Best Jackrabbit Poems
Enroling you a worm (cumbersome and)
hairy, you- scimitar of leaves
Knows the pain ,writhing pupae
Abandoned and convicted
Constricted hanging straightjacket
Squirming like a jackrabbit
Gagged nocturnally - blindfold humility
Rejected by those mocking moths
and jealously believing left the key
Both found our grace on bended knees
..left there dangling from a tree..
Unhinge now those spinakers of glory
Pretty - flaky- flinder
Streaked in splatters paint
Dust of the fairies
Gaze at me with criss-cross eyes
Innocent beauty oh ye butterfly
Spiny antennae, stretching out transmitters
Taking flight so easily
Flitting off with no goodbyes
To a newer afternoon over there
Dashing in the sun
Kneeding and gouging all those zinnias
Joy! Slurping up the nectar
Whisky! Tequila! Brandy and Champagne!
Swops them for a chorus of pansies
Dancing blooming flowers
Crazy blessed colours
Bouncing delight.- erratic in flight
Dodging in between the bees
O enchanted mystic butterfly
Only pausing for a while
Hold me in your spell
For you walked that crooked mile
Linger in this dream
So seldom comes to see
Just as you, my timepiece too
Is coiled in spring
A dustpuff within the wind
Specked all over pollen confetti
Envied now by every moth
Suicidal circle - one kamikaze candle
Seared and singed and slowly fried
Getting what theyre vetted for
But the sun his laughing in his sky
Beseeching all the yet to open flowers
Awake !Awake!
An angel is coming by
Beware the morning tiger
Before his first coffee
Look out for the afternoon lizard:
Ectotherm on the sidewalk soaking in other people’s acknowledgement
On occasion I’m a hummingbird
Seeking life’s nectar while shying away from human contact
Sometimes I’m a dolphin
Smiling and dancing in the waves
Last week I felt like a beaver
Getupgotoworkdomyworkgotobedgetupgotoworkdomyworkgotobed
(do beavers even have beds?)
Whatever happened to the puppy
Who would romp exuberantly through the day
Eventually collapsing in utterly exhausted joy?
Be wary of the electric eel
Who will zap you if you get too close
Look at the proudly preening peacock
Hoping somebody will notice me
Occasionally I’m a jackrabbit
Always on my guard, ready to run away from conflict
At times I’m a giraffe
Able to rise above the dust of the day
This week I was a worker bee putting in a day’s work
Happy to let the Queen be in charge
Whatever else I may be, I feel like a White Rhino
Older, wiser, stronger, endangered
My spirit animal is a zoo
…or a puppy
.
albino ~VIEW~
Persian tailed jackrabbit
ebony awaits
---
.
January breeze
snowbird, whistles on tree top
where did x-mass go?
by;p.d.
I have this small birdbath
in my backyard
apparently the talk of the
whole Bird-town -- not much
larger than a good-size hubcap,
one would think it was Lake Erie
size takes on different perspective
in the desert; like a prairie dog
is fat pheasant to a snake -- a jackrabbit
seldom fast enough for a hungered, blood-thirsty
coyote once targeted -- even a cartoon Willy would
shed his cartoon ink, in the real desert~ life here, first
is all about drink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Without warning, they came
twelve jackrabbits rushing across
ice-kissed mesquite,
their ears shining with stars,
their hooves kicking up constellations.
Santa grabbed hold real tight,
his red hat flapping
like a startled roadrunner.
The reindeer back home
would never believe this~
Wow! How Texas moonlight
turned sleek fur silver,
how the rabbits wove
between prickly pear and oil derricks,
delivering joy in wild, bounding leaps.
By sunrise, they disappeared~
leaving just tracks in the Chihuahuan dust
and one lost jingle bell
nestled in the Texas sage.
*“A jackrabbit is a type of hare known for its long ears and powerful hind legs. Unlike rabbits, jackrabbits do not live in burrows and are typically found in open areas like deserts and grasslands.”(Source Wikipedia.com)
Why, do we call it
Something it’s not
If we’re going to name things
Let’s give it, some thought
If it’s called a chilli
Then why is it so hot
And I can say this
A guinea pig, is not
A prairie dog
He only digs holes
But this dog belongs
With rodents and moles
If you eat an elder berry
You won’t get to retire
But a taste for them
You must acquire
If I strike a ball
And this gets me pissed
In real life, I hit it
But in baseball, I missed
That horned toad
Isn’t a wizard
Not even a frog
It’s just a lizard
A pencil with lead
That’s just a myth
It’s really graphite
That we write with
A simple door mouse
Is really neither
It’s just a squirrel
Taking a breather
It’s not a firefly
Lighting the dark
It’s only a horny beetle
That has the spark
And who gives us silk
Not that silkworm
It’s really caterpillars
That wiggle and squirm
Bears have no pouch
But Koala bears do
It’s a marsupial
I thought you knew
To some this may not
Be a big deal
But wasn’t Achilles
Really a heel
That majestic bald eagle
His head is not bare
And that speedy jackrabbit
Is really a hare
A Turkish bath
Invented by a Roman
And catgut intestines
From sheep abdomen
A shooting star
That isn’t right
It’s always been
A meteorite
A peanut a nut
You would presume
Nope, not a chance
It’s a legume
A Douglas fir
Is only a pine
And that funny bone
It’s not, by design
Cucumbers and tomatoes
This is a hoot
They are not veggies
They’re really a fruit
A duck bill is not
A duck’s paper money
And bees didn’t make
My little honey
Hamburgers are made
With beef and not pork
And how come those hot dogs
At strangers don’t bark
Sometimes you get
A really dumb waiter
But not in a restaurant
It’s an elevator
Eye tooth is a dog’s tooth
But not in his eye
This kind of name
Just makes me cry
A killdeer is not roadkill
That’s just absurd
It really is
A wading bird
Duck weed is a water lily
Dog wood is a bush
An ear wig is an insect
And your ass is a tush
Shortbread is a cookie
And a jumping bean is a seed
And things we misname
Only tend to mislead
BOEMS by JA 134
September is aging with a cool beauty
and the Missouri seems to be hurrying the expedition
into a world of natural splendor that is impatient to strip our spirit to it's bare light,
in my silent moments of strategy I feel the birth pangs of winter in the air
and know that an emergency of shelter will soon be the crucible,
more days than not the river wind has aided the Corps of Discovery's adventure,
rarely have we had to pull Destiny along by ropes
and today I'm off the boat, hunting a fleet and mammoth goat
the pronghorned antelope, unlike the buffalo and deer herds
that have easily been in excess of 500, these shy creatures
move about in small groups, seemingly familial in manner,
a hide of short, soft white and brown hair
which stripes the throat, and vicious charcoal horns
that could impale a man in a single jolt, none of us has ever seen such an animal,
these damn goats bolt like bullets every time I creep near
they must be catching my scent for I am stealth and camouflaged,
they are so agile and swift, unafraid to speed through the most dangerous ravines,
getting back to camp with no hooves to show for my time
I see that John Sheilds has sacked a peculiar hare,
he calls it a jackrabbit, it is a monster rabbit no doubt
20 pounds dead and can leap like a rock across water, 20 foot spreads at full speed,
we all laugh and agree this place is becoming more of a jungle than a prarie,
any moment we may encounter apes and wherewolves,
its good to see Private Shanon chuckle well since returning
from being alone along the river for sixteen days nearly starved and maddened,
the fires be hot and the kettles be kickin with the right stuff
most of us are consuming 5, 000 calories per day including several pounds of meat each,
the mission is teaching the men's' bodies new extremes, the exertion is remarkable,
sunburn, blisters, rolled ankles, sprained wrists and backs, inadequate sleep,
mosquito bites, spider bites, ant bites, hours of tedious paddling and foraging,
no woman love, gaurd duties, chores, the stress of Indian encounters and ambush,
home sickness,
the only thing familiar to us is eachother,
sharing our sufferings, sharing our survival,
J.A.B.
As I look out upon the desert floor, its beauty I espy.
A lizard awaits the sun to land for its’ sunning to apply.
A mother quail runs from her hole with 7 chicks in tow.
A comedy of running feet, they are found rarely still at all.
A mother dove nests high above, in a saguaro nestled deep.
A cactus wren finds fruit up high, from a cactus she will eat.
A hawk soars high above it all, seeking a breakfast to enjoy.
As fruit trees abound in every yard, amid varied colored stones.
Geese find lakes and golf course ponds with only minor flights.
But don’t forget the smaller things that crawl within the night
The occasional snake will rear its head to look around or bite.
But in cities they are rare, preferring desert solitude and quiet.
You best be quick or miss it all, no other choice there is, I insert.
We’re not alone within these lands of desert sands and dirt.
In a place most think lost, with no more than destitute emptiness,
Is a place where people and migrating birds seek to live with cactus.
And don’t forget the forests high; with wildlife found that’s rather large.
Where bears and pumas dance each day in some one’s great backyard.
Far away a coyote runs a jackrabbit deep into the hidden earth.
As armadillos move along before found, in the daily heats rebirth.
Don’t be silly some will say… it’s only sand, and dirt, and heat.
But I know it comes with great abundance and multitudes complete.
There are those who know the truth, like you, and of course like me.
Who each day find life, and beautiful sunsets in its magical relief’s.
Where the sky meets the earth and the highway goes on and on, a white satin ribbon snaking across a sea of brown. You can see far into the distance with no trees to obscure your view. No billboards mar the landscape, no skyscrapers rise out of the ground. Rolling hills, tumble-weed, yucca, sagebrush and distant mountains range on forever. Herds of antelope roam freely, wearing coats of butterscotch and whipped cream.
Artists leave their signatures, huge metal sculptures drawing the eye, many miles in advance. Anticipation grips you as you wait to identify buffalo, roadrunner, jackrabbit, Brahma bull or horse and rider.
Contemplate a life so different from your own, experience the serenity as you roll along with so little effort, feel the fulfillment, the contentment, the embracing freedom.
seashake jake
headlights blinding
screeching yellow eyed owls
ran me over
I washed up with anchors cut in
whiskey drenched promises
holy swans humming hymns of sun-god gratitude on ole beach
mashing sweet tooth’s hungry bone dry night
madame itch invisible escorts me to her
scarlet’s pistol packed slo boat ride
shadow stained fingers fire blank heart bullets
across splattering bug--eye screens
funeral strip-tease captains blow the rapture foghorn
pools of energy
teetering like a nasty wind waltz
playing jackrabbit on the wayward buoys
passing grotto tombs
seashake jake toss that quiff.. get out to that sweet mean drift..again
. . .
I don’t feel like doing anything. . .
And yet here I am, writing again. . .
Punctured thoughts gushing redness of frustration and disgust,
Black rivers flowing and intoxicating the remaining blemished white of reality,
Stuck in this brain,
Wracking desperately for order and purpose,
I want to be perfect,
And yet the concept of perfection in certain viewpoints is downright sickening,
Puking out flaws. . .
Diseased in the mind. . .
Stretching out in exhaustion. . .
Not wanting to feel the numbness of nothingness,
And yet not wanting to face the day. . .
I am angry at my life. . .
Scared of what’s coming—of what’s not coming,
I damn my aching mentality into the dark depths of arbitrary emotion. . .
No one gives a sh*t. . .
So who cares if it overflows?
Asphyxiating my very existence,
Hope springing to mind for s p l i t moments,
Then fleeing like a damned jackrabbit in heat,
Wanting its companion,
Playing hard to get—becoming hard to get,
I hate. . .
I love. . .
All in one.
The emptiness is almost welcoming,
But the sun refuses to shine there in that strange pleasure. . .
I feel the earth below me as splintered pictures wisp around me,
The days I’ll never miss,
The days I have come to wish were my present,
And those days that will never leave me the hell alone. . .
I think we all feel it,
Justin different ways. . .
The rubber bands on her braces snapping. . .
Saliva squirting out and splashing me in the face. . .
Is there a reason my stomach wants to melt and fold over?
Webs keeping them intact,
So intricate—yet delicate
Her eyes popping out of her head,
Violence surging in her like a mad dog,
Drooling and snapping its folded-skinned jaw,
Tightened buds blooming blasphemy,
Forces, vile forces spurting out in cuss words. . .
Like it’s just a regular day. . .
I’m staring at them all. . .
I am crowded and so sacredly alone here. . .
I sense madness,
But that’s just another defense mechanism I have formulated in the imagination,
If I am mad,
WE ALL ARE. . .
I was never there to begin with. . .
a twig snap
from the cliff -
bobcat
treetops glint
in sunlight -
jackrabbit leaps
footpath
between the trees -
hoot owl
tookie winfeild was a friend of mine
from way on back down the way
back in my river days
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
ole tookie could talk a mile a second say nothin at all
ole tookie was as crazy as a jackrabbit in heat and twice as slick
used to see that ole codger strolling on the avenue
with some young honey on his arm
carefree as sin and twice in its debt
yes sir...ole tookie was a friend of mine
back in the day we ran that river
like it was our private playground
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
both barrels for the lookers
and a bottle of shine for the sippers
yes sir back when i was young that river was ours
they found old tookie winfeild up on the river
frozen to death in the dead of night
took to drinking up there by his lonesome
and shouting at the moon
aint no good ever come from no crazy man
least thats what they say
but old tookie was allright
in his own crazy way
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
he was a friend to many a poor boy
down the old river way
At six o’clock the road turned bare
as we rode through Tennessee.
From Nashville to Memphis is a long,
dark stretch of gray and brown trees
and fields where no one ever walks or works.
I’ve often wondered who owns those empty spaces.
The rains kicked up and splattered the windshield
with drops as big as plums, ten seconds at a time,
then dry a while before starting all over again.
For hours and miles, nothing changed
past Memphis, Little Rock, and Fort Smith,
until the sun came up somewhere the other
side of Oklahoma City.
Clear dawn revealed the dead-end of Autumn,
but hot as Summer. The enfolding hills
of home had unfolded into horizons
all the way to the curved edge of the Earth.
The fields were golden stubble and brown
and gray and white from no rain
at this dead-end since August.
These are fields where people work,
but do not walk, because there is nowhere to go,
as far as the eye could see, nowhere to go.
In that unfolded expanse,
there were sometimes brown gashes
where older rains had surprised the ground
with knife-edged, alkaline drops
and left miniature grand canyons
of momentary interest to whiz by.
Finally, we arrived home,
a place with roots deep in the Amarillo soil.
The family was gathered there,
faces of people who knew about horses
and no rain, the sharp spikes of cactus
and mesquite pounded into the surface
of that thirsty soil. Their roots went
deep enough to find a little harsh water
to nourish the music of parched conversation
over an informal Thanksgiving dinner.
Later we weaved through the cactus and mesquite
to a line of low buttes rising a hundred feet to
flat tops where we could see across
the quiet, dusty plain.A distant silver train
caught the sun, and rolled silently beneath us
in that Autumn heat.
A jackrabbit skipped across our path
like a stone on still water, and
some tired bird of prey from nowhere sailed by,
going nowhere.
The heat of that dusty day
bled into a tired Amarillo night,
so we threw off the unnecessary coverings
left in preparation for a cold dead end of
Autumn that had not yet arrived.
Vol Lindsey
11/98
Remember to look over your shoulder
Before moving to the left lane to pass
And if nothing is coming, move over quickly
After signaling and press on the gas!
After this maneuver move to the right,
And maintain your speed up, don’t slow
Or, the one you passed will eagerly fight
For fast-slow-fast-slow, simply doesn’t go!
Good driving manners are appreciated out on the road,
So, move along like a jackrabbit, don’t drive like a toad!
written January 21, 2022