These Pets Narrative poems are examples of Narrative poems about Pets. These are the best examples of Pets Narrative poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
My daughter`s budgie "Sissie" died a late night
The next morning I told her that "Sissie" was dead
With tears on her eyes and cheeks, she asked her mom
- Is "Sissie" in heaven with God and grandmother ?
- Yes, she is with God, grandmother and the angels
I answer her
Surprised at this answer, my daughter investigate
whether it was true
She walks into the room where the cage with
the budgie used to stand
After a short while, she runs back to mom....
- Mom, mom.... God has not only taken "Sissie"
- God has taken the cage too
This is a true story - - - from gold child`s mouth
dedicated to: Laila A.Mjelde
In an old Victorian building lives two cats and a lady
The girl cat is Patches and the boy cat is called Peanut
And the lady is called Dear Heart, they all live in harmony
One day, Dear Heart decided the cats needed to have collars
So she bought a pink one for Patches and a blue one for Peanut
Each collar had a little bell that tinkled and tinkled as the cats walked
Now, Patches loved her collar but Peanut twisted about
He flopped on his back, putting his paws inside the blue collar
Finally, the bell fell off and he pounced after it across the room
As Patches walked around her little bell went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle
Peanut was determined to get that bell and became quiet the pest
Dear Heart talked to Peanut telling him to stop and leave the bell alone
When Dear Heart came home from work the cats came
She reached to stroke Patches and noticed the pink collar
The bell was missing, she looked at Peanut, bad cat she said
Where the bells went is still a mystery that may stay unsolved
Patches still has her pink collar, she likes to show it off for visitors
Peanut totalled destroyed his within days and was very proud of that
Written by Constance La France
October 27, 2012
In Memory of Peanut the Cat
She smiles all day she thinks it' s o.k.
She makes weird sounds and it's all day
My Aunt I asked will you not make that silly sound today?
My Aunt looked at me and said why? she always say
In public she snorts when she laughs and I get that
But when things get out of hand she scares my the cat
I have a cat but my Aunt well she kinda sat
Poor little cat it was now a furry little mat
I get really mad at her, but she seems to make me smile
Because one day we walked, she sang me a song about a mile
I was happy because she ran out of gas at last
She also could not speak at all, and that was a blast
Although she could not speak
She kept smiling she once never look bleak
My Aunt Willy who's Silly is the person who never does things in half's
I can not express any louder she makes me smile with laughs
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along,
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.
Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall,
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.
Mama cat was even so bold
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.
Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws.
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.
Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run.
Written by: Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place
Dear Humane Society,
I am at the end of my leash as I throw my paws up in the air.
Daily I am tortured by a flashy millionaire.
Does anyone really care? (Oodles of poodles all over the world are scared!)
It’s RRRRuff being a poodle I think that you’ll agree.
Especially when your master works in cosmetology.
It’s egg yolks each day at breakfast to maintain a healthy coat.
Nutritious snacks like frozen green beans that get stuck right in your throat!
My nails are groomed, my teeth are brushed, and for 4 more hours I hear her discuss
How my hair will be groomed for the AKC show.
And to top it off, I’ve got to wear that ridiculous pink bow!
Please help. My paws are tied.
“Kaboodle the Poodle,” the best of the show
Written for Tanya Harrington's Dog Gone Tales Contest
Some sounds like the noise of bees
Hovering around the atmosphere
Or like rain drops on our roof tops,
I opened my round window
The window of my hut,
I wanted to know
Why my sleep won't mellow,
All i saw was sorrow
As the atmosphere turned green.
The cassava farm was over shadowed
Banana plantation feebled,
Apple orchard struggled
Yet their efforts stifled,
Lemon grass for mama's herb withered,
Rose flower shattered and our
Groundnut farm tattered.
Suddenly,the green army fled,
Tears exuded from my eyes
As i sputtered in pain,
Mother filled with melancholy,
Father tore his heart in grief
Villagers hope captured and crippled,
So their travail displayed as
Everyone mourned over
The locust plaque.....
BY: CHARLES MELODY (LIGHTNING INK).
If deserted, was I, on an island, and was allowed only three integral items to take with me, what would they be?
If we are speaking of material things, I suppose I would take my favorite book in the whole world, "Ask Dr. Mueller" by Cookie Mueller. It is a book I cherish, and can read perpetually because it's just that good.
If, by some strange coincidence, there happened to electricity on the island, and an old, abandoned, yet functional CD player just so happened to be found, then I would want my favorite album in the world with me: "Live Through This" by Hole. I worship Courtney Love and her music. She is a grunge Goddess to me. I love every song on that album.
If pen and paper could magically count as just one item, then I would take mountains of paper and a plethora of pens so I could record everything and continue writing poetry while hoping to be rescued.
My acoustic Gibson Epiphone means the world to me; I cannot imagine not having it with me. I know how to play all the songs off "Live Through This", so perhaps I would choose my guitar instead; that way I can still enjoy those songs as I still compose more of my own; that makes sense, right?
If, by Divine Intervention, there was an abandoned, yet functional TV and DVD player, I would have to consider taking all seven seasons of "The Golden Girls"; I don't think I could survive without the Golden Girls; it's my favorite show ever. And also all of the "Star Wars" movies; those I cherish, too.
And also, since I am an addict/alcoholic, I would want to take tons of pills, whisky and Cola with me; I'm sure I could not survive without those.
I understand that perhaps people or pets may not be considered as "items", but if I could choose among them, well, I would have to take my loving partner, my best friend of twenty years and my two dogs, Sammy and Bilbo, and my three kitties: Marley, Archie and Punky (of course I count them all as one because I like to break the rules).
Since there are so many things I do not think I can live without, it's an impossible decision. But these are my considerations, nonetheless.
*What Would You Take Contest Entry
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel. All so familiar, so ordinary. Just like every other day he mused. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him. But in reality, he was bored. It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation. Too many days. Too much disappointment. He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first. It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.
Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade. In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with. You know the type. Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog. Kids poking their fingers through the kennel screen or banging on it. Some even making barking sounds. He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.
Walter was very picky. Set in his ways after so many years. He had had it good for a long time. An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself. No tricks. No stunts. Just long naps and daily walks. A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner. He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom. Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together. And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.
But those days were gone now. First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back. The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly. The walks became less frequent. Walter did what he could. He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too. At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.
He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye. I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.” Walter could see the tears in his eyes. He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist. It was obvious there were no alternatives. And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner. But he was going to miss him. It was not going to be easy to adjust.
But adjust he did. He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs trot past his cage with light hearts and new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations. But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound. Everyone wanted the young ones. So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.
He heard them before the saw them. ”Honey” the voice said. ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.” Walters ears perked up a little. ”Do I know them” he thought. ”They seem to know me”. I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.
“It is him” the man said. ”Walter, how you doing boy? Do you remember me?”
And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him. He used to live right across the street. He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket. With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing. It was good to see an old friend.
“What do you say hon” the man said. ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”
Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement. ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”
The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter? Would you like to go home with us?”
Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more. A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew. What was there not to like.
Soon the woman returned and the gate opened. A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention. Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off. ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought. ”Good luck and goodbye”.
As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter. There is someone I am going to take you to see. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”
Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about. And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.
There once was a little Jack Russell
who was as sweet as she was cute
and went by the nicname of hoot.
Now in the evening the
family would gather
to spend family time together.
Everyone including Hoot was there.
Me on the couch
the kids on the floor
and dad in his favorite chair.
As we sat there a smell most foul
quickly filled the air.
It seems our sweet little hoot
had let loose with a toot
and now we are all fighting for air.
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