A Tribute to Golda
It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.
It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man,
And nixed the idea before it began.
Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.
Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.
Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.
7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~
Copyright © Linda Witt-King | Year Posted 2010
She’s out there chasing a cricket
Through bush, through shrub & through thicket
Together they hop
But when she gets it, she just wants to lick it!
A cat whose vet took his eye
Just cannot quite understand why
His eye’s been enucleated,
3-D vision reduciated,
So now, he keeps an eye out for an eye
Ya gotta keep limericks loose
Think green eggs, or perhaps Dr. Seuss
They’re structured, it’s true,
But they’re also a zoo
Whose tenants are all on the loose!
I frolic in fountains of words
Overflowing with serious absurds
Each poem I write
Wakes up and takes flight
Joining angels and faeries and birds
You ask that we write a good limerick
How to do so, I haven’t a glimmerick
So I struggle and frown
Teaching poems to clown
So a smile on your lips will be shimmerick
A cat with a mouth full of mouse
Brought her feast right into my house
She played with her food
Who was not in the mood
To be a banquet of mouse in the house
The nightmares that shadow my sleep
Stampede the proverbial sheep
Right out of my mind
When I try to unwind
I find my appointment with sleep hard to keep
In her search for original truth
She met people unsavory and couth
She knitted and purled
But only unfurled
Yarns told by new age and old youth
Cat, suddenly pink,
Drinks her water from out of the sink
She looks so absurd
Since she’s been de-furred
I really don’t know what to think!
If one and one is two and two is four,
And there’s only two ways to go through a door,
Then, is earth up or down?
And, where is down town?
These are questions we need to explore!
A was that is an is
Tried to mind my biz
But I sent it packing,
Its presence was lacking
And I don’t have time for such shiz!
A couple who lived in Los Lunas
Loved the wide desert sky’s crystal blueness
They’d stare at the air,
Over here, over there
And rejoice at the feeling of newness
A cat with a very fat gut
Found it easier to walk on his butt
He’d drag it around
Across carpet and ground
And use it to slam the doors shut
Said the Missus to her dear Mr. Otter,
“There’s something I think that you oughta
Do before we get old
To protect us from cold –
You oughta make the hot water hotter!”
The ghosts who live up in my attic
Make noises that sound much like static
I’ve tried to send them away,
But they’re here to stay,
Those staticky ghosts in my attic
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2007
The English language does not serve up justice to the word ‘Love’.
It allows for an unrestricted usage relative to the object of our affection.
“I love my house, and I love my car; I love my dog, and I love my cat”.
If the equity in my house rises high enough, I will sell it and buy a better one.
If my car no longer performs or I desire to have a new one, I’ll sell or trade it.
My dog stands by me, and he’s my best friend. My cat is quiet and very comforting.
“I love my teachers, and I love my preachers: I love my parents and my siblings”.
I love my job, and I love my blue suede shoes; I love my friends and my enemies”.
I tell you, there is no end to the things that I love without much distinction.
I love my husband; I love my wife; Now hold on! This is where the red flag must fall.
This is where the defining line of true love is drawn in the sand, and here, I take my stand. There are obviously hidden meanings when it comes to “Love” in the English language.
Why did the English not confer more with the Greeks in matters of the “Love Word”?
Would my wife not be much more appreciative of a “Love Word” from me if she knew that my choice of words was different from, let’s say those used to describe my affinity for a professional football team? I think yes.
Anyway, I do “LOVE” my wife far more and far longer than I ‘love’ the raise I received on my job. English is the only language I know. So I am stuck with loving the coffee she made for me, and LOVING her with the same word.
The Greeks seemed to have had a better idea. In the Greek, there are at least three words for “Love”. Those words are very relevant at this point. Phileo, Eros, and Agape express three distinct meanings of “Love”. Phileo love is a brotherly love from which we get the English word Philadelphia. Eros is a romantic love from which we get the word Erotic. In Christian theology, Agape is the divine love, or God’s love for mankind.
And now a final word, especially to all of us who are married. Here is one way to clear everything up and cover all the bases of love. Herein lies a way to not just hit a home run, but a grand slam. Say these words to your spouse: “Honey, let me count the ways that I love thee; my dear, believe me when I say, I love thee in the English, and I love thee in the Greek; I Phileo you, because you are my best friend; I Eros you, because you are my only lover; and I Agape you with a love so divine. 09292015 (contest )
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015
Sitting, I am graceful
And ever paceful.
I am waiting.
Waiting for you to die.
I let loose a slow soft purr
-I am content at the thought -
As I sit and stare,
At your body ageing,
No longer intimately engaging.
Even your once silvery-white shine
Has diminished to a dull grey.
Young and lean your were the night owl
Lurching, taut and on the prowl,
Lean: you sported no spare ounce,
You pull but I pounce.
Don't you know that cats eat birds, oh fair owl?
I look upon you now
Frail and infirm
An owl with broken wings
that still insists on trying to fly
I'm still waiting
Still waiting for you to die.
I swish from left to right
Angry that you still choose to fight.
You rasp for one last kiss
Trying to catch this final fleeting moment
The sound of our saliva – a discordant hiss
Your lips become still
Your hands limp
And just like that you pass.
In death you are serene
Framed within your silvery-white hair
Long-since-lost longing re-emerges
As I look upon your face so fair
In shame I hold my breath
and weep as I feel a sense of freedom
upon your death.
Now our home is different
Your painful moaning replaced by
The cloying sense of death
In the air
Replaced by the feel of
Soft soft fur.
His 'meow' wakes me
The sight of my tom-cat Teddy
True there were many of them – tiny tiny things
All big bright eyes
Pouncing with vivacity
Prowling with ferocity
But the failing, wobbly tomcat
Making the hissing sound
Inexplicably took my breath away.
I stroke his frail neck,
A barely audible purr responds,
He struggles to my lap
He no longer wants to play.
I stroke his once silvery-white fur
Now diminished to a dull grey.
Copyright © Rebecca Huxley | Year Posted 2017