"bearskin" poems
Sitting on my porch
One fine autumn evening
Flew by me a witch of Gaya
In latin bade me greetings
Inviting her in for a cup of tea
It was after all the polite thing to do
She was powerful in the way of charms
Lest she put on a me a terrible spell
My hospitality I did not refuse
So up my steps
Slowly she came
Shaking the dust from her clothes
Bringing thunder and rain
I bowed to her and marveled
Her travels have been many
She spoke stating that her appetite was great
Serving cheese and bread on a plate
I refrained from having any
She wore a old black frock
Thick black bearskin cape
A warm and satisfied look on her face
Before speaking sighed deeply and said to me
I desire a stout cup of evening tea
I fixed my best brew for her of course
Not wanting to be turned into a horse
She narrowed her eyes
Took note of my size
Pouring from a silver bottle into her cup
She had hidden in her coat
Took a sip and laughed a little
Thanked me for being a wonderful host
So after a chat
A brief social interlude
She begged take leave
Grabbed her enchanted broom
She turned round and said
Thee have been kind to me
Knowing I am a witch
You did not tremble and looked me in the eye
So I give you blessings
From the earth and sky
So now and forever your cup shall be full
Before you shall go your fame
Your trees heavily laden with sweet ripe fruit
Golden fields heavy with grain
She departed as quickly as she arrived
Disappearing into the skies
Her word was good
As my cup of tea
All came to pass
As she said it would be
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
Milwaukee never saw me coming
In all my grey-eyed mistakes
But neither did Paris
And I arrived there without
A sense of falling, foolish place
I wish there was gum on my shoe
I'd hoped the Frenchmen would be mean
It's all mixed up, I got it all upside-down
Please don't ever ask the men of Milwaukee
Not all of them can actually sing
He toasted the world's greatest painters
I let him call me his own dying art
City of Light, I'll take my leave
When he didn't find a note I'd like to think
The champagne glass in hand heard him weep
Bearskin rugs and wide-brimmed hats
I never gave my head, the time of day to ask
Sorry I can't take it back, whatever you see in me
I'm afraid I can't say another word
Or you'll see I'm inevitably green
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
After tea
you went out
into the summer evening
without cowboy hat
or rifle
but your six shooter
tucked in the belt
of your jeans
to meet Helen
under the railway bridge
next to the Duke of Wellington
public house
I thought you weren’t coming
Helen said
standing in her summer dress
and holding her favourite doll
Battered Betty
my horse refused to come
so I had to walk
you said
Helen smiled
my mum knows I’m with you
but I mustn’t be out late
Helen said
where shall we go?
you asked
let’s go and see
what’s on at the cinema
Helen said
so you both walked
along the back streets
until you came
onto the main road
and studied the cinema billboards
I saw Davy Crockett here
you said
who’s he?
Helen asked
he was a frontiersman
who fought Indians
and wore a bearskin hat
you said
was he here?
Helen asked
it was a film
you replied
oh
she said
she swung Battered Betty
behind her back
from hand to hand
I haven’t been
to the pictures recently
mum said we can’t afford it
what about Saturday matinee?
you asked
you could come to that
it’s for kids only
and it’s fun
Helen brought Battered Betty
into her arms
I’m not sure
she said
I could asked your mum
you said
I’d take care of you
I’ve got my six shooter
Helen put her hand
in your hand
and said
ok she’d listen to you
Helen said
you felt her hand in yours
and hoped no boys
who knew you
saw this or
the following
small lips kiss.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 3:58 AM UTC
She was known by the towns people all around
when she came down, all men would go to ground
her appetite for men was most unwarranted
she was a beast who knew what she wanted
She would walk into towns
with stone broken high heels on
her fishnet bearskin stockings
and cougar gloves of lust
She was a nasty mountain girl
and she would get her man
she'd take them there and then
for she was a **** finding hen
Man, you could hear them cry
oh mercy please not me
she had a knack to make them swell
did this naughty mountain girl
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
My floral dress,
The pink and grey one with the collar,
Is hanging from the clothes line.
Your ***** martini,
Shaken not stirred,
Is creating a ring on the coffee table.
I was expecting
*** on a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace
Kind off magic.
But you're late again.
Imagery doesn't matter when you're this ****** up.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
and sometimes magic, a scene from the book
of genesis, chapter verse whatever,
buying whiskey and beer in a supermarket,
the cashier, Tara, knows me,
she's my gym coach,
she tut tut struts and tuts when i buy
beer telling me to keep the beer off -
i told you alcoholics are mobile,
we go sightseeing most of the time,
on a double decker bus we bemuse and
lipread: and here's the Elizabeth tower (formerly
known as Benjamin "big **** Disraeli -
the English by the French after the 100
year war: if they're not retards, they're perverts) -
**** that shit's brushed off on me! am i a **********
if i hold dear a British passport? phew! no? yes? huh?!
i must be a Mr. Khan in waiting...
no, but seriously, a scene in the cave of an iceman,
5 lasses buying wine lonely,
me my beer my whiskey,
i get a lemon added / **** i told you it was a lime not
a lemon on the conveyor belt -
i get a lime, lucky Adam got an apple
and one asking, i'm doing double-up fevers waiting
for Saturday night with Paris, Hilda, Venus and Hera..
Adam gets an apple from smooch slick Eva
naked and i get a ******* lime on a conveyor-belt
in a supermarket while buying whiskey...
Jonah! call the whale! i'm sure we'll both
be calling it Noah's ark when tomorrow comes;
**** you not, we'll be boarding dry-land at
Arsuk - **** send a message to Columbus -
we discovered North America via Greenland
like you discovered the same via the Caribbean Islands,
ha ha! call it dynamo of Erik versus Kristopheren;
i just got a lime on a conveyor belt in a supermarket,
Adam was handed an apple in Eden -
i guess that's worth a 50 50 chance of coincidence
with my sex-starved libido and the English "roses":
not that i'm guarantying anything good either,
it's not like i'm a vacuum cleaner based guarantee -
but **** me, the ****** **** wrinkles and all,
bamboozle clad the salutary march for applause -
and the fainting bearskin trumpet-brigadier at
the ro- -yal parade onto Buckingham Ponce;
n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
Remember? When I was ********
You bit that hook
—even
dropped the line off
the side of
some ******* dinghy...
some inflatable **** *******
joke that I took...
Smile on my face as I
wait...
can’t you taste:
the blood?
*notes of cherry blossom,
a bearskin rug,*
RAIN
+
——
+
++
PINE
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
/ and god almighty
i'll be "happy"
to be dead
when this ****
blows over...
i'd love to...
too much of a drummer-boy
though...
got an itch in my ear
listening to the british
grenadiers' march
and had a though:
find a whistle! **** the flute!
i'd ******* die
for donning a bearskin cap
than holding
a university debt agreement
of queer piece of paper
invoking a "concept"
of a "degree";
papa was an enforced
representable soldier....
i?
well: i was supposed to become
a chemist...
took the alleviating route...
and that they wrote more pop
than i ever could?
surrender, herr stabsarzt!
herr! rufen!
n'ah... having a chemistry degree
on paper, but no profession
to actualiße it?
survive the sewers,
come the vermin corps.
such be the thought:
so, graduating from edinburgh
university...
do i wipe my *** with this, sir,
or pretend to roll a cigarette?
or both?
ja herrstasi! künftig-fünfstar!
unterste aus die niedrig!
good that i've learned english
to speak such ****** east berlin german.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC
I had a gift for heartache
Kept it imprisoned between stanza breaks
For a treat, life is sweet
popped cherries and blown raspberries
No need to bleed out gold on bearskin rugs
No desire for strutting around as soft-serve thugs
We’re different than all the ****** and tools
We’re the ones that shock electricity and frighten ghouls
Complete trust is a must
loyalty too
I ask for a lot
I give you my all
like kisses beneath the blue
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
**I could hear my farther chanting,
As dusk starts to fall.
His haunting mellow prayer,
Asking the spirits, to forgive us all.
The light eyes with their thunder sticks,
The braves that killed their foe.
The land permanently scared;
Now many moons ago.
The rain starts to fall now,
As fathers chanting starts to fade.
The rain quenches the camp fire,
Wets the teepee's we have made.
Lying huddled in my bearskin,
Warm against the cold.
I look across at my mother,
Her beautiful face looking old.
Father gathers the rabbits,
Where once the buffalo roamed.
No one ever went hungry,
We all had homes of our own.
Spirit called back my sister,
Within her second year.
She had the breathing sickness,
We named her, "Sleeping Deer."
As the wind blows across the planes;
Chilling us to the bone.
We continue to Rome around the land,
No permanent place to call home.**
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
When a detective falls in love, he does not know who to bill for expenses--
everything is up in the air.
At a mixer for suspects, he invites me to dance via loudspeaker.
Radiant in my white dress, I resemble a snowy owl
even down to my carefully bandaged hand which he takes without hesitation.
I whisper in his ear:
I am Leon Czolgosz.
Your heart is the President of the United States of America.
We are dancing in Buffalo, city by the Niagara.
My detective, of course, falls hard.
The next time we meet, I wait for him in the bullpen at the police station.
They know him there.
They hire cellists.
He confesses his deepest fantasy to me:
I want to speak words of love to you
via telephone
with our hands naked and separated only by the safety glass.
I want the call recorded
and broadcast to wild lovers around the globe.
Shortly after, we are married. I wear my favorite bearskin robe.
My small black cubs frolic nearby,
climbing the pews and then tumbling gaily down again.
My detective is resplendent in his tuxedo.
The hired band plays Funiculi Funicula.
I snarl when my detective gets too close to the cubs, and this inflames him.
At last, we lie in bed together, like busy machines come to rest.
I am wearing nothing but the revolver-shaped earrings he has given me.
My detective wears a felt fedora
and a look of smug adoration like a daredevil over the falls in a barrel.
I am The Queen of the Mist,
suspected in various thieveries, check kiting, and jaywalking.
Our love is an aviary
where birds wheel above the thundering water like intelligent confetti.
Look in your mailbox, I tell my detective.
I have left you a valentine and an Easter egg.
He asks if, after all, I am his mystery client.
I enter a plea of innocent.
My love is happy now, laughing.
Jul 25, 2025
Jul 25, 2025 at 11:15 PM UTC
tonight feels infinitesimal so i curl at your feet like roadkill, dead but still full of hunger. i tell you in tears that i can't stop wishing myself away. what do you do to this feeling? how do you punish your pessimism without getting sick on the carpet? everything always takes me back to your eyes. and i cant stop thinking about the decay of all of it, the things i can't even remember. i am still hungry. there's a bearskin rug by the door. you eat fruit to the rind and you smoke to the filter and i love you more when you leave the cabinets unlocked. thank you, for all the horror.
Feb 5, 2023
Feb 5, 2023 at 12:59 AM UTC
A gentle knock at his door,
As two escorts followed doggedly,
John turned the **** and walked into,
Cornelius's study, a room he only frequented,
When injury had befallen him or he needed to,
Escape emotional stress or old ghosts.
More times than he cares to admit,
Has this man kneeled before dying allies,
People of all stages, slipping beneath the black.
Those he should've been there for, could've saved if,
His justice was only faster than song, swifter than Venom.
Sharin's adept stood silently wrapped in respect,
Cornelius turned to face them, taking off his reading glasses,
A brown bearskin coat reassured him as he rose, sinking both arms inside,
He faced his audience with a stern, confident soldier's facade, one that,
Demanded recognition from all around.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
If God was an interior decorator named Brighid, which means Exalted One, how should I pray to her if I felt destiny pushing me to become more?
If I aspired to be an avant-garde poet, should I move into that half-basement of a four-story brown stone walk-up, even though the last two tenants who rented the apartment died alone, and the landlord expects me to clean the urine-stained carpet?
Would Brighid reveal her plan for me?
Would she command me to rip-it all out and put in factory-finished walnut, to throw-down a white bearskin rug in front of the obsolete marble fireplace?
And what of poetry and fire?
Would Brighid tell me, “There are no absolutes in life, only clichés?”
And what if I asked only for this god’s mercy, happy to become a grocery-store romance writer because until now all my work went into the one porcelain crapper, and my dreams stir only in the metal hospital bed on loan from the Salvation Army?
If my view of the world is to be framed by steel bars outside every window, would I pray to have fresco walls or hand-painted wallpaper?
And what if I heard her laugh and tell me, “Darling, why not go retro, clean up the **** carpet, hang some black-and-white photographs and posters of the Rolling Stones and the Hell’s Angels? You know the whole sixties thing.”
Would I be prepared to change the world?
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC