Long Critter Poems
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I WISH I WEREN’T A BUNNY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I never wanted to be a bunny, I’m not playing this game
I’d reconsider a puma: a lion with a frightening mane
But that’s not my fate, I’m a bunny, a defenseless toy
Other creatures have fangs, claws; they can deploy
I have no defensive arms for use in personal defense
Why nature created a sitting duck, just makes no sense
My choice would be the fiercest critter ever seen
Yep, you got the picture, the ferocious wolverine
Indian lore says, one could cause a village to vacate
Moving in on his territory was a fatal mistake
He’d come after you, if on horse back or if on foot
He’d destroy your tepees and lodges all gone, kaput
But alas, that’s not me: in spite of what I’d like to be
I’m a bunny with soft fur, that’s something we all can see
I have soft long ears, and a wiggly waggely tail
A cute sniffing nose, my gifted maneuvers never fail
Maybe for you, but doesn’t satisfy my lifelong dream
I’m a ferocious beast inside willing to dominate the scene
Mother nature could have given me more traits to bear
Like those big hind legs and speed she gave to the hare
Or a cotton tail that can avoid danger by simply leaping
I spend the day, daydreaming or silently sleeping
But all in all; the object of my wishes and self esteem
Is to wake up tomorrow in the body of a wolverine
Each day when I open my eyes, it’s the same old story
My status hasn’t changed, I’m the example of lonely
When I first arrived every body came over to see me
I was the new thing on the block a real live novelty
But as time progressed visitors were fewer in number
Reducing my activities to intermittent slumber
Bunny (2)
I can’t complain I have fresh vegetables every day
And usually some company, if the kids decide to play
But I’m a one man show unable to live up to my reputation
As a prolific contributor in expanding the population
Each night I pray when I wake a willing doe will appear
I know she is somewhere but unfortunately, not here
In a dream the other night, I was lightening quick
Instead of hippity n hopping, I was lickety split
Those wishes that constantly flood my senses
Doused by the existence of surrounding fences
I’ll just have to accept my lot, be docile, not mean
But between you and I, I’d rather be a wolverine
That be cold sun rose yonder, our heads be hot, I'd declare,
I'll get Whitey my critter, worked all night, best she nicker.
'Bout saddlin' her real tight, or I'll headlong out of sight,
I want movin' nice and fast, cause just--nice--ends up a mess.
Must keep thin's dry 'round Whitey ... traps, she'll stir if caught any,
though we burn the breeze git near, passed two hoops long's a holler,
the homestead bout five miles back should see the first trap I set.
Nope, trap's clean and good to go, next, ain't whistle earshot. Whoa!
Need to slow time -- like disarm, well, no sense singin' to 'em,
come on girl, traps a waitin', ain't no worth to Dallas spin!
Good girl, now just o'er that rise--Whoa! Rattler!--Where, is mascque-eyes?
I'm unshucked and up a tree! Hair in the butter, for me.
French leave, or hang fire--no wait--either fish or cut the bait?
Oh there! 'Neath the brush ahead. Steady girl--a rattler's head!
(BANG/Whinning neighs)
Where's my Arkansas toothpick? Then be trapped, you won't get nicked.
(Talking to the rattler)
Well, done checking all the traps, I knew it'd fill up two packs.
(Resting a bit before anything else)
Be back--stay drink, water's clean--up, I'd never drink downstream.
"Howdy," well, whaddya know? That is one among the willows.
(Passing rider nods and head on...)
All hands and the cook--don't need ... California collar--tree.
(Wanted rider drifts out of sight)
I'll start a fire real quick, then the rattler on the spit.
That was quick and good eatin', look like that sun 'bout settin',
Methinks the night out in town, whaddya think, how does that sound?
Toss belly wash on the fire, where's my comb and the mirror,
cowboys don't bathe, they dust off, come on it's late, let's head off.
You be good, hear, and wait right here, this stallion needs his mare.
That there'd square dance a bit more, must be rattlers on that floor,
My left-handed wife, sidekick. Lookin' for a dog to kick!
There's no call for that ... You mean ... two packs, tied up on Whitey.
Fire 'em up, boys, R O S I E ' S . R O A S T E D . R A T T L E R ' S time!
August is ending with a heat that gives no mercy to the land or man
so intense that the air swelters off the river into the tree tops,
looking ahead, its as if we are passing through the gossamer of summer's spector,
Private Shanon has been missing for six days
although, we believe he is lost, not captured or deserted
only God knows where his feet have taken him,
evidence along the riverbank indicates that he is alive and pursuing us
perhaps mistaken and disoriented, thinking that we are further up river,
Old Dorion is seeking him now like a clever wolf,
Shanon was seperated from me while stalking a coyote
a most mischievous animal that is entirely foriegn to us except in prank,
a bottle of whiskey goes to the first man who can lay a coyote down,
yesterday half of the expedition went hunting the prarie dog
a critter more cunning than a cat and jumpy as a log spark,
after several hours of scrambling around like lunatics
Private Sheilds has finally caught one with pork bait and a twig basket
the poor rascal squieks like a cheap violin,
eventually I will send it to Washington with other novel specimens,
President Jefferson and the Philosophical Society will be good guardians,
the men and I have been refreshing ourselves on the jewels of soil
the wild grapes are so succulent that the Italians would believe
Bacchus himself had seeded this earth with a secret serum
and the plum groves cuddled in the most unadulterated coves
invite the mind into Eden's shadow,
on this journey we have observed migrations of pigeons
that have rivaled the stretch of storm clouds,
crowds of squirrels so numerous they have canvassed the ground with a sea of fur,
and now the mighty, mythical buffalo walks before us
a legend amongst beasts, monstrous in girth
with hooves that peel the Plains and horns shaped by vengeance,
as they graze we seize the prize of their offering with thanks in our aim,
not having horses strategic concealment is critical, they are reknown for retaliation,
we dropped seven of them in a great pandemonium of panic
the gun smoke, field dust and perspiration meld into a fragrance of sacrifice,
our sustenance is secured, their lives feed our future,
J.A.B.
That Vow, To Yet Again Walk Forested Trails
In forest deep, wondrous gems lay hidden
yet lay he there, in great pain bedridden.
Through his window he could see forest edge
hopes he had, soon became a solemn pledge.
Some day, some sweet day he would again walk
visit that forested world, with Nature talk.
Stroll among gnarled trees, roots firmly planted
vow he made, to never be recanted.
Each day he would wiggle that his big toe
sure little by little feeling would grow.
One year and he achieved use of both feet
proud of all that work done under bed-sheet.
Six months more, he could feel up to his knee
he watched that forest cheer its helpful plea.
Winter came and he could sit up in bed
sadness gone, cobwebs were cleared from his head.
Spring flew in and to kitchen he could stroll
man was he happy, he was on a roll.
June saw his first joyful step on outside
his heart filling with rapture and deep pride.
By Summer's end, he threw away his cane
with determined voice swore that oath again.
As gold leaves fell, date was set for his trek
he vowed to never look back at his wreck.
This time of year his car had struck a tree
bed confined, he thought to never be free.
That dawn came, into the forest he ran
God gave blessed hope in his Nature plan.
Walking in deep, gems everywhere he saw
all about critter tracks with little paws.
Overhead, songbirds fluttered all about
sweet bird-songs came like water from a spout.
Now in tune with life, forest vow complete
he walked home, on those new dancing feet!
R.J. Lindley
November 25th, 1979
Note. This poem was written about the car wreck and later the amazing recovery
my friend had, and the vow he made, after looking out that window and thinking of me out in the woods hunting as I once did so often.
He being a Nature lover same as I and so very at home in the woods.
We once hunted together and had great times, but life sent us down separate and far distant paths.
Now I hear from friends that he is in a bad way and has not much more time left on this earth.
Today, I searched old boxes in storage, until I found this old poem to present.
Hope you may enjoy...
Edited today only to make a uniform syllable count....
Above a cloudy jar of brine
That floated greenish hard boiled eggs,
Beside a Schlitz beer waterfall
That told bar time (ten minutes fast),
A taxidermied Jack-A-Lope
With rabbit ears and tiny rack
Stared marble eyed into the dark.
“We don’t have many Jack-A-Lopes
Back home in any city bars,”
I told a man who served us drinks.
“At prices there, that’s no surprise.”
The barman said without a smile
And told us of the Jack-A-Lope:
Time was you looked, you’d find his kind,
But rarely in these mountain slopes.
They only bred in wintertime
And only in electric storms.
It’s rumored round that milk that came
From mother Jack-A-Lopes could cure
Whatever walks on twos or fours
So rare it was most called it myth
As much as Sasquatch ever was.
Until one day a dowser came
Divining where to dig a well.
And gripping his good witching stick
Could swear he saw the front branch twitch.
He scrunched his eyes and looked again.
“No, something’s in that undergrowth.”
Up popped the branchy antlers of
This fearsome critter, Jack-A-Lope.
Now as it was this dowser had
A more than common whiskey thirst.
And had to live his life downwind
From ordinary decent folk.
Like pictures of Napoleon,
He stuck his hand inside his coat,
Produced a flask of sour mash,
And threw it at this portmanteau.
Some say it hopped away afraid,
But those that know have winked and said,
“That animal attacked the flask;
Without their bourbon Jack-A-Lopes
Will fade away until they’re gone.”
Outsiders paid some license fees
For hunting season, dates of which
Cannot be found on calendars.
The most were poached as trophies for
Hotels, saloons and brothels where
The mounted heads amazed their guests.
No hunter had had an interest in
An animal that can’t be killed
Because it never ever was.
But now so heavy was the hunt
The Jack-A-Lope was soon extinct,
So every one of them was killed
To prove one time they did exist.
The bar grew quiet just as if
Some meaning might be understood.
I pointed at my empty glass
And asked the barman pouring drinks,
“What’s on that plaque below the head?”
“Some Latin words, a kind of crest.
A family motto more or less.”
Lower you say? No way!!!!!!
Sewer rats fare better
Politicians are the bottom
Of this poetic society
Yet for all their failings
We are protected
We are spoiled
Laziness is our new Idol
Oh let us sit on our chairs
Ranting poetic verse
Let us not lift a finger
Contributing to society, this must surely be a sin
Besides, if we endeavor to help?
Will they not label us politicians?
NO NO NO not that
Let me complain!!!!!!!!
He who complains is KING
Power corrupts!!!
This is true
The fools who don’t vote
Keep them there like glue
You too can be a politician
If you really care
To get off your azz
Go change the world, I dare you
Oh wait you shall see
Not so easy in that high moral chair
With all your critics climbing to demolish
Re-election is a love affair
Brave men and woman have died
So that you can have freedoms and the vote
Be ashamed if you are a critter on the couch
Of those fine men who died for your right
To do nothing
Yelping like dogs and complain, sure feels good
Politicians are people just like you, yuck!!!!!
Good and bad there is no doubt
When good men fail to speak out
Bad ones fill their shoes
So I say this to all
Stop your laziness……fools
For surely, the fool is the one
Who selects the king he does not want
Unless of course
He was busy with a nap and missed it all
If you are not a politician
Who are you?
I dare ask?
Notes: This sure is not meant to defend politicians, this is meant as a humorous write to show that not all things are so black and white. I certainly do no like the current state of affairs, but I do know this, not participating, not contributing, not helping to make things better, not getting involved, are not the answers. People died for our freedoms, and we have become to lazy to stand up for them. If you don’t like who is in Office, then by all means let’s make it you who is in Office. Many good politicians are saddened that when they get there, they have no support. Here is a happy thought, when you wake up each day ask yourself, “what can I do today, to make this world a better place” and it can be the smallest of details, all great things start with a seed!
Happy Days to all you Soupers!
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,
nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like hoar.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
It’s Thursday morning, the twelfth day lock-down here. While sitting cozily in my room’s balcony with a bible and ukulele, some tiny birds perch tamely at the balustrade inviting me to play the most romantic melody as each critter hops and struts closer into pairs. Filling the air with their boastful flirty-chirpy chats and rubbing their wings sweetly against each other, the peeking sun displays its radiant smiles from the white fluffy clouds. Overlooking my spot are green trees laden with summer flowers, mostly supannikas and golden showers. Under the dense leaves are branches where other birds sing joyfully in unison with the tunes of their daily unique songs.
God sent songs of love
under our natures’ grand wings
listen and be glad
Amidst the orchestrated warbles of birds, the flowing water at my residence's swimming pool is heard while its dispenser strikes its keys to echo the refreshing music of serenity. The small lake across my spot is vividly viewed while it acclaims jubilantly the wonders of the day with its shimmering tranquility, mirroring the fire trees and bushes in its surroundings then accentuates the peeking sunrise that caresses my face with its warm glowing shafts. I read silently some verses midst nature's sounds then close my eyes to feel the majestic wonder of another day, another extension of life and lots of nature’s smiles. With thanksgiving, I start to finger-pick each string and sing with all my soul and heart a praising hymn.
nature's boundless gifts
our God's overwhelming grace
long reflection piece
May 6, 2021 3.06pm
Moments of Reflection -Haibun contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
Place: 1
Judged: May 11,2021
They told me, "Leave Brooklyn, find the green,"
"Head upstate, change the scene,"
Nature's arms open wide,
So I took that long Amtrak ride.
I knew there were bobcats, I knew there was bear
So I took my pit-bull Chewbacca, any bear would beware
His last victim was a carjacker on the lam.
Teeth clamped on the guy's arm like a giant clam.
In the heart of Adirondacks, fate took a bad turn
We sat on star moss, and admired a fern
Chewbacca sniffed at a critter with predacious design
But it was a badass porcupine
My dog's nose looked like a pincushion of quills
He ran off howling into the hills
I ran after him and into a swamp I fell,
Green goo in my shoes, oh man, what a smell.
Covered with slime, then came the stings of black flies
Already I wondered if the hype was lies.
Yanked my way out, walked on bees in the ground
I thought bees were in trees, but nature had to confound
I say pave the Adirondacks, let concrete reign,
Nature’s wild, and slightly insane.
From swamps to thorns, bees on attack,
Brooklyn’s rough, but these woods fight back.
Off the trail, stumbled through deer remains,
Leaned on a tree but found only pain.
Thorns from the bark, I couldn’t win,
What did I do to deserve this, can't recall the sin!
(Bridge)
I ran screaming, poison ivy on my socks
Twisted my leg among diabolical rocks
Crawled back to a trail, where help was found,
A hiker gawked, said, “Bro, you’re hospital-bound.”
(Chorus)
Pave the Adirondacks, let concrete reign,
Nature’s wild, and slightly insane.
From swamps to thorns, bees on attack,
Brooklyn’s rough, but these woods fight back.
Now I'm back in the city, but nature wasn't through
Doc says I have Lyme disease, I wish I could sue.
Nature’s beauty nowhere near the beauty of a bar
I'll stay on the mean streets and drag race my car.
So pave the mountains, pave the trees,
Brooklyn’s jungle is enough for me.
Nature's call? Just a John Denver song
Here with the homeboys, I can't go wrong.
It was just a typical ordinary night
I was all tucked up in bed
Radio on reading a book
By lamp light.
When suddenly
I saw a flash in the corner of my eye
Boy I was so scared
I nearly wet myself
I was petrified.
For there under the wardrobe
I did see
A giant mouse twitching it's nose
I could have sworn
It was laughing at me.
It had two huge eyes
The size of dinner plates
It was nearly as huge as a house
It was my worst nightmare come true
A giant enormous mouse.
I screamed when I realized it wasn't a dream
At the huge hairy monster fiend
Well I panicked and jumped out of bed
Ran down stairs screaming!!!!!
And banged my head.
I grabbed a pile of books
And hid in the bathroom
And locked the door
and put some things against the door
And some towels at the bottom on the floor.
And there I stayed for two weeks or more only occationaly
Leaving to get a drink or some food
Anything else I wasn't in the mood.
Well I wasn't going to let a mouse outsmart me
That would have been so silly
You see
So I bought a humane mouse trap
Because I hate killing things
And tried to tempt it in
I tried every contraption on the market
But still the mouse would win
It was like a mouse hotel
I tried sardines cheese and pastabake
Chocolate and well done steak
Salmon toast boiled egg and sweets
It ate me out of house and home
With all the treats.
But still I couldn't get it.
Well soon I turned into a crazed mad killer!
With a shotgun and an axe
I was a hunter and my mouse was my prey
But still the mouse had it's day
Dynamite was the last resort
I tried real hard but it couldn't be bought.
Then one day I found it dead
The fattest mouse I'd ever seen laid by my bed.
It was finally over to my relief
But I felt so sorry for the critter
that caused me so much grief.
But having spent two weeks
In the bathroom with all those books
At least I came out a much wiser well read man
And a mouse is all that it took
But now I was broke
I didn't have a penny left
As I'd overfed the mouse to death
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. June.