An Aardvark
an aardvark is a curious animal
that passes himself off as a mammal
with rabbet ears and pig snout
he is unusual looking no doubt
on ants and termites, he does feed
but not so much on centipedes
he hides by day in the ground
and comes out at night to walk around
the aardvark is an odd looker for sure
but for some he holds a strange allure
She sent back the last order, as well.
This time, she shook her head
like a dog in the rain,
like a posh-frock woman
having "a spell."
The brimming broth, she said,
had a bitterness that swelled
and stung between her cheeks,
and across her tongue.
It steamed with the scent
of turmeric and sweat,
a lipstick kiss in the basement
of the Red Grotto Used Bookstore,
of a Dominican girl, half her age,
in skin jeans and red sneakers,
pulling her by the hand
during Summer City Lit Festival
last year.
She claimed she craved the
steaming heat of our menu's
Andean soup,
but bones like razors waited
when she raised the brim
of the bowl to her lips.
Just like the wine she sent back,
she said that the broth bit her lip
with a vicious grin
when she closed her eyes,
opened wide,
leaned in,
and tried to love it
with the whole of her mouth.
Mark’s bold forecasts were greeted with doubt
One of his hearers braving “Get out!”
Not just saying it: An exploded shout!
He’d seen, Mark with a bottle of stout,
A celebrant’s gulp and a drunk’s pout…
“Drunkard, no plant does well in harsh drought,
Just as no laborer with a gout.”
But - God! - What force had made him come out!
Hunger for the fame gods talk about
As things all men could do without,
Warning that taking it far rules flout
And whoever does “Consummate lout…
Ben Mark who would other’s views tout,
Letting his lips take on a pig’s snout.
He had the forecast heard from a scout
And now must beat others in a bout…
Some folk is ready for own forecast,
The farmers present for its broadcast
About Ben Mark he could still clout
For wanting to farms hurt and yield rout:
“This week, Mark shall be an outcast
On Earth as forecaster miscast.”
I can grow thirteen feet long if I want
I stay in the Amazon where I love to hunt
I am the biggest crocodilian in the present day
Yes, I am a black caiman, slithering in the fray
One woman guessed I was a blue whale, a silly guess.
The only blue whale I know is ninety-eight feet long; I call her Tess.
Shorn from arbor crowns by sharp northern breeze
Aging maple leaves curl like rumpled rugs,
Falling as stars amidst disrobing trees
Shivering in the face of hoar frost hugs.
A wee mouse sniffs wind which wakens his needs.
Snuffling with fury, tossing leaves about
To find nuts and seeds among grass and weeds
He scratches and scurries with whiskered snout.
His tit-mouse neighbor hurries to his spouse
Twittering that it’s time to fetch some seeds;
Together they gather and chase off grouse
To hide in the grass of murky marsh meads.
Furry gray mouse and tan titmice agree
To stay winter’s course in tunnel or tree.
10/29/2019
Contest: New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
What's this old world really about
To be happy and content there ain't no doubt
It's in everyone's power
To eliminate scours
Just turn up the grin setting on your big old snout
© Jack Ellison 2016
Time is memory
And shame is doubt
When you are living
life
On the edge of a
pig's snout
Favorite pig out…
Bier bratwurst and sour kraut
Flies buzzing about