Best Prairie Dog Poems
There’s a beguiling danger in beauty…
seduced as I was by the fickle fingers of fate musingly stroking my hair,
I envisaged
this lusciously lavish landscape
of sun-raptured heavenly hills and valid valleys
to be a lush, plush place for me to land ~
alas, such deception my naive perception did offer.
Buried beneath the facade of a fertile dream-come-true
and a mesmerizing mirage of natural light and zephyrus breaths -
where your thoughts hugged the horizons of my mind
like clouds on the edges of prairie dog skies
and where your stampeding passions trampled my inhibitions -
were delicate bandeaux of ice;
finespun and feathery like polar gossamer
that formed on the stems of your ruptured dreams
that then became my nightmare
when you had your hard freeze
while warm sap still flowed through your veins,
pumped and pushing through your broken being
and freezing on contact with the chilled clime
cocooning me, in a sudden silken surge of your glazing gauze
holding me, in the vivid wild magic of your frosted crystallized clutches -
fossilizing me, in icy opalescent ribbons of ornate whorls.
Unable to escape the grasping glacial petals of your exquisite pain,
your frost flowers plunged me into the frigid heart
of your bitter bluestem’s prairie winter...
There’s a beguiling beauty in danger
hypnotized and hijacked
as I was by the rhythmic sways of your tall grass ways -
your flickering tongue tasting my air
as my emotions were extorted
till I was bled white -
obviously oblivious
that I was being preyed upon
by a stealthy force of nature motivated by indigenous instincts.
Susan Ashley
March 13, 2018
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Poetry for the Sake of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
*bluestem: tall grass native to the Great Plains with bluish leaf sheaths*
*frost flower: thin layers of ice extruded from long-stemmed plants in autumn or early winter. These thin ice layers form dainty ‘ribbons’ or ‘petals’*
Categories:
prairie dog, betrayal, dark, emotions, heartbreak,
Form:
Free verse
As the pastel moon rises across the midnight blue
a lone wolf’s dark silhouette appears into view
his boast is known from Cowboy to prairie dog
fore this is the night chill that turns to morning fog
the early dawn is thawed by a piping hot cup o’ Joe
No time to waste, just a few days brings first snow
Such is the Cowboy’s life on the cattle drive
Categories:
prairie dog, animal, autumn, good morning,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
a rattler flicking its
split tongue...gathering
chemical messengers~ Prairie Dog
without a prayer
vulture, periscope downward
navigates a granulate sea,
follows the wavering flow of tracks~
just over a grilling crest his meal
falls, pauses and pauses and pauses
he waits a bit longer on the sun, dinner
sun-baked and organic
Categories:
prairie dog, dark, death, fate, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
prairie dog, drink, environment, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
The cow lows to her baby as night falls
A cricket gaily chirps there is nothing wrong
A little frog croaks as I walk by the stream
A whip-poor-will calls from a near by grove of trees
A screech of the eagle as he balances on the wind
The yip yip of the kit foxes as they play by their den
The cooing of the dove as it calls to it’s mate
The beller of the bull as he declares his space
The grunting of a mare as she gives her colt a bath
The thumping of a rabbit as he crosses my path
The rattle of a snake warning he is close by
The hoot hoot-hoot of a skunk says he’s nigh
The call of the red winged black bird as he settles on the reeds
While the blue jay called me a thief, as from my garden he gets his seeds
Mr. Owl brought a smile as he said hello
For you see we have spoken before
The chatter of the squirrel as he scampers through the trees
As the wind gently rattles it’s leaves.
The bark bark of the prairie dog as he bobs up and down
The splash of the raindrops is a soothing sound
The rustle of the brush as the quail pass
The kill deer tries to tempt me away from his nest.
The call of the coyote begging for the moon
And from a near by lake the call of a loon
With a tear in my eye I thank the Lord once again
That He has given me one more night to enjoy the Lullaby of the Plains.
Categories:
prairie dog, happiness, life, peace, me,
Form:
Free verse
Totems are formed through a talisman tribal identity.
*
Talisman emblems to the tribal identity.
Totem to raise above the distinctiveness of foreign Indians.
Democracy is bureaucracy to their form in the Americas.
Columbus verbalize the inhabitants to be Indians.
Native tribes are the origin of the hills, mountains, flatlands, and prairies.
China brought their prairie dog and pitted him against Mayan’s.
They must think they will crest in the United States of America.
Mayan Tribe resides in Mexico.
Therefore, these immigrants better venture further.
I am not trying to miscommunicate my pillaring.
I am gore from the origin I speak of.
I am not volatile to the carnage of man.
I am (the) only representation of peace in the motherland.
Twenty-twelve and I am fulfilled with empowerment.
Charmed by my own intellect, I am an epitome of women’s health.
Taiwan, Asia has provided me insight
Of the plight that my body manifests.
Physicality did through a technical presence
To demean dignity for blokes.
I am fortified by prophecy foretold.
I hope this is not confounding the mind.
Miscommunication is not a strength of mine.
I aspire to pierce the thoughts to impale or to prevent a loss.
My origin is first and foremost.
Amulet, the synthesis conjecture is that talisman tribal identity forms totem poles.
_______________________________________________________|
Penned April 13, 2015!
Categories:
prairie dog, creation, nostalgia,
Form:
Bio
When night came, the cattle bedded down
And the night riders making their rounds
Samuel would take a strole to the chuck wagon
And Cookie would hand him his cup of coffee
As he savored it's taste
He'd check with Cookie to see
If his supplies were holding out
Then find ol' Jack crawl aboard and make another round
The nights of stary bliss
Or winds a blowin strong
The drovers were right there
To keep things from going wrong
The rivers they did cross,
Sometimes took their tole
Little Zeke was lucky to be on hand
He threw Luke a lasso and drug him to dry land
Some cattle were lost
Due to the heat
Some they had to nurse maid
If they got snake bit
The prairie dog towns were dangerous grounds
For horses, cattle or cowboys
Their holes were the cause of many a fall
With broken legs you can't ride a saddle
Nights in the bedroll
Days in the saddle
Day after day
They trailed the cattle
Categories:
prairie dog, adventurenight, night, drug,
Form:
Verse
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
Categories:
prairie dog, humorous, nature,
Form:
Narrative
The wilderness in Arizona during cowboy days was for the adventurous to journey far away from their home front into the great divide where wolves and coyotes could take their lives. They were skilled hunters and master trappers that could spot a prairie dog close ready to go up their trousers. With two horses in travel, one for each, one would take a break to stretch a bit. The mountains appeared as a majestic landscape. Cowboys had made it to the badlands today.
Their journey for the common good and to find new country brought a mind-set and a certain hunger. Never to be dissuaded, even when one got discouraged, they will conquer their demons and be triumphant from their troubles. As they camped at night, they spoke on destiny. The altitudes they had to sustain were just an achievement once claimed. Why ponder on what could be lost when they came to summit? The acmes they face now. He stands to see the apogees and views the mountains before proceeding.
Cowboys in the badlands are oblique.
Cowboys in the badlands are circuitous.
Cowboys in the badlands are seekers of faith.
Today is a day not to abandon.
Two cowboys will become jovial and rich.
Cowboys in the badlands are self-fulfilled.
___________________________________|
PENNED ON OCTOBER 09, 2014!
Categories:
prairie dog, adventure, america, angst, blessing,
Form:
Epic
Pardon my condor sensitivity,
but can I be
dead serious candid with you
Everybody look down on me,
and talk mean about me
But, in the future, they’re gonna need me
even nuclear more
I’m nature’s finest,
best garbage collector
My critter pals,
when they get their fill of wilderness lost you
They say to me: pick up the trash, will you please,
when we’re through
So I do what I do best ...
I pick the bones clean, rotting flesh and all
I devour the things other animals
don’t got the stomach for
Circling up above,
my telescopic olfactory senses
are searching downwind
I see some fool lost drug mules
thirstily water struggling in the wilderness
They’re slowly dying ... disoriented
since wandering out of the way
Now unbeknownst to them,
the desert will be their last score grave
Once they’re dead and baked,
I’m gon have me a good cadaver brownie cake
Those stashed hash mules done football kicked me good,
‘cause I’m flying high ... higher than before
Man, what an extra-point desert score!
After that sickly sweet rancid taste of victory,
I hear my coyote friends give a howl alert:
pick-up on
Death Valley off road tourist route,
cavern aisle four
But it’s too early for a lunch break,
way too rigor mortis early for me to be eating fresh meat
That poor adventurous soul was compass challenged,
and got sextant separated from the tour group
And he just pauper purchased an early expiration date,
but some things I just can’t bring myself to eat —
I hate fresh meat!
As for now, I’m waiting patiently,
perched on a craggy, desert mountain outcrop
Waiting hungrily ...
for that Big Mushroom feast in the sky
Until that special day arrive,
it’s the same ol’ mundane work routine
Garbage carcase collecting is a thankless job,
but somebody gotta do it ... ain’t that right?
Excuse me, Ms. Mountain Lioness,
can you hand me a rib cage toothpick
from that dead prairie dog
Just give me a cleanup call
when you’re through with the rest of it
Categories:
prairie dog, animal, death, humor, word
Form:
Personification
Oh lord hear the lonesome cowboys lullaby, singing beneath
The vast prairie open sky.
Hush, do they not lull the restless cattle to sleep, by a soft
Undertones sweet melody.
Drifting plains men, singing of the sorrows broken hearted,
And dreaming visions of their beloved, they've left behind.
Guitar strumming minstrels, of the fire hearth, accented
By the lone harmonica, playing off in the distance
Amongst a sea of cows, and horses.
In harmonic rhythm is this grassroots orchestra, as the fiddler
Strikes up his bow to join in, and playing ever so gently along,
To harmony's rhythm.
On the rocky cliffs mixed in the sandy dunes, the heckling
Coyotes, give an eerie ambiance, to this old western chorus.
Do these desert whyly creatures, howl in perfections tune,
To the wrangler's musical beat, of these wide grassy expanses,
That they all call home.
The rattler shakes it's tail in defiance, against the munching
Prairie dog, whom got away at the last moment.
Listen closely to the sounds of the meadow-lands, does not the crickets,
And locusts, add a natural flavor by their clicking and chirping.
Near the rivers stream, as the winds do blow, along the waters edge,
Another elements assent, is bestowed by the forcing of the reeds, to
Bend hitting them against the hollow log, causing a thumping's,
Drumming, to this uniquest of bands.
As twilight's distant starlight, flickering in the vast
Blackness above, these rambling souls whom wander so.
Down these dusty trails long journey, yearn for nothing
More than to know the quite serenity, of their home
That seems so far away.
Let your music fill your emptiness, for one nights
Beautiful dream, and remember the memory as if it
Were real, a vivid vision of illusion, and rest
In complete bliss, good night my young
Cowboy of the open sky.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
prairie dog, history, imagination, inspirational, international,
Form:
Free verse
THE BULLET TREE
No one knows how long the bullet has been lodged in the big old maple tree
Mr. Ailey claims he knows but Mr. Ailey is an old old man
No one till Teddy so far as we know ever tried to dig it out
Mr. Ailey says the growth at last will push it out
Ailey says “The shot was fired at trailin’ injun’ horsemen”
He rubs the wrinkles down off his face and says
“It was a Wells and Fargo stage a rollin’ down what now appears yer Downin’ Street
That there tree was jist a sturdy pole when ‘Ugly Ben” a sittin’ shot-gun fired a round
At them them injuns” Then old Ailey clucks his teeth
The bullet tree is just down the terrace from the deaf lady’s house
It stands on the dear lady’s property (Mrs. Troutman)
“That there house ya see” Ailey’s pointing with one crooked finger
“That there house useta be nuthin’ but prairie dog territory” He coughs spits a string
“I come huntin’ buffalo afore even that there tree was more’n a shootin’ twig
Ta git back ta Ben Now Ben come back one day ta see ifn he could find a shell or two
When he come upon the bullet lodged in tha tree
So he drove it in and pushed the empty shell casing in in back of it
Thet there bullet Ya see? Goes tat ha very heart o’ thet there tree”
Even at our age we didn’t believe half of what the old man said
Teddy tried to pry the bullet out one day
But the deaf woman crackled threats from her porch
Her voice we thought what a porcupine might sound like
Anyway the deaf woman’s cackle was a bad omen we thought
The bullet tree at last became a challenge
To dart after careful observation then
To touch the dented weathered circled end
Without arousing Mrs. Troutman
Categories:
prairie dog, childhood, house, old, tree,
Form:
Narrative
Overflow of the waters of Lake Itaska
You carry your wealth to the waiting world,
Mighty Mississippi, half savior, half sewer,
Plant and animal wastes, dissolved minerals,
Venting prairie deluge, dividing a Nation,
Exposed aquifer of Great Plains, home of Buffalo ghosts,
And their equally threatened ancestor, the prairie dog.
Standing at your mouth I can wade your depths,
Even jump your width in places,
Though it is more difficult than the boy imagined,
And the winter's overgrowth problematic.
Your lightning like flash across the land (1)
Has haunted my dreams the whole of my life
And pulled at my soul like the moan of distant trains.
Now I am here at last, my dream becoming liquid,
Wooden oars, tent, canoe and provisions waiting,
Dr. Peppers stored in a sturdy ice chest.
I am more than ready to see the world through your eyes,
And to meet the sea as well in your company (if fate allows.)
My wife a novice and myself not much more,
We launch ourselves, glissando (2) toward New Orlean.
Brian Johnston
Sept. 19, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Everything in this poem is true as I can best remember. I was 28 at the time and my wife Kathy was 24 so it has been a few years ago that we did this. The eight chapters so far are not the end of this poem. I have at least 3 more chapters planned, one on portaging around dams, one on going through locks (beginning in Minneapolis-St. Paul) , one on leaving the river after traveling over 1,000 miles in 7.5 weeks, and then a final clean up including lessons learned and post trip consequences.
(1) 'lightning like flash' - I was imagining here how much the path taken by the Mississippi across the land actually resembles a lightning bolt's flash across the sky to earth.
(2) glissando - A musical word meaning a gradual sliding (transition) in tone from one note to the next note on the musical scale.
Categories:
prairie dog, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
THE BULLET TREE
No one knows how long the bullet has been lodged in the big old maple tree
Mr. Ailey claims he knows but Mr. Ailey is an old old man
No one till Teddy so far as we know ever tried to dig it out
Mr. Ailey says the growth at last will push it out
Ailey says “The shot was fired at trailin’ injun’ horsemen”
He rubs the wrinkles down off his face and says
“It was a Wells and Fargo stage a rollin’ down what now appears yer Downin’ Street
That there tree was jist a sturdy pole when ‘Ugly Ben” a sittin’ shot-gun fired a round
At them them injuns” Then old Ailey clucks his teeth
The bullet tree is just down the terrace from the deaf lady’s house
It stands on the dear lady’s property (Mrs. Troutman)
“That there house ya see” Ailey’s pointing with one crooked finger
“That there house useta be nuthin’ but prairie dog territory” He coughs spits a string
“I come huntin’ buffalo afore even that there tree was more’n a shootin’ twig
Ta git back ta Ben Now Ben come back one day ta see ifn he could find a shell or two
When he come upon the bullet lodged in tha tree
So he drove it in and pushed the empty shell casing in in back of it
Thet there bullet Ya see? Goes tat ha very heart o’ thet there tree”
Even at our age we didn’t believe half of what the old man said
Teddy tried to pry the bullet out one day
But the deaf woman crackled threats from her porch
Her voice we thought what a porcupine might sound like
Anyway the deaf woman’s cackle was a bad omen we thought
The bullet tree at last became a challenge
To dart after careful observation then
To touch the dented weathered circled end
Without arousing Mrs. Troutman
Categories:
prairie dog, childhood, house, old, tree,
Form:
Narrative
Soccer ball made from granola, dried grapes
Honey, brown sugar, oats, sunflower seeds
Almonds and chocolate chips form the ball that is fun to
Play the soccer game where everyone wins and the goalie eats the ball.
Eleven comedic players on each team want that
Soccer ball running after the tasty round thing, number 19 gets a Red card
Before the lemming, marmot, and prairie dog run
Biting a tasty crunch out of that flavorful round sphere.
Chocolatier is in competition for profit and prize with
Granolatier who in rivalry selling those two color round
Yummy soccer balls hoping the malamute doggie and
Spiky Yorkshire terrier stay off the game field and don’t eat the ball.
Soccer mom enjoys getting lots of granola soccer balls at the
Local grocery store every Saturday keeping one for herself,
One fun granola soccer ball lasts a week for driving and munching,
Accordion playing cheering moods for all biting that new soccer ball.
Categories:
prairie dog, america, football, funny, humor,
Form:
Free verse