Best Groundhog Poems

This February will not usher spring,
wisteria like grapes hung on their roods;
more pewter shadows does the season bring.
Now I've misplaced all the beatitudes

to lambent grasses flocking on the mount
as spring green creepers tendril up the posts,
the lilac blossoms teeming like a fount
of amulets to stay...

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Deemed significant culturally,
a fantastic and old comedy
is this film I love,
which is the tale of
a weatherman played by Bill Murray.

This weatherman Phil has been sent
to cover the groundhog event.
He’s so hard to please,
and that’s because he’s
an arrogant cynical gent.

There’s a blizzard and Phil’s forced to...

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emerges from burrow
sunrays fade through graying clouds 
early spring crocus



2/1/2022



Groundhog Day (Pennsylvania German: Grund'sau dåk, Grundsaudaag, Grundsow Dawg, Murmeltiertag; Nova Scotia: Daks Day)[1] is a popular North American tradition observed in the United States and Canada on February 2. It derives from the Pennsylvania Dutch...

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white skies . . .
a grumpy groundhog
emerges

2-2-22

© Connie Marcum Wong

*I wrote this a few years ago, but don't think I ever posted it?

Enter the 'A STRAND (1065)' Poetry Contest. 2-3-22~N/A~
Sponsor Brian Strand...

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“Let go your hold
Your hands are cold
And it’s getting old
When I am un-holed
My soul’s been sold
So they can behold
That a marmot’s found gold
Since they think I’ve foretold

And cast a dark spot
Or maybe not
Coz all I got
Is a long shot
See my nerves are shot
Since I don’t...

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Take that long walk along the creek 
where the ducks chose to hide 
won't be long now., let it flow
leavin' nothing to decide. 

Give back those days in mist, a sun's last ray
lost to wind and left to time 
soft voice traveled on my mind
tomorrow's...

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A groundhog named Phil, loved to play
In the sun, he would loll
Away the hours, after filling
Up on plants, grubs, and all

At nightfall his small den entered
For a long nap each day
As summer passes he is
Fattened, in his den to stay

He dreams of spring and amore
When...

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(a double Memento form)

Midway between the Equinox
of winter and the spring
appears
a prophet most unorthodox.
For weather, Phil's the king
of seers.

He lives on food you'd feed a dog,
each winter has one goal:
to sleep.
But February this small "hog,"
awakes and leaves his hole
to peep!

And though there be no clouds,...

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Groundhog day 2024 or Forty one days since 2023 Winter Solstice

Rather than be a day late
and dollar short, I opted   
to post poem acknowledging
the second of February,
where eponymous groundhog
gets his (most often male)
foretelling whether there will be
six more weeks of winter upon oblate
spheroid...

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A groundbreaking weather struggle has evolved today 

over the length of this Year,s chill

Early Spring said Staten Island Chuck 

forecasting through the muck

 whilst he was disparaged as a quack 

by Puxstawney Phil

 Whichever rodents predictions fits you best

it might be time to second-guess

 whether...

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I come out of my hole
everyone is staring at me,
what exactly do they want?
Why won't they let me be?

Every single year that passes
I always have to endure pain,
look to the sky you stupid people
I can tell it's going to rain!

They keep waking me up
every, stinking,...

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Walks through the back yard
it is looking for some friends
so they can play cards.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones
May.27/2012

This is my own style of poetry....

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Two groundhogs seemed to disagree
And I am not surprised.
It’s hard to do your job
When so intently scrutinized.

Punxsutawney Phil did see
His shadow, and that means
Six more weeks of winter:
Keep those snow-blowing machines!

Staten Island Chuck emerged;
His shadow stayed away.
Those who analyze predict
We’ll soon see spring’s display.

Choose to...

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Juggernaut winds howling south;
Arctic colds, chill, in their mouths.
No respite through winter days
Unless north creep sunshine’s rays.
And the groundhog comes too late
Relegating to its fate
Year’s first month a gray estate.
               ...

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After your butterfly alighted my dreams,  
I never forgot your kiss,
You became the object of my vespers,
The refuge for my injured toiling chest.
I await your spectacle, your curtain call.
Your fragile teasing dance. 
Like Groundhog Day, I predict your fluttering 
Wings, the wavy flurry of...

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