A full year it grew
as dear Callie cat endured
that stinking cancer.
Night screams came, which pierced my heart.
Only then could I let go. . .
You walk through my thoughts
With the same sure-footed command
You walked through the house.
Your pitter-patter of feet
Pounds like a drum in my head.
No bowl in your special corner...
You thrive on the meat of my mind.
No wrinkles on my bed
Where your purring body slept...
Just my heart, crumpled
By the weight of your absence.
That flashed warmth like a smile
Now bring hot tears
To my eyes in remembrance.
My lap is empty and cold...
It cannot hold memories
Full and warm,
Alive with your image
And the comfort you were.
You walk through my thoughts...
And the pain of your footprints will pass.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Animal Poem
Sponsor: Regina Riddle: Judged 9/30/2014
and I weep
my heart is broken
in a few seconds it was done
I felt the life fading from her and she was so still
and in her death she was beautiful and utterly at peace and all the pain was gone
March 16, 2015
Entered in Any Poem #32 Contest, sponsor, A Poet Destroyer
A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away
He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought
The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be
And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints
And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill
Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013
the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived
my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside
i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown
the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose
the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.
only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.
then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose
the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed
there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed
gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend
If I had a bottle of pills
I’d dump them out inside my mouth
Take the last few swigs of vodka
And swallow all of them down
If I had a big sharp knife
I’d drag the cold steel across my skin
If I thought for a moment it might
Bring this feeling to an end
I’d stare down the barrel
If I had a gun
Find the trigger with my finger
Pull it and be done
If I had a car
I’d park inside the garage
Leave the motor running
Till the poison filled my lungs
If I had a rope
I’d make myself a noose
Dangle there in my own doorway
Till somebody cut me loose
If I had someone to love
I'd probably treat them bad
Since that's all that I've known
In relationships of the past
If I had a heart in my chest
I'd be able to forgive and forget
But there is nothing left
Of that beating mass of flesh
So I'll just continue
Sitting all alone and in the dark
A typical evening in with the cat
Doesn't seem that bad after all.
I remember the day Trixie died,
Sinbad staring out upon her grave.
No crying, just day after day, homage.
I couldn’t stand seeing the pain,
Nothing I did, petting, holding,
Could bring him away from the grave.
So down to the pet store I drove
Hoping for a partner to please
And found a pair of cuddles, babies
Arms wrapped together in play
One black one orange which should it be?
Orange like Sinbad or black?
But how could I take one from another
Leave another hole, so black and orange
Babies two, drew Sinbad back over
To sleep the peaceful sleep of cuddles
Warmth from another, held like a mother
Or held like a father, Sinbad was mine
Once more we could live in happy cheer
Death deserted from our midst
When the wonder of youth appeared.
mournful cries fill the air
mother bird calling for its baby
eaten by the cat
mantis catches butterfly
I am sad: yet, that is
the way of nature
loud feathered thud
- flight into eternity
deceptive glass pane
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
Hello, my name is Pearl Smudges and I am a cat
I live in a beautiful apartment in an old building
With My Girl and until recently Violet Patches
One day My Girl got the cat carrier out
She put Violet Patches inside and left
When she came back the carrier was empty
And she was weeping
I rolled myself up in my blanket for three days
Slowly, sadly we are coming to terms with our loss
The end of grieving is just within reach
April 12, 2015
For the contest, Just Within Reach, sponsor, John Lawless
I saw your form, dear dying cat
On a winter's night un-snowing
Lying there across my path.
I rushed from my car unknowing
Of when you'd met with the fatal blow
That left you lying still.
Whether ‘twas swift or painfully slow,
Your dying took not your will
For crouching beside you, I saw you respire
And chose to pick you up.
I desperately hoped you wouldn't expire
As your head I did gently cup.
I searched for one who would surely miss
Affections you must have shown,
And I felt somehow I'd be remiss
To let you die alone.
So door to door I nearly ran,
But no one gave a care.
Your eyes I frequently would scan
To see the light still there.
But then as I was cradling you,
You breathed your final breath.
I sensed your soul release. It flew,
And I was holding death.
Oh, could you tell, dear dying cat,
Before your soul did pass,
I cared? I quietly grieved, and with that,
I placed your corpse on the grass.
for PD's a poem you have not entered in a past contest # 11 Poetry Contest
[Nopalero = one who deals with/sells edible prickly pear cactus leafs/pads]
Aiiiii, Jimmy --
what shall we say, now that you've gone,
worst fear realized: your body discovered,
days later, in your filthy Mexican rooms,
amid the soiled papers littering the floors
reeking of cat urine and layer upon layer
of dried and fresher feces.
These feral cats were your most faithful companions.
You thought yourself their benefactor
and, perhaps, their savior.
We were told that, after your demise,
when the door opened, all 21 fled,
never to return. You left us,
unbathed, smelly, shunned,
just weeks before your birthday,
having almost (but not quite) suffered
through 80 years, the last 30 spent
in bordertown Mexico. You, daily, crossed
the bridge to claim your mail -- which (for a fee)
promised to guarantee that you would be a winner
of lotteries, sweepstakes, miraculous windfalls.
You subsisted on senior coffees at McD's,
on your pitiful government assistance,
since you were unwilling to abandon your
You blamed your life on abuse by brothers
(all dead long before you)
and you could not understand
why richer acquaintances --
virtually everyone --
were unwilling to share with you
In the plazas, you were a familiar sight,
selling whatever you could:
you were "el viejo gringo," "el Jimmy," "el nopalero,"
and other less generous
(but, perhaps, appropriate)
You knew animals, had some expertise with birds.
Your chief preoccupation was yourself,
and your main complaint was that you
never got your just desserts.
But no one deserves to end
as you did --
unclaimed, a foreign body,
interred in Mexico
in an unmarked pauper's grave,
a "fosa commun." You only wanted
to be loved. RIP my friend;
I did not mean to be unkind.
James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.
A pretty bird
Sang upon a fence
Until a cat jumped to pull a wing down
Sad little bird lay on the ground within sharp claws
With no real hope
Her feeble attempts doomed
No more will I hear her sweet song on the fence
The cat moves on
Close by a nest of babies wait
Pretty bird looks one final time at the sky
One last chirp
November 28, 2012
Several women were in the breezeway
Going from the sanctuary to the Fellowship Hall.
On either side of the French doors,
They gazed out the large windows in fear.
As I walked up to them, one of them asked
In hopeless desperation, "Who will go outside
And get the supplies for us." They looked at each other.
She said this because the enemy was on our shores,
Patrolling every city, great and small. I saw the armies.
People were afraid to venture outside their houses.
There were no soldiers in the street at this time.
It was a clear day. I said to them, "I will go."
I opened and closed one French door and felt it...
FEAR was thick. It crouched like a black jungle cat,
Panther or jaquar, lurking in the brush for prey.
My eyes were wide open as I walked the distance
Of the Staff's parking area. There was a chamber
Underground set aside for certain supplies.
The enemy's presence was strong as I looked around.
I think I had to unlock its door before I opened it.
I took what was needed and walked through Fear.
I never saw him, but the enemy's threat to pounce
Was felt with each step until I quickly reached the porch
And entered back inside the church in front of the office.
(This is a dream I had the year after 9/11.)
A nonchalant paw hangs, eye’s shut, ears open
My sentimental pretence maintains your interest
You do not know my cruelty, my brutality, my malice
Your sustaining hand is safe…for now
Lithe shoulders slink in alternate motion
Unblinking, gyroscopic saucer eyes bore into my target
Locked on, committed, beyond recall, the safety is off
A spring now uncoiled, scribes an arc, sudden death from above
I gaze through you, aloof and unimpressed
A carefree yawn, a stretch then, back to murderous fantasy
Surgically sharp, speed and precision is my marque
I am death, the consummate killer…Oh, my name?
Old Tom cat.
Old Tom cat, he was so fat
Eating was where he was at
If he saw food he’d eat it too
That’s all he’d ever want to do
The birds of him, they had no fear
And mice would come so very near
Tom cat he’d look at them and smile
Cause hunting, it was not his style.
He’s keepers were not acting cruel
They had no malice, not at all
They just liked to feed Tom cat
And when they saw him getting fat
They just over looked this fact
All discipline, this pair, they lacked
On themselves and Pussy too
So more and more fat he’d accrue.
Then all too soon, old Tom he died
His poor old keepers cried and cried
And now they have another cat
And even now, he’s getting fat
The same old story once again
From eating folk cannot refrain
And so poor cats they overfeed
It’s very sad, it is indeed.
20 April 2014 @1300hrs.
Today, it just doesn't seem fair
That we are still able to breathe.
They have given us their air-
Our duty to lead the life they leave.
Death came a knocking while I was out
He did not have time for me to be about
Up at five before the sun
Picking up what I left undone
Coffee black cup after cup
Trying to get my body woke up
Do a load of laundry and fry some eggs
Do a load of dishes wake up the kids
Feed them, cloth them solve every crisis extra soon
Off to the school bus jumping over the moon
Let the dog out, put the cat in
Finish to start, end to begin
Wash my face, comb my hair
Put on anything that is near
Rushing out, racing the car
Just an errand here, on time so far
Dry cleaning, day care, drug store
No time for just one more
Clock in at work meeting at nine
Forget lunch who has the time
In basket full, out basket bare
Check an e-mail if you dare
Finally work is done
You clock out on the run
Get bread and milk and sneak a candy bar
The kids are home and they need the car
Soccer, baseball, dancing and the flute
All these activities cost me loot
Hardly time to eat dinner at eight
Home work, baths than a minute to escape
The cat gets out the dog wants in
You're looking in the cupboard for that bottle of gin
Finally a moment of peace
Everybody exhausted and asleep
You forgot Junior's cupcakes off to Wal-Mart
Better gas up saving time to be smart
On the way home a ring on the cell phone
Quick trip to the airport I moan
Spouse trip cancel needs ride
It is okay you will survive
Finally in the drive way and who do you see
Shaking his head as he leaves
Death walking by, he finally gave up
He murmured about a schedule and life's a nut
So as I lay down to rest
My love's hand upon my chest
I hear the crying of a child
The boogie man awoken him in dreams wild
I sometimes wonder if it would bother me
If Death would come back and fetch me
But the note he left upon my door
My soul is mine till I'm ninety-four
He did not have time for me to be about
Death came a knocking while I was out
We lost a very dear friend this past week.
Simba had become so very frail and weak.
He gave us so much joy during his 19 years!
We held him as he passed, shedding copious tears.
He was an extraordinary red tabby cat with no pedigree.
There were no blue ribbon winners in his family tree.
But he was as majestic as any winner in a feline show!
Oh, how we will miss him! How we hated to see him go.
His ashes will be scattered in the mountains above Colorado Springs,
By the compassionate veterinarian who takes care of such things.
When we view magnificent Pikes Peak towering in the pristine skies,
We'll be consoled knowing that 'neath its shining crown, Simba lies!
There's a place called Rainbow Bridge where he'll be restored to health,
Where he'll frolic with other animals, teasing them with his feline stealth!
One glorious day he'll spot us 'mongst the multitude for a grand reunion,
And rain happy kisses on our faces as we tickle his tummy in glad communion!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved (24 October 2013)
Your advisory pursues the light
Like a beast that hunts
in the night
Even after he has been fed
This animal won’t stop
unless he’s dead.
The race is fixed
the tackle is set
The bangle tiger will
cause him regret.
BY: Sabina Nicole
When I left he was in his lounging chair
TV way too loud
The glow of discontent on his face
Made me want to cry
The only peace now in his life
Never left his side
He sat there scratching Baxter
Life just passed him by
In his day he was the man every man wanted to be
He had the looks, he had the job
The wife, the kids, all three
Then came the day he lost it all
His family went away
Left behind his loyal cat
Baxter was his name
Through all times, most were bad
His cat stayed by his side
A comfort to his troubled soul
In life it was all he had
It has been said
Man’s best friend
Has always been a dog
But in this case it was a cat
Whose love surpassed them all
I went to visit my friend today
To see how he was doing
Knocked on the door several times
The TV was still blaring
Turned the knob and opened the door
I thought that he was sleep
But somewhere between the days he died
In peace now he is sleeping
In his lap still sat the cat
Who had been his one companion
He knew his master had left this earth
His eyes revealed his sadness
I could not help but start to cry
When I thought of how it ended
Sitting at home with the TV on
All alone while scratching Baxter
Over a time frame of about eight years we would talk about the chapters of our
lives and listening intently to one another
She came from a small town in Texas and was an only child and was much closer to
her dad than she was her mother
Usually we would talk in private, just her and me and her little cat named Abby
The little yellow furry cat kept her company and was also a little bit Gabby
Especially when it came time to have her dinner or to be let out on the porch for air
And no matter how lonely it may have been for her, little Abby was always there
So one dreded day the time did come for my friend to leave for the hospice, she
turned her head on the stretcher and just said to me
I know you will take good care of little Abby
Not long after that she left this old world with the hint of content on her face
All was as it should be, everything was in place
Dog felt down, he never smiled anymore.
“I bet its because you're a bore!”
said Freda the Frog.
“Maybe,” said Dog.
So Frog did a trick, to make Dog smile.
And it helped him, just for a while.
“Oh, Dog, why are you blue?”
“I don't know Frog, I wish I knew.”
The next day, Dog could not grin.
Without a bark, he let the Cat in.
“What's this ol boy, you won't say hello?
What's gotten into you, my dear fellow?”
So Cat led dog on a merry chase
But he soon saw his efforts were a waste
“Oh, Dog, why are you blue?”
Dog sighed, “I don't know Cat, I wish I knew.”
All of the night, Dog laid there without scratching a louse.
He was beginning to worry, Mr. Whiskers, the house mouse.
“Good heavens,” said he to Kitty Cat, “He doesn't even groan.”
“But what's the use, without a good bone?”
So he found a turkey leg in the ice box.
And dangled it in front of Dog. “Have I the pox?”
“Oh, Dog, why are you blue?”
Dog shook his head, “I don't know Mouse, I wish I knew.”
“Listen,” said Polly the Parrot. “I know what's the matter.”
“He misses his master, Miss Hatter.”
The animals then grinned, not all was lost then,
For perhaps with this information, he would smile again.
So together they conspired, to find the missing mistress.
They searched the house, from floor to tress.
But all they found was Mr Hatter, but he missed her too,
“Where are you, where are you, Miss Betty Boo?”
Polly said to they, “Now you know it's true,
She's gone away, our master is blue.
When is she coming back?”
Dog said, “I wish I knew.”
a thousand times I call your name
throughout the day
like I always would
you'd come frolicking around the corner
always making your way
a thousand times I swear I feel you
brush up against my legs
like you always would
a thousand times more
I forget your gone
because you should be here
but I know it's an oasis
one where your lungs are restored,
your breaths aren't shallow
and you're eating all of the tuna in the world
a thousand times I swear I wake up
you next to me
on the other pillow
I can't help but sleep against the wall
afraid I'll roll over on you
and then I wake up,
and the reality takes toll
a thousand times I've prayed for your soul
but in the end,
I used to laugh every day,
Now sadness takes those laughs away.
I used to hope that soon one day,
You would say you loved me.
I used to cry myself to sleep,
But now I just sit up and weep,
I feel the darkness start to creep,
And let it take me into its arms.
I used to hate the way I was,
I realize that’s who I’ve become,
And the sickening thought puts me on the run,
From the truth, the way, my life, my death.
I can’t ever seem to catch my breath,
From running from the endless death,
I face every day and now I’m blessed,
Because it finally caught me.
And now these chains, they hold me down,
I look and search for my way out,
But don’t you know that now I’m trapped,
In this place, that’s cold and black.
To every happy memory, there are sad ones that hit just as hard
And the sadness began when I looked at his side
To see a large lump there
I wasn't as worried as I should have been…
Everyone thought Pentecost would be okay
For our other cat survived a thing like this on her own
She had bitten the lump off herself
Puss oozing out…and she had healed with no problem
This lump was different…
I cringe because it was wrong for us to wait
He began to grow thinner… his eyes began to look sad
He no longer ran from the window to the laundry
He no longer jumped into my dad’s lap for a pet
He didn’t even eat, and that was one thing I thought he would never give up…
Dreamy, but sad, I looked at him opening a can of his favorite meal
I wished there was something more to be done for him
I begged my parents to take him to the vet
Because I sensed it would soon be too late
My mother kept saying he would be fine in due time
But in a matter of two weeks my mom surely knew
And she was the one to say it…
She said softly, “I think he’s going to die”
I held him on the less tender side of his body near my bed
Tears building in my eyes
I didn’t want Pentecost to suffer…
I wanted him to live life and be his happy self…
DEATH OF THE CAT
Cats are all the same?
Zimbo was his name
He was an Asian Mackerel,
That’s his colouring term technical.
About nine years old, everyone’s pet
Went missing for days, daughter began to fret
Older brothers found him cold
On road, by a car he’d been rolled
Just one knock clean on his head
And the poor wee thing was dead
Zimbo was laid in garden by the boys
With weeping daughter adding his toys.
I’d been working away for two years
The States, Moscow, Algiers
Missed the kids and their growing lives
Taking them on walks and drives
Missed their exams, prizes, colds and ‘flu s
What birthday dress to choose, what daily news.
It’s I who should have been there at
The final farewell to the family cat
This one event showed clearly to me
How I’d lost my role in the family.
Just a little creature which had to depart ?
I still feel pain from my heart-dart.
I know it is not so
but I have the clear feeling
that at any moment
you will open the door
with your noisy key ring,
and I will hear distinctly
the off-key sound
of your slow and heavy steps
that no longer drag slowly
through my living room hall
which is now silent,
mute in its halftones.
I know it's not so
but you will put down your bag
stuffed with papers in confusion,
on the table set for two
even though we are four,
but two of us will be in the bedroom
and won't want to dine, but
we will steal from your plate,
and you'll get upset
but you don't know how to fight,
and the argument will end with the providential
increase in the volume of the television,
that now is full of silly programs
because nothing is fun anymore.
Life drags on,
empty in its own apathy.
You will talk about your day,
and you'll ask about ours,
and I'll be in a hurry,
going out to some rehearsal.
I'll shout that I can't right now,
that tomorrow I won't go out
and in the morning, making the strong, black coffee,
we'll talk about the script,
you'll give me some ideas
I'll love to slip into the context
althought now this actress
no longer cares how she performs
because the fantasy is gone,
the scene has no more magic
and just repeats itself alone
on the stages I no longer trod.
and I'll help you put on your socks
having you sit on the bed
while our cat snores
in a light ending sleep.
Yet, you'll play with me
in your special way
that makes any single day
seems like Christmas,
with your salad sauce
that no one any longer tastes.
The 25th hides its face
at midnight, Jesus is not born
and the miracle is not the same.
On Valentine's Day
you will buy two roses,
one of them you'll give to mom
and the other one is always mine
for I'll always be your little girl
who doesn't have a boyfriend anymore,
who has no joy, and
who counts the hours of the day
just to know the day has gone.
I know it's not so
but I'll see you at any moment
when I lay my eyes
on our garden,
missing your confident hands
pruning its dead branches
like now it is dead our house.
And like me,
our cat waits for you
every night at eight o'clock
under the doorjamb,
on the rug in the hall,
to say you are welcome,
to be happy you are home,
but our expectations fail,
for your arrival is delayed,
you won't arrive at all,
and there's no more future
for there's no more noise
of your key ring in the knob.
That cat that died
smelled from a
long-endured ear cyst
like old sweat. He
pooped the rug so we
mourned conflict-ridden mourning.
When we buried him
we couldn't say a prayer.
He died among a foreign people.
His god would not hear the prayers
of aliens. We lived side-by-side but
apart. He had his god we have ours.