LPiA-22 Nov. 19
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 19

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 

Topic : Write a poem inspired by Natural History - or (as a slight departure) a poem about Bigfoot.
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 to 14
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Henry is 13 feet tall
and has been standing
near the entrance
of the Natural History Museum
greeting visitors to DC
since 1959.
I first saw him in 1961,
on a field trip, and since then
he hasn't moved a muscle.
The size of the foot doesn't matter
As long as it fits the shoe.
Or the sock.
I'm saying you can be barefoot
This isn't about feet.
It's just for fun.
I like sex.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Stand off

The bear traps set
all began to trigger
in rapid succession.
No buck, no coon,
just deliberate ribs.
I considered them
with quiet fortitude
and lifted my rifle.

Dead sticks littered
the dry forest floor,
so like Billy Colman
perched on a root
I would wait for my
deer to graze closer.

Dull scraping, like
that of two bones
drug over asphalt
began to emanate
beyond the barrel.

Sweat rolled down
as I held my stead
the noise growing
louder and louder
until dead- full stop.

Trees shook as it
shuffled away, the
forest litter crackling
underfoot like tinder
on the hearthstone.

I did the same
and never hunted
in that forest again.
"Whenever is a really long never"
Occam's Razor
There is a parasite
that makes the mouse
not fear the cat.

And another for the ant.
Each affects the brain
to promote its propagation.

Some might see
a guiding hand
in such adaptation.

Evolution only needs
trial, error and years
same as you and me.
Ghostly action at a distance
the eyes of multiple gods
upon my entangled atoms
begs the question
of violated causality
and local hidden variables.

A gold rush to extinction
and Bingo!
there goes the dodo,
the only angel I recognize
stumbling through the Bardo,
and I hang on for a minute or two
delayed by a few Gnostic fragments.

It’s not natural, it’s not history,
it’s only me, there in the corner
of a forgotten cabinet of curiosities.
Stand outside world
to describe it: impossible
but informative.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist

At first you'll feel quite the detective, tracing
such a clean line through the confused web that is
your field, but then you'll start to feel
your insignificance, the weight
of all the time you spent reading those articles
for not much more than a bracketed number
bearing down on you like a badly built house
in an earthquake, and you'll find
this is not a journey you've made alone,
the corpus of references you've gathered becomes
a sort of canon, their authors a choir
of interceding saints: you'll realize the web
was an icon under construction,
your work a gilded tessera.

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