MEDIA STRIKES BACK
FOX NEWS JOINS IN THE ATTACK
TRUMP GETTING MUCH FLACK
Foxes outwit a Tiger
Julius Ceaser
some heartless politicians
A long time ago on a hot summer's day,
a fox was out strolling his own merry way.
He came to an orchard with blossoms so fine
and, looking up, saw grapes on a high, lofty vine.
"Ah, the very thing to quench my thirst" said he,
with an air that was so nonchalant and carefree.
Walking back a few steps, he took a run and a jump
but just missed the bunch, then landed with a thump.
He tried again and again but made no progress
and became frustrated at his lack of success.
He tried one more time but, to his dismay,
realized it was futile and so walked away.
With his nose in the air and an angry glower,
he grumbled "I am sure that those grapes are just sour."
So please remember these words and have no regret:
It is easy to scorn what you can't get.
there is a woodland fox on your swing outside
He is boldly brazen, with no attempt to hide
I ran to the window and saw him out there in the frost.
That poor baby, I said, I think he is lost.
You cannot go out there, my husband said.
The windchill is twenty below, you would quickly be dead.
I put on a mask, boots, snowsuit and other stuff that day.
By the time I got to the door, the fox was far far away.
a fox, young stag and rabbit walk into a hut
Who! Yelled a creepy guy we kind of named Nut
Isn’t it a bar, don’t you mean bar? A bar, right?
The fox, young stag and rabbit ran out of sight.
Suddenly a large cat paw struck the fox and a fight transpired. they rolled around hissing and growling until the fox pinned the cat to the ground and said: "It did have to be like this we could have shared a chicken or two" the cat angered now: monkey flipped the fox and torn into him with it's claws, the fox ducked his head and ran for cover. Then the quail told the cat, "bob White" I knew you were a descent kinda cat. "Yeah the cat said I guess I am: by the way who is Bob White"?
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Recitative the mealworm narrator
the Cat; is a "castrato"
the hens is a Mezzo -Soprano
the Fox a Bass
The Quail range from Tenor to Baritone
The Puppies are tenors
the rabbitts are tenors and baritones too!
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In a grassed shallow, bowl-shaped
Above it, asleep
Fox-curled, and deep
Day flies with routine haste, past.
Worries dont creep!
Click-click, beetled and hoppered.
And buzzingly beed.
In starving need.
O To share whose creature comfort's
Snug and plump breed!
Inspiration for this poem was Gwendolyn Brooks "The Bean Eaters."
Stray fox sleeps closely, near this widow’s pies.
Keeping their bond implies sunrise.
Crisp apples with its wisp to meadows peak,
Bees’ clockwise
This pair of unique pals.
That live each day with ease,
Know that it didn’t leave out sounds
Or banging or breeze.
But Harmonizing…
Harmonizing, blues among hearts restrung,
They pick up fragments to piece, fix, bind trinkets lost, lone
Then the two sit down relish with drinks an pie delightful,
Now viewing that sunset.
Deep beneath the twisted root,
Where silence wears a felt boot,
The mother curls in circles tight,
A ring of warmth against the night.
Her brush is draped like silken thread,
A pillow for each tiny head.
With silver tongue and patient grace,
She washes every fuzzy face;
A rhythmic stroke, a tender sweep,
To lull her restless kits to sleep.
She nicks the clay and clears the air,
The mistress of her earthen lair.
When hunger nips at bellies small,
She answers to their whimpering call.
She leaves the warmth of huddle and home,
Through silvered wilds and woods to roam.
She answers every hungry need,
And gives her waiting kits a feed.
But if the heavy foot should fall,
Or shadow loom against the wall,
The mother transforms—sharp and keen,
The fiercest flame that’s ever been.
With bared tooth and a warning low,
She stands between them and foe.
In golden coat and eyes of fire,
She is the shield, a mother’s desire.
Until the stars begin to pale,
And dawn unfolds its violet veil,
She keeps the watch, the sacred trust,
Amidst the roots and cooling dust.
There was a pink fox
That had a thing for socks
And he'd always find a way
To obtain socks
When he's off his rocks.
He would take one sock a day.
In his wicked mind
Of the humorous kind
He liked to split the pair.
He'd anticipate
The way it would frustrate
The people letting them air.
So if you put them on the line,
Get them in on time
For when the day falls dusk,
He'll tiptoe on your lawn
Like a crazy fawn
And take one, cause he must!
The pink fox likes to plot
With the brain he's got
Methods and tricks and more.
He'll sneak into the laundrette
Disguised as a pet
And pinch odd socks galore!
He ventures through clothes shops
And he rarely stops.
For each paw he will take one.
Then in his den he will compare
How they match his fur,
His private cat walk just for fun.
He belly aches with laughter
For he discovers after
That his mischief is all over media.
Who is this pink fox
That has a thing for socks?
And they have no idea!
The fox has wings of stained glass blue,
And naps upon a cloud of brie.
He wakes when teapot clouds turn hue
And pours the sunlight into tea.
His tail is made of ticking gears
That hums a tiny, waltzing tune,
He catches falling lavender tears,
And chases spoons around the moon.
He drinks the nectar, thick and sweet,
From hanging, glowing lantern-flowers,
Then flies down to the velvet street,
To count the honey-colored hours.
With lemon whiskers, soft and bright,
He paints the daisies upside down,
A cheerful, fuzzy, furry light,
The happiest phantom in the town.
OLD MAN FOX
Old man FOX in his La-Z-Boy chair
feeding his fuse all day.
Conditioned by hatred and fear,
rotting his brain away.
A hate harvested fear mongered,
MAGA cult minion,
used, abused, and bamboozled,
and spoon fed his opinion.
He's hillbilly born, shamed and scorned,
a social ne'er-do-well.
A narcissistic cover charge
to a special place in hell.
He never learned the social graces.
Left to fend for himself.
He fought to rise, and tried to hide
his background on a shelf.
The more he tries the less he'll change,
irrelevant of class.
Packaged and polished bigotry
Twas taught to him en masse.
His southern charm, meant to disarm,
obsequious and fake.
A since of freedom as pale as his skin
bought by a man on the take.
Red fox glides across roadway with sleep still in his eyes
a fox and a hare
race for winter's survival—
the fox leaves hungry
enchanted forest held a secret creature unknown by man
it was a hybrid most have not seen in any kind of hamlet or land
an orange and brown cat-fox with green eyes that glow
I saw it in the corner of the oak trees, way down below
If you approach it, the cat-fox will immediately disappear
A warning taught to me by three aunts who were all dear
I did not dare get too close, but tried to get a picture
Before I could, that cat-fox disappeared in a smoky mixture.
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