"possums" poems
I sit at the bar of life
Looking forward to happy hour
Another beer
A solicited romance
Something
Even a bowl of peanuts that never came
How I yearn for conversation
Warmth
I can only dream
Seated a few chairs away
Is a rainbow haired hillbilly
Backpacking possums
Gees
Can you imagine
He said he lives under
The outskirts of ****** land
He smiles
I smile
I catch a bee from behind
As the bartendress walk by
My eyes look at her behind
And catch honey
My claim to fame
Oh how I wish I were a bee
And had somebody
Like the rainbow haired hillbilly
That tends under the outskirts of ****** land
I look over at him
He's always smiling
Maybe it has something to do
With playing a fiddle and finding music, finding new paths
Goats and milk
And backpacking possums
Or maybe its sublime
Oh, how I wish I could smile
Feel warmth
Sunshine
And look into her peering eyes
Logan Robertson
7/16/18
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
ANZAC CHUMS AND THEIR MUMS
In Oz the possum grinds on thorn and gum
Far too stretched to visit mum -
Things are hard outback of Bourke
And there’s no time for anything but work.
But Kiwi possums like to visit ma
With flowers for her crystal jar -
They’ll even take a shopping bag of buds
With some greens and beans and spuds.
In Oz the possum is protected
As indeed might be expected -
Beset by fires and drought and prickles
And parched out creeks that slim to trickles.
But Kiwi possums are heaven sent
To slurp and scoff to heart’s content -
When they dine they have the best
And not surprisingly are deemed a pest.
In Oz a treasure - in NZ an imported glitch
There are mixed opinions either side the Ditch –
Mum’s the word on making possums able
To visit home with veggies for the table.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
This pond is where I will die,
Squandering in owl hours to ****
Still, the Ducks swim by.
The blue moon is a Julia Dragonfly
Haunted by a lethal, green dream thrill.
This pond is where I will die.
Threadbare Marauder Rooks squawk a cry,
The stickleback flakes its dithering gill.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Importunate possums chase ducks to comply,
How could my moon mother be so ill?
This pond is where I will die.
Bluebirds deflate their keels with a sigh,
I gravitate towards their beauty, I am still.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Aureole Sirius tip toes the sky,
Nimbus withers, Kamikaze men shrill.
This pond is where I will die.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
in my child's eye...
it is possible,
for a frog, to choose to fly.
a dog to dance and
cats to swim.
it is possible,
to build a castle,
up into the sky.
to converse with stars.
for elephants to drive,
tiny cars.
it is possible,
that the world,
is without sin
and washed clean,
each morning,
which is to be met
with an insouciant grin.
it is possible,
to befriend the child
you just met....
no matter what creed
or colour.
it is possible,
to forgive
and live,
without regret
and to sleep
at night
without any stress.
it is possible,
at that age,
to know ....
a dollar found upon
the sidewalk,
is a treasure
of great proportions,
if made into,
lollies and shared,
with friends.
it is possible...
that fish can write stories
and possums delight
it is possible to count
a monkey as a friend.
it is possible to ride
kangaroos and
adventure to Timbuctoo
it is possible,
to love spaggetti
as much as your mother.
to make the new kitten,
your brother.
it is possible,
to love your dad
even when he is silly
or mad...
all this is possible...
....and much more
when you are just,
one year, past four...
...and you have a
sunny, lovable disposition
and the world has yet to
find the time, to revise
the freedoms of your amazingly beautiful mind...
it is possible....
and in many ways
so very probable...
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Here’s to girls who laugh at your jokes
And don’t want you to **** yourself.
Here’s to the grind, and all it’s soul-sucking.
Here’s to weasels, and
Possums and rodents of all sorts.
Commence, the hallucinations of
Cream-colored wheat fields, and
Their straw guardians,
Harkening to the inept and
The inadequate, to try their product.
It’s why their older stuff is better,
It’s why the alternative is the standard,
Because you’re too **** much
Like everybody else,
And inside, it’s killing you.
Like every spelling mistake you
Forgot to correct, and every
Fallen soldier, with pop-top wounds,
Whose blood, you never lapped up.
Buzz-to-Buzz.
You can’t play the victim, when you’re
Already the villain.
And the “S” on your chest doesn’t
Stand for your name.
You can try, but anyone with
The good decency to wear
Sunglasses can see through you.
And then the acid kicked in.
And
The amusement park of your
Unimaginable, becomes obvious.
And there’s a leather belt wrapped around
Your restrained eyes, lest their be any
Burglars, out to climb through those windows.
When you’d rather scar up your
Arms than let them be the
Better half of an embrace. When the
Clouds are a few more shades of
Gray darker than they were the
Day before. When your life is as
Disposable as your coffee cup
Or your college education,
Come find me.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
My old Kentucky home
Is a cold unlucky tomb
I live in between the trees
And those that say freeze
I'm down on my knees
As I beg and plead
I try to talk to a world disconnected
And discuss the problems I've detected
Instead I end up feeling dejected
In a state deemed defective
I feel rejected
A downside to living in the Kentucky wilderness
Is hearing animals dying in the distance
And there's nothing I can do about it
Critters whimpering and bones snapping
Barrels simmering and bullets capping
I hear it on the news
Or hear it in the woods
Beasts biting into the weak
******** exploiting the meek
They use their teeth
To play hide and seek
Under the luminous full moon
I hear the death of raccoons
These are the sounds
To which I'm bound
And when I think I've lost them
I start to hear possums
Which engenders fear
Like the mangled deer
Lying on the side of the road
Dead to a world it never knew
And its curiosity never grew
Until a car didn't mind driving through
We should pay attention to one another's problems
Even if we can't solve them
Even if it's painful
It should be our main goal
In a world that's being gloabalized
Location is beginning to matter less
Unless you live where a bomb is being dropped
Then it's up to those that live within crops
To pick up a mop
And help clean up this mess
Which is a lofty task I confess
But I live in a society
That determines the emotions inside of me
So instead of giving up and saying **** me
I'll do the best I can from Kentucky
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 9:13 AM UTC
Driving along
What's that I smell
The daily delight
Of the latest roadkill
From raccoons to possums
In this flattened cuisine
As vultures take lunches
On this finest of dining
Call us the critter getters
Crossing over our paths
Taking them out
As they scurry this way and that
From Bambi to Thumper
And all their forest friends
It does make you wonder
Who you'll run into next
We'll even take out the curious
Who wander on
To that portion of blacktop
To see what's going on
From teetotaling turtles
To slithering snakes
There's not a creature out there
That we won't pancake
So check out the roadkill
If there's still twitch after the thump
Hurry in back
And toss it into the trunk
Because down in the South
There ain't no one can say
That any of us country folk
Let a thing go to waste
Below the Mason Dixon line
If it's fresh enough
We'll take it home ya'll
And have it for lunch
As long as it's fried
There ain't a thing
With cheese grits on the side
That we won't eat
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
4:11 am - The nighthawks are starting to resemble pigeons.
Train station is deserted.
An employee checks the bins as the tunnel fills with the ringing of a distant bell, heralding the arrival of the morning train.
42 minutes till my train.
I can smell the acrid fumes of the Ferny Grove train.
The behemoth pulls away-
empty.
At least I'm not existential anymore.
There is an installation of a coffin made from old bits of railroad,
"Not everyone makes it across the tracks"
This reminder of mortality is strangely fitting in a place of transit.
The true face of memento mori is shown.
Remember that you too will die, and everything will come to pass.
It's times like this that make me wish 'The Sound of Silence" was never written.
For its perfection in this moment comes as a burst of pure divine bliss.
The kind you wish would never fade away. But inevitably does.
And all we are left with is a memory of that bliss,
everytime we hear the song (after the first time).
As if we are recalling the curves of an old lover from the shadow of yesterdays gone.
Dancing beneath our fingertips, always out of reach.
Memory is never as divine as the moment that burnt it in.
----
4:29 am - It was ephemeral.
The trainyard announcer has a cultured voice.
----
4:41 am - I fear the muse has left me, beauty fled.
DEAR GOD - PLEASE LET THERE BE A CAB AT THE STATION FOR ME.
Selection 11 gave me the water i desired.
11 minutes till the train.
D.O.B. 11/2
Aquarius, 11th sign of the Zodiac.
Will I see the dawn rise from the train?
There is no light at the end of the tunnel from where I sit.
Inexplicably: I recall the cool river air that bathed us as we lay naked in your apartment,
the smell of cigarettes on our skin, the evening peppered with
scurrying, fighting possums
that danced upon your balcony.
I recall being inside you.
(Then I imagined you being eaten out
by a woman
her lips inside yours,
her curled tongue
inside your hot, bald
golden ****
And I came.
Warm and glorious
my children of pleasure
caught in a latex coffin.
Your heaves of pleasure pushing against my chest
with the rhythm of waves.
----
4:46 am - On the train.
Fluorescent lighting is the devil.
Everything is garish yellow.
We pull up to the station near where you lived.
Your blue rose lives in a Chinese vase
and no longer smells
of Marlene Dietrich.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
you rise before the morning does, watch the black
sky go gray through the shower curtain
lacy shadows cast on summer-night skin
not ready to awaken, blue eyes half-mast to
squint away the fluorescent intrusion as your
mother butters toast for you that you leave behind,
your stomach sleeping too.
yawning, you thank god that the possums are
exercising better judgment as you hold
the wheel at eight and four, shake your knees
at every stoplight, sing billy joel top-volume
to stay alert while the clouds go pink and gold.
you join the real-world almost right away,
asleep before you hit the tracks at westport
tickets tickets tickets grabs your ear, but only just.
your coffee cools in its thermos, forgotten in the
new haven line haze, your nerves all perked up
fighting with the fog between your ears. your nerves
all perked up. your nerves all perked up. you try to
kick the fog to no avail. you all but sleepwalk
down the platform, you barely watch the gap.
hey, wouldn’t it be crazy if he came your dream-voice
whispers to your conscious yes it would be crazy your
conscious chuckles at the thought.
you trip on the overweight businessman’s pennyloafer
and you think how much you need to *** and you toss
your cold bagel in the all aboard trash can and you
think about how crazy you would be to hope to see him
and you hope your backpack isn’t slowing traffic too
much and your nerves all perked up your nerves all
perked up and you shake away the fog one last time and
you get to the end of the long hot platform and you—
hey wouldn’t it be crazy if but yes he’s
there and yes you
don’t know
what to
say but
yes your
eyes wide yes
mouth open
yes you don’t
know what
to say but
*hi,
I love you,
yes*
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Our evil plans are unfurled
As we plan to take over the world
Eve and I were so excited that we twirled
We are awesome possums
And we are Valiant Sun Valliants
We own
And Pown
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 7:10 AM UTC
ducks need water
possums need acting classes
a horse needs to run
ligers need fans
and monkeys need macadamia nuts
I need some ray bans
dogs need love
cats need mice
like mice need hide-aways
I REALLY NEED those Frye boots
mosquitos need blood
and fire needs air
water needs a pathway
I need a new weave
feet need ground
sails need wind
Louis needs a direction
and I need their new cd
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
I wonder at your beauty, strong
Your height tells me you've stood there long
Your beauty protrudes from limbs so grand
Providing cover where you stand...
You glisten in the morning dew
As the sky does lighten
A mother robin does joins you, true
Upon your sturdy arms, which, do her brighten...
Your provide such shelter
From the helter-skelter
For creatures, such as squirrels and possums
Above the wildflowers' lovely blossoms...
Now and then, a cat does race
To, frantically, its quarry chase
And, bird do find your crown
Helpful as they look around...
Sometime ago, you were but a shoot
Which could have been stomped underfoot
Now, you show your majesty
By having grown into a tree.
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 12:26 AM UTC
Before Min Sarginson claimed the cliffs
There were views of Lyttleton Harbour and blue gums swayed in the breeze, subtly givin off perfumes like ya grandmother used to.
From the top of the rotting old macrocarpa sitting by the balcony, waiting for the kids to enter the dark, dank insides, frightened of spooky possums and spiders, you could see the shops, and the hotel waiting patiently for passers-by yearning for toilets and ice-cream. The sea always shone a thousand diamonds right into ya retinas, partially blinding you as you gazed from Governor's to Godley. Now you can see who's keeping up with Jones' and who cares more for energy efficiency, slanted roofs, succulent gardens and solar panels are now the view from my grandfather's bach.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
(10/01/11)
All that she knew was that it was a snowy day
And she was in a horse pulled sleigh
The blanket was covering her
From her knees to her feet.
The thermo of hot chocolate was such a treat.
The frozen lake, the snow covered trees
Was truly a sight to be seen.
the birds high up in the trees
Whistling so cheerfully
Singing songs of summers past
And how the winter came so fast.
The ground hog not wanting to come out
He knew well what winter was about.
The ground was covered in a blanket of white
All roads and paths were out of sight.
That did not stop this horse pulled sleigh
He had gone thru this many a day.
He had a covered barn that awaited him
That was the reason he had a grin.
The animals were frantically searching for food
The possums, the raccoons, the rabbits
And The squirrels too.
With one purpose in mind
And that was to stay alive.
As she got to where they were gathered
She pulled out from under her blanket
A five pound bag of peanuts and seed
for her to feed - these poor
Little creatures who always came around
When there was no food to be found.
She was the snow white of this land
Always there to give a hand.
So when you see a squirrel stop and stand
on its hind legs, it’s to see if it is their snow white
Who helped them on this cold winter night.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 10:57 PM UTC
Possums not only smell nice, but if they really like you, they will put your hand in their pouch and groom you
Cold raccoon hands on your **** are creepy
A rattlesnake will bite the hand that feeds it
Flying squirrels in your bedroom are hard to catch, but cute as hell
Deep down inside, a wild rabbit will always think you want to eat it
What it feels like to bounce off the ceiling when a house explodes because of a gas leak
It is frightening when a squirrel goes into your mouth after peanuts and they are already gone
When you get hit by lightning it sounds like rock and roll
Lightning will strike twice
You must feed a baby rabbit "Special **** from an adult for it to survive
When you jump from a third floor roof, your legs will go numb....Until the pain hits
It is really bad if a rattlesnake wraps around your steering column while driving
You can walk almost half a mile with a broken hip and pelvis
What *** tastes like
The sound your neck makes when it breaks
You can catch a water moccasin 3 times by the neck before he catches on and bites you
A woman will make you carry her through a mud puddle, even after you have been bitten by a water moccasin through an act of your own stupidity
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Note to Self-
Feed the possums in the yard
apart from the ghosts
in your mind.
Purge it back up
and flush it.
Descry it as
nothing more
than your *****
and spit.
Do not forget
to forget.
Note to Self-
You matter.
You matter.
You ******* matter to someone.
Quit feeling like ****
you ******* matter to someone.
Note to Self-
Might as well give it up
or start over.
You've been starving
the possums in the yard
and your ghosts are polluted
with gluttony
as well as every other sin.
Knocking on the window to your mouth,
you continue to relapse
and welcome them back in again.
Note to Self.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
"Now, that Missy...
...is a Trout Possum kiss"
"Welll...I admit...I'd been Alabama'd!"
"You're kissing me
like you're my husband!"
"Well, I'm gonna be...ain't I!"
"Well, I guess!
Give us a taste of that
kiss again!"
"That's the trouble with Troy
one kiss always leads to another!"
"Couldn't wait to say: "I DO!"
"It's been nothing but
50 years of kisses!
Hot **** those Trout Possums!"
"The best kiss?
Is the one that hasn't happened yet
but is just...about to!"
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
Faint stillness of the night falls swiftly down
and masked raccoons now pillage darkest night.
Fluffed owls with sparkling eyes are flying free
and rabbits, gently moving, sniff the air...
The hounds - from hunter lost - do bay and whine!
Marked deer with spots or racks go pawing trails
and bear cubs ramble near a sparkling stream.
Uncommon moths blink near the lights outside
and possums scramble up the hillside earth.
Soft light of moon obscures the beauty there
and adds romance to this nocturnal scene.
Amid the forest’s trees of pine and oak,
these charms display the gift of God’s design!
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
Vaguely I recalled
something crawling,
clawing its way into
the bed from the bottom
end.
I thought I was dreaming,
until it worked its way
up beside me.
I must have thought
it to be one of the
cats except they
were all dead.
In the morning
I awakened to something
scratching at my shoulder.
I slowly peeled back the
comforter to discover
a small sleeping possum
enjoying the warmth
of my bed.
My blood curdling scream
ushered him out of the room,
and yes, they can move
quickly.
Disappearing into another
of the bedrooms,
he could not be located.
Left with my fear, the indelible
sight of a long grey naked tail
and the inability to locate
the marauder,
I removed a pistol from the
safe, closed the door,
and went back to bed.
The next day after a fruitless search,
one have a heart trap was purchased,
bated with tuna fish.
In the morning, 2 am, wham;
one possum secured in cage.
Come daybreak a fussy but
unharmed possum was released
far from the house. I felt like
an SPCA chairperson. After all,
even possums deserve a second
chance.
-James C. Allen
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
What desire was teased
that morning, the pairing
of backaches & amphetamines
left me rocking under sweaty sheets
wide-eyed, the numbers on the clock
passed the Devil’s hour to your time.
You call on me as magpies call each other
after sunrise.
What desire was teased
that drove my frail, bleeding body
with its bloodshot eyes
onto the roads,
passing yards of pacing possums
to your ****** Lake home.
What desire brought a comfortable
smile to my lips as I watched you
pour Bud Light in wine glasses
and call yourself fancy?
The chrome half-moons
under your eyes grow darker,
layered, like nightfall.
The wrinkles on your
forehead are drawn on now,
lucid, in the unwelcome light
that graces through these
basement windows.
You beckon me to the bathroom
where fresh snow awaits.
I wonder why I follow you,
watch you take in too much--
clear the snow from the countertop,
then we attack each other,
we are leopards
on your red velvet couch
only for a minute--
your heavy eyes close
your body gives a final shrug.
I carry the old man to bed,
place cold water on his lips
and lay with him,
pretending to sleep as
his bones rest on my soft skin.
A sad danger always lingers behind callithumpian ways,
[my maternal instinct needs a new outlet.]
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
It all looked clean, crisp, picturesque postcard promise
The river reflecting skyblue shimmers
Mists rising wisps of secrets
Trees and plants glossy, full bellied, nutritious happy
The birds practising new song and twitching wings
of fancy in the bright 440 volt sunshine
Filtering through
the senses to settle softly.
All was really not that clean and crisp.
The photographer could not zoom in
On a dead kea choked on a 1080 trap
Dropping from the sky like a manna treat
Four fish gobbling pellets pulled upstream
Mouth agape as poison shut the fluttering gills
Two other magpies lost their raucous tone
Deprived by early morning bait
Possums slept softly high up in the tress
With last nights buds bursting in their full bellies
The photographer could not see beauty and ugliness
Together.
The lens could not question the crystalline view
The click was not from gun
digital film rolled irrespective
And his dream of a pristine forest
with no pustules told one side of the story.
The other side
Balanced the books
And tore the heart of the very creatures
That spoke beauty with being there.
The picture was captioned;
Clean and Green.
Was it?
A picture speaks a thousand words
Sprinkled with three hundred lies and lives.
Author Notes
This poem accompanied a lush photograph of forest with a little stream flowing through. In the same area where the photograph was taken, helicopters bombed the forest with 1080 poison pellets to knock off the possums which were eating through the fresh shoots and leaves.
The end result was more than the possums going to thy kingdom come.
There are serious environmental undertones in this poem.
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid;=11260667
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 18 days ago
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
The transient nightfall lingers on worn clothes draped over forlorn branches and magnetic pulses pull the once ebbing forest into the singularity
The traveler astounded looks upwards as the skies sing the Earth eclectic
Possums and pretty leaves settle
the river rolls backwards
- imitation of time
Her body felt warm by the asphalt's dark light gleaming
and his body felt tired; aching bones whimper
Fizzy hollows cower, turn to you, and speak some avid gospel
Remember your immortality is limited
but tonight we fly
and fall
This is how it feels
When the embrace of flaxen foe feeds the eternal encumbrance of esotericism
When dark locks clamber through foggy basins, up river banks and over foliage of the forest floor
When the name on a thousand lips is vivid yet inscrutable, how you pronounced the consonants under the bank's stale light
When the masquerade ends and we're imprisoned in a kiss
When the dusty moon places a celestial hand on yours, and sighs, for the night one day may never return
When you danced naked under cherry coloured clouds and the rains beguiled the flesh of your breast
Remember to never forget
as the harsh morning sun will make amnesiacs of us all
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
this is one of my favs that i've written
Christmas spirit (11/4/12)
I hear the birds up in the tree tops sing
I hear the bells in the church steeples ring
I see the squirrels run around with delight
OH MY GOD ! What a beautiful sight.
I see the first snow starting to cover the ground
I hear the old familiar sounds
I see the clouds a silver grey
I see the sun trying to shine its rays.
The rabbits , the chipmunks , the possums too
Under the foliage hiding from you.
They’re all getting ready for the seasonal treat
That GOD has bestowed upon them to eat.
The fish in the ponds, the frogs on the ground
Know that this is the time that CHRIST is around.
Why is it that every living creature knows
Of this time of year
When the kindness of humans fill the air.
All of GODS creatures, no matter who
Or what they may be - are joining together as families.
The Christmas spirit spreading throughout the
Land , air, and sea
And voices singing in harmony.
Let’s open our eyes and ears to the sounds
For GODS love is all around.
The cries of a new born child seeing the light
For the very first time, and hearing sounds
They never heard before- “ as GOD opens up the doors”.
Let us be thankful for all that GOD has given
And make our lives all worth living.
He gave us his son on this glorious day
And to him we all must pray.
He’s shown us what love is all about
And from every mountain top we should shout
“Thank you JESUS for all that you’ve done
For you are GODS begotten son.”
You’ve shown us the way our lives
Should really be- even when we’re living in misery.
You’ve given us the greatest gift around
LOVE
Which in our hearts can be found.
© L . RAMS
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 10:49 PM UTC
Once I was best friends with
the greatest hunter ever.
A genuine killer.
Anything that came
inside the fence line
was fair game.
Armadillos, 'possums,
turtles & even a couple of hawks
met their demise when he locked
his keen eyes onto them.
Three or four tom cats
barely got out alive.
He licked & he loved,
scratched doors & glass
with his manicured-nails.
Once, he ate the red paint
off my garden pail.
He had chips in his teeth,
it was funny as hell,
glad it wasn't lead-based.
The cucumbers I grew
rarely made it
to the dinner table.
He'd lay in the vines
with a look on his face
of sheer contentment.
Rolling grapes & peanut butter
were his favorites, but really,
he'd eat just about anything
'cept kale.
When he went blind,
he still got a squirrel
or two & went to
digging up shrews,
left several lying around dead
as proof of his skill.
When he died,
I cried an ocean of tears.
He's buried out
in the backyard
along with his two sisters,
I miss them & their
familiar barks every day.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC