poem ignoring a marmot


this poem cannot wait
for spring, early
or otherwise.

it has winter things
to spill. snow and what
-not, from its icy quill.

no flake the same, they
say, but they
have not met her
frozen side. how much would

would a woodchuck
chuck, if he passed the buck,
shucked wood
(paper covers rock, after all)
and called it a day?

give the varmint
a pen, an unclouded sky,
let her shed her shoulds
from heavy shoulders,
let the day spill by.

it’s cold inside this Feb
skin, and she doesn’t know
where to be




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5 Responses to poem ignoring a marmot

  1. ihatepoetry says:

    May your poetry never see its shadow and go into hiding for any length of time. I always love your wordplay, the shifting time signatures (if you will) and the insistent imagery. You’re so fun to read.

  2. Kir Piccini says:

    I got to varmint and laughed out loud. I love that word and it was perfect to talk about a poem that cannot wait for spring.

  3. Mary says:

    A poem needs to spill its stuff no matter what the season. And some poems just beg to be written NOW!

  4. Shawna says:

    “it has winter things
    to spill” … That whole second stanza, really.

    And this:
    “let her shed her shoulds
    from heavy shoulders,
    let the day spill by”

    “it’s cold inside this fib” … Clever.

    brew-airy … that’s a breeze plus a hot cup of coffee, which sounds blissfully refreshing

    It must be hard to know where to be when you’re gin. 🙂

  5. At once, clever and funny. You never cease to amaze me, De.

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