#raccoon - Hello Poetry

There lies the raccoon, so still, so grim, On the median strip where the light grows dim. Cars swerve around it, their tires hum fast, It’s sprawled on the asphalt, its life in the past. No twitch, no stir, for its heart’s gone dead, A lifeless form where the pavement’s spread. Flat as a mat, squashed neat on the street, His paws outstretched like a child in defeat. No breath, just death in the sun's cruel light, A bandit of night felled by day's cruel might. It crossed the road in a reckless dash, Not for the first time, ignoring the clash. No glance to the left, nor right did it peek, Lost in its thoughts, so weary, so bleak. “How tough,” it mused, “to be a raccoon, Scrounging for scraps ‘neath the sun and the moon.” Then out of the blue, with a screech and a blast, A Honda Jazz roared, and its fate was cast. It struck the poor creature and sped ‘round the bend, Leaving the raccoon to meet its sad end, Leaving him smashed and bashed so flat, His little face left where it sat. The car’s cruel wheel smashed it flat to the ground, Crushed its sweet face, not making a sound. Its nose, once so twitchy, now broken, forlorn, It lies like a log where the asphalt’s been worn. Only a breeze, so soft and so slight, Stirs its fine whiskers in the fading light. It never foresaw such a sorrowful lot, No hint of the grief that its death would allot. Since dawn’s early glow, it had schemed and planned, To crawl from its hollow with a goal so grand. To the town it would scamper, through brambles and thorns, To fetch juicy sausages for its little ones. At home, its young kits, with their bellies all tight, Clutched tiny paws in their hunger’s sad plight. For days they had whimpered, so feeble and sweet, “Daddy, dear Daddy, we’re dying to eat! Daddy , dear Daddy, the cupboard's bare! When's dinner? It's not fair!" It snapped in reply, with a huff and a frown, “Who tossed out a banana when no one was around? That fruit was ripe, not a speck of decay!” Its wife growled low in a grumbling way, “Get to work, you loaf, don’t laze in the shade! Our kids need fresh veggies and meats ready-made!” But no, that’s too harsh—she loved him, it’s true, Her heart was as warm as the morning’s soft dew. Whatever she scavenged from forest and glade, She cooked with such care, and his plate was well-laid. This morn she embraced him, so tender, so kind, Kissed his soft cheek with her worries behind. She licked his damp nose and whispered with care, “I know you’re worn out; life feels unfair. This parenting grind—it gets me down too. This parenting is rough, times are tough, But love's enough, my scruffy fluff. Stay home, my love, take a break, just do you. No cell, no computer, just rest for a spell, Things will work out, and all will be well.” The raccoon clutched its head with a wail and a moan, “My family loves me, and I’ve been so prone To act like a fool, ungrateful, unwise! Let me hug you all tight ‘neath these morning skies! For you, my clan, I'll be the man!” Then off through the woods, with a bound and a leap, He raced to the town where the streets climb steep, To hunt for some food, for his heart was set right, To feed his dear kits and bring joy by tonight. But what happened next, oh, the tale turns grim, For fate had a plan that was cruel and dim. Crossing the road with no glance left or right, He was struck by a car in the harsh morning light. Now dead on the median, his body lies still, A victim of haste and a moment’s ill will. The cops soon arrived on their mopeds’ loud drone, Cordoned the street, left no car to roam. Yellow tape fluttered, their hands swift and sure, Three paramedics rushed in to explore. They prodded the raccoon, its fur cold and slack, One raised a finger, his voice sharp as a tack: “Raccoon’s dead on the scene!” he proclaimed to the air, As onlookers gaped in a sorrowful stare. Then Justin Trudeau swooped down from the sky, On a parachute bold, with a tear in his eye. He gazed at the raccoon and cried, “What a shame! Whose wheel could have dealt such a terrible maim? Oh, horror, oh, grief!” he wailed to the crowd, His voice ringing clear, both anguished and loud. To the news crews he turned, with a vow firm and grand, “His memory will live through the heart of our land! To his family bereft, with no breadwinner near, Ten million dollars I pledge—let’s be clear!” But Andrew Scheer roared up, his bike’s engine shrill, “Trudeau, you’re mad!” he barked with a thrill. “Ten million for a raccoon? That’s a crime! He’s a trash-raiding rogue, not worth a dime! Ten mil? Absurd! That's quite a sum For vermin who eat garbage **** Ten million’s a wound to our budget’s core, I say nine’s enough—or six, maybe four. No, five’s the limit! No, scratch that, none! No cash for this trash when all’s said and done. Raccoons overrun us, they breed without end, They’re bandits, they’re thieves, not a soul’s faithful friend. They crowd out the critters we ought to hold dear, The more that get squashed, the more RHINOS cheer!” The raccoon’s poor soul, floating high o’er the fray, Could bear it no more and had something to say: “What gibberish nonsense you’re shouting below! I’m no Ontario crook—let the truth freely flow. I’m Ratun Lavoir, from Quebec’s proud land, Write that in your papers, make the world understand. I died by mistake, but no drama’s required, Live kindly, love deeply, let peace be inspired. Cherish your children, hold your spouse ever near, Walk with your God, let no quarrels appear. And when crossing the road, oh, please take due care, Look left, look right, lest death catch you unaware, Moral more bright than a stop-sign so red: Mind where you tread or you'll wind up dead! I messed up and died, but I’m not one to rue, I was a good dad, and my heart was true. My wife, my sweet spark, held me close to her core, Though death split us briefly, it can’t break love’s lore. For love's never gone when it's true from the start, It burns past the grave, soul to soul, spark to spark. So wave to my babes, send them kisses so grand, Spin tales of their dad with a sausage in hand. I'll watch from the stars, where the trash cans gleam gold, And paradise tastes like the junk food of old!"

0

May 10, 2025

May 10, 2025 at 4:26 AM UTC

davinalion

The Raccoon’s Last Ride

There lies the raccoon, so still, so grim, On the median strip where the light grows dim. Cars swerve around it, their tires hum fast, It’s sprawled on the asphalt, its life in the past. No twitch, no stir, for its heart’s gone dead, A lifeless form where the pavement’s spread. Flat as a mat, squashed neat on the street, His paws outstretched like a child in defeat. No breath, just death in the sun's cruel light, A bandit of night felled by day's cruel might. It crossed the road in a reckless dash, Not for the first time, ignoring the clash. No glance to the left, nor right did it peek, Lost in its thoughts, so weary, so bleak. “How tough,” it mused, “to be a raccoon, Scrounging for scraps ‘neath the sun and the moon.” Then out of the blue, with a screech and a blast, A Honda Jazz roared, and its fate was cast. It struck the poor creature and sped ‘round the bend, Leaving the raccoon to meet its sad end, Leaving him smashed and bashed so flat, His little face left where it sat. The car’s cruel wheel smashed it flat to the ground, Crushed its sweet face, not making a sound. Its nose, once so twitchy, now broken, forlorn, It lies like a log where the asphalt’s been worn. Only a breeze, so soft and so slight, Stirs its fine whiskers in the fading light. It never foresaw such a sorrowful lot, No hint of the grief that its death would allot. Since dawn’s early glow, it had schemed and planned, To crawl from its hollow with a goal so grand. To the town it would scamper, through brambles and thorns, To fetch juicy sausages for its little ones. At home, its young kits, with their bellies all tight, Clutched tiny paws in their hunger’s sad plight. For days they had whimpered, so feeble and sweet, “Daddy, dear Daddy, we’re dying to eat! Daddy , dear Daddy, the cupboard's bare! When's dinner? It's not fair!" It snapped in reply, with a huff and a frown, “Who tossed out a banana when no one was around? That fruit was ripe, not a speck of decay!” Its wife growled low in a grumbling way, “Get to work, you loaf, don’t laze in the shade! Our kids need fresh veggies and meats ready-made!” But no, that’s too harsh—she loved him, it’s true, Her heart was as warm as the morning’s soft dew. Whatever she scavenged from forest and glade, She cooked with such care, and his plate was well-laid. This morn she embraced him, so tender, so kind, Kissed his soft cheek with her worries behind. She licked his damp nose and whispered with care, “I know you’re worn out; life feels unfair. This parenting grind—it gets me down too. This parenting is rough, times are tough, But love's enough, my scruffy fluff. Stay home, my love, take a break, just do you. No cell, no computer, just rest for a spell, Things will work out, and all will be well.” The raccoon clutched its head with a wail and a moan, “My family loves me, and I’ve been so prone To act like a fool, ungrateful, unwise! Let me hug you all tight ‘neath these morning skies! For you, my clan, I'll be the man!” Then off through the woods, with a bound and a leap, He raced to the town where the streets climb steep, To hunt for some food, for his heart was set right, To feed his dear kits and bring joy by tonight. But what happened next, oh, the tale turns grim, For fate had a plan that was cruel and dim. Crossing the road with no glance left or right, He was struck by a car in the harsh morning light. Now dead on the median, his body lies still, A victim of haste and a moment’s ill will. The cops soon arrived on their mopeds’ loud drone, Cordoned the street, left no car to roam. Yellow tape fluttered, their hands swift and sure, Three paramedics rushed in to explore. They prodded the raccoon, its fur cold and slack, One raised a finger, his voice sharp as a tack: “Raccoon’s dead on the scene!” he proclaimed to the air, As onlookers gaped in a sorrowful stare. Then Justin Trudeau swooped down from the sky, On a parachute bold, with a tear in his eye. He gazed at the raccoon and cried, “What a shame! Whose wheel could have dealt such a terrible maim? Oh, horror, oh, grief!” he wailed to the crowd, His voice ringing clear, both anguished and loud. To the news crews he turned, with a vow firm and grand, “His memory will live through the heart of our land! To his family bereft, with no breadwinner near, Ten million dollars I pledge—let’s be clear!” But Andrew Scheer roared up, his bike’s engine shrill, “Trudeau, you’re mad!” he barked with a thrill. “Ten million for a raccoon? That’s a crime! He’s a trash-raiding rogue, not worth a dime! Ten mil? Absurd! That's quite a sum For vermin who eat garbage **** Ten million’s a wound to our budget’s core, I say nine’s enough—or six, maybe four. No, five’s the limit! No, scratch that, none! No cash for this trash when all’s said and done. Raccoons overrun us, they breed without end, They’re bandits, they’re thieves, not a soul’s faithful friend. They crowd out the critters we ought to hold dear, The more that get squashed, the more RHINOS cheer!” The raccoon’s poor soul, floating high o’er the fray, Could bear it no more and had something to say: “What gibberish nonsense you’re shouting below! I’m no Ontario crook—let the truth freely flow. I’m Ratun Lavoir, from Quebec’s proud land, Write that in your papers, make the world understand. I died by mistake, but no drama’s required, Live kindly, love deeply, let peace be inspired. Cherish your children, hold your spouse ever near, Walk with your God, let no quarrels appear. And when crossing the road, oh, please take due care, Look left, look right, lest death catch you unaware, Moral more bright than a stop-sign so red: Mind where you tread or you'll wind up dead! I messed up and died, but I’m not one to rue, I was a good dad, and my heart was true. My wife, my sweet spark, held me close to her core, Though death split us briefly, it can’t break love’s lore. For love's never gone when it's true from the start, It burns past the grave, soul to soul, spark to spark. So wave to my babes, send them kisses so grand, Spin tales of their dad with a sausage in hand. I'll watch from the stars, where the trash cans gleam gold, And paradise tastes like the junk food of old!"

137

Bandits in the night Rumbling through pedestrian leftovers Fluffy tails and primed noses Hallucinations of a well-meaning friend Scurrying across the trails Gone like a ghost Jump against the walls. Like no one’s watching Enjoying the embrace of friendship

0

Apr 2, 2025

Apr 2, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC

KatM

Raccoons Are a Girl's Best Friend

Bandits in the night Rumbling through pedestrian leftovers Fluffy tails and primed noses Hallucinations of a well-meaning friend Scurrying across the trails Gone like a ghost Jump against the walls. Like no one’s watching Enjoying the embrace of friendship

9

0

May 15, 2021

May 15, 2021 at 3:36 PM UTC

Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ? Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant, Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ? Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres. Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre Si tu ne les comprends pas Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi La mangouste et le raccoon. De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz, C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances. Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment. Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur De son eau sainte Et qui fuit la Jamaïque Et part à l'étranger Après son forfait. C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses Et tous les chiens savent son nom. il s'appelle Sly Mangoose Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 6:05 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Mangouste et raccoon

Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ? Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant, Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ? Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres. Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre Si tu ne les comprends pas Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi La mangouste et le raccoon. De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz, C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances. Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment. Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur De son eau sainte Et qui fuit la Jamaïque Et part à l'étranger Après son forfait. C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses Et tous les chiens savent son nom. il s'appelle Sly Mangoose Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.

42

Ma chatte ! Pourrais-tu me rendre un petit service ? J'aimerais te prendre toute habillée De pleins et de déliés Dans le noir le plus complet de l'encre Puisque la nudité t'effraie et te chagrine. Mais pas n 'importe comment, ma minou ! J'aimerais te prendre déguisée, Fardée, maquillée, parfumée, pomponnée. J'hésite entre astronaute, religieuse dans l'ordre des Carmélites Déchaussées Astrologue et paléontologue, déchiffreuse de hiéroglyphes. Ah cartomancienne aussi. Tu t'occupes, ma chatte, du déguisement du haut Je me charge du déguisement du bas ! D'accord ? Tu veux bien ! Je t'adore ! Et toi tu veux que je me déguise en quoi ? Ou tu préfères que je reste nu comme un ver ? Tu te réserves le haut ou le bas ? Ou la panoplie toute entière ? Ah tu veux te charger de tout ? Je te laisse faire ton choix. Je peux incarner ce que tu veux Ensemble ou séparément Cowboy, homme de Néandertal ou de Cro-Magnon au choix Curé, comme le bon curé d'Ars ou simplement pape impie Libellule, homme grenouille, raccoon, orphie, Oiseau-lyre ou mangouste, pharaon, dragon, E.T. Quelle que soit la panoplie que tu choisiras pour moi Je précise la taille : XXL Et si d'aventure tu me choisis un masque, ma Muse Je voudrais porter ton visage car je suis ton ombre. Et je voudrais te regarder dans mes yeux Et t'embrasser longuement iris contre iris.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 4:01 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Masques et Déguisements

Ma chatte ! Pourrais-tu me rendre un petit service ? J'aimerais te prendre toute habillée De pleins et de déliés Dans le noir le plus complet de l'encre Puisque la nudité t'effraie et te chagrine. Mais pas n 'importe comment, ma minou ! J'aimerais te prendre déguisée, Fardée, maquillée, parfumée, pomponnée. J'hésite entre astronaute, religieuse dans l'ordre des Carmélites Déchaussées Astrologue et paléontologue, déchiffreuse de hiéroglyphes. Ah cartomancienne aussi. Tu t'occupes, ma chatte, du déguisement du haut Je me charge du déguisement du bas ! D'accord ? Tu veux bien ! Je t'adore ! Et toi tu veux que je me déguise en quoi ? Ou tu préfères que je reste nu comme un ver ? Tu te réserves le haut ou le bas ? Ou la panoplie toute entière ? Ah tu veux te charger de tout ? Je te laisse faire ton choix. Je peux incarner ce que tu veux Ensemble ou séparément Cowboy, homme de Néandertal ou de Cro-Magnon au choix Curé, comme le bon curé d'Ars ou simplement pape impie Libellule, homme grenouille, raccoon, orphie, Oiseau-lyre ou mangouste, pharaon, dragon, E.T. Quelle que soit la panoplie que tu choisiras pour moi Je précise la taille : XXL Et si d'aventure tu me choisis un masque, ma Muse Je voudrais porter ton visage car je suis ton ombre. Et je voudrais te regarder dans mes yeux Et t'embrasser longuement iris contre iris.

33

It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack. My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window. That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual human. I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences. Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more. The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom. The bread, my hungry curiosity. The raccoon, an urge. The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting knife. The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend. I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited. or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal. The raccoon has taken to following me. You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other. The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy. Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement. A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread. And I feed myself again.

0

Mar 13, 2019

Mar 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC

sophia-atlas

The raccoon ( A poem by Yuri from DDLC)

It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack. My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window. That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual human. I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences. Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more. The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom. The bread, my hungry curiosity. The raccoon, an urge. The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting knife. The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend. I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited. or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal. The raccoon has taken to following me. You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other. The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy. Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement. A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread. And I feed myself again.

20

(2017) Silently, I leaped beyond And just the dull raccoon, Who stole the kernel as it played In garden, yet was gone. 'T was the latter sunlight, 'T was the man today, That when the bashful voice came in The creature escaped away.

0

Feb 25, 2018

Feb 25, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC

EMSebastian

SILENTLY, I LEAPED BEYOND.

(2017) Silently, I leaped beyond And just the dull raccoon, Who stole the kernel as it played In garden, yet was gone. 'T was the latter sunlight, 'T was the man today, That when the bashful voice came in The creature escaped away.

9

Throw me in the chartreuse fields So I can leave my pain behind Violets and Daffodils will turn Me into their kids Buy me out of sable walls So I can see the other side Violets and Daffodils will kiss My spine Say white, say blue On a spring afternoon Whisper out loud O-hoo Take me out for a walk on moon So i can plant lovat' on stone. Violets and daffodils will grow On a pale ball. Lie with me on frosty grass Keep your feet above the stars. Violets and daffodils will pass But we can last.

0

Apr 30, 2017

Apr 30, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC

kongrin

Violets and Daffodils

Throw me in the chartreuse fields So I can leave my pain behind Violets and Daffodils will turn Me into their kids Buy me out of sable walls So I can see the other side Violets and Daffodils will kiss My spine Say white, say blue On a spring afternoon Whisper out loud O-hoo Take me out for a walk on moon So i can plant lovat' on stone. Violets and daffodils will grow On a pale ball. Lie with me on frosty grass Keep your feet above the stars. Violets and daffodils will pass But we can last.

20

There are flies on your eyeballs You're no longer there And they dance in the strands of your wavering hair Mr. Raccoon, you've a faraway stare Your countenance tells You're finally at peace Now a home for the others The flies and the fleas A small leak from inside And the forest throng listens The smile grows wide Your ventral fur glistens To beetle and mite A bountiful feast A sickening sight As you bow to the East **** to the sunset You've no need for art Now you dance the minuet In the forever heart

0

Sep 7, 2016

Sep 7, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC

Brotherjimmy

Ode to Rocky

There are flies on your eyeballs You're no longer there And they dance in the strands of your wavering hair Mr. Raccoon, you've a faraway stare Your countenance tells You're finally at peace Now a home for the others The flies and the fleas A small leak from inside And the forest throng listens The smile grows wide Your ventral fur glistens To beetle and mite A bountiful feast A sickening sight As you bow to the East **** to the sunset You've no need for art Now you dance the minuet In the forever heart

20

Raccoon tapping on the windowpane Fuzzy beggar, growing tame Evenings longer, midnights colder My love and I Just a little bit older Quarter moon above the trees Wind blows softly, rustling leaves Would you love me if I lost my hair? No, my dear And don't you dare Dog curling up by the potbelly stove Whiskers peek from the old mouse hole Grandma's quilt has a brand new patch No more cookies Or I'll get fat Rocking chair got a squeak again Sniff the air, smells like rain Horned owl hoots from out the wood I believe All life is good Before I die I want to know All the winds and why they blow All the forests, every stream Why you smile, babe When you dream

0

Apr 28, 2015

Apr 28, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC

joe-cottonwood

Raccoon Song

Raccoon tapping on the windowpane Fuzzy beggar, growing tame Evenings longer, midnights colder My love and I Just a little bit older Quarter moon above the trees Wind blows softly, rustling leaves Would you love me if I lost my hair? No, my dear And don't you dare Dog curling up by the potbelly stove Whiskers peek from the old mouse hole Grandma's quilt has a brand new patch No more cookies Or I'll get fat Rocking chair got a squeak again Sniff the air, smells like rain Horned owl hoots from out the wood I believe All life is good Before I die I want to know All the winds and why they blow All the forests, every stream Why you smile, babe When you dream

25

He was up late again, reading one of his many comic books, when he heard the usual scratching at the back porch. So engrossed in his title, the youth ****** from his chair and crept toward the window. A band of large masked creatures scurried off into the gloomy, moonless night. The boy thew on his coat and grabbed a flashlight and camera as he headed out onto the back porch. He glanced at one of the raccoons just as he scampered into the gigantic black berry bush below his field. The boy decided to take a closer look. He started to move toward the giant bush below his field when he suddenly tripped over something on the ground. As he across to his feet, he noticed a small door covered with branches and dirt. He brushed away the ******* and stared at the small door in the ground. With out much thought, he put his shacking hand to the handle and slowly opened the door. Hundreds of tiny stairs led their way to a huge room, miles wide and long, but only about four feet high. The room was quiet, he was about to scream when he heard the same scratching noise that was at his back porch, only this sound was louder. The boy slowly turned. His heart pounding in his chest; his body like steel iron. Then, a sudden hush goes over the whole room. He opened his eyes to meet a four foot raccoon staring at him. The animal lifted his head to the boy and whispered, "tag, your it!"

0

May 11, 2015

May 11, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC

anna-marier6

The Thief In The Night

He was up late again, reading one of his many comic books, when he heard the usual scratching at the back porch. So engrossed in his title, the youth ****** from his chair and crept toward the window. A band of large masked creatures scurried off into the gloomy, moonless night. The boy thew on his coat and grabbed a flashlight and camera as he headed out onto the back porch. He glanced at one of the raccoons just as he scampered into the gigantic black berry bush below his field. The boy decided to take a closer look. He started to move toward the giant bush below his field when he suddenly tripped over something on the ground. As he across to his feet, he noticed a small door covered with branches and dirt. He brushed away the ******* and stared at the small door in the ground. With out much thought, he put his shacking hand to the handle and slowly opened the door. Hundreds of tiny stairs led their way to a huge room, miles wide and long, but only about four feet high. The room was quiet, he was about to scream when he heard the same scratching noise that was at his back porch, only this sound was louder. The boy slowly turned. His heart pounding in his chest; his body like steel iron. Then, a sudden hush goes over the whole room. He opened his eyes to meet a four foot raccoon staring at him. The animal lifted his head to the boy and whispered, "tag, your it!"

1