Yip Poems | Examples

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I am not made for these modern times
Missouri mud runs through my veins
unspoiled country air flows through my lungs.
my roots are intertwined in the bedrock 
of culture, traditions and folklore 
of a pioneer Midwest

My heart beats with the rhythm
of wind through oak trees
the sway of golden wheat 
steady fall of summer rain 
on metal porch roofs

My voice is the sound 
of pickup trucks on gravel roads
tractors plowing through gumbo
hoot of owls from leaning red barns.
yip of foxes or the howl of coyotes from
across green pastures under full moon’s glow

trumpeting of roosters greeting the day
song of blue jays, cardinals, 
red wing blackbirds
caw of crows pecking through early snow
on harvested corn fields
beat of horse hooves
lazy bawling of cows 

My nostrils are filled 
with the smell of
wildflower meadows,
 fresh baled hay
alfalfa, soybeans, 
and apple blossoms

I am lightning bugs on summer’s eve
coon hounds asleep on sunlit porches
family picnics on red checkered tablecloths
horseshoes, freeze tag and kick the can

I am unlocked doors and open windows
rocking chairs and back porch swings
I am outdated

blah blah blah

yap yap yap
blah blah blah
sixty percent of her students are not listening
research shows our attention span is fifteen minutes
yip yip yip
most of the class is texting or doodling
some watch a video on muted phones
blah blah blah
teacher drops the word “quiz”
a few heads come up
some ask others what she said
none of them know

hog fog bog cog dog

in a barnyard pen sits a happy hog
bullfrogs in a blizzard bog
dense and daring grayish fog
a curious machine with a metal cog
a summertime yip from a happy dog
going on a jaunty jubilant jog
black ants sliding on a wet log
chef includes New Years eve eggnog
love to rhyme hog fog bog cog and dog

Pow Wow

I long to dance and chant around the orange crackling fire in front of my tribe, the Sioux
Hot humid July night.
Sweat and passion.
Kick up the dust from my ancestors teachings.
Yip and scream my heart's desire. 
We are one. 
God is to be feared.
He made us to be revered. 
Join me, won't you?
Release your fear, worry, and doubt! And dance and shout!
Celebrate this hallowed night.
The elders gather.
The youngin's bob and scoot.
This is sacred time.
Sacred land.
Our stomachs full of nurturing food from the creator.
Bears, wolves, mountain lions dare not enter our camp.
We are the danger. 
The Chief and Medicine Man nod from across the fire.
The warriors dance.
The princess' prance. 
Great design?
Or all by chance?

The Neighborhood Hoodlums

Crazy rabbits chomping on my lettuce
Deer eating the flowers right down to their nubs
Woodpeckers drilling right through the siding
Armadillos rooting in search of grubs

Squirrels trying to climb down the chimney
Possums and racoon dumping out the trash
Coyotes yip yapping all through the evening
Groundhogs under the shed hoarding their stash

Most times the back yard smells just like a skunk
The cat keeps bringing dead birds to my door
The neighborhood dogs bark when the wind blows
That’s country life in all of its splendor.

Playful Puppies

Puppies colored brown, black, white,
pounce and tumble, such a sight.
Noisily they squeak and yip,
watch your fingers, they might nip.

Little legs trip and fumble,
bodies lay in a jumble.
Silly pups are full of play,
roly poly all the day.

6/5/2023

Banana Peel- Virelai

Felt under my heel
A banana peel
I slip
Loudly now I squeal
Like a clapping seal
I flip
A mid air cartwheel
Now terror I feel 
I yip!

Need to get a grip
Sweat beads off me drip
Oh boy.
I bend at the hip
My feet now I grip
No joy
I brace, bite my lip
And land from this trip
Not coy

Was this evil ploy?
A cartoon decoy?
With zeal!
A plan I employ
Litterbug, destroy!
Big deal…
Calm down from annoy
And had a Rob Roy
Surreal. 

March 16, 2023
Write me a Virelai
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues

Multilingual Birds of a Feather

     The Mockingbird sings out his misleading best,
  
     in hopes to attract a dupe with a nest,

     where the squatter believes mate’s eggs should belong;

     so mimics and jabbers uncountable songs.


     Catbirds and Thrashers, related critters,

     both grey North Americans sport throats of a twitter.

     These gifted Warblers mock tricky bird tunes,

     deceiving, deluding as feathered dragoons.



     In fairness to balance the Tweeters’ intent,

     creating, demanding a need to invent

     a song to attract a new or lost mate:

     so, a beacon to follow and commitment to state.

     

                   EXAMPLE MOCK SONGS

              whistling, hey-hey yip pittie-yap
              frog gurgle, snarf-chickie claw-saw
              peep peeping piccolo-staccato bleat
              sniftering chit-chat, yodel-do do
              snerling, rat trap, blah tat-tat-tat
              crunchy nasal chirp, coo-coo-coo

Heifer In the Back Forty

Up in the front
They fight and gather
Yip yapping
'Bout the chickens dirty feathers

If you come round back
You can see the behind
But even if facts were presented
They would never find

...fault

Every new member
Tries to locate their spot
But the heifers protest
'Bout what they ain't got

Sun shinning brightly
Pond calling for cool rest
The mature ones are in
While heifers decide the best

...guide

Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-17-2022

Autumn Afternoon

The sky is blue, the river’s gray
And autumn leaves are on display.
The buildings ‘cross the river hide
Whatever’s going on inside.

The flags all flutter, strung up high
And bicycles go rolling by.
The dogs, on leashes, bark or yip,
Their owners tightening their grip.

A mighty tugboat pulls a barge;
A nanny strolls by with her charge.
The joggers, dressed for summer, pass
As couples sprawl out on the grass.

A lovely autumn afternoon – 
This weather will be gone real soon,
So I’ll enjoy it while I can,
For who knows Mother Nature’s plan?

The Original Lone Wolf

Star Maiden was a comfortable loner.
Maybe the original lone wolf.
Which is odd when you realize they mate for life.
It is time to make your position known.
This mantra came to her in a dream.
She was a wolf, running ahead of the pack.
She began to howl. She could feel her power.
She was ready to make her position known.
To unleash herself from the pack.
The others began to yip
She trusted herself and ran off
Utilizing her own energy
Thrilled with her newfound power.

The Whisper of the Cannon

When all the words a king may say
Lay lifeless on the ground
And windstorms blow them far away
With not a single sound.
Then no one any worry pays
As acquiescence he seeks
But ears awake and eyebrows raise
When e'er the cannon speaks.

She speaks to warriors from the east
And armies from the south.
And words of wisdom should, at least,
Fall tumbling from her mouth.
And when she sings, she hums her song,
Her voice in dulcet choir,
She whispers from her dragon's tongue
Her words like dragon's fire.

So, in the night when all is still
She rests her weary head
And looks out over yonder hill
Where angels fear to tread.
As daylight shows once more, she'll preach
And boldly yip and yell
To sermonise another speech
And send them all to hell.

Some Say

Some say, poetry is an art!
painting pictures with words – 
the artist may reply: “Then
why not just paint?” Some say,
that poetry is music, words
being the Poet's instruments – 
to which the musician may
reply: “Why not just play?”
Some say, poetry is a voice:
the poet's choir of sounds,
echoes from his soul's sonorous 
cathedrals – to which the singer
may reply, “Why not just
sing?” Some say, some say,
some say...to which the poet
may reply: Yep! Yup! Yip!

Moons

Moons rise and fall,
rise and fall
slivers,
parts,
full.
Coyotes yip
and howl
in the screaming passage of softly passing night.
Time escapes
leaving us only symbols as its mark
and outside
is the big rush and blood-red tide.
Inside,
we watch the tick-tick-tick
of it all,
carried along.
The only ones
counting.

The Edge of Paradise

Most ladies prefer soft, gentle sex
None of that rough house stuff except
There are some days 
Yip yippy kiyay
When to the edge of paradise we're swept

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