Saturday, April 13, 2019

Linda Imbler writes


The once noble renegade,
the zealous infidel of squirreldom,
the daytime thief of others’ treasure troves,
even bounties of rabbit carrots.

His heralded jaw forewarning of the onset
of another chewing frenzy.
His gurgling stomach assuaged
with each new groundnut swallowed.

This dutiful organism whose growth we watched,
all the while as he watched us,
and whose hindmost parts we observed
whenever he scurried to the next peanut burial site.

This star practitioner of food juggling,
carrying more than one at a time,
one in hand, one in mouth.

This furry creature who met and loved a man.
Who once having been trapped and removed 
from his safe haven by strangers,
found his way back home,
after two years,
and acted as if he had been at the threshold 
of that doorway only yesterday.

This poem,
meant as homage to the little critter
whose time did end,
who, although no bigger than a breadbox
held within him a very large heart
and a very long memory.

This poem,
meant to mark worth
on his short, but notable life.
Image result for squirrel paintings -- Tommervik


  1. Cornelius comes from the Latin "cornu" (horn) It was used to describe things that were of a horn-like material (hooves, bird-bills, warts), were made of horn (bugles, bows, lanterns), or were horn-shaped (the moon, elephant tusks, land-tongues, branches of a river -- which is why Roman river gods had horns). The Greek "keras" was figuratively used in the same ways, but in addition it referred to a mountain peak, the extremities ("the horns") of the earth, and the uterus and the ovaries. In Hebrew "qrn" means to have horns but also to shine or be radiant, possibly because the crescent of the moon was seen as two horns.


Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?