Winding white wind whips
Colorful fall leaves
Like rainbow that drips
Undressing tall trees
Gives brown skirt a lift
Grey squirrel scurrying
The door is staring me down forcing me to open it empty handed.
But there is no mouse around me to remove the obstacles ahead.
Did I feed it too much cheese?
Or was it the gentile touch that I craved so much?
Could it be the dyed syringe from the ink jet printer full of water?
Or did it just not like the color blue?
The portal which was opened when the baseboard heater was installed.
Does not carry my scurrying little visitor anymore.
Autumn leaves an aftertaste that kisses cold.
Then transfuses startled green veins with gold.
A shivering whisper, slips through oak and elm.
As faded yellow disciples tumble from their realm.
As it hums through wheat; the heavy heads bend low.
To ripen while the last warm amber winds still blow.
A long-drawn-out sigh, draws summer from its reign,
Gold and red leaves tumbling down to an empty lane.
Thin mist curls upwards from the cooling ground,
Cold breath slips down, through cracks, without a sound.
Gasps rattle shutters, and worry the tiles and doors.
Sends dry leaves scurrying like mice around the floors.
Autumn breathes on apples till their red cheeks glow,
Then thumps them down one by one onto the ground below.
It finds the restless geese beneath the cloud.
And beckons them south, to join the gathering crowd.
At dusk its voice turns hoarse, as darkness grows.
Growing rasping and raw, with winter up its nose.
Then Autumn, now breathless, loosens one last leaf.
It spins to Earth, collapsing, in gold-flared relief.
The day she decides she’s done,
Wasting her best years in fear,
Cowering in filth and shadows,
Her pet cockroaches near,
Who can’t face me in the light,
And scurry from the sight,
If not too tainted then,
By their black-fingered blight,
She may assume her place,
Beside me in spite,
Of a once-roach being sprayed,
And my Queen’s appetite,
Will never be spoiled again,
By these putrid insects,
Ever scavenging and stealing,
Like a cancer that infects,
Where she finally feels the kiss,
On her face so inspiring,
As sun enlightens her,
Without her scurrying, but smiling.
The Pensive Poet Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom
Soren Kirkegaard
I ignore the voice of someone
shouting at the television
in the living room.
His voice grates.
My hand jitters as I open
the laptop. A blank page waits
and there’s just an hour before
I must go to work.
I desire to pull lines
from the air and let
them breathe.
I take a deep breath
And sigh. There’s so little time—
I recall time lost when scurrying
through life/ Again something
tugs at my sleeve, demanding
attention. I ask for a moment.
Clouds drift through the sky
before the storm, the thunderclap
but I always wait for silence.
Burrowing and Borrowing-
Starving but harvesting-
NOT quite charming but alarming-
Harming when storming-
More than a boring warning-
Performing and conforming-
Alluring the enduring-
Touring the reassuring-
Scurrying and worrying-
Working NOT twerking-
Twitching and itching-
Computer glitching when stitching-
Missing NOT dissing-
No hex
No mess
No sex
No stress
Wrestling with a nestled Texas style onion ring...
Castling the mastered haphazardly masked task...
Of a vaccinated infatuation ally rally for a new kitchen sink...
Getting pushed pass the brink by the former owner of a skating rink- because of drinking.
September rains could not put out
sparks that set the forest aflame.
Forest beasts, scurrying about
with innate scamperings, self-same
in prior incendiaries,
take part in this unending game,
branch to branch in furtive scurries.
The red flame, gradual at first,
spread through the woods in swift flurries,
licking each leaf to quench its thirst,
from under-growth to tree and bush
painting nature, a mad florist.
Now every leaf a ruddy blush
till the whole forest was ablaze,
and from each leaf the green it flushed.
The autumn dance, a Dervish craze,
with wispy winds stirring the flames,
waltzes in a different phase.
Forest creatures assert their claims
and in speedy rush they gather
all they can find: seed, nut and grains.
With the coming of November,
the leafy flames dance themselves out.
Each leaf, now a dying ember,
meets the dismay of winter’s pout
leaving every branch charred and bare.
Now all the fires have been put out
and forest beasts without a care,
now safely curl up in their lair
awaiting for the green spring fair.
Emerging grass
from snow in mass
In winter's pass
Robin arrive
30 or more thrive
As they strive
Hopping to find
for hidden blind
Scurrying mind
As they scatter
prey hear patter
It's a matter
The flock spreads far
without a spar
Friendly they are
It's rare to see
so many be
Here not to flee
4/4/26
Heidi Sands
(C)opyright
Placed 3rd in contest.
It’s time to put forth some new information
to shatter the myth of small primate intimidation
I’m done scurrying from one alley to another
just to scrounge some rancid cheese for my brothers
So, from now on it’s full bore galore
Me and my friends are hittin’ up every dairy store
I distract ‘em in front with my Mighty Mouse routine
While my comrades sneak out the back with limburger unseen
And next month, we invade Madison Cheese Garden
(I’ll be the one with a butcher knife and hard-hat-on)
"I guess you got into a job that's stressing.. Be strong."
Of concern, in a little while
Holding onto the ought be
Jogging a stroll of absence
In her heart, I got some more
Than enough which I am used to
May be politely false or wrongly true
As I walked down these steps,
My eyes caught her innocence.
But far away from my sight...
Long time not my writes
Add breeze to her flying kite
Unto my friends and foes biceps,
I hold firmly my troubling conscience.
To stage no peaceful or scary fight...
Till providence shows its heights
For me; for you, by luck and chance to bite
Your firm cool concern's note
Could not make me rest;
And as you have been there worrying
I hope you are heartily scurrying
As my writes now early bid farewell,
I wish to hear you soon of good news to tell
But in my mind you feel good too soon
As my seeming little writes miss you these often
Thanks dearly, sister.
The night swallows up the day
quietly as a cunning bird of prey
Wings of night cover all with dark
as a pale moon and stars begin to spark
Time for rest and sleep in dreams
as the blackness of night bird wings
Soft and fragile life seeks out
as darkness protects with clout
Creatures small thrive by night
forage for food avoid the light
The owl sees all and lunges down
for in the night his nourishment found
Silence still the night begins
scurrying for life the night ends.
Anybody Gunna believe her
About the dam beaver
Collecting sticks
Acting like bricks
Water contained
Whose Gunna complain
About the beaver
Having workaholic fever
Dedicated to the project
You got it
Watching the dam thing grow
Just for the wind to blow
Knocking everything down
Making the dam beaver frown
Scurrying back to dry ground
To pick up sticks
That will act like bricks
Creating a dam
That will stand
Nature’s power
Making the dam beaver tower
Over everything
Anointing dam beaver King
Hail my friend
When finished, building the structure to defend
Someone should commend
Check we will send
Allowing the dam beaver to be rich
Running a successful dam business niche
Deed well done
Thank you, you are welcome
Amber ribbons in her hair
Unique scent her skin shares
Turquoise sky eyes of brown
Umbrella time rain falls down
Making meals of pinto beans
Not choosing to eat animal meat
Squirrel scurrying with his nuts
Burying hurrying hiding from us
Regal man’s thick mustache talks
Every day he rushes as he walks
Autumn’s breath in the blue breeze
The crunching leaves under his feet
He smokes a pipe between his teeth
There Can Still Be
Many Squirrels, But
I Feel Like A Bat.
I LOVE Bats, And
They Are Fascinating,
But They Might Be
Considered A
Walnut-Nosed And
Walnut Ears
Scurrying Airborn!
Horrifying Rat!!!
Which Isn’t Too
Popular, I Love 'Em,
Though, With Different
Words...
Imagine That.
Squirrels With Wings...
('Flying' Squirrels!)
Yeah, Those Aren’t Real...
Skin Flaps For A
Parkour Stupidity...
But NOT Flight.
Besides, One Of
Mine Is Twisted
And Blackened
And Broken,
From The Terrifying
Impact When I
Finally Touched
The Ground...
The Glistening Beauty
Of The Other... Glowing
Crystalline, Unbelievably
Still In Purity, But Abandoned...
Still Remains.
-Gray Squirrel
09-24-2025
chipmunks scurrying across the park
dog wants to let loose and play
~ not happening on my watch
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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