Friends and trouble go hand in hand.
Legends of the neighborhood.
Like statues and vacant buildings still stand.
A crime in plain view no one ever saw.
Held hostage in fear.
The mouse sturggles to escape from
Blood on the bricks that stains my mind.
Time takes me away.
Yet never leaves the memory far behind.
Summers in the city nights run into days.
We turn are backs to the truth.
But in this game everyone plays.
Heros are villians depending
on who you are.
Stories told bout the other night.
Hidden truths like the bat under the bar.
The players are future tombstones
Men glorified beyond there name.
the citys children caught within her confines.
Forced to play a different game.
< cakes and sausages on hot griddle
uncle Leroy's dam dog just piddled
slipped ~ slide across floor
grabbed shotgun by front door
now dam ole dog just plays an fiddle
bow bow bow bow bow bow bow bow ~ wow
ow ow ow ow ow ow ow bow ~ ow
with tail between own ~ legs
now dog sings ~ and ~ brags
about cousin's daisies's bad bow ~ pows
Entry For John Freeman's
Slapstick Limerick Contest
Poor Ole Dog LOL
An earful of breaks...
in overnight silence,
the ticking clock,
a cat fight,
a siren blares,
a hooting owl,
a plane zooms...
trucks and cars
River City life,
Oh lonely Inevitable Bear,
Padding claws, death in white
Sorrow in recurring nightmare
Instinct’s test; fight or flight?
Camouflage against the fence,
A challenge; my subconscious fear
Ominous slowly moving silence,
“Let me in, there’s a bear out here!”
What of this pregnant white cat?
Her dirty fur a smudge
Against the snow's crisp canvas,
She mews at my door for milk.
A stranger to me, she appeared
Without express invitation,
And now, she lingers like a cold.
This cat is an embarrassment.
Like friends whom I feed
Because I lack strength
To turn them away.
Two field mice took a walk one day
Then feeling tired, they'd walked a ways
They thought they'd stop and rest a while
For home was further on some miles.
Then they heard the pad of old Toms paws
Which spooked them quite a bit I'm sure
As the cat purred loudly to see the mice
And thought "a meal it would be nice!"
Their whiskers quivered nervously
As, our two mice made haste to flee
So off they scampered for their lives
As old Tom cat for them did strive
That old cat looked he, high and low
And where they were he didn't know
As the two they trembled neath a bush
They could almost touch that mean old puss.
Then Tom gave up and skulked away
And the two mice lived another day
And their lungs filled up with gratitude
They'd foiled that old tom cat, so rude.
Peace, Socrares Dec 2 2003
The light is fading, evening breaks
Between the oaken woods and lake,
It's time to finish with the row
And homeward bound, the trail to take.
With rake in hand I turn to go
To find my pick axe and the hoe,
When from the trail there ran a buck
And right behind him came two doe.
At first I thought, what rotten luck!
I'm here, my rifle's in the truck,
Then, as he stopped to look my way
He gave his tail a flip and tuck.
And then he spun and bounced away
The doe behind him sleek and grey,
Crashing through the brush and vine
Into the woods and welcomed shade.
He must have sported twenty tine
I thought as Shadow starts to whine,
Asking, should he give him chase?
I pat his head in soft decline.
The sun is gone upon my face
To lose the buck is no disgrace,
Although today I've been undone
There'll be another time and place.
Today the buck has rightly won
The hunters gone, the season done,
Perhaps we'll meet again next year
Before the season's had it's run.
The buck was ancient, and I fear
He may not see another year,
But then, another year is seldom clear
For man, or dog, or antlered deer.
Timothy I. Brumley
Let love fly
With ethereal compassion, a soft glow in her eyes,
she picks up the baby eagle, tries to convey words
of eloquent reassurance, sincerely she tries.
Look, June is here this morning; and sun is shining hot;
last night’s storm belongs to last night; it has left an eagle;
a homeless, hurt, upset baby; it feels forlorn, lost, caught.
She takes it home; makes enclosures; feeds it with love, care.
It still feels solo, alone within, fed by love, fed up.
The enclosure of good concern grows smaller with time’s each turn.
The bird’s soul belongs to the sky; in its eyes silent prayer
flares up as it cries; shrill piercing call to its own kind.
Let it fly.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
neurotic narcotics reared reason in rows,
plucked pith-fully from truth,
agile enough in politick to anesthetise the waste,
languishing amongst the cling-filmed choral-forms
of symbiotic silicone…
the future lay dormant,
adjudicating the agricultural status
of domesticated foreign policy…
Let us rest our heads upon the pillow of denial, turn twilight in the last clear reflection of the silent moon. Where vile droppings fell the freshness of the morning sea, turn to graveyards, lest we be;
...swimming in an acid dawn.
The corpse of shellings, scales a strewn, where once transparent was so blue,
this morning features scarlet hue, as skin is shredded in the burning morn.
Where vile droppings fell the freshness of the morning sea, turn to graveyards,
lest we be;
...swimming in an acid dawn.
...And come mid sun up, we shall bathe;
within sulfuric, petrol waves and drink our lemon juice until we choke.
Till our teeth rot and our tears evoke, the pandora’s box which we awoke.
An orange bright, our arid plight, and we the specks of dust behind;
lurching a dehydrated, evaporated existence. Famine on our minds.
Walking footsteps which no longer walk, dreaming of the past to escape the future as the present seeps our blood and marrow, the desert sun, a piercing arrow, stabbing at our hearts.
We hobble, oh we hobble and we hobble through the wasted years, through bones and makeshift graves, we’ll hobble into the final age;
where vile droppings fell the freshness of the morning sea, turn to graveyards,
lest we be;
...swimming in an acid dawn.
It is estimated that within the next decade or two that the ocean will become so acidic as to dissolve the shells of mollusks and shellfish. This in addition to the already dwindling supply of precious fresh water which we must share with our animal friends. A supply by the way that we contaminate regularly, a supply that simply cannot be renewed.
Desalination was looked upon as the next great solution to water shortage despite it's expense. However considering how the oceans are becoming increasingly polluted due to oil spill after oil spill and Fukushima's constant radioactive leaks, in addition to the acidification of the ocean itself, it appears that we will have no viable water to look forward to in the future.
This is life. Forget profit, it doesn't exist. Nature has no concept of wealth, only of survival. If we all die, everything that we've accomplished will be forgotten, nature has no use for it. Currency will return to being simply paper and stone, and nothing else.
We need to stop thinking about ourselves and think of our children and all the other species that live upon the earth.
Life is this intangible thing,
an enigma and a contradiction;
at once so real, visceral,
and so ephemeral, ethereal.
It's like the difference between day and night;
during the day, things happen –
to you and to others, cause and effect,
we react to these stimuli, and action results,
changing forever your life, whether big or small.
But at night, you rest, restore, reminisce, and soothe –
a stretch, expanse of enchantment
where time slips through your fingers too fast
and magic feels true in our hearts.
To say that life is all about stretching your legs,
petting a dog as it lies beside you
and together you watch the rain;
as you hear crickets chirping through the storm,
life always going on,
is laughably absurd.
And yet, on occasion, sometimes that's all that's really needed,
moments of quiet contemplation
of all that lies ahead and behind;
in this, I find peace.
Sometimes we just need a friend and a reprieve;
sometimes we must simply listen to the rain
and smile at the crickets.
Her eyes spoke of love beyond any comparison.
Simple glances she could speak volumes of words.
No language spoken by voice though much power,
Intently she was observant to her surroundings.
Graciously she painted concern with attitude.
Sometimes so sternly advocating her desires,
Strong and dainty from her facial expressions,
Strong and firm her deliverance was given.
Protector of family for eighteen years she gave.
Her mind was efficient and carried life high.
Not a companion a family member so dear,
She witnessed illness, took action quickly.
Strong mind but weakened body, driving forward,
Asking in her gaze, she told of needs and desires.
Her name, Heidi, a game she played when young.
Carrying it forward to daily actions she had won.
Hiding her eyes from anyone, no one could see.
Upon her face as she gazed back, unhidden now,
Was a glory and loving smile, with sparkling eyes.
She shall be remembered with such affection true.
Lost we are now without her presence each moment,
Quietness passes our days and nights without her walk.
No “Tick Tick Tack“as her paws use to tap the floor.
Missing her yawn upon her first wakeup each day,
Her presence no more still reminded by our hearts.
Her spotted coat remembered by all our surroundings.
Dalmatian by breed, Living Angel, now Angel in Heaven,
Upon a future time, we’ll be reunited, with a living Angel.
Written in Memory, for much more than a dog,
She was a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, protector, friend, buddy, pal, neighborhood
watcher, along with so much more.
look at colony life's
structure. care for it. learn from its
LISTEN UP MY PHRIEND
A phoolish junkie believes he has a lot of phriends
Until one of his alleged phriend’s dope supply ends
So he goes to the junkie who has a substantial stash
But unfortunately that day the needy one has no cash
Ain’t no junkie who’s going to give dope away for free
They tell the needy one not to bargain, beg or plea
You got cash to get dope and your sickness ends
And as I said, there are junkies who think they have true and lasting phriends
The one who’s pleading gets the sweats, shivers and shakes
But cash for dope is the only trade a junkie ever makes
Cough up the bucks and you’re sweat will turn dry
Because the life of a junkie is a matter of sell or buy
I know first hand that ain’t a junkie who really gives a sh*t
All he thinks about is his need for another hit
And that’s when an addict won’t care, loan or lend
Because there ain’t a junkie alive who has a true and lasting phriend
© 2011.…Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
WHAT MAKES MOST OF YOU PEOPLE NOT EVEN REMOTELY SMART IS THAT YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE PURE POETIC GENIUS such as mine WHEN YOU READ IT!
I clip on a leash so I can try to hold her back.
My old friend will prance all the way down the block and back.
She’s frightened of noise from the garbage truck.
And early morning before the heat is always a must.
We walk the sidewalks to keep her nails trimmed nice.
And we know everywhere to find a friend like us.
Lord knows, I try to stop and talk, so I can catch my breath.
We will cross the street to avoid mean and barking dogs.
We know all the obstacles that might get in our way.
And we go a different route for each weekly day.
Together we know we appear to be a walking machine, but
We smell the roses and notice flowers from all the houses we pass.
But it’s nice to see the yards as they go slowly past
We have plenty of work waiting for us at home when we get back.
But for a moment each day we chose it, to ignore.
My old lab and I need to get out while the weather is good
In the end we’re just two oldsters…trying to get out of the house.
A smile comes on our faces we go down the block.
they have orange.
they have green.
they have red.
they have yellow.
they have purple.
those colours should make everyone happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
because the are nice bright ,happy colours
Radios blaring, televisions drumming on and on and on
The faucet drips, the dishwasher hums
A soft blowing sound from the air conditioner
The refrigerator dropping ice..then filling with water
Ticking clocks on the bed stands
The ringing of the phone from some telemarketing service
My own voice droning on the answering machine after the irritating beep
Swirling swooshes of ceiling fans
Another tire hitting the storm drain on the road behind my home
The roar of a lawnmower…followed by a trimmer…then a blower
Birds chattering in the many trees in my yard, some chirping, some whistling
A neighbor’s dog barking at the children out front, yelling mixed with laughter
My thoughts invaded with uninvited sounds
Dozens of intruders flying through my ears
I sometimes long for just a moment
When the air isn’t filled with all these noises
To Whomever Has Loved a Horse
Knows of that of which I speak.
To feel an equine’s glorious power
Quiver and tremble beneath one’s limbs
The emotion brought within
Can cause even the most stoic noble man
To begin to tear up and to begin to weep.
To see one’s own reflection
In the pools of their almond shaped eyes
They are the master
Of the human depth of understanding
Always given up in their intelligent vision.
One cannot help but grasp their love
Hold on to their mane and fly
Fast along the earth
As if for a moment, Icarus
Flying high above the earth
On golden wings…
Not afraid to die.
If only Icarus had known
He could fly on an earthly steed
He could have saved his soul
And flown on a glorious horse…
It would have saved his soul indeed…
Instead of failing on false wings.
(November 26, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Walking down the dusty country road
Skipping rocks over the creek
Running through the pasture chasing cows
Taking a long dip in a cool lake on a hot summer day
Catching a horny toad to bring home to Mom
Whistling my way down the long dusty road
Free to do whatever I please along the way
What a great way to spend a summer day
"We were all born part animal"
This is what my dad told us kids
all the frigging time lol
thanks dad and happy father's day
july 5th 1925 - april 11 th 1981
I do not know?
Me and my pal
Snoopy so cute
Frolicking in the park
He is licking my boot
This time of year,early Fall
Before the snow flies
We are both playing ball
Kissing the dew of park grass
As I roll over
he is wagging tongue on my ass
An ancient smile from the old boy
Giving me the Treasure
Of a 5 yr old's joy
It is a Happy time that we can recall
Popcorn for 10 cents
While enjoying dog BALL
Sometimes I think that days and moments
feelings and emotions should be linear
add them up in neat columns
But most days
i do not know the formula
to use or how to frame the equation
that shows me the way to your heart
Geometric shapes of light, angles with edges
lines intersecting and
rays diverging--obtuse, acute
often on the edge
The digital protractor of my soul
honed to measure sharp edges
built in horizontal spirit levels
I know well the shapes of your shadow
the light from your smile and the
warmth of your embrace
but your Cartesian coordinates baffle me
I can not find the quadrant or the axis
Bring me back to the sums of children
where love adds up and your heart
aligns with mine