Long Voles Poems
Long Voles Poems. Below are the most popular long Voles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Voles poems by poem length and keyword.
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!
Charming Ghost did not want to leave, so he stayed to play.
He got older and bigger and was alone at the end of each day.
His relatives all died, and left him behind, not knowing he was here.
Charming Ghost did not know to go into the light, I do fear.
Go into the light! His grandmother Ghost said from beyond the veil.
He heard her, but did not heed her, stuck around to shake and wail.
The people in the house thought he was their imagination at night.
They did not open up their hearts to him; they were not very bright.
Gargoyles and goblins moved to the white porch of the house.
They scared the tiny rat-like creatures voles, moles, rabbits and mice.
The garden was intact, no one bothered it at all thanks to their help.
They stayed out there and ate up everything from tomatoes to kelp.
One day a fine woman with a four-year-old son moved to this home.
He was in tune with spiritual beings, for he was a reincarnated gnome.
He encouraged Charming Ghost to take a faith leap into the light.
It was the last time the house was haunted, it was last Tuesday night.
Greeting the day's offerings, we cat souls
Were watching for scampering voles and moles.
Five vigilant cousins and I, perched up high,
watching the sun rise in the eastern sky.
From our perch in the gnarly gumdrop tree,
We surveyed the meadow, calm as we could be.
The grays and tans of a gentle morn,
Brought forth tasty mice, who were soon forlorn.
September day, offers so much lively meat on the ground.
We sneaked up stealthily, me and my brigade, profound.
We pounced, and the critters were goners for sure.
Their meat tasty, and fresh, and decidedly pure.
Our daily hunt, is so much fun, in this tree.
My cousins, my brother, my dad, and me.
We all do this, every single morn.
Making the little creatures feel forlorn.
Ghillie Dhu.
Forests lie deep and dark with never ending looping paths,
Known only to those who dwell within and live their lives
In undergrowth and leaf litter fallen from tree tops high,
Like a carpet of leaf upon the ground shielding voles and little mice,
Where squirrels search and leap from intertwining branch,
In endless search for nuts to bury in the ground,
Saved for winters harshest time if only they could remember where?
Brightly plumaged jays may steal them for themselves,
As dusk descends on woody hall as crows and rooks circle,
Cushat –doos languid cooing a nightly lullaby,
Watching with wary eye the foxes as they prowl,
Badgers also brought out with promise of midnight feast.
Worms and grubs wriggle around lit by moon light ray,
Through the gloom stealthly walks like regal procession,
A group of red brown deer, great tines a top the head,
Crowning glory of king stag glinting with nightly dew,
Always alert watching and listening for the slightest sound,
Behind an ancient oak eyes watching them in grace pass by,
His hood drawn over his head ,his coat of leafy hue,
Fae light twinkles in his eyes breathing low and still,
The watcher of the woods is out protecting all those lost,
Showing the paths and trails to follow home to safety,
From out of wooded maze that confuses a strangers thought.
His name is spoken of in whispers and some fear,
Amongst the folk of villages and duns close to Celidon wood,
His aim is harmless and to help those in need and lead them away,
From harm and possible doom.
Ghillie Dhu is his name the spirit of the woods ,
Under midnight star collecting nuts and grains,
Mushrooms eaten as a snack as he wanders ,
With eyes sparkling bright observing all within,
Watching them all caring for them all,
A special guest at the Butterfly Ball.
© Andrew McIntyre,2016.
The Composition of Shadows
by Michael R. Burch
“I made it out of a mouthful of air.”—W. B. Yeats
We breathe and so we write; the night
hums softly its accompaniment.
Pale phosphors burn; the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.
And what we mean we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants’
strange golden weight, each plosive’s shape—
curved like the heart. Here, resonant,
sounds’ shadows mass beneath bright glass
like singing voles curled in a maze
of blank white space. We touch a face—
long-frozen words trapped in a glaze
that insulates our hearts. Nowhere
can love be found. Just shrieking air.
Published by The Lyric, Candelabrum, Iambs & Trochees, Triplopia, Romantics Quarterly, Hidden Treasures, ImageNation (United Kingdom), Yellow Bat Review, Poetry Life & Times, Vallance Review, Poetica Victorian
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all the dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He sweeps the muddy tracks
of iron caterpillars.
Bears tell him
of how things are going
in the suburbs,
in swimming pools and trash cans,
There must be a treaty.
Kits and coyote love him,
whistle-Pigs trumpet his approach.
Ducks quack his many sermons,
may shotguns always misfire.
He is a preacher,
a teacher to tic and turtle,
a bosky fellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow but verdant,
a green man for me and thee
harken now to his leafy lingo
for tomorrow he may be only a scarecrow
in a long ravaged field.
The hoarfrost bites the tender limbs, with hard snow on the ground
The water surface mirror like, in the forest there's no sound
The footbridge wears a coat of ice, flashing in the sun
Awaits steam blowing joggers, out on their morning run
The birds sit on the branches, wrapped in feathers warm
The morning is so peaceful, not the slightest sign of storm
The badger curled up in his set, he waits for stronger sun
You can't dig worms in iron hard ground, winter life's no fun
The fox patrols the open ground, where the rabbits dig for grass
They are deep down in their burrows, wait for early morn to pass
While Owls eat mainly insects, Voles and Field mice don't stray far
From the warmth of grass lined burrows, safe haven that they are
In time the winter turns to spring, the freshness that it brings
The green grass back, the leaves on trees, all the pleasant things
Soon will come the Caddisfly, with larvae for the fish
The same that later in the year, end in the anglers dish
And so it goes the seasons pass, as they have always done
Since the time this earth our home, created by the One
While each of us is not here long, it behoves us to take care
Of what was given us to use, I'll do my best I swear
SWISS CHEESE
The major connoisseurs of swiss cheese
as incredible as it may seem,
are not the Swiss basement rats.,
are the "voles" from the underground of the
politics....
THINKING OF BEING HAPPY
Just thinking of being happy, our hurried
friend tied the sorrows at the foot of the table,
he took a nap on the riverbed, and when
he woke up ... put his foot in the jackfruit, put
a jacket and went to party in heaven
mouth of the street ...
POLLUTION
The noise pollution is so intense,
the sound volume is so loud that
soon, soon, soon, soon there will be
queues of patients wanting to do
ear transplant ...
WEDDING
Marriage goes through several phases until
that comes to ending ... or not ...:
Initially marriage is a love movie.
Already at home living in two, it's drama ...
In the separation, it doesn't matter who is guilty,
it's either a comedy, or a horror movie ...!
Out of the burrows and hedges and dreys
Heads began bobbing and eyes were agaze.
Rumours were twittered and grunted and squealed:
‘The combine is coming to harvest the field!’
The moles and the voles and the rabbits and hares
All hurried and scurried and scattered in pairs.
The hedgehogs and ladybirds, pheasants and shrews
Did all that they could to distribute the news.
Then all made a dash for old wise badger’s sett;
The only safe refuge in face of the threat.
There, in the deep hollow they felt the vibration
They shivered and shuddered in great trepidation.
The thrumming and thundering monster machine
Soon passed overhead... and then all was serene.
And out of the hollow came heads, tails and paws
Another day safe from the harvester’s jaws!
Most recently entered into 'Your Best Rhyme Poem That Is Trophy Worthy Contest 3 Poetry Contest' sponsored by Tania Kitchin - 05.10.19
I chose this poem because not only is it one of my personal favourites, but to this day, I've no idea where all these little creatures came from! Written early on in my poetic endeavours, it made me appreciate fully the amazing powers of the imagination!
'A rattling rhyme contest' sponsored by Nina Parmenter
12/08/18
04/12/18
'I cannot believe I wrote that Poetry contest' : sponsored by Nina Parmenter
Your Choice,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest : sponsored by Brian Strand
As a child he discovered
how to assimilate, merge and verge.
His five senses did not become six,
but a number closer to one.
That day, water drooled over mossy stones.
He smelled the splash of foaming atoms,
the explosive opening of water-buds.
He thought to himself -
“I can paint my mind
over the sky as if it were a cave wall,”
A swan rose up, wings clattering,
water ligaments pulling a wingspan
through a Catherine Wheel of sound.
His senses flew together
forming clumps of reality
which seem to him to be new planets,
worlds thrown from the minds of
water voles and frogs.
He thought to himself-
“If I place myself into these little planets,
I can leave my footprints
on running water, or on the air
as if I were a bird made
from the light of a foreign sun."