"opossum" poems
Crows and corn chips, Squirrels and beer sips…
Lazy hammock and Hemming-way,
our rabbits mowing the grass today...
A nap under the advancing stars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Raccoons love the chicken bones,
everynight, a fox visits our home,
Fish guts and crab-leg shells,
opossum out there giving-‘em-Hell,
Casting corn and some bird seed,
for Mother Nature everything she needs,
God’s aces and a Wild Card!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Ohhh! In summer a Bar-be-que,
and you the prettiest girl I ever Knew!
Couple ‘o kids and a swimming pool,
mini-van and Cadillac-cool,
Love the beaches and mountains,
of Carolina and my country-kin,
Wouldn’t trade it for the whole of Mars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
our home, children and a dream of ours,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
I thank the Lord for your tender heart.
Our life amazing, though a, rough start,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Oo-oh -a paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
Our home and children; a dream of ours,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
I thank the Lord for your tender heart...
...a Paradise in our Backyard!
Some people say it’s just a yard,
...this paradise under the stars,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
you, me, children of ours.
Our home, children, a dream of ours,
I thank you Jesus for your tender heart;
Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Oooh -a paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
Our home and children a dream of ours,
Leo and Virgo, Aries and Mars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Praise Jesus and NAS-CAR!
You and me under the stars,
our home and children a dream of ours,
Leo and Virgo, Aries and Mars,
some people say it’s just a yard?
You and me under the stars
-and a Paradise in our Backyard!
*A Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!*
<musical break>
I love you,
heaven: Hea Anna
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
In a sunny spot resides a new bench.
It would be a perfect place to sit among the flowers
with children sitting at your feet
teaching them all that you know
about animals
about the great outdoors
from a time when they were experienced in person
not on the Discovery Channel
not on TV
You could read a book to them there too
like Wild Animals I Have Known
by Ernest Thompson Seaton
the naturalist.
You could sit quietly in the sunshine
and nurse an unfortunate animal back to health
like a Gecko
or turtle
or opossum
You could just sit
your Dunkin Doughnuts iced coffee in your hand
and take it all in
or let it all out
your choice.
But you never will do any of these things
on this bench in the sunny spot
among the plants
and flowers
and smooth river rocks painted in your honor
by the children to whom you are missed
because the bench is dedicated
with your name on it
in memory of you.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
I think of mom often.
Like when I read anything by Jack London
or Ernest Thompson Seton.
Her memory swirls around me when I see a dead opossum by the roadside
it reminds me of the one we had as kids.
Yes, we had an opossum.
It wasn't a pet as much as it was a wounded soldier,
convalescing in a field hospital close to the front and cared for by Florence Nightingale,
except the field hospital was our carport under a suspended Old Towne wood canoe,
the battle, with a Ford or Chevrolet, on the main road near our house in Connecticut.
Florence was Mom.
She peeks at me around corners in the kitchen when I make fish,
or soup,
because I hated fish as a child.
She made us eat it because it was healthy and the blocks of frozen Turbot were cheap
and she was a single mom at forty two with three hungry mouths to feed.
She tried to make me think it was exotic because it came from Iceland.
I thought Turbot was Icelandic for "more bones in your mouth than you ever thought possible".
Mom was, however, an accomplished homemade souper.
She's by my side as I explain wild things
to other little wild things which hang on my every word.
Words put into my head which make it seem,
to the under four foot set,
that I know everything.
Knowledge put there by her in our yard,
by the lakes of New York, the mountains of West Virginia or deserts of California.
She is in every frog that jumps, whippoorwill that calls or each stalk of Jewel ****
which is a cure for poison ivy by the way,
that grows near a stream in the woods.
But then today
as my daughter opened the overhead sunglass holder in her car for the first time,
the Subaru she inherited from Mom over a year ago,
and Grandma's sunglasses fell out,
there were no thoughts of lessons learned
or knowledge imparted.
Today,
I just thought of her.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
Let's boogie
in the electric synaptic light show club
called "Us."
Jackhammer legs quake the place
as everyone hums to the rhythms of their synchronized eyelids
and lungs pumping out golden dolphin breath.
Together copacetic drinks are raised and clinked
echoing like a hummingbird's wings shimmering in the afternoon sun,
Great Spirit, the bartender serves up a round on the house
of midnight snow owl whisky
for those ruminating Rumi and Hafiz's poetry,
the ones already beaming crystal quartz incandescence
from their heart and minds being present in the swaying
space that is the sacred spiral grouse dance.
Some peeps puff tree in the maui wowie mahogany lounge,
the prairie dog smoke carves the air
as these folks reflect and stare at their streams of consciousness
like a blue heron waiting for that third eye fish
for dinner.
The mirrors reveal our inner higher self children
of the moonrise kingdom building the iridescent
bridge to the rainbow road.
When when it's last call
we shall tiptoe home like drunken mice
stumbling up the melting sphere clock
to rest upside down opossum comfortably
giggling giggling thunderous heyoka whispers
into each other's shoulders
until the aquarian dawn.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
In day's prime, in summer's sweet eyelids,
Two lives arc, their eyes struggling to break a stare, sharing trysts through dulciloquent exchange,
After the deep blue blossoming lake. To avenge time, we sought it and drove our pupils
Down through the bluff and the green trees, limping past the arenose and albicant sands
Into it's quivering- I must say.
Hey fancy. You make me smile regularly,
I need you to know, because I don't always say so,
but if I didn't read what you write about
your interactions with life,
I'd definitely be not the half that I am of alive.
So thank you, from the perfume of my heart,
and the plastic that is my legs,
the opossum hair that makes me who I am,
and the light of my malaise.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the pollen is blinding, as the stems are dividing.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the vines are protecting, and the thorns are injecting.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the roots are now squealing, for they possess human feeling.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the Genesis 30:16 is no mistake, *** was traded for mandrake.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the magic lies in the blossom, feigning you just like an opossum.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the cloud now has you choking, for them you had to start smoking.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the petals are now closing, around you who's rigor frozen.
The flowers of evil are spreading and spreading,
the nectar just took your last breath, so enjoy the dance of death.
(Curt A. Rivard Sr.)
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
Sub-atomic particles
the atoms they form
molecules, cell organelles
cells, machinery of life
organs, organisms
communities and ecosystems
planets, solar systems, galaxies
galactic clusters and their inverse
black holes the doors to other
universes, a contradiction
in terms.
For language and its shadow
consciousness must hold matter
the material world snugly inside concepts
theories and hypotheses to be
experimentally verified using vision
and the other senses, collecting data
and interpreting the known facts
accumulated over time.
Can matter
exist without a consciousness to behold it?
Believing in
our mortality (the species)
we have created God
(a supreme being)
probably not carbon-based
to encompass every universe
but is God
inside or outside
consciousness? Can God
tell us what to do
or must we tell God
alone
what to do?
Here is ego
projecting personality, exerting force
on community, asserting the existence
and predominance of component DNA.
An already hackneyed theory that DNA
survival drives
procreation, personality, savings bonds
everything but poetry (most poems included).
Mustache, cowboy hat
horse whisperer, gulag master
Odysseus, King Lear
salvation in the details.
Yes, these personalities individual and interesting
as opossum, bear
oak and ash
beech nut, pine cone
Grand Canyon sandstone, Green Mountain granite.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
Opossum's in Vermont, Humph.
Ain't no kitty,
looks like Global Warming doesn't it?
Yup, it sure does poet.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
A giant has been messing
With me.
It played with my
Emotions
Like a cat toys
With a
Mouse.
When I hopped up
It knocked me down
With a flick of its
Finger.
I played opossum;
It picked me up
And patted my head
Gently.
When I forgave it
For hurting me,
It left me clinging
To the phone
Like a teenage girl
Waiting for her
Date.
It never showed
That night.
The next day
It delivered unapologetically.
Yet it stole my faith
When it
Departed.
I hate giants!
In retrospect,
I learned a giant
May be strong
And even have
A huge heart,
But on the flip side
It creates huge piles of
****
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Spring is sprung.
Clouds of maple.
Skies of pine.
Red in green.
Serviceberry understory.
Spring is sprung.
Skunk cabbage spathe.
Black birch sap.
Poplar flowers.
Opossum tires.
Spring is sprung.
Blackbird wing.
Wasps won't sting.
My father died.
Town meeting Monday.
Spring is sprung.
Sing cuccu!
There's no down side.
Infinite willow.
Leaning oak.
Spring and sprung.
Budding flame.
Budding thumb.
Cat claw.
Bird yolk.
Spring is sprung.
Dandelion
Shoots. Arrowhead
Roots. Waterproof
Boots. Old bed young.
Spring is sprung.
Ring and wrong.
Thank and thought.
Seed and sawn.
Wait and walk.
Spring is sprung.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
gritting teeth,
smiling through the hate and pain
thirst quenching rain like death
bleeding gums
sewn to dead flesh
my mind like a opossum on the side of the road
each fetter breaks
as a new one's bound
timely sickness dancing on the wind's breath
there's no escape,
no escape,
no escape
from the poison fumes
that gather in my house
silent, building pressure
til it leaks through the cracks in the walls
and kills us in our sleep
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 9:37 AM UTC
As the vanquished follicles of hair are combed by sheer elation
Much is exhumed; disinhumed into the wondrous voluminous light,
Like an opossum playing possum, we can be deeply artful, cunning,
Yet imaginable and stupendous; like a primitive golden crow in flight.
The physical has been constructed, intact with a substratal mental world
Inspiration is needed but often depleted with the conceited wealth its fed,
A mind with such grandilioquence the magniloquence lacks need to unfurl.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
You sure were in the moment
Monday when that opossum
Was laying on the garbage in
Your trash-day trash can, quite
An inconvenience when you're
Trying not to be late for work.
On Tuesday, you had a lot of
Questions for me when, on
Your commute, you saw that
Fawn lifeless on the side of the road.
Why is it that these moments
Make you present to me?
You come with doubting questions,
Ready to put me on trial
When every day I send you
Gifts of love even more
Real than the sting of death:
Did you notice the squirrel
Rushing back to her tree with
An apple the size of her head?
Could you see her there feeding
Her kits - born blind so they
Might learn to trust their maker?
Which reminds me, did you notice
The geese that flew over your head
While you were riding bicycles
With your wife? Were you listening
Carefully enough to translate their
Honking conversation? I remember
They were considering where they
Might stop to rest for the night.
After all, it is a long journey to their
Snowbird mansion - Hole number
Seven at Pinetree Country Club.
Are you present enough to notice
All the beauty, all the glory I've
Squeezed inside your every day life?
Open your eyes for a moment,
Unlock your ears and listen.
I promise you'll see the
Facets of who I really am.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
I'm a ******* wreck.
Call the Captain, his ship's hit shore harder than anyone expected.
There are times when I don't want to break up lines;
I think it's more poignant as a whole.
Hole
Heart-shaped
Boxing belongings
Following the followers of the followed
Allotting allowances for the anonymous
I have books overdue
And talks long past stale
We could stay up for eternity, and not touch... and I'd be fine.
I'm slowly realizing how much I don't want ***
Not that it's not a desire,
Don't misconstrue
I just don't seem to need it as much as you, or you, or you
Call it implausible impossibilities
Dear Billy the Opossum
I'm watching over shoulders
That are not my own
Sitting in abandon cabins
Crying for home
And with every red streak on my face
Is another mistake I'm attempting to erase
Suicide sounds best in depressive tonalities
If I played the xylophone would you still be proud of me?
I'm loved for reasons unknown
And spiritual for reasons I don't speak of
Intimacy
A part of me
I'll soak you in
Like fine atmosphere
Or finer wine
I'm white carpet
You are Pinot noir
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
Walking the surrealistic byways of creative bliss
Through Cat hair grass within the fingerling forest ...
Good morning to Uncle White Pine , to my Cousin Brown Thrasher reading my mind ! To red rosy clay and chipper Mr. Soapstone , to Mayflies granting wishes and Chattahoochee crawfishes ...
The Gulf breeze telegraphing the wonderment of forest song with love
for all .. To the playful King Sun hiding behind the cloud bank to the
old gray Opossum hanging upside down , bluffing sleep on a lonesome Cherry branch .. Warm wishes fill my dreams while picking tea cups from a 'Story Tree' , each with a serving dish , hot refreshments and lively conversation with a well read ****** , a witty Fox , a Woodpecker poet and a guitar picking Catfish ..
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
May a hex befall this yard grubbing , bedeviling varmint called Armadillo . Your nothing but a Virginia opossum in tankers armor , and I've rock salt in my shotgun this evening to tan your tin-can , little bottom !!
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Blackberry blossom and glorious Honeysuckle vine
Dark green Ferns and scented Loblolly Pines ...
Brush , briar thickets reducing visibility to arms reach
An Ole grey Opossum high atop a Cottonwood Tree ..
Thick floors of pine needles and knee high wild grasses
Yellow Locust , green grasshoppers flying in advance on stair -step hillsides leading into chilly Walnut Creek ...
Sandbars filled with quartz and mica , glistening between the 'Brick red clay cliffs' as far as you can see downstream ..
Painted turtles and Blue Herons , Cottonmouths and Black Racers ..
The music of life at every turn , every ripple of water , swaying River Birch ..
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Au rendez-vous des assassins
Le sang et la peinture fraîche
Odeur du froid
On tue au dessert
Les bougies n'agiront pas assez
Nous aurons évidemment besoin de nos petits
outils
Le chef se masque
Velours des abstractions
Monsieur va sans doute au bal de l'Opéra
Tous les crimes se passent à La Muette
Et cœtera
Ils ne voient que l'argent à gagner Opossum
Ma bande réunit les plus grands noms de France
Bouquets de fleurs Abus de confiance
J'entraîne Paris dans mon déshonneur Course
Coup de Bourse
La perspective réjouit le cœur des complices
Machine infernale au sein d'un coquelicot
Ils ne s'enrichiront plus longtemps C'est à leur
tour
Étoile en journal des carreaux cassés
Je connais les points faibles des vilebrequins
mes camarades
On arrive à ses fins par la délation sans yeux
Le poison Bière mousseuse
Ou la trahison.
Celui-ci Pâture du cheval de bois
Je le livre à la police
Les autres se frottent les mains
Vous ne perdez rien pour attendre
Il y aura des sinistres sur mer cette nuit
Des attentats Des préoccupations
Sur les descentes de lit la mort coule en lacs
rouges
Encore deux amis avant d'arriver à mon frère
Il me regarde en souriant et je lui montre aussi
les dents
Lequel étranglera l'autre
La main dans la main
Tirerons-nous au sort le nom de la victime
L'agression nœud coulant
Celui qui parlait trépasse
Le meurtrier se relève et dit
Suicide
Fin du monde
Enroulement des drapeaux coquillages
Le flot ne rend pas ses vaisseaux
Secrets de goudron Torches
Fruit percé de trous Sifflet de plomb
Je rends le massacre inutile et renie
le passé vert et blanc pour le plaisir
Je mets au concours l'anarchie
dans toutes les librairies et gares.
660
She was a hideous
Animal
With a long snout
And sharp stained teeth
She crept quickly
In the darkness
Hissing at passerbys
Dragging her rat tail
Through filthy streets
She crossed right in front of me
Turned and hissed
I liked her
We had a lot in common
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
U ever feel the pieces of ur puzzle falling apart as the picture changes?
U ever feel the timelines cross and snap when things come full circle?
Nothing is or ever was coincidence and if something happens in your life u ride the wave and wait for the judges score, and tear wont turn back time or Christmas would still be at my grandparents house and high school wouldn't be an ever swirling blur flushed down the toilet of time to be lost in the sewers of nostalgia.
I don't know why I never end up making people as happy as I wish I could.
I wish the opossum scratching much ceiling would share some wisdom with a young and stupid human who has no idea what to do with the gift of sentience, every intention to make his gift of time worthwhile but he's not sure which direction to start throwing Spears when on every side there is a demon of his doing he must come to terms with
His house of cards came to be built of jokers, and the land he built his fortune on became plagued with mold and greed, his fortune flew away in search of richer soil and warmer sunlight, and birds with softer voices and bees with sweeter honey.
AND once it's spent it will settle gently Into the cradling arms of earth once and for all.
The ocean has always been the only thing I felt really accepted me, nothing to say but hello, and off my back with the ease it got on it. I feel that I need it's breath aND it's touch or else I'm part of myself.
I think If ever I lose hope I'll lose myself in the ocean, aND hopefully with something to look for I'll know which direction to head.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
the shadow puppets line up
behind my eyes
the badger smoothly strolls
on two legs
the opossum moves
claws first
the raven hops
corner to corner
a place of childish whimsy
of jagged, jointed movement
a stage of handless puppeteers
not so much a dream but
a backlit brain
setting up the stage
quickly
a dry run
curtains up
break a leg
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Hey, grandpa. Well, technically, great grandpa but who has time for that many words? My hearts runnin' on empty, you see, and you know a thing or two about hearts. Do you know what time it is? If Marguerite heard me on the phone, she'd have my head. Well, let me just tell you, I haven't heard from my best friend in a month. I'm starting to think ill never be able to feel my fingers again. I'm really starting to think that I'll never be able to tell pink from gray again. I'm starting to see ghosts, grandpa. They're these big, melting wax figure, mummified soldier, lighthouse-eyed things. They smack the air with the scent of carrion and roll in the smashed jaws of a mother opossum, snaggle-toothed roadkill no one mourns. Their eyes drip puddles on the floor. You'd know something about this, right? 1943, does it ring a bell? Hey, no. You can't hang up. You're the only one who's seen this type of ghoul. If you heard the way their voices overlap and churn like the great belly of the ocean, you'd see where the twang of my heartstrings echoes. You need light, candelabras, great fire places, the first four light bulbs Edison ever spoke into existence. The sun will rise and set again, but UV light only can reach so deep under our apostate skin. Watch as the universe burns itself into place, and keeps you in the eye of all of it. I felt the subtle ghost of my hands plunge deep into my chest, and find my heart a new home.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Medicine is all relative.
The trick is to find something that makes you feel okay by the end of the day.
I think I've found one that works well,
(with a slight side-effect of sometimes making the next one a living hell.)
But I've found an antidote for this problem:
Bacon, eggs, toast and coffee.
Though I can't have more than three or else I'll get all jittery,
and start saying really weird things,
which may drive me to self-medicate a little more the following night.
You know, just to feel alright about all of the weird things I may have said and end up regretting later on.
Luckily, there are medicines that can erase regretful memories,
but you probably shouldn't have more than six of these,
or else some really weird things may start happening.
Like remembering where you parked the opossum car in that one dream you had when you turned thirteen,
while forgetting that today is your nephew's fourth birthday.
Here, I got you this.
"Hey, I don't think that's really an appropriate gift."
"What do you mean? I would've been thrilled to've my own taxidermied bobcat's head when I was six."
"There're so many things wrong with that sentence that I don't even know where to begin."
Medicine is all relative.
Subjective, if you will.
If what works for you doesn't work for them,
well then, who gives a ****
We've all got our own illnesses to deal with.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
A beautifully coated
Fat raccoon
That didn't make it
Across the long lonely stretch
Of Gaffey Street
Behind the petroleum refinery
The tongue hanging in eternal horror
Eyes dangling from the skull
It made me sick
When we were kids we found a
Rotten opossum on the
other side of town
The upper class,clean,quiet part
We poked at it with sticks
Flipped it over
The other side soggy with death
There were maggots crawling out of
It's eye
It made me sick
All the guys said
**** She's fine!" When she
Passed by
Yes, she had quite an ***
A body that tempted Christ
And left the devils in agony
You could see it in her walk
The guys said "She has beautiful
eyes
Hazel/green/grey
They change colors in the light"
I hadn't noticed
So I took a look
Her gaze was abandoned
Floating meaninglessly
In a forever unknown
Space
And then she opened her mouth...
It made me sick
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC