"groundhog" poems
this time is dark and dreary
why do i live it out?
i’m in the dirt and dusty road
what’s this life all about?
i look up and it seems like miles
‘till i could reach the sky
someone told me that i could go
but i know it’s a lie
but somethin’ says
fly high butterfly
come on, you won’t die
fly high butterfly
come on reach for the sky
fly high butterfly
come on butterfly fly
fly high butterfly
i feel that i can’t do it
i wanna stay the same
though this is hard and rough terrain
to me it’s home i say
then groundhog day it is again
please stop it i implore
the wounds need healin’ i am hurt
can’t take it anymore
but somethin’ says
fly high butterfly
come on, you won’t die
fly high butterfly
come on reach for the sky
fly high butterfly
come on butterfly fly
fly high butterfly
i crawl up to my empty shell
i curl up inside
i wait, i’m frightened, what to do?
i feel like i will die
i melt down into nothingness
i cannot take the pain
but something’s changin’ i wake up
to see life once again
cuz somethin’ said
fly high butterfly
come on, you won’t die
fly high butterfly
fly on up to the sky
fly high butterfly
come on butterfly fly
i flew and saw the light
i’m alive butterfly
now i know that this is the life
have the courage fly
fly high butterfly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:37 AM UTC
i fight to peel each moment
of pure stagnation
off of me
a tinnitus cacophony whines in my ears
as my dilapidated fan
keeps slow rhythm to the faucet drip
minutes drag like molasses
handcuffed to the daily lag
groundhog day
i escape into the forest
running, the breeze caresses my face
wildlife pries open my desperate eyes
a spider’s web bends and sways in the wind
fine strands of silver silk flow
soaring they meld in crescent waves
a butterfly glides gently by
befriending gusts of air
softly breathing in another tomorrow
the conductor of the symphony
with sculptor’s hands i cannot see
whispers ever graciously
life is not your enemy
drink it in and let it seep
drop your sword i’m molding thee
©2016janetaylor
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
I see a pattern Everywhere:
Circles and globes (three dimensional circles);
Shiny rings of fire.
Countless manifestations of this same shape.
Star-spangled galaxies wheeling through the sky:
That half-globe dome.
Earth, in circular orbit (more or less) around the Sun,
Escorted by the Moon.
Days give way to seasons,
Repeating every year.
Groundhog Days becoming
Groundhog Creations
Perhaps.
The list seems endless:
Hopkins’ dapples,
Planets, craters, cyclones, anti-cyclones, sea currents,
***** apples, oranges, nuts, potatoes,
Teardrops, heads, faces, eyes, mouths,
Holes!
Coins, bin lids, and plates;
Sunflowers, daisies, pansies,
Rings of mushrooms,
Circling birds of prey,
A cat curled in a circle,
Like a foetus.
Life as we know it
Is a circle
And a cycle too.
Birth, Death, Blossom, Wilt.
Reincarnation?
Renewal?
Clock-faced Time itself.
Eternity might be a circle,
Infinity the same.
Maybe even God,
Some way.
Perhaps we still are building God,
For Him or Her to travel back through time
Like Doctor Who
To Create The Big Bang,
And form this expanding Universe,
Thus taking us full circle.
Or maybe the Universe will fold back in upon itself,
Producing yet one more Big Bang,
In an endless cycle,
Of Big Bangs,
Amongst this ever circling
Multiverse.
Paul Butters
© PB, 14th February, 2011 at 14.00, in Humberside.
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 4:14 AM UTC
The straw that broke the camel's back
Was auctioned off on Ebay
And bought by an amnesiac
Who liked collecting hay.
If possession is nine-tenths of the law
All I need to do now
Is buy the final straw
And then he was sectioned
And taken away.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 7:16 AM UTC
up the down staircase
running in circles chasing my tail
rerunning another episode of groundhog day
trying to skim on the water without a sail
constantly getting in my own way
reaching for the stars without any arms
singing the blues to a house of the dead
searching for the clock in a room full of alarms
should be slamming the door closed instead
out of breath climbing the staircase with no end
when the only way that it goes is down
keeping my eyes closed trying to pretend
wearing the mask and the tears of a clown
the odds of completion like Custer's last stand
trying to understand the reason of risk and reward
counting the good things with only one hand
playing solitaire with a deck missing one card
Gomer LePoet ....
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 11:23 PM UTC
We’re gathered here today to put to rest the words I didn’t mean to say.
The thoughts I tried my best to suppress, but slipped out anyway.
Delivering meanings that I didn’t have planned,
And messages she just can’t understand.
My acid tongue throws out its poisonous whispers into her ear, containing words she was never meant to hear.
But she cancels them out with her alkaline replies that don’t align with mine.
She’s the one who starts this game every time.
Throwing in the truths that bring me shame,
But when I claw out her flaws from beneath the dirt out onto the surface,
They impregnate her hazel eyes with rain.
And I’m always the one to get the blame.
I check the weather where she is to know if she can see the dark clouds leaving,
Unveiling the blue skies that lie beneath.
Hoping that one day she will open her hazel eyes and realise we’ve been through wet and dry seasons that continue to replay like groundhog day.
But all we can do is keep believing that there is a reason why we can’t let the storms blow it all away,
Just because of the words I didn’t mean to say.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
I'm troubled by a broken tune,
that can't keep time and loops too soon.
Like Christmas in the heart of June,
each summer's heat a curdled moon.
It's not that I keep glancing back,
or wander down well-trodden tracks,
I've raged against a wall of facts,
interrogating every crack.
Yet still I feel its tender bass
and scrawl each lyric on my face.
I've copied out each line to trace
the meaning of this groundhog chase.
No matter which new route I choose,
this labyrinth seems short of clues.
There are no shields or string to use,
just an ageing bard that strums the blues.
And now begins another dance,
the waltz of sighs and askew glance.
It's orchestra tuned up by chance,
with instruments of circumstance.
And so returns the song's refrain.
Its endless echo back again,
to score my steps while I remain,
a different man, who's still the same.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
New scenes seen
between three
beams. Streams
of white light
write plights by
rye bread farms.
Alarmed, were the
workers; surely
hurling any hay
bail unveiled from
summer's uprising-
-spring. Even though
I fling arrows like I'm
In a gladiator ring.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC
It wasn't even good anymore
It was just a
HABIT
To fill the empty
VOID.
A glue that I mistakingly
thought would
hold all of my
BROKEN
pieces together.
This pain inside of me is
DEEP
and
UNRELENTING
Burning with endless
REGRET.
This is what I feel
24
hours
a
day.
Everything is an
ACT.
Every positive thought
I must
PUSH
through my brain
as if
lifting
a
HOUSE.
This has been my struggle
All day long,
EVERYDAY
for
21 years.
Fighting and slaying and eventually saying
"I give! I give!"
to my
RELENTLESS
Dragons.
By nightfall I am
EXHAUSTED.
Dreading the continuous
BATTLE
of tomorrow, the next day, the next, the next....
It's an endless merry-go-round of
GROUNDHOG DAY.
The same battle
The same
DEFEAT
most everyday.
How to escape?
The therapist told me (21 years ago)
She saw women's lives
RUINED
and
LOST
and turned
UPSIDE DOWN
and
INSIDE OUT
over the endless years they've been
SURVIVING
this
DISORDER.
And I thought mine was just a phase.....
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
as i approach 50 I think
how did this happen...me getting old I mean.
I know the alternative is not that appealing...
but perhaps a granting of my own personal groundhog day is a worthy wish....it doesn't matter which.
I could craft most any day of my life into something spectacular!
Is that wisdom?
After almost half a century, I've surmised to be suspended in time the best I could ask for? well maybe, perhaps then I could amend all my imperfections... reform all the mistakes I've made and re-emerge a better man...
just now it occurs to me...this could be my groundhog moment...the epiphany that the next 50 years brings me living a life well thought... more compassionate, more open, more giving, more alive!
....more likely, just more use of adult diapers...
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
gives exquisite attention
speaks with grace
flowing through the room
touching everyone
Groundhog day
six weeks later
telling you your life story
though you might have just met
I tell my son be careful son,
(also reminding this heart of mine,
you'd better not walk that line)
Look in the eyes
there's a white light shinning
focused right on you
feels so good
easy to misjudge what you're seeing
easy to take for granted
The day it's going to come
The white light blinking out
The exquisite attention
somewhere else
(This heart of mine, I put on notice)
I also tell my son,
be careful.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
Dos cervezas por favor in De K’ffe,
Cold bite of the first beer refreshes.
Una mas and workday fades to dull,
The night feels bright and hopeful,
The Palitos de pollo satisfies hunger.
Conversation flows to Cepas de Altura,
Three bottles later the stories repeat,
Groundhog day of interesting lives,
With eternal friendship in every bottle.
Six corks line up like truth bullets,
In an aggression of arguments,
Maybe he has just said too much,
Friendship of an unremembered hug,
Next day sorry and failings forgotten.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
punxsutawney phil has nothing on me
i see my shadow every day
not that great, not something to see
i wish i could hibernate my life away
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
He works, tis said,
one day a year.
With bated breath
we linger here
for our Ground hog to appear.
Will he see shadow or will he no?
Only Staten Island Chuck can know.
Will Winter linger around these parts
or will my Crocus have early starts.
A little chubby and weak of eye,
Our resident Groundhog's rather shy.
Dragged unwilling from his warm burrow-
Shall we shovel snow or furrow?
He is well fed for his exertions,
and brief enough are these excursions.
Best of all when he appears
He oft will tell us Spring is near.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
ashen wasteland
healed by dew
pulses, trembles
birthed anew
Mother beating
midnight drum
lily, crocus
cherry, plum
yearling stumble
hatchling drop
grizzly bumble
salmon flop
coyote howl
jackal bay
gleamy-eyed
they stalk their prey
brutal jaws
on tawny throat
****** tears
in tawny coat
feign o possum
flee o hare
saffron, saltbush
tulip, tare
Mother sows,
human reaps,
forward still
the forest creeps
hack and slash
slash and burn
maple, mayfly
buckthorn, fern
chipmunk gather
raccoon store
silence on
the barren moor
groundhog slumber
grizzly snore
knocking on
the Old Man's door
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
Punxsutawney Phil
You're so furry
And adorable
But your forecasts
Are deplorable
Thirty-nine percent true
That makes you a fraud
But cute eyes have you
Therefore a god
Early spring you say
Yet snow and low temps
Flourish today
So conflicted
By this contrast
Indoors now restricted
Godhog is Devine at last
Tomorrow swimming
No matter the mortal's forecast
You say the sun is brimming
The masses praise
Nearly naked in the snow
Why the wintery haze
No shadow, it is so
Now we stand
Swimsuits adorned
Frozen faces
Countenances Forlorn
Faithful in our belief
In you and yours
In fur and sharp teeth
Buds and flowers restore
Trees and life anew
What could go wrong
A groundhog we pray to
In Phil we trust
What's wrong with us?
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
Looking for inspiration
In a desolate dreary wasteland
The same **** just different days spent
Hoping life will finally make sense
Cos I've got bored and aggravated
With the drama I know will unfold
Is this really the end of the road before me I behold?
So I form facts from fiction
To try avoid repetition
Of dreary events to which each week ends
But my yesterdays tomorrow
You know so my yesterday will follow today
A bit like Bill Murray
From that film Groundhog Day
But with a lot less adventure
Or comedic reflection
A script not to question
And no seams between scenes
I'm caught in a dream
I can't see me come free from
Those are the facts son
There's no lights camera action
No glitz and no glamour
Definitely no famous actor
With the hardest tasks keeping track of...
Straight from morning to night
In the flash of an eye
The same simple ending
A yawn then a sigh
Only to wake with a shudder
Butterflies inside flutter
Feeling nothing but gutted
No new day
No new dollar
It's the same as before
As I walk out the door
The same route to work
To live out another day stuck
in my white collar Call Centre curse
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 5:22 AM UTC
Fine wine, your line of perfection, profile absorbed
Within the printed page, taking you away
I want to say “Stop and listen”, the minutes ticking away
To nothingness, we won’t replace, they are lost
Fine wine, spilled onto the page, blood red; it disgorges
Its ruby glow, seeping into page after page
You leap to save the page, now wet and unreadable
Looking annoyed in the process, what a pity
Fine wine, these minutes are ones to remember with irritation
Cursing the red stain instead of the intrusion as welcome to
The monotony of the dirge, Groundhog Day of stale breath
A profound chapter not worth reading; close the book on it all!!
Fine wine, legacy of a long held sameness, dawdling the
Hedgerows, cutting the quality of what could be into what isn’t
And so on and so forth, dragging feet and knuckles; skin
Peeling its life away scuffed and failing, our souls drowned
Fine wine, secretly savage, blood red, vibrant and exotic
Or bored, buried in the sand dunes, beige and baron, your bottle of plonk
Oasis a mirage, a delirium to reality, a pretence to soften the blow
Life or existence with a hint of amaretto warmth to keep afloat
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
Warm a house, wreck a home.
Denial of cracks in pavement, in drywall.
My back is unbroken
My back is will never not be unbroken;
The only way back is to move forward,
Restart; Groundhog day.
The subtle difference experience makes.
Playing parts only goes so far,
You want the real thing,
But I will never be afraid again.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
First footing towards
what could be bridge or precipice,
hard to tell in the usual mists
of another spin round the sun
The groundhog sting
has left us wary of what’s to come:
with an alphabet begun
how many masks need to be worn
before omega calls?
But the sun is shining
and it’s abnormally warm,
so that’s good,
isn’t it?
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC
What if it's not Groundhog Day but Groundhog Life?
Or, when I die, will I simply pass on God's baton to the next living thing?
Will I go to heaven?
Or find Nirvana.
Reincarnation or Renewal?
Or none of these?
Life is real
Or just an illusion.
False memories
And history
Supported by science
And Religion.
We may be Matrix
Or pure dust.
We may live forever,
Or end right here.
Who knows?
Paul Butters
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
Please God
Send me an adventure.
A crazy wild ride.
Let's Make A Deal.
Give me a choice of 3 doors
before my formidable demise.
You see if I don't get some chill,
some life-force pill; I'll suffocate on boredom
and absence of thrill.
Send me a time machine to fly back in history.
Let me feel what it's like to be part of a movement
or solve a mystery.
Shoot me into space where I can meet the Third Kind.
Might not speak the same language, but we'd communicate just fine.
I'd feel right at home on some far away planet.
Now, please, send me some adventure ******
But wait.
There's just one little clause.
I need this adventure no earlier than 6 a.m. and not after 9 at night.
Oh and I have to be home in time
to feed the cat, make dinner and tuck the kids in tight.
So schedule me in, deliver my ride.
I'm patiently waiting; swiftly dying inside.
No pressure or anything; I'm chillin'.
Eyes peering behind blinds like a death row villain.
Fingers crossed. Breath held.
Is that FedEx? Oh god willing...
Per terms and agreement:
Please do not send me adventure wrapped in Wet Wipes, Stow-and-Go Seating or sibling food fights.
Just launch me outta homemakin' and caretakin'
for one stinkin' day!
Let me a be a gypsy, a journalist or have a fan-tas-tic lay.
Let me move masses, stack paper, be the star of a play.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Nevermind.
It's Groundhog Day.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
I have used all the energy left in my gaunt body to escape this bed
Now I travel down steps that creak with noises of our past love as we wore them out by always racing each other up them to get here
Now I trudge down these stairs, alone, into the kitchen as I let the white french doors swing open to let the spring breeze join me
The wind recoils off of my pale face as I hold the cheesy tourist coffee mug that still bares your lipstick on its brim
I return back to the table where I find the morning newspaper with a date on it that reveals I haven't left the house in quite some time
And I flip to the crossword puzzle that apparently you solved many weeks ago, but the clues are hidden as I now recall the day your pen exploded in boisterous blue ink and we laughed together as we scrubbed each other's hands
Sink water splashed all over and ruined your flowing white gown, but that was no issue as we danced like it was raining and my hand creeped along your collarbone onto your shoulder, until you slapped it away because it was time for work
After brief lapses of intoxicating joy, the color in the walls and outside the windows oozes down Earth's canvas to uncover the true flavor or black and gray that surround me
It's in this return to reality that I utilize my lasts bits of sanity and avoid the sleeping pills to enter back into my slumber
I make my way back up the hollowed-out steps that are void of love, and collapse back into this bed as I drown in it's disturbingly comfortable sheets and pillows
In a few hours I'll arise again to trudge down to the kitchen and see if you're there, smiling, singing, solving strenuous puzzles with your immeasurable skill
And on the precipice of madness, the brink of lunacy, I'll whisper your name so I can stop tip-toeing along the boarder of suicide
For in these repeating nightmares, my balance has grown weary, and for moments my only desire is to join you beneath society, and into the great beyond
Goodnight
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
One afternoon, 'neath the shed,
mr. groundhog waited...
nothing in sight, not a cat, nor a leapfrog
just the fading sound of walking clogs
"oohhh, she's gone! time to burrow
.....my path is still short and narrow."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
mr. groundhog started digging.....up to the rotting log
of the wide, cut-up oak tree, upon which, a bull frog
landed...then, leapt to a hidden garden bog.
fine rains started to wet the soil...at last, mr. groundhog,
emerged from his hole on the grassy center
he popped his head out.....suddenly, great fear
enfolded him, he felt a rushing wind...whatever, whoever,
could be watching....then, an odd scent filled the air,
it persisted...that stinging smell...of pepper
lucky woodchuck! the scent dispersed in the ether
its tiny granules got soaked in rainwater.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
mr. groundhog sighed..."i'll leave it to the weather,
i'm kinda tired...........october, is almost over."
Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 24, 2018
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
In deep winter’s chill a brief nudge
gets groundhogs, with barely a grudge,
to predict the season,
but I ask, with good reason,
if they differ, who will be the judge?
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC