'Bunnies!', 'Yes, bunnies!'
a lonely pooch
sniffing the mound of dirt
Sniff, sniff flung the Yorkie
'Bunnies!', 'Yes, bunnies!'
'Bunnies!' curl up cute and cuddly
while across the way
a kingdom full of gophers
a mound of dirt
I sat engaged and skunking
amazed I'm watching
I saw the fantails
Cute little cottontails
When I thought of the bunnies
That proud speculum - that proud
And so you came gently fluttering
the wrigglers never rabbiting
must be their cute cousins
The marl laughed
'Bunnies!''Yes, bunnies!'
So cute soft and cuddly
So, distinctly I was pea-cocking
And my eyes have all the plumbing
While listening to the robins
Remembering many initiated, silent bunnies
so cute and cuddly
7/5/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Categories:
wrigglers, adventure, animal, appreciation,
Form: Free verse
Another day’s daylight is fading,
and the evening sunset is red;
in the pond at the end of the garden,
mating calls are starting to spread.
There’s a chorus of croaking and growling
from the suitors attracting a mate.
The pond is a constant of ripples,
that dueling does tend to create.
Green heads are held out of water;
throats bubble on a lily pad,
but while attention’s diverted,
a visitor appears mighty glad.
Among sedges, grasses and bulrush,
a fork tongue is flicking for heat,
where all that he senses is dinner,
and frogs make a wonderful treat.
The spikes on the sedges are beds,
for the night of the dragonfly,
and a blue heron finishes feeding,
for the branch of a gum tree up high.
Pigmy Perch are quite relieved,
for they are the predators now,
mosquito wrigglers are lessened,
but many do survive somehow.
The pond is a home for so many,
but balance is struck keenly fine,
between plants, predators, and prey,
with the need for them all to combine.
Another day’s daylight is fading,
and the evening sunset is red;
shadow quickly covers the land,
and stars put the pond life to bed.
Categories:
wrigglers, nature,
Form: Rhyme
Wrigglers dripped again
from hidden heights. The red river changed
its course furiously. The wave climbers
abseiled from a lethal boat
to wipe out the beach memory. Timeline
sneaked to put the blood signature
of a cult on the glass shards.
A biosynthesis starts for tadpoles
destroying the infrastructure of the species.
Yolk sacs were emply. New borns
were turning into snakes.
Enemy swept across the land. Deers
were being released for the panthers.
The boundary was only meant for the victims.
The metamorphosis was complete.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
wrigglers, art,
Form: ABC
Wrigglers dripped again
from hidden heights. The red river changed
its course furiously. The wave climbers
abseiled from a lethal boat
to wipe out the beach memory. Timeline
sneaked to put the blood signature
of a cult on the glass shards.
A biosynthesis starts for tadpoles
destroying the infrastructure of the species.
Yolk sacs were emply. New borns
were turning into snakes.
Enemy swept across the land. Deers
were being released for the panthers.
The boundary was only meant for the victims.
The metamorphosis was complete.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
wrigglers, art
Form: I do not know?
It is May again, milners, mariners, militants
Ye laborers in union chafing come
And breathe beyond the cankerers fields
Crawl, fruit despised sucklings, from your dusty
Lung corroding mines
Walked the muscled roads your sweat
Have softened for freedom
You propertyless citizens come
Rise from the hovel of slums
And internal colonies
You spirit of immigrants blown apart
Building a railraod
To a country without a heart
Rise up like buildings bright sun
And burn sin and stubble of dream
In red red coming of the evening
Slanted on the back of the horizon
It's May the month of martyrs and flowers
Burried under the morning tears
Swing the factories wide
Women wincing by the mired machines
Of industrial capitalism floundering
Like flag in the torrid heat of day
Workers of the world
My mother scrubbing floors to die
In penury before the ragged memory
Of a son's invisibility
This is the month of May and meeting
In the raging street
Fruit pickers, cane cutters, hole diggers
Cotton jiggers
Dockmen, shovelmen, sailors, wrigglers
Who were born empty handed by design
Bring your mass to supply
No more depression of our wage
But the rising fire of our rage.
Categories:
wrigglers, anniversarymay,
Form: Free verse