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
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.
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)
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
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.
I do not know?
Filled with no more than a breath of warm fresh air,
exhausted, he dies
His last breath, heavy and sullen,
pours out from between his cherry pink lips
Flowing down the sides of his, light blue blush cheeks,
constantly licking its way down
From there it flows about the floor in desperate need of human muzzle
Dragging itself from here to there and spreading itself out thin
When it came upon a sleeping cat,
with no remorse of stinking foul, crept inside its nose
The cat wakes, places several masks upon its face,
then blows it right back out
The breath, lighter now,
finds hope in only death and dies
The cat perplexed can only sigh.
[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
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 and had some expertise with birds.
Your chief preoccupation was yourself,
and your main complaint was that you
never got your just deserts.
Certainly, no one deserves to end
as you did --
an unclaimed, foreign body,
interred in Mexico,
in an unmarked pauper's grave,
a "fosa commun." You only wanted
to be loved, but never quite succeeded.
RIP my friend;
I did not mean to be unkind.
James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.
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 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.
Maud dreamed by the fire, her blue eyes half-closed,
While a grey cat on a grey mat beside her reposed.
Then she wakened and watched as the fast-falling snow
Was whipped into drifts when the sad wind would blow.
The moments that make up a life span are fleet,
Passing by with the stealth of a kitten's soft feet.
Since then, many winters this old earth has turned,
And I can't even guess when the last embers burned.
But where the hearth warmed, a computer now stands,
And someone's been typing with very cold hands
And piling spreadsheets on a table all day
On the very same spot where a grey cat once lay.
You're alone, so stop turning -- you won't find a trace
Of the blue eyes and smile of a little girl's face;
But when winds start moaning and driving the snow,
Maud may send you a ghost-mail from long, long ago.
“Long time na see Jim”
“Yip Long time na see Jake”
“John Critchuns ‘n that danged Big White o’ his”
“Caint say as I did”
“They oughta be a law ‘gainst brangin’ cats inta tha saloon
But he’s niver without his dang cat
Don’t care ‘bout tha law
Men in here should cumplain
‘Cep John’s mighty fast on tha draw”
“That thing’ll walk around top a poker table
Flashin’ them big white teeth hisssn yet
Dang thing’s sa careful not ta spill a chip
Niver seen tha like”
“He’ll perch on John’s shoulder lick his ear
Don’t bother John none”
“Niver seen no cat sa big sa white sa downright mean
Meanest cat I ever seen!
Whatcha lookin at me thata way fer?”
“Ya keep scratchin yer head”
“When’s tha las time ya seen Big White?
“Why jis las night why?
“Member tha gun fight six weeks ago
When tha Deeler boys held up tha stage out near Castle Rock?”
“Weel I was there
I was there when John Critchuns and Big White saved tha day
Big White went fer Luke Deeler jist as he uz pickin at the money box lock
Critchuns drew on Luke too
Then Pete Deeler brained Big White ith a rock”
Caved in his friggin head!”
of old age
but I can't comprehend
why you left so fast
parted your bony corpse
that precise fur
gleaming fall coat
the black and orange-
a contrast so unique
why does age creep up-
eliminating your organs
toying with your mind
into accepting the fate-
and though each death withholds happiness
smiles are forgotten
we use the muscles to avoid tears-
those that are supposedly helpful to endure
my friend my pet, my sidekick
waking me up throughout the nights with a purr
4 am tortured me
but now I lye awake at 4
awaiting your purring- your presence
How do you move on when they become a part of you-
an pure unconditional love
Oh, there it is.
A perfect dinner
for me and my kids.
This slice of holey cheese
no one will miss.
It lies on the rock
a long ten feet away
and though you may find this a shock,
for me life means danger.
You’re lucky; don’t talk.
I look carefully around
but once, twice, three times
nothing in sight but a mound
of hair; maybe leftovers from a hawk.
The coast is clear so I pound
my way over to my dinner.
Cheese, cheese, glorious cheese!
I’m closing in, about to claim it.
Oh! But a screech causes me to freeze
perfectly still from terror.
And out pounces a cat with claws as sharp as a bee’s
“Felicity,” it hisses.
“Juicy mouse, you’re perfect
for the dinner I almost missed.
Come here,” it says.
“I can’t resist
I silently say goodbye
to my kids
and with a little sigh
I think to myself I could never outrun
this nimble cat so I’m about to die.
I wait for death with my eyes squeezed shut
but nothing comes
and I open my eyes to see the butt
of Seth, the farmer’s kid.
He’s scooping up the moody cat
and while he’s turned
I scurry away, shivering with fear and relief from that
near death of mine.
What a shame.
That cheese was almost mine.
But surely I’ll be showered with fame
from my kids, at least,
for my luck that Seth came.
I hurry back to my house.
I’ll live to see another day.
Oh, the life of a mouse!
I remember when you came to me,
a slinky sleek bundle of fur and muscle,
dashing, daring, purring, and pouncing,
testing the limits and the patience of all,
playing in the morning, playing at night,
sliding on the carpet,
never sleeping, never stopping,
You burned so brightly in my life,
lighting our world with toys and tests,
talking and jumping,
clawing and pouncing,
nurturing your elder, nurturing me,
comforting and consoling,
kissing away tears and trials,
soothing and slinky.
You grew and grew,
first up, then out, so round,
laser pointers -- who cares,
contentment in a jolly round ball,
with your big belly inviting the pet,
the rub, the snuggle, the cuddle,
my pillow, my gentle living big and warm,
Toy mice as babies, carried through the house,
surprises in my shoe, was that a joke,
laughing at me or laughing with me,
slipping on your gifts,
midnight tripping on the dark floor lump,
not malicious, laughing with me I decide,
with delightful sparkle eyes,
Years pass and you burn less brightly,
sixteen candles and nine lives gutter,
the weight falls away, the attention span,
bones and skin, but always love,
always pur, happy to be,
my friend, my buddy,
my cat named dog.
Your flame fades,
and I miss you already, Pooch.
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…