Long Squirrel Poems
Long Squirrel Poems. Below are the most popular long Squirrel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Squirrel poems by poem length and keyword.
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
A Dragon Squirrel Brigade
Dragon got home from the Army, wanting to be totally, in control.
He wanted to be a Drill Sergeant, to teach the recruits, to be bold.
He gave them all a blankie, and a binkie they could keep, I am told.
They’d throw a rock, and shoot in a blink, like the knight’s of old.
He’d practice the squirrels, now, waging a fight, in an old Hawk War.
A sling shot army, his name to fame, who could dare ask for more?
An army waiting, as they fly at our birds, yep, here’d come the corps.
The gumball tree is ready, yes, ammunition does abound, in galore!
Yep, they’re better than those darn possums, I say, sleeping in the day.
They’d Shoot, hanging upside down, slingshots and gumballs, into play.
Dragon marched them up and down, the trunk, and limbs, in the array.
They’d find the perfect spots, to shoot from, at their whim, in the foray.
Seems, they also learned to jump, into an amazing flying squirrel act.
The flying squirrel missed his target, got caught, in a boy’s hair, for a fact!
A kid then threw rocks at the troops, as the hawks were forgot, you think!
Unfortunately, they are squirrels, and some times, do some squirrelly things.
They closed the town down, with a hornet’s nest in every Road. That stings!
Nobody dared go down the streets, a curfew had been struck, in a blink.
Yep, at that moment, the Hawk decided to stealthfully, swoop in for a bird.
A gutter frog jumped on the hawk’s back, forcing him, to the ground, I heard.
At that, our first hero was made, as gutter frogs joined the squirrel brigade.
As the squirrel was removed from the boys’ hair, the barbershop became…
A place for squirrel nesting supplies, so the curfew was lifted, fast as it came.
A gutter frog offering this advice, became the new General, in this war game.
Squirrels, were tired of marching, and being yelled at by Dragon, that night.
They replaced him with the gutter frog, with less smoke and fire. Alright!
But Dragon’s work was done that day, as the troops were ready to fight.
Finally he was a Hero, for he had turned the tide… He was so very proud.
The moral to my story is:
The troops got a Drill Sergeant, but didn’t need him any more.
A General is enough to carry on, for a Generals’ planning is better…
Than a young Dragon’s power and fire… as, yes, Dragon went off to play.
Written by Carol Eastman 2-8-2015
Over a period of six years, I have observed three cats not my own. Though I have owned a cat before, I'm not considered a 'pet person'.
Nor have I been a pet owner long enough to lay any claim to 'pet wisdom'. Allow me to share about two of them referred to as Cat One, and Cat Two.
One day I noticed that Cat One was starring up a tree in my front yard. I observed from my front window and discovered the target of his watch.
There was a squirrel way up high, far and away from the reach of Cat One. She made at least two attempts at climbing the tree but decided it was no use.
I'm sure she knew better, but it seems her hopes were that the squirrel would either come down or somehow slip and fall. I could have told her, "Fat chance
of that happening". I don't know how long the stand-off had been going on, but I observed the episode for about ten minutes. Finally, I sensed the cat
began to say, "I'm going home; I've had enough of this". When Cat One had crossed the street, the squirrel came from the tree and ran down my fence.
Cat Two wasted no time starring at squirrels in trees too quick for him. His preference was mice. As did Cat One, Cat Two belonged to someone because
they did not appear to be stray cats. However, I'm not sure Cat Two was properly loved and fed because it was certain that his 'mice catching abilities'
came with a price tag. I say that because on at least two occasions after he caught a mouse he would purposely deposit him right near my doorstep where
I was sure to see it. It might just be 'their way', but I felt that Cat Two was saying to me, "Okay, I have done my job; now it is time for you to do your job
and feed me". Although I was never interested in making him my own, I was always happy to feed him. I have always appreciated and respected cats and
other pets and these observations of Cat One and Cat Two gave me an even higher regard for these quiet and fuzzy friends known as cats.
08102018PoetrySoupContest, Cat Poems, Tania Kitchin, 4P
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
Form:
"you are more than I deserve. It's a love I never dreamed I'd find. Happinesd like this is worth dying for..."
- Yasunari Kawabata-
Looking down, while flying midway between sky and earth,
I saw a dog on the grey tongue of an abandoned road,
Licking its genitals under summer-noon's hot slogan.
And I understood how badly I had drifted from your hills.
The hearth, that eatthen hearth, we often mended with butter-clay scooped out of a shallow river called "wahumkhra",
every time it cracked, pitilessly, after meals we managed to cook, sparingly though, will always remain as the only string that holds the chandelier of my fragile existence.
O that sweet hunger, how I yearn for it now.
The pallet of pine-needles stiched with old sacks,
on which we gathered dreams with smell of pine forests,
was no lesser than the priest's preachings on sunday mornings about His heaven's promised infinite sleep.
The narrow streets on which I doddered looking for work,
with constantly slipping away toes from outworn sandals,
while you waited for me with the blossoming seed in your belly, a future, full of honeyed beehives, over which I staggered drunk with restlessness of a beggar, for which I repent till this day.
I never knew, honestly, that I will become an irrelevant thread in the embroidery of jasmines on the hem of mekhala chaddar worn by a naiad, for the first time, shyly, when she attained puberty, and on the day of her subsequent gandharva marriage to an alchemist.
For the time being, I exist as a windless flag with no colors, neither white nor of any color known to mankind.
My soul and heart stay bled, like the butchered wings of Jatayu, but sweetheart, you will hear me flutter, sometimes, in the chuckling of a wounded squirrel and wailing of a cicada in the pine-hills where winds tease clouds, where you dwell reminiscing shadows of our silhouetting nonsenses.
Notes :
1. Mekhala chaddar, a traditional of Assamese women.
2. Gandharva marriage is one of the eight classical types of hindu marriage. This ancient marriage tradition from the Indian subcontinent was based on mutual attraction between to people, with no rituals, witnesses or family participation.
3. Jatayu was a vulture, in the hindu epic ramayana, whose wings were severed by ravana's sword, while attempting to rescue sita when the latter kidnapped her.
Form:
I took a walk along the old country road looking desperately for a story that is not yet told, I search in the bushes and the trees but there was nothing waiting for thee.
The morning with its bright petals gleaming in the clouds and an army of birds swarm the sky moving around in slow motion communicating with the big birds on the ground and I watch them flying all around.
Something was going on, but I could not understand so I took a walk on the beach and saw thousands of birds gathered on the shore holding court and keeping a conference on the sand.
There was nothing to write about, so I continued my journey in the woods until I found a squirrel climbing out of a hole from the tree, its eyes move quickly around and for a split second it stares directly at me and hurried quickly down the tree and ran in the bushes.
I looked around to see what I could find but nothing was there except rows and rows of trees and the water flowing from a nearby stream. I took a deep breath and absorbed the wilderness around and sat on a log that lay across the stream and suddenly my childhood dream came back to haunt me.
It is the solitude that was all around and the braying donkey laden with goods going to town, and the woodpecker making a strange sound in the hole. It sounds like someone was knocking on the door and suddenly the entire place came alive, and the universe whispered in my ears and, said, "you are mine." I looked around to see who it was, but just one bird was standing on the tree limb looking.
I hurried away from that place and went back on the main road and walked a quarter of a mile before I could see any assemble of life; the country dust pushes me on and the rhythm in my feet drag me along; it is the deity that I could not understand, and I contemplate the scale as I journey up the lonely street.
I walked about half a mile and suddenly I broke down and cry; I wasn’t sure what I was sobbing about but the memory of the moose and how it gorges out my wisdom tooth overshadowed me.
Not too far from where I was, I came up on a little country shop, so I stopped to get some water, I walked in, but no one was there, and I saw blood on the counter and a man lying in a pool of blood in the corner.
I held my mouth and scream, and a car came out of nowhere and I suddenly woke up out of the dream.
Unlike natural humane organisms,
like toad
and squirrel
and goldfinch bodies and brains,
Spiritual humane organisms,
like toad
and squirrel
and goldfinch matters and minds,
remain unchanged
by my perception
reception of them v us
as separate,
even laughably autonomous spirits
rather than One EarthTribe Holonic Laughing Spirit
Of interdependent integrity
with win/win
left-dominant/right-prominent
west/east
north/south
ego/eco-politically good-humored intentions
for multicultural empowerment
against monotheistic disempowerment
of all these natural
and spiritual
humane nature/spirits,
unseparated.
Natural bodies
do not share this uniting equity
between separate embodied perceptions,
merely sober secular,
and One disembodied unlistening God
stubbornly refusing to open ZeroZone Original Soul
of interdependently uniting re-creation
without uniformly uninviting
reduction of humanity
to win/lose violently inhumane capitalists,
Evolutionary devolutionary
inevitable mortal soul lose/lose terrorists,
anger inflamers
fear-mongerers
suffering blamers
decay re-arrangers
degenerative fragmenting managers
of separately supremely un-natural
absence of peace history.
Spiritual matters and minds
uncover no natural body and brain differences
in-between One radically Sacred EveryWhere and Time
and No fundamentally secularized timeless place in NotParadise Hell
Interdependently re-articulating
this perpetually changing,
growing
knowing
discovering spiritual mind as rational matter
and natural brain within neurally interdependent bodies
Integrally open, not industriously closed,
Organic, not just technologically useful,
Refining health, not so much defining materialistic wealth,
EarthTribes spiraling synergetic ZeroZen
Holy Enspirited
Win/Win Soul,
West/East dipolar co-arising Anima Mundi
fundamentally EitherRight/OrWrong RightWing
and evangelically BothNatural/AndSpiritual LeftWing
gospel multicultures
living together, not apart,
for GoodHumored MotherParadise,
Natural systemic healthy/wealth purpose,
inside spiritual polycultural communicating communion,
polypathic
polyphonic
polynomial Zero
Zone of nature/spirit heuristic separation
with not quite so much LeftBrain dominating demand
for embodied definition
through nature v spirit segregation.
1#
Brewed tea
Wife and myself
Nothing between us
2#
He was metamorphosed
Into a frog
When his wife had left him
3#
I needed
A lonely woman
Thousand years back
4#
She shivered
In yellow sun
Struck by her coyness
5#
God travels
With three suitcases
One for me
6#
I kissed
Her frostiness
And my lips turned icebergs
7#
The bed
Gets embarrassed
At our nakedness
8#
Her hands
Stopped me
To pick evenings
9#
We two rested
In a cave of Kundalini
Behind the waterfall
10#
The alien woman
Travelled six moons
To deliver her baby in a burial ground
11#
An eagle swoops
On a field –mouse
Tables of wedding
12#
The woman kissed me
I felt her hollow ribs
As if in a spring dream
13#
The woman’s hair
Struck by a gale
Made waterfalls
14#
My wife locked
Me one fine evening
In my neighbour’s hole
15#
The rats are away
When mice take in
My wife’s clammy face
16#
The summer rain
In exasperation
Took wings to raid the moon
17#
Lolo my wife
Her green sleek steps
Thundered an innocent fly
18#
In the dead of night
God made two wives
One for me one for my neighbour
19#
My neighbour’s wife
Delivered a child
When I was asleep
20#
The woman said goodbye
And I took a fish for dinner
I mistook it for my wife
21#
My wife is a canvas
Where I paint
My forebodings
22#
A painter’s apprentice
In sheer foolishness
daubed in red my wife’s rear-view
23#
A squirrel saw my wife
And in haste
Lost her guava
24#
I was caught in neighbour’s bedroom
By my wife last summer
I lost my glasses
25#
A wolf entered the graveyard
Unannounced
And annoyed my wife
26#
Sarah my wife
Lumbering
Dizzy commuters
27#
Sarah wed me
And in brief forgetfulness
Greeted my neighbour
28#
A tiger ate Sarah my wife
It happened by accident
The tiger knows
29#
Morning bell
Wake up call
I want to sleep
30#
Pola my pet fly
Fouled things up
She ate my wife’s breakfast
31#
My dog Pintu
Hydrophobia
I set him free on my wife’s posterior
32#
Eons ago a butterfly
Gave birth to my wife
Now, a caterpillar
33#
A hard slap
Stammering
Hurricane Sarah will win
34#
You have gathered enough winters
Woman sighs
Leave one for me
35#
The woman flapped her wings
To clouded mountaintops
Silky as white
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Squirrel Watching
By Curtis Johnson
Many are we who live and die, having never taken the time to smell the roses
Or to behold the sometimes breathtaking beauty of a cloud in the sky
Nor even to take a drive to the west side of town, and stare at a sunset
One need not be soft and tender to enjoy the site of a purple rose
Or too busy to stop and gaze at a moving cloud
Nor need you be romantic to enjoy a sunset
One needs to celebrate little creatures of the wild
Before those senior years come creeping upon you
One must dare to decelerate and take note of a squirrel
Or follow the pathway of an ant as he passes your way
Or even find the time to save the life of a yard bug
I am learning what it’s like to observe a few note worthy ways,
And sometimes selfish behaviors of squirrels in my back yard.
Like the time that a squirrel took my pecans from my makeshift
Platform after I put them there to dry. You might not call them selfish,
But perhaps you would, if you loved pecans as well as my wife and me
I am not aware of any scientific study on squirrels, but my personal observations have led me to conclude that they feel entitled to any and every nut their little hearts desire,without any regards to ownership.
I am forgiving though about the pecans, because I enjoy watching them
Walk and run atop the fence with very little effort; And I am captured
As I watch them chase each other from limb to limb, or race up a palm tree
And hide beneath those protruding stickers
O what large eyes they have, being so uniquely set for exquisite vision!
Their movements are so agile and quick, and they appear shaky and a bit over sensitive to their surrounding. Perhaps that explains why they seem to be in a constant state of readiness.
To some extent, I would say that they are also fearless, provided they are able to keep adequate distance from you.
Were I at work 9 to 5 or some other shift, I would not have learned such minor truths about squirrels; And had I not been retired, never would I have seen a squirrel outwit a cat who gave in and walked slowly away
Unlike me, you do not have to wait until retirement. There’s a beautiful wild kingdom out there my friend. Let’s enjoy it.
Cj04222015