Best Beaver Poems | Poetry

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A Mature Beaver by Ellison, Jack
Eager Beaver by Asuncion, Bernard F.
Beaver 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
Sigourney's Beaver by Foster, Gail
The Beaver by Hofert, Edwin
Canadian Beaver by Jones, Cynthia
Little Beaver by Ebbs, Edward
Flat Tooth Beaver by Durant, Samuel
Beaver Dam by Osheim, Rhonda
Beaver Management by Smith-Johnsen, Dane Ann
Beaver Spends the Night With The Brady Bunch by Carmen, Eugene
BUSY BEAVER by Robinson, William

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The Best Beaver Poems

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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 erection 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 porn films as Rodger the lodger Inspired by but not for contest BY JAN ALLISON 7~18~16 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 boner 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 boner 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 penis which is, (between us), I think, a spicy endeavor WRITTEN BY H PENELOPE SWIFTLOCK There was perfection in his pecker, as a porn 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

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The Flame

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
and cauterized with utmost care
A cold coyote fled her lair,
left trapped behind... a torpid 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 and 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

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Trump and the Beaver - For Jan

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

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Luna's Eclipse

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

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My Old Black And White

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

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My Shoe Collection

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

Red Shoes

The Red Socks
Will never win
Without good running shoes

Blue Shoes

If only I had blue shoes
Of suede
Id be dancing with you
After the autographs


Homeless people wish for shoes
Millionaires wish for closets

Big Shoes

My feet are so big
Ladies buy me my shoes

Shoe Sale

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

Shoe Diversity

They come in many fashions
In shoes there is humanities design
We all walk the path of human strife
All Shoes matter

Celtic Shoes

Irish Shoes
Scottish shoes
Welsh shoes
All meet at the pub
So their feet can have a rest
While the mouths imbibe with chatter
If all goes well
Later on
The shoes fall off in a clatter

Miami Vice

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

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A Compilation of Fickle Foolish Footles


Bad-ass old bear:

Dachshund making critical life choices:

Cougar from Arizona:

Cowardly Cock-a-Doodle-Doer:

Slave Driving Beaver:
    Dam it
    Damn it!

Aptly named female feathered friend:
Alaska poacher gets mauled by a:

Overweight Terrier:

Scavenger Mores:

After sex, bears often share a:

Neutered Tomcat:

Wolf in Sheep’s clothing:

Proportionally, male Dachshunds have:
(But size isn't everything)


Overweight law enforcement official:

Overweight Janitor:

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:
    Toot her

Careless Urologist:

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015

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A Cocktail of Kaleidoscope

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

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Everything In Life Is Circular

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
my people.
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

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017

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Lesson From The Ant

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

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Jem To Kill a Mockingbird

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
And boom
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

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American Osmosis

American Osmosis 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 coon 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

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Kananaskis is

Kananaskis is 
four-fifths a line of  haiku
Kananaskis is

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

Kananaskis is 
four-fifths a line of  haiku
Kananaskis is


Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2014

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Footles for the Birds and the Beasts

Bad-ass old bear:

Cougar from Arizona:

Cowardly Cock-a-Doodle-Doer:

Un-cool Terrier:

Larcenous bird:

Slave-driving beaver:
Dam it
Damn it!

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014

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Little Beaver

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

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Legacy of Love

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.

The memory
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

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Canto XVII Hell translation

“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

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Once Upon a Time

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

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Canadian Beaver

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 Innocent enough, 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 May.31/2005

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

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What Have I Seen


Sunrise, late winter
skunk smell
turkey flock
playful otter, too.

The white heron
a great blue,
white phase,
in the abandoned beaver pond.

Purple clematis
its long-awned achenes
in globose heads
spidery, fiery, extravagant fruit!

To identify or classify
birds by
the complexity or beauty
of their songs.

And so
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
and specify.
The commonplace and everyday
is sanctified.

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
on fire.

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

will survive.
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
and alcoholics
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
friendship, justice.

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

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The Great Turtle and Sky Woman

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

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Saskatchewan My Home

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

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The Embrace

"The Embrace"
 In the apathy of a
corporate world 
Commercial here,
commercial there 
I live within air
Pretending I live at
To buy, to extort,
to be the product
I am who they say I

All persons, so
impersonal just
thriving outside of
Being the drones of
love and war 
Working behind
brick, driving
inside metal? 
I want to live a
manhood, able to
love freely
Without the confines
of civilized space
and time
I have this much
time to find a
compatible mate
I have this much
geographical space
to do it in  

On a nondescript
morning the drive I
drove, went passed a
She wept herself so
thoroughly on the
side of the road
Have run over a
beaver, she wept so
The regret, what
refreshing regret so
I paused, this was
what it took, a sin
to make me feel 
And a woman to make
feelings awaken me

I slowed down the
car in empathy,
rather to join her
in sorrow  
She looked at me,
the man, to the
beaver, and then
within herself
We all waited for
someone to twitch
The niche of
emotion, that begun
with her silence
Ended with the words
as I got out of the
"It's okay, it's
okay, there are
animals in heaven"
I closed my arms
around her shoulders

And said goodbye to
the corporate world

Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2014

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The Grand Canyon

From the Painted Desert, head west
Past sagebrush, brittle bush, desert scrub
And The Petrified Forest at rest
To the Rocky Mountains above
Go past the Continental Divide
Below Douglas firs and pinyon pines
Head down the sunset side
Where the Colorado River cuts and winds

Many generations ago
Native Americans were inhabiting squatters
There were herds of buffalo
Along with now extinct muskrats and river otters
Beaver, cut cottonwoods and willows
Leopard frogs slept on limestone pillows
Mule deer and bighorn sheep
Climbed up and down walls so steep

Follow me down the foot trail
Like indigenous butterflies with swallowtails
In to the Valley of the Sun
Where Hopi civilization begun
Tassel eared squirrels frolic about
Bald eagles fly over and scout
Stream orchids, honey mesquite and arrow weeds
For pocket mice and other rodent species

Gray fox, weasels, bobcats
Spotted skunks, ring tails, and bats
Call this canyon their home
Where bark scorpions and rattlesnakes roam
While gila monsters and red spotted toads
Search for midges, flies and black widows
It took this river millions of years
To make this home for all who are here

   an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner


Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

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All is is all yours

Watch me wail, wag, and whimper,
as I lag, lumber and limber, 
my adult algebraic ass umption of 
love lorn lustful, 
pussy prison promise
fake, Falk, filters
when married daughter
becomes married mother, and OMFG
Low behold and singlefold
did I not gender gather your life
long life presence of parental 
pontification that goes without
sooth saying and add up the numbers
so I can fill the male bill of plenty and request
a not/known knowing of a pre determined
prowess bliss saturnine, coital countered
cock tailed by a mean mom mesmerized miracle
of anointed via viscious ugly
uncountered societal socio so 
somnablance satial sickness. 
Leave me to the beaver, and the
outer limits of my twilight zone, so I can
rifleman my bonanza to a naked city
where it takes a thief to enable
Burkes Law to Mod Squad a Perry Mason, then Ironside 
a manner of justice, sometimes relying on
an alternative form from Super M to Spider M,
and Hulk, then hashtag from A to Z and all letters
in between. As a man and a father with only earthy talents
I gave all that I knew, could harness, muster, and deliver as best as I knew how. 
Criticize me my sons, for all what u will
as I tried my best to keep u in my still
u r the future of what is to remain
all that I have, is now yours to gain, 
Rememberance is constant and our lives relate
in us all as we move forword and procreate
in keeping us in toll. Lifelines are the key to
all that is mindful and longevity unlocks
the male mantle of forever. Live long and prosper 
my sons and in all things look, listen and remember. 


Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2015