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Denxai Mcmillon Feb 2016
Spring hurry up
I can't wait for my pack of cigarettes
I'll keep caffeinated
I'll keep busy here
I'm tired
We're fighting
I just want my smokes
I want a drink
I'll drink until I'm tired tonight
I'll wake up hungover
I'll plaster my smile back on
Pretend I'm okay
And smoke till I puke
Why is it always sunny when I'm the saddest?
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
You were made in March when the groundhogs sensed shadows
and the wine chilled itself in its glassy embrace
I was on whisky, watching late nights, and oh
The wires crossed and we did too near the fireplace

Winter shut the windows with its icy blast
and my rhythm quickened at Scene 4
where the door opened and the lady emerged
in a birthday suit and settled on the floor.

The cat scan showed your wiggly bits in May
and Momma smiled  about the vortex of the man I made
growing plump and rich in a warmer climate inside
For nine long months the case of scotch disappeared

as you grew stronger and bulged out beautifully.
You were born in December when the  lights went on
and Momma cuddled you chillfully!
In Jan you went to Nan. My impulses returned.

Feb came around rather quickly. A year gone
and a son born unblamed of the winter chill
or lusting whisky and late nights surging
outside/ inside wherever. I didn't name you
Jack Frost Junior for nothing.
There's a story behind every name, son!

Author Notes
Ha ha Ha.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Sean Flaherty Jul 2015
I’m from rearranged furniture
I’m from “asleep in the bathtub”
I’m from biting hands over
store-bought candy.

I’m from vinyl-white-siding,
No better at keeping in heat
Than keeping out punks,
Four guinea pigs named
“Gamber,”
And a spotted rabbit.

From searching for answers
At the bottom of a bottle,
And not stopping, to think “maybe,”
When the answers aren’t there.

I’m from thrown phones, and
Broken Home,
And diseases they have
Yet to cure.
From layoffs, to layovers, to
A car, that careened
Down the street that I lay in,
And broke the door off its frame,
Leaving an impression on
Unshakable wood.

A Golden Orb-Weaver
On a storm-door handle,
Painted purple and black,
And a blood-curdling scream.
From a run to the backyard
And irrational fears
And the accidental rhyme
Of your mask-haunted dreams

I’m from people who loved me,
Without knowing how,
And people who couldn’t,
Without saying why.

I’m from loving her, a
Little too hard, that when we finally
Broke, We both emerged.
Scarred, and scared.
Groundhogs, and rabbits, and
Cats that weren’t mine.
Being told, at times,
Simultaneous, that I’m
Less than, yet
“Above grade level.”

I’m from baring the blunt-force,
To numbing it all out.
I’m from jazz, chess, and
Tonic water. I’m from
The Wolftones classy sound.
I’m from turning up the
Music so loud, that when
The world covered its ears,
I tried my best
To listen

.
I’m deciding to recreate the world
As I see fit.

I’m going to do something important,
 special,
Before I die. 


I want to invent. An

Existence I feel more content, in.

There’s no wagon to fall off.

Just looming things,

And avoidance. 


I’m deserving of the option to keep

Calling it as I see it. 

Advocating character development,
And suppressing my own hamartia.

Experimenting with sobriety,
And the ending of days.
Fighting off the Great Greyness, unstoppable,
Laying down land-mines, and
Bear-traps, on the
Terrain of Winter.

*I’m going to turn the music up
Louder still,
Until protest, drowned out,
Is inseparable, from
Cheering.
There and Back Again, written a full two years before Essay # 2. Most similar stuff I've done. 4/23/13
A reminder -

It is still winter,
We are still in the thick of it,
Chains and snowshoes
are still requisite,
Imbolc and Candlemas
are still to pass,
Groundhogs hibernate,
Tarns still as glass,
The tumbling finch song
has yet to be sung,
and even the false spring,
has not yet sprung.

So lie still a while longer,
Let the chill freeze you through,
Warmer days will return
in their own time,
And so will you.
neth jones Apr 2022
modern behemoth building of the sterile
herded human
              remains in sickness
compartmental

racked for our chemical curing
                          treat-meat

this building is only a single day of abandon
                   away from natural reclamation
taunts are made in the wings
the ants enter and leave freely
drain moth flies frequent most water sources in the building
rodents are at the door
rabbits and groundhogs tunnel in the lawns
hawks circle above using the buildings heat
           the wild world
        allowing our inclusion
   for at least one more hospital stay
Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
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?
Something I always wondered.
Timmy Durden Feb 2015
Standin' in a car garage
and a bearded guy is checkin the civ.
But I cant help but be glad
Cause its Groundhogs Day

The day that finally came
its come before and every year
leaves me with more questions than answers.

Its that shadow and all its mystery
With just a glimpse
were stuck in snow,
and that **** ****** saw it.

Sike its not even a ******
really, a man in a groundhog body.
A warrior,
poet,
and prophet
all wrapped in a bundle of fur
and a tail on his ****.

Punxsutawney Phil is my hero.
Greatest groundhogs day yet
Beau Scorgie Nov 2016
Dad
I remember the summer holidays.
The heat intense without air conditioning.
Our days passed by on that old swing set,
weather beaten to a faded green.
We’d build houses out of boxes
our mother would never let us take home.
My sister called your home “the fun house”.
I would say “plastic fantastic”.
We’d build vintage dirt bikes in the garage,
eat apple pies for dessert,
and fall asleep beneath the peach tree.

I remember the escape,
when home was too violent.
You once told me you stopped drinking
so you could always be there when we needed you.
And you were.
To distract.
To listen.
To protect.

I remember the way you cradled me that night
as blood flowed from my wounds,
and the way you sat beside me in the hospital for hours
and never complained.
To distract.
To listen.
To understand.

I remember your chair
and the sadness I felt when we were not there.
My mind riddled with images of you in that house,
lonely and alone.
I knew your heart ached. I felt it.
I knew your smile a façade. I saw it.
Overworked for a life that never came to be.
Groundhogs day for 13 years.

I remember that shipping container in the driveway,
accumulating your possessions
one
    by
      one.
I remember the brisk autumn morning
driving you to the train station
with your makeshift bag from rope, tape and plastic.
The weight of the grief that fell from my eyes
too heavy to hold.
I remember how you walked away,
and never looked back.

Here, I stand in the wooden doorway
of the house now empty.
The memories pounding against the walls.
Your chair remains in the corner.
It still smells of you.
Words of love fall from my lips
and I close the door,
to what was,
and what is
no longer.
Capriccio Dec 2019
Hey little fiddle
I drink too much
You smoke too little

I met your mom
And your dad
Your little sister is EMOtional
Groundhogs day sad

I talk without reason
Left a bad man
For his treason

Let go of obscurity
To find the one thing I gotta be

Me

So hey little fiddle
Your moods swing from
Happy
Sad
Mad
American Rag-Tag
Glad

So play your notes
Take your tallies
I'll count votes

Hey little fiddle
Check out this finger
For you, right here
In the middle
Kida Price Jul 2014
Ode to bill
What a thrill
He makes me laugh till my voice is shrill
I don't need a happy pill
When his face is forcing mine to smile against my will.
Groundhogs day
What a play
On how I feel everyday
Repeating time until it strays
To be the same thing in every way.
What about bob?
Can't you see?
He's making me smirk at MY mental instability.
Baby steps
Fake Tourettes
Getting under someone's skin
And yet
Being loved by all the rest.
Who am I going to call
For the busting of ghosts?
I know a number to dispose
Bill has this **** on lock
As he sarcastically lifts his stock
Of zapping tools and his beige frock.
Zombieland
Of course he stands
Among the living and the ******.
Smoking up with strangers is grand
And replaying his films best moments.
In real life
He appears in random sight
Stealing fries and giving love advice.
Too careless to live up to the lime light
Using his fame to live an extraordinary life.
Oh bill Murray
You're a champ.
I hope to adopt your perspective rants
Make my mind go full blast
Of being the best at being lax.
Monotone and so relaxed
I'd buy him a shot if I had the chance
Tequila despite everyone else's request
Your bar tending skills are still the best.
Feeling laughter rise in my chest
Just keep doing what you do
No one else can contest.
Autumn Feb 2015
So much anticipation
for the day we anticipate
After today we'll do the opposite of grieve
because guess what
it's groundhogs day eve
2 and a half hours timmy durden
Luke Gagnon Apr 2013
we are always on our way
we beat our chests,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

our groundhogs overstay
in cuckoo nests
we are always on our way

in metric evenings led astray,
most of us have been recessed,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

we are made to coil halfway,
beat those who love us best
we are always on our way.

we make time prepaid
and tendons compressed,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day

we say
we are guests
we are always on our way
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.
Wednesday
and it's creeping up on me,

if we can't stop the day from rising
we may as well be a part of it,

Wednesday and
I thought I'd be shining
but the gleam you see
is caused by
constantly
rubbing me up the wrong way
and
getting on my nerves.

I'll
wait awhile
and then get up
which on Wednesday
is not a bad idea.
Wuji Sep 2012
If plants can overgrow,
Then we as a species are obese.
Leaves make trees more beautiful,
But fall has rid us of all of them.

We are a rotting tree in winter,
And our demons live inside.
Hibernating the fear and angst away,
Since they can't afford to hide.

Everyday we pray,
No groundhogs will be afraid.
So spring can spring upon us,
And feed our many roots.

But Mr. Groundhog,
Doesn't show up.
All he does is paint sliver linings,
And keep our hopes up.

With the sun keeping spring a secret,
That only fools know.
Shadows are scary.
MissNeona Feb 2021
The Lady of the Lake
Be the Goddess of the Sea
All this talk of the he over she?
is just Blarney! ****** the girls - made them laughing stocks
They said the siren song led men upon the rocks,
And that the little mermaid was just a fish in the sea who lost the voice for talks-
but when fish started to fly they called them birds harpies - and banshees!
Known for their shrieks, eeeeeeeeee~

Ban-shee-from power, will you?
Making monarchs from kings
But trapping princesses in towers
Calling them dragons to protect the treasures.
But you can’t ex-the-caliber of how the caged bird sings

It comes in waves - the ebbs and flows of rage
3 - 6 - 9 - 13
The ripples and coreolis flow of the fibonacci
The coming of months - in this new age
A of new moons and returned goddesses;
And that which had always been

Hope’s Chest and Pandora’s Box
Divine design isn’t but seed from *****
Calling ******* weak - but ***** strong?
Maybe marijuana isn’t the pipe dream; but ding! The ****.

I love Lucy; The devilish flower
Ladies love Lililies and women in power.
The wild roses will always grow in bushes
Sometimes thorns are built to avoid pushes

Relinquished power to the lords of sands and time.
It took me a while to hear a visual sign
Why can kings stand alone?
When Queens yield more potency?

Was it man or product overboard in Boston -
That’s may spill the real Liber’s Tea

Turn the wines back to water
Gaia returned from the pater.
We all knew grapes were a soft seed
But when the serpent is vilified
Save for the one who wears the pants -
We knew the apple wasn’t eaten or given
But something definitely was swallowed

I have a hard time believing that
A god of wine and revelry
Would let a woman with a sword
And the torch
Stand in the way of his libations
And ****** treats

Adam always had the apple
And a trouser snake
The Victor tells to story
Flipping the script each time
Keeps ouroboros on the next take

Pom-e-granite ain’t quite an apple
But maybe we we take words for granted
Abracadabra becomes a joke
And the rest is in sight, just planted…  
Upside down,
spun around
groundhogs day
opposite day

What even day?
What's to say - they changed the calendar .... wha over a millenia?
Instinct knows whats can be found
when we start first with self and ground...
Sharon Talbot Dec 2019
Glance out a northern window
and Winter suddenly beckons,
just five days after Solstice,
begging me to think again
on my habitual dislike.
The marble-white stratus above
looks as soft as a woolen blanket
covering all the strange things
outside this world's sky.
A vacant calm descends.
And I am content to be quiet
as the scene outside,
Bucolic and static as
A winter scene by Brueghel.
I trace the bare branches that weave
all around, seeming to huddle
near closed and shuttered houses.
They emit a silent desire to be known,
uncovered, naked models to the season
and sharp as a line drawing.
All the stillness leads to reflection
on the world we forget in summer,
the hidden moles and groundhogs,
insects that no longer irritate,
allowing us to cease effort
and sit at the table in the sun,
eating stew and drinking mulled wine.
But those of us who are curious
walk in the snow, hearing sounds
we never noticed: the crush of crystals,
the crack of frozen branches.
Or when the snow falls,
there is a softening quiet,
a restful pause in the air
and we are entranced, standing to listen
without effort, to the soundless sound
of mind without thought,
of Winter.
trf Feb 2018
Que voulez-vous de plus de la New Orleans?
Nutria sniped from shotgun shacks,
Horseradish hand grenades, get out of jail free charades.
Oyster forks in Lafourche talk the Trinity,
Those poor boys preceded Sal's Snowballs.

Papa Q raced the tracks; trains and thoroughbreds.
We were pubescent pirates, deck hands for hired luck,
Trifectas bribing our age, thirteen.
'Buted up' horses breaking down, their chalk line finite.

Late Spring, the Jazz rains for dusty crowds,
Like groundhogs gorging crawfish bread in Gospel tents,
Smelling of spices and creole sweat, a serenity treat, home.
Mom's Monday red beans, stirring since Sunday, salivating glands.

Rear view Blues light, chasing 23.8 miles,
Causeway, 'laissez faire' attitudes over Lake Pontchartrain,
When bedding the D.A.'s daughter is my convenient, corrupt plea.
Heir to Napoleonic code, law fallacies And
Alligator alleyways rush youth's normalcy.

The Dr. & Professor bled on all eighty-eight, resonating
From Frenchman to Tips, black and white keys turned red,
Tuning out race or nomenclature, lower wards up garden districts.
Second line's ancestors, parading dead down Marigny, joyfully.
Que voulez-vous de plus de la Nawlins?
How ya mom a dem doing baby?  Happy Mardi Gras, ya heard me!
Turtle Eyes Dec 2014
From Christmas to Easter to Groundhogs Day, I can't wait to spend every last one with you. I love you so much and all of my days and holidays are incomplete without being with you!
I’m in this
Weird loop I can’t get Out of
Weird thing I can’t get out of

Over and Over hearing the same melody
It’s groundhogs day ; so steadily steady

This weird loop I can’t get out of
Weird thing I can’t get out of

Wait,
I said that already
Autumn Sep 2016
Just a few reasons I think we really might work.
Well first because who else will fix your rogue eyebrow hairs?
Because I like your thrifty style, and I'm pretty sure you like mine. Because you scream, "AUTUMN!" like I fell off a cliff when I'm simply "lost" in target.
Because in the morning, when you turn to kiss me, I'm captivated by your sleepy eyes.  
Because you are hilarious, and most of the time know when it's best to be serious. Because I crack up at your relationships with Russians named Andre and Andrew.
Because I swear, you're perfect for me.
Because of your obsession with pugs, and my love for pugs on surfboards. Because you make wooden creatures.
Because we met in creative writing. Because you like to write creatively. Because you like to climb up a specific set of 45 stayers.
Because I'm scared of howler monkeys. Because we have a guardian angel named Calvin. Because you went to Nicaragua and that was brave, daring, and tough.
Because nobody else will do celebrate hands. Because we Skyped for 5 hours.
Because geese we think are swans are so lovable, even at 3 AM. "Tim" "I hear them."
Because you were tardy Tim to ol' chem.
Because you have an adventurous heart.
Because you get it.
Because you like early morning fiestas as much as me. Because you'll turn my head into a biscuit.
Because of how dang good you look on your long-board.
Because you fought for me and now it's my turn to fight for you. Because I know it's truly funny when you laugh so hard there's no noise and I love it. Because sometimes you laugh at me and I don't know why. Because I could stare at you forever and still not believe you're there.
Because we blamed Hisky for being naked. Because Hisky said he thought we were "it"
Because you ran cross country.
Because you love veebs more than me.
Because casio.
Because you have strong opinions about sensory loss. Because you freak out about Thursdays and groundhogs day. Because you enjoy the little things. Because you love mountain biking.
Because you'll dance with me even though I know you don't really like it.
Because if it weren't for my stupid self, we would've conquered long distance.
Because I get sick of everyone else.
Because I could sit in a coffee shop with you all day, even if I never beat you in chess.
Because there's a huge market for corn-dog holders.
Because you believe in ridiculous dreams. Because you like to be ridiculous.
Because you have soft lips and awesome hair.
Because you're different----
Because I fell in love with you, and don't wanna get back up.
Danny Wolf Mar 2022
Skywoman fell from her world above with seed in her hand. The muskrat, dead of life, clenched mud in its paw, its final offering so Earth could become. It all begins with soil and seed. Soil, a micro universe of life sustaining life. Seed, the tiny carriers of stories and sustenance. Two rich and sacred beings I will learn well in my life. My fingers have placed many seeds into cells packed with fertilized soil, placed many seeds straight into the Earth. I have watered them, transplanted their strong roots and promising sprouts, tended to them, harvested their food body and been nourished by their flesh. Soil and seed are the foundation of all plant life, and thus, the foundation of us. Their cells become our cells. Their fiber scrubs our bodies clean of waste and sin. They are the Earth's lungs that breathe life into our lungs. Skywoman fell with seed in her hand. Seed from another world, her offering to a place not originally her home. Turtle Island is not the home of my ancestors. I feel discomfort in the thought of tending to land that was brutally stolen. I find solace in the story of Skywoman. Through her steadfast dedication and reciprocity with the land, Turtle Island welcomed Skywoman in, let itself become her home by its own choice. Her offering of seed a promise to be its tender, its stewardess. Although this Land of Turtle Island is not the roots and soil of my Ancestors, we are all inhabitants of a greater Earth. Through the waters and the mycelial network buried under the old growth forest, I can reach to where my great, great, great, great grandparents stewarded land and tended to beast alike. Their stories are not lost to me, and although I may not know them in the form of words, they are, like the plants, the cells, blood and bone of my being. They comprise the very physical structure and spiritual essence of who I am. And so although this Land of Turtle Island will never be my ancestral home, I can only pray to become its native in time, by its choice, by its welcome. My ancestral home is Earth, as it is for all human life. All of the two legged beings that came before me have foot-printed her soft soil, swam in her rivers, and returned their naked bodies deep in the ground to be food for worms and microbes that digested both their skin and stories. These pieces of human life nourish the soils where wild ramps and fiddleheads grow, where wine berries burst in color, and where carrot seed roots itself sweet and deep. What are we but food for the impeccable microbial universe present in each and every handful of soil? If I work in this life to make my body, my flesh, my muscle, my blood, the most nutritious food for the micro beings to consume and put to new use when I am placed naked and free back into the ground, then I will have done part of my duty. May I one day be potent medicine for them. My duty, next to nourishing the microbes when my heart no longer beats, is to tend to this land as home, healer and relative. One day there will be land that I need, and it will find me, and I will work each day to know and tend and feel and understand that land like my own very body. Until that day, and still after, I will build upon my own heart and mind a beautiful layer of compost and woodchips to breakdown and become rich, soft soil. Soil that retains and builds nutrients and water, is beautifully aerated and loamy. I will build that world within myself so I can extend it outward to every seed I touch, every wild and cultivated food I harvest. And, when that land comes to allow me to tend to it, my offerings will be of humble, hard work. Of service. My work will be to become its native. May the birds know the beat of my footsteps like they know the beat of their own hearts. May the coyotes and the rabbits and the groundhogs and squirrels know my scent the way they know the scent of the wildflowers that have bloomed alongside them year after year, decade after decade. May the soil know the salt of my sweat that has dripped into its universe every day from April to October under the heat of the Sun. May my salts and electrolytes mix with their world, day in and day out, until they need me, too, to survive. May I be as integral to the system as every bee that pollinates the flowers, every frog that eats the bugs, and every fungus that consumes the dead leaf particles and turns them into fertile forest floor for the ferns and other fauna to emerge in ecstasy and vigor. The flavor of this place will be as diverse as the many worlds that collide and coalesce to create it. And I yearn for the day to know the shade of golden yellow of the butter that comes from the cream that separated from the milk that comes from the cow that’s been nourished by the land we have inhabited and fell in love with together. One day I will know just by the subtle change of the smell of the breeze that the magnolias and daffodils are about to blossom. I will know the sweetness of my carrots and green beans, the lingering smell of garlic scapes on my hands after plucking them in May. But first I must make a home of myself. First, my own body, mind, spirit, must be tended to with such adoration and respect and beauty and brilliance. So I will start there…becoming native to my own body. Becoming home to my own self.
Onoma Feb 2020
reoccurring events

memorized by heart.

rote and featureless

as winter.

tomorrow is a mascot.

pulled from the ground

every year.

featured to predict the

featureless.
Butch Decatoria Nov 2017
I wonder how your birthday suit would taste
On Groundhogs Day

I'm curious how cool your touching hands
In our peppered moods?

And yet I think you're my favorite
Acquaintance and infliction

Upon the eyes' leisure,
When there I bite my tongue,

As timid as tangerine Suns slow to set,
Our silence still telling and wet...

I consider and call you friend
For you disperse the grey and heavy

The thunderheads of sadness
Replacing it with regalia and gay

So stylish your sintilliation of conversations
Your body language like torquoise pools

Refreshing views and clear cuts through
The babble of the rabble not much to say

You must be from tomorrow's new
Breed of brutally honest and humorous

All other spewing hubris
But you must be from a stranger world

An alien place to be so you...
Yet like Summers, in the heat of our youth

The moments that Deja vu
And dream out loud our foggy recollection

The friends I have called true
Come and go like falling stars

But the brightest stay where they map the night
There you are so brilliant a sight

You must be a real friend, a guide and then
After we have spent all hours blindly high

Oh truest North, the ***** of your light,
Keep all the lonely ones in awe

The brightest light

Must be a friend, accompany me here
Then
In the dark...

No matter how far
Hark my friend, you’re a shining
Star.
Make a wish but selfless.
Tyler Lockwood Feb 2020
have the snails,
the owls,
the quiet and sleepy groundhogs
ever once complained
about something as wonderful
as the rain
simple write to remind me of the beautiful way of things
Graff1980 Aug 2019
Life is a nine to five
prison that no one
gets out of alive.

With the dirt brown doors
to the reflective wax floors
that janitors clean every night
after computers lock the building down,

and we fill up the cubicles,
dull gray squares were
we put the professionals
cause that is what they
went to school for.

Eight hours on and overtime,
a couple smoke breaks,
and an intermission for lunch,
but I got a sick hunch
that this groundhogs day
will take me straight
to my grave.

So, every morning
when I wake up,
I take my vitamins,
and drink my
vegetable gunk,
trying to be healthy
so, I can hit the gym,
and head right back in
to my personal work prison.
m Jun 2023
its midnight again and i've been staring at the darkness
the same thing like every night before
i come downstairs with every intention of starting
but why bother if its never worked before

the volume inside my head is astounding
as i sit in the quietest of rooms
i can't help myself from sabotaging everything
i can't help it, im a fool

its been years
the groundhogs day of thoughts race through my head
i come downstairs with the best of intentions
i can't help myself from sabotaging everything

i can't help it
Groundhogs day
2006-2024
These lines run parallel within inches
Or centimeters or
These poems reflect the past
Never ending never changing
Just shifted formats to show
The process I call aging
Lost context and definitions
Artistic expression turned wrong
Never created anything meaningful
No point in it all along
Focus on a feeling or emotion
Felt thousands of times before
These lines run parallel within centimeters
Or millimeters or
Give detail to one thing
Neglect any nuance
Forget complexity
Identify as a savant
Groundhogs day
2006-2024
My life runs parallel within millimeters
Changing nevermore

— The End —