The sun shone brightly at last
On this breezy spring day
A black cat stalked a yellow bird in play,
As he stepped lightly across the fields of grass
Covered with dew , Alarmed , the bird flew
Leaving the cat with nothing to do
The sun shone brightly
on this breezy spring day
As the mouse appeared suddenly
through the field of grass
And once again the cat turned to play
Copyright © jim joyce | Year Posted 2012
The morning greets me with birds at my window
They peck at the glass,
they chirp and harass,
"The sun is up, the grass smells clean!
The flowers so pretty they must be seen!"
I pull the covers back up to my chin,
the cold cotton pillow feels good on my skin.
But the longer I lie here the more I realize,
the coffee is calling; I really must rise.
With eyes barely open, I saunter about.
The kitty is purring and happy as trout.
My shepherds come running, their tails wagging fast.
They want to go outside, and go running past.
I open the door and nearly knocked over,
They run off the deck and into the clover.
I walk to the table,
all dressed with pink roses,
waiting for barking, and kissed by wet noses.
I smell the aroma of Colombian beans,
my percolator singing, while I get on my jeans.
I'm feeling quite artful,
the day has begun.
The birds are still chirping,
the yard in full sun.
The coffee tastes great, and as I sit here,
the birds at my window, the cat in the chair,
there's one place that's calling, with north light galore,
just past the den, where Big Bear will snore.
My studio corner, my wonderful place,
where dreams are realized, and canvas to face.
The day has begun
It's a spring morning
-Mary Susan Vaughn
Copyright © Mary Susan Vaughn | Year Posted 2016
“My grandfather was strong and mighty, till he died at age of ninety.
The clock then stopped to run no more.
Then one of my relations wrote a song, sung for generations.
I think of it more and more:
“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny-weight more . . .”
Shaken from his quaint digression, his face in tense expression,
He renewed his dire obsession
About what made the clock strike in the night.
He slipped to the room adjacent, above an empty basement,
Where stood the clock’s encasement – opened so very slight.
Moving with stealth, and in no hurry,
He saw an object hunched and furry;
His cat stood vigil in the night, with eyes reflecting light.
A mouse, the cat had faced, into the clock was chased,
And up the pendulum raced, quickly taking flight.
Climbing the clock’s encasement, the mouse’s weight displacement,
Tripped the spring so tight; it struck with awesome might!
Striking twelve it had numbered, his muddled thoughts encumbered,
Scared awake from slumber in the night.
“All of this is so confusing, could I, these years be using
The clock with spring so tight?”
In his mental delusion he added to the confusion,
For this intrusion in the night.
There was nothing he couldn’t handle
With his shotgun on the mantle by the door,
With it he could surely even up the score.
With the menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger
Then the grandfather clock was no more
And the cat and mouse— a taxidermy chore.
Copyright © James Tate | Year Posted 2011
An empty barn was the home of a dog;
outside buzzing bees attacked a tiny cat...
joyful was the song of a parched bird.
An hour ago, happy was the warbling bird;
no rascals bothered the skinny, smelly cat...
they didn't get close to the hungry dog.
Rain came and it worried the shivering cat;
spring showers were the joy of the bird...
he could have been the prey of the dog.
Sunshine returned: the dog barked, the cat ran and the bird fled.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013
The little black cat with eyes of olive green,
Her fur like a shadow with a sunshine sheen,
A flutter of his orange wings carries that monarch in the breeze,
As he mimics an autumn leaf floating around with great ease,
He feels right at home in a cloudless sky of baby blue,
The endless joys the two share together can never subdue,
Gladly that butterfly comes every afternoon just to say hello,
As she becomes lost amongst the lavender and daffodil yellow,
Her pink nose gently sniffing the bud of the white rose,
As our curiosity and need to explore in nature only grows,
Blooms are nevermore gorgeous as in the warm month of May,
All the troubles in our worlds are now distant memories today,
We have have been friends forever, and I'm really not sure why,
I'm just happy to have the sunshine and that little butterfly,
All of a sudden the orange monarch lands down on her paw,
And her bright green eyes open and widen with pure awe,
The butterfly teases her, he knows how to enchant,
She jumps up and tries to fly like him, but she can't,
As the monarch chases the sunset with the fading day,
The little black cat cries and wishes for him to stay.
For my friend Gregory Curry, aka Nature Boy... Your poetry and your presence are missed here already... Hope you come back soon :)
Also inspired by Eve's recent contest, not an entry.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016
The first game of spring
It was the first game of the year.
The go lumpducks vs the hot rugcats.
On 1st base for the hot rugcats is: Tiny judy mad cat
On 2nd is Flash betty furball
At short stop is licky slip maybell
On 3rd three leg piggy polecat
Rt field Cassy cool cat
Cfield Tiffy Mudcat
Lt field Vicky short pants Field cat.
Pitching Wild arm Jayne legcat
Catching Junkcat Kitty
The game is cancel due to Rats on the field the team is hard to control
A real mess the lumpducks left after the first rat was tore apart.
But that's your line up for tomorrows game.
Copyright © Harold Hunt sr | Year Posted 2016
To look at your eyes,
They’re so big and so brown.
I’d reach forward to pet you,
Ears fall to the ground.
My eyes fill with tears,
As I pull away,
How many years
Have you been caged this way?
How long has it been?
Since you took a swim?
How long did you wait
For a scratch on your chin?
How many nights
Have you slept all alone?
When is the last time
You chewed on a bone?
I’m taking you home
Is all I could think,
I’ll fill you with food,
So much water to drink.
You can play with new friends,
Have a bed of your own.
Even sleep with us all,
Instead of alone.
There will be no more cages,
And bars like a jail,
I will scratch your chin,
Until you wag your tail.
Welcome home sweet one
Please do come on in,
Hey look at our pool,
Let’s go for a swim.
Copyright © Athena Hoefs | Year Posted 2015
Twas every day upon the arbor
that a certain early bird eagerly sang.
Every day, as sun appeared, his audible
voice awakened bluebells…allowing this
opera house a song and sight of spring.
Always dreaming of Spring, along with
its serenading offspring; for ears to enjoy,
craving eyes to appreciate… feastings offered
with a daily entertainment value of sight and sound.
It was every day aside this arbor
Mother excitedly sat. Alongside her.
in silent anxiousness, sat always her angry cat,
awaiting the early bird…a lush angora.
All rights reserved @ Debra Squyres 2013
Written for: Consonant /Vowel sequence contest
Copyright © Debra Squyres | Year Posted 2013