For today’s prompt, write an animal poem. The poem can be about an animal, just reference an animal, or well, however you’d like to handle writing an animal poem.
Here’s my attempt:
“Horse”
What they called me in track,
I suppose, because of my speed
but also my long hair and steady
approach. Many people commented
how I never seemed to even try
as if I were born to run after
the smoke of a gun–and maybe
they were right–but you don’t get
to make anything look that easy
until you’ve killed yourself with practice.
*****
along the seashore-
fog, trails left by sanderlings,
sound of waves unseen
Caterpillar
Soon, glass wings will emerge. You
will skip and tune new heights, possibly
over my ceramic tile roof or the avocado
tree nesting nascent fruit, as if you never
had legs conditioned to crawl in low places.
Did you ever look up, eyes veiled
in dust, accidently creep into a space
next to the pushed up chest of a shadow?
Who you’ve been isn’t who you’ll be.
I will watch for you. The old
Skylark couple might be around
to sing something fitting.
Turtles
Turtles, before long
each poet writes a
turtle poem. Animal,
reptile, human maze,
even insect love.
Our pond harbored a
snapping turtle. I was
afraid because Granny
said once bitten, he
would not let go until
it thundered.
Yesterday my son bought
a brass turtle ashtray for
his girlfriend. It was not
clean and sometimes
that happens when you
buy something at the
secondhand store.
I start the turtle morning
never knowing what
I want. Once a friend
stopped his car in the
middle of the road to
rescue a turtle. When
asked why he said there
were so few left.
Love–doomed to
a slow tempo, low-
key or sprinter, you
never know.
Write a poem with animal theme:
Praying Fishermen:
Bent poles silent, solemn so
Sly fish will catch them.
A Puppy for the Emperor-to-Be
Years before Jeff would proclaim himself
Emperor of the World, he was a small boy
who wanted very much to have a little dog.
On Christmas day the wish was granted him:
lanky, black-haired, a part-collie pup that
Jeff called “George” and lavished love upon.
While first grade lessons dragged on and on,
George was waiting at home, ready to leap
in his master’s arms as he came in the door.
In the backyard one afternoon, I overheard
the Emperor-to-Be telling his dog, “To grow
into a German Shepherd, eat all your food.”
By more than genetics, this was not to be:
on a soft spring afternoon Jeff threw a ball.
Chasing it, George was run over by a car.
A friend whose pug had just had pups tried
to soothe the pain, letting Jeff choose one,
but “Linda” could never replace his George.
Animal Farm
There are no wild animals
on this spinning farm –
all conifers, ferns and empty space.
If you’re quiet, Hal, you can hear
the trees grow.
Horse
by
Arrvada
Large eyes, deep, warm brown
Legs long, strong, for running fast
Mane and tail swept back
Cat-alogue
Slim and slinky
Sleek, sassy and cute
Silently sighing,
Sleepily, slowly…
Sagacious, serene
And sure-footed.
Dark and dinky
Cunning, astute
Tortoiseshell or ginger
Or a Persian humdinger
Meowing and scratching
Attractive and fetching
That’s
Cat.
(haiku)
June bugs flit
against the window at night
it sounds like rain
That’s a lovely image, and true. Basho would pat you on the back!
Day 26 – an animal
The animal in me snarls and stalks
intruder cats when the birds yell
for help. Some cats are stupid.
The white one looks at me, at
the stones I fling to frighten, like
a child who ponders adult antics.
The grey one knows when the game
is up, and crashes through broken
palings, not bothering to scale
the fence. I am considering
deterrence in the form of
barbed wire, if there is no
restrictive covenant. It’s not that
I hate cats, I just don’t want them
here. At friends’ homes, I take
photos revealing personality;
they occupy home territories
like queens and princes.
I stroke their delicious fur
and the animal in me purrs too.
Master Bengal
Houdini – his name –
a tiger in pajamas
at home holds the fame.
From boxes or paper bag
great escape artist! My Cat!
Elegy to a Calf
Where have you gone?
The quiet moon eyes
that will never shine
on passerbys who touch
our paddock fence with hope
that it is not electric wire
although a shock is always
what the wanderers least
expect when the sun glazes
across green listless fields
Pilgrims who pass here want
to feel the heat of your nuzzle
stroke your hair still natted
from the night you arrived
they admire how you stand
on those long spindly legs.
Cougar
Clawing, scratching, fighting for your attention, but you seem blind to my intentions. Younger ones approach,and there you go. Excitement fills you, as they circle around you, it thrills you, as they flirt and work their magic,using every trick they got,till u hunger for more.I realize,I’m no match in this war.
Samantha Tinney
[wolf haiku]
standing mountain wolf
calling the lonely moon in
the dead dead night
http://www.randallweiss.wordpress.com
Octopus
If I were an octopus under the sea,
I’d wrap myself ’round you with my eight long arms.
I’d ink up the water to protect you from harm,
And invite you to live in a garden with me.
I’d flash you bright colors, impress you with smarts;
Together we’d go out for lobster and more!
We’d go to my favorite spots on the sea floor,
And I’d love you, my dear, with all three of my hearts!
Caren E. Salas
(An octave for an octopus)
Dancing Bears (A Sonnet)
Maybe the house was quiet, but not you,
I would gather your small form in my arms,
rub my bleary eyes and slowly woo you
back to slumber with my slow dancing charms.
Maybe the day was sunny, you and I
laughing as I took your hands, your feet on
mine, and we waltzed with bears, just me and my
giggling daughter, memories waltz on.
The raggedy bears and shaggy bears dance
waltzing, waltzing right next to me and you.
Now here I sit alone, thinking by chance
of our last dance, how time flew and you grew.
A smile plays around my lips as I
dance with memories, happy tear slips, sigh.
Momma Cat
Fascinated by the yarn knot on the bookmark
and sweat on the side of a cold glass,
tiny thing rumbling with a broken tail,
cleaning me and her pet mice like kittens,
black spot on pink nose and mismatched
black paw pads, she climbs on me to sleep
on stomach, chest, hip or back,
warm body wakes to run from window
to window, watchdog over the roost,
eat and throw up, bring soft toy balls to the bed.
I never see it. Never hear her.
She is the silent one, less verbal,
more tactile, never one to yell or complain.
She came to me when I needed a mother.
THE DEAD BIRDS OF AMERICA, WITH LIFE-SIZE HAND-COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATE 1
Southbound, I-85
a single hawk’s wing
flapping with each
passing slipstream,
waving like a
feathered hand
PLATE 2
A white cage
newspapered
with the gold
corpse of a canary
posed on the picture
of a deposed
dictator
PLATE 3
Near the lavender
a scarlet patch
of cardinal,
his eminence
prey to your
prowling cat
PLATE 4
3000 blackbirds
fall on Beebe,
Arkansas, their
bodies glossy as
dark bottles
with no message
corked inside
PLATE 5
A sparrow,
eye pierced by
a BB, lays still
in the grass,
plain as a parable
you tell
only yourself
Earwig
The common earwig frightens me,
Upon her way proceeding;
She climbs up couches easily
And scares me when I’m reading.
But most of all I hate her name,
A horrible reminder
Of one place, if she ever came,
I would not want to find her.
EEEEK! [well done. i'm totally creepled out now
]
This is my last try. I’ve posted this all over different time zones and
my time zone is closing down as soon as I get out of work clothes
and have a bowl of hot soup.
dextrousdigits says:
April 27, 2012 at 12:14 am
dextrousdigits says:
April 26, 2012 at 11:49 am
DOG GONE GOOD!
This comment ended up on another poem,
For some reason, this site took forever to load up. Finally got through! Here’s my attempt for today!
http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/149418.html
Saddle Rocket
I wish I was a Kodiak bear at home
in the great Alaskan expanse,
idling along the seventy-mile
stretch of the Sadlerochit River,
adroitly snapping salmon
as they struggle upstream.
White sunlight cuts the landscape
as clean as a Samurai sword while I bathe
in its sharp and brilliant silence.
I cozy up to the coming winter,
where my dreams will be big
and uninterrupted.
For Sam.
Shasta Moonbeam Queen
That is what we called her,
White with rusty spots.
An English setter, so smart and beautiful,
From a litter of eleven.
All at once I encountered them -
While picking out a puppy.
The owner had emphysema;
And said I can let them out – but I can’t pick them up.
(For obvious reasons)
They ran everywhere, noses to the ground.
I chased one into the barn and picked her up.
She was shy and warm, she was the one.
She hid under the seat of the van
All the way home.
When I got to the house, I took her out and
Put her right to the side of the studio door for her
To walk in and surprise you, but she was too shocked
So I gave her a tiny push, and she appeared to you -
Like a little, white spotted cloud.
Love at first sight.
dextrousdigits says:
April 26, 2012 at 11:49 am
DOG GONE GOOD!
This comment ended up on another poem,
must have pressed the wrong button.
The Zoo
With four kids
we’ve had a menagerie
meander through our house.
Baby ducks, guinea pigs,
and parakeets
visited within these walls.
The most memorable,
the pollywogs
who turned into tiny frogs
overnight;
discovered by my bear feet
in pre-dawn darkness
on the kitchen floor.
Soon gone.
Our dog watches you,
turns to me then back at you.
He knows the F word,
feels your prickly energy.
“It’s alright, buddy,” you say.
~~~
The Owl and The Pussycat Grow Up
Said the owl to the pussycat
“I no longer want to be
Sitting in this boat
Rollicking at sea.
There must be something more
To my existence than this
Now my darling pussycat
Don’t look so hissed.
It’s time to vacate
To leave this vessel
To grow up, get a job
Before I lose my fettle.
No more playing around
And singing and glee
Grab your coat
It’s time to flee!”
The pussycat eyed him
With sad remorse
And said with a sigh
“I agree, of course.
Nursery rhymes
Have come to an end
And so is this fictitious
Relationship, my friend”
The pussycat’s eyes
reflected the owl’s fright
As suddenly she pounced
And set the world right.
Oh my goodness! I wasn’t sure how you were going to end this. Surprising. I also enjoyed the rhyme.
Thanks to the Rabbits
Thanks to the rabbits
For their pale, ductless eyes.
Thanks to them.
I can smooth cool gel on fragile skin
Stroke gleam and shimmer below the refined arch of brow
Brush turquoise in bright sweeps
Paint lashes midnight black, velvet thick,
Long as a lingering gaze
That fatal flaw of rabbits,
Their fortunate incapacity
To fashion tears
Saves me
From stinging lotions,
Poison potions,
Crude concoctions and rich tinctures that might
Dim my sparkle
Thanks to the rabbits
Thanks to them
Surprising. I was not expecting you to thank the rabbits for safety and irritant testing. I bet it was fun writing the descriptions of the eye make-up. On the other hand, signature Cam using alliteration and multiple synonyms. You do really explore. Your descriptions are always so rich.
YELLOWSTONE TRILOGY
——————————–
I. Kautata:
Elegantly poised,
Lightly balanced to run, he
Knows how danger hides in peace.
II. Dodoitsu:
Brutish as a truck, his voice
Echoes from the far hillside.
Agile, he turns quickly and
Runs faster than you.
III. Tanka:
Brown as terrycloth,
Intent on going his own
Shaggy way, winter’s
Old coat drapes his shoulders; he’s
Native America’s king.
Very well done.
CALL OF THE WILD
She took her family to the Phoenix zoo,
On Spring Break,
To teach them about the variety,
Of animals on the planet,
To peak their interest,
Stimulate their thinking,
Have a little fun,
Before heading back to winter!
Seeing the tall giraffes,
Was a big request of the kids!
She steered them towards,
The giraffe display,
Hoping they could play,
Or, at least, see them in the yard,
To their deep disappointment,
None were to be seen,
This was not good enough!
Since she had learned a new technique,
In her metaphysics class,
About conscious communication,
With animals,
She half jokingly told the kids,
“Come on let’s go talk to the giraffes,
We’ll get them to come out!”
She found a path back to their structure,
And silently called them to come out!
After two minutes,
A baby giraffe poked its head out,
Turned and looked right at them.
Kids squealed with delight!
Mom gestured for the giraffe to follow them out,
To where the food was,
All three walked with the giraffe,
Followed by the giraffe’s much larger mother,
All the way to where people could feed them!
The two giraffes wouldn’t eat until Mom asked them to,
Finally opening their mouths so wide,
Licking the food out of the children’s hands,
With their giant snake like dark green tongues!
Both kids jumped back,
Screaming so loud that the giraffes moved backwards,
Turned and slowly left.
Success!
The call of the wild,
Had been heard . . .
On all three accounts!
Sporting Dog
Loveable, Loyal
Labrador Retriever
Full of affection
Tale wagging, eyes bright
Seemingly smiling
Chauffeured around town
In a pick-up truck
Backseat sovereign
Windows wide
Begging a sweet drive-thru treat
Content to companion
Wherever the road leads
Loveable, Loyal
Labrador Retriever
Full of vigor
Romping through woodland trails
Nose to the ground
In search of sensuous smells
Intent on following instincts
Experience the thrill of the hunt
Treeing squirrels
Splashing up ducks in the pond
Pondering the wonder of flight
Satisfied to run with the wind
Loveable, Loyal
Labrador Retriever
Full of mischief
Full of cookies copped from the kitchen counter
Sleeping comfy cozy behind the master’s chair
Sporting a full belly
Feeling fortunate
Feeling favored
Feeling loved
When Pigs Fly
There will come a day
when I’m more than just a number.
There will be a night
filled with restful, peaceful slumber.
Bring on the future.
Top it off with earthly peace.
End all aggression
since we do know this must cease.
Put a stop to violence
so the innocent don’t die.
Please be sure to show me when pigs fly.
By Michael Grove
Ferrets hate to run
they slink
or crawl or skit around
dark hallways like
sharp-eyed ghosts then
sleep.
My mother said
everyone
is some animal
in some other hallway.
She claimed the Owl,
heiress of dark
beaking her roundish
shape through small spaces.
But her path was wide.
“Who Cooks for You?”
after all.
I learned to sleep
through
Mother hooting and clawing
and missing some man.
Mice and rabbits and
peacocks
were no proper suitors.
Before I found my animal
I spent hours
hidden and dreaming
scrabbling away
from her. Sometimes
begging.
She meant the insult —
Stop ferreting around.
I seized it —
identity however burrowed
has sharp eyes for itself.
Excellent. “beaking” as verb…”Who Cooks for You”…seizing the insult. Just.Excellent.
Thank you!
Love this!
(crow)
lone silhouette
inked on a stroke of wire
consuming all the loneliness
in the universe as it
caw-caw-caws, into the
still morning air threatening
to engulf the day before it
emerges
Wow! I’m super glad I happened on this poem as I was preparing to log out!! The imagery is incredible!!!
Thanks Miss R. this is one of the few “animals” i observe daily in my city habitat.
Love this!
Thanks Dee Dee!
Teeth
The lions are loose
In the streets tonight
Devouring moonlight as it spills
And flows down lane and alley
Chewing up the light
Leaving dark, leaving nothing
But empty shadows
And the sound of
Of growling and gnashing
Of teeth
I am intrigued by this. I think I’ve seen those lions myself…
GrrrAnimals
Donkeys and Elephants
Lacking in relevance
And signs of intelligence
Is there malevolence?
Living With a Wolf
When breathing became
impossible and I gathered
heartbeats like pearls
harboured secretly
within
You loped with me deep
into the woods our strides
matching those of
ancient ancestors
dead
Long in the light you resisted
the urge to howl urging
me on with subtler
shades
Prodding gently your lupine
nose wet against my
palm snuffling
when I was
tempted
to
Stop your eyes unfathomable
but filled with knowledge
beyond knowing
kept me
going
Until we came to the water
not a river nor
a lake as
expected at least
By me but a box of lakes
where you drank
your fill before
disappearing
in a hair
Your tail flashing silver
between birch and larch
before I
folded myself
beneath
the waves
and
slept.
S.E.Ingraham©
used for The Mag 114 also with pic to go with
at this blog site http://nsaynne.wordpress.com/2012/04/27/living-with-a-wolf/
incredible written, wonderfully read!
WOW, Sharon. Love this.
you had me at wolf but your writing kept me…gorgeous – wonderful emotions.
“gathered heartbeats like pearls” – beautiful poem, Sharon.
wow …. wow…. and ahem… wow!
thanks all … I have such an affinity for anything lupine; must be because of my border-collie/wolf, huh?
BARELY
(a shadorma)
swimming bear
barely noticing
cold water
on bare skin
she is unbearably cute
as she’s swimming bare
2012-04-26
P. Wanken
Here’s a link to the poem as posted on my blog, which has a picture to go with it:
Barely
I loved it on your blog, and I love it here!
Hey, how’d you make the clicky link just one word?
I use html code — I sent you a message on FB.
Mans Best Friend
There’s a reason why they say he’s mans best friend.
So loyal he will be there ’till the end.
Loving, tried and true.
Count on him to uplift you.
If you’ve a dog then you must comprehend.
By Michael Grove
Ultimate Predator
Stalking in the dark she
Lurks beyond the frond of a palm
Silently taking in air through flare
Nostrils tasting the smell of prey
As it infiltrates the night air
Whiskers sensing every nuance
Eyes shaded green penetrates
The darkness of this hunting ground
Muscles bristling beneath fur
A silent killer takes account as
She moves into a position ready to strike
Time must slow in her eyes
As prey stands still moments stilled
She pounces
One more stuffed rat
Finally says good night
Cat Love
Sometimes, absent-mindedly,
he would call this black boy cat
by his eldest son’s name, then
shake his head and correct himself.
I think that was even before
his mind began slipping —
though who knows when
such gradual slides begin?
And the animal would snuggle up,
or lie at his feet for hours
when he worked at his office desk —
‘Just us blokes together.’
I am giving him extra cuddles now,
the cat. I wonder how long before
he realises that this absence
will not come to an end?
He and his sister have learned:
beloved humans go away and come back
after days or weeks or even months.
Some reappear after years.
I wonder how long it will take
this time, to understand? Meanwhile,
unless I mention them first,
the man never speaks of the cats.
Oh, Rosemary. This is heartbreaking, and beautiful.
Absolutely agree with De.. Exquisitely done
there is talk about the end
strange phenomena
dolphins washing ashore
flocks of birds falling like hail
vanishing bees and bats
all unexplained
like an illusionist’s trick
perhaps mother nature’s
grand sleight
of hand.
the humans
marvel filling stadiums
each night
standing room only
with thunderous applause
and hope when mother needs a
new volunteer from the audience
they
aren’t
next.
This.is.CHILLING. So well done.
thanks! it was fun to write.
FOXY LADY
You do not seek
to see behind
my mask
of timid refinement
You do not see
how I slink
unseen
into the background
You cannot hear
the faint pant
of anxious breath
trapped in this cage
You wear me around
your neck
a fine catch
to show your friends
Cat Man Do
He pushed his paw on my forehead
Waking me from a dead sleep
He stares at me with pitiful eyes
And meows with a pathetic whine
I look at the clock
It’s only 6am
He knows it not time for me to get up
Seems he just doesn’t care
I push him off the bed
Five minutes later
His buddy jumps up on the bed
He doesn’t meow
Or pop me in the forehead
No, he’s more subtle
He puts his cold wet nose
On mine
The same cold wet nose
That just wandered around his posterior
As he cleaned himself
Yuck
I push him off the bed
On top of the first cat
They decide it’s time to play
So they chase each other
Up and down the hallway
In and out of the bedroom
Up and over the bed
And back out into the hallway
Where they decide it’s time to
Sharpen their claws on the carpet
The wife throws a pillow
And they disappear
For five more minutes
The alarm clock buzzes
And I look to the foot of the bed
One lurking in anticipation
One on the floor
And a third in the bedroom doorway
You’d think they were lining up
For their last meal
They way they act in the mornings
The thought of that one last meal
Certainly does cross my mind
Just kidding
So, now I’m up
Pajamas on and moving
They all line up and head out
Toward the kitchen
I stop to take my meds
And brush my teeth
Two cats reappear
One at my feet
One peering half visible
Around the corner of the hall
The third, I’m sure
Resting patiently on the
Living room area rug
After all, he’s sixteen
And has earned the right
To the kitchen I go
Two cats winding in and out
Around my feet
Meowing as they go
Four plates on the counter
Open a new can of tuna
Add meds for the old guy
And juice for the rest
Three plates on the floor
Out the door with number four
Did I forget to mention
The straggler that lives on our porch
I am the cat man
Meow meow me-meow
Fun!
Love the bit about the nose that “just wandered about the posterior.”
re my attempt at a humorous poem (see above): of course I meant jig, not jog.
I’m reading from the bottom up – and you start me off with a smile!
Hey, wait a minute. I wasn’t through. Don’t know what happened there.
As I was saying, I wrote this silly haiku:
I see a big animal
oh dear it is loose
I do believe it’s a moose !
Now, here’s a tiny bit more serious try:
did you ever see a moose?
running loose?
more amusing than a goose!
he’s ugly and he’s big
and he cannot dance a jog
because his antlers might come loose.
I wrote this haiku and then I thought it was so silly, I’d better try again !
Weenie haiku
poor Mr. Weenie
cannot control his licker;
wet spots on the couch
Lune-y Penguin
Dressed for the gala
the Penguin
taps his happy feet
haha! we have several Mr. Weenies at our house–same trouble.
Two birds fly
side by side
through a
beam of sunlight
The serene face
of the moon
a silhouette
against the night
A glistening stream
races past
moss-covered rock
Daring cubs
challenge the
tenacity of a hawk
The Faithful Lemming
I had a best friend growing up.
His eyes, the reflections of profound questions
and a calm, clear blue,
had seen more age than his eyes should.
He spoke to me of kings and robes,
queens and crowns, monsters
and seas.
And I, a naive foundling in the
awkward state of confused chaos,
jumped.
He led me through a world of mirrors,
our distorted laughter bending light and breaking
a never ending cycle of hallways and smiles.
He taught me to raise a sword in defense,
and stab a sword in retaliation.
He fixed my clear cut wounds and dropped me off into
a blue planet.
At first, the pain was bearable.
A simple dividing line, black and white,
and I would be no more than human, but more a god.
He spoke softly as to not stir the kracken within.
The remedies were clear;
the path was well lit.
I had only to ingest his sorrow and his reason for life.
He bit and I bit.
He swallowed and I swallowed.
He promised me the king of thrones and the jewels to adorn my crown.
We plunged into a sunshine cavern,
spreading a fetid warmth over our bodies.
We became bullet trains capable of flight.
The night air became our mattress
and the stars our shining halos.
Kings!
Ha! We were kings!
And it was there, in the midst of a soured fog,
I found my body,
dragging on the ground, like an effigy corpse,
caked with herbs and dried.
My flame burned slowly, my head a smoking pile of hallucinations,
and my arms and legs were worthless sea-dogs.
I looked to him, convincing myself that the fall off the cliff
was not a Dover but a molehill,
and I would tumble to the green grasses below.
Instead, I found rocks against rocks.
I found the cold-black sputum.
I had to laugh, because I jumped,
following his path into the icy depths of Neptune.
A flash of shadow,
reflecting ice- capped red smile,
cranes dance slowly.
Shēngxiào
She’s always felt more
dragon
than rooster.
Stubborn ox,
maybe
crazy goat
loyal dog
sincere goat
creative snake
playful monkey
tenacious rat
sensitive rabbit
passionate tiger.
perceptive horse
trusting pig.
Self-assured
rooster,
never.
But perhaps some part
of her
is still waiting
to
wake
up.
.
Ooops. Somehow got goat in there twice. Corrected:
Shēngxiào
She’s always felt more
dragon
than rooster.
Stubborn ox,
maybe
crazy goat
loyal dog
creative snake
playful monkey
tenacious rat
sensitive rabbit
passionate tiger
perceptive horse
trusting pig.
Self-assured
rooster,
never.
But perhaps some part
of her
is still waiting
to
wake
up.
.
nicely done; admirable shape, wish I knew how to do that …
Thank you, Sharon.
If you’re on a Mac, it’s just “option” (alt) at the same time as the space bar, for each and every space. So thankful someone told me that last year.
There But For the Grace of Four Percent (Prompt: Animal)
“Scientists have sequenced the genome
of the chimpanzee and found
that humans are 96 percent similar
to the great ape species.” –
Stefan Lovgren
for National Geographic News
August 31, 2005
I squint
as I look
in the mirror.
I see the wrinkles,
the smile,
the imposing eyebrow ridge
over soulful, searching eyes,
and think,
there but for the
grace of four percent
is the great ape.
While this majestic beast
possesses inherent dignity,
the most successful ones
are those who have been
trained to amuse
by riding bikes,
smoking cigars,
and wearing tuxedoes.
Complex and unpredictable,
they can submit
to each other
for intensely personal grooming,
but can also mobilize
for the violent
overthrow of
a designated enemy.
Victims of circumstance,
they move to where
the food is
and they learn
the unwritten rules
of their hierarchical society.
They hunt,
they share,
they nurture,
they rape,
they invent,
they ruminate,
they try,
they fail.
So
I’m starting think that
the four percent difference
consists mostly of
cosmetic appearance,
differential acrobatic skills,
and self-serving statements
of perceived
moral superiority.
Such insight – “the most successful ones/are those who have been/trained to amuse”
The poem just spills out of the quote. You are overflowing today!
Your blog inspired me to write something musical today — how funny that my post is right above yours. You most definitely were my muse today. LOL
This one is awesome Mosk!
Wonderful, B.
Animal
It was Ice Cube’s drummer
with the Animal tattoo
of Animal bag-ang-ing
on his drum set
insisting he wasn’t
a puppet—
his art was true
blue line ink
that convinced me
to get that junior set
and pound out my own
Electric Mayhem
One
metronome,
and a few hundred
egg cartons later
I tuned out Ice Cube and
went back to Animal
basics—eat drums!
Blast away, Andrea! Love the tie-into Ice Cube’s drummer. This is a radiant eruption of the human soul finding its voice! Go on with your bad self! Ye-ow!
Cat
He is my hero.
A feline Buddha living in the now,
curled in placid comfort,
purring at the joy of life.
He chases chipmunks in his dreams
and scales the highest trees.
He swims with frogs
and outruns squirrels
and sails among the birds.
Then waking from this world,
he blinks
and stretches long his curling tail
and arching back
with paws and claws spread wide.
At last,
awake again he purrs,
Regarding now the dawning world.
What quest or search
is his next feat?
He ponders hard and then decides.
Of course!
It’s time to eat.
Ben
A chinese pug,
he had tan, short fur and his tail
was curled in an impossible twist.
I was told that he was abused,
and that was the reason his left eye
was deformed and without vision.
I was eight.
I don’t remember how old he was,
but I do remember my parents giving
him away, telling me I didn’t take care
of him and that they didn’t want to.
He went to live on a farm and I wouldn’t
know the companionship of a dog again
until I was an adult.
I hope that farm was more forgiving than my parents.
Amen.
Illuminated
an iridescent snail scales
aquarium walls
Her first night with us
she cried.
I went to her,
softly helped her down and
said, “Lie down, Mindy. Lie down.”
Soon after I was back under the blankets
she cried.
I went to her,
softly helped her down and
said, “Lie down, Mindy. Lie down.”
My head fell into the comfort of the pillow,
I pulled coverings over my shoulders
she cried.
From my bed I said, “Lie down, Mindy. Lie down.”
She did.
I was astonished at how quickly she learned.
I didn’t know.
She grew rapidly,
her favorite food was pizza.
While protective of us whether needed or not,
when the pizza was out of the oven
she could be counted on to try stealing it from
one of the younger kids.
One leap and she was the victor,
settling down in a corner to enjoy the spoils of
pizza wars.
I didn’t understand.
She played basketball with the kids.
In her excitement she would jump about
bark-bark-barking,
stand up on hind legs
catch the ball between her front paws
bounce it on the patio
toward a child near the hoop.
Basket made.
I had no clue.
The family laughed when I told them
she communicated with me
using her eyes.
She would stare till I felt it,
turned to look.
I saw her stare and knew
what she needed.
I was perplexed.
She cared for the cats as if they were her pups
Seeing one climb a tree
she would look into the tree
whimper and bark to alert us
to his predicament.
A cat dashed out the front door
she followed
encircling the cat
herding him back into the house.
I wasn’t needed.
One night she knew it was coming.
She began crying at sunset,
looked at us with begging eyes.
Drove her to the emergency vet
she went to sleep
as we cried
and a son talked to her
in an ode,
an ode of chapters,
not simple sentiment.
And we all knew.
She was more than just our dog.
She was our Mindy
owner of wisdom
humor
great intelligence
family.
It’s been twelve years since she
went to sleep.
I still feel her.
I can still be brought to tears
because I miss her.
Now I understand.
There is no dog like a
border collie
and no border collie like
Mindy.
What a loving tribute to a wonderful pup. </3
ah yes … have one myself … and he’s the second; there is truly no dog to compare …
oh so lovely.
Butterfly
Red admiral is in the fleet
of fruit, commanding
apple slices, rotten
banana, showing its
insignia as it rests
on the earth, its wings
always in formation.
Sentinel
He’s out there now
first warbler of day
his voice vast from
his small body
a vocalist who knows
his instrument—
my alarm clock
Get up getup getup
bring seeds arise! he sings,
getting the wrens and crows
worked up, the finches
and bluebirds, titmice
and chickadees
fluttering around feeders,
the hummingbirds humming,
the cats aroused,
and coffee going.
It’s morning
and he’s in love
with love.
What a gorgeous image! I <3 spring!
Jane what a gorgeous – fresh from the oven scented – roll you were on this morning… too bad the AUTO-CRATIC EDITOR would not let me POST COMMENTS… Each poem a delight in its own way:)!
PAD Therapy Day 26
UNPREDICTABLE
it’s a different sort of animal
this grief in me
it’s an elephant in this waiting room of me
that others with their magazines
look down hard so as to avoid eye contact
until the elephant becomes
a feral cat
all sharp edges hard to contain
leaving people scrambling
this grief in me
Hm. should say “from” between the last 2 lines.
LaGuardia Surprise
It’s a bird, it’s a plane,
no wait. It’s Byrdie
on the runway
stopping traffic
for the most innocent
of reasons.
He wanted to play.
When his owner
got off her Memphis-
bound plane
and called him
though,
flights were able
to continue
on their merry way.
I hope they smiled
rather than remaining
(doggedly)
grouchy
because of the delay.
http://apnews.excite.com/article/20120426/D9UCIMUG0.html
Food Chain
My neighbor bow hunts
creatures great and small
each in its season
deer, turkey, quail, geese
I watch the animals forage
in the pasture below
among cows and horses,
rabbits, groundhogs, foxes,
no species wars for them,
see the birds tug at seeds
or catch a ricocheting
grasshopper or flying bug,
a buck or scout wary,
but so consumed with
finding food that they
forget the chain that
binds them, that for
someone, they
are
food.
NEIGHBORS
The souls of those dear to us
return as neighbors sometimes
strolling on the sidewalk . . . felines strut
alongside you as if
you weren’t there, though,
at times, they stop by
mew, brush their fur
on your legs, hungry perhaps,
lonely perhaps. It’s complicated
being a cat. Mama sends her off,
onto the street, lookin’ for a home. In the meantime
bits and pieces strewn along the way, water,
once and a while. A respite
from wandering. Then I come by. It’s good
to know you have a friend, even if
it’s only a soft hand underneath her neck. Hugging
my legs. We go for a walk, I pet her
from time to time. She presses her head
against me, gives me a gentle bite . . .
that’s how I know she cares. It’s said
the people you love, who left
come back. They miss you so they
find some place close by to be
with you. Considering who she is,
what she ought to be, it’s nice to think
this feline of mine is
the other side of
an equation that equals love.
Zev Davis
Doves in Rain
They share an outstretched limb
like an arm with foliage fingers
windblown, wet. Side by side
they tuck into themselves
as sheets of rain descend
from the rumbling sky.
Sometimes they lift their heads
and shake their feathers,
leaning toward one another
like an old couple keeping
the mate upright, awaiting
sunny cooing days,
receiving a sky bath.
ANT
Once upon
my time
you stood
mighty,
a mastodon,
able to carry me
and mother
over mountains,
across years
mine-strewn.
Now, rendered
to bones and skin,
wizened from
weeks of radiation
beamed through
your blood,
you stand
weaving,
brave
ant you are.
***
For my father. Peace, LindaS-W
Beautiful.
They Smile
I call them girls and honk and wave.
They always look up, cheerful, nod.
You can’t count on that from beef cattle,
but I give them a hello as well.
Lib says, What the hell are you doing?
Greeting the cows, I say, and she shakes
her head, wondering aloud if the trees
wave back too, which, yes, they do
but that’s another issue. I challenge
her to greet the dairy cows, grazing
or chewing cud, and watch how they
respond. Muttering about how
stupid it is, she does, watching all those
grazing Holsteins or Guernseys lift
their heads and nod. Now Lib believes
the Chick Fillet commercials are true.
FOX RUN
Hen house raider,
my, oh my,
eating chickens
on the sly.
Burma Shave!
Lizard Love
(for Zoom)
His skin is scaly, soft and smooth,
muscled on his frame, a verdant
mountain range along his spine
that rises and lowers like a wave
when I pet him there, running my
fingers over his diminishing fan
like a crescendo on piano.
His swirling eyes and bracket mouth
remind me of someone I know
but cannot place, someone alert
and bald with bulbous eyes,
his legs and toes tough and meant
for clinging, like hands, are almost
human. Why do people scream
when he rides on my sleeve taking the air,
his tail draped down my shirt?
He is like us, risen from the mud,
changeable, at home in every element,
green today,
yellow, red, or brown
tomorrow.
Silent poet writes
haiku of a tragic time,
deer with gun; end rhyme
April 26, 2012 – Day 26
Write an animal poem
Silent Nibblers
I am proud of my brown
and russet patterned skin,
puzzle pieces stretched
to sketch my body.
Birthing a babe resembling
me, I watch her labor
to stand upon knobby knees,
trying to please me with her feat.
We are vegans, our necks climb
to the tops of lush-leaved trees
designed to keep us munching,
much as we please, chewing
mouths moving from side
to side.and lips lingering
casually, we take our time,
on the sublime bounty
provided us. In no hurry,
for we have no worry of
other animals making us
their prey. We run in silence
gamboling through forests
on solid toes of travel,
never unraveling unless we spot
cackling hyenas, our only foes.
Bambi’s mother drinks
wisdom from the pond of life.
Gun shots ring; oh deer!
Her Dog
She left me with her dog, he told me;
that’s the only thing I hold against her.
His own grief masked, tempered at least
over the years, he still smarted a bit,
feeling guilty about resenting a dog
with the bad luck of surviving
his owner. After all, they all knew
he was her dog, not theirs.
He wonders if he felt secretly envious
of the beast, allowed to crawl
on her bed, even her pillow
when he still went to work
every day, before she took a turn,
requiring his constant care.
What did the dog actually do?
Nothing. He hates to admit,
even to himself, though, how much
the dog knew. He may have seen
that grim spectre, ghostlike,
coming to steal her spirit. Why else
did he cower in the corner, growl
at the Hospice nurses, so kind,
so gentle, there at the last. Now
the dog watches for his return,
even summons the energy
for a tail wag now and then,
but each suspects the other
of missing her more, blaming
too for not knowing what to do,
how to keep her from leaving.
oh…heart-wrenching….
The Golden Crane stands
silhouette against the moon.
Gun shots ring; crane falls.
My Resident Pest
How many times in every hour
can I yell get off the desk
He walks across the stacks of papers
treats them as his sleeping nest
Or rubs his head against my fingers
this effect sometimes lingers
in odd spelling, missing rhymes
and then there are the other times
he velvet-paws the arrow keys
oh keep your paws off, kitty, please!
I’m trying to write and he decides
I’m not to post Poetic Asides
poem today as he erases
my latest file, he leaves no traces.
Carol A. Stephen
April 26, 2012
Animal Attraction
All we ever had
was animal attraction.
You had a schnauzer
I, a Pekinese.
Too stuck up
both of us,
or too shy to speak.
We passed on the trial,
a pat to the pets
and wandered on,
but you looked back
and so did I.
i love your play on “animal attraction.” Very cool.
Excellent, Sharon.
THE GOO POOSKI NOOZ
and the thing I’ll never forget is the shape of her little face.
It compelled me into it, to get close in and sing it syllables.
She could meet me wriggling at the door for her new song,
or I could uncover her in the bed, her tongue jutting out pink
and relaxed as a plastic toy, her black lower lip-tip glinting
between the drapes of her jowls, black-rimmed and hung
softly from her snout that cliffed out from between her
eyes, which looked at opposite sides of the room as if
to ask where the song was coming from and why it
should come now while she was sleeping. Those
sounds bubbled out of a place I never even
thought about. They came for her, while
her oils filled my nose with fragrance,
and her little black and white face
turned up or settled back
down after a sigh,
filling up my
eyes with
sweet.
FangO
Awwww…..
fluff puff of coal smoke
drifted through the opened door
magic kitten love
<3 Magical, Pearl!
<3 Thank you Domino
“Black Beauties”
“animals” she called them
on first day driving
sighing sanctimonious
tapping red wrapped
fingernails against
her smirking teeth
“lucky to have her”
she sighed
these “black beauties”
these third-grade-children
in the long ago charge
of one red-lipsticked
hatred-heinous
teacher
unfortunately
no twilight zoned
signpost signaled
only a cancelled carpool
consequence
and time passing
an errant dodgeball
to her empty head
dangled snatched disability
discharging her
into the wild to
roam her jumbled jungle
of manufactured malice memory…
twenty-five children saved
not unscathed
but free
nonetheless
from one scathing
Serpent
IVORY
Carved creamy riches
The echo of elephants
Tints the valley floor
A black enterprise of tears
Bloodied and spattered we are
Form: Tanka (5-7-5-7-7)
Just an Animal
The kitten was tiny and
soaking wet
and mewing faintly.
“It’s just an animal,”
he said,
as if it were really true.
“I don’t want it in my house.”
He slammed the door
authoritatively.
It had to be saved.
She just had to figure out
how.
She left him that night,
taking just one suitcase
and some food for the kitten,
saving both of them.
The kitten grew up to be a regal,
friendly cat, much less
an animal
than the man.
Diana Terrill Clark
Oh Diana writing at the same time of tiny kittens… No time to read on… Yours just wonderful !
Love the story and the poem.
I love happy endings too. ^_^
Wonderful sentiment here, Diana.
Thanks Sara. ^_^
Hand-Me-Down
The gulch snake raps its head against an oblong
pink sandstone, rhythmic, one, two,
until the skin creases and begins to blister,
opening white like a paper fortune-teller
patterned with thin diamonds.
Then it begins to pull its body out of itself
in fits and starts, child with its first Christmas present
struggling to get the wrapping off in one piece–
forming slowly drawn curves that flash
deep teal and butter and forest floor colors cupped in
the sun’s afternoon hand–
undoing itself as though finally, at the party’s end,
it can pull off the last, long, elegant glove and drop it
with a formidable sigh.
Mud and the lapping creek wash its canvas
into brilliance again, and it slips away without even
a glance from newly unclouded eyes:
why doesn’t it conceive of things left behind,
how can it be so easy to discard such a vital organ
carried comfortably for so long?
On the wet sandstone lies a film like milk gone
hard on a table, a narrow, hollow folio
inscribed with lessons in a sibilant language that we,
who close our eyelids too often, cannot read:
about transformation and
healing, about courage and comfort,
the kind of mystery it takes to peel ourselves back
and shred these aftershocks we wear, leave them
to turn clear and brittle by evening.
Amazing.
My Son’s Cat
In silent crouch behind the couch,
the cat hides from my boy.
His toddler hands know only gropes
and karate chops–a caress
dealt playfully but still stings all day.
Her scratch won’t temper infant love–
his heart eclipses memory.
Her salvation comes only with age
when his attention strays to video games
and she becomes a memory.
I Wonder Why
Twenty-three dead cats spread
with matted fur, malnutrition
in the foreclosed house of a louse
like prisoners of war
five still alive which means
close to thirty dwelled in hell
the toxic fumes a fire hazard
among the hoarder’s trash stashed
for heaven only knows how long
these inhumane conditions existed.
If anyone’s interested, here’s the link to this atrocity-
http://www.beaumontenterprise.com/news/article/Owner-of-23-dead-cats-wants-custody-of-5-still-3504028.php
oh my – sad sad sorry – woman is obviously sick but it doesn’t mean she should get the cats back … good gosh no.
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write an elegy. I already wrote an “animal elegy” recently (“Elegy for Two Finches”, which came in second in Robert’s Tritina Challenge), so it took a little while to get another idea.
Elegy for Roadkill
To the several squirrels
I’ve seen in the street this spring
not quite quick enough
to dodge deadly tires;
to the Canada goose
near the shopping mall,
a riot of black and gray feathers;
to the large mammal I couldn’t identify
on the center line of the highway,
brown fur matted by the rain,
the size of a dog, but not a dog
(perhaps a groundhog or beaver –
I couldn’t see your face)
lying on your side as though sleeping;
to the poor box turtle
who never stood a chance,
shell smashed like an oversized walnut:
I am sorry for my small part in this –
I drive the roads you cross,
I’ve sped as quickly as your killers,
and, God help me, in my lifetime
I’ve taken out a few of you myself.
Two Squirrels in a Bird Feeder
Such larceny, they enjoy,
two frantic squirrels a-chatter
as they scamper
through the feeder,
taking the seeds as their own.
They’ll scold anyone
who approaches
without permission,
oh how they’ll scold.
When finished,
they’ll hop onto a limb
and make their escape
through the branches
while plotting their next spree.
“The flight of the raven”
All I was thinking was that the breeze
blew just for me that day, that season, that year,
to carry me like a storm
driven upon strong winds during this
drivel of time.
What I touched withered.
What I carried on the gale winds
faltered, what I wished remained just a wish.
My desire was to see an unfurrowed
brow in my mirror, one that would replace my fear
but every time I washed my
hands, I washed again, and then again
during this drivel of time
where I was sent wafting with the ravens
our flights stagnant against the
torrents of breath
and time.
Mysterious and lyrical… love the thoughts echoing through this.
Thank you, Joseph.
Ah, that last stanza was perfection.
Do Mallards Mourn?
So well camouflaged she was,
both of us spooked
when I wandered
too close to her nest
startled squawk, feathers flash,
unwieldy waddle, splash, mad paddle
she giving me a piece of her mind
for the unwelcome disturbance
my apologies, too late to appease
Intruder now, I take advantage –
opportunity to capture some pictures
too good to pass up — so I snap a few
photos of her progeny to be
could only estimate their numbers
from afar (ten, perhaps?) as they were so
tightly stacked, and I wanting only to
assure mama of my not unkind intentions
Imagining a photo journal, sequencing
progression from fluff to flight,
ensuing visits, my approach more cautious
I keep my distance, she maintains her vigil,
a prudent peacekeeping, until
days after, I find nest abandoned,
eggs destroyed, vandalized;
a year later, I’m incapable, still,
of passing there without pause,
I wonder what happened to her
Did she make another nest?
Lay another brood?
Does she mourn them still?
Animal
Drumming with fervor
red fur flying, Animal
grins and yells, “Wo-man!”
(Just trying to prime the pump a bit…) ^_^
PIG
Pig out
Lard butt
Mud roller
Bore
Defamation of police
Porker
Greedy
Gluttonous person
Sweat like
Swine
Yet
I speak Pig Latin
Save my coins in a Piggy Bank
Read about Piglet
Seen pig heart valves used to replace damaged human valves
Kermit and Miss Piggy
Porky whose stuttering made him adorable and human
and Pork chops, sausage, ham, and bacon.
There are two sides to every story.
“That’s all Folks”
Except for a few interesting Pig Facts
1. Pigs snuggle close to one another and prefer to sleep nose to nose.
2. They dream much like humans.
3. They like listening to music
4. Pigs constantly communicate with each other.
5. Baby pigs recognize their names.
6. Mother pigs sing to their young while nursing.
7. Pigs can play joystick-controlled video games.
8. Although piglets are greedy sucklers, older pigs prefer to eat slowly and savor their food.
9. Pigs do not sweat. They like to bath in water, but when hot will roll in mud to cool off.
10. Cambridge University Veterinary School reports “Pigs have the cognitive ability greater than dogs and certainly more than a 3 year old human.
11. In his book The Whole Hog, biologist and Johannesburg Zoo director Lyall Watson writes, “I know of no other animals more consistently curious, more willing to explore new experiences, more ready to meet the world with open mouthed enthusiasm. I have discovered, they are incurable optimists and get a big kick out of just being.”
If they have the pen space to do so
They will seperate their sleeping space from their poo place.
If so inclined.
They can get over a four foot high fence
(Been there – seen it!)
a whole new appreciate for piggies – thank you – I’ve always wanted one of those Vietnamese pot-bellied guys; I know, not quite your garden-variety swine, but still … this was charming
I’ve had a pet pig and now I don’t eat pork anymore – because of all these things. And yes, they can turn on the TV, play video games, and heel/sit/play dead/rollover.
DOG GONE GOOD!
Thank you.
Sorry this comment was meant for WALT
just pressed the wrong button I quess
Coupling Mourning Doves
High on a wire,
they’re paired
with wings almost touching
to face the mist
on a gray morning.
In silence they’re perched
to cast wary glances
as I approach.
I try to sing their song,
to ease my imposition,
but they stir.
Together they take flight,
two gray figures
taking to the skies
to face the Heavens as one.
Good one, Mike.
KINKAJOU
Oh sunny, funny, honey-colored kinkajou,
I ask, just what on earth are you?
They call you “honey bear,” and “bear-monkey” too,
But are you a bear? That is not true
You have a teddy bear face, sure,
And a monkey’s tail that grasps.
You have the lion’s bright, golden fur
And, like a raccoon, a grayish sort of mask
But while you wear all these guises,
Not bear, monkey, lion or raccoon are you.
You’re something all your own, full of surprises
My sunny, funny, honey-colored kinkajou.
Jogging Cowpanions
Most people when they go for a jog
Take a long their faithful dog
Or perhaps a kitten with its prance
Or even a monkey doing a dance.
But I’m a country kid and when I run
On a winding road beneath the sun
I jog along the barbed wire fence
And waiting for me in full suspense
All ready for their morning meal
They rush at me with bulky zeal
A heard of cows mistaking me
For the farmer ready to feed.
And so they follow me till fence’s end
And when I return they run again.
Vixen’s Siren
Screams fill the night,
Terrorizing the listener.
Finger hovers over 911,
Until reason asserts truth.
It’s spring;
Her annual mating ritual begins
With blood-chilling siren song,
Seeking company for the nonce;
The vixen readies to entertain.
© Claudette Young 2012
Companion Truth
Brandy orbs trusting, I see
Filled with love looking at me,
Gentle power of loyalty
Ever near, ever dear sentry.
Raise the call with nose held high
Licker of feet for miles gone by,
Pass this way my care to enjoy
Walk at heel my life an envoy.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
Dog walkers
we are the night watchmen
of this residential block
where foliage fills in the spaces
between houses, between driveways
and doors, between wives and husbands
and brothers and sisters
nothing but the dark can hide from us.
we see between the venetian blinds,
under doorways, know the smokers leaning
against garages. we hear your voices carry
and know your late night truth.
In the garden
In the dream we were chasing lions.
You had my hand in yours and took me
over swings and jungle jims and round
and round
the merry-go-round until we
trapped them in our garden posts
and sank heavy to our knees.
You made us a meal of honey
and pomegranate flesh popped on my tongue
wrapped in something flaky and warm.
Time passed, moments clutched
to breath.
In the dream
I was chasing your tail.
Took you in my hands and sent you
soaring with lion roars and honey breath.
You made a meal of my tongue
wrapped in your teeth.
Time was warm.
In the dream you were hunting
my knees. You had my pomegranate flesh
in your hands and took me
under the jungle jim and again
and again
on the merry-go-round until
you trapped my breath in the garden
of your hair. Our flesh was sticky,
warm and flaking with each tumbling
push and push and push.
You took your time.
You were a lion.
Wow, Khara! Love this! (Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me? LOL)
Excellent, as usual.
Thank you both!
PSC, I wrote this poem for a friend who challenged me to write a “romance” poem (versus a love poem, more akin to a romance novel) … This was as close as I could get, ha-ha, without blushing myself! (And I think I still blushed when I wrote it)
Ummm, I guess a bug could be considered an animal?
The Roach
We found it lying on his back
Twitching as if deep within a dream.
The girl and I were in suspension,
Trapped inside a primal place
Between the need to stay or fly.
Instead we danced,
A tribal thing on hopping feet
Because the ground was on fire,
And the shrieks tore out of our
Upturned throats and arms.
The heavens sent the man-child, mine,
Wielding Nike, Goddess of Victory.
Our dance was done.
LOL Funny Catherine Lee! I can picture the whole thing. :- ))
This is very funny. My daughter called yesterday to ask her
dad to come over to her apt. and save her from a spider–oh and
a mouse. She had locked herself in her room.
i love your way with words.
Thanks! This is actually how I started my day – my daughter and I screaming and jumping in the kitchen, my son rushing in and waving a Nike above his head…. good times!
Dear Grasshoppers
I remember how it hurt
When I was small, perched
In front of Dad on his motorcycle,
And you would bounce off
My tiny, denim-clad legs,
Miniscule missiles of irritation.
Later I thought how it must hurt
When my cousin pulled off
A leg or two of yours, saying,
With a disturbing sort of glee,
That you weren’t an insect anymore,
And I felt sorry for you then.
Years came when it hurt
To look at Dad’s face, where
I saw the barrenness of the fields
Reflected. Rain became a memory,
And thousands of you came,
Turning our brown fields to gray.
That desolation could not but hurt,
And you became the enemy.
Taking empty peanut butter jars,
My brothers and I would put you inside
With jagged rocks, and play a cruel form
Of football until you felt more than our pain.
The hurt of those dusty fields
Is a memory now. We had to move on,
And I don’t see much of you here.
Pain remains, but your turn as its agent
Is over, at least for now. I remember you
With a nostalgia-sweetened bitterness.
Nice! My daughter and I are reading a Little House book in which the family is in Minnesota and faced with back-to-back years of grasshopper invasion. I like how you show compassion for them, mixed with distaste as they eat the crops.
Thanks, posmic! I loved the Little House books; my dad read them to us when we were little. Good memories
All Too Human
A paradox, of sorts
Greedy, Warring,
Giving, Loving,
Poeming
Behold, the Human!
Flagrant skepticism
Lurks in the shadows
Subduing emotion
Verifying temerity
Ensuring that puppy dog eyes
Will no longer hold weight
After having cried wolf
One too many times.
Very nicely done.
Thanks, Jerry! Loved your “Gremlins” poem for today.
Awesome!
Thanks! I love the last line of your poem too: “nostalgia-sweetened bitterness” is so compelling
Very cool, Beth.
Thanks, Sara!
“Gremlins”
They tell me again,
I am posting too quickly
and there is need for me to slow down.
So I rest my hand on the mouse,
and take a deep breath,
then,
p
r
e
s
s
s
l
o
w
l
y
.
(click)
Yup! Again and again and… :- )) Loved the poem though. Reminded me I forgot to fill the birdbath this morning, so… off to do that now. :-]
YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“This Suburban Gardner”
The water in the birdbath
reflects
yellow finches
resting on the branches
of a river birch.
Suburban wild rabbits
(the kind you fear in the night)
shear off dandelion shoots
and pull them into their mouths
with startling efficiency.
Already, they’ve eaten the lilies,
before they had chances to bloom.
This suburban gardener
rises, bloodied,
but armed with only garlic,
we will do battle.
Oh, I’m loving your beginning with the descriptions:
The water in the birdbath
reflects
yellow finches
resting on the branches
of a river birch.
I could SO see this!! Very peaceful! Thank you, Jerry!
The Sound of You
That’s what we caught
more than glimpses
–the essence of gait
as you pounded your way
across the outback
The booming a broadcast
of necessary movement,
away from the dingo’s teeth
the snake’s muscling
As we jumped with our
strong little limbs
and understood our place on
the Earth’s gravitational realm
I Can Dream
The older I get, the more I think,
about reincarnation,
for one thing.
So much of the world believes,
perhaps there’s something to it.
I don’t know, and, actually,
no one really knows, but
I’ll tell you this:
there is no way I’m coming back
as a cockroach, or some such.
If I have to have another
spin of the wheel,
and it’s not as homo sapien,
I’m trusting that I’ve done enough work
to deserve a rest for awhile.
And that means only one thing:
I’m coming back as a cat,
preferably one of my wife’s cats.
They eat good, play well, sleep a lot.
Easily occupied with objects
both dull and shiny,
and pretty much indifferent to
the ills of the world.
Of course, I’d have to be careful
to not get wrapped up
in the window blind cords,
or to lock myself in a cabinet,
and then there’s that whole hairball mess.
But, hey, all of that pales when compared
To multi-flavor treats and tuna….ahhh, tuna.
And brushing, can anything be better,
and don’t try to compare it
to your paltry back rubs.
Did I mention the tuna?
Yes!
You could come back as one of my cats too. They have the same lifestyle. :0
the butterfly
With wings dazzling as emeralds,
she drifted by.
A draft came, carrying her aloft,
but she gracefully fluttered, alighting on a rose.
Which was more beautiful?
As I contemplated,
she joined again with the summer breeze.
Simplistic beauty, the best kind of beauty there is. This is lovely.
Flash – An Incomparable Newfoundland
What I would give
for one more moment
of your soft fur against
my cheek and your
head on my lap
for one more day
spent watching
your tail swish back
and forth and your
pink tongue lap my
face
The black and white
fur-ness of you as
you commanded the
space in which you were
majestic as a king you
comforted my daughters
as they lay against your
massive body and you
served as their bean bag
chair content to accommodate
their toddler shapes
You were my comfort
when all human company
failed and I miss the
exuberance of your welcome
your whole body shaking back
and forth as it leapt upward
forgetting your manners
to lick me hello
No welcome will ever
be as sweet.
I really enjoyed this. Love the line breaks.
Thank you, Cameron! He was so beautiful and we lost him at 12 years old. We never got another dog after him.
NIGHT-RAIN SAMISEN
This evening’s fog and drizzling rain in the dark.
In the dark
I’m following my shepherd dogs. In the dark
of a new moon that guards its coin
behind clouds, I’m in unknown
country, my own land. Nothing seems
as if was, strange seeds are sown
in the dark.
A ghost-tree bends its hanging limbs in the dark.
In the dark
I stumble on a fallen branch, in the dark
that tricks a traveler’s steps astray.
My old dog will plod ahead,
while the new puppy rushes past,
and gone – where have my dogs led
in the dark?
I listen for whatever moves in the dark.
In the dark,
brief headlights on a far-off road. In the dark,
a single plaintive call – wild goose
that’s lost its mate. What’s to guide?
Frog lament on the pond, the soft
fall of rain. Dog at my side
in the dark.
Taylor, this is fantastic. Beautiful imagery, and the repetition gives it the feel of a mantra, on top of that thick mood.
Just gorgeous.
Caged
She feels feral
itchy and strange
in her own mangy skin,
m e t h o d i c a l l y
chews off her own limb
to escape,
lets out a low
guttural whine;
looks back
and realizes
the door was open
the whole time.
.
Story of my life…*sigh*
Ah yes. I often wonder why my focus is off, but never until afterward.
Nice.
Wow, this this really got to me, it’s so visceral and raw.
A DOG’S POEM
Is it him?
Is he home?
I wish he would come
home! What was that? )
A car door? Was that ( )
a car door? The window, I
can’t get to the window. I gotta jump
up on the couch to get to the window. Do you think she’ll
know? She always knows. She’ll put me outside. I know
she’ll put me outside and the leash. I can’t do it! I’m gonna miss
him. I’M GONNA MISS HIM. Is that him? I’ll check, “Woof, woof,
howl, yipe, yipe, aaaawwwwwWWWWWW SHIT! WHERE
THE HELL IS THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH? Is he here?
IS THAT HIM? Yes, YES, YES!
I just let a little
out on the
rug. But I do
not care! Nope! He’s home!
WALT!!!!!
!!!!!
Best ever!
Good boy! Good boy!
LOL Only you, Walt! Too funny! And an excellent job formatting, too! :- ))
My gosh, how cute is this? It makes me miss my doggie (he passed away a few years ago), but it makes me smile too, remembering how he used to act like this.
wowsers great!
This is the cutest thing EVER! This has my dog’s name written all over it, except he loves his leash because it means I’m taking him for a walk, and geez, does life get better than that?? Love this. I can hear that doggie-inner-voice of unconditional love, that the best dogs have.
Zounds!
wow – pretty damned impressive shape poem Walt … wow!
Wow! I can’t believe this. I don’t know which is better, the poem or the drawing.
Ruff! Ruff!
Not at all! Smooooothe as silk
Thoroughly enjoyable
I am full of aches, stiffness, and Tylenol; fear, regret,
reluctance, bagels, cookies, chicken, corn; forgetting,
remembering having forgotten, and awkward angles
of poetry. Yet even sedentary women, fat and slow,
have wildness rummaging through their veins like black
bears shopping the garbage for treasure, like a single
quaking leaf, an alley cat, a leaping frog.
Ain’t that the truth? Love the honesty, simplicity & grittiness of this one, barbara!
“awkward angles of poetry” = I’m happy you share them, however cumbersome they may be.
This is just gorgeous, vintage barbara…and exactly why-oh-why i love you so. YES.
Messenger
When the student is ready
the master comes – you came
seated boldly on the branch
beside the wooden deck,
the laundry line just inches
from your coppery-red tail.
I felt you before I saw you -
my heart jumping in both
delight and fear to be so close,
but you sat puffing your chest,
watching as I hung the diapers,
listening to my words spoken
more to keep me calm
than to keep you from leaving.
Why had you come, I wondered.
Why did you stay so long?
Had you known people before?
My questions go unanswered -
for years I search for meaning
to our encounter that spring morn.
Finally, as I begin my journey -
learning about the Red Road -
learning what had been forgotten
learning what must be remembered
I find you are the messenger
of Creator, come to remind me
to seek and I will find. Aho!
I like the imagery here…and maybe I’m just dumb and missing the subtle hints here as to what creature is watching the narrator (a cardinal? with a coppery red tail, puffing out its chest?) And I agree with the message, “when the student is ready, the teacher shall appear.” Very nice!
The creature was a red-tailed hawk. Hawk, in Native American beliefs, is the messenger of the Creator.
hi enjoyed the poem. i assumed it was a red tailed hawk… if we get lucky we get to have experiences like that once in a while
Yes, Steven, having experiences like this is quite the blessing. I don’t think it is so much luck as it is being open to the moment. Many people walk through life with blinders on…they never see the other creatures around them; thereby, never having a close encounter with them.
CROWNED with FORTITUDE
(or a slug-out for the crown)
Rabbits’ love of greens,
Shy, sly, quiet and not seen,
trails say it was here,
hides like a mole, climbs with ease,
Luckily, also likes beer.
Sized to defy all,
Downs plants as beavers down trees,
Goals set, miles covered,
seems to go wher’ere it please,
The ___ ___! Slug,
Northwest style .
OKAY – HERE IT IS.
LIKE THE SLUG…
MY POEM SLITHERED AWAY
TO PICK ITS OWN SPOT- SO I HAD TO HUNT IT DOWN.
I GATHER THE SLUG DID NOT WANT TO BE STUCK AT THE END OF THE DAY!
NOT INTENDED AS A REFLECTION NOR CONNECTION TO THE RED TAILED HAWK! IN FACT, YOUR HAWK IS WELCOME TO EAT MY SLUG. (DO THEY EAT SLUGS?) ^o^
You were always
black and white,
wet nose nudging the present
joy you knew was in my hand
even when I didn’t,
the long leash
of us
stretching
thin
at times
with the irresistible
urge
of a dark underbrush -
its only breaking,
the one time
I called
and you didn’t look back,
collie grin fading
to a distant
field,
memories of you
nipping
our heels,
your loyal, uncertain
stragglers -
I know it’s hard, girl
but stay,
we’ll catch up soon .
repost from day 1….. little more serious than my latest ones, after 26 days think I’m getting a little punch drunk
Oh — sweet, sad and poignant. Glad you re-posted, as I was actually reading this morning.
“TOTEM ANIMALS”
Others may identify themselves
With totem animals strong, ferocious and fast,
They say their spirits are “lions, wolves, coyotes,
Bears or eagles” from ancient lives past,
But if you ask me about my totem,
What animal I have a personal bond,
I look down at my feet and point
To that little green frog in the pond.
A frog? They laugh. Why would you choose that?
No teeth, no claws, no talons or wings.
Surely you aspire to be something greater
Than to be like the smallest (and slimiest) of all things.
But I say, frogs signify transformation
The natural evolution, the promise of change
They guard dreams, and symbolize growth
Shape-shifters of water and land…I know it sounds strange,
So while it may not be vicious (some even find it delicious)
The frog is my totem, as I hope to change too,
Maybe I’m still a tadpole at this point
But one day I’ll get my legs and start my life anew.
This is true frogs did start to change and evolve a couple of years back they had to isolate certain breeds that were changing and dying off in large numbers something to do with a larva or bacteria in the water they kept them in large containers found on large cargo ships and in the containers was cool areas for the frogs to survive was watching it on a documentry one night very interesting
Oh, Janet, how sweet.
For Corky, my crazed Cairn Terrier
I can’t speak of her
in the past tense because she
still lives in my heart.
###
Oh, RJ — so short & sweet, but says it all. :-]
Hugs to you, RJ. Poignant and sweet.
Beautiful!
Catastrophe
Doing the math
in mid-fall,
she figures
she’s on her
7th or 8th life
by now
(but really, after 5
or so, who’s counting?)
lands
on both feet
(whew)
cleans herself up
knows her
c u r i o s i t y
will kick
in again any moment,
but for just a little while
she
watches
whose
path
she
crosses.
.
Made me smile, De! And the formatting — excellent!
I love the feline indifference, especially the first part with doing the math. Not sure if this was supposed to be a concrete poem portraying a tumbling kitty, but it’s in there…
Tumbling kitty…tumbling girl…whichever species comes to mind.
Thanks, guys.
Adore the (whew!) the carefully chosen language, general shape of the poem. Well done!
A Reely Fishy Story
A wreck-fish from a sailor park
owed ‘fish chips’ to the local shark.
He knew the shark would come ‘round soon
demanding payment of doubloon.
The wreck-fish didn’t swim in school
(which is the deep sea golden rule.)
Instead, he played Black Jack ‘til ruin.
He lost a lot of gold doubloon.
Then spurred on by an Angel fish
who winked and crooned, “You’ll get your wish
when you win big in this saloon,”
he ‘borrowed’ to win back doubloon.
He should have known. A fishy trick
intended for a hick fish stick!
He kippered off, before a goon
could make him chum for no doubloon.
The moral of the story…
Don’t bet your clams at Cod’s Sand Dune.
You’ll lose not once but…(groan!)…doubloon.
###
Don’t you hate it when your animal
spirit guide turns out to be
really lame and the group
leader, who has a white Indian tiger,
tells you those are the ones
you can really learn from.
He keeps going on and on
about beauty not being in the eye
but in the symmetry of the eyes,
at least that’s what he heard
on the Oprah channel,
and it doesn’t make any sense to her
that the bilateral symmetricals
would ever have a soul mate
as their right and left halves
already make a perfectly
serviceable whole,
although the radial syms
might make one great
soulmate oreo if they could
ever figure out who’s top
and who’s bottom,
and those catholics,
it would seem to make sense
that they would embrace
the asexuals but the Vatican
made that decree against cloning…
God, if only this hermaphroditic nematode
would just split, I think.
Not possible, it says, we’re both
radial and bilateral, male
and female,
and all androdioecy (wink,, wink),
and besides,
we’ve just found
a wonderful new home
right here
in your
digestive
tract.
There’s a lot of stream of consciousness to take in here (which is a good thing, it gets the brain working)…I like the phrases “soulmate oreo” and “hermaphroditic nematode,” there are a whole bunch of clever lines here (and we must be on a similar wavelength today, poeming about spirit guides
)
yeah sorry it was a bit difficult to understand – the totem animal the hermaphroditic nematode is talking non stop (both male and female) throughout the poem and is thus pretty lame, wanted to do a serious one about totem animals but just did’nt happen thx for reading
Ugh! I just looked up nematode.
HERDING TURTLES
I was listening to a man
on the radio talking
about his dream of being
there when the animals
were marching onto the arc,
two by two, seven by seven.
He could feel the zebras
breathing on the back of his neck—
it was so real!
The turtles were going
so slowly, he feared
they would never make it
on board, but he heard
the voice of God say:
“The turtles made it.”
Of course they did!
The slowest would not be
left behind.
“Herding turtles,” the man
thought, ever after,
when feeling impatient.
Every turtle will come along
in his own time—
even a turtle-man.
Jane Beal
Herding turtles. :- )) A sweet fable — and excellent advice, Jane!
Thanks, PSC.
EMERGENCY!
Traffic backed up three-quarters of a mile,
it takes a while before the tragedy is revealed.
I feel reviled and relieved. A smile
lifts the ire and a fire stirs inside.
Flashing lights and rescue personelle,
the Fire Chief leading to safety,
one-by-one they walk, nine in line
mother and her brood savoring
the attention; all theirs. The stares
and cell phones recording the ducks.
Proud parent and fuzzy progeny;
a cute animal emergency. Disaster
averted, public alerted; a slow news day.
But that’s OK. I felt a little fuzzy myself.
Oh, I love this, Walt! Sweet! Makes me feel all “warm & fuzzy” too! :- ))
Yesterday during Rush Hour yet! You see the lights flashing and the traffic bottled up, you’re in the right lane with no escape. And as I passed by, the Chief was walking ahead of the brood waving them along like he was calling his dog…and the listened to him. Well, the mother did anyway. You know how kids are, they never listen…
This is great! Score one for the Fire Chief.
While you were out
Welcome back, Sir! I trust you’ll find everything in order. You had three phone calls this morning but none of them left their name and that UPS man tried to get in again. We had seven squirrels out back including a red one though I can’t be sure obviously two tabby cats and a very cute looking Bichon if I say so myself. Oh and I took my mid-morning break like usual and got a drink from the big mini-bar with the handle ah-maz-ing! Now if you don’t mind I wonder if you would open the door I’d really like to step outside for a minute.
LOL Love it! But… you really ought to leave the lid down on that mini-bar, Andrew. :-]
Delightful, Andrew!
The Hour at Which All Dogs Sleep
At
this hour,
even the
dogs slumber; the
hound tired by effort
of treeing a raccoon,
and also you, my dear man,
returning from your nightly prowl
have licked your wounds and laid down your head.
This is lovely! So evocative.
Thank you!
Agreed! Like this one very much, K!
Dear Moosehead,
Goddamn it all to Jersey! You’re an idiot,
you’re family are half-wits and the whole bunch of
you drive me crazy! The Yanks lose, the harpies
moan and you talk complete BS all night. Thank G-d
for your cousin, at least we didn’t have to pay for
the refreshments! Rest day, so I’m plying my hack in the city,
trying to get some of those Eagles to land on me!
Speaking of wildlife, we got the Tigers at the weekend
and our boys better get their heads outta their asses!
You’d better stick yours back in and for once in your miserable
existence shut the %*$# up! Numbskull!
Pick your nose if ya like, just stay outta my face!
Yours howling like a Hyaena
Ringo the Howler
Today’s prompt was tailor-made for Ringo and Moosehead! These guys should get their own show. Great as always!
Thanks – Ringo has definitley been too nice recently, had to bring his true nature to the fore
Thanks for adding a laugh to my day!
I heard talk of a video replay from last night’s game at Texas of a crying child in the stands that didn’t catch the fly ball – and the couple sitting next to him caught the ball and wouldn’t give the little kid the ball. Then the Texas guys saw the kid crying on the jumbo screen and gave him a ball!!!!
Ya see ball players have hearts – pity about Ringo!
I don’t get the joke. Not a sports fan. This read more like a profane rant than a poem. Sorry, that’s my opinion.
Dear deringer1 ,
you are right… thes e are not poems they are snippy little notes from one yankees fan to another…they started 5 years ago and if you haven’t got the history it’s hard to follow. I stole the style unashamedly from some of Bob Dylans early prose poetry and created the characters as I went along. for some reason i really don’t understand he has a lot of fans on here and else where (Ringo I mean) so I keep doing it. Ringo is not a nice person and I would hate to meet him.
Howeevr, as a poet of many faces it’s part of what I do and for that I also have no shame.
My other poem today is another character of mine but if your not an art fan or a lover of hard-done-by-rodents that may also fall short of your approval.
Ah well, such is life.
Best to you
Iain
ahaahahaahaha…that’s great Iain, just great <3
In ‘not-so-loving memory’ of Gwen
Her name was Gwen
She was black and white
And how she would smile
In devilish delight
As the little ‘milk-maid’
Would splash and slide
Through grass and weeds
And fresh-made ‘pies’
No shout or slap
Would alter her gait
As she looked back and laughed
At the little milk-maid
Co’ boss, co’ boss,
My sing-song plea
Seemed to be lost
On ‘her royalty’
In old rubber-boots
Two sizes too small
The milk-maid would beg
And the milk-maid would call
Co’ boss, co’ boss
Won’t you hurry please?
With a toss of her head
Gwen would pause ‘neath the trees
They say there is ‘one’
In every crowd
And Gwen wore that title
Sedately and proud
A yell and a poke
And a slap on the rump
Did not even cause
Her ‘royalty’ to jump
Through the gate at last
Prodded into place
Gwen lifts her muddy tail
And slaps my face
Janet Martin
This was back in the day when dairy cows were turned to pasture
and for a while it was my job at 5:00 p.m to help bring in the cows, tie them up,
assemble the ‘milkers’ and after supper…milking.
Gwen and I were arch-enemies…I did not like her and she did not like me!
Wonderful poem! I was right there and having spent much time smelling those freshly baked pies, thank you for bringing back some fond memories.
I LOVE THIS!!! Janet, this is brilliant!!! Happy day to you poem neighbor!
Thank-you K. McGee and Hannah:) Cheers to the ‘farm-girls’ and all of us ‘poem-neighbors’. (I like that, Hannah)
Smiles!!
Delightful story and memory claimer.
I am sure we had a relative of hers at our place.
Hated those tails.
The summer mornings were beautiful….
ah, from someone else who truly knows, but yes, I loved those dewy summer mornings!
Deed I do.
~THE WISDOM OF RABBITS~
The rocks are still there after thirty-three years, sunken with time cozied in by a thick, bristled throw of rusty-colored pine. I bet the people who’ve lived here after us never even noticed random rocks beneath the grouping of three large pine trees. Our play home, a place of our imaginations, with large swooping branches that address the ground in broad, slanted arches making great space to imagine within; our woodland home, with a twiggy nested oven and an immense angled arm that served as a mantle. One of the columns held the secrets of soft-silted treasure at its base, between two rounded roots reaching into the earth, we bound and buried items of great worth…buttons, matchbox cars, silent, scripted messages for future finding. They weren’t there. Disintegrated and dissolved into eternity, only a salamander stalks in somber loam. Round pieces of granite and random rocks…I remember them so heavy then but really I was just small, lugging them so far into the woods I thought but really, not so far at all and they’re here marking the periphery of my childhood dreams; still here solid, succinct markers from a long ago time. No children have played here the way that we did, my sacred sibling-hood with a once in a life-time special memory permeating these trees so tangible I can almost hear our laughter as we galloped through the tall timber. In the shadows beneath the grouping, there lies remnants of another, little spherical offerings from the wild rabbits who inhabit these woods. Bright beautiful eyes examine this space lovingly; her soft twitching nose and velvet whiskers touch and sense wisely the presence of us who’ve been here before her.
© H.G @ P.A. 4/26/12
Oh, I see where I need more commas already!! Sorry you guys! BIG smiles, busy morning but I’ll be around this afternoon!
Oh, also…my parents wouldn’t have let me roam the woods at one so my math is jacked!! Haha! I should have said “after twenty-two years.” Any way just realized my math-slip-up and had to fix it!
It’s still wonderful. Reminds me of “the pines” across the road from my childhood home. Very similar in feeling. Thanks for the memories.
Thank you, so much, Jerry!! I’m glad it could bring back memories to you!!
wonderful lovely rabbits well done Hannah you have so much talent and such a god way with words they really tie so well together i look forward to reading your poems its like leaving book down that you just cant but have to suspense
Wow, Ber, that just makes my night! Truly, such a sweet compliment really brightens my day so much! Thank you!
An Artist in Exile
Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel,
reclined in a couch beside his easel,
his work for the day was going well
and he thought that he’d rest for a spell.
He’d sip some wine and take a snack
and if the muse took him he’d have a nap.
Enrique, his loyal and faithful mouse,
had brought all they needed from the house.
They had bread and wine and ham and cheese
and a selection of fruit that was sure to please.
As Bart reclined he gently reflected,
on the lass that he’d rejected.
The young miss badger that he had jilted,
once he’d discovered his ardour had wilted.
A year had passed since he’d come to France
and returning to London he would not chance,
at least till his spies, for he had a few,
told him that the badger’s storm had blown through
and that the jilted miss was to another wed,
lest he find himself, well, to be blunt: dead!
He still made a living that much was true,
painting French landscapes was something new
and he still had his fortune but to his shame,
he had to exhibit under another name
the nom-de-plume by which he was known
and under which his new works were shown
was Jean-Yves Pascal from lovely Province
(though he thought it made him sound a ponce!)
At least he could live and work in peace
and stroll to a tavern and dine at his ease.
There was no risk of being put in front of the bench,
due to the fact that he had perfect French,
the result of an expensive education
and parents who taught him through translation
and so our hero relaxed in the sun,
wondering if his day’s work was done.
Enrique also was taking a snooze
when a postman came up bringing news.
The letter at once Bart opened eagerly
and began to dance in quite a frenzy.
The news had come that he’d been after
a young stoat was betrothed to the Miss Badger.
“By golly!” he exclaimed to his mouse,
“Perhaps we might return to our house
and my beloved old studio?”
But the mouse sighed and said “I don’t know
It’s rather nice here and the weather is good
not to mention the wine and food”.
“Hmm…” mused the weasel, “you have a point”
and himself with said wine he did anoint,
(well imbibe would be more precise
but I thought that the rhyme was rather nice).
“Yes!” he exclaimed ”We’ll stay here
and drink fine wine and ice-cold beer”.
And with that he jumped to his feet
and started to paint tout-suite,
laughing and chuckling and singing in verse
well a life in Province, it could be worse!
And an end would come to his awful shame:
Bartholomew Foggerty would reclaim his name!
Iain
Oh, Iain, I love this..such fine story-telling quality! I wish I had one of these…”Enrique, his loyal and faithful mouse.”
Happy day to you, poem neighbor!! Smiles!
Thanks Hannah! Just last night Connie asked me where Bart was…well he’s back!
Yeah! a useful mouse would be an improvement on these moggies of mine! LOL!
Happy day to you too
Thank you, Iain!!
What a delightful tale,
I am pleased to see him live to paint again.
Thank you… he may be back soon
Looking forward to that! :0
An artist at heart.
Yea! Bart’s back!
KITTY, KITTY
Our tiny baby kitten
Is now a cat. Her fur
Is long and sleek. Her
Tail bushy and longer
Than her body. She
Loves to groom it. She
Sneaks across the room
Long and mean. She is
In a jungle or perhaps an
Open plain. She is the
Leader of her tribe.
Watch how she flattens
Her body so that she can
Hide beneath the sofa.
Now see her spring after
Some unlucky rodent or
Iguana. She can also stand
On her two back feet and
Stretch upward. Those
Pictures on the wall must go!
She stretches her front paws and
Oops! Her back paws have slipped
on the cushion. An embarrassing
struggle to regain her footing.
Has anyone noticed? A quick
Glance around. Safe! She is the
Queen of the jungle/house and
Queens never slip on sofa cushions.
KITTY, KITTY
Our tiny baby kitten
Is now a cat. Her fur
Is long and sleek. Her
Tail bushy and longer
Than her body. She
Loves to groom it. She
Sneaks across the room
Long and mean. She is
In a jungle or perhaps an
Open plain. She is the
Leader of her tribe.
Watch how she flattens
Her body so that she can
Hide beneath the sofa.
Now see her spring after
Some unlucky rodent or
Iguana. She can also stand
On her two back feet and
Stretch upward. Those
Pictures on the wall must go!
She stretches her front paws and
Oops! Her back paws have slipped
on the cushion. An embarrassing
struggle to regain her footing.
Has anyone noticed? A quick
Glance around. Safe! She is the
Queen of the jungle/house and
Queens are perfect.
KITTY, KITTY
Our tiny baby kitten
Is now a cat. Her fur
Is long and sleek. Her
Tail bushy and longer
Than her body. She
Loves to groom it. She
Sneaks across the room
Long and mean. She is
In a jungle or perhaps an
Open plain. She is the
Leader of her tribe.
Watch how she flattens
Her body so that she can
Hide beneath the sofa.
Now see her spring after
Some unlucky rodent or
Iguana. She can also stand
On her two back feet and
Stretch upward. Those
Pictures on the wall must go!
She stretches her front paws and
Oops! Her back paws have slipped
on the cushion. An embarrassing
struggle to regain her footing.
Has anyone noticed? A quick
Glance around. Safe! She is the
Queen of the jungle/house and
Queens never slip on cushions..
Hoooo, the queen is multiplying……..
Which one will end up on top?
How I got my high school nickname
It’s not because they are cute
or rare. It’s not because
it’s hard to find anyone
who doesn’t like them.
It’s because Panda was the next
logical extension of
Linda Pinda . . .
Linda Voit
Panda’a are so cute and will liked could be a nice memory
Armadillo
Stealthily, in twilight shadows,
digging for dinner,
you ruin tender sping bulbs.
<3
The Last Whale
O’ noble cachalot
calling…..
gentle composer of songs
singing…..
magnificent creature of darkness
calling…..
ancient source of light
calling…..
planetary ocean traveler
roaming…..
misunderstood gorger of krill
calling…..
searching the world’s edge
seeking…..
pursued, hunted, slaughtered
fleeing…..
largest mammal in solar system
calling….. beneath the sea
Where is my species ?
~ Randy Bell ~
Transformation
Somewhere in the night
I morphed into a sloth;
Dim blackened eyes,
Woolly-haired three toed beast.
Lanky arms slither-n-slide across the bed
With slack hand releasing
The snooze button… again.
I LIKE this, Benjamin! Had me smiling at the ending.
Thanks PSC! Glad you enjoyed it. Don’t know if you’ve ever seen an actual sloth, but they’re quite creatures!
They are not attractive, but
hear tell that the first cup of java is the antidote
Baited
It lay
waiting
in the dark
tail twitching
one sliver of light
illuminated
a flash of striped terror
golden coals
hung suspended
in shadow
the beast
had no knowledge
of it’s competition
far more fair of face
and temper
no knowing
of it’s potential prey
frozen in indecision
beyond the oak-hewn
doors
it’s only thought
was the
dark
and the
light
and waiting
for supper
Intriguing, mschied! Brings me back to re-read.
In the game early with a wonderful poem – way to go!!!
I love this. Well done.
Forbidden
He slithers through my shadows,
Speaking with his forked tongue,
Tempting me to partake,
To taste the knowledge
Of the forbidden,
Leaving me to wonder…
If I succumb,
Devour that luscious fruit,
Will the serpent devour me?
Will he?
Always a possibility
but not the probability
Yes, He would devour you make you his food unfortunately. But I’m sure you know the other option…
Wonderful Mary! Tasty little poem
The three-legged rodent wobbles through your vision
wide-eyed, enhanced by charged hormones,
witnessed by the caualties of your dawn raid,
woodland enchroachment stalled,
undercurrents of rot and disease,
spread out in your camp,
soft trophies for your commander to witness and approve.
The distance covered by your toy bothers you,
bores you with its fading endurance.
Two legs now, your own paw’s reckless, uncaring decision.
You return it to Go,
roll it like you were making chocolate chip cookies
on a rainy day.
Cookies, food. You lick your knife.
You won’t eat the one legged feebler
You won’t even lick it, anymore.
It won’t escape with its single protrusdion,
an old man propelling his wheelchair across the tiled floor
with his walking cane
unable to realize the wheels are locked
and the door gets no closer.
His days are numberd,
but he strives to chop his wood and patch his roof.
Winter is coming.
Flies are already circling,
testing the mood of the mark.
You leave the ball of fur still and silent on the warm wooden floor.
and scratch the door
for cookies.
Be back in a bit ….early bon voyage breakfast with visiting family -no peanuts served
Daisy in the morning – an elephant tale
I don’t know if she really was
named Daisy behind a narrow
moat she stood with liquid eyes
watching
My father young and peanut
holding locked eyes lifted his
arm and like a master sorcerer
called ” Up Simba ” and she’d lift
Her majestic trunk and rise
Like a lifting building
Throw back her trunk
And blare a smile
Eyes locked as she
Lowered herself back to
the golden straw swirling
at her ankles and reached
With the delicate pink of roses
As sound and passion
echoed bouncing from
the walls that melted
in my trembling chest
And she reached
To my.upturned hand
And eyes still on my
father gently, oh so
sweetly, picked-sucked
the peanuts away
with laughing eyes
tickling my wet palm
delicate as dew on a
blossom
regal Queen honored
me at my father’s request
and the walls melted
Maybe it only happened
Once, maybe it was happenstance
but still I see their eyes and
feel the tile walls melt
shimmering away and
Somewhere we stand
Daisy, my father
and I
forever
free
A glorious trunk
raised in blaring
welcome as birds
lift from the trees
and red dust swirls
about my ankles
in the mist of an
ever equatorial morning
Nice imagery!
Thank you cindi
What a beautifully written memory! How blessed to capture it in such wonderful poetic form!
Aw thank you Linda – happy you enjoyed
Summer Siesta
Laying with legs twisted in the shade
Of them elm on the shore of the pond
Where we swam naked to cool our skin
Warmed by the sun and other pleasures
Your head rests on my chest rising
And falling with every sleepy breath
I caress your hair and stare into the sky
And become an eagle in the clouds.
Oh, how beautiful! The last line, “And become an eagle in the clouds.”-just wonderful!!
I agree, really like the last line.
I’m in.
my goodness that is a lovely vision an eagle in the clouds breath taking words so well done to you
The Impossible Beetle
================
There’s a beetle on my desk
glistening softly in the light from my laptop screen.
How he got here, I don’t know –
doors locked tight 24/7,
windows caulked down against Florida gales,
perimeter defenses locked and loaded.
But there he sits;
Mocking me,
daring me,
telling me
to live my dreams today
because if I want it bad enough
nothing can stop me.
Nice little fable.
Nice!
Love it! :- ))
True story, too — written in real time even
True stories are the best.
Hope you gave it a name
and made it a friend.
Anders, love that “impossible beetle”.
Love that the beetle intruded, then seems to encourage you to live your dreams. It brings everything to life.
IDEAL MUTT
Little dog, ‘itty
sits in my front bay window
laz’ away the day
never barks or runs about,
sits all day, beanie delight.
Oh yes!
Wild Horses
As you run about like thunder
With freedom on your back
No one to shackle you
No one to whip and crack
No one to break you down
You can walk amongst the fields
You can jump and be yourself
Living life in ease
Drinking from the river bank
Eating fresh grass of delight
Sheltered in the trees hung low
Apples fall below
A favourite of yours
Something of a treat
Hiding away underneath
The suns heat
As you rise to the evenings cold crispy air
Your eyes reflect the glowing stars
Fog steams from your mouth so bare
A white stripe follows the line from your back
This is your signature mark
Your running once again as morning comes about
You’re so gracious and wonderful
As you gallop about
So run free now
No startle to fill your mind
Run like the wind
Not looking behind
As you gallop over the dried side grass
You’re a wonder to my eyes
A beauty of class
This poem makes me want to stay home from work today…just wanna be freeeeeeeeeeee….
Truly beautiful, this puts me at peace and ease. Thank you for sharing, Ber.
Thank you for taken the time to comment and your lovely kind words are much appreciated. I know freedom the greatest feeling of all. I am just in from work and have to go and study for an exam in the morning.
Ber, This poem is like a dream. So lovely.
Thank you Sara for your lovely kind words it brings you on a journey of how wild horses lived
GROUNDHOGS
There they play, day after day
every day there, by the way.
Nibbling grass, digging their tunnels;
one entering, one escaping.
One that leads to nowhere
just for show. Every
I back fill and cover the next morning,
they start all over/ They play. day after day,
with out a care, without Sonny and Cher.
There;s a movie somewhere in there,
Groundhogs Day.
* Every evening – line 6/ Early morning on an iTouch sucks.
‘Delight’
her name,
cow of fame
She
gave all
morning and night
Milk
so rich
was mainly cream
Thick
and yellow
dairy man’s delight.
With
a disposition
of a kitten
We have a dairy farm down the street from our home…I love to visit with the cows. They do have distinct personalities!
Pecking
order too
is well defined.
“Newbe”
tried queening
over the herd.
together
upended her
into water troth.
she
found place
end of line.
This is very cute. I like every stanza with a smooth finish “disposition of a kitten”.
Nice, and it taught me something about cows!
Wonderful!
Puppy Love
When we first got you
You were so small
You played about and nipped my fingers with your mouth
You ran about with a soft tiny ball
Jumping and diving across the floor
Scrambling and scratching
We smile at your playfulness
We can’t ignore
As we welcome you in to our arms of love
You are the missing link
A beautiful puppy heaven above
You sit and look into my eyes
You make my daughters laugh and be happy
Your spots are as black as coal
As white fills the rest of your body as a whole
Big brown eyes so human like
We sit for days contemplating what your name will be
When my daughter turns to me and asks me my story
About the time when I had a puppy
When I was small
She says we will call him Rex
After your memory you could recall
You have grown now but not to much
You have a gentle soft touch
Cuddling you and loving you
As you give us so much fulfilment
You were the runt of the litter
You were thrown to the side
We won’t do this
We will mind
Obey and sit is what you like to do
You also like to run about
AND HIDE BEHIND
The chairs and my legs
You’re a rascal in your own way
But you filled us with love and joy
The day your owners gave you to us that day
Oh, puppy love, there’s nothing like it!! And such a sweet story behind this, Ber!
I like this: “You are the missing link.”
This is exactly how I felt about my first puppy when I was eleven or twelve! Smiles!
my daughters and son were asking for a puppy for years and when we seen Rex he was the one he was the smallest most deprieved of the litter and he is so cunning and caring. I remember tripping up and falling in the back garden once and fell like a block to the ground he came straight over and made sure i was ok cuddling me and rubbing me with his head mind you i fell over him. Dogs are amazing and so clever.
They teach children responsibility and how to care mine love him and bring him for walks leave the rest for me of course
AMIGO
Black Lab,
Guardian, protector,
drool bucket,
Friend to those who have no friends,
enemy to and neighborhood dog
with the fortitude to take him on.
long gone;
a fond memory
our first dog.
Man’s best, Amigo!