Squatter Poems - Poems about Squatter

teeny black spider on sparkling shower floor close sliding glass flip off the light, close the door afford eight-legged beast copious room ...

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Hailstones on the mat A feral Tom cat lingers Doors that never shut As hailstones strafe junk mail and mat Where feral is the alley cat On one hinge hangs The door that bangs And he ain’t going out in that The feral cat whilst oftentimes homeless, is, it seems, at no time gormless 26 January 2022 Contest: Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku poetry contest Sponsor: Charles Messina...

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In politics everyone is a squatter no one has permanent home there exit door is daily begging for departure yet once there inmates erase that destiny Lunatics are there but for a moment with ribbon on you may hate as you like call others outside names you coin but in politics everyone is a squatter Fanatics are there but for a time you...

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there is a village where everyone a squatter everyone a traveler no one is permanent rich or poor none is a child each person is but all have no mothers all do not have fathers but each child is father of the father’s father each child is mother of the mother’s mother yet no one is parent of the other the tag of imaginary parenthood hangs around...

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================================ I have a feeling I cant shake... I know not of it what to make. I'm certain someone else is here and this idea keeps me awake. I first make sure the shelves are clear, then, into every corner peer. If someone HAS been watching me, then I shall catch the buccaneer! How IS he managing to flee? He's stealthy. Or, perhaps he's wee..? And...

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some bright spots shine out of the squatter camp coloured plastic houses flap in the winter wind bricks hold roofs in place cardboard houses labeled "For the Whitest Whites and Brightest Colours" shine brightly through the haze of winter fires a bright blue painted window glass missing, brightens up a wall made of Chibuku containers a fence of scrap car doors rattles like a skeleton in the darkest...

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Squirrel chit-chatting staked a claim on my pear trees; his prime real-estate! ...

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Squatter Jack have you lived awhile in west Queensland, out in the red soil dust, where the crows will pick your eyes out and, bore water is a must, have you seen a thin and starving cow, not a blade of grass to eat, the timber`s gone no Mulga now......(13% protein in leaves) just the deadly summer heat, the squatter flogged his paddocks out, too...

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