf when I was in the war. They tried to patch me up as good as they were able, but once something like that happens, it's impossible to truly get back to normal one-hundred percent. It's hard to come back one-hundred percent from anything when I think about it.
Come to me, lady Dee. Come to me lady who lives by the sea. You are the one I'm always thinking of. You are the one who sends me reeling and in love. Your hair is like honey: soft, golden, and sweet. Your eyes are like acorns: auburn and neat. Oh' when you went away that one winter's day, I was left with a feeling that there wasn't anything left to say. Where have you gone off to? Where do you stay? Will you ever come back to me? When will be that day?
Noon came. Children kick at my bare feet. Their laughter sounds like the echo of birds chirping. I can smell them too: red licorice mixed mixed with fried fish and fresh lemon. Where have they come from? What do they want with the likes of me? One of'em gets me hard in the ankle and I spring up onto my feet and roar. I see they're kids from town. Their skin is maple leaf brown and their hair, long and to their shoulders, is streaked yellow from the sun. I look down at them. Their faces are frozen, stunned. The smallest one of the groups teeth begin to chatter. I roar again louder and they scurry off up the white sands of the beach toward their homes, the smallest one lagging behind like a gimp donkey. I check my pockets to make sure none of them swiped my wallet or keys. Still there. My pockets are filled with sand and I dump them out as I make my way up the beach toward my cabin on the other side of the cove.
I built it myself, my cabin. She sits at the top of a sand dune overlooking the water. It's all I've got. Made a deal when I first arrive with the land owner, Perez Sandiago (Sandy if you know him), that I'd work for his iguana farm once or twice a week if he'd let me have the plot. They aren't too bad, the iguana's, as long as they don't bite you. Once they know you, they rarely do. More prone to sit and bask in the sun to bother anybody. All they need is to be fed, given some water, and left the hell alone as Sandy will say.
As I walk up the hill, a few small ***** and strings of seaweed in my hands for lunch, I see a small part of the roof is gone. The wind may have taken it off or maybe some of the tie came loose. The sun above is hot and relentless. I put my hand over my eyes to shade them walking forward. Sand washes over the top of my feet, warming them. I stop, closer to my cabin now, and take off my shirt. I lay it on the sand and place the few ***** and seaweed on it. Then I tie them up in kind of a ruck sack so the ***** won't get away. They're always running off to some place when they know their gonna' get killed, but I guess I would do the same.
There is a single chair I leave by the front door and I take it and step up on it to get a better look at the roof. There isn't any tie left. It either fell inside or blew away with the missing piece. I look over the roof of the cabin further down the beach to see if it's laying out there. Nothing, just the beach. The roof's too weak to climb up on, so I get down and circle the cabin. I make my way around and reach the front door. The only other place it could be, if it isn't further down the beach somewhere, is in the cabin. I take out my keys and fit it into the lock. It's unlocked. A wave crashes behind me and spreads out on the sand with a sizzling hush. I take a step back and think for a moment, then walk inside feeling every grain of sand between my toes.
Susan N Aassahde Nov 2020
poet ramble
on the walk of a dove
a flounce of a pea
Stu Harley Apr 2015
what
tantalizing
pecan smile of
the
toucan's bill
a blend of
jet black
red
and
blue feathers
just
a pinch of
peach yellow
upon their chest
and
you can
hear them
chatter
while
they rest
Yeah once I received
A revelations from meditated at a  higher elevation
Became mental ejaculations
Then came a new creation
Cells was in gestation
Just waitin' to battle
The minions of Satan
Who better than
Me & my flows
Be hotter than dessert sand
Words is swords slicin' up rap veterans
These boy more fruit looped
Than Toucan Sam
On the pavement I slam
Then watch your spirit deactivate and
Your body start decomposin' sinkin' faster than quick sand
Understand
My words put together
Equals the perfect letterman
Formula of concoctions
No **** options
I go for the jugular
Loosin' ya sight swift as strike
From the tail of an iguana
I got stocks to bonds
You couldn't assist me even if ya had John Stockton
Lost from my unclaimed kingdom
While you sitting dumb
I became succumb to the sun
But not burned
Beamin' my intellect to carefully select put rhymers in check
I'm complex like chinese arithmetic
Can't you innerstand my dialect
Brains get dissected then tested
They only livin cuz I allowed
Them to be resurrected
My brain shuts out hate
Like sealed window pane
wither shine or rain
I'll shatter your brain
Leave your cells strained
Like aneurysm
Soon to die from all the blood stains
Rockin' cerebellums spread belladonna
Once I drop the bombs on ya
Turn up the degrees hotta than a sauna
Feedin' on spine rentin' ya nerves
Like a piranha
After emcees like Conner
Terminator originator dope animator
Styles so contagious they had to create a
Clone when I was in an incubator
Spaced shuttled feeling
Lies told within' reignin with sin
Which eventually made me a debater
Minds like an engine you need a starter and an alternator
I be the alpha and omega hate betas
Who try to debate us conform us
Only ourselves we trust
Cuz once we show
We bust temples
Like solar blast nuclear chemical task
Spells in cast take a sip of my mental flask
I keep two masks for alias
One for my personality and other
For my ego rhymes en fuego
Black inferno pops on ya like a kernel
Beef is eternal everlast
In the house of pain
Where most don't wanna last
If ya had half of the
Skills that I amount to
You'll still wouldn't get a pass
I be the galaxy protector Hannibal hector bone collector
Break through any sector
Killer instincts like Raptor
Thunderous with Thor hammers
Make em jam us two sides as Janus
Conjure spirits like cursor spells from Ouija boards
So pull out a clipboard and jump aboard
Stack rhymes til it becomes a hoard
I'll stretch ya vocals chords like an accordion
Spinal leakin' from all the blood releasin'
Like traveling thoughts of
Ya mind I'm your conscious
Intertwined
Silence competitions like mimes
By the time they got to six
I was seven and ate nine
Emcees that try to take mine
My retaliation sublime
Once my third eye shines
None believers get behind
Thought ya had power til I showed
Up now you have to resign
Empires got decline
Black as ruler and a golden Shrine
Couldn't decipher my demigod design
My mind travels a million times
Infinite  times a billion times
That's just a microthread of my cells
Castin' processed lines
The black sun the only one
Reignin' as the only champion
Made a don connect rhymes
Like voltron big as megatron
Lap around emcees like a marathons
That means a hundred to one
Miles soon to pile
All emcees into a crate
Predict the death date make bacteria
In it's natural state
Shift the game 'til the earthquakes
Not to worry
Its just the triple six darkness takin' it's stake
Heatwaves risin' soon to leave bodies to radiate and bake
Turnin' them into ashe flakes
bergljot Nov 2017
A toucan flies to rest on a thought,
Branches reaching towards my heart.
Carcasses of childhood memories filled rooms with
Doors locked from the inside.
"Evacuate the premises, nothing to see here" a sign reads
Forlorn and tainted, stitched into the side of my psyche
Graves engraved with unsaid prayers.
Is life an option, when all I feel is the weight of my
Heavy, unrested eyes?
Jeopardize my future.
**** my hopes and dreams.
Living with
Manic Depression
Never allows the reassurance of stability
Or survival within the ocean of sentiment.
Parking lots outside the windows of my soul hold drunk spirits
Quarreling under a street light, broken beer bottles as their words.
Room for one more troubled soul?
Sure, come on in, 've poured so much of myself into people and
They still see the glass as half empty.
Uncrown me of my halo and tie it like a noose around my neck.
Veiled threats of "it'll get better" and "this too shall pass"
When? There's no pill for who you are.
X marks the spot doesn't it?
Yeah, sure.
Zoos hold less animals than the inside of my head.
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Toucan
Two can
6/5/2019 - This footle poem fills the bill :) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Annie Apr 2018
In the early morning
The larimar sky
Stretches out
Over the ashes of the night
While the clouds
    Retted stalks of calcite
Do their toucan crosswalk
Over her duckcloth.
And the sun
A golden mattenklopper
Sprays a burst
Of painted flames
On the trees and grass beneath
And life is
Clean and fresh
And ready
For this new day.
For so long
I have been looking away
Looking forward
While my eyes
Might have been
Filled up
With the beauty
Of all
That is
In the here and now.
Paul Hansford Apr 2018
All round my hat I wear a lot of badges,
all round my hat, for many and many a day.

A disc of abalone shell from New Zealand;
a jester’s mask decorated with four glittering glass jewels (Venice,
though we weren’t there for the carnival) :
the Stars and Stripes, given to me in New York
in the weeks after 9/11, when you could hardly move
for huge examples of the national flag;
three lions, for England;
a bull, for Spain, even though I hate bull-fighting;
a liner (Alaska Cruise,2000, but we've done other cruises) :
and a gold-coloured jet plane, for all the journeys we have made;
a small badge of a very large statue, Christ the Redeemer (Rio) :
the seashell of St James, with his special cross on it
(Santiago de Compostela, though we didn’t walk the Camino) :
a very tiny badge of the ****** of Guadalupe in Mexico;
and a shiny gold-coloured outline of a dove
(Carcassonne cathedral) representing the Holy Spirit;
King Kong, my biggest badge, appropriately:
a smaller-scale hero, Winnie-the-Pooh, a gift from my daughter:
a koala decorated in crushed opal (Australia) :
a stripy cat on a tartan ribbon (Edinburgh) :
a dolphin from the Azores, though we didn’t see any there,
(but we have seen dolphins, so it counts twice) :
a miniature cookie-cutter in the shape of a moose (Canadian rockies)  
– but it would make impossibly small cookies;
a toucan (Costa Rica) and a puffin (Iceland)
admiring each other’s beaks;
heroes of the Revolution: Chairman Mao, bought in Beijing:
the Hồ Chí Minh League of Youth badge (Vietnam) :
the star representing Yugoslavia,
though even when I bought it
Yugoslavia was no longer a country;
the face of Che Guevara, looking handsome and intense (Cuba) :
and not forgetting the daddy of them all,
Lenin, on a red and flaming star;
the Hand of Fatima (Tunisia) for luck;
and the Eye of Horus (Egypt) ,
because you can’t have too much luck.

And if anybody asks me the reason why I wear them,
they remind me of places – and people – that are far, far away.
SøułSurvivør Sep 2020
everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar

some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets

ALL


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
All except for the parrots.
They need to be plucked!

What kind of bird are YOU?

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
A suit of colored feather
Flamingo toucan tux
I wear my joy
For all to see,

Upon my skin
Rests dozens
Of hundreds
Of emotion.

My blue wings,
Confetti color paper,
Scribble the sorrow
In Crayola,

And I sign my name
In red,
So red macaw
This piercing beak pen
Out and out and out again,
Writing my name in red.

My dozens, my hundreds,
My span of feather,
Has meant to me
My dozens, my hundreds,
My life of emotion,

So **** your feathers,
Raise your pointed head,
Let scream these colors
And wear them so properly again,
Stand here today
To let them see
This unspoken part of pain.
Michael Marchese Nov 2016
I walk through life's
Final frontier
I tread on death's
Devoid of fear

A Black Plague rat
A great white shark  
I am the depths
And caverns dark

A dormant rage
Volcano lair
Don't wake my sleeping
Grizzly bear

Or he will smash
This buzzing hive
And eat the honey
They contrive

Each saddled mustang  
Spirit freed
Mere show ponies
To my stampede

Which fills this earth's
Tectonic plates
With rumblings from
My stomach quakes

Raised by wolfpacts
Of my youth
To share the fruits
Of sun-kissed truth

To teach the herds
To reach these peaks
And paint the skies
With toucan beaks

Yet still my rose
Adds one more thorn
Each time you steal
My tusk and horn

So wildfire
Blood is ice
I thunder strike  
The same place twice  

A crown of sticks  
And sharpened stone    
The roots of my
Sequoia throne

Just try and tame
My lion's mane
You'll get lost in
My jungle brain

The hurricanes
No floods can cease
Emoceanal
Disasterpiece

My eagle wings
Embrace the squall  
I trip on shrooms
Then waterfall

A monkey see
Just doing me
Without this pen
A chimpanzee
Mark Toney Dec 2019
Toucan
Two can
6/5/2018 - Poetry form: Footle - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018 - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018 - This footle poem fills the bill :)

— The End —