Best Muskrats Poems
November’s raindrops shiver as they fall
Its cold grey weary sky must fade away
As winds become that howling siren call
To leave the cooling ponds in winged ballet,
As soft trickling cold streams of Autumn’s kiss
Allow the mud-caked Muskrats, come and go
For they are not the sort to reminisce
And simply live their lives as they may flow.
A snowfall silence soon consumes all sound
In a beauty to awe the rising sun
Its golden orb the glow of Winter’s crown
To which poet and pirate will succumb.
Deep within the core of rain’s November
Hide instincts that nature must remember.
On the Sixth Day
On the sixth day God created the animals
Oh what fun creating the animals;
Rolled up each sleeve to create all the animals
On the sixth day.
God made cats and dogs and hogs and frogs
Elk and moose – mongoose on the loose;
Singing birds and fuzzy chicks –
The Lord in Heaven even made a tic? Ick!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made camels, rhinos, laughing hyenas
Lions, tigers, funny stripped zebras;
Robins that fly and pigs with curly tails
Roadrunners, coyotes and the slowest snails. Beep! Beep!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made leopards, cheetahs, elephants, oh my!
Bumblebees, ladybugs and all the butterflies;
Bears and badgers, bunnies too!
Koalas down under then made the kangaroo. Yahoo!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made otters, dolphins, seals and grey whales
Beavers, peacocks, squirrels with their funny tails;
Worms that slither and tortoise that creep
Wombats, meerkats, silver fox and fuzzy sheep! Baa!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made gophers, manatees, long-necked giraffe
Anteaters, platypus just to see us laugh;
Walrus, polar bears, doe eyed deer;
Possums and skunks, not to fear! Whew!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made crickets, fireflies, marmots, muskrats,
Jaguar, walking sticks, radar guided bats;
Beavers, ferrets, woodchuck, raccoons -
Made the wolves who howl at the moon. Howl!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made crab and shrimp and gooey ducks
Lobster, cows, grasshopper ruckus;
Horses, ants and donkeys forlorn
But, God didn’t make a unicorn? Oh no!
On the sixth day God created the animals.
God made gophers, panthers, giant roly-poly bugs
Gold fish, spiders, clams in shells -so snug
Birds that swim and fish that fly
All these creations – my, oh my! My, oh my!
On the sixth day God created the animals;
Oh what fun to create all the animals;
Rolled up each sleeve to create the animals –
On the sixth day! Yeah!
I am a semi-hoarder; not quite there yet, but on my way
because I love having things sit around in piles.
Piles are a comfort to me.
If you put my clothing into drawers I may not find them again.
Thus, I have a chair pile, a clothes tree pile and a bathroom pile.
Not to mention the guest room bed pile of clothing.
These are my favorite things to wear.
I am able to get them when I want them.
They are easy to find; because I can readily see them.
Someday I may have developed into a true hoarder.
I will have muskrats living in the living room
and a family of raccoons diving under the beds.
I may or not see them or the beavers in the bathroom
based on how high and deep my piles have become
Today I grab up my favorite orange sweatshirt
and celebrate my piles.
Closets and cupboard drawers are not for everyone.
Certainly not for me; I have lost more in there
than I have ever found.
Swans - thrump-thrumping
practice take offs and landings
Geese honk
file flight plans
Muskrats build
mud and stick domes
Beaver maintenance crews
make ready
frogs retreat
while the mud is soft
Osprey screech
above naked woods
A doe follows
a scented path
Turtles secure
their mobile homes
A woodpecker
sends Morse code alerts
The ice shell
creeps
Winter exhales
across the pond
John G. Lawless
9/25/2020
From the Painted Desert, head west
Past sagebrush, brittle bush, desert scrub
And The Petrified Forest at rest
To the Rocky Mountains above
Go past the Continental Divide
Below Douglas firs and pinyon pines
Head down the sunset side
Where the Colorado River cuts and winds
Many generations ago
Native Americans were inhabiting squatters
There were herds of buffalo
Along with now extinct muskrats and river otters
Beaver, cut cottonwoods and willows
Leopard frogs slept on limestone pillows
Mule deer and bighorn sheep
Climbed up and down walls so steep
Follow me down the foot trail
Like indigenous butterflies with swallowtails
In to the Valley of the Sun
Where Hopi civilization begun
Tassel eared squirrels frolic about
Bald eagles fly over and scout
Stream orchids, honey mesquite and arrow weeds
For pocket mice and other rodent species
Gray fox, weasels, bobcats
Spotted skunks, ring tails, and bats
Call this canyon their home
Where bark scorpions and rattlesnakes roam
While gila monsters and red spotted toads
Search for midges, flies and black widows
It took this river millions of years
To make this home for all who are here
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Cattails grow up out of my muck
taking root in the mire on my bottom
creeping along in my soft blue clay,
shooting up in long cylindrical spikes
with a velvety fruit, encouraging
red-winged black birds to nest, feed,
caw and quack, at times acting more like
a predator than prey, especially when
local toms creep around the high grass
on my banks, licking their chops, while
bogs of ancient trees decay, discoloring
stagnant water, where frogs, amphibians
and a variety of snakes find places to
burrow. Mosquito larva slip in among
slime and weeds, sparrows hazard making
nests in stumps and reeds protruding in the air
black, green, round and mud snakes lurk
in primal anticipation
of bird brain nest strategies,
although they have a preference for siren
salamanders and small amphibians.
Submerged and floating vegetation fill my shallow
waters, where muskrats and water voles survive
in a primitive atmosphere within shouting distance
of a twenty-first century mall.
Placid pond, the stillest place on earth.
Don't hate the pond scum, appreciate it's worth.
If you want to be with me, then just be with me.
I am the pond scum, please hear me.
With a belly full of fire, how easily we conspire.
Don't mean to call you a liar but the pond scum sires.
Stay away, it's mud you seek not wine.
Wine has you flapping your gums about the plight of the water hole.
I'm the pond scum, chains run through and around me.
The muskrats they found me.
I am the pond scum, green in color.
Angered and abhorred, but I am your brother
.
I am the pond scum, I walk with breeze
I am the pond scum, purity through disease. I am the pond scum, true to form.
I am the pond scum, the silent storm.
Overgrown path, concealing overgrown frog prince.
The children use an awl to cup away the ice;the torpid muskrat freed, at the party he is me.
Modern Sophocles he sees, but at the party he is me.
You ask him can he hear it? There is a reeking spirit. It takes the small an makes it all complex; The overgrown path, concealing overgrown frog prince.
Journey with me, through all space and time; Return to self and you will find.
I am the pond scum, I walk with breeze.
I am the pond scum, purity through disease.
I am the pond scum, true to form.
I am the pond scum, the silent storm.
In a damp, bluesy club in the middle of the reeds
Two amphibious musicians gathered in the weeds
Stringed instruments of driftwood and canary grass
Played with webbed fingers and a dash of southern sass
Two of them will face off to see who would headline
Swamp juice and flies aplenty and the music is divine
Marsh creatures waiting, having a drink on mossy log
While they watched the marsh house band, Bulrush Bog
Tadpoles grooving in the water, afraid of the limelight
Since they are literally spineless, some likely stage fright
Beavers gnawing on wood, carving out a double bass
Muskrats drumming cattails at Animal’s Muppet pace
The music now quiets with the sun as the light goes dim
Fireflies set the mood, drinks filled, lake foam to the brim
Two finalists take stage, Marsh music battle is to start
Yet… they sounded the same, you couldn’t tell them apart
So how do you decide which musical act will take the win
When it’s a toad with a fiddle versus a frog with a violin?
January 23, 2023
The Fiddler and the Frog Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Cold Comfort
And so the ducks of season – fled
left me standing – holding bread
as leaves – fresh fallen - drifted by
the tears of trees that couldn’t cry.
The muskrats weave their mounds of reeds
while squirrel and chipmunk search for seeds
preparing for long winter’s nap
cold fingered tree - withdrawing sap.
Coyote’s yip and wolves low growl
soon to turn to hunger’s howl
baying at the harvest moon
reflecting only cold - at noon.
As the crust of captive bread submerges
I bow to instinct driven urges.
John G. Lawless
8/24/2014
Dampened earth announces its worth
with rotting leaves, moss on trees.
Dew’s panache from morning’s wash
mystic glow with sighing sough.
Senses heightened and enlightened.
Hare bides hole, fidgeting mole;
musky muskrats, batting bats;
sweet sugar canes, berry stains.
Nature feeds our feral needs.
Nature clears our eyes and ears.
Nature hones sensitive nose.
Nature touches - grand duchess.
Magnificent marauders masquerading magically might mean
Messy mollusks masticate marbled marigolds momentarily.
Maybe.
Moreover, momentous mosquitoes might make marvelous mini-muffins mixing marmalade momentarily.
Meanwhile
Minnie made monthly memories merely medicating masses
Mediocre men mysteriously manufactured man-made missals
Might mean
Millionaires mystify magical muggles’ meager melodies making
Magnifying, mollifying mortifying mind-blowing majestic missives.
Moreover,
Mummies, mammograms, mushrooms, minks, musicians,
Models, maestros, minions, muskrats, merry men
May
Momentarily medicate marvelously magnificent marauders.
Meanwhile
Mary May memorize multiplication minimizing
Mark’s Mother’s marmalade mini-muffin memory.
M might make momentous mountain-mincing molehill.
The dolphin will roll in them, everyone assured the judge of the day.
Of course, he did too, because every dolphin loves to roll and play.
He may squash the flowers, some argued. Can we give it to the snake?
Judge was losing his patience. How much criticism did he have to take?
Either we give it to the dolphin, or I will not ever judge again.
The muskrats and beavers decided to let the blue dolphin win.
There were others disgruntled, especially the trolls and a mole.
When the excited young dolphin won, he did a victory roll!
Sunlight entered the aquamarine potting shed from the east
Beating the master gardener by a few minutes or steps
Ruffled marigold seeds were waiting to be planted in seedling trays
It was March the fifteenth, an opportune time to get things started
Potting shed was feeling joyfully optimistic
She had been shivery cold for the past three months
Her owner had kept her heat at a steady sixty-seven degrees
Muskrats and field mice had left her crawlspace for warmer places.
Mrs. G. arrived carrying armloads of sacks marked Lowes.
Two gorgeous African violets were pulled out first.
Their purple color was exquisite, they were dark and velvety.
Potting shed felt elated when she saw the floral tool bag
Here was her good friend, Jay, the Japanese hand hoe,
Sheila, the sierrated farmer’s dagger
And Hattie, the shiny new trowel – were all eager to talk.
Mrs. G. worked with fresh new dirt and pots for five hours.
The second she left the whispering began.
The tools had been shoved into a closet.
They had not seen much, but they had heard a lot.
Potting Shed sat back and listened to the latest gossip.
The biggest thing about Harvey Elephant was his fear.
He was afraid of zebras, fox, muskrats, opossums, even a deer.
He was terrified of oak trees, willows and sycamores too.
His mother asks, “What in the world are you going to do?”
He can’t go to the city, his father says. “He is afraid of glass.”
“He is also afraid of horns, sirens, electricity and cars that take gas.”
He could be a computer nerd and work by himself someone says.
“Great except he is afraid of computers,” said his cousin Inez.
Morey Mouse made merry,
Mollifying Mallory’s Mama,
Maybe mixing mammoth metaphors
Marvelously mystical, Marmaduke mimed
mingling, meshing, ‘mogrifying magical mites,
Measuring muskrats minding miniature minnows
Meddlesome merrymakers, Mr. Mumbsly mentioned, miffed.
Mesmerized minions made millions, merely making mincemeat.
Mediocre maybe, magnificent Mrs. Mumps meticulously mentioned.