Best Beaver Poems | Poetry
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Like A Beaver
by Ellison, Jack
A Mature Beaver
by Ellison, Jack
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
by Price, Franklin
Julius Caesar Ate My Beaver
by Merritt, Roy
Trump and the Beaver - For Jan
by Smith, Tim
The Still or Leave It To Beaver
by Hauser , Mike
by Foster, Gail
by Hofert, Edwin
by Jones, Cynthia
View all new Beaver Poems
The Best Beaver Poems
At the footbridge Sue was meeting her beau
(He was married to a woman called Flo)
Sue soon found out his deception
She dismembered his ********
For his love life it was a massive blow
To the hospital fled poor Rodger
For an op to repair his todger
Now fixed, it's SO big
Rodger grunts like a pig
in **** films as Rodger the lodger
Inspired by but not for contest
BY JAN ALLISON
He promised Flo he never would leave her
And she would be his only receiver
But she caught him with Sue
And his chances were through
Gnawing off wood when he neared her beaver
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
Sue castrated that cheating deceiver
With one whack of her meat cleaver
she pulled a Lorena Bobbit
turned Rodger into a Hobbit
Sue's now known as an "overachiever"
WRITTEN BY MARTI SUTHERLAND
Across the table sits sweet Amee
Once A Roger, before he became a she
The master of infidelity
So many personalities
Before and after he became an amputee..
WRITTEN BY SKAT A
He was known as a terrible stoner
With a huge un-deflatable *****
It now sits in a jar
At the end of the bar
A reminder to all of its owner...
WRITTEN BY JOHN LAWLESS
It’s become a tourist attraction
As a symbol of female subtraction
Grannies sneak in for a peek
Everyday of the week
Dreaming of former of love action.
WRITTEN BY MARK WOODS
Oh how sad that pork missile should be
unemployed but for all there to see
if science, in a jiffy
can rejuvenate stiffys
then the first in the queue would be me!
WRITTEN BY VIV WIGLEY
Flo wanted to give Sue a high five
For slicing Rodger with all his jive
A two timing fool
Who broke every rule
Now lil Rodger don't work in overdrive
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
Rodger's story has been immortalized
For having his thingy circumcised
It's on display in a bar
Now hanging in a jar
While it's slowing becoming crystalized
WRITTEN BY MARTI SUTHERLAND
As she ponders on what to eat
Hopefully, it won’t be red meat
For there on the log
Is Rodger's hot dog
So she gets excited and jumps off her feet.
WRITTEN BY WINGED WARRIOR
There's a lesson I really must blurt
To all those blokes out chasing some 'skirt'
When you're on heat
Don't share your meat
'Cause your todger might really get hurt!
WRITTEN BY MARK WOODS
Poor forgotten noteworthy Sue
Looking so gloomy she blew
At the pickled todger
once belonging to Rodger
kissing good times its last adieu
WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER
As "Rodger" snaked out of the door
It went past a room on tenth floor.
A woman therein
Said "Come right on in."
she kept screaming, "More, I want more!
WRITTEN BY ANDREA DIETRICH
After Sue chopped his tally-whacker
Poor Rodger became quite the slacker
He tried to bring his pecker forth
Never again to be pointing north
Now when he pees he sits on the crapper.
He stopped at the house, the red-light was on
Knocked on the door, the girls were all gone
Stuck with his sawed-off *****
Tonight He's going to be a loner
Damn, why did the girls all have to be gone?
BOTH POEMS WRITTEN BY JAMES ANDERSEN
A group of limericks quite clever
Began with one simple sever
Of engorged *****
which is, (between us),
I think, a spicy endeavor
WRITTEN BY H PENELOPE SWIFTLOCK
There was perfection in his pecker,
as a **** star he was a wrecker,
but to his wife he was unfair,
so she severed what was down there,
now his only job is director.
WRITTEN BY CASARAH NANCE
Poor Rodger thought he was being slick
when he carved out a handcrafted prick
he rubbed his new attire
his precious toy caught fire
Now he is left with an ashen stick
WRITTEN BY TEPPO GREN
An ashen stick means man minus prick.
Poor Rodger, now a eunuch, without a fix.
He decided to become a transgender.
Then off he went on a bender.
Woke up married to a man from Bertrix
WRITTEN BY JEAN MURRAY
Rodger's new love was a prudish fox
but for brains she had a head of rocks
he splinted up his willy
popsicle sticks look silly
he said it was new and still in the box!
WRITTEN BY SONNY ROPER (EVE'S HUBBY)
To be fair "At the Footbridge"
Now to be completely fair
And to stop every persons stare
Rodger was not actually circumcised
As he was a player, so don’t be surprised
This was from wear and tear and his willingness to share
WRITTEN BY MARK PAUL VAN DER MERWE
Now Rodger mostly stays home
for lack of a viable bone.
He reaches by habit
down for his rabbit:
he's got Phantom Willy Syndrome!
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Rodger was a good friend of Eye
Had a real hankering for cherry pie
Tasted every chance he got
And it would hit the spot
Until his crazy wife made him cry
WRITTEN ON 14TH JUNE BY EYE TRUTH TELLER
Roger pretends that he's a sexy stud
But when the ladies find out he's a dud
they all laugh in his face
anatomically a disgrace
His manhood is referred to as "The Bud"
WRITTEN ON 15TH JUNE BY LIN LANE
Rodger thought his op was a success
When he found he had more and not less
But the surgeon's blind stunt
Sewed it on back to front
Well, he certainly lacks some finesse!
WRITTEN ON 15TH JUNE BY RAY GRIDLEY
As he crossed the footbridge, Georgie saw a duck
Quite unique and raucous, it could quack AND cluck!
(And did so incessantly)
"Hey! Hey! It's all about me!"
It loudly proclaimed, with much aplomb and pluck
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
I also wrote another poem but this one did not turn into a collaboration -
if you read it you will see that it is quite different to my usual style
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
Out in the woods Trump took a nap
Under an oak dripping of sap
pants to his knees
what a big sleaze
Fresh beaver still caught in his trap
*I do not endorse this message and no actual
beavers were hurt in this poem
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016
Luna, to the depths
of my fondest delight,
You are regally dressed
this beautiful night.
Your beaming full face,
frosted splendidly bright,
Causes Venus to become
pale in your sight.
Your reflection shining down
from your lofty height
Dances on the swaying sea
in bejeweled light.
Known as the `beaver'
full moon eclipse tonight,
In awe still am l as your
shadow takes flight.
I rejoice in the return
of your graceful might.
© Connie Marcum Wong
**Why is the full moon known as the "beaver" full moon?
The U.S. Naval Observatory's Geoff Chester offers the reasoning behind the name:
"[The] name comes from Native American skylore reminding trappers to set their
final traps for the season before the beaver ponds freeze up for the winter,"
Chester writes. He also notes this moon is sometimes also referred to as the "Frosty Moon."
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015
What I’d give to wake in the morning and hear those church bells ring
To turn on my old black and white and hear Gene Autry sing
Turn back the time to simpler days with Roy and Dale too
Wait for the Late Show and watch the antics of Bud and Lou
All the girls thought Kookie Byrnes was really hip
Driving a convertible on Seventy Seven Sunset Strip
Kryptonite was the only thing that could make Superman falter
Ramar’s friend Charlie talked to a parrot named Walter
I watched Kitty and Chester on Gunsmoke and listened to Ricky sing
There was Circus Boy, My Friend Flicka and don’t forget Sky King
There was Jeff and Lassie, Davy Crockett and the Wild Frontier
I’d watch Robin Hood and Marian in the days of Queen Guinevere
Remember The Thin Man, The Whistler and The Shadow Knows
Alfred Hitchcock and Inner Sanctum were two of my favorite shows
I remember Milton Berle, Red Skelton, Perry Como would croon
What’s my Line, Beat the Clock and Name That Tune
The Life of Riley, Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best
Palladin, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne in the Old West
Boxing from Madison Square Garden on Friday Night
I saw it all on my old black and white.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009
My Shoe Collection
Nice if you have them
There is love
There is happiness
When the next path of your journey
You take with shoes on your feet
I am coming out of the closet
I am not a woman
But I do have too many shoes
Love and relationships
Why there are a lot like a pair of shoes
At times, things may stink and smell
Yet still better as a pair
If I could walk a mile
In everyman’s shoes
I could walk forever
Never having to buy my own
The Red Socks
Will never win
Without good running shoes
If only I had blue shoes
Id be dancing with you
After the autographs
Homeless people wish for shoes
Millionaires wish for closets
My feet are so big
Ladies buy me my shoes
The man with one leg
Looks for shoe sales
At half off
The Hookers Shoes
A good hooker
Never has used shoes
Academy a Wards
Winners and losers
All complain about their shoes
Petty and jealous, the famously inane
Their shoes show their vain
They come in many fashions
In shoes there is humanities design
We all walk the path of human strife
All Shoes matter
All meet at the pub
So their feet can have a rest
While the mouths imbibe with chatter
If all goes well
The shoes fall off in a clatter
Got the finest shoes from Miami
Found out they were fakes
Tongues were bent and crooked
Must have come from crocodile skinned tears
Mocking the homeless with no shoes over the years
The Great Canadian Shoe Trapper
The trapper goes for beaver pelts
The millionaire goes for shoes of felt
Armani makes it all the way
Only when the consumer comes out to play
The Shoeless Argentine
If you wish to invade the Falkland’s
Remember to bring your shoes
Cause your dictator has all your money
He cares not if you really lose
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
FOOTLES FOR THE BIRDS AND THE BEASTS -
Bad-*** old bear:
Dachshund making critical life choices:
Cougar from Arizona:
Slave Driving Beaver:
Aptly named female feathered friend:
Alaska poacher gets mauled by a:
After sex, bears often share a:
Wolf in Sheep’s clothing:
Proportionally, male Dachshunds have:
(But size isn't everything)
RANDOM AND RATHER REDICULOUS FOOTLES -
Overweight law enforcement official:
Spaced-out church officer:
Church officer forced to depend on Depends:
Unhappy restaurant client:
Cosa Nostra restaurant special:
Yep, you guessed it. A criminal Crustacean:
Why did she slap me? All I did was:
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2015
My culture has been taken away,
I am a result of the government;
my hair dark and long
sometimes I wear it in braids,
I am of an era brought up white.
My life happy and I have been loved,
though, I always knew that I was different
and have a wildness inside of me
that could never be tamed.
(I yearned for something unseen;
in dreams I ride a wild horse
and live in a forest- green.)
In time I was told:
that I was Ojibwe
so I went in search of my roots,
the reason for my vivid dreams.
I recall my first visit to an Ojibwe Culture Center,
where I felt, this is where I belong, with
I listened to the teachings of the elders
their stories, songs, and the beating drums,
I heard the lessons on morals, values and spirit.
The stepping stones one must follow,
The 7 Grandfather teachings;
the wolf, the raven, the buffalo, the bear,
the beaver, the turtle, and the eagle
and that everything in life is circular, and
the heart is the center;
and after all this I embraced the eagle.
(The eagle flies the highest and is
closest to the creator and sees all
from a great distance, the eagle
is the core to all teachings. The
eagle is love.)
One day, I climbed a high cliff
I stood tall in my doe skin dress,
and my black braids blew in the wind
in my mind drums beat a rhythmic pounding
and the elders sang.
Soon an eagle was hovering above in the azure
and down drifted an eagle feather
into my hands.
This is considered the highest honor
the most sacred gift,
I placed it in my hair- and now I have found
my place in the circle of life and who I am
meant to be.
February 10, 2017
Narrative/Everything In Life Is Circular
Copyright Protected, ID 874147
Native American Lore Contest
sponsor, Frank Herrera
Copyright © Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017
Just a tiny, crawling creature is she.
You would think her resources would be scant,
but what an example of industry.
I refer to the insect known as the ant.
With no overseer, ruler or guide,
she is quite diligent to do her work.
Perhaps it’s just how she’s wired inside.
Has a disposition to never shirk.
In hot summer time she provides her meat;
at harvest faithfully gathers her food.
Such a strong work ethic you cannot beat,
wonderful eager beaver attitude.
To avoid in life a lazy demise
Go to the ant, sluggard, and be thou wise!
submitted for Sonnet With A Twist, Nature's Lesson To Humanity Contest sponsored by Michael Vacek 2nd place
submitted for Best Sonnet Contest sponsored by John Hamilton
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
A colorless sunrise,
Nothing she has to
forget. Nothing to ready
There behind the swamp's
trees. Soon to fall -
she rises where
all will fall.
Her borrowed light
Copyright © Stephe Watson | Year Posted 2018
The tail of a beaver, bill of a duck
yet they pull it off with honor and pluck
made with spare parts
they capture our hearts
with DNA tests that read WTF
for Any Animal Or Creature Limerick Poetry Contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2018
She is an unsung, unaware, unbridled, unsuspecting scene, deep in the woods, lost in time.
Not ventured into by hunter, or explorer for nigh onto thirty years, full of undisturbed cobwebs,
Large, and beautiful, intricately built by joyful diligent spiders, who have orchestrated them as delicately
As a maestro, taking their sweet time, using inner knowledge to enthral and entrap their prey.
Birdsong lullabies rarely glide through this forest, but the hoot of an owl can be heard nightly.
Wolves, skunk, fox, and beaver, do not notice the owl any more, focused on scavenging and hunting.
Raccoon and opossum scurry in the underbrush, hesitating only when encountering anything strange.
The mirrored pond, where animals gather, but only with their own kind, is the focus of the night.
Opalescent reflections of moonbeam light her, a beautiful contrast to the shadow dreams of the trees.
Mother Nature’s tapestry at her best, she will instantly enchant anyone brave enough to venture near.
Her affinity with twilight spirit, and her joy of being undisturbed, and undeveloped, keeps her safe.
She gathers her sleeping menagerie to her breast, watching them sleep, unsung protective mother forest.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
No, sir Atticus
I am not leaving
I am not like a beaver, who runs and hides
In the sight of danger
Who am I, you may ask
A boy who is older, and so much bolder
I will stick by your side Atticus
Sitting in that court room
Everything came to me in a rush
He is crushed
Why Dad, can they do that
I’m so mad
Now I see how people treat people
Dog eat dog around here
I can’t bear it
Copyright © Liz Mynaugh | Year Posted 2006
Jamestown was the source of this
Movement that swept across the continent
At first the ships were left behind
And people used what they could find
A mule, an ox, a Percheron
Whatever they could sit upon
They loaded up and west they went
Some went north and some went south
They filled the land e're which they went
The Louisiana Purchase was the big event
That sealed America’s destiny
Soon the country was spilling westward
To be the first to make a print
Where no one else ever went
They hoped for happiness as their destiny
The Donners never did find any
There were others rushed by gold
With hopes of riches they would hold
But mostly what the immigrants found
Was this great nation which was bound
To fill her borders sea to sea
With citizens like you and me
We owe thanks to Conestoga and Civil War
Beaver hats and railroad cars
Pulled behind the great iron horse
Of muskets bore and **** skin caps
Horses and cattle and leather chaps
Cowboys, six guns and barbed wire fences
Rangers, Marshals and bar maid glimpses
Pony Express and long coach rides
Wagon loads of buffalo hides
And the Indians who gave their homes
Of mountains and prairies where bison roamed
To live among us brave and bold
Absorbed by the manifest destiny told
Of the American Osmosis
Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2010
How I long to walk again
By the beaver dam.
Remember in midsummer, Dad
We stopped to roam the land.
Along I followed through
I frowned at what I couldn't see
Your eyes so gently lifted mine
And said these words to me
"Daughter I have brought you here
To witness nature's love
To capture beauty in it's growth
And all that it may house,
Do not hasten or shut out
The untame while it lives
It'll survive within us
To pass on, to share, to give".
Then your eyes ceased control
To grasp what lay beyond
A slapping splash had announced
That we were not alone.
With this a joy surged
Within my soul and thus withheld
As peace and new awareness
Flowed no longer to be shelved.
I'll cherish of you and I, that day
It's winter now all is white
And you have gone away.
But in the spring I'll meet you there
Where the untame live
With you I'll share the struggle Dad
Of Peace and Joy to give.
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
Copyright © Brenda Rose | Year Posted 2015
four-fifths a line of haiku
With spring’s sudden warmth
serial avalanches thunder
one triggers the next
Winter’s snow melting
laughing, leaping, running to
valley far below
Green slopes banded red
dying lodgepole pine, memories
of last year’s Chinook
Golden larch quivers
as the first storm of winter
passes close tonight
As a boy, I came
to know this quiet valley
father's special place
Leaving highway to
where mountains reach to heaven
we drove the stone road
Fishing beaver ponds
dad came on bees, lost his specs
on return just bees
One night as we camp
a timberwolf comes to call
returns to dark night
On the upper lake
clouds mask the solar eclipse
but fish go crazy
One spring’s discovery
drawdown pools, teeming with trout
who won’t touch anything
A five pound rainbow
beached chasing Peter’s lure
red stripe - jealousy
Late autumn, Lake B
big browns cruise downwind beaches
only we know where
A ski resort appears
wonderland needs paved roads
we protest in vain
Twenty years later
returning with my children
to an unknown place
If you slow to look
irate traffic leans on horns
rushing to their lodge
My kids and I fish
a borrow pit now a“lake”
tourists' put and take
To a grizzly bear
roads are barriers wider
than flooding rivers
four-fifths a line of haiku
Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2014
Bad-*** old bear:
Cougar from Arizona:
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014
A little beaver
Possessed to harvest timber
The teeth razor-sharp
Does he think about his toil
His hut, design or instinct
Edward J Ebbs - March 8, 2015
Copyright © Edward Ebbs | Year Posted 2015
“Here the fierce with the thin pointed tail,
Who passes mountains and breaks arms and walls!
Here who with stench can the world assail!”
So my duke started to talk with his calls;
And hinted then it to get the bank close,
Nearby to end of marbles and of falls.
And then that filthy image which fraud sows
Came close, and just arrived with head and chest
But on the shore its tail it did not pose.
Its face was of the honest man at best,
So much benignant had its outer skin,
And of a snake was all its body next;
Two hairy gills it had to armpits twin;
Its spine and chest as well as ribs both too
With knots and wheels had like painted had been.
Vivid colors much overlapping do
Neither Tartars nor Turks drapes never made
No such canvas ever Arachne drew.
Likewise sometimes barges nearby shore stayed
In part in water and in part on ground,
And likewise there within the Germans strayed
The beaver prepares its war and to hound,
So the bad and evil fierce remained there
On stony rim of sandy soil around.
Its tail was flickering in void to scare,
Up twisting its fork poisonous indeed
Which armed tip like a scorpion unfair.
My duke told: “To modify now we need
Our pathway until we finally reach
That evil fierce which there lies, careful heed”.
For this we down got toward the right beach,
Ten steps we did then on the limit rim,
The flames and too the hot sand to breach.
And when at end we arrived close to him
A little farther I see just on sand
People sitting near the site with no vim.
Here the master “Now you have at hand
The truth about this circle in full just”,
He told , “go and their fate then understand.
Your reasoning way down there short be must,
Meanwhile you come back, I will speak with this,
So he will offer us his limbs robust”
So again up to the top of abyss
In that seventh circle now alone
I went, where sad people sitting exists.
Through their eyes the internal pain was shown;
Here, there defended themselves with hands
Now to steam, and now to hot soil of stone:
Not different are dogs in summer stands
Now with mug or with paw, when are bitten
Or by fleas or by flies or horseflies bands.
After I put on some my eyes smitten,
On whom the painful fire to fall saw,
No one I knew; but I saw as written
A pocket hanging from the neks to draw
With blazons and colors and well clear sign,
Of which they looked to be proud with no awe.
And as looking at them I joined their line,
In yellow bag I saw a sky-blue tint
Which of lion had face and clear design.
Then going to follow of sight the hint,
I saw another which was as blood red
With a goose that whiter exist didn’t.
And one who of a light blue sow well fed
Had his white bag clearly painted just so,
Told me: “How did you come in this ditch shed?
Now you can leave; and since you alive go,
Learn that my near Vitaliano still
Will seat then here at my left below.
These from Florence, I from Paduan mill;
So many times my ears are stunned nearby
From shouting: “Should come the sovereign will,
Who will carry his bag with three necks by!
Then he twisted his mouth and extracted
His tongue, as ox which nose to lick may try.
And since my stay could not be protracted
To shun master's regret asking be fast
I came back to souls badly impacted.
I found my duke who already had passed
Sitting onto the croup of the fierce beast,
And told me: “Now be strong and bold not last.
Now we have to descend such stairs so pieced;
Come up ahead, at middle I must be
So that for you the tail’s danger is least”
Similar to one whose disgust is close to see
The quartan fever, with nails just pale,
And looks back trembling at high degree,
So I became when heard the words assail;
But I was ashamed by his threats to me.
That a good lord makes right his servant fail.
I found my place on that back hard to see;
So I tried to tell, but no voice I had
As I thought and desired: “Let embrace thee”
But he, who times before to help was glad
Maybe for other, when I was there sat
With both his arms gripped and sustained me sad;
And told: “Geryon, you should move now at;
Be the circles wide, and the slope down short;
You must be careful with such weight as that”
Like a small ship leaves off its place in port
Backwards and backwards, so started then it;
And when he felt to be free to transport,
Where the chest was, he put his tail to fit,
And after stretching, it moved like an eel,
And with gills, inflated air to admit.
More fright I don’t believe would deal
When Phaeton unrestrained became then,
So that sky, as still seen, was burnt to seal;
Nor had Icarus with his sorry loins when
Losing feathers perceived for the wax hot,
His father screaming to him “Bad way amen!”,
The fright I had, when I saw where I got
Everywhere in air, and turned off I saw
Any scenery out of the fierce spot.
It goes away swimming slow, with no flaw;
Rotates, descends, but I am not aware
Except for the wind which comes from yaw.
I felt just on right hand the eddy mare
Doing an indeed scaring roar below,
So that with eyes my head to jut I dare.
Then I became more bashful to that flow,
Since I saw fires and heard tears of pain;
And trembling all I snuggled in me so.
Then saw, since view on I could not attain,
Descent and turning those great pains around
Which came close from various parts again.
Like falcon whose wings long flied up from ground,
Without sight lure or any bird at all
Pushes the fa lconer to tell “Stop hound!”,
Descends tired while it moved easy and tall,
With hundred rounds, and then volplanes quite far
From its trainer, with disdain and fierce gall;
So Geryon put us on rocks which are
At foot at foot of the profound barrow
And, after discharged the persons of our,
It sudden vanished like from bow the arrow.
Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2014
This is a story, short, but true
About a woman who had eyes that were black and blue.
About a man who can eat things ten times his size,
And a dog who was considered to be amazingly wise
They lived in a land of shades of four,
And lived in a cave which had no door
But that's not the point I want to make
Because the things I just said are truly fake
But the story is of a man who juggled his head
And when he got bored he'd play dead
He had one friend and his name was Tom
Tom made a bomb which killed his mom
He became very dull, empty, and grim
But moving along, for the story is not of him.
It's about a woman who had turn green
Sick from all the beauty she had seen
Wait! The story is not about her either,
This story pertains to a boy eating a beaver
O'boy, I just can’t get this right!
I think it’s about a girl who lost her arm in a fight.
Or of a guy who collected decapitated heads,
Or of a baby who sold bear traps as beds.
Once upon a time the sun lost its shine,
Once upon a time we all came from slime
I better make this story end right now,
Before I tell the story of the man who birthed a cow.
Copyright © Kristina Reid-Hansen | Year Posted 2011
The Canadian beaver
Is not who you think he is,
He's not as gentle, as people think
He'd stand at your feet and take a whiz.
You might think he's cute
And he's all that,
But trust me, he's a terror
He'd smack you with his tail on your back.
Try not to turn
A blind eye to him,
Keep yourself on guard
When the lights grow dim.
Sure, he might look
He walks with a sneer look
Don't put up with his guff.
Never turn your back to him
You'll regret it, if you do,
He'll club you over the head with a stick
Maybe even a baseball bat too.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
Sunrise, late winter
playful otter, too.
The white heron
a great blue,
in the abandoned beaver pond.
its long-awned achenes
in globose heads
spidery, fiery, extravagant fruit!
To identify or classify
the complexity or beauty
of their songs.
what is over that
ridge or hill
a sink-hole, a sand dune, a steep bluff.
What must I do. Organize
the heretofore unorganized. The rabble
of unemployed child abusers.
Molesters of their intimates.
Are there dysfunctional bird families?
Simply put, they do not survive.
We have hope
that everyone alive is essential,
consequential. We classify
The commonplace and everyday
What happens everyday?
Morning is quiet, everyone at work.
Home writing, watching birds.
Afternoon, kids come back from school.
Evening, watch tv.
Scotch and Star Trek.
Captain Picard's problems eclipse
ours who stayed behind.
Pray to Allah
and maybe he will spare you
when he sets the world
Where or with who
will I be on that day?
And how many people and adventures
will I find in the wind storm and rubble?
I may live, but will it matter
whether or not I help anyone else to live?
This is no Last Judgement.
Those who have learned or who still know how to live
Nobody will go to hell, they will just die.
There is no limbo either.
Anyone who didn't find a way to be immortal is just dead.
So, what am I trying to do.
Organize the unemployed, the welfare mothers
into a flying chevron of purposeful explorers?
The doctor's conscious, organized,
naive attempt to do good,
his legacy, versus the randomness
of the road and the war zone.
There his legacy is his rectitude and natural
rough compassion for the damaged people
he encounters. The difference
between planning a legacy
as if you knew enough to control events
and letting the legacy arise
from events themselves, controlling,
insofar as you are able, only
your own actions and reactions.
The doctor's leadership role such as it was
grew out of not his material possessions
like the car
but his mission, his personal quest
to find the young doctors he had naively trained
and sent into the war zone
where all died.
July-a cold city
not as great or as gritty
as I thought, summer theater left
the shoe shine bereft of customers
eyes cold as a bureaucrat's
except for our soles
and their leather. Sweat-soaked
girls, the beautiful ones left town.
Emotionless as a bus.
Sparrows, no chickadees.
All that's important happens indoors.
Exercise to philosophies.
You get what you see.
The panhandlers ask
just once, won't risk
No sale today
in the finite city
where, for the shoe shine,
pedestrians are infinite, times two shoes.
Faith = wait + trust.
But don't anticipate.
Popper prohibits prediction.
Niebuhr expects destruction.
I believe in God
doesn't mean there's a sketch
of a man in my head. It must mean
all will be well in the end.
Satisfied with snow
or summer. And now
with dying old or younger.
Gold or paper clips. Gulps or sips.
In the final resting place
in the city of the dead
are there all night card games
and sometimes open swims?
Each inch, square, or cube of Earth
brim with grasses and sedges, dragonflies and spiders, sparrows and eagles.
The tiger lily and the water lily and the lily of the valley, the calla lily.
When a girl on a bicycle smiles, that is a smile.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Land of the living skies
Where the Saskatchewan prairie lies
Skies painted with every hue
Pinks, purples and shades of blue
The sun slowly sinks in the west
The land settles down to rest
Our prairie full of havest gold
Truly a site to behold
Feel the wide open space
Feel the wind upon your face
Our heavens hold the northern lights
Dancing across the sky at night
The rich soft soil of the ground
Beautiful nature all around
Summer, winter, spring and fall
Season changes we get them all
The beaver knawing on his bark
The singing of the bluejays and meadow lark
Gophers popping their heads above the ground
Having a look at what lurks around
The loon calls it's lonely tune
The snowy owl hoots at the moon
Deer and moose stand and graze
In the evenings cool misty haze
The countryside what a site
The prairies, my home, my delight
This place truly a hidden treasure
A pace of life you cannot measure
Friendly people to lend a hand
Hard working people on the land
This is the place that we love
From the ground at our feet to the stars above
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2006
A round I'll write on a turtles shell
in hyperbole you'll be borne
on each carapace a story's traced
of when the world was first born.
How Sky Woman fell from blackest night
through a hole Great Spirit made
she glowed with light and greatly excited
the sea creatures were afraid.
They dove to the bottom of the sea
and waited to see her drift down;
a story's traced on each carapace
of how Sky Woman found ground.
The beaver, the loon and the muskrat
dove beneath the endless sea;
and greatly excited she glowed with light
as they brought the earth to be.
From the bottom of the sea muskrat's
brave form rose, earth in his claw;
on each carapace a story's traced
of the land the Great Turtle bore.
An island formed on the turtles back
a place for Sky Woman, land!
She glowed with light and greatly excited
as swans brought her down to stand.
Two children were born to Sky Women
one bad and one good, her sons;
a story's traced on each carapace
of her death by the bad one.
The Good Son took his mothers body
from her limbs stars and moon spun;
and greatly excited she glowed with light
as from her head, he made sun.
To this day the Good Spirit guides
the souls of good men at death;
on each carapace a story's traced
of good and bad, her behest.
An attempt at ZaniLa Rhyme don't copy it isn't correct ;). Phew hard!
See About the poem
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014