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Nazanin Feb 2018
She was fire and dance
Inside her small circle of despair
Violence and love beneath the skin
She was a lil rabbit
Lost in the woods of her own.
mythie Nov 2017
Why do cats hate rabbits?
Why do they decapitate and lick their heads?
What did the rabbit do?
Cats are mean, I hate them.

Why are rabbits so cute?
They're fluffy and full of life.
The way they eat makes my heart flutter.
Rabbits are nice, I love them.

My schoolyard pal, a snow-white rabbit.
Decapitated in the corner of its cage.
A lonesome black cat, licking its head.
What a horrendous sight.

I never liked cats.
They make my heart ache.
My only friend was taken away.
Why are cats so mean?
Sunny days are passionate.
Rainy days are tinged with melancholy.
Windy days overflow with poetry.
I disperse cats' lives in various ways.
Monika Nov 2017
Why
Why
Why
did you

Why did you have to **** him?

Why did you have to **** him?
Did he ever do anything to you?

Why did you have to **** him?
Did you want my attention too?

Why did you have to **** him?
Did I make you mad for something I do?

Why did you have to **** him?
Did you know he was my only friend too?

Why did you have

Why did you have to **** him?
Why did you
Why

Why


Why


WHY

WHY
**WHY


WHYHWYHWYWHY
WHYWHYWHYWHYWH­YWHYWHYWHYWHHWHYWHWYHWYWHYWHYWHWYHWYHWYHWYHWYHYWHY
Faan Oct 2017
a rabbit digs a hole,
deceives nothing, the rabbit is dead.
but the cunning ones digs three,
and only then, a chance of survival.

if a rabbit needs 2 backup plans,
then why not the same to human?
You haveve yet to complete your task,
why be so arrogant?

tread carefully, think thoughtfully,
you must have tricks within,
if the cunning rabbit has three holes,
then two more you will need.
Always have backup plans
Stanley Wilkin Feb 2017
The curious activity of men/women

makes me wonder precisely when

both will learn how to conjoin

with rabbits, geese, bull and lion.


Talking incessantly like birds,

roaring like lions. However absurd!

snapping like crocodiles

or habitually waiting in human files,


torturing like cats

water-boarding rats,

rolling like logs

snarling like dogs.


snorting like pigs

gobbling up figs

In everyone an animal lurks

whether saints or jerks!
Paul M Chafer Sep 2016
What a wonder, it must be, just to fly.
Henry had thought, not so long ago,
As birds, looped, swooped and soared,
Flocks of starlings, offering a show.

Jen and Olly, were Henry’s best friends,
Three ghostly bunnies with nothing to do,
Then Olly twitched his wispy whiskers,
Until large mushrooms suddenly grew.

Mushrooms so nice, they sat upon them,
And despite what they had been taught,
It seemed, within this, imagination world,
Creation occurred, with a single thought.

Jen giggled, wiggled, her delicate nose,
And three pink kites appeared overhead,
Swooping and soaring, just like starlings,
But held from a silken, gossamer, thread.

Henry’s turn, so smiling at his friends,
He performed a funny ‘bunny-like’ hop,
Creating a bracing, fresh, gusting breeze,
Making their ears go, all-a-flippity-flop.

On mushroom seats, ghostly bunnies sat,
Their minds twirling with kites, so high,
Henry recalled thinking, not so long ago,
What a wonder, it must be, just to fly.
This poem was inspired by a piece of art created by Clare Lindley, a talented artist from Yorkshire in the UK.
“We love the bunnies, for the bunnies, they hop.”

“We love them all day because they never stop,

…and we love ourselves, when we look inside;

...trapped with the bunnies on the hospital-side.”
My Mother spent time in a state psychiatric institute where they had a courtyard fenced in by an iron fence with white bunny rabbits that hopped about as a therapeutic aid for the inhabitants. When I dream about visiting her I always find myself on the outside of the fence looking at her with the bunnies....but not with my Mother, where I belong.
SøułSurvivør Dec 2015
have minds like rabbits
and drink black

COFFEE!


[10W]
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/29/2015
Can anyone relate?

--
Dreams of Sepia Aug 2015
You were my white rabbit
to follow, take me away

I was an Angel called Alice that
thought you a thing of beauty

All you saw down the rabbit hole
was dust & dirt, darkness,

I saw Angels sadly singing,
locked up, little pills at bedtime

but was reassured the way the world shone
when I said your name

I was convinced
you were waiting for me there

so I asked someone
the way to the fireworks

in Rabbit town, they
weren't sure if there

were going to be any
' No fireworks, on Bonfire night?'

so I followed the talking lamp lights
all the way to the dim, dank river

where a homeless man,
whom I thought to be a messenger

asked me for a coin
& pointed me to a pub

where Rabbits
were gathered drinking

old porter or stout
' There are no fireworks tonight'

they said & asked me
for my passport

''An Angel?
& down here? Ha ha!"

'' I bet she's never
been ******!"

" Look, please,
I'm just trying to find someone''

I said, not a little upset
'' Yeah, well, who?''

so I told them about you
& they laughed & laughed

'' Us rabbits don't love Angels
He doesn't love you''

'' I think he is a man'' I said
'' That's even worse : lost cause'', they scoffed

as I made my way out
of the Rabbit pub

someone brushed past me
'' Psst, psst, he lives up North''

so I made my way
to the rabbit train station

sat down briefly
on a wall to rest

just then a police car
with some rabbits turned up

'' Angel, you must be cold
what are you doing out here''

'' Yes, get in the car" they said
I tried to explain as best as I was allowed

that I was on my way to meet you
but they packed me away into the car

& before I knew it, drove me there too
Now I'm just another Angel

locked up, drugged & singing sadly
' mental health' the problem, apparently

& each day they tell me
that you don't love me

that's what they do,
the rabbit quacks

but when I get out
I'm going to find you

I'm an Angel,
& Angels always have faith.
A variation on & borrowing some lines from my earlier poem ' Do you believe in white rabbits', playing on/twisting the theme of Alice in Wonderland, but based on true experiences ( metaphors aside). I'm not locked up anymore, btw & nothing ever came of my love for this person in the end but at least it's making poetry...
Francie Lynch Aug 2015
Warning: Some bad *** language.*

There's a rabbit in my garden,
Just like in nursury books,
This little *******'s not Peter,
He hasn't Peter's looks.
I admit the ***** looks cute,
But he's not wearing Peter's suit.
This little *******'s wearing fur,
The ******* critter's hunching,
The *******'s munching
On all my sweaty work.
My cat's hardly a terrorist,
His name's not Benjamin,
The lazy **** lies in the sun,
His shadow moves more than him.
I could lure him in,
Use arrow and a bow,
Catch and skin
The little ****,
To fashion my scarecrow.
I lined the **** in crosshairs,
He lifts and sniffs the air,
As if he sensed a certain fear
Impending doom was near.
I thus approached,
We both stood there,
There's something about him
We both shared,
As if we were a pair.
I did the same,
When I was young,
I thought the world
Was mine for free,
And gathered all my oysters.
His innocence
Wasn't lost on me.
Hold on,
This tale's not quite done.
The oyster ******'s still in my garden.
The **** can live,
But must stay out,
I spread blood meal about.
And gathered all my oysters
Apologies to Beatrix Potter.
Bloodmeal: a good alternative to keeping the varmits out.
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