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At times
I am a rabbit
In a snare
Desperate to exhange
Flesh and blood
For freedom,
Overwhelmed
With a need to
To escape
What binds me

©KNL
dorian green Oct 2021
is it too much to ask
for someone to look for me
when i run and hide?
but what i think of as love
would probably be
better phrased as hunting.
so, please, pursue,
rifle in hand,
pull me from my burrow;
at least i'd know you want me.
pretty as a picture -
strung up, throat slit -
anything's better than hiding,
better than a fear
best described as paralyzing.
Kassan Jahmal Sep 2021
Our youth-
seemed to be all careless
So age finds and grows a child.

Peer pressured by our habits;
living in them like a habitat.
Stuck in a hole of teen depression;
as it looks to be a grey rabbit.
With youth comes a hole we fall into.
Mel Apr 2021
Rabbits that like to listen
Become more clear
Everyday
04-28-2021
Maria Mitea Mar 2021
your words sway in me
as in a hammock between two trees
embracing their roots
far away from the eyes of the world,
the leaves fluttering in the wind
like two lovers disinterested in kissing,
pale grass longing near the trunk,
waiting for the caressing rain, and me,
trembling like a rabbit at every word you say.
Kristin Mar 2021
We're all mad here
the day you accept the bier
the moment you accept the fear
you understand, we're all mad here

We're all sad here
all is sorrow, a single tear
there is no tomorrow,  no home pier
you understand, we're all sad here

We're all angry here
all is lost cause, so strange, so queer
all is far, yet so near
you understand, we're all angry here

As a white rabbit dashes by
As a time flashes by
Late, late, late
for nothing and everything, too late
Mark Wanless Nov 2020
i am rich now
see dog squirrel and rabbit
huddled together
island poet Jul 2020
the osprey flys overhead, but the baby rabbit trembles not

~for any grandparent-poet lurking about~


the osprey overflies, a regularity scheduled patrol over
our backyard emporium and all its hors d’oeuvre creatures,
he/she has parental responsibilities, beaks to feed, PTA conferences,
the pilot, a wary watchful animal-his-rights guy, catalogues their still living  existentialism, for though they are not fish, his diet of preference, but in a pinch a rodent  or rabbit stew will do, if the fish are running too deep for no warming sun beckoning them to the surface.

Motel^ the baby rabbit, who lives with his parents,
(who doesn’t these days?) beneath the deck,
chews the clover overnight sprung, blissfully i g n o r a n t,
unawares or ignoring the poet be-laureating (him-her) but a mere
few feet above and away, pays no attention to the Poppy’s (grandfather) lecture about the rules of the animal kingdom,
who, eats whom, and to be more attentive to flying raptors.

thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, severe say
the textured textual phone-netical all green messages, which
of course is a signal signal to the sun his job is done and can
leave the untanned poet in his state of original sin, soooo deliciously
white that he earns an appraising glance from eyes of the osprey,
a privilege he would happily tan away to promote equality ‘n stuff like peace on earth.

Motel, with his thermometer-humidity nasal instrumentation twitcher, decides, after chewing it over most carefully, time to go underneath where the white half naked people domicile, in order to avoid bathing, not his fav pastime, but making the osprey quitter le ciel, which is French for get out of Dodge, they got babies of their own to shelter and protect, even feed.

The Poppy, contented, thinks to himself, god couldn’t be everywhere,
so he invented grandpas to be “En Loco Parentis”  which
Does Not Mean Instead of Crazy Parents,
but easily could,
for who else writes
poems like this?
^ Motel, (pronounced as Muttle, as in Motel the Tailor from Fiddler o the Roof,
so named because of his mottled fur and markings
Betty Jul 2020
Twitcher runner dancer

moonlit watcher

road chancer

nibbler chewer chaser

wind rider

headlight facer!
trying to capture the spirit of a rabbit
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