What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
I sat quietly and waited, making the noises he had come to know, calling him in his newly given name. His face would appear, cautiously calculating my intent, he would approach. The promise of food and gentle touch too much to deny. And so we did the “Little Prince’s” taming dance, each aware of the other and the possibility of betrayal.
cold eyes, empty heart
frost forming on life’s edges
winter’s numbing kiss
Our meetings continued, less cautious greetings, more welcome contact, minimal conversation. His coat was becoming more ragged in spite of attempts to keep it up, his gait slowing as our good-byes became short walks together. He could not leave his place, his home, even though it had left him – alone, to fend for himself.
hoarfrost in retreat
sunrise gently awakens
friendships warming blood
He withdrew – I would wait, quietly, whisper the name he had come to know, make the sounds that signaled “all clear”. I searched for him, stood silent and listened for his weakening call, shed tears in the cold rain of November. His last call, a feeble attempt at good-bye, led me to him. Alone, cold, hungry, he lay there, rolled his eyes as I cradled his cold and fading spirit. He shivered – and left.
winter’s cold cradle
ice encasing a friendship
a thawing of hearts
submitted to – Creative Haibuns – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015
Though my stall here is empty now
If you listen close...
You can hear me running through a greener pasture
Your sorrow opens the gate and releases me free
Thank you for rescuing me from worldly darkness
And giving me love unsurpassed
So that I may now run with others so loved...
But never forgotten
I am a child again young and lean my spirit afire
And oh how our spirits thrive here
Never again to feel the pain of the earth
Hear me running!
For your tears have watered the grasses for me
In God's Greener Pasture
-originally written for Kae Surrah
an Arab rescue mare
Copyright © Chris Hagy | Year Posted 2016
Tribute to Harambe, The Gorilla
Harambe, living in captivity...
mock forest of the Cincinnati Zoo,
in human world, as well as you can be,
beneath those peering eyes, that visit you.
And what bad fate for you when suddenly
without your fault, a child falls in your space.
At first, you seemed to act quite caringly;
you held his hand and looked into his face.
But then the shrieks of humans made you wild
and frantic, as you soon became afraid.
You dragged him to and fro, that little child...
and chaos then ensued, decisions made.
If only they had found a simple way;
removed the crowd from scaring you with screams,
perhaps your primate nature would then play
into a more protective stance, it seems.
Or maybe darted you to bring you down
and not forever, just a little while,
to rescue the small boy and take the crown
for saving both and ending with a smile.
Poor Harambe, Gorilla, your sad day
to have them end your life for their neglect
of building an enclosure that some way
allowed a tiny child to fall direct.
Within your borrowed space of humankind,
where you knew not of freedom, nature's way,
you had to face your end of days maligned
as a dark beast to pay the price that day.
Harambe, living in captivity,
mock forest of the Cincinnati Zoo,
not many of you left on Earth to see;
so sorry that this fate has come to you.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Short Story
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
Contest: Any Poem You Ever Penned
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away
He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought
The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be
And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints
And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill
Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
After the last one was planted, he sniffed it;
Then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.
Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.”
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.
She smiled through her tears.
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too. His name was Pal.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
I'm sitting cross legged on the side of the road
while Dad holds my shoulders, in trying to console me,
but tears, uncontrolled, keep tumbling down.
Most stunning, right now, is the fear, I've not known
Never before, .....had I felt so alone.
Reality has settled, like darkness around me
A first-time encounter with death and it's toll
Though, how many times, I have played out the role?
It was always the same.....
Just a game to be played
The drama? Just kid's-stuff.....who knew what it meant?
Bang, Bang you're dead!...
Point a finger .... he's dead
A stab, rubber swords, ... at my eight year old heart ?
While slowly, with drama, we played out the parts
Our death scenes, .....pretending to take a last breath
Then, back on our knees, and up in a flash
ready again, to reverse all the rules......
Death wasn't real........and never this cruel
Tonight, driving home
a deer out of nowhere,
A thump, and a jar, a flash in the light
And in the dash of a moment, ....a crumpling crash
Make-believe shatters, in the path of our car
Dad reaching his hand, to check I'm alright
Then opens the door out into the night
Reluctantly I follow his somber silhouette
And met by a moment I'll never forget
The air bitter cold, has taken our breaths
I turn eyes away, but now it's too late
Glass lifeless eyes stare back in the lights
I'm strangled by silence, and the shattering sight
as still and cold, as real as if stones,
The deer's lifeless eyes, stare into the night
I feel such a change in the stars and the sky
I felt something die, in a child's heart tonight
For Trashed #2 Contest: Sponsor: Broken Wings
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
Moans echo across the lands
from the souls who are lost
drifting, searching, seeking
forever doomed to exile.
Some brought down in their prime
foully murdered by sharpened steel
plunged into them with hatred.
Or maybe by plain greed.
Soldiers killed in needless wars
all for the rape of the innocent.
Governments hungry for more
oil, gold and other things.
Yes too, the souls of creatures
many now extinct voice their
sorrow with despairing moans.
That echo into our minds and hearts.
Mingling together they strike fear
that judders in our very being.
As we huddle in our beds shivering
knowing it is us who caused this damage
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2015
A ghastly cadaver drops, for whose noble sake?
To ravish the grandeur of wildlife
In the dead of night; to mangle
Creation’s gift and its soft flutters,
Where each tender beast moves in a row
Linking a primal, fond tie with nature’s deities…
But the affinity with innocent children, its tribe
Is snuffed with one ruthless shot in the forest
When pitiless minds become delirious… heinous
As a giraffe, a leopard perishes without knowing
The lithe body quickly turns into a gaunt shadow,
Just like that: unable to play with butterflies
And race with own calf or cubs along an inlet...
O hollow night, and a lamp of silence are drained
By the vicious game from predators, inhumane,
That no one can tell, for whose noble sake?
Silent One’s Contest
Images That Make You Think #2
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
the jaguar's tear
slides off his single whisker
clouds do sigh
dragged into the river's teeth
they both stretch
the moment of sorrow lost
life leaps on
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
Cecil the lion of Zimbabwe, famous and beloved,
Shot by a bow hunter after being lured from his home;
It took Cecil forty hours to die, how he must have suffered,
They tracked him down and shot, skinned and beheaded him.
It was senseless, cowardly, cruel and barbaric,
Oh I weep for Cecil the lion with the rest of the world;
And all animals victims of trophy hunters who kill for the fun,
Our voices must be united and be strong, we must end poaching.
We must demand justice for Cecil and all animals,
The hunting for sport must be stopped as it is murder;
No amount of money makes it right, no more heads on walls,
No more animals killed by cowards with big egos and money to do it.
Sign a petition, make your voice heard loudly,
Laws need to change so that animals no longer die;
This particular killer will be tracked down just like he did,
But we will be more humane, we won't shot, skin and behead him.
This coward in hiding must face justice in Zimbabwe.
August 26, 2015
Written by Broken Wings
For the contest , What Is Your Form Of Justice, sponsor, Tammy Reams
Note: Image placed on poem after judging as sponsor did not want images on entries, but now that the contest is judged, I wanted everyone to see how beautiful Cecil was.
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
You feel your body falling in blackness.
You snatch your shoulder to the right.
The nausea stops.
The bottomless pit is hell.
Do not enter the midnight.
Up in the window, stands a coyote.
His teeth are bared in detestation.
He howls his satanic verses.
Abomination is his curse.
Do not confront this animal.
Humankind is mentally dead.
They have goaded the animals with the splicing of human brain.
A dog walks with the persona of man.
Do not speak to him.
In the hollow of a tree with leaves as a covering, lies a wolf.
Her teeth are gleaming as she slyly looks.
She stands and yowls her satanic verses.
Atrocity is her hatred.
Do not attack.
Run as fast as you can.
Satan is on a journey to win.
Shout for the Holy Spirit to enter.
Abhor venerating the regards of our creator.
Do this to be save.
Satanic verses you hear in the howls and yowls of the pacts.
They speak in tongue about your nicks and knacks.
Purloins humankind has become by affronting the world the omnipotent formed.
The great divided is no more.
Satanic verses are the faunas’ voices.
Beware the midnight!
Penned on May 27, 2014!|
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
On the plains in the Texas panhandle
The fight for survival is real
As I watched from the derrick
On a short smoke break
A scene rather harsh and surreal
A cottontail bunny was having his way
In a pasture of gold knee high grass
When a hungry coyote, prowling late in the day
Caught his scent on the breeze as it passed
The bunny must have sensed, the coyote was near
He ran circles and made figure 8 bows
Confusing the canine, wound up chasing his tail
While the bunny escaped down the road
But nature has a way of being quite cruel
As a hawk observed from above
As he swooped down, the poor bunny froze
In a scene void of malice and love
With the rabbit in tow, still kicking and screaming
The hawk not making a sound
Somehow lost his grip, dropping his prey
Who died instantly hitting the ground
In all the commotion, the old coyote
Had watched and raced to the kill
Snatching him up and never looking back
Running swiftly over a hill
I stood there amazed, as the scene played out
This microcosm of struggles and strife
Then thought about destiny, no matter how hard you fight
The unfairness and the fragility of life
by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017
Gray naked trees, forest lawn cloaked in white
Wearing red, bearing arms, hiding motionless and pious
Appearing out of nowhere, an apparition so quiet
One shot rang out, then suddenly dead silence
Nearly half a century, has passed since that year
A revelation came to me, lucidly clear
So beautiful and graceful, yet to live in fear
A life resolving murder, of a helpless deer
February 15, 2016 an original poem by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
Am I wrong to ponder
Just how inconsiderate we are
From where we used to be
Today we think we're stars
Trust me we're no twinkle
In anybodies eyes,
Internally we should despise
Simply look how we treat the innocent
When they'll never produce our whatever
Meaning means that
Inhumane, as humans sever
Lets just close our eyes
Whilst role reversal plays
When a Gorilla tells you what to do
Do you have the balls to say nae
Will this ever happen
What humans dreams becomes
I truly hope their dreams come true
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2017
Requiem of a Phoenix
Silhouettes and storm clouds loom,
etched against a blackened sky
by bolts of electric blue
and ashen moon rays.
I mourn at dusk; the death of the light.
Languid flames dance
from tree to tree,
as a passing of the torch
to the sacrificial pyre.
I mourn by fire; the death of the light.
A tormented world in anguish
heaves a guttural howl,
which resonates through the darkness
carving deep channels in tangible silence.
I mourn in song; the death of the light.
Absently numb, I view it all
with a looming realization
that I was never made for this world
captive to flesh and desolation.
I mourn alone; the death of the light.
I surrender to my captivity.
I surrender to the agony.
I surrender to the storm and fire.
I embrace the void.
From the cinders of night
skyward I strain on bolts of electric blue
pursuing the tranquility of the moonlight.
Unqualified freedom granted by absolute loss
is a new captivity.
So mourn I at daybreak, the death of the night.
For Contest: Mythical Creatures
Hosted by: Julia Ward
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2017
I have become the tree, perched on a limb,
Bow in hand, camouflaged grey, black, and brown.
Looking with my eyes, not moving my brim,
Detecting movement, the forest slows down.
Suddenly, a flicker of ear and tail,
Flashes in the sun entering my view.
Deer browsing, eyes darting, heads bob, ears flail,
Squirrel climbs near, my position askew.
Chattering loudly, bushy tail thrashing,
Alerting of danger for all to hear.
Blue jay flies in and joins with jeers lashing,
Deer, with a flick of the flag, disappear.
Why can't humans communicate so well,
Spanning differences, on earth where we dwell?
Copyright © Michael Vacek | Year Posted 2017
The day I brought you home
I knocked on the door
I waited outside
In hopes he would adore
Who was I kidding
You were the cutest of all
It was nothing but fitting
He loved what he saw
You ran in circles
But never did bark
Found a spot in our bed
And a place in our hearts
You're ready to leave
I see it in your eyes
I'm preparing to grieve
And say my good byes
The others have gone
Leaving just you
You're becoming so weak
You want to go too
But you stand and stare
What are you thinking
Are you even aware
Your boat is sinking
Or did you already go
Leaving your flesh
Are you at peace somewhere
You can finally rest
"You've got me on my knees, Layla
Begging darling please, Layla"
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2017
-Bunny Hole- by:SKAT
hidden muddy home
dirty paws, good boy' good boy!
yummy with carrots :)
-Unwanted Fluffiness- by:PD
Big Brown Burlap Bag
drop Bunnies down By the Bay
Better off -Blue grave
~SKAT & PD~
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013
Harambe is dead,
Shot Harambe in the head,
Now my dude is dead
Copyright © Harambe In Heaven | Year Posted 2016
A is for algae, red, green, blue cells, soaking up sun, sliming teeth
B is for bacterial mat, clumping underneath, earliest born, never asleep
C is for coral reef, the place we all find cover or the sand parrotfish chew and release
D is for diatom, all seeded calcium, all float free, all denizens barely seen
E is for eelgrass, nursery meadows of the anchovy, and other browsers of green
F is for fan worm, filter feeder like a flower, 8000 species on which fish feed
G is for giant kelp, floating on bladders of air they’re forests of cold waters clean
H is for helmet, the royalty of snails who protect our feet, queen, emperor, king
I is for isopod, the chameleon crustacean, they color match what they eat
J is for jellyball, or cannonball jellyfish, not upside down or moon, avoid their heat
K is for keyhole limpet, favorite food of ochre stars, will erect its own wall
L is for laver, the sea lettuce of nori, it swirls red skirt as ocean falls
M is for mermaid’s purse, the sack of the skate whose yolk keeps them alive
N is for nerite, the prisoner striped snail of the rocky zone as numerous as a hive
O is for oyster drills, the snails that slurp oysters and use them to lay eggs
P is for pleurobranch, a sea slug answer for oranges, with one active leg
Q is for quahog, the bivalve seaman who can survive eating the mud
R is for rove beetle, the one waiting to snatch the unwary beach hopper for good
S is for saxitoxin, those red tides produced by mating that can paralyze humans
T is for tubular sponge, they squish, bore and encrust as space lends
U is for urchin, those spiny skinned balls, no eyes or noses but dig food in sand
V is for Venus, Music Volutes dined or Vampire Squids skimming along land
W is for whelk, not the musically inclined, but the slow moving snail in a shell
X is for X and a half, the six rayed star, hungry for anything on the half shell
Y is for yucca, blooming on the beach, they bloom nice and tolerate the sand
Z is for Zostera marinara, the address of eel grass when they're feeling grand
All of this green life is what crunches, stinks, dries and slips underfoot
The rest that find the housing and dining compatible means someone’s on the look.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Dead puppies are no fun
Dead puppies rotting in the sun
Dead puppies have no soul?
Dead puppies it takes its toll
Dead puppies no fun at all
Dead puppies don't chase balls
Dead puppies stuck in walls
Dead puppies hit by cars
Dead puppies out side bars
Dead puppies succumb to Parvo
Dead puppies named Pete and Margo
Dead puppies Frozen cold
Dead puppies never old
Dead puppies never yap
Dead puppies in a little girls lap
dead Puppies euthanize
Dead puppies, Owners out side cry
Dead puppies missing eyes
Dead puppies covered in flies
Dead Puppies covered in feces
Dead puppies torn to pieces
Dead puppies with IV's
Dead puppies with broken knees
Dead puppies that where once sick
Dead puppies do no tricks
Dead puppies do not run
Dead puppies are no fun
***NOTE*** This is a bit morbid but it is the realities of an Animal hospital. I worked at one and unfortunately this is the dark side of the animal hospitals. We deal with a lot of dead puppies.
Copyright © eddee shaz | Year Posted 2011
On it s a e
c tt rs.
FULL of LIFE.
ChasedAwayByThe neighborhood dog.
Copyright © Oli Johnson | Year Posted 2014
Three of my chickens are dead and they have left a hole in my heart,
I want to mark their passing, prove that they were alive and very much loved by me,
They were real, breathing and full of life from the start,
Oh they made me laugh, so hilarious and quirky; such fun hidden away on our allotment,
They did no great deeds, were not famous and hardly anyone knew they were there,
Alert and trusting, they followed my steps, looked at me with their heads to one side, wondering and seeing,
They slept in my arms and closed their tiny eyes when I stroked under their beaks,
Laid eggs and loved wholemeal bread, sometimes combining the two in to a healthy treat in their run, pecking and pinching whatever they could,
Stood on my spade when I was trying to dig, and ate the biggest worms I ever did see,
Had me running in circles to catch them, jumped out of the hutch when I thought I’d put them in,
Kicked over their food tin so I’d give them more and always hid in the shed,
Rearranged their sleeping compartments when I had just cleaned them out, kicking the neat straw all over,
Ate all of my winter cabbages and nibbled at my sprouts, sat on the compost heap and looked around, Queens of the allotment!
Were brave in the face of danger, survived against the odds,
When poorly, they slept cozily in my basement, and understood when it was time to die,
They may have only been chickens to most, but to me they were my friends,
Always pleased to see me, they needed me, and greeted me loudly every day,
Three lives have been taken, but I will not forget them,
I will look back and smile, and talk kindly of Muriel, Edith and Ethel,
For they were the three hens that taught me that all life is precious, no matter how unnoticeable and small.
Copyright © Fran Slimon | Year Posted 2014
Harambe, he enjoyed his life,
had nothing much to do.
He sat around and ate all day
in the Cincinnati Zoo.
Born in Texas in ninety-nine,
to Ohio then he went.
He only lived there sixteen months,
before his life was spent.
He was a massive silver back,
largest gorillas known.
He led and supervised his troop
like a king upon a throne.
Was destined to become a dad
when he had grown some more.
Mara and Chewie were his girls;
both of them he did adore.
One day there was a little boy,
who tried to get quite near.
He fell into Harambe's cage
and the folks began to fear.
He tried to save the boy that day.
Confused with all the din,
perhaps he was somewhat too rough
and thought that the boy was kin.
That little boy was standing there
when they shot Harambe dead.
He knew not what was happening,
he was not feeling dread.
The moral of this sad, sad tale
is don’t get in a cage,
neither man nor "savage" beast,
you'll both feel mankind's rage.
Copyright © Terry Hoffman | Year Posted 2016
Who would believe your slim elegant body would win my affection,
when you gracelessly step on toes? Your soft doe skin of cream
spotted brown, floppy ears I threaten to turn into gloves as a joke.
Through many chain jangle calls for walks where you race and lunge
and bark fighting for the right to be with me, how could I turn you away?
When you almost die I am ready to give you away to death, hating the sick
green puke, you become skinnier despite the surgery until finally
one simple shot brings you back to us alive, slurping our hands and faces.
Busy days of science and humanities and government tucked up in a chair,
I forgot you, but you begged let me even eat your apple. let me sit in your lap
but you’re so big now you don’t fit and don't like apple. Chocolate chips cookies, though, a whole batch scarfed from the table and then you wiggle and wag tail,
snarl, your teeth clenched when I offer just one more. We all know who is guilty,
not you, your innocence, your steadfast defense, says it is our family who has forgot.
Finally, it is too late. You hurt too bad, spine enflamed, barely able to walk
or eat. Tomorrow your last day. I pick up the chain, you race happy to join me
down the row of maples losing their last autumn leaves, where my brother and I lead you plodding like an old man, stopping to breathe, and I see stars in my eyes,
saying goodbye. Goodbye to the lady of our family, the Dalmatian Duchess
who loved us best, walked beside us through our childhood days like a guardian.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014
Water, gently filling a bamboo to the brim before snapping,
scared deer running in the right direction, to the hunter,
how many young ones are orphaned in this bloody hunting?
Lily, Temple of Life, 5/2/2014
Syllables count: 16 - 14 - 14
Copyright © Lily Twinkle | Year Posted 2014