FA+
Shop
538
Views
Views
3
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Poetry / All
Species Raccoon
Size 120 x 110
File Size 20.9 kB
Report this content
More from fwbrown61
Having seen two furry bodies on country roads, what do y'think the chances are
Of finding more? Ex-actly. Is somebody setting me up?
Not likely, but I could start to get suspicious. Ugly this time, of course,
but these aren't pretty poems; fair warning, and keep a few tears handy.
I needed some.
.
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
NB: Consider this a companion piece to Words Of Sorrow On Seeing A Killed Crow
and On Grief For A Killed Fox
All right, Great Spirit, which one did you make stupider?
The driver of the car or truck who killed that raccoon?
Or the raccoon who picked that specific moment
To try and cross the road?
This isn't perhaps a very good way to open this poem.
Save for setting the [grisly] subject.
Start again.
And do we not all die, in our own way, sometimes as much by the chance
As took Found Raccoon? Yes. 'S all in the paws of the Great Spirit, y'know.
By whatever name or scripture that moves your heart and faith
To worship Him/Her/It.
The best that can be said about the death I came across this time?
Completely instantaneous.
Small mercy there, Great Spirit, but maybe Found Raccoon
Mentioned some gratitude about that, when he/she met you in the afterlife.
As with a certain Crow, no way to tell gender from the small ring-tailed corpse
That lay exactly in the middle of the road on the bright spring day.
Another grocery drive into town, interrupted, as I slowed to a stop to see.
Too small a corpse, another young one, perhaps grown enough
To be wise and cautious enough about the natural forest hazards?
But clearly not wise enough about road hazards.
But then how could his/her Procyon parents have ever taught?
Notwithstanding great raccoon smartness, mundane natural selection
Is not about to produce a species of vehicle-smart raccoons.
Or if it is, it's gonna take a helluva lot more squished raccoons.
Think about it.
To ref earlier poems, Crow and Fox were mostly unmarked.
Found Raccoon: Definitely not.
Tire strike right to the head, the body not really touched.
As raccoons go was likely cute, attentive dark eyes, svelte muzzle 'n whiskers.
Piano-player paws, alert ears, the bandit-masked face. We all know raccoons.
Sometimes peering out of your garbage cans as you catch 'em covertly feeding.
I've seen a number over the years, alone or in groups.
Including one who boldly sat up on my front porch and just stared at me.
As if to say, c'mon, I know you've got some free food around here somewhere.
Chitter-chitter.
Opportunistic social mid-rank predators all, and all too well-adapted
To us and the opportunities found in our social set-up.
Especially our garbage cans, and more.
Unfortunately, where there are human beings
There are also a lot of fast-moving heavy wheeled things.
Squish.
And does this death teach me more'n I knew before already?
Any fresh revelations, Great Spirit, that you wanted me to scribble here?
Although Found Raccoon sure isn't fresh, dead for at least a day or so,
His/her odour of decay similar to Fox's. The point is made.
This is always what death smells like, given some sun and a few hours.
And it's what you'll smell like too, Bunky, at some point. So remember it, hmmm?
Whatever the embalmer gets paid really won't help much.
(It's way too late for Found Raccoon, that's for sure.)
This time, decision: This death can have no follow-on from me, it's over and done.
There will only be this prayer/poem, since it's impossible to get this one home.
The previously mentioned stone altar in the field
Will only hear the words, no more.
Except for the one and only thing I can do here: Move the body off of the road.
Let's get out some gloves, hold my breath, hold onto the tail and a paw.
And gently drag an ex-raccoon into the field beside the road.
Let's avoid any more automotive desecration, thank you very much.
Bad enough, to see up close how the head was crushed.
And all the blood on the road.
Yes, there was the blood.
Is it not too easy to kill? So damn easy? A tire did it this time.
A bullet could have done it even easier.
Or poison or snares or traps. Or deforestation or habitat destruction or pollution.
You name it; pick your pleasure.
That's us human beings for you. Death: We're givin' it away wholesale.
There's an unlimited supply in the shops.
Now a little more of it, rotting, a waste, in a field beside a New Brunswick road.
Apart from the flock of crows and worms who'll be feasting for a few days,
Who's to even notice?
You ever hit an animal with your car? How much did you notice?
Or if you ever do, how much will you notice?
Do you mind my asking: When will you start to notice?
When there are no more raccoons left?
So now I've noticed, have I?
Now, don't think I can stop.
Or forget.
Windshield wipers are very good
For getting rain off the windshield.
As for the tears that were in my eyes, as I drove away...
None, no damn good at all.
---
Of finding more? Ex-actly. Is somebody setting me up?
Not likely, but I could start to get suspicious. Ugly this time, of course,
but these aren't pretty poems; fair warning, and keep a few tears handy.
I needed some.
.
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
>>>>> A Long Prayer For A Found Killed Raccoon <<<<<
By Fred Brown, June 21/2023 
fwbrown61
Copyright 2023 All rights reserved, all commercial
infringements prosecuted, website display permission
available upon request. Non-personal distro is infringement.
NB: Consider this a companion piece to Words Of Sorrow On Seeing A Killed Crow
and On Grief For A Killed Fox
All right, Great Spirit, which one did you make stupider?
The driver of the car or truck who killed that raccoon?
Or the raccoon who picked that specific moment
To try and cross the road?
This isn't perhaps a very good way to open this poem.
Save for setting the [grisly] subject.
Start again.
And do we not all die, in our own way, sometimes as much by the chance
As took Found Raccoon? Yes. 'S all in the paws of the Great Spirit, y'know.
By whatever name or scripture that moves your heart and faith
To worship Him/Her/It.
The best that can be said about the death I came across this time?
Completely instantaneous.
Small mercy there, Great Spirit, but maybe Found Raccoon
Mentioned some gratitude about that, when he/she met you in the afterlife.
As with a certain Crow, no way to tell gender from the small ring-tailed corpse
That lay exactly in the middle of the road on the bright spring day.
Another grocery drive into town, interrupted, as I slowed to a stop to see.
Too small a corpse, another young one, perhaps grown enough
To be wise and cautious enough about the natural forest hazards?
But clearly not wise enough about road hazards.
But then how could his/her Procyon parents have ever taught?
Notwithstanding great raccoon smartness, mundane natural selection
Is not about to produce a species of vehicle-smart raccoons.
Or if it is, it's gonna take a helluva lot more squished raccoons.
Think about it.
To ref earlier poems, Crow and Fox were mostly unmarked.
Found Raccoon: Definitely not.
Tire strike right to the head, the body not really touched.
As raccoons go was likely cute, attentive dark eyes, svelte muzzle 'n whiskers.
Piano-player paws, alert ears, the bandit-masked face. We all know raccoons.
Sometimes peering out of your garbage cans as you catch 'em covertly feeding.
I've seen a number over the years, alone or in groups.
Including one who boldly sat up on my front porch and just stared at me.
As if to say, c'mon, I know you've got some free food around here somewhere.
Chitter-chitter.
Opportunistic social mid-rank predators all, and all too well-adapted
To us and the opportunities found in our social set-up.
Especially our garbage cans, and more.
Unfortunately, where there are human beings
There are also a lot of fast-moving heavy wheeled things.
Squish.
And does this death teach me more'n I knew before already?
Any fresh revelations, Great Spirit, that you wanted me to scribble here?
Although Found Raccoon sure isn't fresh, dead for at least a day or so,
His/her odour of decay similar to Fox's. The point is made.
This is always what death smells like, given some sun and a few hours.
And it's what you'll smell like too, Bunky, at some point. So remember it, hmmm?
Whatever the embalmer gets paid really won't help much.
(It's way too late for Found Raccoon, that's for sure.)
This time, decision: This death can have no follow-on from me, it's over and done.
There will only be this prayer/poem, since it's impossible to get this one home.
The previously mentioned stone altar in the field
Will only hear the words, no more.
Except for the one and only thing I can do here: Move the body off of the road.
Let's get out some gloves, hold my breath, hold onto the tail and a paw.
And gently drag an ex-raccoon into the field beside the road.
Let's avoid any more automotive desecration, thank you very much.
Bad enough, to see up close how the head was crushed.
And all the blood on the road.
Yes, there was the blood.
Is it not too easy to kill? So damn easy? A tire did it this time.
A bullet could have done it even easier.
Or poison or snares or traps. Or deforestation or habitat destruction or pollution.
You name it; pick your pleasure.
That's us human beings for you. Death: We're givin' it away wholesale.
There's an unlimited supply in the shops.
Now a little more of it, rotting, a waste, in a field beside a New Brunswick road.
Apart from the flock of crows and worms who'll be feasting for a few days,
Who's to even notice?
You ever hit an animal with your car? How much did you notice?
Or if you ever do, how much will you notice?
Do you mind my asking: When will you start to notice?
When there are no more raccoons left?
So now I've noticed, have I?
Now, don't think I can stop.
Or forget.
Windshield wipers are very good
For getting rain off the windshield.
As for the tears that were in my eyes, as I drove away...
None, no damn good at all.
---
Category Poetry / All
Species Raccoon
Size 120 x 110px
File Size 20.9 kB
Such moving words! It may bring you a little comfort to know that deaths of animals to environment-related hazards are well accounted for in nature. Animals have slipped off cliffs, impaled themselves on branches and were thunderstuck long before the first human killed any.
Och aye, it's a lethal jungle out there. Somebody is frequently somebody else's food--eventually.
And would we--or raccoons--be here at all if it [naturally] all worked otherwise? I don't think so, Tim, I mean, Darwin. :- )
Henry Ford's clever wheeled creation, however, is not natural in the slightest, ergo we're in deeper shite than we think, hmmm?
Squish indeed. :- /
fwbrown61
And would we--or raccoons--be here at all if it [naturally] all worked otherwise? I don't think so, Tim, I mean, Darwin. :- )
Henry Ford's clever wheeled creation, however, is not natural in the slightest, ergo we're in deeper shite than we think, hmmm?
Squish indeed. :- /
fwbrown61 
Opening words were missing, then came out while making coffee. Then coffee got cold as the puppy wrote itself. Again.
If this keeps happening? In view of how many animals get themselves schmucked on NB roads? My first published book of poetry is gonna weigh ten pounds. :- )
fwbrown61
PS: Editing on 'nother SexyFur novel is almost done; tres steamy. Waaait for it.
If this keeps happening? In view of how many animals get themselves schmucked on NB roads? My first published book of poetry is gonna weigh ten pounds. :- )
fwbrown61PS: Editing on 'nother SexyFur novel is almost done; tres steamy. Waaait for it.
Indeed, been doing a lot of the 'ol keyboard thumpin' 'n poundin' lately. There's mo' hot novels ahead. Other life-things, more problematic, but there's optimism afoot this summer in a lot of ways . Still kickin', in other words.
Or to be more precise, still kickin' back. :- ) **
fwbrown61
** For best results, aim for the kneecaps, then work yer way up. Mwahaha. :- >
Or to be more precise, still kickin' back. :- ) **
fwbrown61** For best results, aim for the kneecaps, then work yer way up. Mwahaha. :- >
Been strollin' around on Terra--where else?--and enjoyin' the Canadian Spring, workin' on the words, and going Ow!! at the way my 61-year-old left footpaw's been giving me gout/possible vascular trouble. Ow ow ow.
Oughta make myself a good sturdy cane in lieu of good walking stick already in use.. Fortunately, I type with my forepaws. :- )
And did so again, on a horrific topic again--which seems to keep happening--albeit as said above took a while for the opening lines to pop up.
A fourth one like this, dealing with what was discovered one morning on my front porch, is still percolating in back-of-brain. Wordsworth had it easier, the Pommy schmuck. Just sniffed some damned daffodils and scribbled away.
Wasn't flowers that I was smelling, I shall vouch.
Good that you can say you've got some care and concern for your ring-tailed neighbours. Likewise me for the Corvid and Vulpine et al.
I have got to get a solar thermal heating system built this summer, so I can stop murdering trees and habitat for stupid-ass firewood. As much as I barely used any last winter.
Art not without ambition, Mr. Brown? Oh yah :- ) Esp. about more wordage--that's moving well on several more novel-sized fronts--so stay tuned.
fwbrown61
Oughta make myself a good sturdy cane in lieu of good walking stick already in use.. Fortunately, I type with my forepaws. :- )
And did so again, on a horrific topic again--which seems to keep happening--albeit as said above took a while for the opening lines to pop up.
A fourth one like this, dealing with what was discovered one morning on my front porch, is still percolating in back-of-brain. Wordsworth had it easier, the Pommy schmuck. Just sniffed some damned daffodils and scribbled away.
Wasn't flowers that I was smelling, I shall vouch.
Good that you can say you've got some care and concern for your ring-tailed neighbours. Likewise me for the Corvid and Vulpine et al.
I have got to get a solar thermal heating system built this summer, so I can stop murdering trees and habitat for stupid-ass firewood. As much as I barely used any last winter.
Art not without ambition, Mr. Brown? Oh yah :- ) Esp. about more wordage--that's moving well on several more novel-sized fronts--so stay tuned.
fwbrown61 
*hugs... well, it is just so very good to be seeing you. I have similar ambitions on the book front, and that keeps me going.
The grandchildren make more noise than a hen house with a fox inside, and that keeps my nervous system jangling, but otherwise I'm fine. I'll hit 71 this year but don't do foot races anymore; and I love my riding lawn mower.
Vix
The grandchildren make more noise than a hen house with a fox inside, and that keeps my nervous system jangling, but otherwise I'm fine. I'll hit 71 this year but don't do foot races anymore; and I love my riding lawn mower.
Vix
Hmm... if you think that someone is killing Raccoons and just leaving them on the side of the road, then I would get in contact with your state's Game Wardens and tell them what you've found. Then they will open an investigation into whether or not those Raccoons were killed on the side of the road or were hit and someone else just moved them onto the side of the road to keep buzzards from also getting hit.
Pardon the delayed reply.
No, the case here was just an unfortunately too-common event between a car or truck and an animal. The animal was in the [lethally] wrong spot at the wrong time.
I drive on Canadian roads long enough, it may inevitably be my car doing the killing? Not a good thought. I've had some near-misses.
As for writing this poem about the occurrence--or if the poem is worth the reader's time--well, time will tell as with all poetry. From where I sit it was worth the writing.
One raccoon, at least, will be remembered.
fwbrown61
No, the case here was just an unfortunately too-common event between a car or truck and an animal. The animal was in the [lethally] wrong spot at the wrong time.
I drive on Canadian roads long enough, it may inevitably be my car doing the killing? Not a good thought. I've had some near-misses.
As for writing this poem about the occurrence--or if the poem is worth the reader's time--well, time will tell as with all poetry. From where I sit it was worth the writing.
One raccoon, at least, will be remembered.
fwbrown61 
Comments