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New Fox Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Fox poems are below this new poems list.

The Fox and the Rabbit by Sole, Mikayla
'FOX' Invictus by Johnston, Brian
'Fox' Invictus by Missing, Roof
Red Fox by Sands, Heidi
Ted Cruz On Fox News by Horn, James
What does the FOX call it by Malik, Yazmin
And a fox laughed by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Bud and the Fox Stole Lady by Adams, PAT
Spring - You Sly Fox by lawless, John
The Fox by martinez, devin

View all new Fox Poems

The Best Fox Poems

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

AT THE FOOTBRIDGE - LIMERICK COLLABORATION

At the footbridge Sue was meeting her beau (He was married to a woman called Flo) Sue soon found out his deception She dismembered his ******** For his love life it was a massive blow To the hospital fled poor Rodger For an op to repair his todger Now fixed, it's SO big Rodger grunts like a pig in **** films as Rodger the lodger Inspired by but not for contest BY JAN ALLISON 7~18~16 He promised Flo he never would leave her And she would be his only receiver But she caught him with Sue And his chances were through Gnawing off wood when he neared her beaver WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH Sue castrated that cheating deceiver With one whack of her meat cleaver she pulled a Lorena Bobbit turned Rodger into a Hobbit Sue's now known as an "overachiever" WRITTEN BY MARTI SUTHERLAND Across the table sits sweet Amee Once A Roger, before he became a she The master of infidelity So many personalities Before and after he became an amputee.. WRITTEN BY SKAT A He was known as a terrible stoner With a huge un-deflatable ***** It now sits in a jar At the end of the bar A reminder to all of its owner... WRITTEN BY JOHN LAWLESS It’s become a tourist attraction As a symbol of female subtraction Grannies sneak in for a peek Everyday of the week Dreaming of former of love action. WRITTEN BY MARK WOODS Oh how sad that pork missile should be unemployed but for all there to see if science, in a jiffy can rejuvenate stiffys then the first in the queue would be me! WRITTEN BY VIV WIGLEY Flo wanted to give Sue a high five For slicing Rodger with all his jive A two timing fool Who broke every rule Now lil Rodger don't work in overdrive WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y Rodger's story has been immortalized For having his thingy circumcised It's on display in a bar Now hanging in a jar While it's slowing becoming crystalized WRITTEN BY MARTI SUTHERLAND As she ponders on what to eat Hopefully, it won’t be red meat For there on the log Is Rodger's hot dog So she gets excited and jumps off her feet. WRITTEN BY WINGED WARRIOR There's a lesson I really must blurt To all those blokes out chasing some 'skirt' When you're on heat Don't share your meat 'Cause your todger might really get hurt! WRITTEN BY MARK WOODS Poor forgotten noteworthy Sue Looking so gloomy she blew At the pickled todger once belonging to Rodger kissing good times its last adieu WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER As "Rodger" snaked out of the door It went past a room on tenth floor. A woman therein Said "Come right on in." she kept screaming, "More, I want more! WRITTEN BY ANDREA DIETRICH After Sue chopped his tally-whacker Poor Rodger became quite the slacker He tried to bring his pecker forth Never again to be pointing north Now when he pees he sits on the crapper. He stopped at the house, the red-light was on Knocked on the door, the girls were all gone Stuck with his sawed-off ***** Tonight He's going to be a loner Damn, why did the girls all have to be gone? BOTH POEMS WRITTEN BY JAMES ANDERSEN A group of limericks quite clever Began with one simple sever Of engorged ***** which is, (between us), I think, a spicy endeavor WRITTEN BY H PENELOPE SWIFTLOCK There was perfection in his pecker, as a **** star he was a wrecker, but to his wife he was unfair, so she severed what was down there, now his only job is director. WRITTEN BY CASARAH NANCE Poor Rodger thought he was being slick when he carved out a handcrafted prick he rubbed his new attire his precious toy caught fire Now he is left with an ashen stick WRITTEN BY TEPPO GREN An ashen stick means man minus prick. Poor Rodger, now a eunuch, without a fix. He decided to become a transgender. Then off he went on a bender. Woke up married to a man from Bertrix WRITTEN BY JEAN MURRAY Rodger's new love was a prudish fox but for brains she had a head of rocks he splinted up his willy popsicle sticks look silly he said it was new and still in the box! WRITTEN BY SONNY ROPER (EVE'S HUBBY) To be fair "At the Footbridge" Now to be completely fair And to stop every persons stare Rodger was not actually circumcised As he was a player, so don’t be surprised This was from wear and tear and his willingness to share WRITTEN BY MARK PAUL VAN DER MERWE Now Rodger mostly stays home for lack of a viable bone. He reaches by habit down for his rabbit: he's got Phantom Willy Syndrome! WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART Rodger was a good friend of Eye Had a real hankering for cherry pie Tasted every chance he got And it would hit the spot Until his crazy wife made him cry WRITTEN ON 14TH JUNE BY EYE TRUTH TELLER Roger pretends that he's a sexy stud But when the ladies find out he's a dud they all laugh in his face anatomically a disgrace His manhood is referred to as "The Bud" WRITTEN ON 15TH JUNE BY LIN LANE Rodger thought his op was a success When he found he had more and not less But the surgeon's blind stunt Sewed it on back to front Well, he certainly lacks some finesse! WRITTEN ON 15TH JUNE BY RAY GRIDLEY As he crossed the footbridge, Georgie saw a duck Quite unique and raucous, it could quack AND cluck! (And did so incessantly) "Hey! Hey! It's all about me!" It loudly proclaimed, with much aplomb and pluck WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
I also wrote another poem but this one did not turn into a collaboration - if you read it you will see that it is quite different to my usual style https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/at_the_footbridge__2_822879


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016


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Christmas night reflections

Fluttering beneath the newly cut
Festive green hollies,
Decked out with heaped drapes
Of freshly fallen snow,
A bold little red breasted Robin,
Busily searching,
Cheerfully hops to and fro.

Darting between the soft, swirling
flakes 
Of unique crystalline, driven without 
respite,
He alights upon his sheltered 
perch
And begins to shrilly trill:
Against the on coming, long
Drawn out Christmas night.

For the drawing darkness is
deepening,
Whilst the harsh wind blows so chill;
And, gently waking
From nonsensical dreaming,
I harken to the old dog Fox,
As, barking, he pads on down 
Through the gorse strewn hill.

Suddenly stirred from dozing 
Idleness,
As the charred log shifts and 
settles in the grate,
I recall with vivid fondness:
Some old memories, good times,
The well meant promises
I did so earnestly to undertake.

Of old acquaintance...
Not forgotten,
And those that were
Or are no more,
Of circumstance and friendship:
And of they
That daily come
To pass through my open door.

But now the flames from the fire,
Dancing in the frosted window
panes,
Are calling for the poker
So I may stoke the blaze again;
For turning my warming back
Upon the locked out winters keep...

I hear that steadfast little Robin
Sing once more -
As I fall back into uncontested sleep!


Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2014


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The MIND HUNTER

In search of the human mind

Different thoughts crossed my mind,
a few conclusions I could not find
The human mind has no stop!
Receiving input, danger, before I blow my top

Sometimes the light clicks
I think I figured out the problem
It's at the tip of my mind ;-)
Sorry, my brain cells did it again, 
Ran out of THINK!
When it comes to love, I'm brain dead!
This is me talking to my brain,
"Are you just being lazy, you fell too quick?"
A game in a maze inside my head!
Give me some help, or what use are you 
Open the way only you can unlock the door.
Unfold my future, stop hiding the key
How about it mind?
Do you want me to put you back on pills?
Stand back brain, while I explain your job.

The Human mind is not easy to read like a book
However, some are cruel limiting judgment, with one look
The mind plays tricks when too much information is perceived
The mind is related to the heart, sending signals the wrong way
The mind works when the body's asleep
(I call it a dream, I hope you don't mind I put it there!)
The mind creates beauty,  wonders of the world
The mind is a soft whisper, a secret, my conscious ---I Swear
The mind is devious, tricky can outsmart like a fox
The mind is a beautiful thing to waste in a box
The mind can journey, without leaving its nest
The mind is knowledge, many fail to explore
The mind is a Captain, traveling far and beyond
The mind is like a paint brush, colorful art
The mind is a creature who hides in a cave
The mind is like pain, don't stop in its way
The mind is like a mime who does not talk at all
The mind is fragile, don't use it like a sponge
The mind is like a pair of shoes,
without the mind we're bare

The bottom line is,  the mind is a mystery!
Don't mind me, I lost my mind, years ago :):):)

            (THOUGHTS)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


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To An Injured Fox Cub - with thanks to Michael Coy

Today I found you cornered, drenched in cold,
your fur coat nothing but a newborn's down,
a tiny ball unfolding while I hold
you shivering. Your lacerations frown

and at a distance, I can see the why
of your abandonment, the birds of prey.
I’ve saved you, but you’re causing me to cry:
serrated weapons, Nature’s passion-play,

as blood-attracted sharks, still circling, wait:
I sense the breath-starved fright that made you flee,
those teeth, those claws, you were their blameless bait.
You can’t yet comprehend that you are free.

I see the wounds, some healed, some raw and new,
they're deep, beyond the matted fur and skin.
Four little paws, so tender, sprawled askew,
I seem to feel that you and I are kin.

You mark each move. Mistrustful eyes, so green,
incapable of rest, stir to suggest
you'll try to bite if I will try to clean
the bloodclots, so I hug you to my chest.

You flinch to feel my cuddle. Have I planned
some fiendish way to torture you anew?
The tiny space your wretched life has spanned
has taught you only suffering is your due.

Careful now, I’ll wrap you in a cloth,
And whisper words you cannot comprehend.
Oh tiny one, you're no more than a moth!
It’s alright now. You’ve come across a friend.

Your warmth is blossoming against my breast.
I want to teach you gentleness and calm.
There’s nothing here to threaten you: so rest,
You’re safe now from anxiety and harm.

I'll guard you through the night until you sleep,
until the chesty wheezing eases up.
This is protectiveness, it's seated deep:
I’ll always help a vulnerable pup.

Your heart is racing hard against my hand,
awaiting pain, as wizened captives do.
Believe me, Little One, I understand.
For I have been a broken prisoner, too.

***

May 30, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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The Fable of the Fox and Goose

 There once was a fox, as wise as can be,
 He lived in the hollow of an old oak tree.
 Not so very far from an ol’ Farmer’s Farm;
 A farmer he knew would do him great harm.

 Also, on that farm lived a lively young goose,
 And he caused the fox’s dry mouth to juice.
 Without a care, the goose gandered about,
 Causing the fox great apprehension, no doubt.

 One day they met at the edge of the farm:
 The goose knew, for sure, the fox meant him harm.
 Mr. Fox, I know you can eat me, he said,
 But, I know a better way you can be fed.

 The farmer has many an egg you can eat,
 and they are more juicy than feathery meat.
 I’ll tell you just how to gain your supply;
 as quick as a wink, or the blink of an eye.

 The farmer is rich and he doesn’t have need
 for all of his wealth, and all of his greed.
 We poor of the earth, he cares not about:
 We should take eggs from the lecherous lout.

 Sure, he feeds us, and quite well in fact,
 But he profits from the sweat of our back.
 We animals are brothers, and should take heed
 About each others wants and each others need.

 You can sneak around by the ol’ mill gate,
 while I distract the hound, down by the lake.
 His threat to you I shall circumvent,
 and you can then eat to your hearts content.

 The sly ol’ fox, he surmised this odd tale:
 Hen’s eggs were delicious, he knew quite well.
 Oh, this we will do, he quickly agreed:
 Eggs, he knew, were quite delicious indeed.

 So, the goose set off, the hound to distract,
 And also the fox, to the mill gate out back.
 But, the goose had another plan in his mind;
 A problem solution of a far different kind.

 He enlisted the hound in his subversive trick,
 To solve the fox dilemma finally and quick.
 He sent the hound round to the ol’ mill gate,
 Leaving himself to just piddle and wait.

 Then suddenly upon him with claw and tooth
 Pounced the fox, ‘fore he could honk or hoot.
 In this moral lesson we all can deduce,
 Why no-one says: “he’s as sly as a goose”.

The SLY fox knew: “If the goose would betray 
 the farmer that feeds him, he will betray me too.”
Lionel


Copyright © Lionel Ledbetter | Year Posted 2013


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- A Most Irish Fairy Tale -

- A Most Irish Fairy Tale – Merry Christmas to All

It’s not just Santa Claus who we meet in the very cold of December; 
There is “Carolina,” and she’s the beauty of a winter picture perfect 
With luscious long, coal black curly hair far down on her back, and 
As a true fairy princess, Carolina is quite beautiful with such bright
Blue eyes and that certain incandescent glow for all to see and 
Dressed in a sparkling white robe made of angelic content with
A glossy coat so radiant and sprinkled with pearls and diamonds.

Out of the woods she walks so quietly in the night’s fresh snow 
With a glimpse of two deer and a fox on hunt walking carefully, 
Carolina hopes the deer will walk around with an angelic guard; 
The secret is that beautiful Carolina speaks the animals’ languages
And this is an enchanted reality known only to the forest animals; 
The birds play in all their splendor so fine without sorrow and they 
Fly while Carolina—the “Fairy Maiden of this Enchanted Forest,”
Keeps watch carefully on the evening horizon while the snow falls
Now apace in the hope and wish for such a marvelous and majestic
Christmas—while in the distance the ground is now frozen frosted 
Hard and like shining and sprinkling silver in the mist until the very
“Rays of Enraptured Sunlight” break in the morning mist—this most
Wondrous image is at once so divine and fabulous to behold and 
Cherish as the annual “Spirit of Christmas” now comes alive again. 

The Reindeer come alive and begin dancing joyfully together and 
Create such a melodic sound almost like bells ringing aloud— 
And then all of the Reindeer are here in their resplendent glory:
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen,
And Rudolph, with his “Red Nose” so beautiful, and oh so bright—                
And the sounds the Reindeer make stay in the minds of the little
Children—just like sweet-sounding little voices wonderful so in 
Dreams singing such celestial tunes while a bright light appears 
So magically on the horizon while planes from all over the world
Begin landing with such precious cargo like loads of neatly written
Letters from good little children—and with this joyous occurrence
Santa Claus begins calling his elfin troops into quick action while 
The “Leprechauns” do the heavy work as they are much tougher
But all the while the “Old Fighting Irish” in them reflects a softer
Side while the Leprechauns drink a drop or two or three of some 
Fine old fiery Irish dew to keep them both warm and smiling like 
The very wee Little Devil in them—so mischievous and all—but 
So content and happy to be part of such a delightful moment of                                      both memories and joy for “The Little Children of the World.”
The Leprechauns do all the heavy work 




 
                     Merry Christmas to All!!



Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, 

Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 9, 2014) (Free Verse)


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014


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Deceptions Epiphany

A lie, wrapped in deception, in the cloak of silent nights
Deception, soothing as black ink, until dried
The wetness caresses the illusion of pretenses white
When it dries, one is exposed to the evil dark fright

A lie inside a lie inside a lie, inside the Pandora’s box
Unwrap it all you will witness the sly red fox
Run from the forest that consumes the noble heart
Lay your eyes on the Gothic inspired cathedral ceilings

From there, is but heavens start
As the symphony plays the rhapsody of life
Remember always the deceiver for his bringing strife
Raise your hands like a conductor of brave hearts

Speak up and speak out, when you see the silent
Darkness bring you illusions in the night
Beware of the dark lamb, and hold up the noble light
With ethereal dreams, one day you know what is right


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017


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Star Scream

I want you to feed me my only fear,
to make a ritual of the ruddy rain I hear
deluge my dreams with Love's broken mirror,
our inspiration fragmented into faithless drear,
to deliver the division of two hearts once near
on a cutting board of Venu's neurotic nightmare,
take me to where yearning is taunted by stoic stare
to the edges of erotic emotion wounded from passion threadbare,
lead me to fear's chasm split warm and wide on a Goddes's tongue of despair,
I need that soul spasm hyperextending the phantasm of my boyish beliefs unfair,

If I could fall in love with you again
a star hunter I'd be, feigning capture in your solar reign
equiped with erogenous eon, violating your violet virtue from within,
I would be your fuel of fury and flirtation, speedily skipping across a galaxy dim,
an unstoppable windfall of cosmic conquest bursting from our indefatigable union,

If I could see you one more time in truth
you'd be a Queen, lean like love keen, sexy as sabotage with no proof,
intuiting when to kiss, and when to kill, dressed to thrill in vermillion fox,
a King me be, knowing how to war, and how to water the woman that gives me shocks,
would throw roses and lava into a world desperate for heros gone mad on Creativity's roof,

I don't know how Love says goodbye,
I don't know how it sounds, how it moves
or know when the Death Dance begins or ends,
how deeply does Love get buried in the pits of private agony,
how will I remember the anniversary of our Dia de Muertos,
will you paint your face like a sugar skull and grin from misery made merry,
a grave robber I will be, rubbing fragrant memory on the lips of our love gone by,
feeding you the fear you've taught me -

J.A.B.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014


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Jukebox Gigolo

Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!

Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!

Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.

Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.

Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first, 
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.

Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.

Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow, 
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.

Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014


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Cornered

They're all here, the disjointed pointers,
to peer, to leer, to jeer. They'll dig her out.

Oh yes she hears: voices with vices, snake-slimy
accusations hissing in her ears. Her lover ceasing to love her

and now in the arms of another. And that - that other:
shame swelling like her belly, stabbing, jabbing

his fevered finger-frisk and sweaty clutch of bedroom words
panted, panted and pushed inside her panties, slimy with seed...

the scarlet slow-bleed, as her body flailed and failed,
gave way, betrayed and blooded the spirit-seed.

She entreats the ear-echoes to retreat
and hugs herself into a ball of safe

but there is no sacred space, no private place, no kindly face
or gracious spirit-hand extending gold-glimmer grace

as she crouches and cowers from tongues like whips,
the crashing crescendo of clashing voices

that become the bugling cries of a hunt;
fear flutterings of her frail-fox heart,

his ***** still sliming her ****,
maw-slobber on ****, the hell-horn blown

as the pack closes in -
she's cornered.




24/3/2017
'In The Corner' contest


Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2017


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I Am An Artic Wolf

My silky ivory coat keeps me warm in the artic climate,
my keen senses search for prey in the Alaskan wilderness-
When I encounter the mighty mount Denali, I climb it,
yes, I am an Artic Wolf and am known for being carnivorous.

I savor the flavor of a great 
muskoxen and caribou.
The way the twilight sparkles 
upon my prey, I feel the 
desire for more-
When darkness hovers over 
the land, my pack and I
find that there is more prey 
than during the day holding
such brilliant light. 

     My teeth-
         Razor sharp.
            My eyes-
                Deep chameleon blue.

Here I am, hunting for the fox that I always fight,
we battle and struggle with each other’s strength-
And as I search for artic hares in the middle of the night,
my leap into catching him is nine feet long in length. 

As dusk arrives I anticipate
the salmon-
The reverie delivers the taste 
I can never resist.
As I run through my territory 
of about one hundred miles
I feel the fervor of the fight.

       My teeth-
         They clench.
            My eyes-
              Intense.

I am ready for the temptation of killing as it arrives,
and as my teeth growl I soon become prepared-
My claws dug deep in the ground as I begin to thrive,
for I have encountered a black mountain bear.

Through the combat of the 
battle I have found victory.
I am alone, with no other wolf
in the brawl. 
I relish in the taste of triumph
and surmount as being the 
greatest Artic Wolf in the
Alaskan territory. 

       My teeth-
          Superior.
            My eyes-
               Acute.

My famished body has been marked with the game,
my prey killed with one grasp from my mouth-
Then I linger on to my cave, fulfilled and tame, 
tomorrow it will be the time to travel down south. 



Poetry in an Animal's View
Jamie Pan
January 29, 2017






Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2017


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POLAR ANTHOLOGY

black and white landscape
a colony of penguins ~
standing and waddling

in the oceans depth  ~
lives a black and white giant
orca killer whale   ~

seal on an ice flow  ~
oblivious to danger  ~
head butting whale strikes

egg laid by female  ~
emperor penguin stands guard
female goes hunting  ~

not in Africa  ~
elephant and leopard seals
sea is their jungle ~

hourglass dolphins ~
smaller than a bottlenose
keen bow wave riders

home is in the air  ~
the wandering albatross
a ten foot wingspan

in the frozen south ~
a species of royal bird
the emperor penguin

the antarctic terns ~
fly over a silver dish
krill is on the menu

thick and warm white coat
a camouflaged artic fox
unseen in the snow ~

top of the food chain
carnivorous white giant
fearsome polar bear ~



Copyright © Tom Cunningham | Year Posted 2018


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He wasn't

He was an ugly handsome 
In a foreword  backwards kinda way
Silent and outspoken 
with nothing great to say

Strong with a strange weakness
Secrets he could not keep
He had a sense of humour 
that mostly made people weep

You were cursed if you loved him
his hateful ways made you pay
The Devil was his confidant
Yet he still liked to pray

Heartstrings busted and broken 
oh the songs that he could play
A companion to your lonely
but somehow it was okay

Happiness bled into sadness
your smiling face he’d make it weep
He was the fox in the hen house 
sleeping with the other sheep

On the surface he was so cold
with a penetrating shallow heat
Pulling and pushing deeper
a sour sorta of liquid sweet

You wanted him to stop
He was confused when you said go
Pretending to understand
even though he didn’t know

Whenever he finally left
It was a lonely kinda glad
You prayed for him to be good
Instead he was the best sorta bad

Your memory tried to forget
his familiar foreign ways
Your body craved his approval
So you bathed in his lavish praise..




Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017


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A Cup

It started with a cup.
The cup turned into a bottle.
The bottle made an addiction.
Addiction morphed into violence.
Violence grew into destruction.
Destruction Destroyed reason.
The reason delivered abuse.


-Fox


Copyright © Kennediey gray | Year Posted 2017


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A BUSH FIRE

A BUSH FIRE  
               
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it, 
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.


Copyright © JENNIFER PROXENOS | Year Posted 2018


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SLY FOX

~SLY FOX~

There you go again little Sly fox P.D.
Another game of tag and jeopardy.
Clever, clever, little fox so bloodthirsty.
Chaos roams through your veins of liberty.
You walk the ground, prancing around your hostility.
Marching down with the dignity of mis-guided anarchy.

I'm gonna hunt you smell end it well.
Hang you up from your trophy tail. 
Kiss your night one last farewell.
By morning dawn your foxy tail,
Won't live another tale to tell.

I'm gonna find ya' ~ pull your hideout from where you hide.
Smack you around in your everyday rebellious ways.
Thinking you can defeat my crowd with your lawlessness..
I don't need no hounds to track your unlivable Holy-mess.
You created a selfish character of kindness for the blindness.
You prey on the sheep's and linger on their wall of hopelessness. 
Your sinfulness grew from the boldness, and bitterness, 
Of growing up parent-less.
My dear Sly Fox are you on alert with your ears of nobleness.
Did you not hear me creeping while you were sleeping.

Sly fox the destroyer!

You are right, you are a mischievous game of hunt!
My trap is set and waiting for you by the river front.
Go ahead, take a drink, pull one last obnoxious stunt.
Run and run, as fast as you can!
You can't out run this one game of Skitty Skat fox hunt.....


~SKAT~
 
 


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011


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The Rabbit and the Fox 20 line Ballad

~~ The  Rabbit and the Fox   ~~  20 line Ballad
The Rabbit and the Fox
The Rabbit and the Fox are here
go down south, to Australia
They have a bounty on the Fox
Bring in his skin they’ll pay ya

Myxameatosis germ warfare  (first ever)
Just for the Bagman's bunny  (our ww1 war crazed soldiers lived on rabbit in solitude)
Old Rabbit got mattry eyed 
It really wasn’t funny

Great depression in the 20s
We lived on lovely rabbit
skins made the Slouch hat
Our soldiers wear, our habit  (fur felt made the hat)

The master took the Rabbit   (Squatters said plague) 
No more free feeds for us
So we started eating of his sheep
Become a bit nonplussed

They brought another virus out
To kill off outlaw rabbit
But bunny still gets about
The Fox your hens will have it

Don Johnson  


Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011


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WHO IS THE GIANT OF THEM ALL

WHO IS THE GIANT OF THEM ALL Animals or humans, who is the giant of them all? Bearing a two sheathed wings, the Hercules Beetles crash the Titans (beetle) growing more than six inches. Down the dirty waterways of China is the Mekong catfish extending at ten feet, tummy-filled with one full swallow of a child... Horrible! Godzilla in Japan's sea is the Nomora Jellyfish! However, the tipped nightmare fuel incorporeal spill is not at all hazardous. Jamison Stone, an eleven year old boy, killed almost, this wild giant hog of 1051 lbs. Lizards like the giant Salamanders aren't cute at all-- measuring six feet long: the largest of their kind! Nuisance to Australia's dangerous wildlife, cane toads, originally are found in South and Central America! Power and beauty quiets all his challengers when Percheron runs, runs fast in a horse race! Savory staple is the spider Crab but warning! Their claws can do some serious damage! Under a tree, don't be shock of the flying fox: vampires to sweet-juices of fruits in New Guinea... Weighing over a ton, Trigger is the cow for truckload of macs! Xenopos are Cameroon Goliath that can live up to fifteen years. Yes, humans are tough but compared to these behemoths, zings we have are just their toys! ______________________________________________________________________ ***Source: http://www.viralnova.com/giant-animals/ and http://diply.com/different-solutions/20-unbelievably-giant-animals/30768/4 ***nightmare fuel - stingray; flying-fox - bat ==Sponsor Name: Broken Wings== =Contest Name: Trashed #2= ==6th place== O. E. Guillermo 2:49pm, September 04, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015


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- The Deep Forest -



                                You need to go far, farther, even farther
                                     Over small streams and tracks
                    The moon is distant, but can be glimpsed through the trees
                               A moose lifts his head, a beautiful antlers
                                               King of the forest
                                     Can smell the forest and wildlife
                                       The fox howling at the moon
                                              Echoes in the woods
                                           Two yellow glowing eyes
                                It is the owl which are on the night watch
                                     Hope that all mice are safely home
                                  The moon disappears behind the clouds
                                      Darkness falls, deep into the forest




28.05.2013
A-L  Andresen :)

(5th in the contest)


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2013


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Dorry's Ridge

                              Dorry's Ridge
                                                                     Frank Halliwell

In the fading days of summer; in the early afternoon,
We climbed the path that winds to Dorry's Ridge..
Where the crispness of the autumn air fortold a snowfall soon
On the rolling hills beyond the Springtown Bridge.

See the reds and golden yellows of the woods up on the hill
Where the maples stood all summer dressed in green.
Can you feel the breath of winter in the early evening chill
With the north wind stealing down the lake unseen?

Does a sense of wonder fill you, when the wild geese fill the sky
As they start their yearly journey to the south..
And the strung-out chains of emigrants call loudly as they fly
Past the rocky point down by the river's mouth..

And when once more it's silent, and our world is still again,
And our geese have disappeared beyond our view,
I'll lead you down the ridge, along the pathway from our glen,
And wander back along the lake with you.

On Dorry's Ridge the snow lies deep, and up along the hill..
The maples stand forlorn; their branches bare.
The lake lies deep beneath the ice; caught tight in winter's chill
The fox is sleeping soundly in her lair.

But one day soon the spring will come, the land will blossom then,
And life will wake again, as nature planned.
We'll climb the long path to the ridge, returning to our glen,
And watch the geese returning, hand in hand..
                                          o0o


Copyright © frank halliwell | Year Posted 2013


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Whispers of my fair maiden

Alone, there I stood by the bench in the park.
On a leash by my side, my protective young hound.
In the distance I heard the echo of whispers;
As a dark hooded figure approached in a cloak.
She stopped and looked at me this beautiful maiden.
Rose like lips smiled gently, against skin bright and fair.

She took down her hood, released hair long and fair;
I offered my hand and on bench did we park.
We looked at the stars appearing so maiden;
As we talked of our youths and her company I did hound.
Then the moon cast its shadows and darkness did cloak;
Whilst trees bustled, rustling, the night timely whispers.

As we cuddled up close, to get warm friendly whispers;
It grew colder, I gave my jacket and said it wasn't fair.
So we got up to leave and she bunched up her cloak;
We walked to the car to the place I did park.
In the back did we place my faithful friend hound,
And we drove into the night on our journey so maiden.

We drove and we drove till the dawn arrived maiden.
To the rustling chorus of natures whispers;
And a fox searching for breakfast did stalk and did hound;
Saw chickens, roosters and hens such a fair!
In burrowed field did monstrous combine park,
Whilst autumn leaves rained tumbling natures cloak.

We went to my home and and we hung up the cloak.
Then I partook a chance to kiss the hand of my maiden.
While we spoke of the night at the park.
We enfolded ourselves to bodily whispers;
And I nestled amongst all of hair fair;
But when in heat of moment the barks of my hound.

A knock on wall from angry neighbors, please shut up the hound.
So I fed him, watered and let him outside; around me her cloak.
Then returned to my angel so beautifully fair,
Her skin looked so radiant my heavenly maiden;
That I caressed it so longingly, with gentle whispers,
Then stopped and remembered the leash in the park.

Then cursing the hound; I tell the dear maiden.
Dressed quickly, coats, cloak; and I love you whispers.
She tells me not fair, and we go to the park!!!


Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2010


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Wood Carving

            Wood Carving


He sits there, not quite motionless, for
even the comfortable must alter their
perception occasionally, frozen stare
upon a craggy visage, tiny fox-like predator
eyes peering into your soul.  “What are his
origins?” ask the bespectacled intellectuals.
“Who is he?” and “Why has he taken up
his unwelcome residence here?”  The buses
pass carrying workers, students, captains
of industry. They look at him but they do
not see him.  The children see him.
Wonder in their dreams how he came
to be.  Some want to be rid of him.
They have no reason, no justification
for alarm, nothing to warrant their
uneasiness.  One daring young lady
sat beside him, whispered a secret to
him, both shook with laughter.
Passersby were startled to see the
interaction and summoned the
the childs mother.  “What have you
taught her that makes her think that
she can do such things?”  They asked.
The young lady tried to speak but was
hushed by the serious looks she was
getting from the adults.  That evening at
bed time the young lady’s mother asked
her: “What did you say to him?”.  “I said:
‘You look like grandpa.”.  The mother sat
back, quieting a tear, and reminded the
young lady that her Grandpa was no
longer here.  “I know, Mommy”.  She said.
Well then, what did “he” say to you?”
The young lady sat up in bed and smiled
“He said that he was there every day,
and any time I wished to sit with him
and read to him it would be fine.”
“Mommy”, she said, “do you remember
grandpa”?  “You know …how his face was
all rough, and his hands hard and
spidery, and how he would like it when
I sat with him and read?”  The tear that
had been held “quiet” made a sound,
ran down the mother’s face as she
hugged her daughter and put her
to bed.  The next day mother and daughter
walked to the old tree, felt the roughness
of his face, touched his spidery thin
branches, sat with him – and read.
Soon others came to visit, sitting and
whispering, laughing and reading.
for they know who he is, what his
origins are, why “he” waits so patiently.


John G. Lawless
9/27/2014

For PD's WHATEVER - Poetry Contest


Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014


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Tick Tock Pox

In my clock, I hear tickery tock
It just stopped!  No tick tock from my clock
Oh my dear tick tock box
Now I fear there's a fox
In my tickery tockery clock

A sly fox in your dear tick tock box?
Oh my gosh, I can see his striped socks!
Well a stinky striped sock
could put germs in my clock
and cause tickery tockery pox.


Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2015


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- God Bless America -




Watch out, guys!
"Clap hands, clap hands,
Till father comes home,
For father's got money"

Children play a game called "King of the Hill"
"Ena, mena, mona, mite.
Pasca, laura, bona, bite.
Eggs, butter, cheese, bread.
Stick, stock, stone dead"

He is great in business, real estate and entertainment
"Build it up with iron and steel,
Iron and steel, iron and steel,
Build it up with iron and steel,
My fair lady"

What are his politics and faith
"It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go,
It's a long way to Tipperary"

He just talked about his D*ck size
"Rumour, rumour, pump and derry*
Prick his heart and burn his body
And send his soul to purgatory"
(*Derry means to have a strong dislike for something)

Millions of ordinary Americans support him 100%
"My Mother said, I never should
Play with the gypsies in the wood"

He says "I will be the greatest jobs presidential that God ever created."
"The fox went on a chilly night,
He prayed to the moon to give him light,
For he had many a mile to go that night
Before he reached the 
Town-o, town-o, town-o,"

Donald Trump will he win or lose
"Round and round the earth is turning,
Turning always into morning,
And from morning into night"

Owner of one of the most famous commercial jet aircraft in the world is 747
................... fly free 
"Glory to the newborn King, 
Peace on earth, and mercy mild, 
God and sinners reconciled!" 
Joyful, all ye nations rise, 
Join the triumph of the skies "









08.03.2016
A-L Andresen :)
Songs & Rhymes In English
http://www.mamalisa.com


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016


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Big John

Let me tell you a story from the old wild-west;
Of a terrible lawman with a star on his vest.
His title was “Ranger”; not bound to a town
He studied the outlaws then hunted them down.

One long hot summer; played like a pawn
He’d failed to take down the man called “Big John”.
He was tired and thirsty, his mood like black jet
As he rode into Dodge his sights were still set
On Big John!

He stabled his horse, and checked out the saloon
‘cause he’d heard the big man liked to drink there at noon.
Through the wide swinging doors, he strolled to the back
His face as long as a wagon-wheel track.

The scowl on his face told me this man was risky,
But I was the bar keep, and he needed whiskey.
So I poured him a double in a clean mason jar
And slid it down deftly to the end of the bar.

He quaffed it and gave me a tip of his hat.
I thought it was over, except for the fact
That his mood was still dark, like rain in a flood,
I knew in my gut there was bound to be blood.

There in the corner; his back to the wall,
He waited with patience; said nothing at all.
Just stared at the space ‘bove the wide swingin’ doors,
His hands at his sides, drooping down toward the floor.

It was quarter past noon when the room darkened some,
Big John in the doorway; blocking the sun.
Two shots rang out from the man in the vest.
Two blood stains emerged on the big fella’s chest.

Big John just stood there; there in the door,
Then the glasses all rattled as John hit the floor.
Dry-gultched, like a fox at a watering hole
Big John was finished; so, likely his soul! 

The old wanted poster said “Dead or Alive”.
They just didn’t care how Big John arrived!
The Ranger just smiled and sighed, “One more round!”
Then he gathered his pony and rode out of town.


May 9, 2017



Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017