But you—the wild one
You were compulsive, fiery and inventive
I had my share of the wild and free
But you were molded from them—with insane beauty
Despite our differences we remained together
Perhaps you think I mean to save you—tame you
But I merely long to contain the sun
And hinder the pervasive burns
So that in so doing, I may always keep you warm
For cold wild shall destroy
As warm wild shall invent
Searing wild will one day save the world
And then destroy it all the next
Dear beloved one,
I saw you amongst the wild horses
I did not dare touch you
Because I was afraid of Change
But Change was a delight—an apple to your eye
And I did not realize that Change was embedded in my very being
So when you shyly approached me,
I knew you were hungry
I fed you ample laughter and music
And soon I gained your highest respect
Along with a thousand other mystical blessings
I will not always remain by your side as if I am among you
But perhaps I shall linger at a distance—level to your luminosity
As words continue to flow, I shall slowly inch myself forward
To be frank—you are the greatest companion in my world
Hot or cold—seared or chilled
You will always remain among the wild and free
And that race is sadly. . .
Tell me you shall never become me
In honor of you,
One day I will reach out my quivering hand
And you will consume the Apple of Friendship
Look beside you
As was inevitable—
I have changed for the better
Because you are—and always will be
My very greatest friend till the end
-this Ode was meant to be altogether; I hope you enjoyed reading, and thank you-
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
As you know, dear one
I border emotions that perhaps are an enigma to you
You look up to me at times with the highest respect
When you and I both know we are leveled
I dedicate to you a speech above the most precious jewels
My words surely don’t climb among or above the highness of great
But I can tell you straight—I am proud of my feelings
I am proud to have you here on earth with me
You know, when I wrote those words, joyous bells began to ring
I heard them in harmony, for they agreed
Indeed, I had the council of music in meeting
And we all averred that you are a part of me—a rare ligament that I truly cherish
For years you have devoted yourself
Fearing that someday I may leave your side
Oh my sweet, beloved friend—how I have!
I do not wish to degrade you—forgive me!
Allow me to further explain
I have left many times from the comfort of your embraces
Blinded by the enigmatic pangs I so desperately conceal
But these moments of solitude allow me to candidly feel
And as I have said—I am proud of my feelings
For they have led me straight to the epiphanies I shall now reveal:
I saw you amongst the wild horses—amid the paragon of temperament
Their nostrils flared at a presence; like confused soldiers, their eyes darted about
I was crazed into fear that I would be founded out
In meadows near from grasp of humanity
You fled but kept me in eyesight
Wondering and wandering—nearly touching the brink of my world
The bells drew you near—for they were apples to your eye
My laughter reached the highest height
You knew that I was not jeering you
I was delighted by your phantasmagoric magnificence!
The majority grazed on
But your dreams were meant for me to hold
At least only for a little while
For in the bells of laughter and music we were one
Cantering all the more closer to the sun
We felt not the burn, but the warmth of friendship
As life flew on in its graces and disgraces
We drew ever nearer
And soon—as was inevitable—
We felt the sear
As you were familiar with them, you took it like a god
And longed—from me—to take it
Instead I concealed the flame
Because the tame are accustomed
To chastisement, fear and incentive
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
In midst of forest stands an ancient tree
decorated by nature with white cotton snow puffs,
icicles glisten and gleam sparkling in the sunlight.
Around its base are gathered all the forest's creatures
with pregnant pause they wait as the star shines out
a beacon to all calling out, hush now do you hear?
The sleigh bells ringing out as down swoops Santa
wait, he is not alone with him the blessed babe
in distance approach the three wise men bears gifts.
All the creatures now on bended knees him they salute
the ancient tree smiles knowingly and the heavens
celebrate with comet tails and shooting stars the precious babe.
contest Hush of Christmas Past
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton
Over the hillsides, together we burned space and time
Galloping with the wind...
Clouds took me by the hand,
Wind took you by the mane
Nothing outside our world could rival this perfect blend
Of motion, devotion, the sunshine and scented rain
I would close my eyes, and trust in the rhythm's rise
O' beautiful creature, your movements touched the very sky
Every stride, would sweep me to another world
Unfurled so far from all my childhood fears
As runaway dreamers,
we sprinted into the future of timeless memory
and heard the infinite past at the heels of your enchanted hoof
Where ancestors once felt this very connection
At one with nature, a blending of what is blessed
In the deep evening light of the first early, wintery chill,
as a comet that shoots through the eye of an in-coming storm
We were crystals, encased in a layer of ice and love
Just a trace of a moon, that sailed between the soft, leaden clouds
In the thrill of the cold, with the glorious snowflakes falling,
and the sight of your warm breath streaming,
there was white drifting smoke, in caress of the moonlight beaming
Indented, undefined, is a trail left behind
Such a moment is proof.... in all legends divine
That when snow falls around the hills, at the end of the day,
Nothing can erase that we passed this way
We were the messengers...that rode with the wind
That the hearts of species as wide as the universe
With spirits connecting two souls as one
Hearts can beat as one....drawn together, like poetic and timeless music
I am part of you....and you are part of me
And that both hearts can feel the same remorse when day is done
In memory of "Queenie".... an amazing Sorrel Quarterhorse,
who was born, at home, in our barn, and lived for 32 years
For the Contest: "PETS", sponsored by Shadow Hamilton 11/13/14
Copyright © Carrie Richards
One eye of burnished brown
The other of glowing yellow
Coat the color of loamy ground
An imposing, fearsome fellow
Peers about and leaves no doubt
Those orbs so fiercely feral
That to try to pet, one might regret
Best be done at one’s own peril
Muzzle abounding with teeth so white
Sharp claws clicking upon the stones
Jaws and claws and gaping maw
Designed each and all for crushing bones
God only knows what that cold wet nose
Can sense, scent and conjure up…
For now tho’ at least, he’s a tiny beast
Na’ more than a warm, wriggly,
Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of dark and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.
One fleece the more, one spot the less,
had half-repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
or darkly tightens o'er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their grazing-place.
And on that rump and o'er that round
so fat, so plump, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
01/26/2014, "First Poem On Soup" Contest
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen
subtle it starts, those thoughts of you
so cunning and quick, little I can do
with each pounce unexpected
claws dug in my mind
Love has me infected
no cure to find . . . .
loudly it roars! with every heartbeat
I sense the excitement
a moments defeat
my soul so enlightened
and still my knees weak.
Unable to run, no sense in escape
hooked by those eyes
im caught in a state
by the antics of fate.
So here I stand, to you to surrender
you've won the heart
of a vagabond roaming
upon you to ponder,
however still knowing
your truelly a wonder
my smile fondly showing.
companions, companions, together to be
for that is the wish of the lover in me,
you're beauty is your nature
you're nature is free
tamed not by no master
amazing to see.
lets travel together, in search of a place
where we rest assured, our love shows its face.
Copyright © Naldeem Bout
Three of my chickens are dead and they have left a hole in my heart,
I want to mark their passing, prove that they were alive and very much loved by me,
They were real, breathing and full of life from the start,
Oh they made me laugh, so hilarious and quirky; such fun hidden away on our allotment,
They did no great deeds, were not famous and hardly anyone knew they were there,
Alert and trusting, they followed my steps, looked at me with their heads to one side, wondering and seeing,
They slept in my arms and closed their tiny eyes when I stroked under their beaks,
Laid eggs and loved wholemeal bread, sometimes combining the two in to a healthy treat in their run, pecking and pinching whatever they could,
Stood on my spade when I was trying to dig, and ate the biggest worms I ever did see,
Had me running in circles to catch them, jumped out of the hutch when I thought I’d put them in,
Kicked over their food tin so I’d give them more and always hid in the shed,
Rearranged their sleeping compartments when I had just cleaned them out, kicking the neat straw all over,
Ate all of my winter cabbages and nibbled at my sprouts, sat on the compost heap and looked around, Queens of the allotment!
Were brave in the face of danger, survived against the odds,
When poorly, they slept cozily in my basement, and understood when it was time to die,
They may have only been chickens to most, but to me they were my friends,
Always pleased to see me, they needed me, and greeted me loudly every day,
Three lives have been taken, but I will not forget them,
I will look back and smile, and talk kindly of Muriel, Edith and Ethel,
For they were the three hens that taught me that all life is precious, no matter how unnoticeable and small.
Copyright © Fran Slimon
The first best friend I ever had,
you run miles in my dreams
You're by my side, you wait for me
You're loyal, you've always been
You never speak a complaining word
and your eyes always smile
You love me unconditionally,
You're open, like a child
And you'll live on here in my heart
for all my days on earth
Not Solomon's mines, nor Fort Knox gold
could equal a good dog's worth
Copyright © Kate Ginsberg
My little white fluff ball
I think all the kittens will grow
Soft and sweet
up to be healthy and strong the
Small and calm
way they should be when they
She is as sweet as candy
should be. I think they will love.
She plays all day and sleeps all night.
Anyone who will love them.
They are small but strong.
I know they will have great lives ahead of them
She loves to have fun
Her small blue eyes glowing, tiger with his new owner
Ash and Cotton with us.
I love cotton just as much as the others.
She love her siblings
She is small and loud
I love her lots
She weaves between the gates
And runs after her brothers tail
I wish she was more quick.
I still love her with all my heart
Like I love ask and tiger her brothers
They are all sweet and they are like little rabbits.
I hope they grow up to be big and strong
My little angles they may seem now but
What about when they are older?
Copyright © Allison Bickham
Keeper Of The Woods
By: Kitty Jones
He stands 7 ft. 8 or so we are told,
When they tell us the stories of long ago.
At night he roams through the woods with care,
Loving on every creature, all that is there.
People say he’s a big strong man,
Big broad chest, yet long thin hands.
They say when the night it clear
And the stars are shining so.
If you listen really close you can hear him talking to Doe’s.
They call this man the Keeper of The Woods.
Mans ways about life he never understood.
They spoke of him as being gentile and loving in all his ways.
Giving back the gift of life that God had given him every day.
His love was shared with everything around
From the birds in the air to the grass on the ground.
I was told a story of someone setting a fire,
The flames would not go out they just kept getting higher.
The fire burned 3 days and nights,
Killing everything, nothing left in sight.
They say at certain times of the year as you look across the land
You can see the figure of a 7ft 8 inch man.
And if you come back 3 days later you’ll be amazed at what you see.
A 7ft 8 inch man crying on his knees.
I don’t think that anybody really understood.
The simple loving blessed life of the Keeper of the Woods.
Copyright © kitty jones
To Tiger, our first, and best, a grey Tabby,
large and handsome, with broad black stripes,
I only had to speak your name,
and you moved to obey.
To our second, Sylvester, exact replica
of the cartoon character, a born hunter,
lining up your prey on the front walk.
I welcomed the mice and shrews.
But, do you recall me prying your jaws
open to set the chipmunks free?
And Tricia, our Calico, gorgeous
enough to be queenly, but sweet.
How we loved watching you play
with S'Lito and Rugby,
as if you too were a dog.
Next, Petunia, your snow white coat
in sharp contrast to black ears,
tail and face mask – a true beauty.
Yet a quirky personality spoils
your disposition. You "talk" non-stop
and hiss at anything that moves.
If only I could speak your language.
You're the kicker, Sweet William,
resident ruler of my heart.
You came to us as a kitten,
nondescript, long and lean,
independent, sometimes aloof,
sometimes very affectionate,
always playful, always endearing.
All of you were unwanted rejects,
dumped like sacks of garbage,
each unique, each with your own niche
in our permanent memory banks.
Copyright © Cona Adams
Sweet lovely never had the chance,
Oh how it struck me so..
the dog on the side of the road..
You have all been enslaved by self gain and judgement...
Why waste time?
What is sane?
Who's to blame?
and It struck me so!
The dog on the side of the road..
Look into those eyes...you'll see that everything dies...
So sad that we only insist on the pursuits of our own...
Might as well let this world burn,
humanity will never discern....
Oh how It stuck me so...
The dog on the side of the road...
Copyright © Cody Blake
There was a young feline named Jackson,
Who wanted a piece of the action.
While hunting for rats, Jack
Got into a spat, with a strange little
Creature known to us as a bat.
This then is the fact of the matter.
The bat proved as 'mad as a hatter'.
And it paid with it's life,
Causing Jackson much strife:
Bad luck for the poor little ratter.
They arrested the cat in a hurry
And woe to this poor furry purry.
Without even a trial, he was put on 'The Mile'
Where his life became drab and quite dreary.
Jack's been sitting there day after day,
Quite bored and just pining away.
While dreaming of mousies and birds on the wing,
Of hair balls and catnip and such kitty things.
"How long, oh how long must I pay?
Please won't someone just whisk me away?
Back to my home where a kitty can roam
And stay out-of-doors all live, long day."
The end of this tale I hope tell,
Will find Jack finally leaving his cell,
To be welcomed back home, once again
Free to roam, older and wiser and well.
"No more bats for this cat", Jackson moans.
And it seems that he's learned on his own:
It's far better than not, to keep up with ones shots,
Than call three feet of jail space your home!
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre
A DOGGY CONVERSATION
Said Spot to little Rover,
As each was passing by,
'I hope that you won't
think me rude,
And I do not mean to
But when you've done
A poo or number two,
Can you just relate to
What does your Master
'The strangest thing,'
'Before my very eyes,
He pops it in a plastic
As though it were a
'So does mine!' yelped
Excited and relieved,
'I thought he'd lost his
So I'm very, very
'Might I inquire still
What happens after
'What with the poo,
sorry, number two
Or chasing next-door's
'I do apologise,' said
'My meaning was
The plastic sack,
Describe its fate my
'Ah, well,' said Rover,'
glad you asked,
The mystery gets dafter,
He pops it in a special
And we wander home
'I know the bins you
mean,' mused Spot,
'The red ones with a
The council comes and
The driver's name is
'I'd no idea!' said Rover
'This is a story never
To go to all this trouble
Be worth its weight in
'And yet this does not
Said Spot, a Star Trek
'I'd like to help the old
In any way I can.'
'So if our poo, sorry,
Is worth as much as
Why did he hit the
When I left one on
Rover sighed: 'Life is
An evolutionary joke,
I think we have to face
There's nowt so queer
Copyright © Darryl Ashton
Ode To Romanova - A Good Horse
Romanova is a good horse;
truly one of a kind;
Her story I will tell you
if so you are inclined.
She'd the look of a racehorse;
tall of stature, red of hue;
With Power and beauty;
I thought, a winner through and through.
But her mind had been a-scatter,
Headstrong, rambunctious and wild,
Until a bond we created
My God, it took a while.
An understanding grew between us,
Like no one else could do,
A Love and respect had blossomed
that was both strong and true.
One day she came onto the track;
With a gleam in her eye;
and a flare to her nostrils
But her odds, they were high.
She broke from the gate;
and ran like a train;
Passed horse after horse;
oh boy, did she gain!
The jockey said "Let's go, girl"
Her name all did call;
There she charged out in front;
Ahead of them all.
Stride after stride;
her lead grew down the lane.
She was first past the wire;
the wind blowing through her mane.
Prancing back home;
A proud look on her face;
Clearly she knew;
She was "Winner of the Race".
That sweet taste of victory
made her always yearn for more
To fly like the wind...,
That's what she had been born for
With each win she walked more nobly,
More confident, assured and satisfied.
The little-girl-scared, was now a champion,
We stood victorious together, she and I, side by side.
Copyright © Dana Vacca
A couple weeks before her fourteenth birthday,
We knew something was wrong
Peanut, who loved to eat above all else, suddenly turned down food
To make it worse she was having trouble breathing
I had urged my dad that we had to take her to the pet hospital, and he agreed
At the hospital, when they told us what was wrong,
I could see the look in my dad’s face
Even I knew, it was her time
We all got to say our final goodbyes,
Held her paw, and stayed with her as she drifted to sleep
Her passing had hit us so hard, like a huge weight had fallen onto us
I kept asking myself, over and over again,
“why did she have to go?”
We all thought she was gone forever,
And tears of sadness had stuck with us for a while
Then a strong realization came over us,
Peanut was not gone,
She would always be with us
Tears of sadness soon became tears of happiness
When we learned about the Rainbow Bridge
Hearing that touching story,
We all knew Peanut would forever be in our minds and our hearts
If Peanut is waiting on the other side of that Rainbow Bridge,
Then I look forward to the day when we cross that bridge and can be with her
Dedicated to Peanut
In our memories,
The pets that have passed will always remain
We realize upon having them
That they turn out to be something more-
A loving companion, a protector,
And most of all, a friend
Someone who will always be there for you
One who gives you a shoulder to cry on,
A creature subtly unassuming,
Who will simply listen..
There is a connection with our pets
That is impossible to break
And when there comes a time to say goodbye,
That connection will help us continue on
We never want them to leave,
But all of us know that nothing lasts forever
But the effect they leave on you
And the love you have for them does
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
As a country boy, up in the hills,
Life was tough, not much for frills.
I remember it well, yes, even now,
When spring time came and it was time to plow.
Afore sun up came, I was out of bed,
And pull the harness down, in the shed.
Then to the barn, for that dreaded chore,
To battle that four legged man-of-war.
A Missouri mule named Jezebel,
A demonic fiend than was spawned in hell.
She was Lucifer?s daughter, to say the least.
(That?s a compliment for that retched beast.)
While I woke her up and got her fed,
She gave me a look that could spook the dead.
I knew right then there would be a fight,
Just to plow up Momma'?s garden site.
So I hitched her up, set a goodly pace,
When her tail whips out, right across my face.
You gotta watch out, as a general rule,
When you?re at the south end of a north bound mule.
Made a sharp left turn, and sank that plow,
Wondering what that monster was up to now.
When she lifts her tail, with a bestial flair,
And the field?s consumed by exploding air.
With a stench of hell and fermented hay,
I knew I?d kill that mule today.
I swear I saw that jackass smile,
While I choked on her fumes, so vile.
So I turned my plow, got around the bend,
That?s when she started up again.
She let go a noxious blast,
Nearly thirty seconds, it seemed to last.
But you gotta be tough, as a general rule,
At the south end of a north bound mule.
Well, I had my fill of that horrid witch,
So I smacked her hard with a willow switch.
When I thought that took her down a peg,
She bit a chunk, clean outa my leg.
Spurtin'? blood, like a stupid fool.
At the south end of a northbound mule
It was living hell along that rout,
Trying to control that repugnant brute,
She would first give me a rearward glance,
Then a blast of old mule flatulence.
If I had an axe, I would have done her in.
I got stepped on, time and time again,
Got bit four times, left me bloody and hurt.
She even sprayed manure on my best plowing shirt.
It?s been sixty years, but I remember the fight,
With her wicked ways, and her nasty bite.
And I hope old Jezzy went to jackass hell
For what she dished out, she?ll do quite well.
As for me, I took a solemn vow,
That these hands would never again touch a plow.
So I joined the Army, but to my alarm,
I MET MORE JACKASSES THERE,
THAN DOWN ON THE FARM!!!
Yet plows and mules still give me the chills,
From that horrid event, up in them hills.
?Cause ya gotta to be a masochist, and a gol-darn fool,
To get behind an old Missouri plowing mule
Copyright © Frederick Moore
Days passed and still we did not take him
I was angry at everyone and stayed near his side
But one day he had disappeared
My heart skipped a beat as I searched the whole house
Calling his name despondently
Finally I heard a faint meow…
I found him under the couch….
He was alive!!!
Pentecost, the great and faithful…
Laying down on his side…still breathing…
And with effort lifting his head to gaze at me..
Wondering if there was room for two..on the floor
His eyes opened and closed slowly
Staring back, I swallowed, never looking away
I crawled half way under the couch and prayed “Please… please… don’t leave us…”
I sobbed looking into his eyes
He was so sad seeing me cry, yet calm
And it seemed like he was meaning to say… “It’s okay, Laura… it’s okay…”
I got up quickly as if the world was ending and got the music box,
Came back down and played it for him I hummed feebly, hot tears coming down
His head lowered resting tiredly on the carpet
His paw reaching for me
He fell asleep soundly as he laid his paw in my hand
Soft, tranquil and cold
Gently I closed my hand around him
When I rushed home from school the next day
That is when my mom stopped me to say he was gone
He had taken refuge under the house
Alone, he had found peace,
In one of his favorite spots in the summer…
Pentecost was gone…
And the entire family grieved his absence
Even my dad when he heard said softly, “Poor little guy”…
When I turn on my music box I remember the happy year with Pentecost,
I will never forget the smiles and laughs
Damasked in his charms, his light remains
So young he died, but forever he will stay
As the music faithfully chimes “It’s okay Laura…it’s okay…”
~Dedicated to Pentecost, a faithful and furtive feline with a heart of gold~
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
When I was little, I didn’t know what it was like to have a pet
Until the day my parents decided to bring Peanut home
I remember it well, out of all the dogs we saw,
Peanut was the one who stood out
A newborn puppy, so cute and innocent,
We knew she was the one
She had those sad puppy eyes,
And we saw that she had already had an effect on us
At first, she didn’t know what to think of us
We were strangers to her
Her first night, she was shy, a little bit scared,
But then she realized we were her family
In her younger years, she had such a playful spirit,
One that would make you smile
When one of us would come home from school or work,
Her energy of excitement exploded with happiness
What really made her happy was eating
She would want to do that all day
There would be times when after a long day
She would sit in a patch of sun that came in through a window
She loved the warm feeling of the sun when she rested
It always felt good to my parents and I,
When she would curl up and sleep right beside us,
Never leaving our side
Peanut was always very protective of us and her home,
Anybody she didn’t know, she would bark at until they went away,
Or until she got tired of barking
However, if the person she didn’t know had food with them,
They were her friend all of a sudden
Peanut was someone who had completed us as a family;
She made us happy—our first family pet
She was someone you could talk to, and she would listen
Many years with her, and we created so many good memories;
Ones that would make us laugh or make us smile
As the years went by, she started showing signs to us that she was getting older
Age ten, she started slowing down, her face became grey
Despite old age, there were some things that didn't change,
Like her wanting to eat or wanting to be with us
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
**This is a special set of poetry written with my friend Justin Connor--we each wrote separate accounts of special companions. The ending verse we wrote together. These poems are meant to be one piece of work. **
Scarcely a year old, I remember with sad, sinking heart
But then I smile, because I remember all the good times
It was the night of Pentecost, our little kitten was found
My mother, happy to bring in the oddest of pets,
Curled her fingers around a small kitten, beaming
And there was sunlight in all eyes all the night
He had been crying in the bushes for a place to stay
And he had found one…it might have been destiny
There was something in his green eyes that dazzled me
Weakening and strengthening my heart all in one I held him in my arms,
A special cat on a special day
Pentecost is his name, and it is here he will remain
I remember everyone loved him because of his grace
That dreamy eye and soft-hearted face
I remember the first night and many more nights to come
I turned my music box, opened it up and sang him a song
He listened intently and soon was fast asleep
His small colorful multi-marked body breathing deeply
His tiny, white boot legs tucked under his chest
“You’re the best, Pentecost,” I whispered. “You’re the best…”
Even my father, who was never fond of cats,
Was won over by his embraceable charms
Pentecost would spawn an effort to make him smile
Stretching out on the floor making sure everyone was watching
Listening lovingly to my dad’s favorite classical repertoire..
He would ring around our ankles with his paws playfully
Causing us to scream in shock and skip away
He would jump back from the shriek making us laugh up a storm
And look up at all the noise curiously
Pentecost also liked small boxes to squeeze into
I would lift up a cardboard flap to see a whiskered jewel
And he would look up at us and wonder
Can we make room for two?
He favored no one and was friendly with all
Long and muscular, this cat had boundless energy
One point he’d be at the window
And the next in the laundry, his tail whipping
What I will never forget was how happy he would lay in the grass
I would watch him and pet him, the sun hitting his fur
Gray black stripes and swirls of art lighting all at once
His soft, sensitive ears rubbing against my arm
The affection was mutual as Destiny knew
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
His name was Mr Cinnamon
and he loved to sing.
Lost among the masses yet within the throng
he lifted his head and began a song.
Without thought the mass would open and part
the burdened would feel an uplifted heart.
The songs, each one, were simple and pure
and none could escape the magical allure
of the one who sang
the one who went
by such a simple name
He never fought
Girls flocked around him
He was humble
He only wanted one thing
His name was Mr Cinnamon
and he loved to sing
Copyright © Bonchance Longfall
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…
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
A nation with the southernmost capital in the globe
whose identity has constantly been bullied
by the global acknowledgement of a larger one.
A place where economic empowerment comes through films
to the point a movie employed a minister for maximum harvest.
No name longer than that of a Hill in Hawkes Bay;
no part of the country is more than
hundred and a thirty kilometer from the sea;
no nation is least succulent for the biting teeth of corruption.
And no other has simultaneously graced females in all high national positions.
Isolation has ruled over its wild life
to make them manufacture accessories for unique survival.
The alpine parrots, ground dwelling Kiwis and the Kea bird
all congregate in its center of diverse bird species.
It is a log off site to snakes both local or immigrated
and a home to the world’s smallest Dolphin species;
second to none in the species of penguins
and land to the heaviest insect ever known in the world.
Imagination comes to life in the existence of a giant carnivorous snail
while Disney embraced reality through the mystery of Pelorus Jack.
Uniqueness in history is continuous
in this last populated habitable landmass in the world.
Is it a first time father at eleven and a century old?
Or the pioneering of plastic surgery in medical history?
Is it the appointment of a national wizard into government’s cabinet?
Or the historic climbing adventures of Edmund Hilary?
So concerned about the Queen’s safety and its territorial defense
is such a region attributed to the long white cloud
with its blue lake- the world’s clearest waters
and its ‘women’s-right-on-voting” pride;
It’s still flabbergasting to realize five out of every hundred
of its population is human; the rest simply animals.
Copyright © Funom Makama
There’s a mouse in my house,
a greedy little souse
He’s clever for I never
eyewitness his endeavors,
But the cat sentinel sat,
and I know the little rat
There are holes in my rolls
and mouse turds in my bowls.
Though a lover, out of cover,
of all fauna I discover
This critter makes me twitter
at his presence as a sitter
in my kitchen,
So I’m bitchin’; but the mouse,
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman
Ode to the Narwhal
The marine waters have some animals, which are as graceful as they could be.
And one such aquatic creature is the narwhal, the unicorn of the sea.
Swimming with a horn tearing up the turquoise tides,
The Arctic waters is where this porpoise resides.
Oh narwhal, the sun shines on your grey whale skin;
And then you swim below eating small fish with fins.
Oh narwhal, how did you get that beautiful horn on your head?
You truly are one quirky beast of the sea bed.
So I wish that you don’t get hunted down & live on for 40 years,
Lest the sea level would rise with your brothers’ gloomy tears.
Sometimes I feel like drifting in the blue, be strayed away & lost,
Plunging in the frigid waters of the Northern Frost.
Oh narwhal, welcome me to your aquatic domain.
Teach me how to dive to glory, help me to relieve my pain.
Keep on living underwater while I write this ode,
Perhaps one day, I will witness your magical abode.
Copyright © The Moustached Bard
Within the wolves’ den, the women menstruate together as one. Bleeding and screaming. Hatred from nothing. The succubus has dreams too. Consuming all, hunger never ceases. The tentacles from inside their wombs reach out grabbing at your pocket book. You are now a part of the hive little drones, work till you die. Don't speak, for you can never out scream the mother beast. That all knowing oracle of man's despair. The wolves den breeds filth, Filth breeds filth. Your skulls’ added onto the collection above the fire place mantle.
Copyright © Pauly Plaster J.R.
Cecil the king of the jungle
How are the mighty fallen
Tributes have come in from all around the world
From the animal and human kingdom
See the way you were killed
Like a common criminal
Humans forgot you are a king
Oh Cecil! Oh Cecil!
We weep and mourn for you
Vividly I remember when you strode this earth like a colossus
Your fame cut across all continents of the world
As far as even the Sambisa forest of Nigeria, Africa
We have all roared, not in joy but in weeping
I am confused now for it seems humans have become more
Callous than we of the animal kingdom
You will never be forgotten Cecil,
Your death shall be a cause for justice
We shall continue to fight for animal rights just like humans fight for human rights
Rest in peace my friend and confidant Cecil until when we shall meet again
My name remains Zambo the great lioness of Africa
I end this sad song with a heavy heart.
Zambian jungle weep no more but don’t forget Cecil
Good bye Cecil the great King
Copyright © felix gbemudu
Page 3 of An Ode to:
The Last Christmas Goose
This tells a dark side
Of the holiday season.
We don’t often ponder
For very good reason.
Thanksgiving is coming,
I’ll make it past that,
But I’m on extra feed,
It’s making me fat.
I’ll get very worried,
As Santa draws near,
That’s the time of year,
So many geese fear.
So what’s the big deal,
I say with a shout,
I’ve looked all around,
And see, no geese about.
That can mean just one thing,
My days are now short.
Unless I make to the farmer
Some clever retort.
What do you say to a fella,
That follows old habits,
No ham or roast beef,
Or gray furry rabbits.
Adorn the man’s table,
At this time of year.
Nothings better than goose,
With their Christmas cheer.
So let’s say: Good-bye.
It’s been good ta know ya.
If I had more time,
I’d love to have shown ya.
All over the farm,
The in’s and the outs.
But now little piggy,
I’ve just time to pout.
Say farewell to the others,
As you learn their names.
If they seem out of sorts,
Remember……. farmers game.
Written by oldbuck, June 2, 2008,
after his daughter kidded him
about being another Dr. Seuss
and should write a goose rhyme.
Copyright © Old buck
An Ode to:
The Last Christmas Goose.
At our last meeting
I was lamenting the loss
Of all my old friends
Like with a coin toss.
There must have been a dozen,
Good healthy, fat birds,
We all were good friends,
Seldom shared a harsh word.
But that too would change,
As our numbers grew thin.
You had to be quick,
If you wanted to win.
Win what? you would ask,
That’s the troublesome part,
It brings up the farmer,
And the knife to our heart.
You see the whole value,
Of geese on a farm,
Is not too look pretty,
Or to poop in the barn.
No, we’re wanted game,
When winter comes round.
Out comes the small hatchet,
Leaves a head on the ground.
One by one they were taken,
To a place we don’t talk.
To a stump in the back,
Where the last, go to squawk.
With that gloomy thought
I’ll close out on part 2
On my return I’ll commence
No write lines, a few.
(to be continued)
Copyright © Old buck