"hares" poems
“We love the bunnies, for the bunnies, they hop.”
“We love them all day because they never stop,
…and we love ourselves, when we look inside;
...trapped with the bunnies on the hospital-side.”
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
Olwen grew after mid-winter's passing
the wind had sung her a child's name
she knew her time was now come
the man she picked was strong and wise
and she had seen his death was anigh
the great gift she would give him
a girl child she would carry, birth and teach
her first word would be the name of him
who was to fall in the cattle raid to Seisysllwg
no man to own her or claim her
Olwen mothered
a world of dreams
a world of knowing
she knew the seasons
and the schemes
of life growing
hares and foxes
would sleeep at her feet
enemies before her
would not fight but retreat
Olwen's way was of care and of love
her power of the earth and skies above
no denizens of dark and deepest hate
would stand her eyes that saw their fate
fast eye
clear sky
brown flash
passes by
beast or bird
we cannot see
good Olwen
watching over thee
The child came in the autumn months
gold- clad meadows bear the last of mother's bounty
as she came into the world scythes cut the last bushel
weak with the birth she carried the child
to the stone on plynlimon's east side
"let the source of the five feel the spirit of this child
carry her through her life with power and love..."
When Cariad was five she took her to the great marsh south of the Dyfi
and watched as the child threw her father's sword back to his spirit
further than any man could throw
ask not for power
for your arm
ask for strength
in your heart
ask not for dominion
over men
seek love
for the world
ask not for thyself
anything you
would not give
away freely
no shadows came to dwell in the hills and vales
where peace eternal dwelt with power of hearts
Olwen slept after one mid-winter's passing
She died when the spirits asked for her
Cariad bore her to the Plynlimon stone
where all wise women's bones will lie
The rivers remember her eyes
The trees remember her wisdom
The birds remember her song
The stars remember Her dreams
The Stones of Deheubarth
remember their Wise-Woman
when Moon and Sun rise
and the shadows flee
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:10 AM UTC
Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is’t to such an end
That I praise thy rareness!
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears,
And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
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uh-oh
You're too slow
didn't even see where the red ones go
wasting your eyeline on waves and hares
but the animals only go in by pairs
keep it moving, don't be late
you can't hide when there's too much on your plate
sweating like a cheddar in the midday sun
thinking too much for anything to be done
time trickles through your fingers like a leaking tap
the tide waits for no man so mind the ****** gap
load it up, baby, pose and pout
shake that *** and move it out
dance with the devil, run with the wolves
pride is the sin of he who falls.
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 2:24 AM UTC
My eyes search
the navy air
but are unable to
depict the
soft features of the rabbits
loping tentatively
through patchy glebe.
I wish it was spring with
bright white fruits.
Just ripe.
Not summer, because
in the summer we cloy
under the fat cream trees.
I want to see you,
and the wild hares,
but the twilight's
hiding
its secrets from us.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
I have loved you for so long,
October.
I have have heard your
Love song days
And I have seen
Your colours march through
The bright green of summer days,
Unnoticed.
I have learnt to love your authority,
Your soft spoken command,
And I follow because
I love you
Despite the melancholy
You bring with you.
Because I love you,
I love you,
October.
I love you with your tangled branches and barn owls,
With your cold trunks and fallen leaves,
With your empty nests and snow hares,
With your blackberries and marigolds,
I love you.
October
October
October
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 8:24 AM UTC
See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon
the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite
Ballad of Hamilton beginning—
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!
From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my “winsome Marrow,”
“Whate’er betide, we’ll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow.”
“Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, ’tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow’s banks let her herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downward with the Tweed
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
“There’s Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There’s pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow?
“What’s Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder.”
—Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn;
My True-love sighed for sorrow;
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!
“Oh! green,” said I, “are Yarrow’s holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.
O’er hilly path, and open Strath,
We’ll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.
“Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow,
The swan on still St. Mary’s Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There’s such a place as Yarrow.
“Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it:
We have a vision of our own;
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We’ll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we’er there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow!
“If Care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,—
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
’Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!”
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Efforts run a trickling stream and Good Intentions leap a head, Dedication fights the hardy fight
Lackadaisical rides the flow. Respite comes up fare, Desire strives ever forward, only few will
Make the race, but Doing lags behind. Effort holds up, slowing a tiny bit the end not yet in sight
Good Intentions has already died, Dedication surges toward the finish.
The finish line is not so far, Lacky fell off quick, Respite finds one or two, Desire is crawling, Effort
Is right behind, Dedication takes the easy way out. Doing is plodding, trudging up the hill, but, picks
Up Desire before it falls...Effort is gone, some laugh, laugh at the race, but winning is None the Less
with Doing and Desire right along.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.
Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.
Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.
Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.
Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
She sat outside the barber shop
In a silent plea
A statue blowing 2nd hand smoke
Into the faces that be
Almost threatening the men
To cut their white hares
The powerlines hissing as she glared
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
You were smiling in my heart today
quiet eyes spilling hints of your light
the footsteps you took left white jewels
as snowdrops arose with your passing
your soft calm soothed my fears
all things comes to pass and time cures all
the brush of your hand brings hope and new life
makes spirits soar repairs the hurt
your face will ever be beyond my touch
like the hares that dance at your feet
joyful as you herald the coming spring
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 5:01 PM UTC
I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Wish I was there, yet I got my hair.
Do I dare? Rogaine is rare
Wish I was there yet I still got eyes to stare
Do I dare? I lost my hair
Is that fair? I do not dare, where’s my hair?
A hare has my hair!
Come hare, hare with my hair
Do I dare? The hare has my hair
It is very fair, my hair how could the hare dare?
What shall I wear? Everything matched my hair
Will the hare dare, it has my hair and could wear what I wear
That is a fair hair it is wearing what I wear, it dared!
The mare ate the hare and my hair!
I cant hurt the mare, it is the mayor of the mares, and it dared!
it is fair, do I dare, the mare is a fair mayor, that’s rare.
It’s not fair to hurt such a fair mayor, yet it has my hair.
The mayor took my eyes that stare for my hair, now what can I wear?
The hare will share, Rogaine is rare but hares are fair
A fair hare for Rogaine and the mayor
Wish I was there, yet I got my hair and ransom for the mayor
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
in Scotland fair you must beware
the weathered moor at night
For it is said a thing of dread
hunts neath it's pale moon light
It's small and stout and loves to shout
and scare the tiny mice
It kicks the trees to wake the bees
because it is not nice
it runs amok through herd and flock
and makes the chickens fly
Then opens gates and shakes lose slates
and takes pigs from the sty
It up roots crops and spills the hops
and dances in the flour
Though rarely seen its really mean
and turns the fresh milk sour
It squashes flat each butter pat
and mixers wheat with grain
then ups and screams to spoil your dreams
and runs away again
The Haggis see is wild and free
and likes to cause such fun
Breaks traps and snares and frees the hares
and helps them to their run
The hunting hound that sniffs the ground
Will never find his scent
because he sweats sweet Vi-o-lets
to cover where he went
The Heathered moor and rains that pour
wash away his tracks
and he's not scared he is prepared
for haggis run in packs
With teeth and claws and snapping jaws
they are a sight to see
So think before you seek that moor
where they run wild and free
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
I walked among the seven woods of Coole:
Shan-walla, where a willow-hordered pond
Gathers the wild duck from the winter dawn;
Shady Kyle-dortha; sunnier Kyle-na-no,
Where many hundred squirrels are as happy
As though they had been hidden hy green houghs
Where old age cannot find them; Paire-na-lee,
Where hazel and ash and privet hlind the paths:
Dim Pairc-na-carraig, where the wild bees fling
Their sudden fragrances on the green air;
Dim Pairc-na-tarav, where enchanted eyes
Have seen immortal, mild, proud shadows walk;
Dim Inchy wood, that hides badger and fox
And marten-cat, and borders that old wood
Wise Buddy Early called the wicked wood:
Seven odours, seven murmurs, seven woods.
I had not eyes like those enchanted eyes,
Yet dreamed that beings happier than men
Moved round me in the shadows, and at night
My dreams were clown hy voices and by fires;
And the images I have woven in this story
Of Forgael and Dectora and the empty waters
Moved round me in the voices and the fires,
And more I may not write of, for they that cleave
The waters of sleep can make a chattering tongue
Heavy like stone, their wisdom being half silence.
How shall I name you, immortal, mild, proud shadows?
I only know that all we know comes from you,
And that you come from Eden on flying feet.
Is Eden far away, or do you hide
From human thought, as hares and mice and coneys
That run before the reaping-hook and lie
In the last ridge of the barley? Do our woods
And winds and ponds cover more quiet woods,
More shining winds, more star-glimmering ponds?
Is Eden out of time and out of space?
And do you gather about us when pale light
Shining on water and fallen among leaves,
And winds blowing from flowers, and whirr of feathers
And the green quiet, have uplifted the heart?
I have made this poem for you, that men may read it
Before they read of Forgael and Dectora,
As men in the old times, before the harps began,
Poured out wine for the high invisible ones.
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Drinking dandelion-and-burdock
til you drop
fighting over the does
punting your second burrow
over the first swallow
the first frost
Playing reynard-roulette
with the yearling foxes
out all night
winding up the hares
“big ears – can't dig”
Countless children
A sweetheart in every meadow
Old rabbits die hard
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 12:05 PM UTC
March hares light Her way through putti dawn
~fecundity spreading beneath bare feet~
as grey paschal masses embrace
rebirth.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
**☉The sun falls in November☉
☊ And won't rise until February ☊**
It's a sick feeling
◉ Total darkness ◉
⍤The pines whisper their worries⍤
☾ Aligned with the moon's shine ☽
Hungry winter bears
❄ And snow-white hares ❄
◗ Try to escape the night ◖
Being out in
⚇ The Last Frontier ⚇
《 All you hear is your breath 》
It's a quite sound
⌭ Snow-creak ⌭
You're left me out here in the cold
☆ But I decided to put my hopes on the stars ☆
There’s so many
So many that are bright
★ I think the dark ones are my favorite ★
◎ Your soul is a crystal sky ◎
✧ Lit from the North ✧
Dancing to a shifting melody
☪ Only broken out at midnight ☪
Changing your colors
To fit your light between my dark stars
***∬ Wavering ∬
§ Fluctuating §***
⊝ Undetected by most ⊝
␥ But those special few watch from the water ␥
⎊ They’re alone like me ⎊
Soon your shows slows
↡ And you fall asleep with the dawn ↡
⚰ Frozen tongues can’t taste your remains ⚰
∈ Nor can they converse with themselves ∋
My heart was left out in the cold
⚉ And it learned to love Alaska ⚉
⚖ Solitude and freedom go hand-in-hand ⚖
⚔ I'm not afraid of commitments ⚔
⚮ But I'm terrified that my heart won't have what it desires. ⚮
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
the poppies are selling moonlight on the street
as Hannibal is marching hares
through the Needle. again.
and again
no one laughing.
simply. no one.
II
in the real winter where the wind bites
and the snow corrodes '
we stick a pin in the blizzard.
we set jewels in the crowning achievement
of our disaster.
III
paint black our lanterns
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
There will always be an Autumn spat
where the cat foils the dormouse
and the Annual taster chocolate box
arrives as nonchalant
as the mysterious sender.
Sometimes I wish we were boxing hares
to really celebrate an outlet for renewed anger.
Munching on my bagels, i feel a pang of Hypocrisy.
I run fickle, planning out the chequered
season.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
Today I lost a dear friend.
She loved with unconditional love;
the type you can not buy or barter
she would instinctively know when I was near
and would wait patiently by the front door
a 6th sense beyond what we see or what we hear
what we think we heard or what we thought we saw.
She had golden hair with flecks of mottled brown
smiling eyes that knew friend from foe
loyally walk side by side
without fear in the darkest places
where ever we would go
I remember that time before;
id broken up with a girl of 5 years
she knew something hidden was very wrong,
although I hid the tears, let the feelings cower
she sat upon my legs, a paw on each shoulder
nestled her head into my neck
and hugged me for at least an hour
She was a lady of grace,
with the poise of pedigree
with an open heart for those close she loved;
her immediate family, close friends and me.
She would've made a winning frisbee catcher
that'll be the greyhound whippet in her genes
zig zag sprinting faster than the wind itself
hares and foxes was her excited prize
lay low among the undergrowth unseen
other than her piercing forever watching eyes
Yesterday, like any other day she dug for stones
chased her reflection on the water
and stood guard as we slept
little did we know the excitment of a fox to chase
would stop her heart and for hours after
my father, who kept his emotions in check,
was left speechless and bereft
as he uncontrollably wept.
Today I lost a dear friend,
a companion like no other
an amalgamated sense of loss,
like a sister from another mother.
Her last breaths, there are no words
to look upon her slowly glazing eyes
wrapped in a shroud and placed in a box
she will be sorely missed
departed from the ones she loved
to the land of the chasing fox;
muted words exchanged -
the last goodbye
the forever kiss.
Corrie
Rest in Peace
1999 - 2013
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
and some came up with this philosophy stemming from internet
usage pleading for anonymity,
but then someone decided - **** it, i want to have
a digital presence like i have a presence on the street -
and the phonebook needs updating in the globalised world -
this someone also thought about turtles among achilles hares;
this aside, something had to be kept from the 20th century living,
after all certain things retain this antique quality to them,
the sort of nostalgia i have in competition with the german romanticism
that focused its nostalgia on ancient greece... as far as my nostalgia goes,
it spans the years 1960s - 2007 / 8, and it’s alive, it’s organic,
you won’t have to go an see and touch the acropolis or enter
the sneezing room of a library with ancients texts.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
"Eating hares is an adaptation;
it provides convenient nourishment
and pleasant sensations:
why should I not consume you?"
You have only to look, he said,
into my wide-eyed, whiskered face
to see the adaptation
that would make you human.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Now I lay me down to sleep. It is near 2:00 P.M,Pacific time.
I pray the Lord my sleep to keep. Been tossing and turning a lot lately.
If I should Dream before I wake. No March Hares if you please.
I pray the lord my twitch to take. Restless leg syndrome.
Goodnight Insomniacs.
Late night surfers.
Medicated Jitterbugs.
Jet-lagged Travelers.
Partners of snoring bed mates. With or without earplugs.
Late night ruminators.
Wanna be fornicators.
See ya later Nocturnal alligators.
Inspiration is but a breath away.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
Oats, stay dry for fecunditys harvest, as Eostres' hares
bring pittu; Falling earthbound, in abundance.
Spring madness dawns;
Love, persists.
Once willowed, under Winter skies, **shed all
we've done before.**
Bringing warmth (sown a lifetime ago) to embrace
this thaw.
Watching our steps, across moss green floors; We dance
lingering in the sweetest meadows.Together,
under budding branches;
It's time...
Blossom, reflected upon dappled millpond;
Still.
- Dark glassed surface, gently rippling with undertone -
Can you hear the water paddles roar?
Will Springs' spirit guide you; With carnal lust abound,
trusting Her to save your oats from being;
Taken...turned out...
ground?
We,
with spare oats, heap
to powdered dust; Sifted, then refined...
Molded something beautiful, wholesome, yet devine!
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:40 AM UTC