(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
A fledgling crow huddled in
the grass beneath the drooling
gazes of my curious dogs.
Its eyes were blue.
And in the tree, its mother screamed
In my hands it lay, gently confused.
Too young to fear me,
it opened its thirsty beak and greedily
swallowed water from a syringe.
And outside the window, its mother screamed.
I scratched its head,
stroked its breast,
and boxed it for its journey
to a refuge for homeless birds.
And, as I carried it to the car,
its mother circled overhead.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
shadow in a desert
Copyright © Abdullah Alhemaidy | Year Posted 2014
Killington Mountain, one of the largest Ski resorts in New England.
With its webbing of trails, dotted with colourful kaleidioscopic ski outfits;
racing to the Castle they call a Base Lodge.
My Cabin is atop a mountain across two valleys from Killington's backside
I can see the untamed, wild and free side of Mother Nature's: True being
Where deers have no fears, and the Bald Eagle soars Free
I once did a recue mission there, and when all were safe, I walked
Into the forrest of Nature,where mankind had never before intruded
I walked where the Deer, Bed. where the eaglets squawked for food
I saw the Black Bear awake; "Good Morning Mrs. Black Bear"she Yawned
And walked away.I heard the Evergreens giggle as melting snow ticked Pines
The Serenity,Tranquility,enveloped me in Nature's Wonder of the World.
Inspired by Linda(PD) with her Contest: 7 Wonders of the Ancient and
New World. This POEM is one of my 7 Wonders.
This is Dedicated to all POETS who have written about the Autrocitys of
Mankind to " Nature or THE Beauty of Mother Nature in Rhyme "
This is not a Contest Entree
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2013
Sam, the box turtle, sauntered down deserted gravel road;
when he bumped into Elli, a gorgeous, slender, green toad.
Together they stopped to admire the rustic scenery;
noting, Bunny would like hiding eggs in all that greenery.
Easter will be in a few weeks, kids will have fun hunting eggs;
Bunny would be quite busy hopping on two spindly legs.
Sadie, a monarch butterfly fluttered into their path;
she was perched on a tree branch taking her daily sun bath.
“Hi!” she said to Sam and Sadie. “Have you heard hottest news?
The Easter Bunny was murdered, on the headline reviews.”
Sam and Sadie were speechless, much too shocked to say the least;
who murdered the Easter Bunny, who was the wicked beast?
No one could think of anyone who wanted Bunny killed,
the whole town was suspected, everyone thoroughly grilled.
It couldn’t be Sam or Sadie; they were not at the scene;
whoever it was, they were desperate, extremely mean.
Small town sheriff investigated the deadly crime site;
there lay Bunny sprawled along the roadside, eggs colored bright.
Struck down by angry mother hawk, thought he robbed her love nest;
sheriff pulled out the handcuffs, placed mother under arrest.
Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2013
The Apple PASTURE
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.
Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
A caterpillar ran along
my bedroom floor and rested there
my kitty cat mewed it a song
and up it sent a yearning stare
I picked it up, the crawling thing
all green and wobbly and naive
"my thorns beware because they sting"
I said and paused fearing he'd leave.
The kitty looked up from below
and shook my stem to make him fall
but he held fast and she lay low
then shivered as she heard me call:
"Darling," I said, "don't be so grim,
my rosy perfume is for you
as much as for your brother, dream,
for cats and worms I'll be a rose
prickly and motherly and true."
Copyright © Archontoula Alexandropoulou | Year Posted 2013
Another boring, Protestant Traditional, Sunday Family Dinner 1:00 pm sharp
This week it’s at Uncle David’s house in Alford, Mass. I haven’t meant Him
Actually the only Family I met so far “Momma“, Poppa, and Big Sister Brenda
YOU probably thought I was going to say “Momma, Poppa, and Baby Bear
Went for a walk in the forest“. Sorry I’m reading Goldilocks while I’m trying to Write
Brenda ( B B ) , and I use to wonder why they had to be called Momma and Poppa ?!!
Pizza for dinner, on a Saturday night ,Baths, pajamas, robes, and slippers out to the car
Alright kids, It’s a 3 hour drive to Uncle Dave’s Let’s play “Grandma’s Suitcase”
The subject Grandma is infatuated with is her : LOVE of Animals
Harry you start, Grandma went on a vacation , in her suitcase she put an alligator
Brenda, “Grandma went on a vacation, in her suitcase she puts a female Baboon
“Poppa, it’s your turn, “Grandma went a vacation, in her Suitcase she put a Catamount
I challenge You Poppa, Mount is Mountain ,not Animal I brought my dictionary, Read;
The definition of catamount; a mountain lion, Cougar A feline animal born in nature
Harry your out of the game; “Momma” Your turn “ Grandma put in her suitcase The Devil”
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2012
My cat is so lovable she really makes me humble
She loves to play and cuddle and roll around and tumble
She can look into my soul with those oh so seeing eyes
What does she feel as she licks and cleans her daughter?
I can only say its love, what else?
I watch her as she sleeps, I can see that she dreams
I know she is a soul, just like you and me
Please keep in mind this simple token
That we are all part of God and the chain cannot be broken
Copyright © Colin James Platt | Year Posted 2015
MOTHER NATURE'S THE HOST
Looking down on animals because with mouths
they don't talk
Is human arrogance is which happens a lot
It brings out how short sighted humans can be
Animal intelligence is beyond what humans can see
Animals communicate with just a flick of the tail or eyes
Their communication skills humans can't even surmise
The natural world humans left long ago
Caring only about new movies or a TV show
Nature for humans is a foreign word to most
Forgetting planet Earth is where Mother
Nature's the host
Copyright © Elizabeth Smith | Year Posted 2015
I'm another "Being"
But on Earth "Incarnated" but I love Mother Earth but I know I should be somewhere I can only think with my "Imagination"
The World is a Beautiful "Creation"
Being Killed by "Variations" of "Pestistations"
I have a metaphysical "Frequence"
Energy of "Magnesium"
Another beings look down on Earth of our "Unappreciation"
Heaven is infinity times
The "Synchronicity" of Peace on Earth "Entity"
A "Chemistry" that can only be felt "Spiritually"
"Physically" my flesh is "Weak"
But my Spirit Or Soul "Unleashed"
Is at a "Degree"
Of all "Pinnacles" "Peaks"
My Spirit "Speaks"
To me "Mentally"
An my Guardian Angels Are in "Reach"
An angel with an Guardian "Angel"
Look at from my "Angle"
I'm so grateful but still with Sinful "Nature"
They not only killing us but our "Dominion"
Of the "Musician"
Created with his Word for his "Intentions"
Death wasn't "Intended"
But the Fall of "Eve"
Of the Knowledge of the "Tree"
Changed our Future to generations to generations "Conceived"
Child Labor to " Breed"
His Heavenly "Inheritance"
Jealous of the "Genes"
Of "Man" and "GOD"
But it's hard to "Understand" and "Odd"
I love my mother "Earth"
An I hate that they "Thirst"
To destroy the "Works"
Of GOD An to "Perch"
Her to the "Dirt"
The beautiful "Creatures"
Lions Tigers "Beavers"
Their striped "Features"
Instincts and "Demeanors"
While we are Earths an their Soul "Keeper"
My words are getting "Short"
But I'll write that in the next "Report"
Copyright © uriel wisdom | Year Posted 2015
Cold shadows form
Blacker bars from locked window
Fall upon the remaining light and I
Wake caged memories as animals
Metaphors arouse the senses
Silence louder grips regret
And all I can do
Is think to run
But, instead I again hold on tighter
To my waning sanity
No signs insist on warning
Moments like rocks are falling
Always continue to pile up images within
That now stirs the soup thick dark
And begin to play out
An unspeakable act
Every year upon this very day
I watch from balconies, stuck
In tragedies portrayed
And now I see…
What I forgot
Covered about her sins
Beneath, I’m a child crying
Guilt turning always finds its way
Around the coo-coo clock
Of hands and helpless
To time’s army, life’s ending, ticking, plot
If, but for an instance
I could be free
Free from what
A reality without her
And her needed love
When is enough, enough!
Please, subconscious just let me go…
And I promise
I’ll keep on… going and forgetting
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013
She just appeared one winter’s day,
A little cat from nowhere.
I tried my best to coax her in,
To give her food and care.
She stood her ground, just out of reach
As I filled up a dish
With feed from Tiger’s ample stash,
As much as she could wish.
Waiting until the door was closed
She ate all she could hold,
Then turned and went beneath my deck,
Her fortress from the cold.
It went that way all winter long,
At the same time every day,
She’d come until she had been fed,
Then turn and slink away.
Though Tiger and I worried lots,
The stray cat was doing fine.
Whenever I filled up her dish
She’d be right there to dine.
The winter waned, the warm spring came,
I knew her woes were over.
With sun to warm her frozen bones
She would live her life in clover.
One morning to my great surprise,
There were two kittens there.
One was all white and one was dark,
They were a handsome pair.
After breakfast she licked both of them
‘Til they were shining clean,
The most devoted mother cat
That I had ever seen.
How did she learn the lessons
That she teaches them today,
When she is so disadvantaged,
Just a lonely little stray?
She coaxes them to lie down
In the sunshine on the deck,
Then lays right down beside them,
Holding them close to her neck.
I run to take a picture
Of the scene so sweet, I cried.
The three of them together,
Mother love personified.
For Leonora's contest "Adorable Picture"
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2013
I was in a museum. I suppose there were many displays of animals mounted or posed in
their realistic forms to show them as they appeared in their natural environment. However, I
recall only one display. It is the one that has stayed forever emblazoned on my young
impressionistic mind. There in front of me they stood, in all their bloody glory: two wild
animals. One (I cannot recall now what animal it was, only that it had hold of its victim’s
throat.) Perhaps it was a wolf; maybe a wild boor. What matters most is that it was clearly
the aggressor and it was the victor over the other animal in its natural habitat. The other, I
am sure, was a deer, a poor innocent deer. Though its eye sockets were now filled with dark
marbles, I could imagine in those eyes, terror beyond words. Whoever had put together this
display had done a most realistic job. Heavy blood matted the neck of the deer and flowed
down its body. Blood also gushed forth from the attacking beast’s mouth. I do not know what
thoughts were running through my mind as I beheld this scene. I only remember standing
there utterly transfixed.
Years later, I told my mother that my earliest childhood memory had been of two animals
posed in struggle at a museum. So much time had passed, I was not even sure if maybe it
had not been just a dream. My mother confirmed for me that I had indeed witnessed it and
that it took place when I was around three years old. She then told how I had stood in front
of the display for many minutes, perhaps fifteen, just staring and staring at it. She said that
she and my dad could not tear me away from it, and they finally had to drag me away. Why
that is my first memory I do not know. Perhaps because it was my first visual impression of
violence. I wish I could remember what went through my mind as I gazed on it. Later in life,
I was to witness acts of violence in the “real world” which greatly disturbed me, particularly
those acts of cruelty involving man against man. However, I am someone who is able to step
outside myself and view things in an analytical and detached way. I think this makes me
sometimes misread by the "too feeling crowd." Furthermore, I always find myself strangely
titillated by scenes of the macabre in horror movies. I do not enjoy gore. But I very much
enjoy a good psychological thriller. Just something about me. I don’t know what it means.
And I have no room to explore it here!
For the Contest of Leighann Anderson:
Sea of Words
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
My mother use to tell me a story about living in the woods.
She said during autumn the leaves fell to the grounds and they burn very good.
Her siblings and she would go hunting in the month of October.
The family would store the deer and rabbit meat not to go to the store.
Nature was harsh when it was cold.
When the snow or the freezing rain comes, the birds do not soar in the sky.
The ether would freeze the fouls.
The upper arctic is rigid air.
The birds fly south.
Nature in the winter can bring struggle and strife.
The beauty of the outside can affect life.
Save your money and do not fly high.
You are gambling your stability of sound body and mind.
Bitter Mother Nature is not to be denied.
The beauty of nature and winter signals an end of a productive year.
Plants cessation is seen.
Farmers have harvest crop.
Animals migrate to warmer climates.
All know Mother Nature in her mood swings.
Therefore, pay attention to your surroundings.
Respect Mother Nature and she will respect you.
However, the weather is onset.
The quiet weather sneaks upon us.
Therefore, things can become quite turbulent defining a Bitter Mother Nature’s region.
Penned on May 20, 2014 12:30 A.M. EST!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
She scurries through
the forest, moving
here and there
Providing food and
shelter for her fawns
showing them she cares
A while ago
the father left,
upped and disappeared
And now the mother
does both jobs; a
doe, a female deer
Written in Queens, New York -Circa 1994
Copyright © Marquis MC Mills-Cooper | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Upon my back
is the future of my people,
and the other women
for they, too, carry
symbols of hope and life.
I labored many days
while I carried him in my belly,
crafting his transportation,
I have bound him
in his cradleboard,
beaded with tigerlilies,
like those that sprout beautifully
by the river,
skinned with the hide
of a gentle doe
snagged by my father's arrow.
A wintry rabbit pelt
lines his body and snuggles him
when I cannot.
Sparrow's feathers wave
-in front of his chipmunk cheeks
and mud brown eyes-
gently in the breeze
that washes our sweat away.
I stand, tall and proud
of my work,
to earn praise from the elders
that I am a good mother.
Upon my back,
my life, my love, my child,
I carry him, my son.
Upon her back
I am carried, burrowed,
deep down against the soft
rabbit's fur that rubs my cheek
by the grace of her warm hand.
I watch over the fields
as living rabbits hop around,
and birds fly free
while I am snuggled in this.
I hear the pounding
of the buffalo's hooves
as hunters chase them
with the fury of the dogs in the village
after their own tails.
A coyote howls in the distance,
staring at me as though
I am dinner.
she hushes me
with the lullaby of the wind
singing to trees when the moon is high.
She resumes bouncing me,
continuing her work with the others.
A breeze passes my face
as she turns back towards home.
Now I am removed from one comfort to another,
as she cuddles me close
and helps me remember
that I am always with her.
Copyright © Alaska Brant | Year Posted 2015
This may come as a surprise to quite a few
But if you're a pet lover it won't to you
This sweet soul watched over my mom In her final days
She brought her comfort and warmth In so many way's
She's not a doctor or nurse she's not any of that
Her name is Destiny my little white cat
Very sensitive and smart
Small of body but big of heart
This may seem hard to believe
She knew when mom had pain to relieve
Often she knew it long before us
She would try to tell us by making a fuss
When she knew that mom was going to have a bad day
She would not leave her room by her side she would stay
Some religions call them familiar's they're considered a treasure
They see between worlds with a love beyond measure
So when you get old and your days are coming to an end
Rest assured you'll be loved By your little four legged friend
Copyright © John Berryhill | Year Posted 2013
When she walks, the whole forest is stalled When she attacks, any prey is felled
When she is seen, any animal gets scared When she roars, every prey gets feared
No prey is dare to meet her eye As none desires to say to life, bye
Her teeth is needle-sharp On holding the prey, authority she may usurp
Same teeth she uses, to hold up her cup Now it works as if very tender, with a tactful holdup
The cups are irresistible The mother is responsible
The cups know, she is not the other The lioness knows pretty well here, she is the mother!
Above poem is adapted from the eBook “EAGLE EDUCATES ENDURANCE! AND OTHER POEMS ON NATURE ” by Mr.V.Muthu manickam. Copyright is held by V.Muthu manickam.
Copyright © V.MUTHU MANICKAM | Year Posted 2015
Mother Duck and Ducklings venture from cattail cover
wiley mother duck
which wee waddler will you sacrifice
to the prowling fox
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013
Flapping wings of love,
Mother eagle stirs the nest:
Eaglets learn to fly
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015
Polar bears and grizzly bears cross over into each others territory,
and so occasionally polar and grizzly bears will mate and conceive.
The hybrid, let's call it a Polar/Grizzly
will be raised by its mother, whichever bear breed that might be.
If the Polar/Grizzly hybrid's mother is the grizzly,
the cub will be raised to scavenge carrion, graze on grass and forage for berries.
If the Polar/Grizzly hybrid's mother is the polar bear
the cub will be raised to stalk sleeping seals on the ocean's frozen water.
If a full grown Polar/Grizzly raised by a grizzly
were to find itself smack in the middle of strict polar bear territory,
it most likely wouldn't survive the night unfortunately,
because it wasn't raised to survive that way, despite it being a Polar/Grizzly.
Copyright © SillyBilly theKidster | Year Posted 2013
A Lioness Roaring under her Roar
Stalking her prey upon natures paws
Deeply secure with a keen eye
She also has a Lions Pride
No fret to defeat
Confronting her enemy
In a disarray, climbing up the food chain
Beauty within her Lions main
She guides her cubs so they could find
All the things they need to survive
Giving up isn't the look in her eyes
Until that day she dies
^^^^^^^A Lioness Pride^^^^^^^
Copyright © Tiffany Diaz | Year Posted 2015
All the streets were beginning to empty as I see a light
And the corners start whispering gently as I hear a sound
‘Twas a light too pure and too raw, not like I had so found
‘Twas a sound too serene that my soul was transported outright
To a world that is crumbling and mourning from the night 'til morning
To a world of thorns that was born of the forlorn mourning
Whose roses not red but gray
Whose clouds not white but blue
Whose skies not blue but red
A world that existed that no one knew
The world not like the world we see today
A world to come that was left unsaid
A world that is crumbling and mourning from the night 'til morning
A world of thorns that was born of the forlorn mourning
Whose trees not dead but rotting
Whose humans lazy but moving
Whose waters moving but dead
" All my damages I turned to dam'ging "
" All my hurt I turned to hurting "
" All my tears I turned to flood "
" And all these I did not mean to do "
" But how could I not, when you "
" Took my caring hands that never goes bad "
" And also the only heart I had! "
" Sorry my children for I'm growing old "
" Don't be noisy for I'm feeling cold "
" I can't keep my secret for so long "
" So I have to tell you I'm not feeling strong "
" My child, may I ask you some questions? "
" I hope you answer with no objections "
" If I tell you I'm ill will you find the cure? "
" And when I die will you still call me mother nature? "
Copyright © Yinyang zzz | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Toddlers teeter on the hollowed trunks and sport with juts of ice.
'Cross boulder bridges, flouting rapids, hop the agile blond and beige.
Yet in close chase, for or found, and on uneven ground, they’ll slip.
Clots in black and rose bespatter tans and whites.
Though clouds may cope the flights of cubs and fawns in torrents spirit laden,
steps shan’t be erased, where o’er plight’s edge they’re furrowed.
Would least the cliff lay lad to nestle upon drifts of pedals fallow
or as cradled by green swaths of summer blades.
For if to hope, the whelp when bade need but renounce a bed of clover,
might a father’s beckon stern retrieve the slain.
But scolds can echo no reprieve where o’er forever’s precipice
the yearling brown has left the seasons scarlet stained.
Though with the day’s advance, a glance would chance the fact all tracks do fade,
in the havens gray, in every trace, we dawdle.
It’s the cleft that blanched a mother’s face. Bereft, her tears are gained.
And blood ‘s been shed till never, like the rains.
Copyright © Eric Dent | Year Posted 2013
The Stellaluna story, in verse.*
Hanging upside down
on a tiny tree limb,
she sleeps in daylight
with wings folded in.
No feathers on this one;
just fur, soft as down.
With wings spread wide,
she searches the ground.
Nocturnal, she forages
to assuage her appetite,
feasting on ripe fruit
in the black of night.
* Stellaluna, a baby bat, is the star of a children's book by the same name, written by Janel Cannon. An Owl attacks her mother, she falls off and into a nest of baby birds. She hates worms as food, and insists on hanging upside down, outside the nest, to sleep. Mother bird is frantic, to no avail. Stellaluna teaches her nest mates a few bad habits, like flying around in the dark.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
Now let me see
My Mom told me not to ride that boar hog
But as you will see my brothers and me
Didn't listen to Mommy
We got on this big old hog and rode him when he got tired he would run
for the waller and we would holler
Sometimes we could get off in time before he laid down and rolled with us
If we were not so lucky then we took a trip through the water trough to wash off
But Dad caught us doing that busted our butts and made us clean the trough
We still got cleaned up before Mommy got back but she noticed us starching
We didn't know we got hog lice and she had to pick the hitch hikers off of us
We enjoyed the ride but it was ruff on our hides
Copyright © Patricia Bernard | Year Posted 2015