Retiring Early
A man who did retire early
each night, and was a rather burly
well-fed and stocky specimen,
would always have lights out at ten.
One evening, it was in May,
the month when younger folk will play,
he somehow failed, did not remember
woke up next day, it was November.
This shows the act of breaking habits
should really be left to rabbits.
You see, a rabbit either sleeps
or checks the basement, where it keeps
digested pellets for re-use,
but rabbits always (is this news?)
are in the mood to....well, to hop,
they'll do this easily, non-stop.
So, if a rabbit oversleeps,
he's done his homework, heaps and heaps,
it matters little, but for man
he's got to do it while he can.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Market Square
I had a penny,
A bright new penny,
I took my penny
To the market square.
I wanted a rabbit,
A little brown rabbit,
And I looked for a rabbit
'Most everywhere.
For I went to the stall where they sold sweet lavender
("Only a penny for a bunch of lavender!").
"Have you got a rabbit, 'cos I don't want lavender?"
But they hadn't got a rabbit, not anywhere there.
I had a penny,
And I had another penny,
I took my pennies
To the market square.
I did want a rabbit,
A little baby rabbit,
And I looked for rabbits
'Most everywhere.
And I went to the stall where they sold fresh mackerel
("Now then! Tuppence for a fresh-caught mackerel!").
"Have you got a rabbit, 'cos I don't like mackerel?"
But they hadn't got a rabbit, not anywhere there.
I found a sixpence,
A little white sixpence.
I took it in my hand
To the market square.
I was buying my rabbit
I do like rabbits),
And I looked for my rabbit
'Most everywhere.
So I went to the stall where they sold fine saucepans
("Walk up, walk up, sixpence for a saucepan!").
"Could I have a rabbit, 'cos we've got two saucepans?"
But they hadn't got a rabbit, not anywhere there.
I had nuffin',
No, I hadn't got nuffin',
So I didn't go down
To the market square;
But I walked on the common,
The old-gold common...
And I saw little rabbits
'Most everywhere!
So I'm sorry for the people who sell fine saucepans,
I'm sorry for the people who sell fresh mackerel,
I'm sorry for the people who sell sweet lavender,
'Cos they haven't got a rabbit, not anywhere there!
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Trip
Like an unripe melon
Like a conquer Magellan
Like a handy capped Helen Keller
There is a moonster in the cellar
He has been there since last November
I was once a member-
Of his palace
Until I was hit in the head with a mallet
Creeping along the halls
I have spotted the moonster in conversation with the white rabbit
Me thinks that white rabbit has a nasty habit-
Of being late
Last time they nearly locked the gate
Is his clock too slow?
Or is telling time his foe?
At least the moonster and purple tiger know
Acid is a trip that is not a trick for kids
But the rabbits white hair show great age
Maybe his mind is like that of a mage
I saw him once pull himself out of his own hat
Very impress for a magician with a assistant gnat
He buzzes around the rabbit’s head, a dark shade of blue
The rabbit does not reek, I have seen him use his wife’s shampoo
If I may take the time
I must say for a rabbit his wife is a dime
I even saw her and purple tiger in the shower at the same time
Of course the white rabbit was too late to catch them of this crime
Just then I told the purple tiger not to eat the white rabbit or the Chinese Girl
“She is your world! ”
You just don’t know it and she will not show it
So he devoured the loaf of bread instead
poem by Vincent Dali
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Run Rabbit Run
Run Rabbit, Run
Some humans, they ain't nuthin' but nuthin'
They all run like scared little rabbits
Run Rabbit, Run.
Run Rabbit.
RUN RABBIT, RUN!
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run
Run, run rabbit, run away, run away
Run, run rabbit, run away, run away
Let me get her, I know what to do
Let me get her, I know what to do
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
A child so pure, dyin' in the clutch
A child so pure, down in the hush
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
Mary, mary ain't this fun?
Mary, mary I got a gun
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Let me get her, I know what to do
Let me get her, I know what to do
Run, run rabbit, run away
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
Hey yeah, hey it's alive
Hey yeah, hey I survive
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rabbit
Rabbits, rabbits everywhere
Bigger than a rat
Smaller than a hare
Jump, hop in the grass
Eating carrots
Hoping fast
Rabbits, rabbits fluffy fur
Hunting season
They hustle and stir
Pointy ears, bushy tails
Wet nose
Hind legs down the trail
Rabbits, rabbits into holes
Time for bed
Bless their souls
Now all tucked in and put to sleep
No noise in the hole
Not even a peep
poem by TaBresha Bozeman
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Coloured Eggs
Coloued eggs for a culture,
And of he story of a rabbit that laid them!
Oh, this culture is yet to know the truth;
For rabbits do not lay eggs!
Why should they teach the children this way?
And of coloured eggs lay by rabbits;
But this culture cannot change,
For history had made them so.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Other Chinee Cook
Yes, I got another Johnny; but he was to Number One
As a Satyr to Hyperion, as a rushlight to the sun;
He was lazy, he was cheeky, he was dirty, he was sly,
But he had a single virtue, and its name was rabbit pie.
Now those who say the bush is dull are not so far astray,
For the neutral tints of station life are anything but gay;
But, with all its uneventfulness, I solemnly deny
That the bush is unendurable along with rabbit pie.
We had fixed one day to sack him, and agreed to moot the point
When my lad should bring our usual regale of cindered joint,
But instead of cindered joint we saw and smelt, my wife and I,
Such a lovely, such a beautiful, oh! such a rabbit pie!
There was quite a new expression on his lemon-coloured face,
And the unexpected odour won him temporary grace,
For we tacitly postponed the sacking-point till by-and bye,
And we tacitly said nothing save the one word, “rabbit pie!”
I had learned that pleasant mystery should simply be endured,
And forebore to ask of Johnny where the rabbits were procured!
I had learned from Number One to stand aloof from how and why,
And I threw myself upon the simple fact of rabbit pie.
And when the pie was opened, what a picture did we see!
They lay in beauty side by side, they filled our home with glee!
How excellent, how succulent, back, neck, and leg, and thigh!
What a noble gift is manhood! What a trust is rabbit pie!
For a week the thing continued, rabbit pie from day to day;
Though where he got the rabbits John would ne'er vouchsafe to say;
But we never seemed to tire of them, and daily could descry
Subtle shades of new delight in each successive rabbit pie.
Sunday came; by rabbit reckoning, the seventh day of the week;
We had dined, we sat in silence, both our hearts (?) too full to speak,
When in walks Cousin George, and, with a sniff, says he, “Oh my!
What a savoury suggestion! what a smell of rabbit pie!”
“Oh, why so late, George?” says my wife, “the rabbit pie is gone;
But you must have one for tea, though. Ring the bell, my dear, for John.”
So I rang the bell for John, to whom my wife did signify,
“Let us have an early tea, John, and another rabbit pie.”
But John seemed taken quite aback, and shook his funny head,
And uttered words I comprehended no more than the dead;
“Go, do as you are bid,” I cried, “we wait for no reply;
Go! let us have tea early, and another rabbit pie!”
Oh, that I had stopped his answer! But it came out with a run:
“Last-a week-a plenty puppy; this-a week-a puppy done!”
Just then my wife, my love, my life, the apple of mine eye,
Was seized with what seemed “mal-de-mer,” — “sick transit” rabbit pie!
And George! By George, he laughed, and then he howled like any bear!
The while my wife contorted like a mad “convulsionnaire;”
And I—I rushed on Johnny, and I smote him hip and thigh,
And I never saw him more, nor tasted more of rabbit pie.
And the childless mothers met me, as I kicked him from the door,
With loud maternal wailings and anathemas galore;
I must part with pretty Tiny, I must part with little Fly,
For I'm sure they know the story of the so-called “rabbit pie.”
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Let Us Be Friendly With Everybody!
Rabbit and Tortoise
Went for a race;
Envy villain rabbit
Threw the stone at Hero Rabbit;
Hero Rabbit's leg got broken,
Limping Rabbit couldn't run fast!
Hero Rabbit lost the match,
This is how Tortoise won the race.
Lesson is, 'Don't have enmity'
Let us be friendly with everybody!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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The Hunter And Dog
The Hunter.
The man who crosses the field carries his shotgun
tucked into his left arm. In his belt five rabbits hang.
This is not a hobby hunter in camouflage outfit,
but a mall time farmer who uses the wildlife to
augment his meager income… his dog that has been
walking at heel runs in front of him, barks, and up
from the tall, dry grass a rabbit springs a shot and
now he has six rabbits hanging from his belt….
He will sell his catch later at a hotel or restaurant.
The man who crossed field, his face is naturally dark,
by years spent outdoors, walks into a landscape of
trees and bushes and disappears from view.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Regret
i do not know much about turtles
but i like to know one
they say turtles are not really slow
they are just gentle
and cool
as they live more in the water
rather than
on land
i have regrets though
not having known
that turtles
just want to be slow
and be not rushed
like
they are forced to be what they are not
by this rabbit
but there's one thing though that hurts
when turtles claim the value
of rationality
as though it is the only ingredient of a good
personality
i like to say, i like emotions too
turtles and rabbits that feel and tell the world
not to hurt each other anymore
but just be themselves
and be free and
be loved
and be appreciated
for what they are
unique
and long for a clique
i still think that this world is as beautiful as me
as you
as we together
writing poems and have fun
wading on the pond and basking in the sun
come, come, let us join our hands
rabbits and turtles on strong bonds
smile!
(see we have this picture now)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Usual Story...
and then the problem comes
after the meeting of the
the turtle and the rabbit
after the winning and the losing
to each priority
the rabbit to the bushes
to the river the turtle goes
there is no saying that
after all, the warning is given
personally, the rabbit will
always remember
and so does the turtle
there is no point of reconciliation
the facts of life are here again
nothing to lose nothing to gain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About Brother Rabbit.
Brother Rabbit and Brother Terrapin wanted to run round a tree.
They went to Brother Bear and asked him to be the referee.
He said to Brother Terrapin, “You win if you’re the first to take the stone! ”
Brother Rabbit ran and won as Brother Terrapin could only go,
He cried, “Brother Rabbit has run, but has he really won?
Look here, my stone’s on me, so I’m number one! ”
When Brother Fox and Brother Rabbit meet,
Brother Fox always tries to eat
Brother Rabbit who often thinks how
To laugh at Brother Fox. Now
Brother Rabbit said, “Have we met, Brother? Hi! ”
“Oh! I haven’t had lunch”, Brother Fox replied.
“But when we yesterday met,
You also said that.
Poor Brother Fox had no lunch,
Then have for it grass or a branch”.
Brother Rabbit’s taught Brother Wolf a lesson.
He’s done it to amuse his little son.
Now, Brother Wolf’s in a cage.
Nothing he can change.
Yesterday he ate meat in a trap,
And Brother Rabbit didn’t let
Him run out, he locked him then,
He taught him and needn’t teach again.
poem by Konstantin Ananin
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Moondragons 0
i thought i caught
a snapshot of the rabbit
in the moon.
it said to me:
' there's a tiny
line slicing fantasy
and art and art
better make that cut
or it's only
living in fantasy.'
rabbits have keen ears!
poem by Doug Bentley
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The Rabbit Hole
How deep does the rabbit hole go?
Too many people don't want to know.
They're afraid they might come upon
something not so nice.
Isn't it easier to just skate
over very thin ice?
No worries, no frets of any kind,
it's much more comfortable for the mind.
Don't look left. Don't look right,
just straight ahead is what's in their sight.
Now take the ones whose heads can turn,
they are the people whose minds do yearn
to see how deep the rabbit hole goes?
What they will find will surely expose
Why we are filled with insecurity?
What's at the bottom of inequality?
Why some never have prosperity?
And so much more will come to light
and these are the brave that will take up the fight
and try to fill the rabbit hole
so the complacent ones who pay the toll
might have a chance to save their soul.
Now rabbit holes are dug deeper each day
by the power that wants you to have no say.
They want control over all that you are.
They will do all they can to block the star
that shines for you on every night.
They would love to keep you away from that sight.
For then they've got you and your soul
deep in the bowels of the rabbit hole.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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0180 Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
At the far edge of the expanding cemetery
in its uncertain spiritual limbo,
its small gravestones re-emerge only in late summer
like a clipped coat, the tall grass annually machined; of
those who made no will or testament
that we know of and we may be wrong
nor do we know their last thoughts if thoughts
nor do the stones reveal the names they knew themselves by; and
was the human love their inscriptions indicate
less or greater than that evoked
by their own kind? What sort of peace
do they rest in?
It’s not the most imaginative corner
to have chosen. There’s a perfect place
by the 16th tee of the golf course,
high on the hill, facing west,
riddled with a rabbit warren
where on a summer evening
more rabbits than you’d guess, of every size
bob around and sun themselves
and seem to feel so safe that they ignore
the humans, dogless at that hour,
an elysian field where dogs might dream and twitch
for eternity; repent, or lie down in peace with brer rabbit,
their natures everlastingly fulfilled;
where in the summer evening sun,
facing the glowing sky and gold-tipped clouds
cottontails and men might sit, philosophise and speculate
together, about the little that the species know
of each other’s knowledge.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Walking the Path
i used to meditate
early in the morning
down on the basement
of the old house
on Bethel Rd
that we rented years ago...
there was a rabbit
that sometimes hopped
through the open basement door
to sit close to me...
and listened as i chanted.
i almost found it then!
years have passed,
times of struggle and loss...
(i almost lost my way)
now i sit here at night
thinking about the precepts,
reading poetry, just thinking....
or not thinking at all!
with an old blind dog...
walking the path...
to the temple again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Living Inside Your Mind...
when one lives inside his mind these things may happen:
there is a rabbit, he smells a labyrinth and goes inside one of those
entrances, holes, and feels finally that it is falling and falling
into a deep abyss and
lands on a certain floor but there is darkness everywhere
and the labyrinths multiply like cancer cells
and it tries to find an entrance again,
feeling lost he smells nothing and begins to panic since the labyrinths
spread like some capillaries on the skin...
the palpitations become a ticking bomb and before the rabbit knows it
an explosion occurs, and the rabbit becomes one crushed red melon...
the mind however is a Good Samaritan, it blanks itself,
closes the eyes, and opens them again to see new beginnings...
the moral lesson is this sense of loss and
the euphoria of having found yourself again in the same mind
now there are no rabbits coming out from the magic of the black hat
there are persons, friends, superiors, subordinates, acquaintances
faces that you can recall with their name tags on
it is a good sunny day. Walk under the sun and forget about those
convoluted thoughts. Now live within your body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Angel the Easter Rabbit
Out of a lovely fantasy…..,
She appeared one Springtime day…..,
And made our world……,
So happy in every way……,
It was a vision so wondrous……,
As we colored our eggs…..,
For the Easter Holiday
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Brought sunshine to our lives…..,
When it came to joy we had it…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
She’d hop, hop, hop….,
All day long…..,
Be dancin’ around……,
And singin’ a song…..,
As Easter came so merrily…..,
She was so much fun for us to see……,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Brought sunshine to our lives…..,
Lovin’ her was a tireless habit……,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
But poof just like each night and day……,
Her visit soon had to end …..,
So she hop, hop, hopped on her way……,
Off to visit her fairytale friends……,
As we sadly bid farewell to her…….,
She said, “Come on now, don’t cry…..,
I’ll be back again some Easter Day”…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Brought sunshine to our lives…..,
When it came to joy we had it…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Pure white gold in 24 karat…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit….! ! !
(2011)
poem by Trade Martin
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The night I will always remember
Wednesday night at nine thirty
Terror sailed into my city.
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
Gripped with fear, panic and despair…
Grenades and bullets in the air.
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
Tourists slaughtered on their vacation
Everyday folk massacred on a railway station
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
Babies slaughtered in their mother’s womb
Five star hotels have become a mass tomb
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
Children orphaned, a rabbi dead
Terrorists feeling no regret
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
Brave hearts butchered, lives in disarray
One night that lasted three whole days
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
My city is battered
My faith in every politician, shattered
I will always, always remember,
The night of 26th November
poem by Sherrie Marker
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Soft Coat
On the rapid asphalt road
bloody fur, a rabbit caught
in the glaring headlight of
a speeding car.
Poor creature don’t cross
the road at night, do not
cross it at all unless you’re
an angel and can fly.
No one loves a rabbit less
it is a child’s pet and lives in
a tiny cage. Run free rabbit,
run on the forest’s floor.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Vengeance
The Vengeance
There is no war it is all happening on TV, for our
entertainment, I look out of the window and see
no dead bodies, no blood or bombed buildings,
or soldiers prancing about, except Pedro coming
back after hunting rabbits. He hates rabbits since
one chased him and bit his bum, he was twelve
at the time but the indignity made him malicious.
He hunts rabbits in the morning, they hear him
come and hide in burrows, except for the unwise
that think they can make play hide and seek with
him. Pedro is a crack shot and at times bag one,
which is good for us, had he always missed his
hatred may have grown to include us and the war
would move from the TV screen on to our street.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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