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!
A warm sultry summers night, a silver crystal formed in
the corner of an eye. Trickled and rolled a gentle cheek,
fell to earth where all was dry. Whence it touched the
ground did speak, an Orchid bloomed of vibrant hues,
reds and whites, the palest blues. The Tear catcher dabbed
the bluest eye, a smile pursued a gentle sigh. The catcher
kissed is favourite friend, his purses full to the night did
blend..
Eerk, eerk the frog he croaked, help us Flora the pool is
choked, eerk, eerk and off he hopped, Flora followed
her duties swapped. By the pool, eyes in moonbeams
danced, their love of Flora is well romanced. Flora, Flora
help us please, the pool is choked by a blue disease. The
fish gasped and gulped for air, wildfowl preened their
feathers fair, otters, voles in a sticky mass, frogs and
toads could not pass. The sedge, the reed, heads did fall,
marigolds and lily's, threatened by this seedy sprawl.
With her hands she ceased the breeze, asked for quiet
from the trees. Beckoned all the spiders to the waters
edge, north to south along the sedge. Said to the spiders
cross your legs, spin, spin with all your might, those
silver threads strong and tight. To the Water Boatmen
she said pull, pull, until your net is full. Water Beatles
heaved and toiled, with insect life the water broiled.
Dragonflies with smaller nets collected dregs, Toads
and Frogs flipped with longer legs. The Newts and
Fowl came to assist, where once was dark the moon
it kissed. Across the pool the Voles and Otters pulled
away, most did work but some did play. To the sticky
web the Algae clings, behind a bright blue water sings.
The silver net was dragged well clear, all had helped
from far and near.
Flora asked the breeze to bring the clouds, left a message
for the sun to hide his head, but to keep her friends warm
in the shade. For without the rays the Algae would die,
and all would be peace and beauty before the eye. Dawn
was close, time for Flora to pat, stroke and kiss her pals
goodbye. She must return to the safety of the glade and
to the shade of the magic willow, her bed of moss and
Lavender for a pillow.
Form:
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.
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
When I am on the hunt if I want fresh
I choose young, it is always fresher meat.
Young bunnies, squirrels, rats, moles, voles.
Tastier, and less of a struggle.
But when my mother’s heart catches their eye,
And I think for a second of my owlets, I sometimes
Let up, and go after something that has had more of a life.
Hoping I will not also catch their eye.
Injured meat is what I swoop for if I have had a long day
And I am tired. Injured meat is easier, struggles less, and
Has a unique fear-based taste that is a little saltier.
I think it is from their blood pumping so hard as they
Struggle to get away. When they see my wing shadow, they know.
The old ones are the easiest, no matter what animal I am
Hunting. At dusk or pure black of night, they are the easiest to take down.
I do not hunt much at dawn, as that is my sleeping time. The old ones
Are grateful when I snap them up. They are ready to be torn apart.
Their spirits are grateful for the relief.
The only problem with the old one’s meat is, that it is tough,
And grainy and is not as blood-tasty as the young or the injured.
My owlets cheer when I drop a young one into our nest. When it
Is an old one, they turn up their beaks. Act like I have failed them.
I am so proud when I run an animal down for them.
The animal sees my wing shadow, and it knows I am a fantastic mother.
I used to garden naturally,
but now I'm guard'in chemically.
I've traded in my life bucolic
for one much more diabolic.
I'd rather play in the dirt chem-free
where weeding is great therapy:
tending herbs and building beds,
watering and dead-ing heads.
I'd welcome help to germinate
wiggling worms to cultivate,
and frequent flyers to pollinate.
But no! I'm forced to fumigate.
My homeland's been invaded!
All my plots are being raided
by countless uninvited guests
and some most annoying pests:
those snakes and snails and slugs,
wasps and spiders, moths and bugs,
herds of deer, rabbits and moles
a local raccoon and several voles.
Despite the natural tools I've tried
my garden still is occupied.
So I feel completely justified
to spray more potent pesticides.
To keep my enemies at bay,
I have to fight most every day
with coyote smells and critter baits
copper tapes and underground grates,
then netting plus a six-foot fence--
all apart of my homeland defense.
Yes, I admit I'm a fearful zealot
always seeking that magic pellet
or some ultra-noxious smell
which will cast its might spell
to desist, to deter, to repel,
or extend that final farewell.
So when you need that knockout drop
here's the place you ought to shop.
Skip the nursery, and fill your cart
from all the shelves at My-Pest-Mart
He discovered
how to connect and merge,
or such discovered him.
His five senses did not become six,
but a number closer to one.
It came upon him,
that he was one with everything,
all that his mind and eyes perceived,
be they an ant or a mountain,
nothing was separate from him.
All was his mind.
Water drooled over mossy stones,
he smelled the splash of foaming atoms,
the explosive opening of watery buds.
All was an energetic flow of synchronicity.
His body resonated to the mineral dance,
the vibrations within rocks and pebbles,
a living Word of light joining all things.
A swan rose up, wings clattering,
aural ligaments pulling white wingspans,
through a Catherine Wheel of sound.
Senses flew together,
forming waterfalls of reality.
He understood that these imaginative insights,
expanded the creativity of the universal.
Sunlit raindrops bloomed like new-birthed planets.
The instinctive thoughts of voles and frogs,
revealed as a singular cosmos,
of co-terminus existences.
As he looked upon this seamless world
he knew he had the potential.
to leave footprints on the sky and sea!
This revelation
turned his consciousness upon a diamond-sharp laith,
creating the radiance of a holy grail,
one great enough
to hold all the innumerable Sons of God.
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 dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of the truculent muckrakers,
the yellow iron caterpillars.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
Slips between the stringy and tall,
if there are no forested ways
he ambles where the wind ruffles.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the bosky bedfellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow man – he is variegated and verdant,
a green man for me and thee
at least for now.
I: Sheep
(A poem about Covid)
next door to 19 chimneys
and 'the dark satanic mills'
a flock of sheep is grazing
oblivious in the hills.
II: Other Animals
(They do all exist!)
goblin sharks and pangolins
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.
boobies, fried egg jellyfish
happy wrens and teals
sarcastic fringe heads, cock-tailed tyrants
shags, electric eels.
johnny cash tarantulas
slevin's emo skinks
hanging thieves, agra cadabras
turbo shrews and minks.
the mediterranean shame-faced crabs
dugongs, gangly lancers
jesus lizards, pistol shrimps
fossas, spanish dancers.
the rare long-wattled umbrellabirds
chubs and munchkin cats
satanic leaf-tailed geckos, shads
gars, nits and fancy rats.
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