Best Playing Possum Poems
Emblazon pigment leaves in autumn
Sun's lull shadow playing possum.
Autumn rich hues of amber, anticipating
Slowly trembling, slowly falling,
Descending, creak and shudder,
Unhurried, yet empowering wonder
Soft murmuring waft then slow showers.
Monarchs flutter tasting flowers
Beautiful shade of autumn spice
In the sunlight once or twice.
Nature's palette of bright
Migrating birds in V flight
Towards the flaxen horizon there
In the crisp wind laid bare.
9/9/2020
I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.
Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.
Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.
I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.
I have come to accept the possibility
that I, myself, may be partially to blame (my compost pile of shame)
that I may have stroked the very wheel (unable to feel)
that, set in motion, is the cause of
so much pain (unsheltered in the rain)
Silently suffering through endless winters (embers, cinders)
without anticipation of Spring (hope an ethereal thing)
blind to Mother Earth's gifts (tenuous unfelt shifts)
the colors, the scents of her blossoms (habitually playing possum)
deaf to the melodies of the birds (knowledge lost, language
unheard)
as they sing
She calls to me but my barriers are thick (mentally stunted, physically sick)
densely scarred and wounded (as I am, to the quick)
As the sludge chokes the seabirds (screaming their lost words)
and the fishes (murdering Piscean wishes)
as Her forests are cleared by those
both greedy and vicious
I feel Mother Earth tremble (demons assemble)
beneath my feet
hear Her sigh as I place a hesitant finger (shaking, letting it linger)
on Her weakened pulse
thready and irregular
We are killing Her, Mother Earth,
mother of us all, matricide (no longer can we hide)
listen, listen to Her heartbeat...
I may have stroked the very wheel...
Politics is a cat-and-mouse poker game,
Some play it well,
others not so much
Amateurs show their hidden hand,
they got an easy-to-spot tell
But the old pros are the best cons,
selling you wet dreams from a dry well
It’s a two-party poker game in the U.S. of A,
has been like this now forever and a day
... at least it seems that way
There’s a lot of cheese in the budget mouse traps,
and a pack of donor dogs chasing those political cats
There’s a lot of dark scurrying by the greediest rats,
avoiding the crook catchers taking another light nap
Today, Democrats may be the cat,
tomorrow, they may be the rat
Yesterday, Republicans may have been the cat,
tomorrow, they may be the rat
Both wanna pocket the money, easy peasy ...
and to the people,
they ain’t planning on giving it back
If you ask them where is the stolen sack,
playing possum is how they’re gonna act
Pointing fingers is what they all do best,
then give more campaign promises next
Saying another election’s coming up,
so just reshuffle the marked deck
Playing possum poker is a grifter’s art,
gotta have a poker face and an empty heart
They love betting the farm, which is money you don’t got
Turning their pockets red to black, when they win the pot
Tip the shady dealer who tipped the hand,
the House always comes up Senate empty
time and time again
As both parties tell you, they’re gonna catch THOSE rats,
if you vote THEM in
My garden is unfolding before my startled eyes.
Each blossom as it opens is a welcome, glad surprise.
The daffodils are blooming and spread sunshiny cheer,
While the tulips are struggling to hold up their heads this year.
The plum trees are in blossom, their branches snowy white,
Others playing possum keep their new buds closed up tight.
Rhododendrons showing color, camellias in full bloom,
The scene is ever changing in my outdoor living room.
Crocuses and small snowdrops are already past their prime.
Anemones and pansies are expected anytime.
A bunny in my garden is looking for a deal.
And eagle in my birch tree, eyes the bunny for a meal.
Oh my garden in the springtime is an optical delight,
While predators of every kind are looking for a bite.
I must find a way to thwart them without poisoning the land..
I will share with the less greedy, slugs and aphids must be banned.
Silently signaled,
Eagerly early
Spring overtakes
Not left behind
I hurry to find
Clippers and rakes.
Each bud and blossom
Quits playing possum
Appearance makes.
Responsive resurgence,
Fixed on fast forward,
Nature awakes.
By: Joyce Johnson
Won 2nd place
A vision, crimson wave
full of laughter pushing through
manor shore, stunning roses
in its beauties grace flew.
Yesterday not forgotten
lay infectious from bottom blossom,
up like leaves in autumn
sun's shadow playing possum.
Fragrance braced the darkest
harvest night with a tempest to rouse
liven faces of lace in this very placed
time in space allows
Love of yesterday's grace,
crimson harvest lay in drink
of the evening chill
as it grows misty in a blink
4/9/2018
and so it begins…
I lay here dormant
playing possum
peeking warily
and wearily
beneath the rotted leaves
of Autumn’s glory
testing the air
with a daring shoot
telescopically assessing
the tenor of the wind.
Oh, how I long for her
time’s temptress
warm breath
tantalizing my need
beckoning me
come forth my darling
all is well.
©2/7/2019
And So It Begins Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier - sponsor
never poke a sleeping bear
he may be playing possum
waiting to turn you into
a morning snack quite awesome
who can calculate
the cost of any scratch
without putting a value on
the itch it has to match
could one hand do it all alone
or must it join the other
to match the width and breadth
of the itch it has to cover
or a cautious rub against a tree
out of sight, no one can see
with ooows, and oooohs, and moaning ahhhhs
that send the walkers to their cars
and then there is
that little itch
it can’t be reached
ain’t it a *itch
John G. Lawless
©3/4/2022
Shikata ga nai Poetry Contest
Silent One
My Dear,
The sun will rise tomorrow
And there will be some sorrow
For I'll be out of your life
And I'll forever be your ex-wife
It saddens me to let go
However I need to grow
And blossom
Instead of playing possum
I need to get back on my feet
Instead of taking your back seat
It's like I was tied to your hands
And molded to your plans
Which was to be your slave
That you locked in your cave
It was ... always you being sated
And me being dictated
This one way street needed to end
And to cut ties now will be a godsend
For five years we had a bond
To death do us part, I now need to despond
This note should it find your ways
I truly wish you happier days
Shikata ga nai
I say a final goodbye
I like travelling a lot
that’s why people are
often giving me guilt trips.
I like to drill and dig holes
that’s why people always bore me.
I like playing possum
that’s why life often passes me by.
I paint a lot in red
that’s why people often catch me
red-handed painting the town red.
I am old-school and like to
hitch rides on horse-drawn cart
but fall off the wagon often.
I bite off more than I can chew
And I am hanging onto life now
by the skin of my teeth.
Playing possum
to an Alaskan grizzly
barged into his tent,
unsuccessful.
Good news and bad news.
Bad news first.
He was viciously mauled;
bitten in the back
and thrashed around
like a rag doll.
Good news.
He's still alive.
Thank God!
Date written: 04/19/2020
Winter is surly.
Eagerly early,
Spring overtakes.
Not left behind
I hurry to find
Clippers and rake.
Each bud and blossom
Quits playing possum.
Appearances make.
Responsive resurgence,
Fixed on fast forward,
Nature awakes!
By: Joyce Johnson
1/28/10
Beware the bug playing ‘possum; especially if it bites or stings!