"jackrabbit" poems
Outside the miner's shack Joshua trees stand silent vigil,
expecting his imminent return, or perhaps his ghost.
Horn silver, weathered by rainwater from volcanic rock,
no longer strews fallow ground to lure the miner back.
In lieu, small succulents feed tortoise and jackrabbit,
replace the metal which only men could value.
Nevada gains a confluence of life in the exchange,
dry-lake flora and fauna bartered for chlorargyrite.
Barren mountains surround this desolation,
where nothing more than fungi lie in vapid dissipation
before the relentless punishment of the sun,
a lattice-work of valleys dissecting their *****
I ventured here to purge my body of poisons,
exhale the vapors and biles of city living,
to rid the alien presence in my mitochondria,
and let it go the way of Silver State.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
We started out with Armistead
from the shelter of the trees.
A jackrabbit raced past to the rear,
no dumb bunny was he
The heat rose up to meet us
As we started up the rise-
The prospect of the copse of trees
Before us was the prize.
The flower of Virginia here
displayed upon Parade
We must have looked magnificent
Just before the cannonade
They piled on Double Cannister
and tore holes in our line
We staggered from the weight of shot
that fearful hissing whine..
Then enfilading fire came
From the Yanks behind stone walls
Just then post fences six feet high
briefly caused our charge to stall
Brave **** Gannett was unhorsed
Upon this very spot
Kemper, wounded mortally,
Was retrieved from shell and shot
We made it past the final fence
And up the grassy knoll
Defiant in the cannons mouth
"Turn those guns!" I'm told.
But at that very Moment
General Armistead was downed
The attack lost its momentum
Our wave crested on high ground..
The blue bellies yelled Fredericksburg
As the Crimson tide retraced
Half in Anger, Half in relief
that the challenge had been faced.
The hill before the copse of trees
Pocked with our dead and dying
While the remnants of Picketts men
Towards Longstreets line were filing
Matthew Brady took my photograph
before I was led away
My face a study in defiance
A true man of the gray.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
Little jackrabbit heart
Jackhammering at this brittle bone cage
Salty tears from all parts
Looking for answers on an unmarked page.
Beating back fear with a big stick
Timid, mouse voice tries to squeak
The words of a lioness. Oh why did you pick
The littlest songbird with her bound beak?
Little squirrel darts off, afraid.
After a struggle to stand on shaky legs,
The tiniest foal gave up and laid
In the soft hay. Sweet little dog begs
On the back porch ( liquid scared, scary eyes).
Let me into your heart, let me into your home!
Caged bird becomes freebird of open skies
Dipping low to touch the ocean's foam.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 10:08 PM UTC
I hit a Jack Rabbit going sixty or seventy five,
I turned off the radio,
I was on the road for 18 hours already,
thats when shadows come alive,
I never hit anything before,
never killed anything that big.
When I was 14, I lived in Kansas, Kansas city granted,
but Kansas all the same.
We would go to my friends farm,
he owned enough guns for a small militia,
mostly shotguns.
There were 3 of us, with three scatter killing booms.
We would rake the fields to flush anything out,
crickets,
grasshoppers,
we hoped for ducks or quail
(I only pretended too, I wasn't sure then if my ***** really dropped)
and we would shoot,
Sometimes for the noise,
other times for the show.
I never killed anything.
On the way back home I saw a little chickadee perched high in a tree,
I shot,
and he fell.
"Nice one man!"
I ran over, hiding my tears, and buried him.
I got out of there as soon as I could, Kansas that is,
I was stuck at the farm.
Eight years later and I'm still not sure about my *****
This time I didn't bury him.
I like to think it was male,
for some reason that lessens the pain.
I don't know if I crushed the life out of him quickly,
I imagine it was slow,
toturing myself with every detail as my retribution.
Made a nice thump though.
I could feel his delicate body even through the tire the shocks and the rest of the parts between me and his ****** corpse.
Softer than a speed bump.
Why did Dorothy ever go home.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
I'm missing the smell of sunscreen splattered in white blotches across my wind chapped cheeks, that will soon blend in with the snow
I'm missing the three layers of socks I yank on and stuffing my boots with shakeable hand warmers because my toes always freeze
I miss the sound of heel toe heel toe heel toe as the hard plastic boots click against grated metal stairs down to the buses
I miss the smell of hot chocolate and barbecue in the air and snow flurries tenderly kiss my face floating downwards
I miss the sound of the chair lifts thud thud thud and clicking my skis together to shake off the fresh powder that has accumulated
I miss the sound of my poles hitting each other accidentally, and the dots they make in fresh champagne powder between the glades
I miss the feeling of relief when I ski into the four points lodge by sunshine peak and grab a cafeteria trey and get my usual macaroni and cheese
I miss the feeling of watching snow flurries melt as they land inside my hot chocolate that tastes cheap and watery but so warm
I miss singing songs on the lifts, especially the quads, and deciding which runs to do next, black blue or green?
I miss saying mountain words like "elk head, jackrabbit, slopes, hockey stop, sunshine express, morningside, storm peak, thunder- head" the list goes on
I miss feeling completely at home in a helmet, huge goggles, fleece chilis and a ski jumper
I miss Steamboat, I miss skiing, I can't wait for this year.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Dusk.
The black of undermaintained asphalt
in a ribbon rolling over
the volcanic hills,
the yellow of the centerline
flashing into view and passing beneath
in a rhythm,
like a heartbeat.
Jackrabbit on the shoulder
***** his head and springs
away from something in his imagination,
following the yellow dashes
in an awkward gait,
a single bold jump
followed by twenty yards of
dead sprint.
Not eight feet overhead
a pair of nighthawks bob and flutter
erratically
but following one another in
pursuit
of something I cannot see.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
My mind keeps forgetting
how to breathe right
For while others air go
In and out
out and in
In a simple function of normality
Mine falters a lot of the time
Turns my voice into wheezing gasps
The dead could speak better than I
My lungs squish into a tiny box
In the center of my chest
Causing a volcanic eruption of pain
It is a very similar feeling to my heart
Which thumps and clamors
At a speed unknown to humanity
The pace of a jackrabbit heart
whose cotton little tail's on fire
Until it simply feels like it
pops
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 9:18 PM UTC
When you're around, my heart beats fast like a jackrabbit.
I can't stop smiling.
I chew on my nails.
I can't take my eyes off you.
When you touch me, my whole body tingles, like there are worms in me.
I get butterflies in my stomach, just like how I feel when I go on a roller coaster.
My toes curl.
All the hairs on my body stand up.
I giggle like a little girl.
When you kiss me, I'm in a whole different world.
I feel like a magnet, my lips can't resist yours.
It makes me so happy that I have you.
I want you to hold me forever.
I never want it to end.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
A-Ooga Tioga
Sky, mountain and mist rise
with morning breath
It’s crisp until coffee goes in
but no bother for that
instead, searching for sun, kept out of sight
figuring which way is east
Which way is yonder?
still, more you might ponder
As you sink into the lap of Tioga valleys
cradled by ash and oaks
fields of daisy mixed with rye and wheat
spread at your feet
like wedding dress of Mother Nature herself
She says softly:
“Pssst, hey you
Don’t put on those shoes
tiptoe way across my seedy crinolines
lie upon me
Sink in insubstantiality with me
as I draw
rays and beams, beyond
some twenty rolling hills
In our for all future time horizon
you may still be dreaming
indulge yourself in my verdant fantasies
**** up this morning with me
This is Appalachian reverie
hear me like little turkey gobbling
dance with doe and fawn
chase jackrabbit
round and round
Why, even the silos are singing
“Pour me a cup” ”
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
The only question
Echoing in my head
I guess I'll never know
Because I never acknowledged
What I had before
Even this cold heart
Wishes to cry
My mind just keeps reeling
Hoping to find out
What the hell have I done
I let you slip
Right through my closed fingers
But I knew it was meant to happen
The faint image
Was meant to disappear
My hatred for love
Clouded how I really felt
To the one person
That understood everything about me
What the hell have I done
You got away from me
Like a jackrabbit at midnight
I just wont find another
You were all I wanted
I just wanted you to be happy
I thought not once
When I decided
That you were better off
Without me in your sights
But know sorrow I can't drown
It's overwhelming me
I can't sleep it away
It has a mind all its own
What the hell have I done
You're just another ghost
I curse myself now
For being so stupid
Yet I know
Deep down
You really are better off
These walls are closing in
Telling me how stupid I am
For not trying just a little harder
What the hell have I done
Is all I can think about
I let you vanish
Into unknown land
But I'll see you soon
Someday, maybe one day
We'll cross paths again
But it's not enough
I know it's not
I can really say it now
But it's too late
Goodbye and farewell
What the hell have I done
My tongue keeps getting twisted
My eyes are vacant
My chest a hollow shell
Of what once was
I lucked out
But better yet I lost out
I'm a mess
You're not the monster
I am
What the hell have I done
**** it all to hell
I'll dine with the devil
I'll sell my soul a million times
Yet I'll still never know
I'm just a being
That deserves to die
If I say those words
I was afraid to say before
Maybe they will clear the list
No use is it now huh
You're already with him
I really lost you forever
But that wasn't the last poem
You have for me and you know it
You want to curse me
You want to break me further
I'll tell you this now
Go for it
And maybe then I will know
What the hell I have done
My body decays
Even more rapidly
My sanity
Lost at birth
Lost again when you wrote those words
We're not done
You know we're not
Those eastern winds
Will blow again
And bring your cries to me
What the hell have I done
Please tell me the answer
But you wont
You'll let me go mad
I'm just not worth it
Yoy killed my
Not the metaphor
But literally killed me
When You said
''My last poem to you''
Ha-ha it's funny
Because I thought
You already wrote it
What the hell have I done
By letting you go
I watched it all
My sweet painful torture
Shame you'll never read this
It's just another goodbye poem
That I wrote drunkenly to you
Here are the words
Read them close
The meaning is infinite
But they are true
I LOVE YOU!
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:16 PM UTC
tookie winfeild was a friend of mine
from way on back down the way
back in my river days
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
ole tookie could talk a mile a second say nothin at all
ole tookie was as crazy as a jackrabbit in heat and twice as slick
used to see that ole codger strolling on the avenue
with some young honey on his arm
carefree as sin and twice in its debt
yes sir...ole tookie was a friend of mine
back in the day we ran that river
like it was our private playground
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
both barrels for the lookers
and a bottle of shine for the sippers
yes sir back when i was young that river was ours
they found old tookie winfeild up on the river
frozen to death in the dead of night
took to drinking up there by his lonesome
and shouting at the moon
aint no good ever come from no crazy man
least thats what they say
but old tookie was allright
in his own crazy way
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
he was a friend to many a poor boy
down the old river way
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
on the day of the double funeral I stand
waiting for the rest of me to die,
I am that I am but I harbor a bad disease.
i should be anywhere and be doing anything other
than what i am.
because before Abraham was i am
standing in the empty quarter
reading a funeral manual on the
day of the double sky burial.
i’m poisoned off my pouch of yesterday’s mana.
gums are bleeding this is yesterday’s daily bread.
men cannot live off bread alone
and the jackrabbit horde is coming home
our own locust plague for a new Sahara.
i stand with a hangman’s fracture
lost on the old sermons in the sand.
following my family’s footsteps sadly in the wrong direction,
lost among the marking rocks.
snow leopards of the black blizzard and
my poison pouch of mana.
drowning in the fires we cook a stray dog
reaping all the whirlwinds I sound a 12 foot Tibetan horn
on the day of a double funeral -
perched in the dwelling of the solitude.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 1:05 PM UTC
We climb the stars
Make honey in our hearts
Mad as a jackrabbit
We leap into dark holes
Walk among winged creatures
Quiver in our skins
And swear that we can fly
Feather-light on love alone
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 5:00 PM UTC
Who breaks hearts anymore? Break mine. Conversation is not my strong point. Nor is quality poetry. But here I am, nevertheless. Peering over the chasm that separates legit poetry from the ravings of a lunatic. Slapping it down as if it were the former on a website, a deadsite, devoted to the highest art in all it's levels of quality. Listening to an old Steve Forbert record and not caring that no one who reads this will have a clue to who Steve Forbert was and especially with why I'm listening.
But you oughta know
It's a necessary ingredient in Brutal Juice
You ever heard of Romeo?
He never sang to Juliet
I'd let you know why but there are too many prying eyes spying trying to find themselves in the Juice's style and besides this ain't about Romeo just his tune and that's what keeps me going back to Jackrabbit Slim
No, tossing in obscure references does not elevate it to the level of quality poetry
I've tried that enough times to know
Sad fact is Brutal Juice flatters himself to type such dreck into a text field for to post on such a regal Internet destination for poetry that ranges from the silly to the sublime
Brutal Juice hovers somewhere between those poles
All the while wondering
Why he bothers
He's a joke without a punchline but funny as hell for all that at least to the few who sit in the same bathtub
Who rub-a-dub in the same Juice
Orange Simpson, rotting away behind concrete walls
And Brutal Joyce, retired and misunderstood
Yes, maybe only the three of us
It will hurt my feelings if you pull your snob **** peanut butter tude on me because you are a foreigner with an ever-so-subtle difference in vernactitude. My spell check tells me that "vernactitude" is not an actual word and that's just great, it's exactly what I was looking for.
Look deep but not too deep and you'll possibly find something worth keeping from Brutal Juice but I don't guarantee it. It's worth a
Try
I ain't trying to be King Fool here, that position is already taken, but it's **** hard to write and listen to Steve Forbert at the same time...
....and don't nobody tell me to choose one or the other....
that's not how I roll
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Sitting alone
To my own thoughts
One topic
Becomes thousands
Fluxing about
At the speed of sound
Memories flashing
An aching in my chest
A gripped, compressed heart
A light
Dwindling
Scarcely able to survive
Running out of oxygen
Flickering in and out
I walked on a tightrope
Then
I saw another
A creature of beauty and grace
Running across their own
Then tripping
Swinging to fall,
But their feet remaining on the rope
Awestruck, I attempted to speak
Finding myself unable to utter a word
A bird unable to use its beak
Then
Discovering a voice existed
I used it
Reached out
Made a friend
In time
A partner
Soon, I realized I was able to run across
Just as they had
Able to soar
Fall for a moment
But come back
Somehow still upon my weary feet
But given new strength and determination
A motivation
Thanks to my love
Heart beating at the speed of a jackrabbit
Cheeks the pigment of roses
Soul tied to the other end of a red thread
Feeling something so familiar
Possibly meant to be
His hair is
November tree bark
The tree I sit under
My mask thrown asunder
My true colors show brighter
As he takes me in his arms
Branches of a strong oak
Leaves softer than a kittens fur
Voice like that of a divine
Spilling symphonies into my ear
Still I sit here
With all I hold dear
Awaiting for time to pass
And for him to be near
There
Before my eyes
My memories dance
Take me into a trance
A vision of rapture
O what ecstasy
Moments of roses
Moonbeams pirouetting
Orchestra playing
Just for two
Under the full moon
Stars glistening in their wonder
A butterfly fluttering in my heart
The zoo escaped in my stomach
Flowers upon my face
Over them is lace
As I am in your sweet embrace
- Jay M
October 31st, 2019
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 1:07 PM UTC
To taste the red burst of rippened tomatoes
that catch a summer's glee whose
shouts run down airconditioned malls of daffodils
to reach butterscotch ends
To catch naive dewdrops on their final wave
-- gleeful regardless of their fleeting demise
on leaffy budettes as they hitchhike on blushing shins
that touch for just a second
To receive the cricket's call
and hang on their every word like
how the stars do on the night sky velvet
hung taut to stop the dreamer's upward freefall
To reverbrate down hymns
and ***** pipes whose rust subdued
by caramel oaken spirits and
cigars rolled with rebellion
To watch the twinkle of eyes
that unroll before me cinemated
like the rhythmic popping of corn seeds
and the anticipation of childlike hands
To surf the last yawn and sigh
whose ebb and flow crash on
pristine beds -- that soothes and prickles the ears
where the mind remains calm and restless
To sit with 4am and drink
tea or coffee (whichever it desires)
and have hours of conversation before
its teary depature
To the pilgrims' call of the first train
The satisfaction of staying vigil
simmers in the insomniac's stovetop
that seems to be low on gas
The need of slumber seems trivial at most
for dreaming has never known the diffrence
between being awake or asleep
or could this just be my mind that flurries
like jackrabbit thumps and heffalump nightmares
and honey dripping down my boyish chin
and mother napkins and lush lullabies
that whisper "go to sleep"
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
I am the jackrabbit on two legs
The half moon hanging overhead
The eerie branches in the dead of night
And the midnight snack
On which you wish you might just be able to bite
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
I watch as the sun sets
ceramic shadows cast
on the valley
waiting to be shattered
The headlights shine
dispersing darkness
caliche road
shines like a porcelain dream
Rolling gravel sparkles
quail and cottontails
scatter on my approach
jackrabbit zig zags in front of me
Starlight now
primordial night
the animals prowl
ancient memories sparked
Nights power prompts
fear, excitment and lust
my awareness drifts
becoming one with the night
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
You can stand on both feet all you want to
But nothing changes till you run for your life
The actions amidst the want for consistency
Realizing change rarely comes without strife
You can look to the horizon to your heart’s content
But it’s only a dream unless you race for it
Dreams remain dreams when dreamers aren’t doers
The ground feels the beating feet of the jackrabbit
Nov 5, 2021
Nov 5, 2021 at 12:10 PM UTC
You are red flowers
you are the red leaf off the tree on the hard brown mulch
you are the red blood that flutters through the mitral valve prolapse
in my jackrabbit heart
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
you’re like a meal/
hide, minstrel of my body's fable.
hide from me and i’ll count to ten.
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 9:43 AM UTC
hide and seek in the belly of Great Snake. moonshine brewed by an alias. boiled tongue of a favorite calf. mushroom, snorted. belly, found. alias, poison. burial, shroud. fever. water in the belly of Great Snake. crop circles in the belly of Great Snake. no, i am not well.
Jan 1, 2023
Jan 1, 2023 at 12:00 PM UTC
I was fifteen,
Jersey boy, displaced
from green suburbia
to a sagebrush sea.
I tried to drop my accent,
got a job at a horse ranch
shoveling ****
wore cowboy boots.
Finally made a friend
in that dirt road valley,
taught me to sideways slide
and countersteer,
joyriding his mother's car
down rough roads
we shouldn’t be on,
sparks flying,
rocks bouncing
off the undercarriage.
And he had guns too,
pistols and rifles.
We hiked up into the hills,
shot at rusty
abandoned cars,
empty beer cans
or anything
that crawled
slithered or hopped.
Killing that jackrabbit
was a lucky shot.
I got him right through the eye
with a 22, on the fly,
just for fun.
We laughed
and high fived
as that black crater
in his head
did not stare at us
from the dusty ground.
I was in.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
the
demon
wants
to
undress
me
slowly
.
this
is not
a
body
thing
Dec 15, 2022
Dec 15, 2022 at 9:41 AM UTC