2015 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 11

For today’s prompt, write an animal poem. A poem that is either about an animal, involves an animal, or is from an animal’s perspective. Your choice.


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Here’s my attempt at an Animal poem:

“That One Boy”

Marcus waved for the other three to follow his lead, and he led
them all along the perimeter of the house until they were standing
in front of a cellar door. None of them were brave enough to speak–
not even Eddie–until finally Walt broke the silence, “You’re not even
asking us to go down there, are you? I mean, the rest was pretty
crazy, but this is insane. There are people inside. You heard them,
didn’t you?” “Yeah, Walt’s right, Marcus,” said Barbara rubbing both
of her arms to warm up–and failing. “We can’t go down there.”

Marcus stood there looking at the cellar door and without looking up
at the other three said, “I heard the voices, Walt. They said that ‘no
one ever comes out here…except that one boy.’ What if that one boy
is Jesse? What if he’s still here?” “Well, then,” started Barbara, looking
conflicted, “then, we should probably get the police.” Marcus reluctantly
turned and followed the others, the sound of a coyote in the distance.


roberttwitterimageRobert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of the poetry collection, Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He edits Poet’s Market and Writer’s Market, in addition to writing a free weekly WritersMarket.com newsletter and a poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine.

This is his eighth year of hosting and participating in the November PAD (Poem-A-Day) Chapbook Challenge. He can’t wait to see what everyone creates this month–not only on a day-by-day basis, but when the chapbooks start arriving in December and January. Fun, fun, fun.

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.


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184 thoughts on “2015 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 11

  1. PSC in CT

    It’s All Greek to Me

    I confess
    quite unabashedly
    (and unapologetically):
    I yield to the temptation
    of frequent bouts
    of unadulterated

    So much so
    that I often ponder
    the likely probability
    that squirrels,
    and maybe monkeys,
    and birds and cats and dogs
    and chipmunks and donkeys,
    and (must I go on or
    do you get the idea?)
    all the animals in creation
    (just might,
    while observing me)
    be likewise guilty
    of zoo-

  2. tobysgirl


    Toby loves me, this I know
    His happy smile tells me so!
    He wags his tail and jumps for joy-
    He’s such a happy, happy boy!

    My beagle boy, I tell you this
    In my care, all you will know is bliss
    To starve, to freeze, to hurt – never!
    In my care and heart you’ll be forever.

    No one will ever love you more
    Taking care of you is not a chore
    When I am sad and feeling down,
    I know that you will be around.

    You lift my spirits like no other
    And when I hurt and run for cover
    A snuggle with you will often set things straight
    The love of a dog I just can’t rate.

    Me and my dog
    We’ll always be-
    You are my heart
    My joy, Toby.

  3. Poet Ariel

    I don’t recall if I have an earlier poem titled Animal – but I could think of no name more appropriate for this one … so it’s either Animal or Animal II. I’ll look it up after November ends & I can catch a breath.


    You have forgotten you are just clumps of flesh
    on mortals’ bones, frangible,
    your form dictated to by strands of DNA.

    Evolving still but not evolved yet; you ignore
    the divine – your dictated DNA 97% identical to everything on this firmament,
    so little divides you, differentiates you …

    from other human, other animals,
    other beings; forms who must by nature eat, sleep, defeacate,
    die – yes, you terrestrial creature

    are what birth formed you to be. Not God,
    not yet; you still wallow in the fallow,
    still stick your head in the trough, thinking it gourmet, thinking it Gospel

    – It has rotted, spoiled by being kept too long,
    bad fruit the wise never considered for consumption –
    as you fight with sticks and stones, claiming advancement

    don’t lament on the why you are not in heaven yet,
    don’t attack others in their fragility; you are not ready.
    Immortality is not made of mud and *shit.

    November 11, 2015

    *I have only used this word in 3 poems; three out of over a thousand poems.It is an ugly word! So understand that it’s inclusion is very intentional and please, please be aware of all the connotations it implies.

  4. Earl Parsons

    To My Cats

    I’m here when you want to snuggle up
    Climb on my tummy and purr in my face
    But don’t lick me with that nasty tongue
    After you’ve licked your private place
    And don’t knit my shirt to sharpen your claws
    ‘Cause there’s still cat box residue on your paws
    But I love you anyway
    And I love you every day
    You’re my fur ball friends of so many years
    And I thank God every day that you’re here

    So, I’ll feed you every day
    Shine the laser light so you can play
    Make sure your cat box is always fresh
    And when you puke, I’ll clean up the mess
    I’ll let you curl up with me in bed
    I’ll bury you if you wake up dead
    I’ll cry as I cover you up with dirt
    And pray to God to stop the hurt
    Because I love my little fur ball friends
    And I’ll love you until the end

    But, let’s not think about what may occur
    Let’s enjoy every day, my balls of fur
    Let’s love one another; let’s frolic and play
    Let’s snuggle and cuddle and purr every day
    I’ll take care of you; you take care of me
    And you’ll be the happiest cats you can be
    You’ll keep my blood pressure unusually low
    You’re better for me than you’ll ever know
    And that’s why I love you, my fur balls of joy
    I’m sorry, however, that you’re no longer boys
    Oops! I slipped
    I had you snipped
    Was it that bad?
    I hope you’re not mad
    Have some ‘Kitty Delight’
    You’ll forget by tonight
    Meow, meow

  5. SarahLeaSales

    Prince Harry’s Little Princess

    I am her eyes,
    and she is my heart.
    I am her servant,
    even as she is mine.
    When she was nine,
    I promised to love and
    protect her,
    for as long as I lived.

    When she turned twenty-one,
    her sight was restored.
    I was old then,
    and as she brushed the russet fur
    that grew so long on her head,
    she looked into the mirror
    at the wonder that was her,
    for she had remained a child
    in her mind.

    When the house bells rang,
    her hind legs flew down the stairs.
    A young man told her
    all the things I could never say,
    but expressed to her in so many ways.

    As my eyes started to close in nap,
    I felt the warmth of a whisper
    in the soft flap of my ear.
    “I can still see I need you.
    Rest well, Prince Harry.”
    Have fun, Princess, I thought,
    as the drowsy ways of an old dog
    overcame me.

  6. RJ Clarken


    I think the axilotl’s cute
    because he seems quite cheerful in
    the salamander’s bright pursuit.
    He sports a sweet mud puppy grin.
    I wonder what he thinks about.
    His little legs? Each funky fin?
    Or is it food? Well, there’s no doubt
    he sports a sweet mud puppy grin.
    He swims with joy that’s unrestrained.
    I’ve heard he breathes through gills and skin
    and is quite easily entertained.
    He sports a sweet mud puppy grin.
    He doesn’t know monotony
    and doesn’t suffer base chagrin.
    Instead, he’s all neoteny,
    and sports a sweet mud puppy grin.


  7. seingraham


    That last day when you were pounding down the homestretch
    And the crowd, the crowd was roaring crazy, every person on their feet
    Did you sense it was your last race, the final time your mettle would be tested?
    Or were you running like something surreal, striding like the champion you surely are
    Because you knew your days of running for the roses were behind you, but your days
    Of meadowlands, sweet alfafa, servicing beautiful dames, and siring strong, healthy foals?
    Were just beginning…

    *American Pharoah is the first horse to win the Grand Slam in racing – that’s the triple crown (the Belmont, the Kentucky Derby, and the Preakness) plus, the Breeder’s Cup – before he was retired. The spelling, or misspelling, of his name, is the way it is registered with the American Jockey Club, is permanent and cannot be changed.

  8. lsteadly

    Fly Closer to Me

    Just before dusk
    you shed your bleakness
    at the water’s edge
    threw it to the pair of blue herons
    disappearing behind the sleeping trees
    an invisible thread
    caught on a winged stiletto
    then carried away on the wood’s breath
    your tomorrow a lurch in my chest

    I wish you could be
    more like the beaver
    building his lodge so apparent
    amidst the still waters
    attesting your presence
    even while you swim unseen
    quietly below

  9. grcran


    He blithely let it loose upon a tree:
    The urine he’d been holding for a time.
    Relief! This primate was on holiday,
    and he’d imbibed about four pounds of beer.
    The stream kept coming full and strong. Some passed
    him by, but others stopped to wait til he
    was finished. Not unusual, you say.
    Ok. I did it. Not the whizz. We stopped,
    my wife and I, to wait. Full daylight. Fair-
    ly crowded sidewalk. Zipping up, he joined
    his friend, two more Balboas dangling from
    his digits. Sneer upon his face as we
    walked by. Think this: big city, sanita-
    tion, animal. But am I different?

    by gpr crane

  10. Sally Jadlow

    Animal Poem


    I don’t understand why humans
    think their chimney can’t be my home.
    After all, they live in the rest of the place.
    Why can’t I have this one little corner
    of the chimney to raise my bat-babies
    so we can dine on the bugs
    that fly at evening.

  11. Pat Walsh

    Buffalo Dreams
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    breath of sky
    brandishing light and
    dark like
    bright days boundless

    enveloped full in
    sweeping motions of
    sight too
    wide for aloneness

    each filling odor
    conjured of musk
    and dusk
    mingled among all

    empty sound rattle
    vague tired sighing
    his own
    only his own

  12. Sara McNulty

    I Hope It Is Only a Rumor

    Oh no, I hope they do not get divorced
    I am sure I won’t fancy traveling around
    from one place to another, and, of course,
    they just might split us up, which will confound
    that cat who thinks he is above a hound,
    though he’s been warming up to me of late.
    Why do parents fight? Would you please expound.
    We love them both and hope they clean the slate,
    or the cat and I will have to endorse
    plans to meow and bark until we’re hoarse.

  13. tunesmiff

    G. Smith (BMI)

    Like a deer in the headlights,
    I don’t know where to go,
    Like a deer in the headlights,
    I don’t know where to go.
    Do I head back to the forest,
    Or try to cross the road?
    Like a deer in the headlights,
    I don’t know where to go.

    Like a deer in the cross-hairs,
    I didn’t have a clue.
    Like a deer in the cross-hairs,
    I didn’t have a clue.
    If I ever saw it coming,
    I didn’t think it’d come from you.
    Like a deer in the cross-hairs,
    I didn’t have a clue.

    Like a deer on the wall,
    I’m going nowhere fast.
    Like a deer on the wall,
    I’m going nowhere fast.
    Mounted and stuffed,
    A prisoner of my past.
    Likena deer on the wall,
    I’m going nowhere fast.

    Like a deer in the headlights,
    I don’t know where to go,
    Like a deer in the headlights,
    I don’t know where to go.
    Do I head back to the forest,
    Or try to cross the road?
    Like a deer in the headlights,
    I don’t know where to go.


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