Best Bigfoot Poems
For BigFoot I searched everywhere.
In all the Northwest, he’s not there!
Then I thought I might know
where a BigFoot might go . . .
so I went where the barbers cut hair!
To fit in and be like the rest
of us humans, he’d look his best.
so I went to each shop
where I thought he might stop
to have hair removed from his chest.
To Hollywood soon I was led.
I’d heard of a man with a head
like a wolf’s, full of hair,
making everyone stare.
What I found was Hugh Jackman instead!
Then a man I could not see too well
crossed my path at a fancy hotel.
When I got a good look,
that was all that it took!
It was furry but small, Steve Carell!
The last guy I saw in that land
of Hollywood stars acted grand.
That guy, very hairy
made Big Foot less scary.
He went by the name Russell Brand.
From Hasselhoff to Bradley Cooper,
some hairy guys are super duper!
I kept at my quest
when to the southwest
I moved, for I’m always a trooper.
I searched high and low, five years more,
but by then, I had grown very poor.
I had always liked shoes,
so thought I would choose
a job in a classy shoe store.
Like Carrie in “Sex in the City,”
I loved my work, and I looked pretty
with swank heels on my feet,
yet I felt incomplete
There was no Mr. Big! Such a pity!
But while working one day without care.
I looked up Can you guess who was there?
This odd creature so tall
made Shaquille look too small.
And he hardly could hide all his hair!
No fresh smelling flower was he,
but kindly I sensed him to be.
As I stooped down to put
my hand on that Big Foot,
I knew fate had led him to me!
Written by Andrea Dietrich
Living near the Lumni Indians
In our own Puget Sound
Is a family of humanoids.
Few folks know they’re around.
They come down from nearby mountains
To escape the winter snow
To where grass and game is available
In the valleys down below.
When the children should speak of them,
Their Indian elders tell them, “Hush!
They’re not safe around outsiders.
You all know what they did to us.”
They have relatives with different names
In exotic far off places.
The Sasquatch creatures are our own,
Though few have seen their faces.
Known as Bigfoot in our local myth,
(though many claim him real)
You’ll not find him in the circus
His wild mystery to reveal.
Supposedly he’s been here long
Before the white men came.
He made friends with Native Americans
Who consider him quite tame.
He walks as upright as any man
And is claimed extremely tall.
He’s covered in hair from head to toe,
Starting in the early fall.
They say that in the summer time
He’s as bare as you and me.
He walks boldly in the nudist camps
For everyone to see.
Joyce Johnson
I have no cause to lie,
my memory is clear.
The night was cool, the moon rising.
Fresh scents from a passing rain captures the air.
My campfire kept me warm from the damp forest,
its light reflecting dancing shadows.
I felt relaxed and calm, stress had fled,
from my world of constant work.
My coffee was now ready when I heard a branch snap,
off to my left'
The furious rustle of branches pierced my ears.
A strong musky stench filled the air, surrounding me.
My heart raced as I stared into the darkness,
trying to see what had came near my camp.
I was alone, fire my only defense, but from what?
A sound, a low bellowing sound,
cracked the foundations of my belief.
A beast nine feet tall appeared from the thick bush
and stood quietly still.
I had no where to run or hide.
The beast consumed the space in front of my eyes.
It walked towards me hands out, palms up.
I was confused,disoriented, frightened,
until I saw from the crackling flames,
porcupine quills.
The pain in its eyes burned into me, crying out for help.
I reached over and calmly pulled each one out,
lifting me eyes to its face each time.
It seems I heard a low rumble that sounded like relief.
This beast, this huge beast looked down on me.
The silence could have sliced through ice.
It suddenly turned and walked away.
leaving me trembling with a fire and shadows.
I slowly picked up my cup of coffee,
still looking into the bush, still frightened.
My legs stop quivering as I sat on a log,
next to my fire and smiled,
knowing no one would believe me.
4/16/15
Frederic Parker
By thirteen I was quite tall—
Five-foot seven—friends were small
Always tallest in my class
On school lines—was always last.
Friends were shorter, more petite
Always looked to size-up feet
Compare shoes, I do not fib
Was self-conscious—mine were big.
Their size five to seven, fine—
I was BigFoot! Mine was nine!
Teenage complex anguished me
BigFoot phobia, you see!
Later friends caught up with me
Height and feet grew handily
Soon size nine in grownup form
Looked upon as kind of norm.
Thinking back on “BigFoot” years
To fit in, drove me to tears!
Teenage stresses to compete—
Happy now with normal feet!
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~3rd Place~
Contest: BigFoot
Sponsor: Skat A
Judged: 05/07/2015
My baking skills I have to change
Vast quantity is needed now
Cos I invited Bigfoot to lunch
Do I serve deer or a tasty cow
He doesn't want meat and two veg
His menu would want meat and nuts
For a whole deer he will surely beg
Must have protein and carbohydrates
A nut roast to accompany his steer
Meat like a hog roast is cooking fine
Hmm nasty smell I think he is near
I hope he realises some of its mine
He squats his frame against a tree
Looks over to where I am
Geez I think he fancies eating me
Licking his lips causes me alarm.
But all is well he has spied
Lurking in a tree above
A grey squirrel looking boss-eyed
At big foot with a look of love
Down it comes and sit's quite near
Espying of the fruit and nuts
It doesn't eat cow or deer
I will high 5 this squirrel cos it has guts.
So all is well Bigfoot eats with glee
Most of the deer and nuts as well
Managed to leave a bit for me
Then up he leaves, left this story to tell.
Penned 17 April 2015 by Seren Roberts
Tibetan monks share colorful lore
Taking wide-eyed listeners from a valley floor
To peaks in the sentinel Himalayas
So how could such holy men’s tales betray us
A dark, furry creature’s outline has been seen
Startling climbers on mountains so serene
Leaving bipedal footprints on pristine snow
Stumping searchers who try to learn where they go
Yeti, the not-so-abominable snowman
Much maligned being of God’s creative plan
Never attacks, just appears and quickly flees
Allowing sighters to suspect what they please
Howling in the pain of loss from lofty peaks
Perhaps for a missing cousin Yeti seeks
One who traversed a lost land bridge from Asia
Then made his way south from the Arctic Tundra
To explore lush forests now U.S. Northwest
Where for centuries Bigfoot has done his best
To elude capture by settlers and hunters
And scoff at ever-hopeful photographers
Publicized encounters still boggle the brain
But only footprints, blurry photos remain
Of man’s intriguing, unevolved ancestors
Scientists think they’re human predecessors
Far smarter than we, they blend in with nature
Appearing now and then in the newspaper
But their imprints on Earth have been minimal
Never chopping trees or scarring a pinnacle
They’ve reason to hide from one who pollutes
One who doesn’t reason, but only shoots
Perhaps these “beasts” we should emulate
Learn from our ancestors before it’s too late
*Entry for Joyce's "The Rhyming Game" contest
I am the hidden, the forbidden, and the lost link
Unto the creature called man?
The basic primal instinct, the raw inner fear,
That quivers within the interior nerve left exposed,
Do I exist, define existence if you so dare?
Habitations inherit divergence, I’m diversity’s
Maligned beast, living on the edge of extinction,
Wishing nothing more than to be left alone.
A child of the wilderness, I so cling to the hardened
Cliff’s roughest point of origin, survivals primitive,
Dangling in the winds of the lost, barely hanging
By mine own finger tips, begging for life,
Yet unable to speak on my own behalf.
Curiosities unseen visitor by night,
I’ll pull back the current of reality if pushed,
I’m the wounded animal screaming within
Humanities darkest nightmares,
Do I exist, reach out beyond your
Limitations comfort zone, and find out?
A creature dwelling within the shadow realm
Of reality, wood knockings echo, that rocks
The mountain tops by the illusions of the
Night moon.
Do I exist, does not a jackal feast beneath
The African eclipse, am I not made of flesh
And bone, come into my wild kingdom researcher,
Here your find the answers you so seek,
But if alive thy leave no promises do I so keep?
Once in fears caverns did our species hide,
Traveling only under the darkness of night.
Driven by the white demons whom didn’t
Understand that which was considered
Different, we became the hunted,
The outcasts, as they livid amongst
The rays of the sunlit world of light.
I am the hidden, the forbidden, and the lost link
Unto the creature called man?
The basic primal instinct, the raw inner fear,
That quivers within the interior nerve left exposed,
Do I exist, define existence if you so dare?
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
HOLY COW! It's Bigfoot, there in the brush
Lower your voices- he's skiddish
Now, hush
I know his habits, I'm privy as hell
An expert and scholar, I've studied him well
While in line at the grocery
For years I've immersed
In various tabloids becoming well versed
I even speak sasquatch
Oh, you don’t believe?!
It's a cross between Latin and baboonanese
His dads a zookeeper, his mothers a chimp
Her name is Chin Chin- his name is Chip
He's a renaissance man
Well at least is half way
The other halves savage in need of a shave
Just stash those cameras he hates paparazzi
And Jack Links commercials
And rappers with posses
He loathes boy bands and people named Josh
And meat from a can
And Spicegirls called Posh
He's against any wars
but supports the troops
And completely abhors
When his fur cakes with poop
detests media bias
mainly FOX NEWS
But believes Bill O'reilly
has interesting views
He enjoys fine wine and deep conversation
Flinging his poo and masturbation
Those would be two of his favorite hobbies
The world calls him Big Foot
His pops calls him Robbie
Believers say giant footprints found,
Creatures living in the forests deep.
Walking upright like early man..
Living unseen, their secrets to keep.
Once on an evening’s quiet stroll
Through the deep woods near my home,
A shadow kept pace with my footsteps..
And I knew I was no longer alone.
On legs that would hardly support me,
In the shifting shadows I fancied I saw,
A face not so different from mine..
Albeit a more prominent jaw.
Its eyes met mine with something like wonder,
Then it was gone, just vanished into thin air.
Was it a vision, reality or only a dream..
If you believe, I’ll bet his prints are still there.
Well! How ya doin' ? Come on in,
the door ain't got no lock,
and let me help you sit right down
before you die of shock.
Yes, home for me is this Big Leaf Maple,
bijou but it's alright,
not increased in value but
it's sure increased in height.
Carved myself a second floor and
when the sap had hardened
hung wallpaper in vintage flock
I got from 'Home and Garden'.
Mossy carpet- not ideal,
it's just the roof keeps leaking
and no point in having windows, with
the way this place keeps creaking.
I see you like my shoe collection;
Valentino, Choo, Louboutin,
'fraid I haven't bought them, they're
from cabins I've been looting.
Impractical for this terrain, the heels snap
at the back,
so outdoors I wear furry UGGS, they leave
much better tracks.
My make-up table's basic, yeah,
I'm really no trailblazer
got just a tub of Bison dung, a flea comb
and a razor.
Diet? I'm an Omnivore, I hope that you approve,
berries, shoots and Hazelnuts, and
anything that moves.
Card table leaning on the wall, I use
for Solitaire
which probably explains why you're sat on the only chair.
Don't socialize much, not at all,
it's due to all the hype
and guys with crossbows, guns and cameras
really aren't my type.
I've scanned lonely hearts classifieds
there's not one that I've missed
but if you read their profiles,well-
I'm not sure they exist.
Don't get me wrong, I've got some pals,
Ol' Nessie keeps in touch
but crossing the Atlantic's tough
she doesn't do it much.
Yeti is still thriving in the mountains of Tibet,
I saw him once on cable- no, I haven't met him yet.
We three through all controversy
and media storms we've weathered
content to dwell in hearts and minds
in legend, and forever.
So thanks for calling, loved our chat
and so I'll say goodnight,
and should somebody ask you, hey:
you haven't seen me. Right?
I tapped into my messages; the gas
company wanted a piece of me, and
my ex wanted to know when the
month’s alimony would be arriving.
But it was the last message which
caught my attention the most; Big Foot,
the wrestler, wanted to meet me for
lunch the following day, at The Big Burger,
on east 14th street at noon.
Who was I to turn him down? A 50 caliber
showman with a WWA win list as long as
your arm, and a five million dollar contract,
with a major west coast TV station.
I cleared my appointments for late morning
and early afternoon, the following day, and
laid out my jeans and WWA T-shirt and a couple
of indigestion tabs, with BF’s appetite in mind.
It was about 11.45am, when I drove up to the
Big Burger’s orange and purple frontage and
past the helium-filled, giant airborne, polythene
burger, floating forty feet up in the clear blue,
summer sky.
The place was quiet, a few truckers and an old
couple, talking and munching their burgers and
fries, off their plastic, melamine plates.
The air conditioning was welcome; the sweat
slowly froze, then disappeared from the middle
of my chest: but it was a news report which
caught my attention, on the overhead TV.
“Bigfoot announces retirement and unveils plan
to open shelter for bigfoot families and abused
bigfoot wives in Alaskan wilderness.”
Then the main door swung open and he walked in with
the biggest grin I had ever seen, and approached my table,
all seven feet of him, took my hand and shook it.
”Well kid, it’s all go from here,” he said, thumbing at the TV.
“I’m giving you across the board publishing and screen writing rights.
I‘ve never forgotten how you helped me, get where I am today,
partner.”
I closed my eyes and mumbled inside, “Thank you God.” And we ate
our burgers, he ate five, and spent the next two hours making plans for,
“The Return of Bigfoot to the Wild”
BigFoot needed a date
He needed a damsel at least six feet tall
He thought it would be great
If she accompanied him to the Ball
So he looked online for a match
For a gal who would suit Sasquatch
Though he looked all around
No matches were found
But he searched through the night
Until dawn broke its light
Then finally he found a dream girl
Who would go with him to the Ball
She dressed in a gown with necklace of pearls
And indeed she was quite tall
BigFoot, dressed in his 3 piece suit
Danced with the girl of his dreams
Everyone wondered how such a brute
Could get a girl so cute
But as the full moon arose
She grew fur on her nose
And fangs from her mouth did protrude
As she howled at the moon that she viewed
But BigFoot didn't mind in the least
That Beauty had turned to a beast!
----
Joseph May
Hey, I've got me a plan to survive World War Three
And it doesn't involve living deep in the sea
With a mermaid named Maddy from that '80s movie
Or a grey-skinned E.T. hoping to crossbreed with me.
There's a bunch of big blokes known as Bigfoot to some
And they live in the woods where most humans won't come
Though they've entered our culture as the years have gone by
They are still seen as legends and old myths, that's no lie.
See, in spite of their fur and their size they're quite smart
For their fondest desire is to live well apart
From us primates who ravage the Earth without pause
Like the virus that spreads through its host - just because.
Called by Yeti and Sasquatch and still other things
They refer to themselves as "Jemah" and are beings
Who, unlike the poor bipeds that include me and you,
Can converse without speech, like our pets often do.
Though the tallest are known to have grown to nine feet
And they stink like old garbage, not to mention dead meat
I shall fashion my life on this heavenly lathe;
I'll make Sweet Thing my wife, and I won't have to bathe.
Today I wandered through a grove.
An ancient and dilapidated place,
decaying as groves are wont.
A wind-snapped branch here,
a worm-eaten stump there.
Until the whispering wind
softly muttered in my ear,
“This is not your first time here.”
But all is different now,
Younger somehow.
I hearken to my fearless years;
my previous encounter here.
When the stump was an oak.
A wretched, writhing tree
suffocating in a blanket of ivy,
whose scoliosis trunk bowed to greet me.
With a heave of my pack
I trudged on by.
Adventure was afoot.
Just a yard shy of never remembering this place
A twitchy leaf began an unnatural dance.
And there, entranced, beyond the pirouette, an eye.
Eight, or ten…no, twelve feet high!
And a deeper green than nature intended.
Focused with an intensity
mustered only by insanity.
Being young, and naïve,
I blinked.
That curious eye, the oak, the grove,
vanished into the whispering wind.
Now, decaying as groves and boys are wont,
I sit my scoliosis frame upon a worm-eaten stump.
Far too frail today, to heave a pack,
or pirouette for that matter.
Through foggy lenses, clouded by time,
and focused with an intensity
mustered only by insanity,
I watch.
Preston Graham
04/16/15
Finding Bigfoot
(The Northwest has the Big Foot)
By Franklin Price
4/24/2015
The Northwest has the Big Foot
The Yeti's in Nepal
In Florida's the skunk ape
There's a monster for us all
Australia has the Yowie
There's a monster in Loch Ness
I've heard that some who've seen them
In their pants have made a mess
We have a need for monsters
Without them life's a bore
Continents except Antarctica
Have one and maybe more
Writers are enthralled by them
The camera seeks them out
Not to get a picture
Makes a picture taker pout
If you have an interest
Travel out to where they are
If you prove that one exists
You will be a movie star