Best Hare Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Hare poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of hare poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Hare poems, articles about Hare poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Hare poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
New Hare Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Hare poems are below this new poems list.
Tortoise And The Hare
by wadley, kewayne
The forest hare
by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
The Hare and the Tortoise
by Ward, Julia
Like a Hare, Caught in a Trap
by Adams, Cona
A Condensed Version Of Aesop's Hare And Turtle Fable
by Hinshaw, Robert L.
Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
by Mehta, Dr.Ram
The Untold Story Of The Tortoise and The Hare
by Parise, Rick
The hare and the turtle
by Hunt sr, Harold
The Mountain Hare
by Cosgrove, Brian
by JACKSON, LINDA
View all new Hare Poems
The Best Hare Poems
**Back smile/smile Back **
With your heads way up your :]ssa[:
You will never accomplish the win
I got shots that will protect me from your rabid ways
After you fell into a non-stop falling disease,
Your movements weakened
Straight from a dried up well,
Every day you frolic in a disorder that causes more brain damage
With progressive mental retardation
You continue to lick the top of your cleft lips
He is the saddest sadist human that ever lived!
So sad he has to live with himself every night
Kissing his young ones Goodnight
In ways I can't even breathe to tell
The way he follows rabbits down the bunny hole
Killing each laughing hare
Wiping smiles, leaning in,
The madness in Alice's Wonderland
Madder and Madder The Hatter
Your boldness is nothing more than baldness
A man in a monkey suit
Molesting the minds of his idiotic circle,
Trying to kill the joy, not knowing
We don't care about his false Harvard WAY
I rather stay here dropping out, than pretending
Following his made-up perception, a cropped out waste
His taste, my best copypaste, he jacked on
A stench, they left behind when open mouths laugh
He educates by attacking women better than his own
Silently to the top of his knife, he stalks nakedly
Removing a few poems he plagiarized
His Poorness, brought many to donate to the salvation of his army
Sadness Delivered by the Joy Killing Poet and his little pigs
Cross My heart and hope to die!!!
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
T'were the night after Christmas, 'n' the house was all dark.
Not much money for 'lectric in the ol' trailer park.
Ma waitin' tables at the club on the base,
jist me and my sisters alone in the place.
A big ol' blue norther, t'were a hard winter storm.
We's all snuggled up close, jist tryin' ta stay warm.
The trailer's as cold as a well digger's ***,
cause they come out that mornin' and turnt off the gas.
I shore kinda hated to git out of that bed,
but ol' Mother Nature made me git up, instead.
I'd gotta go out if I wanted a leak,
'cause the toilet had bin all plugged up fer a week.
Outside it 'peered warmer, which was a suprise.
As I peed on the tree, sumpin lit up the skies.
Them lights shined down on the yard, and I froze.
Shore prayed it warn't one of them weird UFO's.
As I stood thar turnin' round and around
there was white stuff fallin' and coatin' the ground.
I grabbed a big buncha it up in my mitts.
I thought it was snow, but turnt out it were grits.
I heared a big motor runnin' up overhead
and down come a monster truck painted all red.
It bounced on the front 'n' bounced on the back,
then the driver clumb down 'n' grabbed a tow sack.
He was white-haired 'n' husky, with red overalls,
long ZZ Top whiskers 'n' blood-shot eyeballs.
A red John Deere work cap was perched on his nut
and a WalMart white T-shirt half-covered his gut.
He look like he just come off'n the farm,
'cept fer them tattoos of elves on his arm.
As I stood around there jist like a complete dick,
he says, “Boy ain't you gonna say crap to St. Nick?”
“Yes siree Bob”, says I, “I got sumpin to say.
I'd shore like ta know where you was yesterday.
The toilet's stopped up and we's all out of heat,
ain't got no money and they's nuthin' to eat.”
“I was fixin' ta make it on time”, he then said.
He look kinda sheepish, and hung down his head.
“But I stopped at a bar when I finished my rounds.
And run inna St. Paddy at the Hare 'n' the Hounds."
"Ya know that he's the very best pal of St. Nick.
But there's none who can put 'em away like that Mick.
And the next thing ya know, we's over at Chances
Where that Tooth Fairy is doin' ten-dollar lap dances.”
“The Tooth Fairy a stripper? That done give me the chills!”
“Yessir”, says he, “Where ya think she gits all them bills?”
“Jist a minute”, I goes. “Where's the reindeer and sleigh?”
He turnt even redder, and then looked away.
“Well, we had a poker game goin', I thought I would win.
I was holdin' four aces and bet everthang in.”
There was a palpable silence, a terrible hush.
“Then that damn Easter Bunny laid down a straight flush.”
“Well, I cut cards with a redneck and won me that truck
But as for the reindeer, they was squat outta luck
They throwed a big barbeque, and cooked 'em up slow
But I must say them reindeer's good eatin', ya know?”
No Dasher, no Dancer, no Prancer and Vixen!
No Comet, no Cupid, no Donner and Blitzen!
For hung on that red-painted monster truck's nose
was eight pairs of antlers, lined up in two rows.
“Anyway, I brung vittles for you and the girls.”
And out of the sack he pulled seven skint squirrels.
“I jist bagged 'em thar in yer neighbor's back yard
Fry 'em up well, boy, with plenty of lard.”
I goes, “Them squirrels is rilly fine eatin' fer shore,
But ta git past tomorrow, we's gonna need more.”
says he,“Well, I's a bit short on cash fer today.”
And he give me six lottery numbers to play.
Then up drives my ma with bad blood in her eye
Draws out her six-shooter, jist primed to let fly.
Then lowers her arm down and commences to bawl
says, “I love you, you bastard, you tol' me you'd call!”
He says, “Boy, looks like it's not healthy to linger
Sticks his mitt out 'n' goes “Just pull on my finger.
The truck is fer you, son. I bid ya goodnight.”
And on a column of wind, he plumb riz out of sight.
I feels fevered and flushed as I stands there in awe
And I reckons this redneck St. Nick was my paw.
A voice far-off hollers, “Merry Christmas, now, y'all!
Then adds, “Don't fret none baby, jist wait fer my call!”
P.S. Them lottery numbers worked out good. We
bought a double-wide on our own lot 'n' a giant
TV and had still had lots of money left over fer
me to go to big rig truck driving school and Ma
to that there beauty college. And on top of that
a Nigerian guy is going to deposit over a million
dollars in my bank account.
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2013
Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016
I wish you well...
I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed
I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk
I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue
I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones
I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight
For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…
@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016
Four “Golden Girls” seated at a table
Grey streaks our hair, but minds remain stable
Convention is underway
Michael has something to say
He opens our meeting with a fable
It’s about a tortoise that beats a hare
Some of the “fast writers” begin to glare
Joyce, Francine and Barbara know
It takes time for verse to grow
We’re the queens of rewriting; this we swear
Iolanda’s introduced to read her book
“Lava of my Soul,” no gobbledygook
We’re mesmerized by each line
At the end we toast with wine
Joyce says, “Now those words took some time to cook.”
It’s Karen’s turn to read “Silent Whispers”
We see tears falling into John’s whiskers
“Tears of joy,” Francine exclaims
For Karen’s Best Seller fame
Applause rings out from grateful listeners
After the “meet and greet” it’s nearly dawn
The crowd starts to thin as our comrades yawn
Joyce, Francine call it a night
But Barbara still sits upright
We two remain when most others are gone
One poet called us “Late Night Cockroaches”
This indignity did not encroach us
We call ourselves “LNCs”
Awake in wee hours with ease
Waiting for our princes to approach us
That’s when the James Brothers draw near
Peranteau and Fraser, to make it clear
With two erotic writers
LNCs pull “all nighters”
Knowing that we can propose; it’s Leap Year!
*Entry for Michael’s “A Table of Four” contest
At my table: Carolyn Devonshire
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Tinsel sparkling on trees that toys lie beneath,
Holly with berries and the hanging of the wreath.
Everything is red and ever-green.
Hearth and home are comforting;
Evening is nigh.
As the snow begins to flurry,
Radiant we see the stars in the sky
Oh, Holy Night the angels sang beneath one special star. Can you
Feel the way the shepherds felt back then so long ago?
Commercialism of the Yuletide season,
However, was never supposed to be the
Is there something different that we
Should be doing?
Take a moment to reflect. What really matters?
Make a promise to the babe whose birth you celebrate
At this precious time. Do for others the whole year long and
Share your heart!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
When Billy Bob Bunny turned one,
his mama said, “Listen up, son.
I’m sure you could get
away from a net,
but beware the guy bearing a gun!
If a gun-toting farmer you see,
you must hip hop away instantly.
If he has good aim,
you might end up lame
or worse yet, rabbit stew you will be.
So do please, Billy Bob, take good care
that you don’t end up being the hare
that loses his life
so Farmer Jack’s wife
has a soft rabbit stole she can wear!”
But it wasn’t Billy Bob’s habit
to listen to his Mama Rabbit.
Without using good sense,
he hopped over the fence,
saw a carrot and started to grab it.
Farmer Jack spied that rascal. Oh, my!
From a gun, bullets started to fly.
When a shot nicked his ear,
Billy fell down from fear.
Then he heard a small sound like a cry.
“Please don’t shoot at the bunny again,”
cried the farmer’s sweet daughter, and then
Billy could feel her
stroking his soft fur,
and at night he was placed in a pen.
Mama came to the pen and she said,
“You are trapped. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
Though no freedom he had,
Billy Bob was not sad.
“I’m a loved pet,” he said, “and well fed!”
The moral of this story is: You can tolerate any condition as long as you are loved and well fed!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
In the daylight hours, I spend my time
So high on a perch, in a lofty pine
Where I fluff and comb my pretty plumes
And wait for the rise of the silver moon
I bob and weave on the top of the tree
Watching my world, in dimensions of three
My golden eyes fixed, on the fallen leaves
As I wait for the night, so patiently
At the set of sun, and the rise of moon
In the Croatan forest, near Camp Le Jeune
With a piercing screech, I take to the sky
On the wind, with silent wings, I fly
Over forest and swamps, on a winter night
Dipping and swaying like a wind-blown kite
In search of a rabbit, a rat or a bat
Until I find one, there's no turning back
Over Emerald Isle, and wind-swept dunes
I fly, so freely, neath a silver moon
For miles along the Atlantic shore
Engrossed in the din of that oceans roar
I hear from a distance, the stir of a hare
And see her dining, on sea grasses there
Her nibbling nose, like a lure, to my eyes
As I, with the speed of lightning, fly
Then swooping straight down, without a sound
I wrap my talons, so tightly around
The slow, soft beat, of a dying heart
As bits of fur, fly away in the dark
A Great Horned Owl, I'm a bird of prey
With the wind at my back, I make my way
With the chill of winter, a melt on my breast
I return triumphantly to my nest.
For contest sponsored by Eve Roper
Written: February 12, 2016
Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016
Come wrestle with a gator!
Said the poster at the fair.
With tape around its mouth, it looked
Pathetic in its lair.
Yet in a cage adjoining it,
A tortoise ambled 'round,
Its movements sure and steady,
One foot lifting off the ground.
With claws extended, it appeared
To glide on tippy toes;
Its ancient eyes gazed straight ahead,
A true reptilian pose.
The children leaned and stroked its shell.
It didn't seem to mind,
Although I'm sure it would have liked
A stroke from its own kind.
That tortoise kept on moving,
Though perhaps to help prepare
For a coming-soon encounter
With an unsuspecting hare!
Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2012
Early in the mourning she rose
She wood fined her boat
Wear she rose across the see two the sure
Their she mustard all her mite
And toad the boat on the beech
Butt if the thyme was write she tide it two a boy
She could hardly weight
Four she nose she will sea her suite sun
They wood sit on a bolder, brake sum bred
Then they eight a hole pair
Her sun called her a deer
He tolled her when he urns enough doe
Ore got sum tacks witch was dew
He wood by her a flour at the bizarre
Witch could be tide in her hare
The cent of the rows wood bee sew sheikh
One knight he said she wood prophet
If she past buy a different root
He new the currant could get ruff
The whether was no longer fare and getting two chilli
She road away into the missed
Aisle meat ewe next weak he balled until he was horse
He trussed he wood see her next weak
Only ****’s ‘Aloud’ – Jerry T Curtis
23rd March 2015
~awarded 1st place
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Honeysuckle by the sea
lupine blue and wild sweet pea
buttercups and hare bell fair
tiny daisies for my hair
kissed by winds
of salted spray
sweetest bloom of the day
flaxen sea oats
bend their heads
anchored in their sandy beds
purple vetch's tendrils creep
through watery graves
where starfish sleep
silent ocean bed of glass
awaits the twilight time to pass
so to greet the shadowed moon
hear the distant lonely loon
seaside flowers will slumber nigh
under stars in evening sky
pinkest sunset will adorn
evening clouds for next day's morn..
Copyright © valerie bellefleur | Year Posted 2009
now stuffed with sweet eggs,
her kids sit, well-groomed, in church -
Not a bad hare day!
For Skat's EASY Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
Tiny little weasel,
Sneaking `round the house,
Searching for a midnight snack,
A chick, a kit or mouse.
Crafty little rascal,
Scurries here and there,
Must find enough to feed the brood,
A bird, a pup or hare.
Nocturnal little scavenger,
Relentless once he spots his prey,
A formidable impugnist.
Cute little weasel,
Can be really sweet,
Cut the little guy some slack,
We all have got to eat.
(Just make sure your pets and live stock are protected.)
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011
Alice in Wonderland
Was my favorite book as a kid
I used to pretend that I was Alice
Having tea with the Mad Hatter
And the March Hare
But now I pretend that I am the Mad Hatter
For my mind is unhinging itself
Breaking away from reality
Till I can no longer recall
What is real and what is a dream
My emotions often get the best of me
But I have learned to smother them
But sometimes like a pot on the stove
It boils over and out
And I can't contain it
My mind is and becomes a freight train
Ramming itself against my skull
At 8, 11, at 1 in the morning
It is constantly running
And it never stops
I can't tell anyone about this
They'll think I'm insane
But what can I say
My mind is my own Wonderland
And I am but just the Mad Hatter
Copyright © Diana Leger | Year Posted 2016
*Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
I am your devotee
I know and feel the pains of others
Keep me doing well to others
And let not ego or pride enter my mind.
Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
As your devotee
Never speak ill of others
Disdain greed and avarice
Respect women as I respect my mother.
Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
As your devotee
I never indulge in lies
Lust and anger not my forte
For the salvage of my family.
Hare Ram, Hare Ram
Lead me from despair to hope
Fear to trust, from hate to love
From false to truth, war to peace.
As your true devotee I know
Birth is suffering, old age is suffering,
Disease is suffering, death is suffering,
Unite me not with the unpleasant
Disunite me not from the pleasant.
Peace, Peace, Peace, Peace, Peace.
Krishna and Ram are the incarnations of God in Hindu religion.
(Hare meaning O')
December 12, 2014
Form: Free Verse (Rhythmic)
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest: Rock Me around.. by Sheri Freshonke Harper
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014
It has been the slow and steady race of life
To emulate the tortoise and not the hare
Using failures as stepping stones to success
Not success but happiness key to success.
That happiest day was 5th of August, 2005
Not begging but earning the award of Litt.D.
From the World Congress of poets (Unesco).
First time enjoyed the world casinos of Lass Vegas
Met a love not with lust but of the platonic kind.
Glimpses of the Hollywood’s glimmer and glitter
Of love, life, literature, a brief lust of the loveliness.
Sheer joy of controlled passions with peers and poets
Conceived of 70 years delivered in a single day.
September 18, 2014
Form : Free Verse
Fifth Place win
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014
Alligators, Aardvarks; Arctic fox and hare. Also Armadillos and Asses will be there!
Bobcats, Beavers, Boars; One Blue whale will do! Bovines and a Booby (maybe 2)!
Caribou & Camels; *Cavies & a *Coot; Cottontails, Chipmunks, Chinchillas looking cute.
Dingoes, Deer & *Dik-diks; Dolphins doing tricks!
Elephants, an *Emu; Egrets and a Ewe.
Flying squirrels & Frogs you will find; Ferrets & Flamingos, Felines, every kind.
Goats & Gophers, swift Gazelles & Gnus; Grizzlies & Gorillas; Gibbons to amuse.
Humpbacks;Hyenas,also Harbor seals; Hummingbirds need little; Hippos need huge meals!
*Ibex & an Ibis, and there’s some Iguanas
Jaguars & Jackals & wading birds, Jacanas.
Killer whale; a Kangaroo; Kingbirds and the Koala too.
Ligers, Lynxes, Leopards, Langers; Llamas, Lemmings, Loons & Lemurs.
Manatees & Manxes & some Muskrats; Mustangs, Moose, Macaws ; Mountain cats.
Nightingales & Newts; and a big Naked mole rat!
Otters & Opossums; the Ozark Big-eared bat; Ocelots and Orca too. imagine that!
Pumas, Panthers, Penguins, Polar Bears & *Pipits; Puffins, Peacocks, Pelicans & *Peewits.
*Qhetzals, such bright birds to see; also a Queen snake, Queen rat & Queen bee.
Rhinos, Rams & Reindeer need a look! Racoons too, & have you seen the Rook?
Sable, Sloth & Skunks & Snowy owl, Snipes & Swifts & *Squabs are other fowl.
Tigers, Toucans, *Tapirs; and just now born. . .
Utah prairie dogs, Uganda Kob and the only one around, the Unicorn!
Vultures, Vipers, Vixens, and more than that; a Vole & Vervet & the Vampire bat!
Walruses, a Weasel, & the silly *Wallaroo; Woodchucks, Wolverines, Warthog too.
*Xenopus & *Xerus; *Xenarthra & *Xantus.
*Yaffles & a Yellow belly lizard; a Yeti (found naked in a blizzard).
*Zanzibar and Zebra & the *Zebu; Finally a *Zigzag and a *Zoo-zoo!
Definitions of the uncommon animal names in this poem:
Cavies - Hoofed animals Coots -diving birds Dik-diks - type of Antelopes
Emu - like Ostrich Ibex - wild goat Langurs -Long tailed Monkeys
Pipits - small songbirds Peewits -shore birds Qhetzals -jungle bird
Squabs -Birds Tapirs -S. American Swine Wallaroo -large Water buffalo
Xenopus -Frog Xerus - Ground squirrel Xenarthra -Anteaters
Xantus - Bird Yaffles - Green woodpeckers Zanzibar -Gecko
Zebu - Ox Zigzag - Salamander Zoo-zoo -Wood pigeon
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
I once had a rabbit. His name was Sam
While others ate clover, he relished ham
He went to the bar every Saturday night
His collar was loose, but his pants were tight
He wiggled his nose when he wanted a drink
And bowed his head when he paused to think
When he started to dance, he just couldn't stop
He always liked jazz, but preferred hip hop
He bided his time, and studied the field
Flaunted his junk, which he loved to wield
But the vice squad soon caught wind of his act
Took him away, as justice was stacked
Against the hare that bared more than soul
In the primordial quest to fill one more hole
Copyright © Richard Olson | Year Posted 2016
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Bugs bunny was the silliest hare with such a bright future ahead,
he wanted to give Lola something special, but he gave her a carrot instead.
He pondered on a different surprise, and wrote Lola a sweet love letter,
asking her to marry him, because of her his life was much better.
He proof read his proposal and realized he forgot one very special phrase,
so he clicked the caret button to insert a few sentiments then pressed save.
All he had hoped for was that he expressed his love with his honest words,
for he wanted to fill this day with rainbows with sweet songs from Tweety bird.
The day flew by and night time arrived, that silly wabbit was nervous,
he smelled her scent and watched her approach him, boy was he wordless!
“My Lola, from Pensacola, I give you this twenty four karat gold ring,
a three carat princess diamond placed gently above the gold and in between.
Marry me, my sweet, I'll sweep you off your feet, I'd love to play with your hair...."
She said yes, of course...and a few months later there was a family of baby hares.
1. carrot-A vegetable
2. karat-weight of gold
3. carat-size of diamonds
4. caret-a symbol used to indicate the place in writing material which something
is to be inserted.
1. Hare- a rabbit
2. Hair- a growth of filaments forming a coat over the scalp of a humans head
~Date Written: March 18, 2016~
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
through billowed clouds
training his keen eye
on slight movement below.
Swooping, he clutches a hare.
Swift is the kill; now to a tree
he makes his way, carrying his prey
while calling to his fledgling in the nest.
Written 10/14/15 For the Golden Eagle contest of Shadow Hamilton
Words used: Flies, clouds, Tree, nest, Fledgling, Calling, swooping.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
An English Life
It is midnight the Milk train pulls into darnall station
No ordinary passengers here
Steelworkers with their families
Loaded with fishing tackle, sandwiches and maggots
The Fossdyke in Lincolnshire, their destination
The fare Half a crown for happiness
The long walk in the dark,
A stairway to heaven in my memory
Dawn on the Foss and a cup of tea,
Fever in the blood, the first eel of the day
Our cane rods lovingly handed down from father to son.
I remember, Pheasants looking for mates
Shrieking their songs of love
Swans begging for scraps
Their majestic white necks, nodding,
A greeting into their kingdom
The mist off the water revealing families,
being together, laughing, enjoying what was free.
For tomorrow the grime returns.
A conversation with a stranger then out of a bag,
The rabbits, sometimes hare, sometimes pheasant.
Onions and carrots, shortly follow
The smell, forever linked with summer
The scent of my childhood
Summers were hotter then;
At times I drank the Foss, for I was nature’s child
Being clean was never a priority,
Catching fish was, never killed always returned,
Our Covenant with Nature.
For it is the sport that we honour.
And with age comes reflection,
Poor I may have been, my education neglected
But I have a Doctorate in nature, for I have seen the dawn
Away from the factories, where the pheasant runs free
And where the swan reins king, I was part of them.
It was here I learned what family was,
To share, my last drink of pop with my neighbour,
A simple life, maybe, but what a life
For I have seen what Constable painted
Lived every word that Wordsworth wrote
Understood the Fragrance of the Flowers
And revelled in the poets dream.
I loved every colour, every sound, every scent,
And every fish I ever caught.
Father and mother are gone now,
Never complained about their Station in life,
For they found paradise on the Foss.
They left me the seeds to their heaven
And the key to my happiness
A key forged in a mans worth
To open up my soul to the beauty
That surrounds us all.
Dawn on the Foss, was my church
My soul was cleansed here
And my heart was shaped here
My memories kept safe here
And the Foss fever still resides here
I will die on some bank side, one day
Rod in hand, and I will be content,
So Tight lines my fellow Anglers.
Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011
The walker prevails without his brimmed hat,
skirting whirling dervish of hungry gnats
which seek to explore each orifice bare -
to sample the blood from here and from there,
as discerning vintner sups from each vat.
Tackling a gradient sure to task fat
the rambler struggles, with scowl for farm cat
which extended stretch and yawn smugly shares.
The walker prevails.
Somehow, surroundings seem terribly flat -
land less a life-force than foot-worn doormat.
Even the birds have no energy spare;
in the heat of this day, fox ignores hare.
Yet, like strong tail-ender last in to bat,
the walker prevails.
Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014
Miz Liberty welcomed Luigi to America's shores to begin a brand new life.
He arrived at Ellis Isle with piles of baggage, three kids and his addled wife.
He knew not a word of English but there's one thing he understood;
He must soon learn the baffling lingo so as not to be misunderstood!
Luigi enrolled in an English class and was bewildered from the start,
Trying to absorb the meaning of various words the teacher did impart!
There were so many words that sounded alike that he could not construe,
And how to fit them in a sentence or a conversation, he had not a clue!
"For example" he asked, "How and when do I use-a you, yew and ewe?
Please-a told me once-a more when it's-a proper to use-a do, dew and due!
When I visit da zoo, is da beast in da cage called a new, knew or gnu?
Can you tell-a me if da tree colors in fall are called hue, hew or Hugh?"
"How can I know if I use-a these-a words correctly, too, to and two,
Or if I get-a sick which of these-a words do I use-a, flew, flu or flue?
I'm-a having all kinds of troubles with these-a words, heir, hair and hare!
In da market I can't figure if I should ask da man for a pare, pair or pear!"
He strove to comprehend the perplexing language and all its doublespeak.
His kids could speak like natives but for him things were looking bleak!
But over time he learned to parse and spell and the jargon he did subdue!
Last I heard of Luigi he was a tenured English professor at Columbia Yew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
Blue sky with milky stars, spiral your way here
and I shall trace your yellow circles all night long,
because breathing is not easy and passion often sleeps.
We sat under the cover of nightfall, drinking wine
and taking in the majesty of night.
Paris 1947, no more war.
The bullets took my father away from me,
now the evening air consoles me, playing with my hair.
“A croissant my dear?” I laughed at the cliché of it all.
Some things still will never be the same.
The taste of the death is the same for everyone;
first it gets hot and then it gets cold.
I draw on the window fog,
a finger slides on cold glass, squealing.
I can see right through the letters.
A man walks along the shoreline, waves licking at his feet;
erasing his footprints, deleting his presence, making him complete.
I once could hear freedom in the echo of seashells: “Hushhhh…”
Somewhere among the snowy dunes, a solitary tree stood bare
with its limbs spilling into the sky like black ink on a grey page, a refuge
for owls and the thundering foot of a spring hare. This is my home.
I am nestled amongst dry leaves and damp wood, a family of squirrels
has taken me in.
Nature is gracious, wolves don’t belong in public.
These days, I live in lullabies.
One reality is better than none at all.
Copyright © Ph.d Volo Von Wolfenstein | Year Posted 2011
I watched the New York Marathon.
A woman held the lead;
And everyone expected her
To win the race, indeed.
Another racer tagged behind
But halfway through, dropped back
And then the coast was clear –
To win, the leader was on track.
The race goes on for miles –
Twenty-six, to be exact;
When she hit twenty-three, we saw
A view the leader lacked.
Another runner’d closed the gap
And soon had passed her by,
With energy and confidence
In limitless supply.
The one who’d had the lead at first,
Ran fast as she would dare,
Yet in the end she lost,
A tortoise beaten by the hare.
I feel so bad for number two,
Whose spirits had to sag
When she saw slip away
What she was sure was in the bag.
But life is filled with elements
Of let-downs and surprise.
It’s foolish to trust certainty
Though it might tantalize.
Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2013
Horace the tortoise was ready to dine
He ordered his food, and the waiter poured wine
They bought the first course, a huge bowl of soup
But, the the broth had a rabbit, swimming in loops!!
"Oh waiter! Come quickly!"..."There's a hare in my soup!!"
And soon other patrons, had circled in groups
Their eyes were astonished, as that hare took a swim
Splashing the soup, and wearing a grin
"This is disgusting"!! "Oh, what a disgrace!!"
"It's that same rascal rabbit...who lost yesterday's race!!"
"He's that same trouble maker....now he's eating my food!"
"He's come for revenge, that rascal's no good!!"
"Call the authorities!! Someone, please call the cops!"
As that rascal munched a carrot....then, quickly he hopped
Right out of the soup bowl, and over the table, down to the floor
Hopped through the restaurant, and right out the door
Hippity hop, hippity hop....nibbling a lot, couldn't be stopped!
Grinning a lot, and spouting "What's happening, Doc?"
Hippity Hop, Hippity Hop...all the patrons were shocked
He hopped down the sidewalk! Leaving poor Horace distraught!!!
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010