was just a cat
a dear friend
of sixteen years
for humans i’ve not shed so many tears
Child of God
has been put to sleep
the feline way
so they say
nor was any soul more loved
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2015
...for Ralph McTell
He was my closest friend and confidante
for over eighteen years.
I called him simply Brown Dog.
From a puppy to the present
he was always by my side.
Chasing rabbits through the pasture
or the sticks that I would throw,
he was the essence of vitality and joy.
As he aged, he would lie down at my feet,
an Old Brown Dog, his horizon now my yard,
limping, riddled with arthritis, he was clearly in great pain.
Today would be the day.
With a heavy heart, my shotgun cradled
in my arm, I tugged gently on his leash
and we headed to the pasture where
in better days he frolicked, free as a bird.
The sky was overcast as I settled him to ground.
"Goodbye, my friend," I whispered, as I went
to pull the trigger. But then suddenly a flash
of fur! a rabbit dashed from hiding and darted
into view. My companion broke free! bounding
t'ward his prey, his pain all but forgotten.
As he closed in, he took one final leap...
and fell in a heap to the earth, still and silent.
He had died the way he wanted,
on his own terms, free again, at last.
I buried him there, and wept.
I returned to his grave
with a granite headstone
which bore the inscription:
"To my Brown Dog, best friend and confidante,
thanks for the memories.
Rest In Peace.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
Who would believe your slim elegant body would win my affection,
when you gracelessly step on toes? Your soft doe skin of cream
spotted brown, floppy ears I threaten to turn into gloves as a joke.
Through many chain jangle calls for walks where you race and lunge
and bark fighting for the right to be with me, how could I turn you away?
When you almost die I am ready to give you away to death, hating the sick
green puke, you become skinnier despite the surgery until finally
one simple shot brings you back to us alive, slurping our hands and faces.
Busy days of science and humanities and government tucked up in a chair,
I forgot you, but you begged let me even eat your apple. let me sit in your lap
but you’re so big now you don’t fit and don't like apple. Chocolate chips cookies, though, a whole batch scarfed from the table and then you wiggle and wag tail,
snarl, your teeth clenched when I offer just one more. We all know who is guilty,
not you, your innocence, your steadfast defense, says it is our family who has forgot.
Finally, it is too late. You hurt too bad, spine enflamed, barely able to walk
or eat. Tomorrow your last day. I pick up the chain, you race happy to join me
down the row of maples losing their last autumn leaves, where my brother and I lead you plodding like an old man, stopping to breathe, and I see stars in my eyes,
saying goodbye. Goodbye to the lady of our family, the Dalmatian Duchess
who loved us best, walked beside us through our childhood days like a guardian.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
The Romantic Legend
The lord of the manor near the coast of Algarve,
Behind the manor a forested valley where
Packs of frightful wolves roamed.
A day when his youngest daughter who was a bit
Odd-as she took no interest in suitors- went to
The glade to pick flowers, she met a he wolf.
Not afraid she petted the good animal and his
Eyes she discovered love that asked for nothing
And had nothing to give but love itself.
The daughter when doing needle work had stung
Herself and there was a drop of blood on her
Index finger, which the wolf lovingly licked away.
A miracle happen the girl turned into a sleek,
Wonderful she wolf with silky black and tan fur.
Their union was complete and love rewarded.
The pair found a cave in the deepest forest
Where they lived happily for many years until
The he wolf was killed by a bigger animal.
The spell was broken and she was now an old
woman, alone and scared, where love´s light
had shone there was fearful darkness.
There was a knock on the manor´s oak door,
An elderly woman claimed she was the daughter
Of the house but, she was not believed.
It was a rainy night and when the door opened
Next morning the servants found a young girl
With glade flowers in her folded dead hands.
What sorrow, what grief, but she wore a smile
“Vale de lobo” the forest doesn´t exist anymore
And a paradise of love is lost to a legend.
PS “Lobo” wolf.
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2012
To look at her, you would never have known;
to you, she would have been an ordinary dog
But now, she's gone.
She was my friend, my sun, and more.
She chased the squirrels, a few raccoons
and clouds of heartache from our door
New snow against her nose and paws she bore,
Now covers, gently, who was my sun or more.
Had you been there from the first, had you taken just a glance,
As unknown neighbors through a fence,
you would never have noticed her, her coat shabby, and her eyes bright...;
to you she would have been just an ordinary dog.
Sure, now you know, now it's obvious, what with the light
of the sun streaming through the
windows of a smile, the mischief of child
following in her wake and the ordinary day
every blessed day she would waken all the world
and world would have shaken loose a smile
New snow against her nose and paws she bore,
She now lies covered, who was my sun or more.
11/14/13 Elegy Contest Sponsored By Broken Wings
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
princess in making
those precise green eyes
the colors of fall
completed with poise
your presence remains
reminiscing on those mornings-
you'd follow me round-
without a sound-
but with the unconditional
final breaths within my arms
death sure appears cruel
Rest in peace Belle. 16 years old <3 I love you.
Copyright © Sarah Casey | Year Posted 2014
This day we free you from pain
Soulful companionship you gave.
Eyes of love looked over my disdain.
Tail of happiness wagged with rave.
Dalmatian your breed, with a loving creed,
Named, Heidi, in youth with innocent face,
Growing beautifully as a spotted breed,
You gave us love, we could never replace.
Mourn thee for a while, and then moved by style.
You loved me, now thee is free.
I have no denial, thou has heavenly compile.
We shall love thee, beyond eternity.
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2013
And now I’ve reached that Rainbow Bridge
and turn a mournful eye
t’ward ‘mom and dad’ who cared for me
and implore them not to cry.
My life, though short, was brimmed with love’s
sweet tenderness, so treasured.
The affection that they showered on me
not ever could be measured.
And now I cross that Rainbow Bridge
it seems so less obscure.
There’s nothing there t’will trouble me
no more pain must I endure.
I stop and turn – just one last look
and see my 'parents' aching,
the tears well up in my wee eyes
my doleful heart is breaking.
And now I’ve crossed that Rainbow Bridge
auf wiederschein I bade,
it’s not goodbye, we’ll meet again
no love will be mislaid.
And anxiously I’ll await for you
an e’er-vigilant eye I’ll keep
and every hour, with hope I’ll dream
of that day when next we’ll meet.
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
I recall, bringing you home, quite small and cuddly
Bouncing around eyes flashing, ears floppy.
Your passion: chewing all and making mess around
Put your head down as you heard my foot sound.
But were my security guard in my old age
Barking at each of passer-by in rage.
When I had hard days at work, you waited for me
Wagging your tail to say, “Welcome, missed thee”
While I read the newspaper, you hopped on my lap
Asked nothing more than pat your head to tap.
Old age took its toll, unable to stand on your legs
Drove you last time to wet like scrambled egg
As the vet led you away, you turned and looked back
As if to say, “Thanks, for taking care, Jack”
I will always remember you the way you were-
One lovable, huggable pile of fur.
He waits, not playing, sits all alone in heaven
For he knows his master will come leavened
I wait out in the dark and cold for hand of death
He will hear the sound; will bark, at the wreath.
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place win
Contest: Elegy Form by Constance
* Laloo is the Indian name of my huggable pile of fur.
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2013
Little Red Riding Hood
Standing in the deep dark woods
Out comes a piercing howl
Not from a hooting owl
Whistling through the shadows
Like a hovering ghost
Launches out of the trees,
THUD, the wolf drops to his knees
Red riding stares with an evil grin
A cape full of blood stained sin
Removes the cold steel from his heart
Smears the blood like a work of art
Twirls and dances of victory
And skips off into the night
A girl of pure insanity
Twisted souls for the forest she frights
Copyright © Jamesa Love | Year Posted 2016
Sparkie was our collie dog.
With us since Dee was three.
Gentle, obedient, never wild.
Perfect dog for growing child.
Late in life she grew a lump
on one of her many breasts.
Vet said "Best let her have a litter.
Before she pops off, poor critter."
Out popped Mutley, favourite son.
Soon he was out on the run.
Chasing sheep with mum in tow.
Farmer said, "They'll have to go."
Down to our chemist shop father went.
Into our "dark hole".
Appeared back with tablets of old.
Label read PHENABARBITONE.
Concocted a delicious doggie treat.
Phenobarbitone mixed in with meat.
Instructed me to give half to Sparkey.
While he hand fed Mutley.
Into the shed they went,
for two days and three nights.
Not dead yet, but paralysed.
Me the only one to sympathise.
Eventually the vet was called.
A quick shot into the heart.
Mutley died without a murmur.
Dad to church, it was November.
Sparkey still breathing shallow.
In the shed all alone.
I nursed her head in my lap.
Tears blinding me as I sat.
Dee returned from college term.
Up to grave when she learned.
Grave too shallow without a doubt.
As she was greeted by two snouts.
Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2015
Look at yourself Mr Hunt!
How can you be trusted.
Appalled by indoor comments of a prisonary view.
Native species fade through the mass destruction of our lands,
Yet you in the veil of science
Conserve a ruthless plan.
Poison takes on innocents
Have you not learned life's lesson
To see myxomatosis ravage, rage and burn in the devil's reflection.
Yet you. Oh no! Yes you
Believe that what you do is best
For future preservation, to ensure your culling's met
By eager fools in genocide
On the islands of your shore.
The year 2020 you will celebrate I'm sure.
But me and others like me
We grow older by the day
Bardot tried to implore you
In an intellectual way.
Blighted by your lack of vision
To impose a steady hand,
To inject mass steralisation
That would retain you as a man.
The slow death and the shooting,
Toxic meat wrapped up in plunder.
Roll up. Roll up conservation
In the land we call down under.
Copyright © Lily Radcliffe | Year Posted 2015
See you in the synchronicities
...That's wishful thinking
Get to know my idiosyncrasies
There's something about the unexpected
That we always anticipate
Or how you always introduce yourself
Like I could forget your presence
It stuck with me
like the taste of your cologne
A savorous ghost
after you left the room
...Then my senses brought me back
To just a moment ago
Laced in your pheromones
When you left me trembling
Meet me on the astral plane
After we strip down to vibrations tonight
We'll build a world outside of our minds
A happenstance rendezvous
Your subconscious or mine?
We'll wake up on the shores
of Black Sandy Beaches
Where I vicariously hunted you my dear
through songs of another
Do you hear me in your headphones?
Passed the music
A subliminal soul
Telepathically delivering you the words
I cannot say to your face
Dedicated to Toby
Copyright © Jamesa Love | Year Posted 2016
Little burnt bodies,
loud tortured screams.
These little souls are now paraded – skewered on beams.
They have no voice to speak,
their tormented, painful cries are disregarded.
And after the soulless bastards have torn flesh from bones – like trash, they are discarded.
Mothers mourn their starved-to-death babies,
some of their cellmates are riddled with rabies.
When the executer comes to collect his daily, raw merchandise –
they cower in corners, wishing to live another day not being butchered and eaten…with a side of rice.
You’d think that a humane slaughter would suffice?
Think again, their hearts and souls are colder than ice!
They laugh with pleasure at the agonising screams
of these innocent little souls - still alive – advertised in streets.
From electrocution - not enough to kill,
to being hacked up by blunt machetes – still alive, and gravely ill,
to being boiled alive – just for the thrill,
to the final seconds of scourging…pleading for the passing of a Bill,
with lifeless bodies and fading lighted eyes,
for a shameless government to sacrifice
a maltreating tradition, a decision unwise.
Remember – a world remembers what they see,
and this cruel exhibition will eventually turn upon thee!
Copyright © Sinead Terblanche | Year Posted 2016
From far they traveled
Their lands they abandoned
To see the power of our beauty
Tourists you nicknamed them
Forest, you called me
With green color I celebrated in joy
My body you caressed with care
But why now,
What did I not do right?
Where did I really go wrong?
That with panga you now harm me
Into my veins you inject venom of destruction
Like gang of floods you merciless disposes me
With shameful bald, you have left me
What offense did I commit?
Rain I gave you
With no greedy heart, fresh air I surrendered
Your body smells gold
But your heart, the hurting stone
When am deforested you smile
With fresh water, your thirst I relieved
But why oh why
You now turn me into a laughing stock
With your bitter minds, my belongings you take away
Tears flood down my cheeks
When with your sharp hoes,
You pierce thorns, into fresh of my banks
Your mouth spits out words of comfort
But your mind, the dwelling place of destruction
When I silt you rejoice
To you the godly devil
We shade our tears
The wounds you have given us are painful
The baldness is shameful
We need our belongs back
Copyright © Kuleza John Lembi | Year Posted 2016