A sprightly little squirrel named Drew
sat under a moon that was oddly blue,
and as its glow soaked through the night,
it dyed his furry body a dazzling hue.
He blinked, he twitched, he gave a chirp,
for blue is bold and far from meek~
but Drew, now bright as midnight skies,
felt rather dapper, quite unique.
He scampered up a maple tree,
declaring, “Look! Just look at me!”
The forest gasped, for never yet
had anyone seen such tint on a squirrel so free.
And now when moonlight turns to blue
and paints the nighttime’s silver view,
the squirrels all gather, hoping too
for a moonlit moment
to change their fur to blue.
Flickerwing the fairy,
bright as morning dew,
leapt onto Whiskerwood’s warm, soft back
and off the two friends flew.
Through silver-shadowed treetops
they scampered, swift and sly,
switching petals, stirring giggles
beneath a velvet sky.
And when the moon grows mellow
and fireflies rise to chat,
Flickerwing starts her mischief
on the back of the moonlit cat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Paul the squirrel tucked acorns 'neath his chin,
dreamt of tides and boarding in~
a tail for rope, a nut for gold,
his oak ship creaked, both brave and bold.
So Paul climbed the mast so vast~
Oak tree rigging, held on fast.
Acorn doubloons filled his chest,
With whiskey in paw,
Whispered, Aye, the West is best!
But storm clouds loomed—his tail went slack~
when oak-leaves turned his raft aback.
Yet home he scampered, safe and spry,
to stash his loot in his piebald tie.
A mouse tore across her toes
then, a scream from her, or it
as it scampered up her hose;
did the boy do what was fit?
She coyly looked into his deep, dark eyes
he, glancing at her slightly parted thighs
soft said, " Ma’am, can I be of any aid?”
“It is but a mouse; do not be afraid.”
“It is a rat that I most fear,” she said
“with eyes so dark that see through me,
attack me in my bed,
sir, is that thee”?
“Yes”!
In one short day, the weather changed
From dark to bright and rearranged
Our attitudes and clothes we wear
To fit the hours, foul or fair.
It started out with quite a storm
But temps unusually warm,
As rain ran riot ‘cross the road
And lawns turned into puddle mode.
The winds whipped wildly; from each tree
The squirrels scampered crazily.
Umbrellas, often such a perk,
On days like this, don’t really work.
As hours passed by, with me inside,
The rain decided to subside
And then the wind slowed down, as well,
For good, as far as I could tell.
The sun peeked out, for just a while.
I got my walk in, with a smile,
But heading back, dark clouds appeared,
This fickle weather really weird.
And now tonight, some thunder struck
And raindrops we will have to duck.
Tomorrow, I can just surmise,
Will bring another new surprise.
three little people scampered up the attic stairs
I followed more slowly, almost reluctantly
I am older, and have been here before
Fearful because of what I have felt up there
happy squeals of delight flow down to where I stand
I am about to take my last two steps
I enter cautiously, remembering the killer doll
disguised in blue ruffles and deceiving lace sleeves
Grandma, look at this! Grandma, what is this?
I explain things they have never seen – an iron, a victrola.
Grandma, look at this doll!
I turn.
There she is. The doll that used to terrify me
Staring brown glassy eyes giving me my worst nightmares
She has the same killer smile
I feel as terrified now as I felt sixty years ago
Can we take this stuff downstairs?
I start to say they can
Until one of them reaches for the dol
FLYING SQUIRREL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seth the squirrel was tired of leaping from tree to tree.
“My commute’s horrible! Got ta be a better way for me.”
Scampered to the toy store, bought toy bike from pal, Mike
Attached some balsa wood using Gorilla Glue. Wah la! He was birdlike.
Next day from hustle and bustle of commuter traffic, he happily did flee.
Unbeknownst to Seth, flying squirrels in open airspace don’t mix,
Ostracized Seth was—not a member of the flyer’s club, a squirrelish clique.
One day was almost hit by specially designed spy drones
‘twas Putin’s, for their black flags bore a skull and crossbones.
Fearing for his life, Seth sold his plane-bike on eBay, his flying days nixed.
Damn it the planet’s on fire
Concerning..right down to the wire
Burning on its funeral pyre spire
I’m for turning.. where’s the messiah?
A heavenly choir…so we can aspire
That learning will finally inspire
An endless yearning desire
Of spurning this friendless quagmire
Discerning things are rather dire
Churning of the palaver and ire
Mother nature does surely tire
Should be the crier & trier
Of another returning frequent flyer
Corporate pariah..or so called high flier
Deranged global warming denier
You can tell its hotter...getting dryer
The climate’s changed.. you liar
Mining anything shining..find a buyer
All about earning..will just retire
With their bounty…a comfy county squire
Or dicey fiscal rascal friar
Got devious egregious previous & prior
Pampered dining on pricey lobster & samphire
Us out of luck..stuck in the muck & mire
Tampered temperatures soaring higher
But no ruck ..chuck the entire earth in the fryer
They’ve scampered…we’re hampered in the briar
Does appall …no truck with their gall…yet remain a complier
Insane what they pluck.. yet we all still call them “Sire”
Near the yard, I heard the mother bird's loud cluck,
A signal to pull a sly trick on the hick.
Yuck! Her chicks all ran wild and scampered amok,
Scattered by the bumpkin swinging a big stick.
The dispersed chicks drew a cast of circling hawks,
That were happy to see meals within their grasp.
The hick and the hen, they must quickly outfox.
One hawk swooped low, its talons poised to clasp.
A chick grasped, the hawk then tried to fly away,
Mother hen ran after the hawk, eyes fire raged.
Fight ensued; chick-hunting again went astray.
The chick broke free when hawk and hen both engaged.
Like incense in a flower's heart, the chicks hid,
Their clucks hung like heavyweights on their weak necks.
Unseen tears of fear welled in their thin eyelids,
At least, from hawks their mother earned some respect.
I said…
In time, when my hair has gone wispy and grey
When my youth like my hairline has scampered away
When my joints creak aloud any time that I move
When my musical taste isn’t quite in groove
Will you tolerate me whilst I idolise you
Will you still be my soulmate when these things are true
And then I said…
In time, when my tummy casts shade on my feet
When my teeth as a set are no longer complete
When I enter a room and I don’t recall why
When I can’t hear the TV unless it’s up high
When these things happen, when these things are true
Will you still want me… please answer me do
And she said…
Remember we stood with the rings we would give
We promised each other, “So long as we live”
How many times did our dotage occur to us
Well, it seems that in your case, the ‘When’ is superfluous
footprints on front porch
little paws scampered away
uninvited guest
Blue-haired faerie Frisky had fallen into a land of weird.
An angry teapot was the one giant thing she feared.
He was irritated that the dress she wore, washed in Tide
Was the same exact color as his paint on the outside
He yelled at her unmercifully, wanting her to take it off
But she had no other clothes, so she merely scampered off.
His voice followed her all around the place, as did his magic cat.
She was thrilled when she finally woke up on her own bed mat.
the rain water inundates my home,
and one day almost killed my little one,
had to carry him across to a dry ledge,
and this is the story, every rain.
Kind sir, I said to the big mountain,
since you are so huge and so mighty,
can you please stop the rain?
There was no sound,
amidst thunder and wind,
water kept pouring, running down the hill,
submerging trees and flooding the river.
I scampered back and forth,
from my food stores to my home,
children get so hungry in the rain.
night vigil in my little deep tunnel,
amidst the brambles and stones,
to keep the venomous rattler out.
bright day and the rain has died down,
and the house is dry.
I counted the little ones and all is right.
If not the rattler, it is the fox,
and the barn owl and then this rain!
I have decided to move home from here!
a cave where the big striped cat lives.
my cousin says, it is added security!
“ever heard of a mouse living with a cat?”
I sometimes laugh to myself.
The truth is sometimes, you are safer
hiding with a known enemy
than living with an inconsiderate friend.
At this very moment coolies screamed, ‘train',
We scampered, packing up our bags and bales;
A long-awaited train’s at times a bane,
But this one turned a boon, such were the tales.
An English gentleman hailed our hero
From his carriage, and we parted to go
Our diverse ways—to our cattle-class seats.
There was no chance to know who that man was,
Nor could more light upon his tale be lit;
Indeed, never-ending may prove some pause.
Some truths, some lies of life lie ever so;
Maybe, he took us as credulous fools.
A painful nerve, if anxious, seldom cools,
Some truths and lies forever curious grow.
Perchance the man minted fun at our cost,
And damsels in distress lay buried, lost.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Fear not, doubt's dark whispers,
embrace the testing ground.
We face the same old existential dreads -
the unexpected twist, the vague essay prompt.
Genial birdsong mocked our anxious morning
and squirrels still scampered unconcerned.
“You’re a beautiful bundle of stress,”
I assured Lisa this morning
as I handed her her water bottle.
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