I didn’t plant that garden tree
But thinking, I just let it be
I knew I should have cut it out
But felt within to let it sprout
And so, as seasons came and went
I pruned this tree, its bole I bent
Around the gable of my shed
But left the limbs above my head
The years passed by and I grew old
I hated heat and shunned the cold
My garden work became a chore
As summer days my patience wore
But resting underneath that tree
Allowed me time to watch and see
The beauty of my garden wrought
And all the neighbored friends it brought
A bunny comes to taste my beets
While shaded so, I rest my feet
A bumble-bee’s contralto thrum;
A promise of much more to come
Badgers, robins, the house finch red
All come with hopes of being fed
And I, too tired to wield my hoe,
Am glad I let that elm tree grow.
Serpents, scorpions and owls
are things I can’t endure.
The contents of a bovine’s bowels,
albeit as manure,
or monks in over-shady cowls,
their faces kept obscure,
the sex-life of the larger fowls,
for me hold no allure.
Threatened badgers’ hostile growls,
an overflowing sewer,
others’ stains on bathroom towels –
repugnant, these, for sure.
A dying pig’s pathetic howls
(at least that’s one pig fewer):
Walter Matthau’s drooping jowls –
for these, there is no cure.
Margaret Thatcher’s tortured vowels
are dickish, not demure:
and Ian Paisleys, Enoch Powells
are ignominy, pure.
Badgers were planning a picnic extraordinaire!
Red Jell-O mold towered high in the spring air.
Shall I put a cherry on top? Asked persnickety Claire.
Why not? Said another. Baby muskrats are here.
Where is your mama? Asked Mrs. Badger then.
The babies giggled and rolled and hung down a chin.
I hope she is safe, Mrs. Badger told her husband man.
If not, we have three more orphans to join our little band.
when wolf boy accused his pack of lies ~ the alpha male tore at his eyes
beta shook her head and wouldn’t take sides ~ omega stayed in disguise
the moral goes further and simply implies ~ know how cries compromise
said badger to his honey ~ she ripped his balls off for grooming her boys
#The alpha male is top dog
The beta is mostly neutral
The omega being submissive#
#Honey Badgers are notorious
for attacking and tearing off an
opponent’s testes! Ouch!#
By
David Kavanagh
The Hedgehog wedding was the talk of Dry Gulch Creek.
There were moles, badgers, chipmunks and mice that squeak.
Cheering commenced when the bride bent kissed the groom.
Then the couple took a giant leap of faith over a broom.
The bride was a hustler, the groom was a cook so great.
The provided their guests with veggies and rib eye steak.
Heinz 59 said the bride, nothing too good for our guests.
Wedding party agreed the food they served was the best.
You have got yourself a great man, the cousins told the bride.
The groom’s cousins were giving the bridesmaids fancy eye slides.
By end of the reception, three more couples were engaged.
I guess being married to male cooks is now all the rage.
shy pink faerie slumbers
baby badgers lying on her dress
guarded by spotted fawn and twin bunnies
puffy lavender mushroom cluster stands guard
gorgeous turquoise sky full of diamonds smiles
Fox, finches and fireflies fluttered out of the woods
Into a clearing that cleverly chose species of these three
Faeries, elves and gnomes watched as closely as they could
It was time for the annual musical mystery forest jamboree
Who will be the winners? The badgers asked the rest.
Curious sailors and pirates came in from beyond the docks.
Racoon and muskrat slicked their fur down to look their best.
Whoever it is, they will have trouble winning the crown from Fox.
Edited to include "creatures of the night"
They wait for shadows
to rush and fill their forest home.
Then ushered in by the hoot of the owl
or the whip-poor-will’s call,
they appear as silently as the black of night itself.
A fawn in hiding ambles over to a pebbled pool.
Its family follows.
Fireflies flicker about like tiny lanterns
and the incessant murmur of insects
fills the air.
Somewhere – cloaked in darkness – a frog croaks.
Soft splashes in the pool
reveal ducklings paddling along.
Creatures of the night -
badgers, raccoons, and other tiny furry creatures -
scurry through bushes
foraging for prey smaller than themselves.
Ears prick at the sound
of a lone wolf’s howl.
June 12, 2022
beside the dirty wall there was a shadow,
the signs painted by some graffiti artist
made even less sense in the dark.
lying on the damp floor was the skinny dog.
stare into my bird's eye.
it seemed to say get out,
this hell is mine alone.
so I threw a piece of bread
that I had in my beak.
he salivated and snapped.
the next step was a caress with my wing.
was conquered.
so we made this kind of alliance.
now he follows me around town.
two savages without destiny.
but soon we will be three,
for the skittish cat meowed at us.
sure we will form legion,
let's occupy that hole in the hill,
coming down when hunger strikes,
then we will attack all the buffets,
scandalize the bourgeois,
co-opt the cockatiels,
the turtles and the badgers,
time to attack in pack,
this land will be ours again.
Who writes poetry? What is the point?
I cannot explain; I am a doer, not a philosopher.
She badgers me. Who reads poetry?
Isn’t that for old people?
I am an old person; but I keep that quiet.
I do not spend sixty dollars on hair dye every ten days for nothing.
Not counting the three dollar spray my husband puts on my part.
To cover up my pure white hair.
Seriously, why would anyone waste their time?
She has a point; I may not have that much time left.
I excuse myself and go home to write.
Under the hedges the ground was still like a frozen brick,
Cracks zig zagged over the surface leaving gaps,
Where old Jacomus in his wild dance,
Would whirl and freeze as if in a trance,
Robins and Thrushes vainly search for grains and grubs,
Along with the scampering long tailed mouse,
His whiskers a twitching sensing out a louse,
Badgers warm and snug in their deep setts,
Foxes scream and call in the forest deep,
Pheasants shuffle in gamekeepers keep.
A rattle in bleak blangk twigs and branches,
A lady in white on her unicorn prances,
Breathing warm air from between ruby red lips,
Softening the earth making it fertile again,
Where plants and bushes will start to awaken,
The joy of rebirth and beginings anew once more.
twitching noses
in tussocks
of awakened primroses
rummaging on hazel boles
hibernating mammals
poke from the holes
leafless hedgerows
where buds now form
a carpet of white corm
Badgers forage
for food near their sett
renewing
their bracken scented couchette
Sparrow and robin
pair off in twos
as lengthening days
come into view.
aconite open in rays of sun
below yellow catkins
with tails fine spun.
Osier shoots
in green corn camomile
as Spring mornings
begin to smile.
War preferentials
restless badgers prone to kill
no sides innocent
we clamor democracy
tendered grandeur destruction
W I N T E R
B R E A K S
N A T U R E
A W A K E S
G A R D E N
A S L E E P
&
an oldie reposted
Fields flooded into skating rinks
into which each footstep sinks,
cracking under body weight so
not the best place to skate.
Thawing February of twitching noses
in tussocks of woken primroses.
Rummaging on hazel boles,hibernating mammals
poke from the holes.
Leafless hedgerows , buds now form
a carpet of white corm,
Badgers forage food near their sett
renewing the bracken scented couchette.
Nature pair off in twos
lengthening days come into view.
aconite open in rays of sun
below, yellow catkins tails fine spun.
Osier shoots in green corn camomile
early Spring mornings begin to smile.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Hildy Honey Badger was mad as unleavened beer hops
Alice her American Cousin said that she was tops
How dare you she said, and you are a carnivore too!
The bells I am said Alice. I’m an omnivore like you!
They decided not to speak any more that day on Zoom.
Hildy went around slapping everyone else in the room.
What did we do? They asked, astounded at her action.
I am angry with my cousin. Slapping gives me satisfaction!
Next Hildy got mad at Wilma Weasel, a distant Aunt.
So she slammed the fish out of their tank and kicked a plant.
The rest of the badgers ran out, giving her plenty of space.
By supper she had thrown up a hundred earth worms, a disgrace.
Is it safe to come back? Asked her neighbor, anteater Girdle.
I doubt it, the rest of them said and we are cooking a turtle.
They stayed out of the moorlands for a day and a night.
While Hildy Honey Badger destroyed every dhramned thing in sight.
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