He's Sick into His own Hands,
The Sink is too Far, The Cats
Saucer is Closer.
He Washes His Hands and Face
As The Cat Laps Contently at
His Liquid Disdain.
His Face is Red and His Breath
Seems To Leak out of His
Mouth, in Thick Chokes.
The Mirrors Reflected Image,
Contains Vague Resemblance.
He Smashes it, His Knuckles Bleed.
A Mist Surrounds his Feet, and
Creeps up His Legs, Devouring
Cloth and Skin.
Delirious and Shaking He Allows
It To Envelop His Body Up To
Chest, Below, Just Bone.
The Cat Had Finished it's Meal
Of Bile and Pre-digestion. Their
- Did it's Eyes Just Flicker Red ? -
The Mist hit His Neck, There was
No Pain, Just A Numbing, The
Pawed Feline, Just Sat, Staring.
- He Could Hear It... -
He Screamed at it To Stop
Deafening Him With its'
- It Winked... -
The Mist Now Just Below his Nose.
That Stare... The Extended Glance
Never Broke....It Was Him.
- Welcoming Him To The Other Side -
- The Mist Consumes Him -
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
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
As the mourners had left,the holy showers ceased.
Still, the drops of agony fell on from the eaves of heart.
Then a forlorn crow fluttered its wet wings.
The waif cats always roamed in the yard,
But that dark night, a strange cat prowled to the portico.
Its eyes resembled the father’s, who was cremated hours back.
Moss of home clung on its eyes, but there was no tongue in the cat eyes.
Yet,the silent symbols were so strong.
At either side of the cat eyes, the father and the son stood helplessly.
Later, I heard the mobile barks, which chased the cat to a distant rural crematorium.
And that strange cat never returned.
But its mystery remains still with the urn.
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.
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
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.
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
They fight like two dogs after a female.
A cat and another cat for food, birds.
Becomes fodder for the Red Fox to pull
Feathers and chow down. Once half dead,
I put in can. Go to heavenly sleepness.
Leo got sick in new home, on to heaven.
Val - heart defect, needle shot. Gone.
And so on it goes, Caesar smoke. Slept.
Cremate, bury. Rise up to the gold gate.
I want to burn and sit on a white mantle.
Larry wants burn with ashes over Rockies.
Brother, mothers, father and grandparents,
Into ground, after productive life. Sleep.
Crops in the ground for all animals to eat.
Slaughter some. Feeds primates. Sweet meat.
So on and on it goes, in the cycle of life.
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