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The Best Coyote Poems

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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,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear

The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu

The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled

The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012

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Looney Tune

Max is mad at Molly
Samantha’s sore at Seth 
Freida’s freaking out at Frodo
While  Hobbits hold their breath

Jack jokes about poor Jill
She hits him with her pail
Humpty cracks open Dumpty
For drinking all his ale

Mickey Mouse and Minnie
They both make quite a scene
Playful Pluto gave her paw
and stroked her jumping bean

Rub is furious with Dub Dub
She has another man in his tub
His bubble has been bursted
So he scrubs Dub with a club

Cats in cradles cows and moons
Forks running away with spoons
Coyote catches the Road Runner
 In the end we’re all Looney Tunes

Nothing makes us happy
Sticks and stones me oh my
Kryptonic grade destruction 
Broken Superman can’t fly

The Beatles Battled Yoko Ono
Because she broke up the band
They sang ‘Give Peace a Chance”
a dream they didn’t understand

So I walk down to the River
John the Baptist please begin
Separate me from human nature
Cause I’m tired of our sin

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018

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Creature In The Night

Where cold stars exist in the dark,
serene winds whisper to trees
and scarce human ears can listen,
lone songs wail in the distance
in frozen moon's silver spotlight,
a mark left where paws had paused.

Written by: January 16th, 2015

Inspired by creature #3 Coyote

nette onclaud's contest - NIGHT CREATURES

This poem was also inspired by actual events. A few weeks ago, I discovered 
some large animal paw prints that were left in the snow, near my home. I later
found out that the tracks were made by a wolf.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Massacred Nation

The year 1890
December 29th
Wounded Knee, South Dakota
My tribe lost their lives

The USS 7th
On their orders so
To round up the Sioux
Railroad herd them and go

Us Lakota were next
To disarm their request
But my cousin Black Coyote
At best he was deaf

Not hearing the orders
To lay down our guns
A chain reaction
Ensued on my tribal ones

Chaos and mayhem
Distressed our grounds
This proud nation
Beaten down

Men, women and children
300 slain
Another reminder
For the white mans gain

To disrespect the fallen
Slows our souls to our gods
We were left in a blizzard
Hardened like logs

In three days we rose
Civilians did lift
And dumped us unceremoniously
In a hole in the drift

My corpse and my peoples
Stripped and robbed
As flakes of snow
Confirm our spirits have sobbed

As i am reborn again
In another country
It gives me the freedom
To look back and see

That December day in 1890
Gunning down innocent ones
Not so mighty
The Medal of Honor
In their distinguished past
The record still stands
On their chests they flash

But attitudes change
As two centuries pass
The Medal Of Honor
Has won back its class
No longer the weak
Gunned down by the strong
Its man against man
Sometimes they do wrong

So as i sit back in my adopted nation
Will i live again past this lives station
Writing the wrongs of modern man
This Lakota warrior who never ran

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

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Cat's Wild Adventure

Cat's Wild Adventure

So, once upon a time, there was a cat
that had no real home, and all alone,
she'd wander here and there amid the yards
in a community with lovely lawns
and shady trees and bushes that gave her
some shelter from the sun and pouring rain.

She'd go from house to house and beg for food;
with kind gold eyes and coat of shiny black,
she made some friends, but then, she'd run away.
Except, one day, she found her perfect home
and stayed and stayed till they adopted her.

So, in and out she'd go in her two worlds,
content for shelter and fine tasty meals;
still loving her adventures when outdoors.

But, oh one day, her 'daddy' caught a scene
that put such fear into his loving heart!
For there she was across the street, oh no,
in frozen stance and nearly nose to nose
with a coyote, large and tawny-gray!
For many seconds, neither moved, but then
she lunged into his face, and so surprised
and shocked...the huge coyote ran away!

As Licorice, (her name), came racing home
she flew into the open door and hopped
upon her 'mama's' lap and looked up with
her large gold eyes that twinkled with delight,
as if to say...don't worry about me...
my homeless days made me a warrior.

Sandra M. Haight

~1st Place~
Contest: Fiction October 2018 Writing Challenge 
Sponsor: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Judged: 10/25/2018

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2018

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Winter Let's Us Hold Our Breath

Winter let's us hold our breath,
and pause just inside the door,
we spend more time at window frame
watching the snowflakes fall.

The slumber of trees and cars
softens the noise on our ears,
we slow, inhale, exhale, and wonder
how every snowflake is formed.

The painted days of softened hues
blues on grays and faded yellows
are an artist's muse and a friendly cue
to wait for the coming of spring.

Every hurried step may lead to a fall,
every hurried kiss may lead to goodbye
every hurried minute forfeits the surprise
of crow squawking or coyote sniffing

at the base of your door and the base
of mind where questions need research
and answers are hard to find
and death and forever, wait like hunger
to leads us elsewhere, lead us forever
into the embrace of new, will we survive?

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2010

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Animal Crackers

A giraffe approached
We necked

An elephant met me on the jungle path
I stored many thoughts in his trunk

A monkey smiles at me
Now I have no more bananas

A zebra wants to discuss the issues of life
I replied, such things are never black and white

On a boat, an alligator swam by
He offered to sell me an old family briefcase 

I have, I confess a gold fish with blonde hair
I named her Donald as bizarre as it seems

I tried to hire a group of rabbits
I said it’s the carrot or the stick

They were hopping mad
Multiplying their demands

I gave in
My coyote lawyer was useless in such matters

Alas as I am older now
So I bought a turtle

He slows me down a little
I slow him down a lot

I now have a great admiration
For Dr Doolittle

Who after all
Did a little and a lot

Although there was that one case never solved
No one though, really gives a quack!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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The Owl and the Coyote

A lonesome coyote howled deep in the wood
And a MOST unwise owl somehow misunderstood
Oh, alas and alack!
She rashly hooted back
(And she hooted as hard as she possibly could)

"Who the heck heeds my howl, for god's merciful sake?
Could this perhaps be my potential life mate?"
..."Give a hoot who you hoot at
if you don't know just who 'dat
You hoot at!" screeched the owl a wee bit too late

The gossip that followed defied explanation!
Squirrels scolded scathing and righteous damnation
The eagle screamed from his peak
"Don't even show us your beak!"
(An owl with a tarred and feathered reputation)

The coyote's good name turned muddy and mucky
Rumor spread like the plague so he never got lucky
"Your character is fowl"
Hitting up on an owl?"
(Last I heard he migrated to Kentucky)

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012

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Coyote Tears

It’s cold here in Central Texas
Winter has laid its hand upon us
The night is clean and pure
With just a whisper of oak and mesquite fires
Burning on the hilltops 
And villages of old German hopes
The coyotes are calling
Packs move in the night
Instinctive without knowing the reason
They find their way into town
Old men with rifles sit on porches waiting
But nearly always miss
For winter is the friend of the coyote
And the bones of men
Are appendages meant for warmer climates
Civilized cravings or hunger drives them here
Or maybe it’s just an Comanche tear
That fell in this place 
And stained the ground forever
What ever it is I welcome them here
For they are clean and pure
Of what burdens men

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013

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Quest for Gold

painted desert lay before them hills with rings of gold and amber clay few plants, scarce water just a coyote or roadrunner on horseback they rode dreaming of hidden gold saddlebags filled with mining tools but not one nugget of treasure badlands had not been kind to them but determination still burned another excavation, another disappointment “fool’s gold” took on new meaning blistering day came to a close time to set up camp but the striated hills had eyes Dakota Tribe waited for dusk arrows flew fiercely bullets pierced the warm night air war chants accompanied thundering hooves intruders not welcome in their land two weary cowboys lay dead by morning adventurous spirits slain now just statistics in the quest for gold
*October 8, 2014

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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A Fugue of Passing Fancies

an orchestrated night glitters 
to the wand wave of the maestro unborn
sweetness licks on liquorice sticks 
fingered on silver keys

the moon melts like a honey drop
as sopranos sing

in harmony the coyote calls
base notes cajoled by passing horns
meld as cicada rub the reeds
legging each sharped phrase
with intonations of delight 

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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first halloween

children's laughter... a boy and girl carve out a jack-o-lantern Deep orange pumpkin gutted The scent of roasted brown seeds gasps... the small lantern's grin and eyes are lit by flickering candle light The eerie light's shadow danced A coyote howled in tune an owl hoots... the moon emerges from clouds as bats flap across the sky Full moon reveals surprise Ghosts' wispy gown races shrieks and giggles... little fingers drop candy and point towards the sky A tiny night rider floats Little eyelids close softly
Written by Jack Horne and Sara Kendrick For Diane's collaborative poem contest Jack Horne the Haiku Sara Kendrick the couplets

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014

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first halloween

children's laughter

a boy and girl carve out

 a jack-o-lantern


deep orange pumpkin gutted 

the scent of roasted brown seeds

gasps - -

the small lantern's grin and eyes are lit

by flickering candle light


The eerie light's shadows danced

A coyote howled in tune

an owl hoots - - 

the moon emerges from clouds

as bats flap across the sky


Full moon reveals surprises

Ghosts' wispy gown races fast

shrieks and giggles - -

little fingers drop candy and point 

towards the sky

A tiny night rider floats

Little eyelids close softly

written by Jack Horne and Sara Kendrick for Diane's contest

Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2014

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A little dog

Once I roamed through the woodlands 
With my large old shepherd companion.
We walked fearless, through redwoods and pines, 
Through vines and ferns 
To the top of the Cross mountain.
There we stood gazing out over the hills
Covered with sage and lavender,
Over the tops of homes cream and salmon,
The tall buildings of cement and glass 
On the shores of an emerald bay.

We made our way by the pampas grass
 Onto the dunes and sands,
Felt the water spray of the waves
As they hurled onto the shores.
We walked freely then in the world
As only nature’s  top predators can.
Gone now into ashes and into ground
My big dog is no more.

For now I have a little dog
Who jumps up anxiously for the treat in my hands.
When worried she barks and bears her teeth,
Or crouches down onto the ground.
No long walks into the forest deep 
Or along its mossy paths.
To a coyote or cougar she would  appear 
As an easy light meal
 And I fear I would not be able
 To keep them away.
So, no more wandering freely
Through the grandeur of the land.

I no longer walk along the unpredictable sea
Where rogue waves crash and crush;
Where unforgiving and unfeeling forces flow.
So now we stand upon the cliffs
Behind the gray old redwood fence.
Once, I had a big dog and we walked freely
Along the glorious shores.
Now I keep my little dog close
And when a stranger knocks
We stay behind closed doors.

Copyright © linda milgate | Year Posted 2010

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PDs Inner Animals

The Fox a cunning sort 
Racing through the fields
Hunting not just for sport
Sly and sure, steady is he

The Wolf a beautiful beast
Uses timeless instinct
Proud of family and feast
Protection of pack his home

The Coyote the fearless one
Striding, wandering aimlessly
Majestic in his own, none
Continuous on his journey

Inspired by Destroyer Poet, thank-you

Copyright © Shannon Deane | Year Posted 2011

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The Coyote

Gray brown coat hidden by the dark
slinking through each stark shadow
a lone howl caught and repeated
they hunt together this night
tracking their prey with sharp noses
following a rabbits track

For the Contest "Night Creatures"
The Coyote #3
By Linda Rutherford

Copyright © Linda Rutherford | Year Posted 2015

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Song to the Moon-Repost

The moon hung red in the sky,
too heavy for the sky to uphold
she leaned against the rooftops;
the stars glittered in fear about her.
I walked beneath her heavy laden form
and my lips formed words, whispering,
a silent prayer. In my hand I held a book,
from it I sang to the moon;
like the coyote in the night, I sang.
Words of the ancients escaped my tongue
in songs of healing, songs of hope.
Was I selfish to not want the moon to depart yet?
For it was her celestial body
that had first given me hope all those nights ago.
I spilled words from my mouth in the form of song.
They sky was pregnant with her form.
Red and old she watched me, eyes solemn.
I sang through the night
giving her the hope she once gave to me
and slowly her form retreated
back into the heavens.
The moon hung yellow in the sky,
too heavy to be crowded by clouds
she leaned over stars
who glittered quietly with her in the night. 

Copyright © Rhia Madison Thomer | Year Posted 2011

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The Chase

On the plains in the Texas panhandle
The fight for survival is real
As I watched from the derrick 
On a short smoke break
A scene rather harsh and surreal

A cottontail bunny was having his way
In a pasture of gold knee high grass
When a hungry coyote, prowling late in the day
Caught his scent on the breeze as it passed

The bunny must have sensed, the coyote was near
He ran circles and made figure 8 bows
Confusing the canine, wound up chasing his tail
While the bunny escaped down the road

But nature has a way of being quite cruel
As a hawk observed from above
As he swooped down, the poor bunny froze
In a scene void of malice and love

With the rabbit in tow, still kicking and screaming
The hawk not making a sound
Somehow lost his grip, dropping his prey
Who died instantly hitting the ground

In all the commotion, the old coyote
Had watched and raced to the kill
Snatching him up and never looking back
Running swiftly over a hill

I stood there amazed, as the scene played out
This microcosm of struggles and strife
Then thought about destiny, no matter how hard you fight
The unfairness and the fragility of life

   by Daniel Turner

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017

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You feel your body falling in blackness.
You snatch your shoulder to the right.
The nausea stops.
The bottomless pit is hell.
Do not enter the midnight.

Up in the window, stands a coyote.
His teeth are bared in detestation.
He howls his satanic verses.
Abomination is his curse.
Do not confront this animal.

Life fades.
Humankind is mentally dead.
They have goaded the animals with the splicing of human brain.
A dog walks with the persona of man.
Do not speak to him.

In the hollow of a tree with leaves as a covering, lies a wolf.
Her teeth are gleaming as she slyly looks.
She stands and yowls her satanic verses.
Atrocity is her hatred.
Do not attack.

Run as fast as you can.
Satan is on a journey to win.
Shout for the Holy Spirit to enter.
Abhor venerating the regards of our creator.
Do this to be save.

Satanic verses you hear in the howls and yowls of the pacts.
They speak in tongue about your nicks and knacks.
Purloins humankind has become by affronting the world the omnipotent formed.
The great divided is no more.
Satanic verses are the faunas’ voices.
Beware the midnight!
Penned on May 27, 2014!|

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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Home Anywhere For The Holidays

The bright Christmas lights on my city house are so colorful and traditional,
hopefully when I get my high utility bill I won't become too irrational,
and watching everyone open up their gifts makes me want to sigh,
also hoping that when I get the credit card bills I won't start to cry,

And the Christmas room has edible fumes of the eating variety kind,
with the holiday weight I gain ending up in my butt and thighs,
while getting a white Christmas is something I always wished for,
but not slipping on the slippery steps when walking out the front door,

A different group of Christmas carolers singing out front in my yard,
all of them sounding very off key like a cat getting strangled,
and not having money to give them gave them some pie I baked,
most of them getting sick from it Betty Crocker I aint,

Going Christmas shopping and getting stuck in the holiday traffic,
and trying to find a parking spot at the mall was really quite baffling,
having to sit there and wait till I saw a shopper getting ready to leave,
another car beat me to the spot while I sat there and sneezed,

So I decided to move far away from the hustle and the bustle,
wheres all I have to worry about is what is that woodland noisy rustle,
could be a black bear, coyote, wolf or a moose,
and when I get my mail every day have to run so they don't bite my big caboose,

But thats ok I'm starting to feel at home for the holidays in the hills,
getting used to the 8 foot snow drifts and the night time animal shrills,
while getting into my vehicle can be quite an ordeal,
running like a fugitive till I get inside of it in my camouflage gear,

But I have a plan B just in case living in the hills doesn't all work out,
I'll just move to Florida where the humidity and big bugs will bother me no doubt,
where I'll buy my own little house hopefully sinkhole free and keep it fumigated,
and pretend to have a white Christmas even though its 85 degrees out while getting chased by an alligator.

Happy Holidays Everyone!

Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016

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A Lover's Symphony

I heard a crackling 
                     fire, flashing  
                            like shooting stars. 

I heard a memory, exploding - 
shooting stars bursting forth 
in passion, beating through me
reminiscent, sparking thoughts 
of you in ebony night. 

Our love rekindled, 
soft words soothed in whispers,
aside dancing flames – 
             popping, sizzling, snapping. 
                      Dreams ablaze.

We, falling into wilderness,
embraced each touch, bare 
brush of flushed skin, 
kissing, smouldering trace of lips,
each pounding pulse of blood -  
our limbs entangled, 
           our ebb and flow, 
                crunching leaves 
                   under strokes of sound,
lost in a rush of fervent breath 
as winds whistled,  whirling  
through evening trees. 

I remember crickets chirping, 
sounding off in breezy sway of grasses flow -
a love song birthed timeless in the thin haze 
of a beautiful, summer night, 
and I remember sounds 
            of a rippling lake nearby,
               the hoot of a Great Horned Owl,
                   the faraway howl of a lone coyote,           
and dreams flicker in ruffled sounds of love birds, 
                        silent in song,
                            nestled above,
                                still creating music -
                                   a gentle, rhythm  
                                      asleep on rustling bough. 

We, enraptured, were fully aware
yet blissfully unaware of tender night 
playing a lover’s symphony all around –
a romantic serenade for two.
             On nights like this, I remember.   

Written 3/12/17 for Noise Contest

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2017

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I took a trip for fun, 
between the Earth and Sun, 
slid quietly between,
the star sun's scarlet sheen,
from its radiant show,
and in it's earthly glow. 

I cast misty shadows, 
on planet's green meadows,
and people took up hands,  
like stretchy rubber bands,
to greet me with great joy, 
like a new kite or toy. 

Metallic ships went by, 
with sunbursts on the fly, 
between planet and star, 
I'm incredibly far, 
I’m always just right here, 
with the sun over there.

Your sable shades cloaked earthly eyes,
I heard the awe of your surprise, 
I felt a popularity, 
of power all had come to see,
I'd be like the great Houdini,  
hide the sun and make it teeny.

I blocked the amber sun from view, 
and cast dark shadows over you, 
a coyote barked a gentle cough, 
and Venus slid her blanket off,
the crickets sang, but not for long, 
the Sun insisted, I was wrong. 

Then out it came with dazzled light,
a Sun cracked smile of spewing fright, 
a cheshire grin of searing heat, 
red with anger and blind conceit,
he hid from me all Earth's creatures, 
with fuzzy dim, blue-green features. 

Then, I saw you'd all gone, 
with the Sun turned back on, 
you loud creatures all clapped,
with my next route well mapped, 
for the light had returned, 
and my dark magic spurned,
as the lesser soft light, 
when you seek me at night. 

Then you said you were done, 
with your star studded fun, 
with cameras and scopes, 
and space colored hopes, 
a quick jump to that car, 
you lost me and the star. 

On a soft summer night,
with gold glints of starlight,  
look me full in the face,
as I beam from my place, 
then, wave long as you think, 
what I hid in a wink. 

-Edlynn Nau 
© August 25, 2017

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2017

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When We Were Gods


While thunder clapped for an encore,
we put on iron boots
and danced in puddles
that reflected the obsidian
of Raven's crick-craw chorus
between the ripples.

I splashed with rod in hand, and yelled,
"You are the hammer and anvil,
I am the lightning! I am the quickening!"


They came from the East.

The ground shook, and cracks spread
from the pounding of their hammer-steps.
Wisakedjaks fled from roosts now pitched askew
by fingers that brushed the tips of pines
with every swing of lumbering limbs.

Lofty mouths inhaled the clouds
and blew out smoke rings on the wind.


I charged across the ground—a bolt—towards 
the nearest Cyclops.
Like a sparking pinball, I zig-zagged
up the giant's shins,
past his thighs, and higher still,
then struck him in the eye.

And we became one—euphoria!


The Wisakedjaks repaired their nests,
and have less space in the minds of those 

who found a scapegoat for mythologies
preached in smoke-filled rooms
where followers choke on the want to be saved.

Words were curved into a staff
that false Hermes uses to shepherd his flock:
people who pocket gold coins for Charon,
having surrendered the kingdom within—dead, 
though their bodies continue to pulse with life.  

March 16, 2013

The version of "Omega" posted above
was written on May 6, 2018

Author's Note:

This poem is more than 5 years old.
It involves a mix of reinvented mythology from 4 
different cultures (and time periods).
Over the years, I've played around with the poem,
especially with "Omega", including how it shifts 
between past and present tense. 

Some people are probably more familiar with the 
modernized, English classification of the bird 
species, Wisakedjak (there are many variations 
of its spelling according to tribe): Whiskey Jack. 
In some North American-based First Nations
mythology, Wisakedjak is the Creator that caused 
a "Great Flood" to cleanse the Earth of a creation 
turned rotten. First Nations flood mythology existed 
about 12,000 years before flood mythology first 
sprang up in ancient Sumeria.

In a lot of First Nations mythology, Raven, Coyote, 
Turtle, Wisakedjak, etc., are not separate creators, 
as they are shapeshifted forms of the same Creator.
In such belief systems, it's understood that the 
Creator, in all its different, shapeshifted forms, 
is simultaneously singular and plural. That, and 
the different forms of the Creator, have caused 
problems with the translation and understanding 
of First Nations mythology amongst some non 
First Nations people.  

This post was formatted in a way that won't
cause unintended line breaks when viewed with 
a smaller-screened mobile device.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2018

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Where The Antelope (Used To) Play

Where the antelope used to play is now shopping malls and plats.
Man in his insatiable greed has encroached upon its ancient habitats.
Not so very long ago on the plains just a few miles out of town,
Were herds of these graceful creatures that now have dwindled down.

Also, pushed from the verdant plains are the mighty buffalo,
That grazed upon the lush, green grasses not so very long ago.
Upon these sacred grazing grounds are now concrete parking lots,
And densely cluttered cookie-cutter houses on quarter-acre plots.

Where have all the magnificent wild turkeys gone,
That used to preen and strut about at the break of dawn?
Even the lowly prairie dogs, their burrows they've had to flee,
To accommodate covetous developers who've gone on a building spree.

Of the wily fox and skulking coyote, there are fewer to be seen.
They were forced from their hunting grounds and have fled the scene.
Desperate flocks of grouse and pheasant have also taken flight,
To raise their young elsewhere, escaping mans' spreading blight.

Deer and elk that once peered shyly from almost every copse;
Their environs now occupied and overrun with tacky shops.
'Twould be novel if man would recall that these creatures were here first,
And consider them when pursuing their unquenchable expansion thirst!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010

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The Coyote

For years, you have been trying to catch that elusive bird.
In your cartoons, we have never heard a single word.
Warner Brothers decided to give the late Mel Blanc a break.
With no dialogue, there were many foolish steps you would take.

That Acme Company must have made a fortune off you.
You failed at every single attempt you would do.
Each fly ball you hit never left the ballpark.
With rockets, catapults, and bombs, you kept missing your mark.

The lousiest luck hit you in each episode.
That roadrunner kept zooming down the desert road.
With each failure, you kept coming back the next day.
Give it up, coyote.  Roadrunners do not taste good anyway.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2011