Of summer strolls o’er hazy
fields and sleepy streams
one in particular returns as a dream
A pair of monarchs guiding our path
fluttering and flitting just beyond our grasp
when, of a sudden, a coyote streaks by
as if to give the monarchs the lie
What did it mean, puzzled, hearts still racing
Perhaps not to reach for what is not ours…
To pay closer attention
~ when a coyote streaks by
There’s no confusing Wile E Coyote
with the illustrious Don Quixote.
One is not very handsome and sly,
the other a little more pleasing to the eye
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Wiley E Coyote
bought his gadgets from Acme
when he tried to trap the roadrunner
his gadgets always ran him over
Death defying, Wile E Coyote
Was never a real hero unlike Don Quixote
Wile E couldn’t outsmart Road Runner’s tricks
Not surprisingly he always ended up in a fix!
WILE E. COYOTE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With ACME’s ludicrous gadgets galore, in the desert Wile E. Coyote plots
Builds rockets and traps that his nemesis, the Roadrunner, inevitably spots.
*“Beep! Beep!” Road Runner zips past with a dare, and with a tumble and crash
Wile onto the desert does splat; undaunted, he sends ACME more cash.
Poem written for and submitted to Cartoon Characters Clerihew Poetry Contest, Tania Kitchen, sponsor, August 11, 2025
*Note:“Beep! Beep!” This onomatopoeia is commonly associated with the Road Runner in Looney Tunes cartoons featuring the speedy-yet-flightless bird and his constant pursuer, Wile E. Coyote.
(Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beep,_beep_(sound))
If you watch any animated episode,
you will see me beep-beep down the road.
I can run at a great velocity.
Nobody will be able to catch me.
While I move, I feel quite happy.
However, I have an adversary.
The joker in question is that coyote.
He tries so many ways to apprehend me.
The way I run, that will never be.
I have a question (if you'll allow).
How is it that I came to this place now?
My life's path continued to where
below my feet there is only air;
and, the sad thing is, I cannot fly.
At this point, I guess I'll have to try.
Yowling and howling late at night
Meeting of cats by the bright moonlight
Wild yipping and one long scream
Coyotes cornered something by a stream
It might be a cat, it’s a sacrifice
Excited yipping announcing it is nice
The food chain is alive down my country road
A long black rat snake just ate a toad
Coyotes are scraggly, ugly too
Eating carrion and roadkill overdue
She is a scavenger and a prey thief
Jackals enjoy kill until she makes it brief
Coyote, wolf or fox?
I stare at the gorgeous animal.
He may be wild, but he is exquisitely made.
Low to the ground, red fur, dark tail.
My dogs go berserk when they notice the creature.
Barking and charging at the glass separating them.
I let the wild one have a head start.
Then I release my dogs, confident they cannot catch him.
No one knows the coyote that bleeds in me.
No one knows my heart is an open road
No one knows the sound I softly whine
But I do. I do.
I will wake today and carry my body
I will wake today and carry my bones
I will tread until I reach the highway
Coyote,
Bleed
Bleed
Bleed.
coyote moon howls
owl swoops killing midnight snack
moonlight traps black eyes
I think of scary things, it seems,
As dogs that jump like cats, in dreams.
They say I spend too much time caring
With no reasons for such scaring;
That, I should learn to relax at night;
But coyotes in trees give me a fright.
Coyote has a rabbit pounding in its heart.
It’s brain is cowed by a teasing infatuation
one that snatches meat from its open mouth
even as its belly swells with a sly avidity.
The rabbit within
stamps its paws, coyote skips,
frolics in a dance of hunger.
Soon a plump chicken will offer
to be its dance partner.
Chained dogs bark but coyote is away
masked now by a clouded moon.
Coyote crunches the thin bones in its blood-wet jaws
as if they were its very own.
November Hunt
David J Walker
I drink coffee
in the morning and
I’m grateful for the warm flowing
Of Rich and bitter/black liquid from
The cast-iron percolation jukebox
Perched on the edges of a dancing
Mesquite campfire
A flame addressing my needs
greets me
It knows my name and offers
A slight barrier to the mornings
Raw cold
Not enough
though an inch
Away from too much
Canada geese cross the sky
Landing in their feeding grounds as
Cayotes patiently await
Their field mice breakfast
To carelessly pass by
I know this game
The hunter and the hunted
There is a loaded shotgun
At my side
The geese and I will have
Another encounter
The sun is an orangish glow
In the eastern distance
Its warmth will flow
Like hot black coffee
later in the day
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