Short Weasel Poems
Short Weasel Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Weasel by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Weasel by length and keyword.
The sneaky, slinky weasel
Is weaselly recognised …
But stoats are stoatily different …
They’re ermine in disguise!
There’s Wicked Weasel
the bikini factory.
Look at their website.
Women found throughout the world
display their beauty online.
Picture of a Weasel
While he worked on an easel
Painted picture of a weasel
Some schnitzel sounds good
Have some wish I could
Maybe sneeze I now will.
Plagued by gas attacks was Willy Weasel
His tummy churned from frequent upheaval ~
Then Willy got a hot tip
Try this stuff, just take a sip ~
Willy learned weasels can't stomach diesel
Gabby wailful goes wane
Gassy wagtail
Gruff white-livered
Grudging walleyed
Grubby wanton
Grouchy warlike
Great weasel
Gross-out wicked
Grizzle whiney
Going in will-o'-the-wisp
Going with his big baby
The happiest tune I've ever heard is “Pop Goes The Weasel”
Helps me remember me before I became evil
No excuse do I have
Could've been lotsa gas
Mucho beans as a young'un when things were primeval
Snap Decision
Pre-Judge
Jump to Conclusion
Wrong Grudge
… None Are Immune…
… but Fallacy !? …
Please Don’t Presume
Just Spell: A s s u m e
… ‘Cause Pop Goes The Weasel, is a Child’s Game
And A Jack-In-The-Box…Is The Same
When Spring flowers,
in woodlands hereabout
reveal themselves,
archangels shout-
Im a weasel snout.
Inspired by the pretty woodland yellow archangel(Galeobdolon luteum) in a wayside woodland
walk yesrterday in th Chiltern Hills.
there was
no horrible
accident
just a
written
will he
wanted
a closed
casket
there was
no organ
music
playing
somber
chords
just the
sound
of a
child's toy
music box
playing
over and
over again
pop
goes
the
weasel
Form:
If I steal the one you love
And enjoyed every second I'm with her
And you're not
Would you call me a monster?
In some cases i don't know what to do
In most I can weasel in a safe way out
Soft brown eyes don't let me down
I may never get back up
weasel
whiplashing past my boots
flash of tan and cream
zipping
out of sight
chasing a rabbit - maybe
no death scream
no sound
of anything being torn to pieces
walk on a pace
a fleet rustle in the grass
it is hunting again
walking on eggshells
soundless in soft snow
stoat displays black tip of tail...
all else- white on white
Contest: Animal Haiku
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Written: November 2011. Margaret Foster
The stoat is a type of weasel. In winter his coat turns white ( ermine) except for the black tip of his tail.
A weasel has three words to sell
“Mongoose says that “he has to tell
The People buy the weasel word
In the hope of killing the bird
And the cats of neighbors as well
What was that?
My husband and I look at each other
It looked like a hybrid
Part raccoon, part cat
Possibly weasel
It ran right out in front of us
I look up Ringtail Weasel
There is such an animal
It is nocturnal, rarely found in the daytime
We are not surprised to see it is also called Ringtail cat
ravenous vultures roam
cheek by jowl
battle lanes prolonged
Wrestle the weasel
in the tall grass
Laura dances
her hips throng
Lost paradise where did it go ?
We are born through golden forests
I will be as silent as a grave
The Son of Pan
appears in heavy guise,
beneath the pond
he hears foremost of our melancholy
at a white aspen we chant
Crafty little devil,
Friend of the Gecko,
Sly, secretive, aloof..
Whether up a tree or on a roof
Weasly ways he uses to get
Whatever he wants,
And you can bet...
He'll have his hand in your pocket,
As he does deny
That he does such a thing,
You'll make him cry!!
Oh w'ascally weasel
You devilish lad...
I'll break your hand
If you touch my wad.
Those who view many things are few
It causes a day to turn from red to blue
Akin to a little bird that adores insects
Gets a weasel from its cuddle nest
And darkness falls when the stars align
Watching where the moon does shine
Caught in the deepest shimmer of glow
The experience of humankind's shadow.
Written: March 14, 2023
Lawn furniture flavored ice cream
served in moxa cups
Candied eyes of freshwater bream
pickled bushdog pups.
Pig pizzle wrapped around a stick
grilled upon the deck
Woven rope with cat head and brick
hung about your neck.
Marzipan violin bowed by a stoat
badminton played widdershins
A toast of poison without antidote
barefoot on needles and pins.
dream did find in field
to us always had appealed
with much love was sealed
we had been balking
reach point where there is talking
for friend stalking
life was imperil
when we sang christmas carol
screech sounded sterile
issue was skirting
when my back had been hurting
which i was blurting
his name was Cecil
who we heard was a weasel
art work on easel
A gnome met a weasel and fell in love
They created a child from stuff they found above
In high closet shelves and in branches of trees
Their child was a cute combo, a hybrid with good knees
Is he steampunk? Asked a rude neighbor Blanche.
He’s whatever he wants to be said his cousin Ranch.
All because a gnome met a weasel and fell in love.
Showing their child how to rise high and above.
His wonderful wizardly was well-known in the glen
Xavier, was more talented than most of his kin
His enchantments could weasel under your skin
Making you fat, angry, happy, or sometimes too thin
Xavier resided at the beastly bordello, Cats Eye Inn
The scrumptiously tasty food there should be a sin
He dated Marilda, who was an identical twin
Her spells were legendary, most of them a true win.
Oh, the things we might write if we all channeled Seuss:
like streams of Foie Gras through a cannibal goose!
Even masters might gain, yes even the bard.
Cuz you’ve got to admit it: that blank verse is hard.
And thank goodness this doc was a Seuss, not a Geisel,
or our poems would struggle to include a weasel.
Yes, it’s so much more fun to bid you a good day
in a playfully, lyrical, Seussian way!
Why for we seem so wise
yet act so foolishly;
Why so we create laws
for others to follow
saying,look I know best
forb those other fellows;
It's for your greater good
shape up,hera what I say,
It's much the better way;
I've given this some thought
(but not as much as I ought);
What about me, you say?
What I do privately
is,not for you to see;
Why for we seem so wise
yet act so foolishly;
a bite like hot charcoal
a nate full
of stolen baby teeth
that scythes off dried skin
ripped off like old wallpaper
the tearing of small birds
hidden under an early barn
mice shake like clocks
and cry in cold straw
You tap dancer,
as cruel as a broken tooth
as evil as a round eye
Did I ever tell you about the time
I saw a pair of wild weasels in the
parking lot of the government bunkhouse
I was staying at for the season
And they made me cry
because I had been so misled about weasels
up until that point
No on bothered to mention the
long slender tails and the impossibly slim bodies
and the two-toned palette
of brown and gold
and the joy
with which they hop about
why had no one mentioned
the joy?