A tidy pile of four
arranged in order of size
morphs into a Babel
right before my eyes.
How do such things happen?
Is it among books’ habits
to grow all willy-nilly
and reproduce like rabbits?
Tag Archives: Rabbits
July 17.19
Nemesis: Goddess of Divine Retribution
Vengefulness her main attribution.
My wicked ways put me on the hook
for a plague of ears with a “who, me?” look?
Connections: April 25.18
The tulips languish, sodden,
(those not by rabbit eaten)
jonquils merely leaf
cold-weary, winter-beaten.
A miser’s hand apportions
the flowering of this spring
there’s scant delight in the meadow
and nary a daffy-down-dilling.
But from windless cozy house
a trumpeting four-in-one
sings out to the colorless garden:
“I’ll show you how it’s done!”
It quadruple megaphones
“You can be like me, yay, verily!”
the concerted garden response
comes back somewhat raspberrily.
With thanks and apologies to Shakespeare.
Musings on wild life: February 1.18
Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!
That, as you may remember, was my mother’s incantation on the first of every month. I’m not sure why except for the twelve rabbits’ feet involved.
I am not enamored of rabbits, as you know if you’ve read my blog for a while. They are the garden’s Visigoths and nothing can withstand their onslaught. Here, in the wee hours of one winter morning, by the light of the lamppost, I spotted one of their kind. It was huge. And obviously reconnoitering. Duly noted, you furry pig!
I am equally not enamored of Canadian geese, as you also know from my blog. They, however, are enamored of this retention pond. Why Mother Nature, who came up with the song of the lark and the wren, invented the honk of the goose is explainable only in terms of her caustic sense of humor.
Then, of course, the ants. Oh, they keep on a-comin’. At first in my desk. Now along the baseboard and up through the furnace vent in the dining room. Yesterday I was out in the cold mud dousing the side of my new house with Home Defense. In January? Really?
Having lived in California, I know about ants, which there put earthquakes to shame in terms of intimidation. They come like an undertow and pull you to your knees.
But this is Indiana, which, though definitely ant-ridden, usually doesn’t let the little rotters out mid-winter.
And have you ever noticed how observing ants can make you itch?
Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, dear reader!
Connections: May 25.17
It’s a two-rabbit morning
the clover fresh and sweet
crisped by morning rain
the neighbors can’t compete.
My back yard’s never treated
as lawn, it’s a disgrace
but as alfresco salad
it’s a four-star eating place.
So I allow them peaceful dining
so grossly appetited
until they eye my garden
when they are promptly disinvited.
Connections: May 21.17
What’s in a back yard?
A little grass, a little sun
a little bit of garden
a little bit of fun
a haven for the rabbits
where dandelions bloom
the fresh-aired open-concept
original family room
where games and make-believe
work and play combine
but victim of aesthetics:
I miss the old clothesline.
Connections: February 1.17
Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!
my mother used to say
the first of every month
to keep bad luck away.
Did she teach me superstition?
Never. Not a trace.
But I’m going to say it anyway
you know — just in case.
Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, dear reader!
And thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,
Vernon Hill Gallery.
Connections: July 7
You may recall, dear reader,
I’ve skirmished and I’ve battled
against these long-eared monsters
until I am quite addled.
My back yard smells like garlic
the air of phlox destroyed
yet he can sit and stare at me
as though he’s the one annoyed.
My once pacific spirit
from violence aloof
now sees this toothy glutton
as earmuffs on the hoof.
Connections: May 23
Connections: May 13
What? Me superstitious?
Perish the thought.
But on Friday 13
I do what I ought:
I offer a rabbit’s foot
good luck may it bring
matter of fact
you can have the whole thing.
These bottomless pits
eating machines
obliterate gardens
from lilies to beans.
I cannot imagine
sorrier truck
than this fluffy-tailed pestilence
brings any good luck.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
