"furred" poems
White-furred hill flowers bow
Gust-bent,
Wet in April snow,
Lavender beneath their
Downy coats.
Tender soldiers of spring
Grasp wind-blown gravel steeps,
Stand to beckon brown grass,
Soft-call the life in sapless trees
To ring with green again
Against Old Bully Winter’s
Blustering.
Quaking aspens,
Earliest to leaf in yellow-green,
Curling grama grasses,
Tough food for buffalo,
Cannot boast first life each Montana spring;
Only zombie-lichens,
Rock-fast mosses
Throw off winter’s death
Before the crocus' rise.
On eastern Montana hills
No street-hemmed dandelions
Colonize in chute-dropped ranks;
No time-tamed tulips
Live on wind-round knolls.
Here, the yucca’s bayonet-sharp ******
Here, the wild onions’ scent-strong hold;
But these arrive after early chill,
Following the purple crocus on the hill.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 8:36 AM UTC
In the rectory garden on his evening walk
Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold day, a sodden one it was
In black November. After a sliding rain
Dew stood in chill sweat on each stalk,
Each thorn; spiring from wet earth, a blue haze
Hung caught in dark-webbed branches like a fabulous heron.
Hauled sudden from solitude,
Hair prickling on his head,
Father Shawn perceived a ghost
Shaping itself from that mist.
'How now,' Father Shawn crisply addressed the ghost
Wavering there, gauze-edged, smelling of woodsmoke,
'What manner of business are you on?
From your blue pallor, I'd say you inhabited the frozen waste
Of hell, and not the fiery part. Yet to judge by that dazzled look,
That noble mien, perhaps you've late quitted heaven?'
In voice furred with frost,
Ghost said to priest:
'Neither of those countries do I frequent:
Earth is my haunt.'
'Come, come,' Father Shawn gave an impatient shrug,
'I don't ask you to spin some ridiculous fable
Of gilded harps or gnawing fire: simply tell
After your life's end, what just epilogue
God ordained to follow up your days. Is it such trouble
To satisfy the questions of a curious old fool?'
'In life, love gnawed my skin
To this white bone;
What love did then, love does now:
Gnaws me through.'
'What love,' asked Father Shawn, 'but too great love
Of flawed earth-flesh could cause this sorry pass?
Some ****** condition you are in:
Thinking never to have left the world, you grieve
As though alive, shriveling in torment thus
To atone as shade for sin that lured blind man.'
'The day of doom
Is not yest come.
Until that time
A crock of dust is my dear hom.'
'Fond phantom,' cried shocked Father Shawn,
'Can there be such stubbornness--
A soul grown feverish, clutching its dead body-tree
Like a last storm-crossed leaf? Best get you gone
To judgment in a higher court of grace.
Repent, depart, before God's trump-crack splits the sky.'
From that pale mist
Ghost swore to priest:
'There sits no higher court
Than man's red heart.'
7.7k
Define Pink Panther
I say they wanted something shy.
pink fits the description just fine.
Cat's on the hold are sly,
and never back out of a fight.
The pink panther usually runs and hides,
sometimes even takes flight.
This domestic upright
walking panther,
is no wild cat.
He's a pink furred,
scene boy,
big dreamer,
Fangless stranger
full of joy.
A growless feline.
calm breed,
Real life fiction, wanted toy.
It's not in his nature,
to eat you,
Instead will lend a hand.
I saw how he,
a cat,
helped out a feathered
friend.
© J-d S. J
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
You're only seventeen -
the light seems to shine
right through you,
peach-furred skin
dessicated
drawn in upon itself
- and old.
Your moisture-dewed youth
has evaporated.
It’s been emptied
****** clean
dried and drained.
You reach out
with snappable wrists
Your brittle bones
bulge and bow.
Your ribs vibrate
with every breath
air thrills and ripples
the whole chest cavity.
Your hands and feet
Minnie Mouse big
too big
for the fragile framed
tiny dancer.
Your hips have become
pelvic bone butterflies
that arch and flare out
from your sunken abdomen
concave
and strangely hung
with loose folds of skin.
Your eyes like oases
in the desert of you
cartoon-cute big
but sunken deep
into your head
as if drawing away
from the sight of you.
Just a few more Kilos
and you’ll be gone.
© M.L.Emmett
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Something awful happened late last night,
And here I lie awake at six AM
Upon the sand of Santa Monica.
The cars drive by, but I don’t notice them.
I used up all my gas to get away
From the ****** pond on my bathroom rug.
It’s more than bleach can handle and I’m scared
That I’ve found a more seductive drug.
Fish intestines line the pier and I
Feel no misery for gutless souls.
The rocks are caked in birdshit, kelp and shells
And, as if in mourning, the cormorant calls.
Upon the rusty handrails, seagulls gossip
Just like feathered girls with brains, persisting
To trumpet my depravity in savage squawks,
And to harass the rest of us for existing.
The white-wimpled, cruel, sadistic nuns
Choose an injured sea lion as their prey.
Cowardly, they flee at his sharp barks–
It’s guts that will decide who wins today.
***** creep over the brown-furred body.
Fighting for its life, it bites the shell
And kills its fellow lifeform. When given
The chance, I’ll defend myself as well.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
Dusk!
With a creepy, tingling sensation you hear the fluttering of leathery wings!
Bats!
Glowing red eyes and glistening fangs,
These unspeakable giant bugs drop into view.*
Fibrous wings furred like a moth,
Big ears are just a membranous extension of antennae.
Flying in search of a flower’s pollen laden froth,
Silent except for the hum and squeak of echolocation.
Trap bats in attics, butterflies in nets.
No rabies feared, no bedbug bites to itch.
Clawed feet ****** and grab like praying mantis pincers;
Bloated stomach slopes like a pudgy beetle.
Jaws manipulate like an ant, excise like scissors;
Soft hair rustles like a wooly caterpillar.
They live in darkness, centipedes do too,
Come out at night like cockroaches tend to.
Skittering through the night like daddy long-legs,
Noses snubbed like bumble bee faces.
Wind turbines endanger bats,
Like fans endanger lightning bugs.
Only one percent of bats are vampiric,
Like only a small percentage of spiders are poisonous.
Dawn!
With a creepy, tingling sensation you hear the fluttering of leathery wings!
Bats!
Bats are bugs, aren’t they?
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
The warmth of your lover holds
An infant given no choice
Behold, deliverance into a new world
Hard work, destined just for the ordinary
Raised in great love and care
Left fear in his eyes, to decide how he would live his life
Greatness sprouts in the deepest of dreams
Boundaries kept around, without a sign of being free
Swelling inside, was a concealed beast
The coal furred animal, he holds
Cold deep black eyes, with a mouth made to roar
Once free from entrapment
This Jaguar will pounce from the soul
Out into the real world and soar
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
WHEN cold December
Froze to grisamber
The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees--
Then fading slow
And furred is the snow
As the almond's sweet husk--
And smelling like musk.
The snow amygdaline
Under the eglantine
Where the bristling stars shine
Like a gilt porcupine--
The snow confesses
The little Princesses
On their small chioppines
Dance under the orpines.
See the casuistries
Of their slant fluttering eyes--
Gilt as the zodiac
(Dancing Herodiac).
Only the snow slides
Like gilded myrrh--
From the rose-branches--hides
Rose-roots that stir.
4.4k
Through frost-thick weather
This witch sidles, fingers crooked, as if
Caught in a hazardous medium that might
Merely by its continuing
Attach her to heaven.
At eye's envious corner
Crow's-feet copy veining on a stained leaf;
Cold squint steals sky's color; while bruit
Of bells calls holy ones, her tongue
Backtalks at the raven
Claeving furred air
Over her skull's midden; no knife
Rivals her whetted look, divining what conceit
Waylays simple girls, church-going,
And what heart's oven
Craves most to cook batter
Rich in strayings with every amorous oaf,
Ready, for a trinket,
To squander owl-hours on bracken bedding,
Flesh unshriven.
Against ****** prayer
This sorceress sets mirrors enough
To distract beauty's thought;
Lovesick at first fond song,
Each vain girl's driven
To believe beyond heart's flare
No fire is, nor in any book proof
Sun hoists soul up after lids fall shut;
So she wills all to the black king.
The worst sloven
Vies with best queen over
Right to blaze as satan's wife;
Housed in earth, those million brides shriek out.
Some burn short, some long,
Staked in pride's coven.
4.2k
A creature not of here or there
With parts that do not fit
Neither fish nor fowl, horse or bear
A bashed together kit
Too many heads, some with horns
Body furred and scaled
Eagles wings and spines like thorns
And as a peacock tailed
Some aspects might bring a smile
While others will repel
One small detail may beguile
Yet another breaks the spell
Each pack or flock it tries to join
Though they seemed akin
And in some facet quite adroit
Another portion can’t fit in
Every time it tries as best it may
To hide an offending section
Knowing that if seen in light of day
The result will be rejection
So the beast remains an alien
Cloaks what's best concealed
Strives to imitate the chameleon
That no misshape be revealed
All creatures hunger for a home
Chimera hungers too
But it wanders doomed to roam
A haven to pursue
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
Awaken onto nature
Set your spirit free
Mighty are her waters
Ancient are her trees
Open wide oh starlit sky
Magical summer heights
Mighty forest kingdom
Feathered furred in flight
Embrace her in the mornning
Evening tides roll out
In the cycle of her Venus
Ending way down south
Love her when she's frozen
She shall thaw again
Awaken on to Nature
Enjoy Her
While you can!
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
The shutters are rusted open on the north
kitchen window ivy has grown over
the fastenings the casements are hooked open
in the stone frame high above the river
looking out across the tops of plum trees
tangled on their steep slope branches furred
with green moss gray lichens the plums falling
through them and beyond them the ancient
walnut trees standing each alone on its
own shadow in the plowed red field full
of amber September light after so
long unattended dead boughs still hold
places of old seasons high out of the leaves
under which in the still day the first walnuts
from this last summer are starting to fall
beyond the bare limbs the river looks
motionless like the far clouds that were not
there before and will not be there again
2.1k
The sleeping creature in my chest,
The curled up cuddly fuzz-ball,
Is feline, but no tame house cat.
Is soft furred in rest, and porcupine quilled in anger.
Her sharp teeth are usually hidden
Behind adorable whiskers and damp pink nose.
Sometimes her claws worry affectionately
At my ribs for attention,
Just so I don't forget she's there.
Today she is mad, frenzied,
Her proud cat dignity has vanished, she almost dances.
She chases her tale like the simple fool she is not.
She opens her mouth, not to bare her teeth,
But to mewl a plea for a mysterious something.
She buts her head against my heart again and again,
Knocking it off rhythm,
Rubbing it warmer with her fur,
Batting it and chewing it like her new favourite toy,
While I sweat
And stammer
And breathe too fast
And beat too fast,
And all for what?
You gave me your hoodie.
She caught one fragile whiff
Of your vetiver tinted catnip scent.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
The screech-owl in the wasted tree,
Who blights the branch and smites the leaves,
She wails that she was once like you and me!
Hey Lamia, hey love of mine,
Whose banshee moaning boils the night,
I won’t listen, for I know that Lilith lies!
Oh, naked beasts, oh variegated lives!
Whose ribs You cracked,
Whose love You lacked,
For whom You cast two wives!
Oh, hungry man, that bites his keeper’s hand!
You mixed his tears,
Instilled his fears,
And taught him “Lilith lies.”
I fled before you were brought forth
And spread, you race of sons of ******
Oh children, you are mine, and I am yours!
Un-furred, un-feathered, and dull-toothed,
How the Almighty forsook you!
So sick and weak, you all can barely move!
Oh, teeth and bones, Oh heaven-wide applause!
Come Oneiroi,
Support ‘tcha boi,
The ape without no claws!
Oh, sticks and stones, oh desperation’s knives!
Come Seraphim,
Sing us a hymn,
Remind us Lilith lies!
“She lies, she lies,” you cry “she lies,”
But I have wings, and claws, and eyes
That pierce the dark, and to all schemes I’m wise!
Yes, I obtained these claws of gold
That keep me safe and fed and whole!
You can’t condemn what hasn’t got a soul!
Oh, life from mud, oh mare who bucked the stud!
Who sits on beds,
Perched at the heads
To drink the dreaming’s blood!
Oh, owl’s eyes, oh man’s dread realized!
Come talk at length,
And show your strength,
And show us how you lie!
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 3:06 PM UTC
2 up hills
(girlandboy)2gether
ramble 2
the breaking place
beneath
heaven sabled
in thickly
shimmering freckles
furred
2 the making place
of uninnocent
amorous
tones
and the rough spank
of 2 paired
figures in2
1
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
Our Dog Howling at Sunset
At sunset, the dog howls at sirens in town.
If he were snowbound in Talkeetna,
A hundred miles from nowhere,
What would he howl at instead?
I saw my husband trudging through the frost,
His blue jacket half-tinted orange and red,
“I don’t like the way you sound,” he said
As he left, deserting one who was already lost.
If I were a thousand miles from him now,
Listening to the wolves’ mournful cries,
And my beloved shunning me as he does now,
Would I pretend to believe my lover’s lies?
Or, instead, would it be enough to exist
Where the short summer dies on winter’s grist,
And true love’s a dream born on a dreamer’s mist,
And the one to stay with is the one you’ve just kissed?
If I lived in a land so cruel and hard,
Would I be bargaining with my soul?
If love’s short date were but a moon’s silver shard,
Would he be a passing thought, and my son the whole
Of any future we had scattered out on the snow,
Or caught in the rime-bound trees?
Would I see then what I already know—
That his future lies with himself and not me?
As our wolf howls a timeless wail to the air
I can listen and guess at its season.
I can comfort myself it will always be there,
Beyond human hopes, beyond reason.
Far wiser, the black-furred hound, than I,
To sing out his ancient song.
Waiting, watching, as we struggle and die,
Only to pass his wisdom along.
Waiting, hoping as he does for a touch,
He is made to think that he asks too much--
Waiting for a kind word or loving hand--
Wild and alone, in humanity’s bleak land.
A southern writer once lamented the lack
Of courage in humankind,
And suggested we borrow the strength we see
In the branches of an olive tree.
Yet there’s more courage in the dog-wolf’s cry,
Penned out on our city-cropped lawn,
As if he knows the grief of my son and I
When the man we both love is gone.
“Could we not as well” take a lesson from him,
Our wild and loyal friend?
To howl out our sorrow and loneliness,
Though the pain might never end?
Now, in the twilight I hear my lover return,
With no greeting to me, and I burn
For the summer’s newborn passion I recall.
The twilight wolf’s mourning tells it all:
That we never will have what we had before
That love can die just as well as it’s born,
That a child is the only one who restores
What is lost to the lonesome, the wolves, the forlorn.
July 6, 2001
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Little boy Cain finds daddy’s old straightedge
Cracked leather band, wipes the blade on his thigh
Little boy stalks ‘round, slingshot in the sedge
Soft stinging cheeks, striped where bloodlines dry
Little boy breaks ice, cold winter this year
Big brother chops ash with numb hands out back
Little cat hunts mice while the dogs chase deer
One last hammer lash, then leave duties slack
Little boys grow up too soon, mother knows
Brother lain face down by the cutting wedge
Little white-furred pup, matted crimson nose
On the icy ground left in need of sledge
Little too late now for the morning chores
Cries upon his knee, curled by reddened bed
Little boy, head bowed, listens from the floor
Brother, bury me where the raven treads
Brother, forgive me, curse the wanton gods
Now, I walk alone through this land of Nod
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
My words spill out like mice
hiding in the cupboards and in the bread
Each ******* is crumbled
and humbled by gnawing
The tables are dusted with
delicate clawing
The marring is whispered
in squeaking silent sound
Impossible to see but
they are rife across the ground
In bed they find the warmth
in the goose down and the cotton
now sullied small diseases
will soon go washed forgotten
Trapping tactics once tried and true
seems wasted on these careful few
Snapping empty in the dark
no silent stealing will squeeze them stark
Each dream they waltz across the screen
like small and spying rolicking ribbons
Through the snowy evergreens and wanton queens
yet waking finds that they aren't fiction
To tame them in time
is what must be
So no more is cradled
by their incredulous creed
Now that they have all run of the house
From the floorboards to the flue
My fighting is futile against this furred Faust
For in my great battles, my life they've consumed
My motions through doors
now move with great heed
over my rasped wooden floors
of naked tails and featherweight feet
Each morning they find
themselves feeling bold
and swim like sirens
through my cereal bowl
At noon when I read
they shred and they gnaw
so I can no longer see
one word without a paw
In my evening bath
they sport small diving bells
As I dry myself off
from my towel I shake twelve
They admire in the mirror
and prance piano pirouettes
they've failed to adhere
to give respect to any threat
One day a magic made it though
to the edges of my mind
to cut short this ever frothing flow
and put my tongue in a bind
Then slowly, slowly, one by one
they folded flew and fell
I'd hardly hope this trial was done
but it all continued well
One night when they were scarce and few
only the faintest furred remained
I wonderfully slept sound and anew
Haunted dreams I no longer detained
The lonely left began to nestle in
an exodus through the sheets and bed
each whisker scraped soft on skin
and climbed back inside my head
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 11:32 PM UTC
Whispering in blessed curses
Under whine-tilted breaths
Fluttering eyes and furred chest
Beholden to a man left nonplussed
Begging and borrowing
Stealing burning touches from dewy skin
Whimpers cried into pillows within
Nails digging and hitched sighs following
Soft, searing serenades seek
Saints die to find heaven in something more
Dying small deaths for a moth adored
Writing patience with circled fingers over tongue and teeth
Pupils pulled into tiny beads
Staring up through lamplight lit lenses
Some bruises kissed splendid
Neck-, shoulder-, and lip-bitten pleads
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
Animal’s vigor increased
Remaining as the chief companion
Legends of wrecked havoc to a costly treat
No vitality as great the beast
Furred consistency pieced
Shining cylinder eyes, intuition and love
A collectively heartfelt living bundle of fleece
No consistence as great the beast
Faithful affection released
Glistening socket filled up of lively torso
Balanced ***** of warmth and vibrational elite
No fidelity as great the beast
Wildly flippant priest
Adventuring nature’s airy crusade
Marks each day with undertakings to police
No journey as great the beast
Fruitfully sincere beliefs
Flapping the soul of tail and flexing ears
Man need emulate comrade of hellish defeats
No profit as great the beast
Once utterly deceased
Wallowing the fallen with lathered guilt
Sorrow units form a structure colorfully greased
No replacement as difficult as replacing the beast
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Yesterday I took a walk,
And passed between the changing trees,
Their leaves were clinging
With final breaths of life,
Some had fallen, given up,
Waiting to be dust on the forest floor.
But I paid no mind to nature’s course;
My thoughts were focused on useless things.
I walked right past a breathless sight:
A family of deer
Sipping from a flowing stream.
But next week’s pay and due dates flashed,
And I passed right by their frightened dash.
Then, far to my right, two bunnies played,
But I missed that too,
And trampled blindly on.
High above me, in the thinning trees,
A white-furred squirrel hoped from branch to branch,
He jumped right above me for half a mile,
But I never looked up,
Was never caused to smile.
These I missed,
But there were others as well:
A high-flying eagle, a swift-moving fox,
But my mind was circling all those useless things,
Things that worrying never quite solves.
And as I think back on yesterday
To my long, stewing walk,
I regret not stopping
And looking around,
At the beauty of nature
And the joy to be found.
And, in reality,
All those things never happened:
The jumping squirrel,
The playing rabbits,
Or the drinking deer,
And I won’t go back today,
In case they aren’t there,
But I’ll imagine they are,
And that I saw them for real,
So one day they’ll be memories,
And give me something to feel.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
You're tied up in time ticking choices away
white light fills the night till its brighter than day
cacophonous voices can say what they say
from the dusk till the meaningless dawn
Then secured by a seatbelt to leather and foam
the speedo's at zero six yards from your home
a million neighbours, completely alone
you're a shell, you're a shade, you're a pawn
But glance through the windscreen and look at the sky
a seagull, suspended, is catching your eye
you sense a connection but cannot say why
as it tilts on the wind and is gone
Then the trees you drive under are sharpened and clear
they're humming and pulsing beneath the veneer
you're dazed and confused as you shift up a gear
dumbly wondering what's going on
You turn on the satnav for guidance and sound
but its whisper can't silence this thing you have found
from the shimmering clouds to the roots of the ground
Is a force that is ancient and new
You try to pretend like a terrified child
that the world can be binary indexed and filed
and the sparkling eye of the jackdawish wild
isn't focused intently on you
But there is no denying this fluttering clutch
that is moss-furred and feathered, a hurricane touch
that you knew long ago and you've missed it so much
with a longing that's howling and black
But she's patiently stationed there just out of sight
as you've built your resistance from pixel and byte
Rebellious teenager, pitiful plight
she is waiting to welcome you back
Yes Nature is waiting to welcome you back
She's beneath every slab and behind every crack
at the nethermost end of the bitterest track
she is waiting to welcome you back
Forever forgiving, unloosed unconfined
she is mad she is chaos she's love and she's blind
volcanic voluptuous core of mankind
she is waiting to welcome you back.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
Every little thought
Seems dominated by him
Taking all the credit
Where is the humility?
Under the furred pelt?
In the arrogant forest?
Egotistical glamour
Self absorbed valor
A lion with too much roar
Tape his grand mouth shut
Break his pearly white teeth now
Disparage his pride
The proud tiger now a mouse
Strength becomes feeble
Head hangs in total disgrace
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
It came from small beginnings.
A shaken woman left her car, engine still running
To see whether or not she had killed the rabbit.
Soft and broken it lay, and she wept, when suddenly
The rabbit drew its final breath
And spoke.
"Don't worry," it said.
"You humans, you're too sentimental!
"You should know, we admire you so much
"That it is a great honour to die at your hands
"Or through the speed of your magnificent machines!"
The woman was startled.
The phenomenon spread around the globe.
In the middle of the South China Sea
A fisherman was greeted by a cheer from his catch.
"Well done! Well done!" they cried.
"Next time use a smaller mesh, you'll catch more!"
In a chicken battery in Idaho, a young labourer
Whose conscience was troubling him
Almost fainted when 60,000 chickens sang
"For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!" and thanked him for his kindness.
"We are here for you!" said a turtle, choking on a plastic bag.
"You have dominion - use it with pride!" cried a pack-laden donkey.
"We are nothing without your interest - catch us, keep us, eat us, please!"
Tabloids were quick to react.
"One in the eye for the Animal Liberationists,"
said the Daily Mail.
For 24 hours the animals spoke
and then they stopped.
And because their voices
had been strained and strange,
feather muffled and furred,
wrung from throats with no vocal chords
It was impossible to be sure
Whether or not
they were being sarcastic.
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC