A local past
mind may
transfer to a
permanent po-
sition in the
sane high or
lower ener-
gy than the
incidental knight who
only shows to
know some
thicker skinny fish or
brightly burn-
ing paper ti-
gers.
O little cat with gentle eyes,
You greet the dawn before I even rise.
Your quiet purr brings peace to me,
As calm and soft as a morning sea.
Through every day, both bright and gray,
You chase my lonely thoughts away.
Your playful heart, your loving grace,
Bring warmth and joy to every place.
Across my room is my little trusty dog
Furs around my bed while he sleeps like a log
I see he made my shoe his own chewy toy;
Lines here and there like an ill mannered boy.
Laundry stacked on one side with socks sticking out,
Their eyes stare from the heap, haughty and proud.
Though not often I meet this hallowed mess,
Like caught in a furry induced stress-tide
I pet my furry one and bring him a treat
For he's the only one I will gladly repeat
Old Rumple Stein gathered
the trembling children near
the frosted manor windows
as the full moon rose.
"Listen closely to the
snapping of the twigs out in
the dark estate," he whispered
slyly.
A cursed beast with matted
black fur and jagged yellow
fangs wanders these empty
hallways.
Its long, razor- sharp claws
scrape against the bedroom
doors with a terrible SCREEECH.
You will hear its heavy, wet
breathing right outside your
room before the doorknob
slowly turns.
It hunts the moment the sun
goes down, sniffing the air
for your terror.
The creature let's out a blood-
curdling howl that shakes the
very dust from the ceiling.
Golden, glowing eyes peer
through the keyhole,
watching you hide beneath
your thin blankets.
If it catches your scent, its
drooling jaws open wide to
swallow you whole.
"Do not dare to close your
eyes tonight," Rumple
snickered, "for the werewolf is inside."
Written: April 30, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
***********************
If I could change my shape today,
I'd choose a pet that's bright in play.
A fluffy friend with charm to spare,
who’d scamper laughing through my hair.
I might become a fox of gold,
with twinkling paws and a heart so bold.
Who trots to you at break of dawn,
and curls beside you on the lawn.
Or maybe I’d be something new—
a sky-blue cat with eyes of dew.
Who purrs in rhymes and hums in time,
and dances silly pantomime.
Or I could be a bunny sweet,
soft as clouds from head to feet.
Who hops around you in delight,
and makes your whole world feel bright.
But no matter which form I choose,
with paws or claws or floppy shoes,
I’d visit you with joy unplanned—
Your loyal friend at your command.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
furry chauffeur grins~
convertible, no coat, just
nuts in the glovebox
DOG CHASES TAIL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In circles goes the dog,
a furry whirlwind, tail a-wagging,
his nose to the ground, sniffing out the ghost of a bone
with no clue as to where he left it.
Ahh, the circle grows, and me thinks he’s quite mad!
Truth be told, that bone is a relic,
a trophy of nothing, a piece of yesterday's joy,
devoid of any savory delight;
yet, he’s bewitched
by the lure of that which once he had.
The quest persists, but time, the trickster,
plays its multifarious games.
Memory grows faint, but
the haze of longing remains
lost in the labyrinth of time.
Distractions dart by—a squirrel, a leaf,
But wait—what’s this? A flash of color
bounces by and the spell is broken,
the quest for the bone forgotten,
distraction wagging his tail.
And so he circles, a furry Sisyphus,
chasing phantoms in the grass,
he sniffs, snorts, and spins—
a canine circus act.
bird feeder pole snapped in two
suet cakes gone-border collies barking
large furry forager departed- sated
This is the furry part.
The we-don't-know-what's-next part.
The alchemy busted.
I'm hitting the Exits.
Not as fun as I imagined.
Imagine this world heavier than lead
While light as a feather,
A brother though a bother,
A mother and a smother,
A cry for life in the crescent of our being.
But here I am ahead of myself.
This is just the furry part.
Furry animals are
allergic to
anyone with an
enormous appetite.
They said this strange man ate his squirrel:
such a lovely arboreal rodent, a creature that nibbles.
First he eats its legs, then its body,
but omits the heart. That is precious.
What? We do not eat a squirrel?
Boiled, broiled, roasted or raw? With sprinkles?
There are strange people who choose
certain creatures of fur. But never one that gnaws?
And those spirited, spunky sprinkles?
There are strange folk who resist a pitter-patter,
with or without a squirrel, whether it be boiled or broiled,
even roasted or raw - without those sprinkles
and, of course, those spatters.
There are funny folk.
They don’t eat an arboreal gnawer?
And do we think of Gnawer and his ark - with squirrels?
So odd how we ponder
on creatures of fur, with or without
those spirited, spunky sprinkles.
Brains do the oddest of things.
(20 Sep 2024)
Hush o'er azure stone ridge,
hypnotic wax moon dash,
wispy crescent rustle from,
a piebald furry deer,
nocturnal stealth enshrouded,
silver tint antler scoops,
limp orange leaf detritus,
canopy of maroon ink,
black mist dewdrops spill,
corral Northern Bobwhite quest,
shuddersome elk teeters on,
bituminous coal summit,
cast a pearl oyster glance,
into an uncanny precipice,
enigmatic phenocryst ravines,
spellbound immersive trickle,
species of the dome shape,
muted in clandestine trot,
oe’r mushroom quandary in crossing,
to slink away the eerie stillness
My furry friend vanished into the night
Fireworks had her running away in fright
A cursed Fourth Of July
My dog’s lost and I cry
Now heartbroken I search by dawn’s early light
Every girl and every fella
Open up your big umbrella
It's going to rain for sure
Not wet drops, but fluffy fur
Little kittens falling down
Landing safely on the ground
A soft meow to say hello
Cuddles for a loving show
Puppies landing everywhere
With a cute and happy stare
Woof woof means please pet me
With a belly rub so lovingly
You look up as it is stopping
No more furry friends are dropping
Hoping it soon starts again
With a rainstorm that doesn't end
I want to write a poem sweet little kitty cat,
but you are on my cluttered writing desk:
and on my papers you have just sat !
With you in a dance position arabesque,
we chitchat, chat, and play tat for tat !
Please, will you now move my furry aristocrat ?
____________________
May 18, 2023
Poetry/Rhyme/A Funny Aristocrat
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1548-241018
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bite Size Poem No. 64
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 05/29/2023
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