Sunday, October 23, 2016

Mole Run

Mole Run

Time has made me a mole.
A thrower of dirt, a rebreather
defined by my runs;
blinking in the occasional dazzle 
of that other world
then head back down in the blanketing dark,
swimming through earth with my
double thumbs, sniffing and
pushing with my starburst nose,
living on whatever I find
that thinks itself safe underground.

This poem is a tunnel,
a simple device through which
the wriggling earthworm falls,
 stunned and saved in my black pantry,
where I keep all the juiciest creatures
just for you.

~October 2016

Note: Moles have a special sort of hemoglobin which allows them to absorb more oxygen while above-ground and reuse it later. They have two thumbs per paw, and construct tunnels in order to 'trap,' devour and store wandering earthworms, which they paralyze with a toxin in their saliva. You can find out more about the lifestyle, physique and habits of moles here on wikipedia: 

Images: An Egyptian Poppy with a Water Mole, 1912, by John Crome; Public Domain via wikiart.
Star-nosed Mole (Condylura) by the US National Park Service; Public Domain via wikimedia


  1. That ending....eesh! What a novel inspiration for a poem, moles. They're fascinating, apparently, and I not only enjoyed the poem for its restraint and for its all-natural creepiness, but learned about moles, too.

  2. Dark and yet playful

  3. First, WONDERFUL to read you, always. Second, a brilliant poem with, as always, a unique perspective and highly original. Love it.

  4. Ah, such a comparison. I have been particularly fond of moles since I read the Duncton Wood series of novels. I love the idea of the poet working unseen underground, trapping ideas like worms and putting them to use in moursihment. Thanks, Hedge.

  5. There is much to find if one is willing to go low into the grand Humility ... the poem's star-shaped nose is apt for rooting and roosting here. Wonderful affinity for assuming lesser shapes to mine the grubs whose blood is gold enough. Probably safer there, too ...

  6. I miss my garden, even though I was an inconstant tend-er. and we only had gophers, not moles, here on the left coast, by the sea. here, mole has an accent -unsweet chocolate (mole').

    I like the imagery in the last stanza - falling through to the earth, a bit, myself of late. ~


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats