Narrative Pets Poems

These Narrative Pets poems are examples of Narrative poems about Pets. These are the best examples of Narrative Pets poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative |
There was a little dog one day,
Who ambled on his aimless way.
He didn't have a house or home:
A doggy bed or fine meat bone.

His coat was mats and full of fleas.
He owned no boy to try and please.
Near garbage bin was where he sat,
Along with one sad, homeless cat.

His human threw him out you see.
This person wasn't you or me.
For we would never be so cruel,
Or act like some poor, heartless fool.

The winter came and with it cold.
Dog's airy ways were put on hold.
He shivered in the dark of night:
A sad, pathetic, needy sight.

And then a storm blew in with snow.
It left dog with no place to go.
He sat and whined beside the road,
For someone kind to lift his load.

Then came a car -- slow passing by.
A young boy warm and loved inside.
He saw the freezing, half grown pup 
And begged they stop and pick him up.

The winter passed and next the spring.
Now please behold a wondrous thing.
A boy and dog romp on the grass.
All mats and fleas now in the past.

It's joy and love and fun we see. 
The way that God meant it should be.
Both run and play, all pain now past;
This bond of dog and boy shall last.

The sad thing is allotted time
Of man and dog will just not rhyme.
The boy will know sad loss of friend,
Long years before his own sure end.

Then in a time that's yet to be,
They'll reunite both young and free.
Forever will their bond go on,
In timeless sunsets, countless dawns.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
                          My daughter`s budgie "Sissie" died a late night
                       The next morning I told her that "Sissie" was dead
                     With tears on her eyes and cheeks, she asked her mom
                      - Is "Sissie" in heaven with God and grandmother ?
                       - Yes, she is with God, grandmother and the angels
                                                I answer her

                         Surprised at this answer, my daughter investigate
                                            whether it was true
                             She walks into the room where the cage with
                                         the budgie used to stand
                             After a short while, she runs back to mom....
                        - Mom, mom.... God has not only taken "Sissie"
                                       - God has taken the cage too


                              This is a true story  -  - - from gold child`s mouth

dedicated to: Laila A.Mjelde
A-L Andresen :9
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
A most unfortunate event
has occurred at our house.
It's embarrassing to admit,
We have a resident mouse.

The elusive little devil
has avoided every trap.
Though set in various places,
we've yet to hear a snap.

We have a playful tomcat
who loves his toy mouse,
carries it clutched in his teeth 
to flip, toss and pounce.

Unfortunately, he performs
the same with a live one.
I'm urging, "Get it, kill it,"
he's too busy having fun.

Again and again he turns
it loose, enjoying the chase.
The mouse runs for his life,
hopeful of winning the race.

The crafty little victim
eludes the slothful brute,
scuttles down a heat vent, 
leaves Tom to other pursuits.

Whereupon he saunters around,
searching for his toy mouse.
We're left with a useless cat
and a mouse in the house.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel.  All so familiar, so ordinary.  Just like every other day he mused.  Nothing new.  Nothing special.

Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him.  But in reality, he was bored.  It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation.  Too many days.   Too much disappointment.  He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of  their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first.  It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.

Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade.  In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with.  You know the type.  Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog.  Kids poking their fingers  through the kennel screen or banging on it.  Some even making barking sounds.  He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.

Walter was very picky.  Set in his ways after so many years.  He had had it good for  a long time.  An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself.  No tricks. No stunts.  Just long naps and daily walks.  A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner.  He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom.  Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together.  And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.

But those days were gone now.  First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back.  The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly.  The walks became less frequent.  Walter did what he could.   He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too.  At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.

He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye.  I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.”  Walter could see the tears in his eyes.  He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist.  It was obvious there were no alternatives.  And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner.  But he was going to miss him.  It was not going to be easy to adjust.

But adjust he did.   He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs  trot past his cage with light hearts and  new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations.  But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound.  Everyone wanted the young ones.  So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.

He heard them before the saw them.  ”Honey” the voice said.  ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.”  Walters ears perked up a little.  ”Do I know them” he thought.  ”They seem to know me”.  I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.

“It is him” the man said.  ”Walter, how you doing boy?  Do you remember me?”

And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him.  He used to live right across the street.  He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket.  With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing.  It was good to see an old friend.

“What do you say hon” the man said.  ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”

Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement.  ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”

The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter?  Would you like to go home with us?”

Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more.  A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew.  What was there not to like.

Soon the woman returned and the gate opened.  A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention.  Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off.  ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought.  ”Good luck and goodbye”.

As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter.  There is someone I am going to take you to see.  I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”

Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about.  And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.

Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
I believe in Heaven, and I believe dogs, as well as humans, go there. I had my own dog 
once upon a time, a Miniature Eskimo named Ollyver. Each night I’d find him waiting on the 
other side of the door to jump up into my arms when I came home from work. When he got 
older, I was forced to give him up, and I’d always wondered what became of him.  

One night I dreamed I awoke to find him by my pillow, staring at me with his wistful brown 
eyes. So vivid was that dream that my soul flooded with joy as I gathered him up and felt 
his soft fur against my arms and face. It was the realest dream I’d ever experienced. He 
would have been quite old by then, so I like to believe he came back that night on his way to 
Heaven to tell me goodbye. 

I imagine Ollyver, as well as my other precious deceased pet, a cat named Callie, in that 
bright new place, sitting by its Pearly gates, biding their time, waiting just for me! I hope one 
day, in the Hereafter, to gather those sweet pets of mine up into my arms! 

* This is an excerpt from a longer work which included another animal I called Church Dog, 
but I could not fit the whole narrative onto this page, so this is the part that tells about two 
pets that I lost. Andrea Dietrich

For Constance - a Rambling Poet's mini-blog contest: All Creatures Great And Small

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

He came night after night. I don’t know how long he favored me in such an appreciative manner, but I was most pleased when I realized it.                     

We had moved back into a property that  had been rented out for nearly fifteen years. The clean-up was one tough job, because the back yard was filled with more than a few of 'this, that, or the other' that had to be trashed.  So when my neighborly friend was spotted patrolling my yard one night, I was more than elated and grateful to see him.

He took the same route each night, and we did make eye contact.  But I purposely refused to formerly meet him, because I did not want to become close to him.  So I never bothered to offer him food or drink.

For reasons I will never know, he ceased to make his rounds. During the tenure of that treasured neighbor, the rodents disappeared.  But I’m disappointed with myself for keeping a wall between us.  He deserved better.                                               

Sometimes I feel sad, because comparatively, I gave him so little.  But I must say that I have always been much appreciative of the kindness he shared with me.   I shall never forget the dedication with which the neighborly cat donated his time and served me so faithfully.
04152016  PS Contest, Your Absolute Best 11, The Seeker

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
He seemed very much like those white dogs before,
With a raggedy coat, pointed ears and much more.
But the likeness soon ended to those dogs gone away.
For he'd never known kindness or love in his day.

He didn't know words, didn't even know stairs.
His nose, from the kennel, was chaffed of its hair.
Boredom was passed licking fur from his paws.
The pads on his feet bordered long, ragged claws.

He paced back and forth mostly all of each day:
Slept in a tight ball to keep cold nights away.
Wary of children and grown men alike: 
Startling sounds made him cringe out of sight.

He was hungry and thin: I could feel every bone.
He stayed by me like glue and was scared left alone.
He wolfed down his food in an uneasy rush.
He didn't know combs and felt fear of the brush.

But time has now passed since the dog came to stay
From that harsh, lonely kennel on a hill far away.
This little white dog now seems mostly like them:
Those former white terriers, my sweet, loyal friends.

He now spends his time . . like before . .  by my side.
But something has changed, for he's not there to hide.
With all of this good there is even much more.
He now plays with his toys and will ask for the door.

He eats with good manners, sleeps sound in his bed:
Stretched out in contentment, fun dreams in his head.
He loves his car outings and with each early spring,
Explores the old pathways our daily walk brings.

I'm so happy to have him, as he sits on my lap,
Or sleeps by my chair for his afternoon nap.
He never will know all of the bad things again.
His life will be happy with me as his friend.

Yet as good as it's been for this dog to find me.
To learn love and to trust and from anguish be free.
I too have been blessed one more time from above,
By Him sending another white dog here to love.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
When I went back home for longer vacation Surprised to see our backyard turning out to be a mini-zoo My younger brother had adopted lots of pets Winged, furry, reptiles… I couldn’t name the rest I was spurred to tour around , it was so fun I saw seven cows, five goats, grazing in our farm Geese, ducks, turkeys and various breeds of chicken My mother was there, happily feeding them There was even a big brown snake in an iron cage I trembled, I didn’t even glance or gaze I liked the yellow and black birds, Kiaos and Martines They were learning to talk, one partly warbled, Fur Elise Among his pets, furry ones got my full attention Dino, the monkey was tending cows with our four dogs Holding cow’s ropes, they came to me in wagging tails Then afar, I saw Panny Bat, our bird’s fruit supplier Dino, Doggies Pandak, Poom, Pashang and Pampu Were amazing caretaker- pets in our farm’s mini-zoo Farm heroes, we named them including Panny Who went out at night then returned to her cage the next day I’ve tamed and befriended with these farm heroes I rewarded Dino some lollipops, our four dogs with foods Panny Bat, 'though untouchable was so cute Her face absolutely resembled with our four dogs When I’ve heard the loss of the three farm heroes last year Died of ailments were Doggy Pandak, Poom and Dino Gear And after a month, Panny Bat suddenly disappeared Members of our family, including myself grieved March 6, 2016 10.20pm -This poem was also written for my younger brother who, until now have these pets at home. His small fishpond was not included in the poem. The Kiaos and Martins (look like mynahs) were 5-7 I think. My mom taught them to sing Fur Elise, Do A Deer etc… Fourth Place Contest: Furry Friend Judged: 5/6/2016 Sponsor: Poet Royal

Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
The rabbit 
Two houses side by side
One couple had a rabbit
One couple had a dog
The dog loved the rabbit
Was next door all the time 
The couple with the rabbit 
Went away on vacation 
Before they left 
Their rabbit died
They buried it in their backyard 
The dog was very sad 
Dug it up and brought it home
The dogs owners were mortified 
Thought their dog had killed 
The neighbors rabbit 
So they washed the mud off
Fluffed it up and put it back in the cage
When the neighbors returned 
They were astonished 
To see the rabbit back in the cage
All white and fluffy as though never been buried !

Copyright © Tanis Troutman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
She curled her tail around her toes,
Covering whiskers, chin and nose.
An ear twitch here, another there;
She claimed as hers the easy chair.

Tormentor of both mole and mouse,
She spent the summer out of house.
Plundered, pillaged, night and day,
No mercy for dim witted prey.

Summer passed and then the fall,
As bitter cold left wintery pall.
The feline wanted none of that;
Once more she posed as family cat. 

She lay about each day and night: 
Purred when stroked and feigned delight.
Her bowl, her chair and toilet place, 
Were all she claimed as sovereign space.

The season wore on long and cold.
Outside most life seemed put on hold.
The feline lay there still as dead,
Entombed within her winter bed.

Come now the spring with days of fair;
The old cat stretched within her chair.
A well placed nose near open sill;
She felt the much diminished chill.

Then rushed to door that still was closed.
Cries from her pleading throat arose.
Weaving through her mistress legs;
"Let me out," brash feline begged.

As chipmunk fed in hemlock crotch,
Unfettered cat dashed off the porch.
With one quick scramble up the tree;
A winter cat she ceased to be.

Do we not marvel at her grace,
Ere all those months confined in place?
The cat resumes with guileless ease,
Her summer reign of fields and trees.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
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

Details | Narrative |

In an old Victorian building live two cats and a lady,
The girl cat is Patches and the boy cat is called Peanut;
And the lady is called mother, they all live in harmony.
One day, mother decided the cats needed to have collars,
So, she bought a pink one for Patches and a blue one for Peanut;
Each collar had a little bell that tinkled and tinkled as the cats walked.

Now, Patches loved her collar but Peanut twisted about,
He flopped on his back, putting his paws inside the blue collar; 
Finally, the bell fell off and he pounced after it across the room.
As Patches walked around her little bell went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
Peanut was determined to get that bell and became quite the pest;
Mother talked to Peanut telling him to STOP and leave the bell alone.

When mother came home from work the cats came,
She reached to stroke Patches and noticed the pink collar;
The bell was MISSING, she looked at Peanut, bad cat she said.
Where the bells went is still a MYSTERY that will stay unsolved,
Patches always wore her pink collar, she really loved to show it off;
Peanut totalled destroyed his within days and was very proud of that.

Mother pulled out furniture to look for those bells,
She looked in every corner, in every cupboard and drawer;
The bells were too big to eat, where did Peanut put those bells.
Well in time Peanut, although young went to heaven, God decides,
Patches followed not long after and mother was left so heartbroken;
One night, she was awoken to the sound of two tinkling, tinkling bells.

And still years after . . . she often hears those mysterious tinkling bells. 

October 27, 2012


In Memory of Peanut the Cat and Patches the Cat
(and the bells have never been found)

Submitted to the contest, Mystery
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along, 
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.

Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall, 
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.

Mama cat was even so bold 
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;  
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat  
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.

Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws. 
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.

Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,  
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run. 

Written by:  Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place

Copyright © Carolyn Henderson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
             Christy, Christafur  Cat.

Was a southern cat.
His ancestors came from the south of Spain.

His Great, Great, Grandfather was a
venturesome Cat who came across the Seven Seas.

Not Long after that he met another southern 
Cat This one from the heart of Georgia.

As the years came and went History was
 recorded by some other Cats.

To which Christy, Christafur, Cat asks.
Why is that? How do you know that?
Can you prove that? Is that a fact? 

My dear Christy, Christafur, Cat I
really don’t know. You are  such a Loveable
Cat. That is that. YOU CAT!

John H. Hardison..

Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I find it hard to tell you of the love I felt for them:
The gentle little creatures that I came to call my friends.
They joined me at a time of life when human touch grew sparse.
When memories of some folks I'd loved were best left in the past.

A time with children leaving home to spread their wings and fly,
While I remained upon the ground to wave a fond goodbye.
I felt the good Lord knew I'd need someone to love just then;
One for laughter, one for joy and both to be my friend.

As shadows of the day crept in and home meant only me;
Two faces framed in window pane were what each night I’d see.
Returning to a quiet house to find them there alone,
Lit up the pathway to my heart and made my house my home.

The daily walks, the food, the care, the petting, and the play:
Led me from my former life, to a life I have today.
Their the first things that were tended when I woke up each new morn
And the last face that was seen by me until a brand new dawn.

I'm not ashamed to tell the truth; they slept upon my bed.
Snuggled up against my side while I clung to the edge.
And when I felt just out of sorts, as happened frequently.
Concern was in their caring eyes, kind head upon each knee.

Yes; I have known all kinds of love, but this one's not the least.
Some brought laughter, some brought joy, but this love brought me peace.
And on each day they went away, per orders from above;
I thanked the Lord for sending me, 'This Other Kind Of Love'.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
It’s the end of year three since the old dog went free;
A rough patch that has softened with time.
I recalled it today . . his going away:
One bad verse in a beautiful rhyme.

Once again I shed tears remembering those years:
Peace of mind then eluded my day.
The other dog too, who soon followed him through:
Both forever live on . . far away.

Now a new girl and boy strive to bring the same joy
And replace that which never can be:
The return of my friends from where heaven begins:
Once again, just those two friends and me.

Let’s pretend it were so . . there'd be changes you know;
For no more would there be only three.
We would share each new day in the old fun-fulled way,
My two old friends . .  my new friends . . and me.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

                                         She smiles all day she thinks it' s o.k.
                                       She makes weird sounds and it's all day
                         My Aunt I asked will you not make that silly sound today?
                            My Aunt looked at me and said why? she always say
                             In public she snorts when she laughs and I get that
                           But when things get out of hand she scares my the cat
                                    I have a cat but my Aunt well she kinda sat
                                      Poor little cat it was now a furry little mat
                          I get really mad at her, but she seems to make me smile
                      Because one day we walked, she sang me a song about a mile
                                   I was happy because she ran out of gas at last
                                She also could not speak at all, and that was a blast
                                                 Although she could not speak 
                                       She kept smiling she once never look bleak
                   My Aunt Willy who's Silly is the person who never does things in half's
                           I can not express any louder she makes me smile with laughs

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
As a kitten,
he ran away the moment
I opened my door,
or saw the bright crack
between the door
getting bigger.

I knew the secret spot he loved
to come and dine;
I put a share of my meals
on that spot each day. As you
expect, he warmed up.

Now we are close buddies;
sometimes I feel as though
I'm in a company of a human,
with its breathing and stare,
as though it knows what
I'm saying or doing.

It rubs my legs with its furry tail,
whenever I return home from work.
I wish my girlfriend acted that excited,
every time she saw me…..

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Some sounds like the noise of bees
Hovering around the atmosphere
Or like rain drops on our roof tops,
I opened my round window
The window of my hut,
I wanted to know
Why my sleep won't mellow,
All i saw was sorrow
As the atmosphere turned green.
The cassava farm was over shadowed
Banana plantation feebled,
Apple orchard struggled
Yet their efforts stifled,
Lemon grass for mama's herb withered,
Rose flower shattered and our 
Groundnut farm tattered.
Suddenly,the green army fled,
Tears exuded from my eyes
As i sputtered in pain,
Mother filled with melancholy,
Father tore his heart in grief
Villagers hope captured and crippled,
So their travail displayed as
Everyone mourned over 
The locust plaque.....


Copyright © Charles Melody Lightning Ink | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
If deserted, was I, on an island, and was allowed only three integral items to take with me, what would they be?

If we are speaking of material things, I suppose I would take my favorite book in the whole world, "Ask Dr. Mueller" by Cookie Mueller. It is a book I cherish, and can read perpetually because it's just that good.

If, by some strange coincidence, there happened to electricity on the island, and an old, abandoned, yet functional CD player just so happened to be found, then I would want my favorite album in the world with me: "Live Through This" by Hole. I worship Courtney Love and her music. She is a grunge Goddess to me. I love every song on that album.

If pen and paper could magically count as just one item, then I would take mountains of paper and a plethora of pens so I could record everything and continue writing poetry while hoping to be rescued.

My acoustic Gibson Epiphone means the world to me; I cannot imagine not having it with me. I know how to play all the songs off "Live Through This", so perhaps I would choose my guitar instead; that way I can still enjoy those songs as I still compose more of my own; that makes sense, right?

If, by Divine Intervention, there was an abandoned, yet functional TV and DVD player, I would have to consider taking all seven seasons of "The Golden Girls"; I don't think I could survive without the Golden Girls; it's my favorite show ever. And also all of the "Star Wars" movies; those I cherish, too.

And also, since I am an addict/alcoholic, I would want to take tons of pills, whisky and Cola with me; I'm sure I could not survive without those.

I understand that perhaps people or pets may not be considered as "items", but if I could choose among them, well, I would have to take my loving partner, my best friend of twenty years and my two dogs, Sammy and Bilbo, and my three kitties: Marley, Archie and Punky (of course I count them all as one because I like to break the rules).

Since there are so many things I do not think I can live without, it's an impossible decision. But these are my considerations, nonetheless.

*What Would You Take Contest Entry

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
the old Shanghai,
that most devoted friend
doing a duty so faithfully, crowing,
rousing the farmer at break of dawn;

the proud Shanghai,
arrogantly strutting off, chest out,
white plumes advertising his place
among feathered brethrens in the farm;

the lusty Shanghai,
flirting with a harem of adoring hens 
if not fighting a rooster over some slight,
imagined or otherwise, though actually
just attracting attention from other hens;

the loyal Shanghai,
keeping his farmer-friend company
through many years of rain or shine,
never demanding anything in return
just his daily feeds, a friend indeed;

late waking up one morning the farmer,
when the sun is bright high up in the sky;
damn that Shanghai not to rouse him!
rubbing his eyes, rushing to the barn
to scold the lazy fowl forgetting his job;

tears flowing down the farmer's face,
eyes on a form prone on the ground;
leaving him without saying goodbye,
the Shanghai has died in the night;

no more the old, faithful Shanghai
for him greeting a brand-new morn
when the tired world again awakens 
in bold renewal, new hope bringing;

I miss that old Shanghai of mine. 

Copyright © Wilfredo Derequito | Year Posted 2007

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The light is fading, evening breaks
Between the oaken woods and lake,
It's time to finish with the row
And homeward bound, the trail to take.

With rake in hand I turn to go
To find my pick axe and the hoe,
When from the trail there ran a buck
And right behind him came two doe.

At first I thought, what rotten luck!
I'm here, my rifle's in the truck,
Then, as he stopped to look my way
He gave his tail a flip and tuck.

And then he spun and bounced away
The doe behind him sleek and grey,
Crashing through the brush and vine
Into the woods and welcomed shade.

He must have sported twenty tine
I thought as Shadow starts to whine,
Asking, should he give him chase?
I pat his head in soft decline.

The sun is gone upon my face
To lose the buck is no disgrace,
Although today I've been undone
There'll be another time and place.

Today the buck has rightly won
The hunters gone, the season done,
Perhaps we'll meet again next year
Before the season's had it's run.

The buck was ancient, and I fear
He may not see another year,
But then, another year is seldom clear
For man, or dog, or antlered deer.

                     Timothy I. Brumley

Copyright © Timothy Brumley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

The truth was concealed with many branches 
as he put the shovel in the earth
With dry eyed dread he shakes his head
He's not a man to show emotion
He'll do the job, dig up ground
go through the motions,  build up the mound
before the evening sun goes down.

His wife and son are standing by
While grief swells up and tears are cried
no hidden thoughts of pride from them
They stand aside, and he begins

Beside him in the crate, homemade,
so gently he has laid the dog

Old "Oliver", ….was his best friend
who had come to them, from who knows where
and with him came a million woes
of muddy paws and ticks and fleas
of broken screens, and mother's screams
of slippers torn, and growing pains

And a love like no one understands
until they've known this kind

The truth was concealed with many branches
He wasn't a man to show emotion
He motions them to come, and bring
a worn-out shoe, a toy or two
to lay within the earthly loam

And then beneath the chestnut tree 
He puts the crate into the grave
then shovels dirt again…

He walks away….he cannot speak
another word today

For Contest: "Camouflage Me A Poem"
Sponsor: Broken Wings

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

The temperature plummeted to 26 last night
I figured something like that 
When I discovered the cats  
On my bed  
In fact, side by side 
Actually touching; 
No batting or hissing involved 

So according to Fluffy, 
Hades froze over

Copyright © KJ Hooten | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

There once was a little Jack Russell
who was as sweet as she was cute
and went by the nicname of hoot.

Now in the evening the
family would gather 
to spend family time together.
Everyone including Hoot was there.

Me on the couch
the kids on the floor
and dad in his favorite chair.

As we sat there a smell most foul
quickly filled the air.

It seems our sweet little hoot
had let loose with a toot
and now we are all fighting for air.

Copyright © Terry L. Allen | Year Posted 2012

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It's nice just lazing out here in the sun.
I'm getting on in years, so they tell me.
Touching 50[6 really] and hoping for a few more.
My brother, Levi, like me, was adopted.
He's half my age but I'm still as nippy.
Young 'un, Eli, now he is fast, hard to keep up with.
All 3 of us are adopted into this family.
Oh , I'm Lexi by the way.
My bro' Levi was found abandoned and taken in.
Young 'un, Eli, a right little tearaway!
We all live in luxury here and we know it.
We have more than enough to eat and treats too.
We sleep and play to our hearts content.
We have all the love and tender care we need.
We go to the doctors regular for our check ups.
There was a time we all had to go but didn't want to.
The less said about those memories the better. Ouch!
We have our own hairdresser, who makes us look great.
Everyone who comes to the house gets a warm welcome.
You won't see us wandering, because we are cared for.
If you see us out and about, come and say hello.
There are many others just like us but are locked up.
They would love you to visit too and maybe adopt them.
We all need somebody to love and to be loved by.
So it's time to say goodbye and thanks for reading our note.
Love from Lexi, and Levi and Eli the 4 legged members of
The Timperley Family.

Not a poem , more of a muse from another angle.

© Dave Timperley February 2016

Copyright © Dave Timperley | Year Posted 2016

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Leo was a feline, passed away at nine.
She lived six years in the house where
She was born. Her Mother was a stray
Michelle fed at the curb. Elsa was a
Stray, half-dead. Smelled the goldfish
We had in a pond in the backyard.
A can of tuna brought her back to life.
Diedra and Gary are my beautiful kids too.
I am a Mom to all of God's beautiful ones.

Copyright © June Ellen Smith | Year Posted 2010

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She scurried throughout the kitchen
    With her echoing meow
Right into the bedroom....
    Couldn't imagine what Samii was up to?

She started to poke in and around
    A mound of folded clothes
Strategically positioned
    On the left hand side 
Of the bed.

She kept poking, and poking further
    But the pile of clothes 
Collapsed on top of her,
    Only to find her poking deeper
And deeper inside.

I could only see
    That from her hips
Back to the tip of her tail
    With such intensity
That her hips
    Did sway, sway, and SWAY
With such force 
    Until she finally got 
Her catch of the day!

She glanced aside at me 
    As if to say:
"I will do what you tell me:  To obey!"
    So without hesitation
She leaped off my bed 
    And with pride in fulfilling her duty
Managed to corner her opponent 
    In the bedroom
Beneath the window
    Towards the bay.

Running along the baseboard,
    From one end to the other end
This cat and mouse game
    Lasted for five minutes or so,
As if they were friends at play,
    But after all that she did
The mouse had apparently 
    Outwit her match
And must have sneaked
    Into an unnoticed hole
And did finally get away!

However, only twenty four hours later,
    The mouse that got away
Was eventually Samii's catch of the day!

Copyright © Valerie Ann Thomas | Year Posted 2014

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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,
And failing
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
I paw
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 
playful purring,
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
Takes me.
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

Details | Narrative |
i go in the morning, 
as i normally do, and 
warm my cup of coffee,
robust awakenings to today,
sit down and begin to arouse and 
contemplate the day before me

after a bit, i move about and 
down the last of the cup,
then i swish the final in 
and i realize immediately 
and run to the kitchen sink 
a few steps away
...and spit out.

i look down and see
a dark form in the sink
unmoving, i mindfully think,
a fly, as dead

with revulsion i feel
the solidness still
within my mouth bouncing 
across my tongue,
and glance again
to the bottom of the sink
and spy the second fly!

two dead flies i surmise
were stroking in my cup
in the romance of the night,
buzzing vaguely French soundings
between them, ripples expanding
in their caffeinated pool

"aaah, my dear you make me
feel so alive! so energized!"

"oooh, i too feel alive my love
in this cool dark water
with you...drowning beside me"

and i wonder if these
anthropomorphic house flies
really loved each other...really,
and would prefer to...go down,
together rather than fly alone
past one more night of 
speeding blissful intercourse

touching, still, it leaves a
peculiar taste in my mouth

© Goode Guy 2011-10-04

a guy, alas, a true story.



four days later, i wake and 
find my cup in the kitchen.
a bit more savvy now
i dump the inch or so
left in the cup, in the sink

a dark form, forlorn, lies still
the winged jilted lover, 
i think, how  bittersweet,
that the third too, wished
to commit caffeinated suicide

now that the pot is hot and
a new day is possible

© Goode Guy 2011-10-08

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2011