sharp pings of hunger
as they desperately search
around closed trash can
coons in their bright crimson satin outfits
dancing down main streets with music outwits
buoyant New Year’s Eve merry
much beer made them unsteady
masks fell off faces eating spiced titbits !
______________________________
[ Standard Contest : Holiday Humor Limerick
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
Placed 3rd ]
The Beatles - Lay it to me
Sponsor : Charles Messina
A Hard’s Days Night : 3rd Placing
A hard day’s night, boss outta sight
blankets warm, everything’s all right
let’s snuggle, cuddle, no more storm
lovely voice on high, good in form
peace reigns on Earth, after mad work
baby is chuckling, gone is stork
sing to stars and beckoning moon
guitar in right tune, dance like coons
like spotlights on house
moonbeams highlight area
even coons are scared
I live in this house next to the crick
that I built up on some stilts
and my hounds sleep up under it
When it gets so hot you wilts
Yeah they sleep all day under the porch
And we hunt coons at night by a cattail torch
And we really love our life
When the spring rains followed the snow melt
that fell really heavy up north
I load the boys into the boat
And we all sallies forth
To hunt for the hogs that too are displaced
with water all around
I guarantee If one they see
Them dogs will start to sound
We always manage to get one or two
As I shoot from the stern of the boat
and you ain't tasted nothin finer
than the newly weaned flesh of a shoat
We really love our life,We really love our life
At the house we arrive and all thats alive I sweep
off of the porch thats come seaking higher ground
I bust out a jug and cut me a rug
With no-one to watch but my hounds
We eat high on the hog till we're stuffed like ticks
Really love our house in the sticks
Yeah we really love our life ,we really love it
Don't we boys ?
Non stop baying!!!!!!!!!!
In the heat we burn for Pepsi
dangle feet from crick docks
Traipse with garage ice
to cheap motels,
watch a tv that's chained to a wall,
go home thinner then we came.
Poor possessions, pay-checked and broke
by Monday. Trailer bred,
no stock, just scrawny chickens,
free range ornery strays,
front yards overgrown
with ever grounded flamingo's.
In the cold we work on beat-up trucks
hoody-up, slap oily knuckles together
patch-up holes in our walls.
Go tree coons, play around
separate, divorce, but never leave.
Break open bar fight bottles,
chug-a-lug through the night
by a space heater’s eerie light.
We are not your kind,
we got a right to be low,
slow to show our sickness
our nearness to workaday dirt.
You who drive by radios in your head
masking your hollow conditions,
you keep on down that dusty road
go find your own damn
tumbleweed roots.
The Rodents’ Bane
Sphynx cats
jinx rats
A Most Unlikely Scenario
Shorthairs
court bears
Cat Catalogers
Shorthairs
sort wares
When Cats Go Formal
Bombay
Prom Day
Tranquil Lost Feline
Calm stray
Bombay
Detain the Cat
Waylay
Bombay
What Gangsta Cats Do
Rag Dolls
Snag Molls
A Cat Oration
Birman
Sermon
The Howling Sensations
*Main Coons
Feign tunes
Wet Mongrel Cat
Soggy
moggy
Sept. 15, 2022
for a Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
*Note: This is name for a strong, large longhaired cat that is also very sweet. Maybe it's only known about in the USA??
March's dreariness looms
when no pigeon coons,
it grieves at spring's doorsteps
not willing to pass the baton,
resisting to give in until its frown
vanishes into the brightness of sun rays!
March is wilder than storms,
it can retain its brutality,
even being mean to Nature
which knows how badly it behaves,
letting lose its frightening madness
that viciously destroys wilderness;
how vile is it to withdraw from mindfulness,
continuing the brief journey
into time swifter than a hunted creature!
March has no time for debates,
it wrecks everything in its path...
scattering branches on faded meadows
that await stillness, not chaos;
when icy winds blow hard, it's a threat:
stay inside, grab a pen and write poems!
March is fierce and increases fears,
its awareness of limitations is indisputable;
it chooses viciousness and pretends to be invincible;
March snatches your umbrellas, chuckles, and sneers!
March's dreariness looms for very long,
it can be broken with a cheerful song!
There is a new sheriff in town and he’s a Maine Coon of course.
We had tried a duck, a fish, a llama, a cobra, a spider and a horse.
We watched the Maine Coon strut up and down showing off his star.
He was spitting tobacco, and it landed way off, very far.
The Maine Coons make the best sheriffs in this high noon town.
They never put up with any shenanigans up, low or down.
We saw that this one looked as slick and as wise as the other one.
The sheriff who ended up dead from a mean outlaw’s gun.
I fly out of my lair
to land in your hair
You brush me off
as if I weren't there
Yet now you're infected
though you've not suspected
corona flu injected
no symptoms detected
You've invaded my home
stripped the land of my food
I'd have left you alone
'cept for your turpitude
Of rural China we speak
and the West, it does shriek
regarding sinister plots
but that's all for naught
For as you too encroach
on habitats you poach
from skunks, 'coons, and mice
Please know that head lice --
will seem mighty nice
compared to the plagues
that are heading your way
in a trice
Three Masked Bandits
written: by Miracle Man
11-20-2019
I entered into sleep,
with three young “coons” prowling.
I awoke this morning,
with a face that was scowling.
On the patio,
a sealed bucket of pecans I’d left out.
This morning I found,
half eaten pecans strewn about.
“Coons” do what they do,
sometimes inducing my frown.
When chased from their habitat,
they just moved to town.
Sometimes I take pictures
of these shenanigans before dozing.
They seem happy to oblige,
as three masked bandits posing.
The field is given a name.
Battles are about where they disappear,
the ones that walk away
don't know where the hell they are.
There’s a cannon ball under that Yew tree,
there’s a skull under that Ash.
There’s a hank of dried up hair
over there, woven into stone and moss.
After the blood, peace continues destroying barns,
insignia and belt buckles fished out and sold.
Excavated jawbones order and counter-order.
The officers that staggered away
go quietly mad, or marry well.
Surviving hell takes
a lot of stump-footed foraging.
The maimed tell their jerrybuilt tales,
cracked rockers creek along
the slipways of generations.
Hounds bayed at coons.
in the hot afternoons;
that was before the earth gaped open,
before the gore seeped sideways
into the earths wounds.
Good Generals and bad
have had their deadly play,
this scattering and salvage
of the blue and grey that day.
The horses’ lacy white petticoats and ribboned pantaloons
Were kicked almost as high as a delightful orange harvest moon.
The anger came from the big burly brown baboons
Who were left out by the snotty uppity raccoon.
I felt like an uninformed ridiculous goon,
Because I had assigned the notorious snotty coons
The task of doling out the petticoats and the pantaloons.
For my sister, Sami, because this morning one of our four Maine Coons suddenly and unexpectedly died...
Haughty snobbish tomcat
tap water trample cat
never inside brat
inferiority complexity
acrobat
My Maine man
My Coon, I didn't expect
you'd go so soon
***
June 3, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Finished vines
waving limply in the wind,
tangled streaks across the hillside.
The Autumn Earth
conceals eternal motion
under a carpet of many colors;
a fluid carpet that flutters and shifts
beneath my feet;
a noisy carpet telling the story
of my presence.
Frost-bitten flowers
broken by my passing touch
salt their pollen on the wind;
a gooseberry shrivels
against the bark of a naked bush.
The black bear and the coons steal
each other's dens,
and bees, lethargic,
cuddle on the combs.
But why?
I know why---
scientifically, astronomically--
the earth and sun fly elliptically
and space dilutes the energy.
But still i cling
to the burnt orange leaves,
savor the last unsquashed berry,
dreading the day
when my worn winter jacket is not warm enough
and my breath freezes
and my legs hurt where my boots rub.
The frozen rain clings in crystals
to tired trees; snow glitters like shattered glass
and cold sunlight assaults my eyes.
I close my eyes against the glare
and listen to the moaning wind,
and dream of a world
where Autumn gives birth
to Spring.
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