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Best Chipmunk Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Chipmunk poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of chipmunk poems written by PoetrySoup members

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The Best Chipmunk Poems

Details | Chipmunk Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Squirrel

Listen to poem:
~My Nutty Squirrel Poem~

Up in a tree, on a branch
Now you see me, now you don't!

Sneaky and fast, I'm adorable
Now, why would you hunt or shot me for fun?
Do you like, how fast I run?
I'm not just another chipmunk 
Stuffing my face with nuts,
I'm classy and beautiful, 
The  best  part  of   nature.....

Red pointed ears, I hear you drawing near.
Chuckle, chuckle, caffeine free
I saw you looking at my fine coat.
Fluffy and curious, touch me and I'm Calling PETA!
See YA---  Life Is Beautiful!!!
I'm stuffing these nuts back into my mouth 
and Jumping onto another tree :) The End
Love The Squirrel from another World.  

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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Winter Cat - Summer Cat

She curled her tail around her toes,
Covering whiskers, chin and nose.
An ear twitch here, another there;
She claimed as hers the easy chair.

Tormentor of both mole and mouse,
She spent the summer out of house.
Plundered, pillaged, night and day,
No mercy for dim witted prey.

Summer passed and then the fall,
As bitter cold left wintery pall.
The feline wanted none of that;
Once more she posed as family cat. 

She lay about each day and night: 
Purred when stroked and feigned delight.
Her bowl, her chair and toilet place, 
Were all she claimed as sovereign space.

The season wore on long and cold.
Outside most life seemed put on hold.
The feline lay there still as dead,
Entombed within her winter bed.

Come now the spring with days of fair;
The old cat stretched within her chair.
A well placed nose near open sill;
She felt the much diminished chill.

Then rushed to door that still was closed.
Cries from her pleading throat arose.
Weaving through her mistress legs;
"Let me out," brash feline begged.

As chipmunk fed in hemlock crotch,
Unfettered cat dashed off the porch.
With one quick scramble up the tree;
A winter cat she ceased to be.

Do we not marvel at her grace,
Ere all those months confined in place?
The cat resumes with guileless ease,
Her summer reign of fields and trees.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

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Battle of the Seasons

From the north he came nimbly in the night
	Softly silently bombing blanketing buds

Saturating each single stem
	Snowy sneak attack barraging bombarding bark

Wracking white war-like wonder
	With relentless wrath and rage

Cardinal calling watching in wonder
	Bright crimson claret buried between alabaster boughs

Chipmunk and squirrel shell-shocked
	By snowy shrapnel scamper to shelter

Relentless yet irrelevant retreating rush
	Futile effort from frosty frothy forces

Spring stands inescapable
	Flowers and flakes conflicted

Spring snowflake and spirea stand strong
	Bravely bearing banners high

As if to say, try as you may
	Your day has passed ‘tis spring at last

Ol’ man winter wanes wails and warns 
	I shall seize the season someday soon …

Inspired by the 5”- 6” snowfall we have on March 26, 2011
after we had 80 degree weather last week.

Copyright © jeff eklund | Year Posted 2011

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Open Handed Thief

The birdfeeder hung on a narrow limb,
away from deck rails, discouraging squirrels.

No problem for the little robber 
who raided the feeder day by day.
Repeatedly, he climbed onto a tender branch, 
inching forward until it bent, riding it down. 

Each trip, he leaned off and dropped freestyle, 
disappearing inside with only a furry tail visible.
He emerged with both cheeks bulging , 
and sunflower seeds scattering  below.
On a continuous march of palm-less thievery,
the brassy chipmunk mouthed his loot home, 
adding to his cache.    

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

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Backyard Party

Blue Jays and Black birds and half a dozen squirrels.
Sprinkled with Sparrow's, it's become quite a world.
Occasional Cardinal to add a little spice.
They seem to all be getting along fairly nice.

The neighbor, he feeds them plenty of food.
It seems it is working, they've become quite a brood.
As long as the house is buttoned up tight.
They're not a problem, I sleep fine at night.

Out in the front, a chipmunk does play.
Scurrying around and having it's way.
A Robin or two might ruffle their feathers.
I wouldn't change a thing if I had my druthers.

It feels like I'm blessed to have such a mess.
Nothing to do but enjoy it, I guess.
God certainly does have mysterious ways.
How he shows us his love in these warm summer days.

Copyright © robert johnson | Year Posted 2012

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Daft From Bath

You look stupid in videos on phones at the start,
you don't look like "Badmans" calling women a tart,
when I see those skits I think what a retard,
and don't you know we all skip over that part.

I don't rap with accents like tings and blud innit,
recycling scrap lyrics while some chipmunk sings it,
we're from the same place but our accents don't match,
when you talk fake like that there's psychology attached.

You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
you aint from the hood and you aint got wrath,
it makes me laugh when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath.

You strut around in clothes like it's product placement,
amusing when your music sits unused in your basement,
you put more into having sick clothes and fat cars,
while your rhymes sit thin anorexic and starved,
you idolise the stories of legends and icons,
and then write your boring life into your songs,
'cus 2Pac did Brenda and Slim did Stan,
questions of their life came from the demand,
no one cares until they ask who you are,
so don't start off writing that bore into bars,
you all write the same just rewording the verse,
it gets you all no where, as far as it deserves,
you're just another MC living life unlawful,
talking about it in rhymes that are awful,
it's not a story that anyone called for,
we don't care, you're no one, shut up and act normal!

You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
you aint from the ghetto and you aint got wrath,
it makes me laugh when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath.

You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
you aint from the hood and you aint got wrath,
it makes me laugh when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath.

Hear the song, copy and paste link below

Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018

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Chipmunks Picnic

As I was sitting on a bench and I was looking at this tree 
Down ran a chipmunk, who came to say hello to me
I reached inside my tote bag to see what I could find 
To give to Mr. Chipmunk while he sat on his behind
I found a bag of peanuts that would suit him very well 
I watched him crack them open as he threw away the shell
Down ran another chipmunk to join in for the feast 
But she was very cautious, I guess she thought I was a beast
I said hello to Mrs. Chipmunk as she puckered up her cheeks 
But she ate so many peanuts that she really couldn't speak
Down ran baby chipmunk as curious as can be 
To join in for the picnic; oh my god, now there are three
After they had eaten they had left some peanut trails 
Then they chirped to tell me thank you and they wagged their little tails
I'll see you all tomorrow, I want you all, to please come back
I'll bring some peanut butter if you'd like another snack 


Your favorite animal in the wild-contest 
Sponsored by Line Gauthier

Copyright © charles messina | Year Posted 2018

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Walk with Me

Walk with me
   along the pale  green shadows that fall
   on the thin and winding pathways of the wood
   where all is quiet and full of growth
   wet with the drops of midnight rain.
Breathe in softly,
    the heavy laden air
    thick and burdened by the drops.
Keep watch at every step
    as large and small puddles form 
    that lay stationary for a moment
    then flow downhill to the ponds
    where the river runs cascading on the stoners.
Stop a moment
    hold your place
    take in the view.
Listen to the sounds
    birdsong as it fades in and out the trees
    wind rustling  branch and leaves
    where deer step and pause at their surroundings
    and squirrel and chipmunk chatter in chase.
Catch the sun
    slipping thru the canopy
    with light rays resting in the shade.
Smell the scent wafting in the wood
    where pine and honeysuckle burst on the air
    and every rain drop blushes in innocent clarity
    wafting across the damp wet fallen leaves
    left from autumn's winter.
Walk with me
    escape the hurried pace of the outer world
    and submit to the marvels of nature's blessings.

Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2018

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Nature's play

Summer wind blows, the trees are swaying
I sit on the porch where I feel like staying

To watch nature celebrate this beautiful day
Filled with sunshine that has come our way

The rain has passed, as things start to dry
The bees are hovering, as I watch robins fly

The chipmunk are chirping, running around
All in these peaceful moments I have found

To sit and relax this sweet summer afternoon
Moments like these can never arrive too soon

Heidi Sands


Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2017

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The Nest

Have you heard
	about the bird
Who built a nest
	with zeal and zest?

With zeal and zest
	with string and straw
It was the best nest
	you ever saw.

She took her time
	and smoothed out the creases
Then out jumped a chipmunk
	who tore it to pieces.


Copyright © Jessica Amanda Salmonson | Year Posted 2018

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A Chipmunk

A Chipmunk

Alvin the chipmunk
Dressed like a rock punk
Got not
Tie dot
Sure smelled like a skunk

Written: Dec.6,2015

Copyright © Theresa CW | Year Posted 2015

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Hodge - Podge Again - Repost

Over the pine trees the ball I threw
Neighbor’s bay window the ball went through

My neighbor asked me if I would?                                                                              
Come over to his house, split a cord of wood

In the woodpile see the chipmunk pray
I do not want to be the Bald Eagle’s prey

From the woodpile a gagging scent
A payment my neighbor’s skunk had sent

Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2012

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 HOME. By Ted Bundy

There is a place not far from here where purple maggots are the size of deer, pink frogs are there wearing bowties  and hats, now put your hands together for the rolling skating rats. Green fluorescent tawny owls are snorkelling in the pool,while a wallaby in swimming trunks tries to play it cool. Its also the island where neon zebras are found,they plug into a capsule buried underground, the lions fish for skunks and illuminous crayfish dress up as monks.  Theres a barrel of laughing monkeys and some gigantic leathery snails, cockroaches modelling footie boots,even anorexic whales. 
Spiders in tracksuits riding pushbikes with ease, with a cross-dressing chipmunk flying high on trapeze. Bristly skinned donkeys snowboard on thin ice, and a 5 headed emu shoots craps and rolls dice. Glance over yonder at the transparent camels, their glass humps are crawling with mice, stare at the turtles dressed to the nines, and here comes a beard complete with head lice. Theres some inbred iguanas,and some lukewarm limey lugworms,  snorting clear cider through straws, gorillas dress as men and theres a psychotic hen, taping rusty razors to her claws. Over at the gym, theres  miss matched mastiffs, squashing each other underfoot, and an armadillo in a pin striped suit is trying to pick up a shot-putt. Hidden amongst the undergrowth you might be lucky enough to see, our south american weasel sloth sucking leather splinters from a tree, and theres no need to stare in awe if you see a tartan wild boar,trying to saw his assistant in half, his illusion tricks are a mystifying mix,  guillotine, two nuns and  a bloody  laugh. Up here on the right is our new Bull arena, the atmospheres heavy, ive never heard it meaner, in runs the first one already *****scared,beaten and blind, running in circles and ****ed out of his mind, the poisoned steely spikes creating pus filled blistered sores, the crowd ****ing love it killing Spanish matadors. A family of minks are enjoying the show, sipping their juice and gin, i especially admire their matching attire, its top of the range human skin. This is a change from the norm, a better way of life, a lot more colour,  and a lot less bleeding strife. Its a paradise for sure, and packed with fun and glee, where a hip hop alley cat, a sabre toothed fruit bat, and a clarinet playing koala, will serve you cake and tea. Yes, this is the place where pink Buffalo roam, Heaven on Earth for them, they call it Home.

Copyright © Ted Bundy | Year Posted 2012

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The End of Faith

Two thoughts come to mind this morning.
The deficiencies in our systems of governance–local, global–
and the first two pages of The End of Faith
in which he mistakes acts of war for religious acts
but recognizes understanding the workings of the world
is not the same as knowing the unknowable.

Every new twinge provokes fear
but what is there to fear? That one won’t live forever?
The year of a man is the day of an inchworm
and 267 years on a reverse-rotating Venus.
A billion of anything is a lot
unless it’s the distance one must traverse to look at God.

How much silence, or tinnitus, can you handle?
A chipmunk cannot for long stand still.
Once the twinge passes I’m off to the next task:
building a constituency for this compassion, that solution.
The dialogue starts with a question. To know the question
is almost certainly to find an answer.

Conflating questions is the commonest of logic errors.
No negotiation unless the violence ends.
Why not talk while we fight?
We can always kill, torture or assassinate between conversations.
Justice, or retribution if you want,
can remain on the table even after we achieve understanding.

Nature is my religion, I know no other,
and community is my church. The sacrament
is policy debate. I attend church everyday. 
Our jobs are hymns (the classifieds a hymnal)
and payment for services rendered is sung praise and gratitude.
Walking and talking is prayer.

Strategies to limit or subvert discussion are the only evil.
Violence is one
but not by far the only one.
What’s the hurry to build a highway or free a people?
The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
and time is the mercy of eternity.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

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Yesterdays Joys

At the end of my tunnel I use to see the light. It was built not with rock but with thick vines green and bright. I could see my path it was there I always walked, sometimes I would sit and think, listen as plants talked. Sweet peas, marigolds and pansies were at my side, I lived my life with friends in who I would confide. The air was scented in sachets rare, coloured in muted tones stripped down bare. Growing above me were angel lamps, also gorgeous dahlias, on the ramps. I remember in the large blue pond, a rare pair of two toned swans, while below the weeping willow, an almost sleeping chipmunk yawns. Convergent ladybugs clustering for warmth on the ground, drifting leaves acted like an ocean wave just to confound. Back then switched on lights would decorate the night sky with stars but now alarms sound as they shut me down behind these bars.
22~10~2014 Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst Contest Name:Pick a Title Yesterdays Joys

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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The Raisin in the Box of Chocolates

"I agree," Bayard murmured while looking at the few people walking I across the street. Summer was over and the boy was beginning to get frustrated at the sight of girls wrapped in blankets of clothes. 

"Bayard do you even know what I just said?" Lyel interrupted his brother's observations. "Could you at least pretend to care once in a while?"

"I heard what you said man, relax." He took the cup off of the table without bothering to turn his head. He sipped his coffee in the most nonchalant manner. 

"I hope that caramel frapuchino is to your liking. It cost some people money you know."

"It's decent."

Lyel turned his attention back to the small pile of papers sitting on the table, "Mhm how to end this chapter. Maybe I should end it with the girl confessing." 

"Stop with your story for a while or two and take a look at the outside world. By the way don't forget to give that girl a body that makes the guys stare." 

"No. See you weren't paying attention when I was telling you about my story. Women don't need bodies for a man to love them. Why do I even share my ideas with you?" Lyel placed the papers back inside a blue folder.

"Because you have no one else. Finish your coffee after all you paid for it. The coffee here is good after all."

"You almost did not want to come in here in the first place."

"That's because this place looks like crap from the outside." 

"Anyways how was trick or treating with your friends yesterday?"

"Finally a topic that doesn't involve your lame romances. It was one of the best ones so far. We went to this neighborhood on the west side of the city. Bro you should have been there. Haha a whole neighborhood full of girls with sexy Halloween costumes. I couldn't decide wether the chick with the devil costume was better than the one with the cat costume. Man awesome night." Bayard placed his hands behind his head and laid back on the chair.

"What about the haunted houses? The candy?" 

"There was this one house where there was a graveyard and zombies. This girl was too scared to go in it. So I told her I'll hold her. We all got good candy in that house."

"I hope you saved some candy for me too."

"I did. Some candy corn. I'm pretty sure you like it."

The waiter went to the brothers' table inquiring if they needed anything else. Lyel politely declined and thanked the waiter for his kindness. Breakfast was almost over and the scent of coffee was beginning to fade. There was only a few people in the shop. An old man lost in the swirling of his coffee and a young man sitting in the corner reading.

"So as I was saying. When I got home I ate some twix and kit kats, but then I found this box of chococate chips. Strange because this was the first time I received this box before." 

"It must be only in that neighborhood."

"I opened it and at the top was a raisin. One raisin in a box of chocolate chips."

The sound of the bell on the front door rung more frequently as the hands on the clock tired in their endless cycle. Lyel's coffee no longer had steam. It was getting cold.

"What did you do with the raisin?"

"I threw it away and ate the chocolates. What else would I do with it? I was there for the chocolates."

"Eat the raisin. Why would you throw away a perfectly good raisin away?"

"No one choses the raisin over the chocolates man. Why would you? What if the raisin was poisoned?

"The raisin is ten times less likely to be poisoned than the chocolates since there are more brutes than intelligent people." 

"Hey stop being a smart ***. Let's put this in real world terms alright. Let's say the chocolate chips are the hot girls in the devil and cat Halloween costumes. The raisin is some ugly chick in a chipmunk costume or something. Who would you chose?"

"The girl in the chipmunk costume. Looks have nothing to do with my decision."

"Bro are you serious? Even if you were insane that is a no-brainer."

"And that is exactly what is wrong with society. No brains. I'll pick the raisin over the chocolates any day and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Even if I was I'm not afraid to walk alone in my opinion."

"So what you are saying is that instead of a box of chocolates we should give a box of raisins on Valentine's day?"

"Maybe we should since people have forgotten what really matters."

The shop had more people now and people were beginning to stare at the two brothers arguing. Bayard noticed this and took the last sip of his coffee. He brushed his dark hair back and stood up. "Whatever I finished my coffee. Let's go."

Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2015

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My coat streaked in shades of brown
My home borrowed in the ground 

Cheeks full with summers plunder
Winter is coming will there be enough I wonder

Nuts and seed are enough to please 
For these I gather with expertise

Shucking and shelling to reveal my foils
Carefully tucking them away so not a one spoils

They say I'm a mammal small in size
I say please don't chastise

For that little debility
I  make for with speed and agility

For I am Chipmunk
Not some little punk

Copyright © Robert Shreve | Year Posted 2011

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Two Rabbits, a Wolf, and the Wind

An ominous storm one winter day,
No more animals out to play,
The once green grass left to decay
As crystal daggers litter the already silken white ground.

But despite all of this,
Two reckless rabbits
Lost their wits
And were surrounded by the storm.

A nearly starved pack of wolves spotted the pair
Desperate for dinner, to the rabbits’ despair
The duo ran ‘till they could no more
Praying they wouldn’t be dinner for sure


From the corner of their eyes they saw
A stature a bit too tall
For any comfort at all.
For a while the rabbits were running, running,
Unaware of the upcoming cunning, stunning,
leering, jeering, not friendly-appearing 
whom one may assume 
Didn’t want to make friends he couldn’t consume.

Yet to their surprise, the predator said,
“Don’t worry, because yes, a hand I will lend
For one little favor, the least I can ask
Is if you’d so kindly make me a mask
So I can grab a juicy chipmunk
Because with my apparal, I’ve had no luck
I can distract the pack
I’ll watch your back
As long as it may take. 
A worthwhile deal, may I say
Besides, what’s a little chipmunk to you anyway?”

The first rabbit said, “Of course, that’d be great!”
Not knowing the deal would alter his fate
For while the rabbit was looking for twigs
The fox was deciding how to break his limbs.

But the second rabbit, wiser than his friend
Knew the fox’s ways and how it could end
So he said, “No thanks, I think I’ll pass.”
And went away, praying his buddy would last.

As the second bunny went away from the fox
Still running away from the wolves, at a loss
Of what he would do next.

And as he rushed, the wind blew his hair
And at first embraced its warming air
But then it whispered in his ear
“You have been strong so far, my dear
But now you must continue to trust my voice
For going astray is a punished choice
And though it may seem useless at first
You must lead them to water to quench their thirst.”

The rabbit pondered at the scheme
Because how could they drink from a frozen stream?

The wind replied, “Yes, their hearts are hard
But hearing my word plays a wild card
For some, it can crack open the ice
But others will refuse and keep rolling the dice
Wasting their lives
Losing their minds.”

The young rabbit only somewhat understood
But with the wind’s might, he did all he could
He lead the wolves to a pond
And to his relief, the burden’s bond
With him was gone
The grass he could see
He finally could breathe
The spring set him free.

Meanwhile his friend, returning with bark
Planning to make the mask before dark
But when he arrived, the wolves all attacked
And the fox barred his teeth and made his neck snap
As his fangs seeped deeper, he heard the wind speak,
“You listened to him, he made you weak
But I can make you strong once again
So long as you simply admit your sin.”
But even with all the mercy given
The stubborn rabbit refused to give in
So he let the sneaky fox consume him
And as his eyes began to dim
He still didn’t accept the price for protection was already payed.

Copyright © Brie Lovely | Year Posted 2015

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Wesak: Vision Quest

(linked Sijo)

Outside my tent 
a circle of gray stones
a place for fire

my heart heavenward 
no hat, no shoes, no shirt
under a cloudless blue.

a little chipmunk 
scurries out of my tent
No eagle in the sky, 

Soon I forget the river's song, 
falling asleep in the deepening darkness,
in the moonrise, I listen again


Copyright © Thomas Martin | Year Posted 2015

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All an Illusion

All an illusion

It's all an illusion. 
No matter where I am, I am alway just,
sitting there. Unaware, with a blank stare messy hair
and probably the same clothes that I always wear.
Wrangler jeans, and a button up, sleeved. (period)
Because, I hate T-shirts.
Hate them!
In fact, I'd be fine if they all just disappeared!
Into thin air. I'm serious.
the plague, wasting, predators, or aliens came to take em! 
They'd say.
Or they inbred too much, 
and their lineage diminished
intelligence forsook em.
Gene pool plummeted
they became disoriented, wrangled and out-competed  
and just sort of drifted away,
They'd say,
it was probably believing everything they see on the news.
That led to their doom.
That, and marrying too young, having litters,
of far more than they could possibly support on their wage!
Stupid T-Shirts
And later, when documentaries are made on why their society caved.
they'd say in five languages: “Stupid T-shirts”
You'll see em today, at the Walmart or on display in friendly glass cases,
With nothing but idiotic slogans, and quotes from bad movies
“That's what she said”
Or some sort of shark-cat reaching with fangs and claws up at
a bikini wearin slice of pizza...
They call it “Paws” 
Myself, I'd rather be shirtless in a game of seven card stud.
I'd rather be seen strung up dangling by my hair parasailing through Canadian Territory,
and mistaken for a chipmunk. Covered in varmints blood,  Or spend my weekend servin sweet tea to 
Donald Judd.
Than even be seen wearing one.
No dignity in em, 
Just picture Grant, Lee or even Sam Houston 
Wearing a shirt with an arrow
That reads:
“I'm with Stupid”

Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016

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In the morning, I gather my thoughts of yesterday
Like the foraging chipmunk, collecting acorns 
And stuffing them miserly in my jowls
The past is sustenance for a somnolent soul 

As age condemns my faculties
I pull, from my once copious jowl
A jewel of sorts
A garnet set in fool’s gold

My memory is manufactured 
Assembled and disassembled
No longer what was or is or will be
But was and is and never has been

Confine my thoughts to winter
Where barren fields and sterile trees
Offer less to recollect 
Empty my jaws of these useless reminiscences

Copyright © John Trainer | Year Posted 2014

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My Old Walking Stick

There are no months as beautiful as early summer months wild flowers make the headlines,
Leaning heavy on my old worn hazel wood stick walking to a wooded meadow out of breath,
Clusters of Primrose and large patches of Blue Bells chat with clumps of Spring Violets,
As I stand wheezing the wonderful smells the dampness of wood and flowers give me air.

Lesser Celandine flowers between March and May heart shaped leaves a glistening yellow,
Now feeling a little better my head lifts the top of some large trees seem so far away,
The Cuckoo flower has leaves deeply toothed with spear stems, shows off all its beauty.
The kindle under my gentle walking cracks loudly so the meadow and trees know I am here. 

There is a second spring in the forest wooded meadow Snowy Mespilas with white flowers,
It reminds me of winter snow I once enjoyed these days my legs are not what they were,
The tree of heaven spreads climbing sixty feet and the Alder with soft purple catkins,
Leaning on a tree happy to be here with warm sun finding its way through high branches.
Hedgerows dress in the same vernal-looking hue and a Chipmunk darts across a small field,
The Chipmunk runs up the side of a nearby tree if he new me well he would not run away,  
Thick scented heather lives on the moorlands side by side with an evergreen Bog Rosemary,
A furry little face high up on a branch is watching me in the same way I am watching him.

A Judas tree with round leaves clusters of magenta, pea like flowers greet me this day,
I wonder why it is called the Judas tree is it the one Judas hung from with silver coins, 
Cornelian Cherry flowers at the end of winter, followed by richest bright orange fruits,
A Japanese Quince shows splashes of color they are so white, or salmon or very very pink.

Weigela a beautiful shrub will bell like flowers and a deep red rose brighten the woods,
Times getting on now and I am tired but standing in this beautiful meadow I feel so alive,
Doesn't matter how old or how well a person maybe that same natural beauty is seen by all,
So leaning heavily on my companion the hazel stick I walk back to my home it's a great day.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Chipmunk Poem | Create an image from this poem.


I was in my garden the other day,
watching the squirrels running at play.
Chasing each other seemed such a lark,
running up the Oak tree as held on to its bark.

Birds were chirping their songs of glee,
although I never understood the melody.
But sing they did from tree to tree,
there sat I, like it was meant for me.

I looked over at the flower patch,
something fluttering my eye did catch.
It was only a small white butterfly,
I watched its dance...then it flew by.

A chipmunk came out of its hole to bask in the sun,
just for a few moments and then it was done.
He scolded me that I'd been rude,
not leaving any peanuts for his daily food.

I reached in my bag and tossed him a few,
A Blue jay saw them and down he flew.
Now the chipmunk chirped at the jay,
but to no avail, he was there to stay.

The jay finally left with a large peanut in its beak,
Leaving behind only scattered bits the chipmunk could seek.
He checked each shell the jay left behind,
Until he found a few morsels he could take in kind.

Then to his hole again he ran,
his gatherings that day were far from grand.
While my few minutes in the garden were brief,
they've stuck to me like a book pressing a leaf.

The sights, the sounds, even the scents I recall,
vivid in my and all.
For there in my garden I had nothing to say,
except, "Thank you Lord, for this beautiful day".


Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2017

Details | Chipmunk Poem | Create an image from this poem.

---dead chipmunk

dead chipmunk
black cat’s doorstep gift---
exit shriek

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Chipmunk Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Just So Silly

" Just So Silly " The owl did run from heat of sun, On that coldest winter day. Sure to find in its mind, a newer way to play. Stopping by gray squirrel's tree, to see what could would be. Found instead that fox in bed, with towel a'wrap upon its head. Now that crow did glow with blackened heart, O'er the start of this day's fun. For from his cabinet he'd brung that booze, which the fox did verily choose. Now that chipmunk thunk from below tree trunk, All this was just so silly. As red cardinal came to ask the same, Wearin' his frock so frilly. They passed along that bottle strong, from which then they all so sipped. Until the moon from raven's croon, had slowly below hill dipped. SeaWolf ©

Copyright © Caribbean SeaWolf | Year Posted 2011