Long Armadillos Poems
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LIVING IN TEXAS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Texas, where cowboys roam free,
we’re born with big hearts, you see.
With BBQ extraordinair
and boots beyond compare,
We’re proud of our roots, yippee-ki-yay, whee!
With chili quite spicy and bold,
and tales of the wild west retold,
I’ll spin you a yarn,
'Neath the Texas dawn,
For this native blood never grows cold!
From Amarillo to San Antone,
I shout, “Yeehaw!” in a twang all my own.
with chili so hot,
and a big ol’ pot,
of sweet tea that chills to the bone.
The Texas armadillos all cheer,
for the BBQ smoke draws them near.
With ribs piled knee high,
they simply cannot deny,
Life in Texas is the best—let’s be clear!
I: Sheep
next door to 19 chimneys
and 'the dark satanic mills'
a flock of sheep is grazing
oblivious in the hills.
II: Other Animals
venezuelan poodle moths
sea pigs, star-nosed moles
mata matas, sugar gliders
shoats and water voles.
aye-ayes, dik-diks, wobbegongs
chicken turtles, loons
shoebills, snipes and yeti crabs
and cozumel raccoons.
pink fairy armadillos
bilbys, 52-hertz whales
the red-lipped batfish, panda ants
and emperor helmet snails.
the pleasing fungus beetles, thrips
hellbenders, great potoos
lilac breasted rollers, bongos
glass frogs, kinkajous.
the rare long-wattled umbrellabirds
chubs and munchkin cats
satanic leaf-tailed geckos, shads
gars, nits and fancy rats.
The mountains with white tops
Are the emblematic
Symbol of the reserves
Visited by the tourists
Acclaimed by followers
Viewed as academic
Global patrimonies
Birds flock in azure sky
Lake is very placid
Clouds are like white cotton
In the sunny midday
With the alluvion
Of the brown gravel sand
In the blue river bay
The green forest fern trees
Serve as a barrier
Protecting the nature
And captive animals
From the mankind capture
In the wild aflutter
That end in quiet nights
Jumbo armadillos
Stroll in the jade pasture
While the big three turtles
Walk in the rock trails paths
Closing the attractions
That amaze audience
In the month holidays
2-12-2016
Maybe dinosaurs existed in the old days or maybe they did not
an andrewsarchus, was a large-snouted predator I am told,
may I be so bold to say, I never met one anyway, so I think not
I heard of prehistoric pigs named Entelodons, perhaps its true
perhaps they died by climate change, perhaps they were shot
they said giant armadillos lived,... in that epoch that was true
There were glytodons that ate grass and plants by waters edge
heavily armored so they say, but not one fossil I did find
they used their tail to smack and kill, oh I'm sure they had the edge
I heard there was a Dinosaur named Dino but he wasn't rusty red
he belonged to Fred Flintstone and he wasn't all that mean
he was a male Snorkasaurus and yes he was well read
Maybe there were dinosaurs, but maybe there were not !
A post from the past.....just trying to put down all the ones I have written but deleted when I left the site for a while......this is almost too long, but I couldn't find which animal or insect to eliminate.....
Gardens attract a number of guests,
Some are welcomed, some are pests-
Let’s peek inside to get a view,
Of what these guests are really up to-
Honey bees pollinate, wasps sting,
Mosquitoes suck, song birds sing-
Crickets chirp, caterpillars putter,
Grasshoppers jump, butterflies flutter-
Aphids cluster, ladybugs twirl,
Katydids hop, pill bugs curl-
Owls hoot, peacocks prance,
Fruit ripens, damselflies dance-
Leaves sprout, dragonflies catch,
Shrubs grow, chipmunks fetch-
Trees shade, breezes blow,
Blossoms bloom, fireflies glow-
Moths destroy, hummingbirds drink,
Earthworms chew, stinkbugs stink-
Ants march, slugs cleave,
Turtles saunter, spiders weave-
Fish swim, lizards climb,
Toads croak, snails slime-
Fleas vault, frogs leap,
Roaches scatter, millipedes creep-
Hawks soar, rabbits munch,
Snakes slither, beetles crunch-
Mites bite, moles scurry,
Walking sticks cling, termites hurry-
Mice dart, ferrets burrow,
Hedgehogs mosey, voles furrow-
Gophers tunnel, thrips rasp,
Foxes chase, grubs clasp-
Possums play dead, fruit bats roost,
Water bugs float, pirate bugs juice-
Woodchucks eat, rats devour,
Squirrels store, seedlings flower-
Gnats annoy, spittlebugs attack,
Ambush bugs take, cicadas extract-
Scaly bugs secrete, squash bugs infect,
Silkworms spin. lightning bugs inject-
Armadillos dig, water scorpions fight,
Woodborers drill, fruit flies alight-
Root maggots scarf, locusts smother,
Harlequin bugs feast, flower flies hover-
Deer nibble, cats meow,
Mealy bugs attach, dogs howl-
Antlions trap, leaf-footed bugs pierce,
Robber flies rob and hornets are fierce-
Nematodes battle, leafhoppers invade,
Cutworms clip, leafminers raid-
Psyllids drain, cabbage loopers inch,
Weevils infest, earwigs pinch-
Vines extend, doodlebugs grab,
Woodpeckers peck, assassin bugs stab-
Raccoons forage, geese parade,
Praying Mantises capture, falls cascade-
Skunks spray, branches sway,
Upon your plants an insect may lay-
Harvestmen walk, lacewings feed,
Some of these guests your garden needs!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Twas the night before Christmas, in Texas vast and wide,
Where tumbleweeds danced and coyotes don’t hide.
The stars shone like diamonds on black velvet so deep,
While ranchers and oilmen lay fast asleep.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But these weren’t just stockings—oh no, they were flair:
Boot-shaped and sparkly, with *conchos so bright,
Reflecting the glow of the fire’s warm light.
Out on the prairie, there rose such a clatter,
I grabbed my Stetson to see what was the matter.
I flung open the door to a curious sight:
Eight tiny armadillos, all harnessed just right.
And pulling their wagon, so sturdy and slick,
Was Santa himself—but hold up, hold hic—
Howdy, pardner! he called with a twinkling grin,
His red suit swapped out for leopard-skin with leather trim.
Ain’t got no reindeer down here in this heat,
So these little diggers sure make my sleigh look neat!”
He tipped his ten-gallon Stetson, then whistled so sweet,
And those armadillos took off down the dusty Dallas streets.
As they sped out of sight, trailing dust in the air,
He hollered, Merry Christmas, y’all—take care!
And I laughed as I whispered, my heart full of cheer,
Now that’s how we do Christmas down here!
*Conchos come from the Mexican vaquero tradition and serve both a decorative and a utilitarian role on western saddles. Conchos are metal disks, traditionally with two slits to allow saddle strings to pass through and secure the saddle’s skirts to the saddle tree. (Source:texasuniques.com/blog/what-are-conchos/)
Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at spots
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
in ditches.
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
my softness.
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?
Red cones on the blacktop
August is a burning blanket.
Dusty crows perch on long dead armadillos.
The Chevys' air-con
chokes up a warm blow.
A Navaho in Ohio has phoned.
he needs to talk about his dead wife.
He will have cold beers.
I have my own beers
but go anyway.
The evening is electric and neon,
city roads growl like wounded samurai.
If I were a hermit crab
I would shuck this scorched world off
my sweating back.
All I really want right now
is to sleep naked on a mortuary slab
as cold Atlantic waves
undress my skin and bones.
Not dead – just revived enough
to be a friend of a friend
to the newly departed
and still cooling.
In the spring, the crows sit in the tall pines
Capitalizing on the field of newly planted corn.
Farmer dreams of corn on the cob which he will dine
Caw, caw the lookout calls to his mates to forewarn
As crows go down rows, gleaning the kernels
Dreaming their only competition is from the farmer
But up high is a nest of pesky, frisky squirrels
On the ground also those armadillos with armour
As the farmer sees his profits go into the crows,
His temper flairs to beyond recovery.
Farmer sits in garden reading aloud prose
Bored to tears, the crows a great book discovery
"Selected Poems" by Edna St. Vincent Millay
With it drove farmer away in chorus sang, "Yea"..
Sonnet:Sort of
Africa; my home of growth.
Your jungles plants for flesh.
Your cooling shade between the leaves.
Your air to make it fresh.
Small jitter flies around your plants.
Aroma fresh as blood.
Just winged things alive with lust
all cherishing the mud.
Horned Rhinos cutting through the brush.
spry tigers waltzing close.
Young armadillos pacing fast
with fear in greater dose.
Your Zulu's chasing antelope.
Their horns a sacred piece.
Their whips extended for the hunt.
Respect to never cease.
Tribes harvesting their fields for wheat
to grind within their bowl.
Then mix into a paste to eat
to feed their hungry soul.
The shadow of the sun going by
to mark the passing time.
Your people chase your beasts to eat
life's circle for their crime.
Young Africa your land is firm.
I see your light within.
You go on with your many lives
it takes you to begin.