Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
A Tribute to Golda
It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.
It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man,
And nixed the idea before it began.
Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.
Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.
Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.
7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~
Copyright © Linda Witt-King | Year Posted 2010
I want to tell you the story of my life. I was born in a barn at dawn. There were
eight of us but I was the only one with spots. I was a calico cat. Soon people came
to look at us and I was the first to be adopted. I came to live with an old lady in the
city. It was a heritage building made into apartments, it was warm and cozy. There
were many window ledges for me to look out and my old lady was very sweet. She
gave me a bowl of milk every single day and she gave me lots of treats. Soon I grew
into a very fat cat. The years passed quickly and we became best of friends. Talking
and watching television and going for naps. One day we went for our afternoon nap,
the day passed, the evening passed and the night passed. They found me beside
her. She had gone to heaven.
There was so much commotion that I ran away and went into the back of the
bedroom closet. I stayed there a long, long time until I was being dragged out by
my tail, I screeched and tried to scratch but I was put in a box. It was dark and I
was so afraid. Time went by, tick, tick. Then a girl was peaking into the box at me.
Hello pretty girl, she said. I heard people talking and they were telling her that if
they could not find a home for me that I would be put to sleep. Hold on I wanted
to say, I don't need any help sleeping. The girl had tears rolling down her cheeks.
She had a sweet way and lifted me out of the box. Oh my, she said, you are a big
girl. I was not a girl really, I was by this time an old cat, 14 years old in cat years.
We sat on the sofa and I was being petted gently, I liked that, so I purred. Then,
the girl said, I'll take her and that is when she became My Girl.
My Girl lived in the same heritage building and her apartment was just down
the hall. It was sunny and bright and had many windows also. I soon realized that
I was not the only cat here. I was introduced to Violet Patches, also a calico cat,
years older than me. And I was told that I had a new name, it was Pearl Smudges.
Don't laugh because it could have been Chocolate Peanut Butter Parfait! At first,
I did not like Violet Patches but in no time we were friends. She was a very feisty
cat, leaping and running all over the place. I was amazed how high she could jump.
I could not jump because I was fat.
At feeding time, a tablespoon of meat was put in my bowl and I gobbled it up.
In a moment it was gone. I gave My Girl the look, you know the look but she only
laughed. I went to check the bowl several times. Not until lunch, she said to me.
Then we played, oh it was lovely, there were balls and fuzzy mice and this dangling
thing that I loved. I knew I could hold onto it but it kept getting away. Violet
Patches kept stealing the toys and I wanted to chase her, but I was getting tired
So I went for a nap on the bed where My Girl had put a cozy blanket for me. I soon
fell asleep and I had dreams of the barn where I was born, I was kneading my
blanket and drooling. I looked around but I was alone. The sun was shining in
and I stayed there all day forgetting about food. Did I tell you I have no teeth.
We settled into a happy family and the years passed. I liked the summer when
My Girl would take us out in her small garden and we would sit in the sun. She had
two chairs in the beginning but had to go get another for herself. She let us sniff
the flowers and roll on her patch of green grass but she never took her eyes off us.
She always kept us safe, she even put up a fence so Violet Patches could not run out.
I would never run away, I was too happy to do that. We liked to sit on the window
ledges and watch the birds and squirrels, the trees, the rain and the world passing.
In the winter we tried to catch the snowflakes that hit the window. It was a nice
life. I loved My Girl and Violet Patches so much, but things changed.
Violet Patches got sick, real sick, she cried most of the time. My Girl was taking
her to the doctor all the time and each time came home with a new medicine to try.
Oh, how Violet Patches hated that medicine, she would run and hide. Often I wanted
to stop My Girl but did not know how. Then, one morning My Girl got the cat
carrier out, she put Violet Patches inside and left. When she came back the carrier
was empty and My Girl was weeping and weeping. I knew then that my friend was
gone. I wrapped myself in my blanket and stayed there for three days. I did not
eat or drink. I heard My Girl talking and she was saying that maybe she was going
to lose another cat. That day she came and sat on the bed beside me. She said,
Pearl Smudges I need to talk to you. You need to stop this, you need to come off
this bed and eat something, so come on, come on. She left the room. I thought
about that for a moment then decided that My Girl needed me.
It has been several weeks now since that sad day and we have settled into a
routine, we get up and have breakfast. I have discovered that I like tea. My Girl
caught me with my tongue in her cup so she now gives me a saucer of tea. I have
lost weight and eat good food but not junk. We play a lot with all my toys. When
My Girl leaves for work I go back to my blanket, the sun comes shining in and I roll
and roll, it is so lovely. Slowly, I am coming to terms with the loss of my cat friend
and I am determined to be the best cat in the world for My Girl who saved me from
being put to sleep, forever. I am not sure how much time I have left, myself, for I
am a very, very old girl.
April 16, 2015
Entered in, Million Dollar Poem Contest, sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
From Life of Cat
From life of a cat what can we learn?
Never have seen one wearing a sunburn
Our cat we do have that does exist
Seems to think he is a ventriloquist.
Took meow test and great grade he made;
To write poems even tried to persuade
Sweet and low chariot was met by a meow
And what I am about to learn no one knew.
In our house, cat has a humble place to live
Sufficient food and water to him, we will give
But when he wants to eat by himself alone
He likes ice cream served on a crunchy cone.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
So where is the cat poem contest at?
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2014
the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived
my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside
i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown
the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose
the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.
only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.
then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose
the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed
there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed
gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend
Copyright © Lucrezia Blanche Aguilar | Year Posted 2006
Cat and mouse
Within a garden somewhere out there,
Butterflies were dancing free from care.
Thousands of flowers loving the dance,
Love the lovers, and loving romance.
A lot of butterflies full of lust,
Drinking and dancing in love they trust.
Daffodil pitchers filled with the wine,
Drinking that wine was wholly divine.
Roses and jasmines fully bloomed,
Enchanted aromas sweetly perfumed.
From its hiding a devious mouse,
Saw the butterflies right from his house.
He ran to the garden, chased the fly,
Grabbed and ate him as the day gone by.
Ate him like candy tenderly sweet,
The smell of jasmines made it complete.
Loving his food and loving its taste,
The mouse was happy nothing got waste.
Until he saw a ghostly shape,
Scary giant, he couldn’t escape.
There was a cat with a smiley face,
growled and meowed and started the chase.
Running like wind, he didn’t gave in,
Hunting for food it’s never a sin.
He grabbed the mouse in a playful way,
ate him as a whole then rest all day.
The mouse tasted like jasmine and rose,
The flavor of butterfly joined with those.
The cat was happy and licked his paws,
Adored his power sharpened his claws.
Until the next day there was a dog!
With big shaggy tail, fat like a hog.
Ugly and old he ran after cat,
Hunted the cat and ate him like rat.
The dog was old and his fate foretold,
He died in winter when air was cold.
He died and buried and turned to dust
Nothing can escape from time and rust.
The months have passed and years gone by,
What else can we do except comply?
Living and dying is part of life.
Life and death in a constant strife.
The flesh of the dog made the flowers grew,
Butterflies came with their lives renew.
Roses and jasmines grew one more time.
Butterflies dancing, dancing in rhyme
Another mouse and another cat,
The playful cat that ate up the rat.
Another dog and another feast,
After a while the death chose the beast.
Life is a circle, hooked like a chain.
Everything goes, and come back again.
There will be death for me and you
Like rose and jasmine the life renew.
Copyright © Pashang Salehi | Year Posted 2016
one day I met a new little friend from that
day my life would begin again he made me
laugh alot we was always out and about
on rainy days we would run in the house
and he would chase a mouse he was my best
friend and I miss him
one day I got bad news he got loose and ran
away I looked all day but my cat was gone
away never to return oh how I yearn for my
my best friend I lost my best friend I
lost a part of my life I will always
wait for you my pet my little friend til
in dedication to my little cat Mooda
Copyright © Patricia Opel Jaye | Year Posted 2005
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
It seems like just the other day
Our pup, Shadrack, did pass away;
And altho’ they never seemed like friends,
My old cat, Jorg, knew Shad had met
his untimely end.
He mourned his loss every day
And looked for Shadrack everywhere.
He’d mew and moan as if to say,
“We were friends. I do care.”
Then one night, an eerie howl
Awoke me from my sleep.
He’d found Shad’s toys and left no doubt
That his feelings did run deep.
So our tedious search began
To find another likely pup;
But while my poor wife still grieved,
Could another measure up?
We went to Second Chance and Free to Live.
She just could not make up her mind.
She loved them all; but, if she picked just one,
The rest would have to stay behind.
Then, quite by chance, there was a “pound pup”
Who’d been picked up from the streets.
He was a mutt, a “schnauza-pug”;
But he was awfully sweet.
He jumped up and kissed her frantically.
He seemed aware of his “iffy” situation.
He made the best of his opportunity.
Tears of joy told her elation.
“This is the one”, she smiled through tears,
As she held him... oh, so tight.
“I’m sure that Jorg will like him too.
Everything will be alright”.
And so it was, until one day
When old Jorg did pass away…
There was no hesitation on this sad occasion;
Come Saturday morning, we went straight
to the pound,
Open minded and hoping to be “saviors”,
Surely a nice cat was to be found.
“Sadly”, the lady said,” three kitties have only today.
There’s Andre and Panda and another one too”.
My wife smiled and said, “Jorg was your boy. You pick.
They’re both beautiful cats. It’s up to you”.
As I pondered this commitment
Another cat, a young one, caught my eye.
Like Jorg, he was a common gray tabby.
Fond memories were stirred. I almost cried.
On closer look, his name was Boris;
And, strangely, he was number three.
There was a small sign on his crate,
“I don’t like other cats and other cats don’t like me”.
But there was character in his eyes and he was cute.
He was rolling and purring and stretching.
He seemed to look deep into my heart
And did his best to be quite fetching.
But because he was just a common gray tabby,
And because of the little sign,
His chances were slim, his future quite dim
And one day is precious little time.
For a moment I was lost in his eyes
And I heard his desperate plea,
“I’m a swell cat and litter box trained.
Take me. Please, take me”.
“Well”, my wife urged, “is it Andre or Panda”?
“One of us will take the other kitty.”, two older ladies chimed.
“You can each have one ladies”, I said with a smile.
I want Boris and he wants to be mine”.
In just hours he was romping and rolling with Pepper,
Who had happily welcomed his new friend.
Boris was a perfect fit, an affirmation;
The Circle of Life never ends.
Much more Joy than Sadness in this Circle,
And there should never be regrets.
Honor their memories and all the love they share,
Never break the Circle, never be without a Pet.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands e.e. cummings
" LV means Love"
contrasting winds which carried particles
of who we used to be
circled and settled. to fold into one
that you are me...and i am you..
two hearts, one sun, one moon, that built a love
where twists and bends, would melt into one,
where eyes can't see where threads connect;
a solid rock, yet soft as feathers
where I can come to lay my head
and cast away the darkest day, the cruelest night
never will we understand
the shifts and strains of wayward winds
that whirl, and pound on fate's own door
the knowing why is not what counts, what matters deeply more...
is when I reach my hand to touch
this vaporous thing...impossible to define
where mortal words can not explain
nothing to see, nothing to touch,
just the faint breath of us
a dream, not myth....that final sleep cannot erase....
so sure this breath of life we share
is reason enough, that we are here
For Joann's Contest "Copy Cat" My poem inspired by e.e. cummings poem LVII
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012
Goldie, my peculiar but beloved cat,
has certain affectations --
she prefers, most times, her own society
and shuns her housemates.
But, sometimes, she cuddles
or will join the others
to laze around -- in the living room,
the dining room, a hallway, or
in the kitchen.
An inside cat who, early on,
suffered the indignity of
she asserts her independence
by darting into the front yard
when a door is opened --
and she pointedly ignores
any calls or pleas to come inside.
But when the door shuts
and no one is around, she is fearful,
immediately climbing up into the ash tree.
And there she stays
until I come to coax her down.
She may climb high up
and, finally, shakily manage
a descent to allow me to pick her up
and carry her back inside.
She never leaves the yard
but does enjoy ignoring me
when I am in a hurry.
She will dart about and run
from one side of the yard to the other.
For her, it's only an infrequent game.
And, as my treasured pet,
she certainly deserves to play
while testing the limit
of my affectionate, chagrined
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
Ode To Pretty Cat
My cat has female inclinations when it purrs
It does not speak in English using words
But has a perfect soul
Pretty Cat gets by, with its billowy fur
Prefers not fighting and takes flight
At any sign of danger or such notions
Avoids all confrontations
Wears his fluffy yellow hair like gold
He spreads out on his pillows that are its oceans
Unfolds, unfurls his coat in thick proportions
Spoiled, preened and cleaned in lotions
He’s such a pretty boy
Curtains hang as clouds, as distractions
Such fun and dangling’s, to drag them down, as pleasure toys
We smother him in kisses, emotions and affections
He’s such a pretty thing
Who simply glows
He’s almost human
It is a life of comforts, slumbering all day
I would love to be with kitty all the time
But work and life get in the way
So I must work so Pretty Cat can play
It dreams in feline tiny mind expressions
Short cat naps at a time of happy things and smiles
Imagines fish and birds served up in style with some cat nip
Pretty Cat has no place to go so it grows fat
We pet him for hours while he rolls on his back
I just love being with my little friend
A true city kitty cat
Though he is very old he stays real sweet and pretty
My heart jumps, as it attacks the string I hold
It clings to it and swings with fevered paws
As bright green eyes follow like a tick tock clock
Pendulum like as the one thing in life he likes a lot
It is through comfort found in twine and string
My cat and I find true happiness in things
When I’m with Pretty Cat problems fade far away
Dissolve and melt into tomorrow with no sorrow
Where beauty alone cannot keep his lustrous eyes awake
Our play time has no measure in the hours
I always find pure pleasure with that Pretty cat of mine
Created on 11/04/14 for “Pets” -Poetry Contest
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Each morning, when I first awake;
a daily vigil, I will take.
I arch my back and I stretch out long;
this helps my body to grow strong.
To my box, I take a walk;
release a stench, in lime-like chalk.
I dine in silence, savoring;
the tasty flavors…mouth-watering.
Upon my favorite stool, I sit;
paws tucked beneath, belly and chest.
‘till I transcend, my physical home.
I am a Buddha-cat, you see
And a Bodhisattva, I hope, to be.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
I am writing this poem about you!
It’s not an easy thing to do
because I don’t know you.
But I know there are billions
of people on this planet.
Some will die while I write this and
while you read it others will be born.
Most have two arms,
two legs, and two eyes
one heart, one brain,
one mouth to speak with.
We are all the same.
People are people but
we don’t think alike.
Some of us love each other,
others hate everyone;
most do both unequally –
we choose what we think,
and we think differently.
You are the perfect subject for a poem.
You are the same as everyone
and like no other before you;
unique to yourself, exclusive to none.
You elude the common
and illude the extraordinary.
You are a homophone for the human race.
Are we not all homophones of each other?
A complacence to complaisance,
and effect to an affect, a tear to a tear,
the sole of a soul.
A homophone like you may be too
large a subject for one poem,
too complicated, too complex.
So, I will write about my cat instead,
a car ran over him yesterday
he is dead; and I have, in my fridge,
a half can of cat food in a plastic bag
useless and taking up space
and there is no homophone for that.
Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2008
Nine lives are bestowed upon a cat to live,
In this world full of danger we travel through.
None may escape the final time appointed to them,
Even the cat has it's last moment to breathe.
Living a life of adventure, demands some extra chances,
It's the curious cat, trapped, who really needs it.
Vain cats cleaning themselves on a slim, lofty ledge.
Excitable cats trying to catch the mysterious red dot.
Silly cats flipping their tails at a dog pack.
For the "Nine" contest.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2013
In a cat's life.We get a rubber mouse,
a shoe string, or a butterfly to play with.
In a cat's life.We get names like Sylvester,
Felix, Tom And Jerry, Morris, and Garfield.
In a cat's life.We chase hamsters, mice, and
rats, anything loose, with a string attached.
In a cat's life.We like a big bowl of warm milk.
Crunchy cat food nuggets.All filled with love.
We like tuna oil, and tuna fish, and goldfish.
Straight from the living room fish tank.In a
cat's life.We like to curl up next to our master,
like a fluffy pillow, weeping willow on a sofa
bed.In a cat's life.We take off our mittens and
booties.As we leave our paw prints in the
muddy soil.In a cat's life.
Cat's Life Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
All rights reserved
Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014
She’s out there chasing a cricket
Through bush, through shrub & through thicket
Together they hop
But when she gets it, she just wants to lick it!
A cat whose vet took his eye
Just cannot quite understand why
His eye’s been enucleated,
3-D vision reduciated,
So now, he keeps an eye out for an eye
Ya gotta keep limericks loose
Think green eggs, or perhaps Dr. Seuss
They’re structured, it’s true,
But they’re also a zoo
Whose tenants are all on the loose!
I frolic in fountains of words
Overflowing with serious absurds
Each poem I write
Wakes up and takes flight
Joining angels and faeries and birds
You ask that we write a good limerick
How to do so, I haven’t a glimmerick
So I struggle and frown
Teaching poems to clown
So a smile on your lips will be shimmerick
A cat with a mouth full of mouse
Brought her feast right into my house
She played with her food
Who was not in the mood
To be a banquet of mouse in the house
The nightmares that shadow my sleep
Stampede the proverbial sheep
Right out of my mind
When I try to unwind
I find my appointment with sleep hard to keep
In her search for original truth
She met people unsavory and couth
She knitted and purled
But only unfurled
Yarns told by new age and old youth
Cat, suddenly pink,
Drinks her water from out of the sink
She looks so absurd
Since she’s been de-furred
I really don’t know what to think!
If one and one is two and two is four,
And there’s only two ways to go through a door,
Then, is earth up or down?
And, where is down town?
These are questions we need to explore!
A was that is an is
Tried to mind my biz
But I sent it packing,
Its presence was lacking
And I don’t have time for such shiz!
A couple who lived in Los Lunas
Loved the wide desert sky’s crystal blueness
They’d stare at the air,
Over here, over there
And rejoice at the feeling of newness
A cat with a very fat gut
Found it easier to walk on his butt
He’d drag it around
Across carpet and ground
And use it to slam the doors shut
Said the Missus to her dear Mr. Otter,
“There’s something I think that you oughta
Do before we get old
To protect us from cold –
You oughta make the hot water hotter!”
The ghosts who live up in my attic
Make noises that sound much like static
I’ve tried to send them away,
But they’re here to stay,
Those staticky ghosts in my attic
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2007
I do not know?
Well we are already a couple of months in so i just wanted to say welcome.
this will be a new journey for the both of us, so i hope it will be awesome.
I will try to write more than usual this year, I promise. :)
What would help tho if you readers would send me topics and stuff to help me write about things cuz my mind goes way faster than my fingers and i cant think of just one thing. lol. so thank you readers. plz comment and tell me your thoughts.
Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2013
written 7th May 2013
Time for a nap
said the cat
Time to play
said the puppy, his tail waved
Time for class
did you hear the bell teacher asked
Time for tea, called mum
why, your're always last young son!
Time for bed, dad called
all went quiet down the hall
Brush your teeth, yelled mum
finally, tucked in tight
All dreamed peacefully, till sunlight
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
matty meows with
a rooster at 6 a.m.
but, no snooze button
Copyright © Lisa Lee | Year Posted 2011
Not long before I put down my dirt filled hoe
Into my yard she quietly crept
It’s as though she knew I needed her cheer
She was rust colored and sadly matted cat
Not the most attractive feline I’d ever seen
But she was lonely and hungry, and in need
Of course immediately my Mothering instinct beckoned
She followed me to where I poured some milk for her
Not ever having a cat I didn’t have cat food on hand-
So I opened a can of tuna to her delight
She lapped it up and looked up at me with a smile
The next day there she was waiting and the day after and so on
I had found a friend
So I went out and bought some cats food
She was now mine of at least I thought so
Who could have ever done such a thing?
Leaving her to the streets?
I bought her flea collar and bells to wear
Soon she would just sit on my lounge chair waiting for me
I had to bring her into the house she still looked so frail
One day while she was eating I noticed her choking on her food
It continued so I made an appointment to see the vet
It had to be done anyway after all she was to be mine
While we had our visit and the saddest moment of my life came
The doctor said she had throat cancer and it was advanced
Our friend Tabby didn’t but a few weeks to live
So my husband and I made the pain staking decision
To put her to sleep
Tears poured from every corner of my eyes
“No” was all I screamed inside she had brightened my life
How could someone have left her alone?
The Vet felt the previous owner knew about her condition
They left her to suffer knowing she was so sick
I felt we at least gave her 6 weeks of love and care before she left this place
I will never forget the love and championship this rusty feline gave me
Months later my family and I adopted another cat Tabby showed us-
The greatest love and companionship that animals give you unconditional
We now have two wonderful cats that were adopted
They bring so much to our lives
Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2010
The cat in the tree
slowly climbed up and got stuck;
only saw the top;
never going to come down
worked hard to enjoy his view.
Copyright © Melani Udaeta | Year Posted 2014
The stray cat walks on three legs now.
(I swear he’d walk on two.)
I found out just the other night;
My neighbors call him Lou.
He’s weathered one more winter:
The fourth since I arrived.
The shape he’s always in by spring:
Lord . . how does he survive?
I leave a pan of dry food out
Each and every day.
Protected from the rain or snow,
In case Lou comes this way.
A little dog house waits nearby,
Next to the pan of food.
It’s padded well in wintertime,
In case Lou’s in the mood:
To trust me and to rest awhile,
In a place that’s dry and warm.
To stop his weary traveling round
And nevermore move on.
Except for this I do no more,
For Lou will not come near.
He’s feral now, afraid of me
And this won’t change, I fear.
In speaking with my neighbor though,
It seems there are a few --
Who also care about the likes
Of poor, old Tiger Lou.
His days are spent amongst us
And amongst us they will end.
But none can say, stray Tiger Lou,
Passed by without a friend.
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
We have an ugly cat or it has us
That spends hours on a shelf along with dishes
Looks like it’s been run over by a bus
Did I mention it’s malicious?
Kitty sits there with the plates in strict resistance
Thinking about how to become more cute
It has no clue but contemplates existence
As we figure out its longitude and “attitude”
Most small creatures are sweet and cuddly
Not the case with this feline with its fatal flaws
It takes pride in being ugly
And with spare time, tearing curtains, climbing walls
We haven’t figured out the sex yet, of our pretty-less pet
Can’t get too near, it bites and claws our backs
It leaves wounds you won’t forget
We’re not sure if it wears a dress or real fur of black
Ugly cat comes from a questionable lineage
We found it howling in an ally with no vitality
It stays with us, probably won’t reach old age
Lacking looks, will send it to an early grave, a feline fatality
10/08/14 Impress me with a poem (a poem, I haven't read yet) Poetry Contest
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
The crashing waves hit the bow, as we cut through waters deep.
Clasped in irons that cut the skin; forged in the fires that never sleep.
The desert was dry, the sun beat down, I am free as a bird
The breeze tickled through the oasis, near the camel herd
Now my love is fading, like the burnt embers of those flames.
I am now branded a thief and prisoner, amongst some other names.
The hate I felt for the whore that tried to give his love to me.
Was so strong I felt I could kill him, my love he will never see.
I stole for her a flower, a simple heart felt gift.
The perfume now a memory, on this prison galleon adrift.
I am traveling to my wedding, across the desert so hot and dry.
Perfumed flower petals along the way, by slaves are scattered awry.
Seven years the price for my gift of love it did gain.
Hard labour I endure, to avoid the leather cat pain.
My arms are full of bracelets, and pearls hang round my neck.
I never think of him, now shackled on that deck.
Her kisses sublime, a memory fading, the perfume of her skin and hair
The price is high but I will pay, I took her from him to be fair.
To think I could have kissed. him makes my skin fairly crawl.
But the plan worked well, for my new rich lover, it managed to enthrall.
Slaves to love, there is no choice, when our hearts lead us astray.
I stand here windswept and tear stained, with seven years to pay.
How dry my eyes now he has gone, freedom is beckoning me.
So easy it was to frame him, now he has seven years before he is free.
I stand in the wind, rope in hand, waves crashing all around.
My ankles are bleeding with the chains, and the cat makes a whistling sound.
I lay on cushions with rings on my fingers the slaves are fanning me.
My wrists are bathed in rose oil, and kissed perpetually.
My love is strong, my heart is given, and I know I will endure.
My love will wait for me, my beauty, my life, my own sweet amour.
Thank goodness I kept my heart for me, and for me alone.
This thing called love is foolish, my heart it has never known.
In collaboration with Declan Fitzgerald who started the story off which made it easy to alternate my side of the story as a femme fatale between his couplets.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
One day my daughter brought home a scraggly looking young cat who had always
lived outside. In her first year, we learned she had given birth to two litters of kittens, most of which died. She’d always had to scrounge for food and had even escaped from the pound, only to find her way back to that place where she’d not been well-treated! When my daughter saw her, it was her kittens that were being given away. But my daughter saw a gentle quality in this mother cat that surpassed the sweetness of the kittens and asked to take the mother, who became known to our family as Callie (for Calico).
Callie grew plump and flourished in our home. She was no nuisance to anybody or anything. She became so pampered that she hated the outdoors and if a door were opened, she would approach the “outside” cautiously, only to come racing back inside the minute we returned from our porch. Callie loved to sit on laps and be petted. The older she got, the louder she even purred. If a visitor came to the house, she would climb to their laps. She was small and so likable that nobody wanted to shoo her away.
When our children left home, she became my one and only baby, curled up by my pillow each night and awakening me with a little pat to my face every morning for her breakfast. Callie lived a long life, nearly 18 years, but has since passed on. Dying of cancer, she clung to life until we saw fit to have her put to sleep. I have since adopted other cats, and my current cat is indeed charming, but I still believe there is not another cat in the world that can compare to our one and only Callie Cat!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2009
I am a big admirer of all large cats, one of my favourites being the Scottish Wild Cat.
It is one of the wildest of all cats and will fight to the death to protect its kitten even with a golden eagle. It avoids humans like the plague preferring to live a solitary life.
They have survived human for over 500 years longer than the wolf and over 1000 years more than the bear and british lynx. They have been on the planet for millions of years before either humans or domestic cats.
They look much like a tabby but gait like a big cat, males weigh between 6-9kg, females smaller 5-7kg. They have rotating wrists and razor sharp claws for gripping and climbing trees. Fossil remains have been found measuring 4 feet.
They can sprint at 30mph and fall from massive heights landing on their feet, they are a stealth hunter and mainly nocturnal covering up to 10km range. Even when born in captivity they are un-tamable.
They charge when fighting but don't lie on their sides like domestic cats.. Renowned for biting right through gauntlets vets dart if they have to handle them.
Wild Cats enjoy their own space and daily schedules. They like things to be peaceful so live as far from humans as possible. Usually heavily forested and near water, they frequently change dens.
They are a friend of crop farmers by keeping down rabbits etc. They only eat meat consuming most if not all of what they kill. Killing by grabbing prey and pulling it down then biting through either neck or spine.
Wild Cats like to fish by using their paws to scoop out fish, and like eels, lizards and frogs. Their other food is small deer, ground birds and hares, nowadays they rarely take a lamb seeming to know the farmer will try to kill them. Most Scottish farmers are proud to have a Wild Cat on their land.
Their night vision is exceptional about seven better than ours. They can rotate their ears 180 degrees enabling them to hear all around them. They then triangulate and pinpoint the source, and exceptional balance as well make it a super predator.
Some Facts taken ad lib
Mating season: January to March, most births in April to May
Oestrus: 2 to 8 days, in presence of males
Gestation: 63 to 68 days
Litter size: Mean 3.4, range 1 to 8
Age at independence: 4 to 5 months, up to 10 months
Age at sexual maturity: Females 10 to 12 months, males 9 to 10 months
Inter birth interval: one year, females can only exceptionally breed twice in one year, such as when the first litter is lost
Mortality: Studies suggest human caused mortality (snares, roads, gunshot) account for up to 92% of deaths
Longevity: Probably around 6 to 8 years in the wild, up to 15 years in captivity
Usually one litter a year with 3-4 kittens born in early spring, they learn to hunt from roughly 7-9 weeks old by the mother bringing home live prey then with her becoming independent around 5-6 months.
This just scrapes the surface of this fascinating cat. I think the following quote sums them up well
"They'll fight to the death for their freedom; they epitomise what it takes to be truly free I think."
If interested you will find most if not all you want to know on this site
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Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013