These Animal Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Animal. These are the best examples of Animal Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
My 29th birthday
it was set up to be a miserable experience
without many friends or family
I was left to smile through the half-created festivities
my best friend showed up with a box
and sat it on my lap
and a bunny appeared.
A real life bunny rabbit
She was tiny and white and scared
and I picked her up gently
and whispered, "youre home".
Albino, my friend found her on a country road
2 months old, with no camoflague
And of course she thought of her best friend who cant deny an animal
and whose birthday just happened to be hours away.
That first day, my birthday, I held that bunny close.
She didnt fight, but now I know how much of a shocked baby she was.
I researched and read, watched countless videos.
I bought her a huge cage and started litter training her right away.
Its now 6 months later...
Ive worried over her more than any animal Ive ever loved
I took her to get her fixed and got really scared when I realized the vet knew less than I did.
She lived, and healed, and then she ate 6 buttons off the remote, 2 pieces of saltwater taffy, and 4 inches of hard plastic.
But she comes running for her treats and hops into my bed like a super-bunny
She kisses my hands and arms and knees and I know she loves me back.
The way she drinks up a bunch of water, then licks her lips for minutes and still drips water everywhere
The way when I call for her she looks so suspicious, wondering if its time for medicine or bathing or nail trimming.
Thats my bunny.
She makes giant messes, she eats like a horse, shes always looking nervous, shes always doing binkies or flopping her heavy body down
My pretty pure white bunny was 2 small pounds when I got her, and now she weighs 12, more than all my cats
And all of my cats are afraid of her, she tramples them when they are sleeping. She amuses me.
BY LYDIA BRESCIA JULY 2011
THE GENTLE WIND TOUCHES FOXTAILS OUTLINING THIS COUNTRY ROAD.
THEY GLISTEN WITH SUNLIGHT POINTING OUT A DIRECTION YET UNTRIED.
LIFE BECKONS LIKE THAT, TO THE UNBEATEN PATH, TO SEE IF WE GET BY
GENTLE URGES ARE TAPPING US, TO SEE IF WE CAN DROP OUR WORRIES AND FLY
FOXTAILS HAVE A BAD REP. THEY COME IN SOFT N GREEN, GLIMMERING IN THE SUN
AND BURN, PRICKLY IN THEIR OLD AGE.
NEXT THING YOU KNOW AN UNSUSPECTING ANIMAL HAPPILY GOES BY AND FOXTAIL JUMPS AND HITCHES A RIDE! THE ANIMAL STOPS AND THUMPS UPON ITS’ RUMP
TO SCRATCH THAT FOXTAIL AWAY…WHEREUPON THAT FOXTAIL BURROWS IN THE GROUND TO SLEEP AND DREAM OF ITS’ ONE WONDERFUL RIDE!.
IN THE SPRING A SOFT GENTLE RAIN AWAKENS FOXTAIL FROM ITS’ DREAM, IT GROWS AND GROWS AND POINTS IT’S TOES AND STICKS ITS’ HEAD IN THE WIND !
BY LYDIA BRESCIA JULY 2011
Walking through the woods early in the day...
Haven’t seen a single soul passing my way...
All set to hunt as, I bought the latest gear....
On this the first hunting day of the year.....
It isn’t too cold but there’s a bit of snow...
So footprints will tell me where to go...
I can track by smell....
And I’ve been told pray tell....
That Man is getting smarter every single year..
Which means a lot... to my friends in here...
But now here’s the twist of this little ditty...
I’ve never lived or been to the city....
But trust me.. cause when I’m done..
And this is all in fun...by the end of Fall....
I’ll have a gorgeous blonde six footer ... a hanging on MY wall....
*** Just a thought...NRA = Natural Roaming Animal....
or Nasty Reindeer Association.......hmmmm
Salty air breathed from crystalline peaks
I breathe in And catch a glimpse
of the dancing, bowed bodies.
They perform a graceful ballet;
like arrows shot from an archer’s bow;
they leap, breach and roll.
Their eyes have seen ages of brine and shifting sands.
I wonder if they really are the “Watchers”;
like the “Dogon” stories portray them.
Did they once have legs instead of fins
and can we really be their children?
Perhaps that is why they are so quick to help us;
Why a child who can not speak can suddenly come to life?
He won’t be silenced again,
after all, he swam with the dolphins.
Could it be the magic of the dance that heals?
Odd, that they are always there when needed
And can transform a stagnating life
into a miraculous moment of rebirth!
Beside a lonely hamlet a dog is barking, chained to a post in a barren field. It is an evening time. The sky is red, strewn with streaks of blood of the dying day. The dog lets out a howl, born out of despair and futility of his life.
He hates his owner for enslaving him. He hates the flesh, which he has to devour each day to appease his hunger. He hates killings of other creatures to satisfy his lust for flesh, only just to perpetuate his existence. He hates his futile barking all day along.
A dark wind rose within his bowls and slowly winded up his belly like a python; crushing his entrails, passing through his heart and reaching his throat. He lets out another howl of anguish. The sound reverberated among the hills and other small creatures shared that anguish.
He was beyond hope from human kind. Beyond his bestial nature, he longed for some sort of comfort, for a little warmth .He searched for small kindness or tenderness but alas he could not find any. Tears began to roll down from his muddy eyes across his cheeks. He prayed to divinity for his release, for some light relief in order to give some meaning to his wretched existence.
Crying, exhausted, he fell asleep.
In his sleep he felt that divinity have touched him but he could not comprehend it fully. It was too complex for his canine brain.
When dark of night comes to call,
I listen for the Gray Wolf’s howl.
He is calling me to come and run,
cavort and explore till night is done.
Just out of sight I begin to morph
into what reality has written on me.
Daytime I must be this shy, winsome
creature who no one pays attention to...
I hate the visage in my mirror.
Gray Wolf sees a sleek coat of white,
yellow eyes and teeth straight and strong.
I can run forever through the forest,
but when daylight comes I ride
in a wheelchair, bound by iron.
I searched for you through the endless expanse of night’s long blackness,
The shimmering light from a crescent moon offered little help in my quest for your elusive form. The pale light dimly lit inconspicuous objects and cast shadows of their beautiful contours upon the ground to thwart my pursuit at every turn.
Radiant eyes peered at me from within the cover of darkness,
And mysterious intonations and melodic resonance echoed into the night air, confusing my sense of direction until I was lost in a maze within your protective purlieu.
Fighting my frustration and fear that I may never gaze upon your majestic beauty, nor hold your rapturous warm body against my cool skin, or savor the taste of you on my tongue, I gathered what was left of my strength and resolve, and continued my silent pursuit.
Guided by my heart and uncontrollable emotions and hunger for you, I somehow broke free of the discountenance feints set upon me to mask your true course. The hunger within my heart and the vision of you brazed within my eyes, guided me toward your lingering essence and ultimately to where you now hide, deep within the confines of your sheltering den safely held tight within the cool moist earth.
As my long sleek form slithers into your place of refuge I strike and sink my teeth deep into your neck and as my coils embrace your supple body, I am overcome with powerful emotions emanating from your very being, and at that moment I knew my hunt was not in vain. To taste your sweet flesh wound be unlike any that has ever been known between predator and prey.
Kitten-play is sweet;
a precious jewel of a moment renewed
by each new discovery.
A butterfly-chase ending in a bumblebee moment
of enlightenment and sometimes
a succeeding “ouch”!
The butterfly is a more hospitable playmate.
Graceful leap into a patch of soft delicate wormwood;
A tree-leap, a prick on the nose from a rosebush;
it’s about as friendly as the bumblebee!
A jet-sprint to the patio results in a
back and forth stretched-roll on the warm concrete.
The pose that says, “I like this place; can I stay?”
Perhaps on another adventurous day
kitten will discover,
the catnip bush at the far end of the yard.