Evening slipped out of the cave
Crossed the rock wall
And buried the city in soft kisses
Sun god‘s dripping soup
Gave her child a sunset glow
She went back to her cave
To sleep, to grow
Night birds on the prowl
Growl of dark panther
Unsteady footfalls of ghosts
Cacophony of fledglings
Snakes ripe with venoms
Green eyed owl preening feathers
Deep in jungles fairies play
Near a lake moon sneaks in
Embers of childhood
Smoldering in deep.
Abandoned, scared and alone he lay in his bed
Wondering if he will ever have a loving home
On the concrete floor, he lays his head
Without a care for his old bone
It’s loud and the rotten stench of shit and piss fill the air
He lay, wishing and dreaming that he didn’t have to be there
Locked up and taken prisoner he is so sad
He never thought his life could get this bad
What’d he do to deserve such a terrible fate?
Waiting for the day he reaches the end
All he is now is a cute little piece of bait
Never knowing if he will ever mend
From the terrifying experiences had
Now afraid of any large objects or yelling
He is older now and the young ones are the fad
Look in his eyes and see what they’re telling
A lost and most beautiful soul
Awaiting the day he may find love
And get out of this terrible lull
He looks up to the heavens above
All he can see are painfully fluorescent lights
Wishing so badly to see the outside
To get out of here and have play fights
What he really needs is a person, a guide
Someone to love and support him
He waits and waits for his special person
Someone who’d make his life less dim
While the pain and loneliness worsen
It looked as if God had slung clumps of cotton
into space. Chromatic blue dispersed memories
as clear as the sky. We write words on paper,
tap computer keys, punch save. The Father
hits save in RAM, retaining joy. Daredevil pilots
loop letters in the sky; God sends downy missives
with his finger. He writes, not in script,
but in moving scenes, flashed on a giant screen,
easily read during January's two-day road trip:
mountains—silhouetted by the sun's glow—
cradled a thousand-foot waterfall as it gushed
into the sun, sinking into the horizon. A soccer
ball rolled across the skies. The Hindenburg
cast its ghostly trail, to drift on and on. Casper
dimpled down as if to say, Remember me?
A polar bear rolled on its back,
cavorting on an iceberg.
A bearded gentleman tipped his top hat
to the big-breasted babe in spike-heels. A lobster,
seahorse, alligator, walleye, and blowfish swam
through ocean foam. A stegosaurus chased
an Olympic runner around a cushiony track.
A Scottie, Pluto, and a Bichon Frise— the breed
once called a bitchin' frizzy—wore doggy grins
in misty haze. A dolphin rose above sea froth,
a palm tree rippled its plumy fronds, a swan
arched its slender neck.
Even the roadrunner made his appearance,
zipped past as we traced the miles south
in search of warmth and pleasure.
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.
I knew I was gone when I went into the sleep..
There was no guilt or pain insight..
I’ve never had an affair of the heart.. of mind, body and soul..
The comfort I felt was beyond words from my mind...
And I was destined to fall under his spell...
The fire I felt on my skin began to rage..
I became like an animal in a cage..
Every time I drew back, he pushed me forward..
I could feel his arms embrace me like no other,
His strength overpowered me and breathing became a necessity..
I gasped each time we danced the dance..
I could feel life’s breath leaving my body..
As he held me tighter and tighter..
I have never known such ecstasy as I drew each breath as the last..
Don’t know why I gave in so easy, temptation is not one of my virtues..
I’ve always weighed the pro’s and cons..
Who is this man of many tricks that I would succumb to him ?
I am smarter than this I thought in one lucid moment..
Be gone I said.. leave me alone I do not want to follow you..
All you want is my soul... and I am not ready...
When I am I will call you....
PS. This was a recent experience I had in the ICU...
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!
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
PAWS FOR CHRISTMAS
The tree stood straight,
It looked so nice.
Even had shiny things,
To look like ice.
A star on the top,
Was special to see.
Plus the lights and toys,
Filled our hearts with glee.
A package or two,
Were placed on the floor.
For family and guests,
To see and adore.
Then the puppy came close,
What did he see?
What is that shiny thing on his nose,
From the Christmas tree.
How did the ornament so bright,
Get down on the floor?
I bet this puppy could tell you,
As he ran for the door.
What are these teeth marks,
On the package we see?
A gift from our puppy,
Under the tree.
But we take it in stride,
And hug the old mutt.
For it's his Christmas too,
but "stay out of the nuts".
RAYMOND V. MORGAN
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
Where the sky meets the earth and the highway goes on and on, a white satin ribbon snaking across a sea of brown. You can see far into the distance with no trees to obscure your view. No billboards mar the landscape, no skyscrapers rise out of the ground. Rolling hills, tumble-weed, yucca, sagebrush and distant mountains range on forever. Herds of antelope roam freely, wearing coats of butterscotch and whipped cream.
Artists leave their signatures, huge metal sculptures drawing the eye, many miles in advance. Anticipation grips you as you wait to identify buffalo, roadrunner, jackrabbit, Brahma bull or horse and rider.
Contemplate a life so different from your own, experience the serenity as you roll along with so little effort, feel the fulfillment, the contentment, the embracing freedom.
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.
I met a hand with eyes but no vision
He touched me but only to fill his hunger
And I with a heart floated with anger
I wish I were a human
But not of this hand
I just asked one day but only within
The muscular hand was no less than a muddle head
In life it was panting for death
And I In death panting for the former
He knew he could free me
But his knowledge is destined ignorance
Alas! His heart pumps only blood, no care.
To my one day
I croaked to his deaf ears for years
But for one day
Neither a day is left nor a drop of hope
My heart pounced on request
And his on the lust to have me
I swam in his desire not in his concern
To my one day
I croak now to the world
Enchained in all this ego
Is there a hero out to rescue me
Oh I know the world is all a dark mirror of life
I know this just in one day
That my day has come
I am much cuter than those squirrels.
I see them in the morning when they
don’t think anyone is watching,
primping and posing and fluffing
those tails, rubbing their teeth on
the maple leaves to shine them,
rehearsing their inane chatter.
I choose a quieter life style,
living in an underground
estate, multiple entrances,
sensible rooms, and a large
storage space. I must collect
nuts and seeds, while at the
same time, evading the beaks
of the birds, the claws of the cats,
and the mockery of the squirrels.
I tried speaking to one, one day.
As he picked a seed aril from
his teeth, he laughed, and made a snide
remark about my skinny, rudder tail.
The birds, though they never stop
squawking, have little to say. The old
owl, though given to wisdom, seems
to have a focused interest in me,
as supper. One old lady says that
I am cute, and tosses me seeds and
acorns. I do appreciate the handouts,
but chatter my sharp and frightening
teeth at her just in case any of the
squirrels are watching. I have seen my
reddish brown, skinny tailed, spotted
image in the window of the basement.
I am one handsome chipmunk.
I am much cuter than those squirrels.
John G. Lawless
Contest - Animals Alive
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.
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.
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
I call her Movie
Because she moves day and night
A shadow drama on the white wall
Winks for milk
Her world cringes into a saucer
Says me and you
We make this world for each other
Our Lack of Tolerance
The culture difference between Portugal and Norway are sometimes
baffling, like seeing a tribe of Ciganos waiting for one of their own
often for the day with their offspring running around and they, the children
are surprisingly clean. This would not have been tolerated at a hospital
say, in Norway, the police would come and the social people too taking
the children away... all for the best but for whom? Well children have to
go to school and so on, we measure our standards with theirs, who think
we are callous sending our old people to homes. It appears the Portuguese
believe that benign neglect is a good solution.
But this western standard of behaviour goes deeper it is the reason we
meddle with tribe wars in the Middle East wanting the people there to be nice
democrats like us. It is like an inverted Midas touch, everything we touch end
in bloodshed and humanitarian help programs. And we continue to supply
weaponry to both the warring sides.