Best Foxy Poems
To most, he was just a dog but,
to her he was a, “foxy-boy”.
Sure enough, he possessed the
countenance a large fox;
all decked out in silver and white fur.
Oh, he knew he was the light of her life;
she’d hold his paw in her hand and tell him
what a “cutie-pie” he was, so “foxy”
and he loved it; you could tell he was
blushing beneath that fur,
as he’d turn his head downwards,
as if to say, “aw...shucks” Mom.
Hey fox cub whaur will ye play the day?
The forest floor is covered in bronze an gold
leaf hiding youngsters like you from harm
.Dinae wander far frae yer den .siblings and mother,
stay close little one theres a storm coming.
(c)Andrew Mcintyre.
Miss Foxy and Hound
The fox senses spring,
The hound is too tired to fight,
Conflict delayed, friends.
The hound hides in wait,
How smart are you, Miss Foxy?
Nature in action.
The fox loves to play,
The hound takes his role to heart,
Frustration sets in.
Lone opossum roams in.
The Hound comes to Foxy’s aid,
It’s complicated.
Cherry Blossoms bloom,
Foxy outsmarts Hound again,
The Hound likes his friend.
Autumn winds blowing.
They both know their time grows short,
Hound will miss Foxy.
Winter winds bite deep.
Foxy thinks of Hound, fondly.
It’s a lonely time.
The circle of life,
‘Twas just a matter of time,
The reaper commeth.
Spring winds blow, sadly,
Foxy searches for her friend,
Silence all around.
Miss Foxy now knows,
“My foe is gone!”, with a tear,
I will miss you, Hound.
There once was this gal named PD
A gal that I never did see
She's asked me to guess
Of her features what's best
And just how foxy is she
For: PD's Inner Animal Contest
5/24/11
Poet Destroyer is such a fox
Just look at her long, silky locks.
She just may be gunning
Watch out for her cunning.
She can scare you right out of your socks.
Poet Destroyer’s on site each day.
Writing poems, she does have a way.
She’s as swift as a cat
Everywhere she is at
On this website, she looks for her prey..
Of PD, you had better beware.
She can be ferocious like a bear.
She can take a bite
Out of anyone on site
Spit you out and never even care.
Poet Destroyer can be so loose.
She’s as ferocious as a mongoose.
Her road you don’t take
If you are a snake
Give it up, it will be of no use.
PD can sting like a scorpion.
You can’t think you have the battle won.
Unlike anything,
She has a big sting.
With her tail, you can become undone.
Despite her untamed interior
She displays a sweet exterior.
In all she can do
She is like a zoo
You have to be a great zookeeper.
The wiley canine creature
strutted in the winter sun
through the back yard, light on foot
no care in the world
A stretch, a yawn, a funny dance
not noticing the audience
of human creatures peering
through the back door pane
Oblivious until he came
within arm's reach of the house
The glass - the separation
between children and the beast
A lovely coat, a dream to watch
he really should be out at night
But on this day he brought us
all a garden show to delight
The psychology of the sun is strange...
The violinist's taupe
strapped sandals, color of beach
sand, burning, slap tiles
with embedded grime, like
the charred plaster walls of a Syrerian
merchant. Anytime...a fear:
bombs dropped, scarring
an isolated biped life.
Morning edges spill
light the tint of egg-
whites commixed with the yolk, brewing
the dream that souses
the intangable
permeation of the air;
imbued rose colors
of birth; or a prom's
carnation, white tinted blue
like the cottony sky
draped over the fringes
of liminal lives cast onto
the arcane stage
of a paralyzed
mortality. A need
of warmth for the flower,
the snug petals that breach
an infernal cut into
the animus in life.
A stygian gash
insufferable like a pompei
brain cooked into glass,
a fossil the tinct
of diabolical eyes. An
appollyn rises
to seize the sun's foxy
neutrino, more easily
snared than bombs.
so cunning this fox
who nimbly past guards
yet never gets caught
A nose to touch mine,
so near in what Arctic natives
call an Eskimo kiss,
whose faces are covered
to prevent a frozen departure
from this life.
Eyes so blue I can lap
from a clear refreshing stream
and taste a part of the life
promised in their native stories:
Soul deep.
Ears alert to all sounds,
including the softest whispers
of desire leaping
in the dark of night like frogs
coming to be my dinner.
A face of elegant expression,
peering down with soul-filled
beauty, stronger, beyond all other,
staring with intensity far out in
an unknown world.
playful red fox cubs
across golden foliage
guarded vixen watched
The Foxy Escort With Her Date
He drank his wine,
savoring it just fine.
His spirits a lift
now he opened his gift
Out jumped a foxy dame
ready for his game
Are you ready for bondage
my little young hostage
Ties and whips
Hot wax and clips
Her young face turned red
not knowing what was ahead
Escort service said it was dinner,
not be a hoar and a sinner
I'm a student at night school
not your playmate and fool
I sorry, I rain on your parade
and can't play your charade
I must go right now
not be herded like a cow
Forget the bells and whistles
then, just soft land on my missile
Sir I'm not that type of gal
that sleeps with any kind of pal
Please take your rocket
and deep pockets ...
To my pent house room
with your flaming fumes
And there's your desire
waiting for your heart's a fire
Huh? Why did you play your game
to light my flame
Huh? Did you whet my appetite
for a long rough night
My dear, you're a good tease
I hope you please
Sir I hope you back the talk
with your walk
It's going to be rough,
let me tell you, and with handcuffs
and Hot wax
To the max
Sir I hope you back the talk
with your walk
I roll my eyes
to you, I despise
Sir take these pills
To give yourself more of a trill
You'll need it, to keep up
with this young pup
Again, Sir please don't disappoint me
with your church key
Or your mama's boy
with toys
Oh baby you're good
This is what the doctor ordered
Babe what's your name
Paris Pachecho
connie pachecho
1/06/17
Foxy Brown had started a trend
By stealing another's boy friend
Next, she was bound and gag
With her head in a bag
She was met with a tragic end
On hot field days they wave to the flowers,
And matching grasshoppers climb their stems,
As pink butterflies visit in the lazy hours,
While their sly namesake doesn't notice them!
Frequently a chorus of crickets can be heard,
As they sway gracefully under Moon and Mars.
When beauty is spoken without a single word,
Like a distant sound of summer night guitars!
Chicken pecking
at a worm,
"Now what's
for desert? said
the fox in
the coop.
Hum, could it
be you."
"No, said the farmer,
I do believe
you would make
a fine coat
for my wife."
wrote 9-17-08 NOTE HERE I don't really believe in killing wildlife, this was just a story.