Best Chipmunk Poems | Poetry
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New Chipmunk Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Chipmunk poems are below this new poems list.
by Sands, Heidi
by Hughes, Mark
by CW, Theresa
by Jones, Cynthia
To the Chipmunk in the Garden
by Dumaine Backlund, Jenny
The Chipmunk Kid
by Eastman, Carol
by Guzzi, Debbie
of dog and chipmunk
by delapruch, andrew
by Shreve, Robert
View all new Chipmunk Poems
The Best Chipmunk Poems
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
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
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
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
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
Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2017
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
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
Alvin the chipmunk
Dressed like a rock punk
Sure smelled like a skunk
Copyright © Theresa CW | Year Posted 2015
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
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
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
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.
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest Name:Pick a Title
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
"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."
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 ass. 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
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
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
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
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.
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!
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,
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!
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
Than even be seen wearing one.
No dignity in em,
Just picture Grant, Lee or even Sam Houston
Wearing a shirt with an arrow
“I'm with Stupid”
Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016
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
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 memory...one 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
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
" 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.
Copyright © Caribbean SeaWolf | Year Posted 2011
A hot breeze blew the other day, as the Chipmunk Kid rode into Troll Lake Town.
He rode on the oldest, slowest steed, that I had ever seen, a Snail called Abilene.
He came a packing, with a six shooter acorn gun, riding low, for an easy draw.
Armadillo Billy The Sling Shot Kidster, was his intended target, you know, y’all.
Sheriff Bunny Garrett said, he’d shot Billy down, but the word had gotten round.
Billy was alive and in our town, so The Chipmunk Kid wanted him found, right now!
A meaner glare, had never been seen, as it slowly moved, around our town. Tho…
Something seemed amiss; perhaps it was his crossed eyes, and petulant frown.
Climbing down from his stead, he landed face down, in the snail slime of his stead,
On that fateful day, Billy solemnly shook his head, at the craziness of this strange Kid.
The Chipmunk Kid had moxie, but little else of praise or glory, I can honestly say.
For when we told him Billy was here, The Chipmunk Kid, then fainted straight away.
Not to mention, his snail stead, old Abilene, shied away, when this happened, too.
Now, he could have grabbed the reigns, for Abilene had only moved, an inch or two.
But the Chipmunk Kid was a bit flighty, you see, as he took his lasso from his side.
Before he was done he’d tied himself up, and Dear old Billy, couldn't help but smile.
Armadillo Billy knew he’d won in that minute, not having to fire a single slingshot.
That’s how, it should be done, he knew, after seeing what the Kid had wrought.
He was happy, to just once see, ALL come out alive, still knowing that he had won.
They became fast friends, with time, as he taught The Kid the true meaning, of life.
They had lots of time, you know, as Abilene, couldn't seem to make it out of town.
Poor old Abilene was winded, from extended travel to find our beloved, little town.
It turned out; he wasn't a snail after all, just a very confused and ancient old slug.
So, as you might have guessed, we did naturally make room, as we usually do…
Yes, for the illustrious Chipmunk Kid, and Abilene, his dear old slug.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
black cat’s doorstep gift---
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
deep in the forest
chipmunk finds tasty morsal
extracts corns nectar
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2007
Upon my back
is the future of my people,
and the other women
for they, too, carry
symbols of hope and life.
I labored many days
while I carried him in my belly,
crafting his transportation,
I have bound him
in his cradleboard,
beaded with tigerlilies,
like those that sprout beautifully
by the river,
skinned with the hide
of a gentle doe
snagged by my father's arrow.
A wintry rabbit pelt
lines his body and snuggles him
when I cannot.
Sparrow's feathers wave
-in front of his chipmunk cheeks
and mud brown eyes-
gently in the breeze
that washes our sweat away.
I stand, tall and proud
of my work,
to earn praise from the elders
that I am a good mother.
Upon my back,
my life, my love, my child,
I carry him, my son.
Upon her back
I am carried, burrowed,
deep down against the soft
rabbit's fur that rubs my cheek
by the grace of her warm hand.
I watch over the fields
as living rabbits hop around,
and birds fly free
while I am snuggled in this.
I hear the pounding
of the buffalo's hooves
as hunters chase them
with the fury of the dogs in the village
after their own tails.
A coyote howls in the distance,
staring at me as though
I am dinner.
she hushes me
with the lullaby of the wind
singing to trees when the moon is high.
She resumes bouncing me,
continuing her work with the others.
A breeze passes my face
as she turns back towards home.
Now I am removed from one comfort to another,
as she cuddles me close
and helps me remember
that I am always with her.
Copyright © Alaska Brant | Year Posted 2015