"groundhogs" poems
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.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
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.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
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
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 11:55 AM UTC
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.*
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:29 PM 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
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.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
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.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
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
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
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.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
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
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
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.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
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.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
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.
Dec 28, 2019
Dec 28, 2019 at 10:11 AM UTC
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?
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
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?
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 11:53 PM UTC
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
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
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!
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC