the gray cat, Tempus, in doldrums
lazes, purring, stretching.
I have watched him:
cunning eyes half-closed,
he stalks bright birds in the garden,
near day lilies.
Wings wet from flights
through the sprinkler's sweeps,
the birds swoop, glide, flutter.
They light on dry grass,
strut and shake themselves,
are lulled. Then,
Tempus pounces on one bird.
The rest are routed…
And Tempus fugit.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
This is Mine, All Mine by Chuck Keys
Fall day, perfect,
Sunny brisk alive.
Filtered rays of sunlight.
Shimmering through semi barren trees
Scattered blown leaves
Patiently waiting their first winter freeze,
So - very serene, calm, barely a sound,
A bird or two chirping
Looking about ready.
There, a small sparse bush
Proudly showing a tiny new green innocent bud,
Nonchalantly waiting about.
His chance to grow,
Fading with shortened cooler days coming
On the trail, my dog,
At my front, back and
Protectively jumping, sniffing, flying, yelping
Majestically prancing about and over,
Manly pawing his ground,
Feeling heat from
The October daytime warmed earth
Dried decaying broken leaves of time fading,
Wind behind his gate,
Cantering soundlessly but hard, manly
Racing airborne paws;
Panting with passion, drooling in chase,
Soaring gleefully effortlessly in-flight,
... off the ground
... leaping high, higher, highest
Endlessly into the wilderness,
On his ground. His movements
… echoing, uncontrolled.
The tamed beast; driven as ever,
Head locked rigid aimed forward, high, tongue draped aside out
Eyes opened squinting into the wind, starring affront
Nose twitching alive on fire in hunt,
Tail erect, straight as an arrow on
Legs in sync with one another, together
Body pulsing as one, muscles taught,
On guard, with pride and ownership.
He stops, panting eyes piercing,
… side to side, front to back
"This is mine, all mine" ... he says
... he says to his daddy.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
My dog is full of life and glee
But gentle and kind as should be.
She sits beside me day and night.
I have no fear that she will bite.
When troubles come we see them thru.
We live in a house of silvery white and golden hue.
And then she died.
Oh such a day.
The sorrows were heavy.
The tears they ran.
I am now alone in our golden span.
Remember her well.
Forget her not.
To honor her memory I chose this spot.
Remember her well.
Forget her not.
The joy she gave.
The love she got.
This was the 1st poem I wrote for school at 11 years old. My 1st dog
and constant companion had just died.
Now 52 years ago. By Carol Eastman
My Pet Poetry Contest
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
Cry Baby Cat,
was a stray that turned up
wailing outside our front door.
We never turn down a stranger in town,
especially when clouds
have gathered to storm.
Beginning to pour, I opened the door,
and we welcomed him in, as the thunder began
Well, he shivered, and wailed even more!
His coat was all wet,
like a little drowned rat
so I dried him, the best that I can.
We fed him a bit,
and settled the cat
in a box, filled with blankets, within.
Found a new litter box, and tucked it away
not far, where the kitty would stay.
We turned off the lights, but the thunder and fright
scared the cat, and he soon disappeared !
Right under our bed, .....so while poking my head
'neath the spread of the bed, I said "Here, kitty, kitty"...
and my heart had such pity, for the poor little fit he was in.
And that's how it began, scaredy cat had no friends
Till we fell head over heels till the end!
He was just a cry-baby....., and although we said "maybe"
he picked us back then, as his kin
For Francine's Contest: Beloved Pets 6/18/15
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
nothing nothingtodo today
so I am in my little citygarden
sitting on the porch
in the shade with my tea
the garden full of rainbowgems and greenery
old fat cat is stretched out snoring
and little cat is on my feet
purring she just finished killing-
a blue flower it lay under her claw
the air is still the wind chime is waiting
and then a faint tinkle asoothingbreeze
in the distance the hum of traffic so faint-
it mingles with the silence
a hummingbird zipped by but did not stop
to say hello nothing nothingtodo
but sit in the shade watching my garden grow
August 11, 2015
For the contest, Don't Fight it .....Write it! Sponsor, John Lawless
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
I see her still in twilights shroud
At visions edge she’s standing still
She lives on for me, but makes no sound
Her presence felt , a loving glow.
She watches me with sightless eyes
The look that speaks but makes no sound
Where shadows spill she lingers now
But when I look I cannot see, just feel.
She should be here if fate were kind
My partner in the quite times
I miss the things she needed that I gave.
That giving soul that has now passed.
She waits, I know she does.
The bond that held will always be
She was my friend, my love, my charge.
Now my pain, my loss, my memory’s dear.
Copyright © charlie milne | Year Posted 2009
Cassie came to me
damaged and afraid
“just let me hide in this corner”
it was like she prayed
“I’ll be fine if left alone
with food and water
I’m not sure she wanted
to even be alive
I forced my love on her
for I wouldn’t settle for this
forced gentle caresses
warm hugs and a kiss
though I knew
she couldn’t be expected
to understand any of this
day after day
I fought the war to win her heart
night after night
I seemed to be losing the battle
waiting for love to start
one night I felt
her tiny, precious head
nestled against mine
curled up in my bed
her fur so soft and fine
heard her quiet, contented sigh
and that was when I knew
Cassie was finally mine
Copyright © Lisa Milligan | Year Posted 2011
Freshly baked every morning,
Even at noon and in the evening,
In different shapes and colors-
Some dense, some light
Some like desert manna
Some flat, some leavened
Some long and whole
Or sliced in small pieces
Some cooled, some hot
So soft and then some hard
With such Heavenly aromas
Served at the Master's Table
Of chairs, booths, benches
And cushions for tired knees,
Healing is the children's bread.
They hunger no more for worldy feasts.
Even their dogs eat the fallen crumbs,
Sometimes portions from their hands;
As the children drink Living Water,
They thirst no more for bitter fountains
And sources of a soul's diseases.
On earth the Master tabernacles
With us for many days of Heaven.
Within without we are healed
And given our daily bread.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2007
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2012
Ah, Red Macaw, you are the pestilence
in my day, soaring far, far overhead
squawking and screaming
your face overheated and red
beak too portentous
for sweets, gobbling and demanding
if ever you stop, but the leaves
have no leavening, you’re all feed
and poop and mar my day.
Even though I seek you out
you escape, Scotch-free,
wearing a tartan of betrayal.
Who you seem to be
righter of words, merely mimics
what experience I bring
with my heart and days. I want to
wear flames, gold, drink juices
that drip from the blues of my mouth.
You wear my head where I have shadow.
You wear my flight, straight and narrow
Branching and diving and soaring.
You wear my hunger for the sweetness
of truth, but follow only my path
Where is yours? Where is your course?
Of course. Your caw, screams
Why don’t you speak your own language
Know your own. Your home.
Instead of mine.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | 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
I remember the day Trixie died,
Sinbad staring out upon her grave.
No crying, just day after day, homage.
I couldn’t stand seeing the pain,
Nothing I did, petting, holding,
Could bring him away from the grave.
So down to the pet store I drove
Hoping for a partner to please
And found a pair of cuddles, babies
Arms wrapped together in play
One black one orange which should it be?
Orange like Sinbad or black?
But how could I take one from another
Leave another hole, so black and orange
Babies two, drew Sinbad back over
To sleep the peaceful sleep of cuddles
Warmth from another, held like a mother
Or held like a father, Sinbad was mine
Once more we could live in happy cheer
Death deserted from our midst
When the wonder of youth appeared.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Be a Bee!
Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2014
It's that time of year again
I saw the neighbor's white cat
Chaseing their neighbor's striped cat.
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2008
~Cats And Frogs~
(The American Diamante)
Dorian Petersen Potter
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015
Lines of light through window shades,
Landing near a ball of grey
The 'Burger beneath the table lies
Eye a sphere of sport.
Copyright © Wm Paul | Year Posted 2014
On a stormy winter night
With a chimney only in sight…
A pooch sat and stared…
At the curious sight
Of a flickering light
That dazed and caught his sight…
“Oh what is this flickery light!?”…
Thought this curious pooch…
“Whatever shall I do to this light that constantly makes me wag my tail?”
Silently he stared and gave the flickering light a very serious glare…
The pooch barked and howled wanting to play with this new light…
But the light only flickered and glared…
With colors about
And sounds that would shout
The pooch couldn’t resist…
He slowly crept up and went for a pounce…
But the light was no longer there…
“Where did you go?”
Thought the curious pooch with tail wagging that he just couldn’t hide…
Fire & Ice contest
Now alone in the dark
Hearing the beating of his heart
The pooch settled down and grinned and thought…
“The light must have hid!”
The pooch searched through the house,
Under the couch,
Behind the tree,
Even under a flea…
But the light was nowhere to be seen…
With tail still wagging
He curled up for a dream
And slowly drifted off to sleep
With the flickery light, dim but insight
As well decided to sleep…
On cold winter nights…
With flickery lights…
And a pooch with silly dreams,
We understand the sight of sleepless nights
And why “the dish ran away with the spoon”…
Copyright © Jessica Kuilan | Year Posted 2012
Jump sniff chew scratch
dogs loved to be stroked on their backs
Run pant stretch bark
dogs love playing ball in the park
Digging holes with their clawed nails
Long ears and wagging tails
I love dogs
they are such fun
throw a stick and watch
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Dec.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2013
It all started when Mr. Pie was a little bugger,
Just a wisp of fluff in the palm of your hand.
"Oh, isn't mama's little man the most handsomest EVER?!"
Not a day has gone by when he has argued that point!
"Be careful with all that encouragement" I prophetically warned,
"It may go straight to his head!!"....and what a head it became!!
Grey, dignified, regal....a lions mane with white marbling.
2 golden eyes piercing you with that casually bored stare one may give to one's shoes.
Every morning at 8 am and every night at 10 pm he demonstrates his knowledge of time.
Head-butting the door and SCREAMING the words "MOM!!!
MAAAWWWMMMM!!......NOW???!!???.........MOM??? NOWWWWW??" (for real!!)
Needless to say, he's got us trained pretty well,
But we're still working on house-breaking me!!!!!
He still has yet to teach us PROPER portion control,
And I get the impression I'm not so popular when I give less than expected.
Maybe it's the "Death-threat" stare, or maybe the Kitty Log in my slippers, I don't know!
All I can tell you is don't EVER make the mistake of addressing him as a "cat"
Or you may come to know the justice of King Pie, The Terrible........just a warning!!
Copyright © Jim David | Year Posted 2010
People often get stuck on what to call their fish
and in many cases come up with ridiculous things.
They imagine some kind of greatness, attached to
naming, and they name them Moby, or Jaws, or Hannibal.
Some are poetic and flowing like water- Eulalie
or Aolani( Ay-o-lawn-ee) which means "Heavenly Cloud."
Some joke, and call them Sushi or Chips
which no self respecting pet suspects the meaning of …..
or, they invoke nature -
Bubbles and Starlight or Pearl.
Once, I knew a puffer fish named Toto.
A small attraction in a Sheraton resort....turtle pool
.above a path of yellow stone he would surface
squirt a perfect stream of water from his mouth
to the surprise and delight of every tourist
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
My guinea pig
With the black and brown stripes
And the eyes big and black like space
And tiny little ears
That perk up when he hears the food come.
My guinea pig
Who sits on my lap
As I read, or just watch him
As he shifts tring to find a comfortable position
As he squeaks
Or a thousand other emotions
My guinea pig
Who eats all day
And all night
And when he's done
He eats some more
Copyright © Hannah Stockwell | Year Posted 2015
What a wonderful day to give my Yorkie a bath
Peanut, my four year old boy Yorkie,
sixteen pounds of love and affection,
a coat of blue silver and tan long straight hair
that parts down the middle of his back
He stands with his head in the air with courage and confident of himself
Peanut is due for a bath
which of course he knows
With warm water and shampoo
I lather and rinse him off
Carrying him outside
wrapped in a towel
brush and hairdryer in hand
Oh, he looks so beautiful
long blue silver and tan long straight hair
wagging his little short tail
with a fresh clean scent
My husband had mowed the lawn that morning
so there is lots of loose grass
I didn’t mind Peanut rolling in
but it had rained at least two inches last week
with muddy standing water behind the shed
Guess where my angel decided to go?
He just couldn’t pass it up
a straight path into the muddy standing water
I grinned and shook my head
Whether I like it or not Peanut is due for a bath again
Poetry Contest:I Love My Pets!
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016
It was a little cold this morning.
Colder this morning
than any other so far this year.
Of course every day this year seems
colder than any year before.
It’s October now.
It’ll be my birthday soon.
I’ll be eighty-four… or twelve.
I guess it all depends on who’s counting.
My best friends came to visit me today.
We spent some time in the backyard
just enjoying one another’s company.
They seemed a little distant…
maybe sad, even.
They did their best to hide it from me,
but I could tell.
After a time of laughter,
love and hidden tears,
my best friend asked
if I wanted to go for a ride.
Never one to turn down an adventure,
I gladly accepted.
The wind in the truck
was more than I have been used to.
God how it made my bones ache.
But it was nice to be out.
It had been quite a while
since my last outing.
When we arrived at the lake
my friend could tell how bad I hurt,
so he helped me out of the truck.
My best friend and I walked a ways
and I could feel the sadness in him
coming to the surface.
But he didn't seem to want to talk about it.
I figured I’d just let him talk about it
if he wanted.
I wasn’t going to pressure him.
He just put his hand on my back
and told me he loved me.
Then he said he had something for me
as he tussled the hair on my head.
He pulled a bag of Goldfish Crackers
out of his pocket
and offered me some.
God knows I love Goldfish Crackers.
I smiled at him and thanked him.
I never eat them one at a time.
I always eat them by the mouthful.
Today was no different.
After my second helping
I glanced at my friend once more.
I swear he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I have no doubt how much he loves me...
I just wish I could tell him
how much I love him.
I glanced down at the remaining crackers
and as I began to eat them I was secretly hoping
that more might magically appear before me.
As I did, I heard a sound.
A sharp sound.
As much in the distance
as right above me.
I guess it was the sound that
Goldfish Crackers make
magically appear before you.
Because there they were.
And here they are.
I could eat Goldfish Crackers forever.
I wonder if there are Goldfish Crackers in Heaven.
©2010, R. Erin Lenth
I wrote this poem late in the evening after I put Sarah, my faithful Labrador
Copyright © R. Erin Lenth | Year Posted 2011
When God created this world He knew we'd love our pets...
And He gave us special doctors that we call Vets.
There seems to be a special place in many a heart...
Where only a pet can play a part.
They give us memories and fill our hearts with delight...
And they keep us company on a cold lonely night.
They love us, they test us and sometimes even help us heal...
And the excitement of pets in our lives seem to be part of God's will.
Thank you dear God for the family of pets...
I have wonderful memories and no regrets.
A dog or a cat or maybe a bird or two...
Raising a pet seems to be a smart thing to do.
Copyright © tom kesting | Year Posted 2015
Daphne a poodle is a very happy pup
With a pom-pom tail and a button nose
And two eyes filled with glee.
Daphne is a pedigree, a breed with energy.
She is made of curls from head to toe,
And the color of honey gold.
Daphne the poodle, she's lively as can be,
For when she's given her favorite toy
She begins to prance and play.
Look at Daphne go,
Running here and there and all around retrieving toys for you and me.
Woof Woof Woof
Woof Woof Woof
Catch me if you can.
She'll only pause a moment when she hears me holler, "Stop"
Then she begins to prance and play again, running all around.
Catch me if you can.
(* Rhythmically read like "Frosty The Snowman")
For the contest, 'Calling All Pets', Sponsored By SKAT-AB-SIN THE
Copyright © Connie Gildersleeve | Year Posted 2012
He's pretty big and sometimes I don't know what to do
because he talks to us in a high pitched voice that makes
you wonder where he has been. He doesn't eat or even drink
water from the toilet, as most dogs of his size would try to do.
How big you may wonder? He is at least five feet tall
and sits in a special chair that my wife purchased just
for him. No one else can have the privilege of being
allowed to sit in that chair. As a matter of fact, he
never gets out of it. No, he never moves a muscle to even try. I
have had to move him and the chair out of my way on some
occasion. It's not that he is annoying or even a problem.
But the voice will come at the oddest times and speaks what
will be the strangest vocals. I'm glad that he doesn't eat or have
to be walked on a leash. You see, our pet is not of the ordinary
variety. His fur is mostly white and has big black ears that are
long and droopy. He's a big plush doggie; his name is SNOOPY.
Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015
A master's wait is forever
time is frozen until
You hear his footsteps in the distance
You feel the screen door opening
You sniff the door and read his scent
Your tail wags and your heart skips
a yelp and ernest whine escape your lips
The door opens and you dance around his legs
and as he bends down with open arms
You leap into them
licking his face with hello kisses
Enthusiasm of joy echos as you cry out loud
Yes the world is better for master is home
Man's best friend
Copyright © Fritz Purdum | Year Posted 2015
Many years ago went to dog shelter,
brought home a wee little puppy.
So tiny and loveable, as most puppies
Loved this little girl, sleeping with
this puppy each night as she cuddled up
to me was so sweet and tender.
She learned so quickly, such a smart
little dog was she.
Then one day she became sick,
very sick, she stopped eating,
then she just passed on.
I was so heartbroken and very depressed,
she had died from distemper, not knowing
that much about dogs at the time,
they had not given her any shots,
they also had not told me that.
All dogs should have their shots,
before you bring them home,
she would have lived out a normal life,
if I had known that. Always will remember
that wee little puppy I had so long ago.
# Note here of course now days all shelters give dogs and cats their shots
before they leave shelter, but not all of them did back then in 1964.
Copyright © James Foulk | Year Posted 2011
Draped in Blenheim silk
Russet red reflecting
Autumn’s fiery cloak
Dozing, snoring softly
Dreaming dog days.
In his mind Orion’s
Hound ignites the sky to
Mark the changing season
Autumn burns the wood
From green to red to gold
Tracking leaves and berries
Falling to the touch of
Autumn’s sweet enchantment
Barking at the shadows
Autumn stains the dawn with
Hazy blue and crimson
Stretching, yawning softly
Gently bouncing homeward
Dreaming dog days.
Copyright © Karen Neary | Year Posted 2008
Kirby's no Catholic, at least he doesn't believe
the Pope's infallible. Infallibility's for me,
the one he counts on for treats under the table
when no one is looking, or he trails me into
his mistress's laundry room, where
doggy perks are stored along with "Tide, Free &
Gentle, plastic containers of color safe bleach
destined for the King Size clean-machines
as good as any Laundromat on planet earth.
In the church of my persuasion, Thursday
of Holy Week is when parishioners, called for duty,
come forward on cue to sit on folding chairs
before God and the world, while a priest, kneeling
in his grandiose garments washes their feet
in the old way, (a bar of soap, "Dial" maybe,
"Don't you wish everybody did!", a basin
of water, a towel or three) as our Blessed Lord
demonstrated on his way to the tree.
Barefoot at bedtime, sleeping over
with those I love most, Kirby, senior citizen
of our family dog-dom, granted privileged access
to the end of my bed, takes sacramental care
of the object of his affections. My left foot
carefully washed, special attention
to the toes, (no thorns on this rose), are
hors d'oeuvres he does not sample
in his ample love.
Copyright © Nola Perez | Year Posted 2010