Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
It’s always a good practice when living on a farm,
To have a family of cats living in the barn
They always keep the rats and mice at bay and furnish humor too –
Wherever you find kittens there’s usually a laugh or two.
Now, I remember one time, I was out there milking cows,
When I noticed three young kittens, out and on the prowl.
One, a fine young tomcat, was really acting brave
And I wondered if he faced some fear just how he would behave.
Skillfully I squeezed and threw some milk across his face –
He winced a bit, then licked his lips – he knew he’d found the place.
We played around awhile and soon the playing stalled
When he stopped and took a minute to answer nature’s call.
He didn’t know it but he backed himself up to a fresh cow pad
He grunted; then had the best little poop a kitten ever had.
He turned around to cover it; then began the fun.
He knew what he saw lying there was more than he had done.
He arched his back, let out a scream and broke into a run.
I thought, at first, it might have been something I had done.
But soon it was no mystery what scared that little cat.
There was the giant pile of poop I couldn’t help laughing at.
This kitten was the alpha kitten of the litter
Who ultimately proved to me that he was no quitter.
So, when the time came to find him a name…
Well ….. I just called him……”Fraidy”
Written By John Posey
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013
The mean old housecat has bulgy eyes
when she looks at us in our fish bowl
Oh, how much we've come to despise
that big mouth of hers, the black hole
Poised to pounce with sharpened claws
She's taking jabs with hatred brimming
that ugly feline beast with drooling jaws
for us little fishes, innocently swimming
Our little bowl is cosy, room for only two
bad kitty on the outside, always looking in
If her paw ever grabs us, what are we to do
we’d be much safer in a smelly sardine tin!
If she ever catches us, we’ve got big troubles
perhaps in her dreams she sees us as fat trout
In fear we produced a stream of gassy bubbles
If only our owner would give bad kitty a clout!
All the chaos made us soil ourselves with poop
so we let that mean old cat feast on a tasty treat
When her nasty tongue slurped intestinal goop
the beast screeched in horror! Revenge is sweet!
Our owner came home and cleaned out the bowl
Soon we returned to our safe sweet smelling home
Kitty got banned but can see us through the keyhole
Now we don’t suffer from irritable bowl syndrome!
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017
I have a cat
A real fat cat
My cat is all black
My black fat cat
It is a cat with a knack
A true fact about my cat
My fat black cat
She has a knack to catch a rat
My all black cat brought me the rat
This is why my cat is a fat black cat
So rats watch your back
From my cat with the knack
Or you will become a snack for my fat black cat
Copyright © colleen laforme | Year Posted 2006
The Dog, the Pig and the Cat
Here is a tale of a dog and a cat
and a pot bellied pig, so pink and so fat
Of days in the garden alongside a farm,
a whimsical story of magic and charm
The dog was so hairy of bushy descent,
yellow in color where ever he went
Digging a hole was his prime source of fun,
as a matter of fact he had just finished one
The collar he wore was a leathery thing
with studs made of silver, some puppy dog bling
His tail ever wagging, a happy old guy,
he hung with is friends as the hours passed by
The cat on the other hand, sleek and so fine,
a coat made of orange and white to combine
Cleaning a habit you see in a cat,
but this one was special for she wore a hat
A tiny straw chapeau with fine feathered brim,
a ribbon of pink that was tied neath her chin
Though not really sure of this kitty cat style,
the one thing I knew was it brought out a smile
And there to her left with a snort and a grunt,
was a portly built fellow with legs of a runt
Fine wispy hair that did cover his skin
with a gather of long ones that hung from his chin
Puffing along an attempt to keep pace,
the dog and the cat and the pig they would race
Faster and faster they’d run through the fields
though what was the secret of friendship revealed
None were the same as they differed and so,
still bound together a’ running they’d go
Never before as I think about that
has a dog or a pig ever friended a cat
For ever so prissy, no memories jog
a cat who was friends with a pig and a dog
Though still I could see right in front of my eyes
these three happy creatures, oh what a surprise
What is the moral of all that I see?
It sure does not matter of your company
Whether a dog or a pig or a cat,
you can make friends with whomever you chat
People are different in color and race
but everyone seems to be wearing a face
A face that can smile, a face that can cry,
a face that can hello or even good bye
If only we each took the time to be kind
there is no end to the friends we can find
Something so simple, a smile or a grin,
that is how so many friendships begin
No matter the differences that we might see,
it pays for each of us to every time be
Nice to each other and all things like that,
just like the dog and the pig and the cat
Written for the Fable poetry contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
The morning aches like bricks today
And every step I take, my feet
Feel entangled in wild weed
I will not leave, I think I'll stay
A weight as much a mountains thick
Upon my shoulders burnt and bare
Entombed inside, I do not share
Alone I bend beneath the brick
I reach the wooden chair outside
And sit... and sigh... a kitten's meow
She wants some food, I don't know how...
She doesn't care, stares hungry-eyed
I watch her chase a butterfly
Her spirit reaches out to me
When suddenly a smile I see
Upon my face, I don’t know why
I bring my coffee to the chair
To watch her play so fancy free
The mist lifts from my mind, a bee
Hums summer songs in morning air
It’s now I find my problems so
Are few are farther in between
Enlightened by this morning scene
I feel I’m free to let it go
Augustus 11, 2017
Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
A lady took her duck to the Vet!
He examined the duck, then he said,
"I'm sorry Miss, to inform you,
but I'm afraid, your pet duck is dead!"
"I find it hard, to believe you!
Is there no more tests, you can do?"
He opened the door, then he told her,
"I'll be back in a minute or two."
He came back with a Black Lab Retriever,
and a cat, that was part black and white.
They both sniffed the Duck, from head to foot,
then the Vet says, "they proved I was right!"
He then, gave the lady his bill!
One hundred and fifty, it read!
She replied, "you're charging me that much,
just to tell me, my pet duck is dead?"
"If you believed me, from the beginning,
your bill, would be just twenty bucks!
But, with the Lab report, and the Cat Scan,
I'm afraid, you're just out of luck!"
Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2010
Miss Kitty Katt was famous in the small hometown of mine
And Buster was the town dog -- never knew a boundary line.
Miss Kitty knew no limits except those she had drawn
Which included one she’d posted -- “All dogs stay off this lawn.”
She made it known some time ago and everybody knew
That no dog ever was allowed – they knew what would ensue.
Buster and Tom were hangin’ out. There ain’t no doubt up to no good.
Just out there strollin’ in the hood – Looked up and there Miss Kitty stood.
Now Tom, he knew Miss Kitty -- and Buster was his friend.
And he recognized the trouble they both would soon be in.
Miss Kitty started hissing the way that mad cats do
She had been here many times before and knew just what to do.
She just made straight for Tom with fire in her eyes
Anyone who saw her knew her hate was not disguised.
Miss Kitty’s scream was piercing -- her intent, there was no doubt,
They were walking in her yard and she meant to drive them out.
Ol’ Tom he realized just what there was in store
Since he had also been here many times before.
It sure should draw some water that he was of her kind
But all ol’ Tom could think about was savin’ his behind.
Salvation soon trumped honor and Valor? --- Nowhere to be found.
Tom quickly realized he had no choice – he knelt down to the ground
Miss Kitty in her hissy fit soared right o’er ol’ Tom’s back.
And Buster stood there helpless to handle the attack.
What happened wasn’t pretty and Buster had no doubt
This crazy maddened mama cat was there to take him out.
Nothing could be said or done to change what was to be
When Buster, with a side step knocked Miss Kitty to her knees.
I suppose we’ll always wonder just what went on that day
When Buster and the Tom Katt just went out to play
The Morning News has brought up questions about this strange event
Like how Buster got his broken leg and where Miss Kitty went.
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2012
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
I am in my house,
With a panicked mouse.
Coming back from the fridge
Going through the sand-ridge
Into its hole in a jiffy
Then squeaking out - Yippee !
Then come two rats
With a hard pat on the back
Running along with its mate
Making things obfuscate
Around the bagful of nickels
Crossing the jar full of pickles
The rat and its mate came back trotting
With a block of cheese that was rotting
After some time in a line
Came a parade f rats and mice
With and hats and lice.
Everyone was mournful
But a mouse eating a mouthful
Who was happy and glad
Was making everyone sad.
He ate with nosh
Wearing a hat that was posh
After hogging and stuffing
He got up puffing,
Ready for his quest
Sqeaking good bye to the rest,
He leaped across a runnel
And ran into a thicket
Never to be spotted again.
Copyright © Madhavi Mohalik | Year Posted 2014
“Can you smell something burning,” Dad frowned and I said “Yeah.”
It had the smell of cooking meat, as well as burning hair,
Dad stopped the truck, lifted the bonnet… “Blimey look at that!”
Something was mangled by the fan, looking like Mum’s cat.
“Strike me pink” Dad shook his head, “Mum’s cat’s been on the motor.
It’s been killed by the fan”; and we knew that Mum did dote her.
Dad looked at me with steely eyes, “Get the spade and dig a hole,
I’ll tell you now and only once… don’t tell a living soul”…
… I was halfway through my tea, staying quieter than a mouse.
Mum asked “Has anyone seen Tiddles? She’s not around the house.”
All Mum got was puzzled looks, and the shaking of each head…
Dad glared to remind me, ‘don’t tell a soul the cat is dead.’
Mum loved her cat so much; she’d have Tiddles on her lap
out on the porch at evening time. Contented she would nap.
I hated seeing Mum distressed, but Dad just acted bored,
when Mum said, “I’ll write a note, with an offer of reward.”
‘Ten pounds for her return’; I thought that Mum would smell a rat,
when Dad said “Make it twenty, if you really love your cat.”
The Ad’s printed in the paper, in the column ‘lost and found.’
Dad said to me “I’m feeling guilty now, with Tiddles underground.”
Dad let me drive the tractor while he spread the ragwort spray,
and then blackberries copped a dose before they shoot away,
he emptied out the tank and we went home to wash the gear.
The Evans’ car’s parked in our drive… “What are they doing here?”
Laughter’s in the kitchen; a joyous Mother’s voice did say
“Young Misty here found Tiddles; she was hiding in their hay,
no wonder she would not come home.” I watched Dad’s eyes and jaw.
… Twenty quid, the cat is back… a box of kittens on the floor.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015
Once again it’s Saturday; the day when footy reigns supreme.
The Dogs are up against the Cats, the premier favoured team,
but I’ve got no doubts the mighty Dogs will surely cope with that.
I couldn’t think of nothing worse than being beaten by a Cat.
But then I am reminded by the one who reigns supreme,
when she reads out the date that will affect me footy dream.
It’s the day our Cat and Dog must have, or so my wife confirms,
their little pill preserving health to stop them getting worms.
Now this simple operation should only take a tick or two
for the tablets are just tiny things, so there should be no ado,
but at times our Cat can be cantankerous for reasons of its own
and because today the footy’s on, all reasoning has been blown.
The blasted Cat would not cooperate and then threw a hissy fit,
when I cradled it just like a baby, and expected it to sit
while I applied some pressure so it’s mouth would open wide,
and with my other hand that’s free I’d easily pop the pill inside.
But the pill was knocked out of me hand and rolled across the floor
while the Cat scarped across the sofa and then hid behind the door,
and even though I had it cornered I could tell things were not right
when it spat and scratched me arm to win this battle in the fight.
I retrieved it from the bedroom, and with more force put on a grip
with its front paws held together, and pushed down tight into me hip,
I forced its jaws to open and then popped the pill inside its gob
and clamped its mouth; counted to ten, then watched the tablet lob -
- into the blasted goldfish bowl, and saw the Cat scarp up the hall,
to hide somewhere on a wardrobe with its back hard against a wall,
so it’s time to gather re-enforcements with two tablets wasted now,
and with my wife to back me up we’ll get the tablet down somehow.
I wedged the Cat between me knees and with its head just sticking out,
I made sure its claws are disengaged because its growling left no doubt,
when my wife pushed a funnel in its mouth and with the pill to follow.
I rubbed its neck quite vigorously, now the cat will have to swallow.
I eyed the Cat up on the curtain rail until I’m handed the third pill,
and with the torn lace through the curtains my wife had lost the will
to maximise a healthy Cat because of damage scattered everywhere,
with figurines and vases now in pieces, and are way beyond repair.
It appears we must get serious, and so the Cat is wrapped up in a towel,
with just the head and ears appearing, and we can ignore its howl.
I placed the pill inside a drinking straw, but before I got to blow,
the bloody Cats’ one step ahead, now there are answers I should know.
Are these pills harmful to humans? Do they have some side effects?
Does it hurt to mix with alcohol? Do they dissolve when stuck in necks?
I had to drink two cans of beer to try and take the taste away.
My wife’s wrapped up in band-aids and furious with lots to say.
For there’s blood stains on the carpet from deep scratch marks on her head,
and now I’ve got permission to search inside our neighbours shed,
where I dragged it from a rafter and shoved it in a hessian sack,
and while carrying the Cat back home I mused a new plan of attack.
Into a cupboard goes the Cat, and with the door closed on its neck,
there’s just its head poking out so I’ll have it fixed up in a ‘sec,’
and with the fourth pill in my left hand, and some pliers in me right
to prise the Cats’ mouth open wide and so at last I’ll win this fight.
But for now I must forget the Cat while I replace the cupboard hinges,
and use my whisky so to disinfect; which is a double dose of cringes,
then check my tetanus records just in case I may need another shot,
and replace my T-shirt torn to shreds - then find I’ve been put on the spot.
A car swerved into a neighbour’s fence to avoid the Cat that chose to flee.
Now the fire brigade is here to help because the damn Cats’ up a tree.
And once the scene was cleared up and with the Cat back home alive,
it growled and spat at me in anger when I held up tablet number five.
But before I made me final thrust, I needed courage that’s in beer.
And after half a dozen full strength to this Cat I made it clear,
that I won’t take any of its Tommyrot, and my threat is not a fable,
so with hay band wound around all paws I tied it to the dining table.
And wearing heavy duty garden gloves I took to the bloody Cat;
forced the pill down in its throat and then some raw steak followed that,
before I poured near half a gallon of water down the mongrel’s throat.
It’s a wonder that it didn’t drown but the cursed Cat did stay afloat.
I drank whisky from the bottle when being driven by my wife
to outpatients where a doctor will revive me disappearing life.
I need stitches in me fingers and me forearm, and to regain me sight,
they must remove the remnants of the pill that shot me in the fight.
We need to buy another dining table to replace our splintered one,
and the Cat’s about to find a new home for the damage that it’s done.
So there’s not one once of pity for the Cat I’d love to dearly flog,
but that stays in the background ‘cause it’s time to worm the dog.
So with a sixth pill in me hand the Dog has begging eyes on me,
but I don’t need grief the Cat gave us so used a simple strategy.
I wrapped the tablet in some bacon; the Dog wagged his tail and spun,
then I tossed the bacon high into the air - now all the wormings’ done.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2016
Blood mixed with dirt was still moist on the ground.
Traces of battle were scattered around.
The man entered slowly, a snare on his face.
Trying to hide his contempt and disgrace.
Announced by the cheers of the people above.
Among all the fighters they showed him most love.
Never defeated, no matter the foe.
With him they all knew they would soon see a show.
The man was all muscle, and seven feet tall.
Compared to his size, all the guards appeared small.
His skin was tanned golden, his eyes piercing green.
His hair long and braided and dark with a sheen.
His helmet of metal was fitted just so.
His sword and his shield had a rich, shiny glow.
A belt made of leather protected his waist.
His greaves, thick and sturdy and perfectly laced.
Suddenly silent, the crowd had grown still.
Awaiting arrival, expecting a thrill.
And then there was thunder, the roar of the beast.
Declaring his entrance, predicting a feast.
The man and the lion began in their game.
Predator, prey, they both looked the same.
They circled and circled and then in a blink.
The cat had attacked, so anxious to drink.
They struggled together, locked in a war.
The crowd cheered them on, hoping for gore.
And then he was bitten, the wound on his leg.
But he would not fumble and he would not beg.
He reached for his weapon so close where it lay.
He would not accept this would be his last day.
And just as the creature had pounced in the air.
He killed the great cat with his sword and a prayer.
The fighter stood up with his blood dripping down.
The steel of his helmet concealing his frown.
The great gladiator continued to reign.
Another he killed, one more smile he must feign.
Copyright © Samia Ali Salama | Year Posted 2012
Mrs Briggs' cat.
There's plenty to do in our neighborhood,
with games and places to explore.
But you really should run,
'cause the trouble's begun,
when you hear that "meow" at your door.
A cute little tabby cat sits on the step,
all fluffy and gentle as can be.
Just try not to be dim,
as you pet it, on a whim,
It'll eat you alive for its tea!
"Tiddles" belongs to old Mrs Briggs,
who lives up the end of my street.
She thinks it's a breeze,
but there're no guarantees,
that this pussy will ever be sweet.
Our local vicar thinks the damn thing's possessed,
and I'd say that he's right on the nail.
Surprised I would be,
If I wasn't to see,
Satan's head poking out of its tail!
So if you see that tabby cat coming your way,
I beg you, don't stand there and wait,
Don't stroke it, don't pet it,
look, sunshine, FORGET IT,
Or that moggy will seal your fate!
Copyright © Rick Eichelberg | Year Posted 2014
-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
The Bombay Grocery (Indian)- North Carolina
Shyam*, finds cat food at special rate near the door.
Goes to check out to manager of the grocery store
Doubting manager asks to bring cat if he has one
Shyam returns with his small cat to buy food anon.
Next day Shyam comes with a bag in his hand
And ask the manager to put his hand to the end
Manager puts his hand and shouts “Poo,Doodie pure”
Shyam says, “ yes, sir, I want the toilet paper sure”
Fourth Place winner IN
Contest: Grocery Grammer by Linda-Marie, the sweetheart
* Shyam is an Indian name. Shyam also means Black-cloud colour. It is one of the name of
Lord Krishna. It happens to be the name of one of my grandson living in Charlotte (NC)
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010
Oft' I wonder what my cat Simba thinks behind that baleful stare.
Is he planning roguery or just building castles in the air?
Perhaps he's reviewing strategies for catching a bird to devour.
Here's what I sense goes on behind his condescending glower!
I 'puuur'ceive he's thinking, "Hey, remove yourself from my chair!
Who said you could sit there - that's my favorite lair!
Will you at least make room on your very ample lap,
So I can curl up and take my usual afternoon nap?"
Many times he glares at me and emits a plaintive 'meow'.
I'm sure he's thinking, "Hey, pal, ain't it time for chow?"
He stalks about the house as if it was his sole domain,
Thinking, "I guess I'll benevolently allow you to remain!"
With soulful eyes he invites me to scratch behind his ears.
If I try to comb his coat, "Oh no you don't!" and he disappears!
Sprawling upon the window sill he gazes across the street,
Eyeing the Persian cat, thinking, "Meeee-Wow! Her I'd like to meet!"
When he begins to purr and 'puuur'sistently rubs against my feet,
He's probably thinking, "Hey, old buddy, how about a treat?"
My cat thinks, "He's not a bad sort, him I can tolerate.
He provides my grub - furthermore, with him I can communicate!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Francine Roberts' "Pick A Pet" Contest - July 2011
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
Trembling in my bed tonight
I cannot close my eyes
The movie on the late, late show
Says everybody dies
Now some say I'm a scaredy cat
But tonight is Halloween
What if someone kidnaps me,
And tries to eat my spleen?
I know there's no great pumpkin
Okay, maybe there is
What if he puts a spell on me,
And tries to make me his?
And I think that there's a monster
Who lives beneath my bed
I shiver and shake and stay awake
With covers over my head
There's something outside my window
And shadows on my wall
I think I hear some rattling chains
From the ghosts that's in the hall
Right then I hear this eerie voice
And feel this clammy hand
My wife says, "Hush and go to sleep,
You're supposed to be a man"
Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010
This new Black Moon near Hallowe’en
Marks the darkest night we have seen.
A time to carve a pumpkin head
To make a lantern for the dead.
Bonfires lit burn bright tonight,
At gravesites we'll leave candle light
To honor spirits of our dead.
We'll go door-to-door to be fed.
Should they deign to turn us away,
A scary Samhain trick we'll play.
But little kids that ask for treats
Will have their baggies filled with sweets.
Frightful costumes will scare away
The evil spirits who might prey.
Witches known to tempest the sky
Along with large bats flying high,
Are privy to an instant spell
Summoned up from the mouth of hell.
Trick-or-treaters please be aware
Of evil forces everywhere.
If you're lost in Sleepy Hollow,
Please don't expect that I will follow.
I'll let my black cat out to roam,
But I'll stay warm and safe at home!
© Connie Marcum Wong
The term black moon refers to an additional new moon that appears in a month or in a season. It may also refer to the absence of a full moon or of a new moon in a month. One use of the term is for the occurrence of a second new moon in a calendar month. This is analogous to the by-month definition of a blue moon as the second full moon in a month. February is too short for a second new moon to occur. This event occurs about every 29 months.
Last Black Moon until 2019 to rise over Eastern Hemisphere on Halloween weekend
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
Pretty, tawny, tabby Tabor
full of curiosity and play
He saw the door ajar for a fast getaway
His golden eyes gleamed
Jail break; as he dreamed
Ditching out as fast as a jet
The backyard pond he couldn’t forget
full of lily pads and Koi. ”Oh, what fun!”
Sneaky pitter-patter paws sly as a cat “I’ll take one.”
Tiny tadpoles hiding under the lily pads away from the Koi
A little twitch happy tail, pawing, splashing the cool water to catch the Koi
From out of nowhere showed
Kung Fu tempered toad
pounced on Tabor’s back. “H-i-s-sss......!”
Feeling frustrated and foiling his plans couldn’t catch him now
Tawny tabby Tabor taunting tiny tadpoles and tantalizing tasty tempered toad
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016
My Calico was chocolate-caramel swirled,
and the inside of our house was all her world!
Her whole concern was just in getting stroked or fed.
She'd summon me each morning, jumping on my bed
and reaching out with one white paw, she'd tap my head!
(This is around the time several years ago that Callie had to be
put to sleep due to cancer. She lived 18 wonderful years with us!)
For Rick Parise's Five-Line Poem Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived
my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside
i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown
the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose
the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.
only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.
then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose
the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed
there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed
gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend
Copyright © Lucrezia Blanche Aguilar | Year Posted 2006
John moses freeman~True Personal Story
To a cold dark room void of any heat,
A cat came in the night to warm the feet,
Of a ten year old child__ wild, but heart so meek,
Enhanced child’s slumber to be warm and less bleak.
Cold freezing rain, a meow at a window pane.
A pillow stuffed in a broken window pane,
Removed to let feline in, out of the rain.
Seem to relieve them both of their world's pain.
The lonely child would stroke and the cat would purr,
Old stray had the softest, sweet smelling fur.
Down under the covers to the child's feet,
Would wrapped around to be a pulsating heat.
Now the adult who was the lonely child,
All grown up meekly and not the least bit wild,
Wonders about the cat in the winter squalls,
A cat never he saw, not even it's paws.
Bobbed tail Manx cat the old man now with pranks,
Mysterious connection old man thinks.
How beautiful are the feet so warm and complete.
Mystery__ his Manx cat also prefers his feet.
Spirit or otherwise old man doth realize,
Cat of his childhood was not a big guise.
Feet all warmed and complete, not in conceit,
To him not a mystery, God warmed his feet.
For: Cat Poems
In Honor of:~Constance~ Rambling Poet
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2010
one day I met a new little friend from that
day my life would begin again he made me
laugh alot we was always out and about
on rainy days we would run in the house
and he would chase a mouse he was my best
friend and I miss him
one day I got bad news he got loose and ran
away I looked all day but my cat was gone
away never to return oh how I yearn for my
my best friend I lost my best friend I
lost a part of my life I will always
wait for you my pet my little friend til
in dedication to my little cat Mooda
Copyright © Patricia Opel Jaye | Year Posted 2005
Leonine, with whispy fur,
So soft it’d make a human purr.
Squinty eyes and button nose,
no stranger to a model’s pose.
Stalks the halls of Sarah’s lair,
a life of ease sublimely fair.
You may think he’s just a cat,
But we all know he’s more than that.
[Written in honor of a friend's Himalayan Persian--I think---a personable cat that I often use as a character in short stories and even a radio script.]
[For anyone interested in the radio show I wrote about Duffy, here is a link: http://sylvannovelust.blogspot.com/2013/12/adventures-of-duffy-dean-unified-story.html]
Copyright © Jim Tidd | Year Posted 2014
Little Tufty Dore Mouse.
Little Tufty Dore Mouse lives on the Butlers farm.
He spends his day a scurrying between the house and barn.
But Mr Butler farmer got tired of Tufty's mess.
So he got himself a big black cat and named his black cat Bess.
Now Bess your jobs to catch Tufty Mouse and send him on his way,
cause I'm tired of the mess he leaves when he drops by every day.
Now Bess, I don't want you to kill him or even cause him harm.
He's just a little Dore Mouse who leaves a mess upon my farm.
The only problem with Tufty Mouse is the mess he leaves behind
so when you catch Tufty, Bess remember to be kind.
Tell him he must leave the farm and find himself a home,
where no-one else minds the mess where ever he may roam.
So Bess, she lays in wait to pounce and catch this Tufty Mouse.
It's not long before she catches him and says, Tufty leave this house.
Cause him indoors gave me the job, by the way he calls me Bess.
So Little Tufty Dore Mouse say that you will go and farmer sees me being kind.
If I have to catch you again it won't be kindness I'll have in mind.
So Little Tufty Dore Mouse said with a little squeak,
but Bessy I've been messy cause I've been moving out all week.
Copyright © Patricia Lawton | Year Posted 2017
Footprints cross snow covered grass
Our cat will creep and drop its arse.
From which a giant turd descends
6 inches long before it bends.
Scratch, scratch to cover up
Nowhere near this pile of crap
Sniff, sniff wander round
Walk away this smelly mound
Cats they are a unique breed
Warm and cosy what they need.
Curled up in a special place
Snoring softly in their space.
Night time sitting, look on guard
Watching others in the yard.
Meow, meow, meow they scream
Wake us up from pleasant dream.
Climb on bed in early morn
Push and shove to make us yawn.
Feed me, feed me, give me food
Feed me now I’m in the mood
Stomach full and washing done
Lift up leg, start licking bum
Then curl up in their favourite chair
Lay down and sleep without a care.
They plod and pose and look serene
With love and comfort rarely seen.
For all their faults they make amends
And in return they are our friends.
Copyright © John Healey | Year Posted 2017
I Do not want a window seat .
I do not want to freeze my feet..
I do not want a waiter cat .
I do not like his pin striped hat..
I do not want him to touch my food.
And how he speaks is down right Rude..
So won't you take my order Jerry.
I know the menu, and I'm in quite the hurry..
Scrapple , egg and cheese on toast,
that is the meal I love the most..
The tall cat can have his green eggs and ham.
He's not from Philly but Sam I Am..
Copyright © Glen Schwartz | Year Posted 2017
Coming in faster than speed racer
Heart colder than a glacier
Trying to duplicate the flavor
Another clout chaser
With or without a pace maker
Soft as a wafer
Yet another copy cat
You're wrong for that
Going to one up you chumps, with or without a hockey mask
For ages I've been at the bottom, reaching for the top
More than a lot
Attempting to plot and stir up the pot
Whether the temperature cold or hot
Like it or not
They'll get caught
And put on the spot
Having to pay the cost
For such foolish talk
Regarding any parameters
Days and nights may or may have not been spectacular
I guess there's always been scavengers
As well as opposition and challengers
Whether or not their ambassadors
During any date on the calendar
It was either solved or obscure, by any medical examiner
Above and below any fields with or without lavender
Copyright © Dalton Ogletree | Year Posted 2017
The neon light flashed,
open, open, open,
so in we both went,
right after eloping,
The cat waiter in the hat,
gave us menus where we sat,
ordering some eggs and toast,
the cat smiled as if to boast,
He came back with our plates,
and the eggs to us looked fake,
because they were St. Paddy's Day green,
was the cat waiter trying to be mean?
He said you both look surprised,
but our eggs are best sellers,
customers love the taste,
but especially the color,
And if you both don't mind
and if you would be so kind,
instead of leaving cash for a tip,
I'd much prefer some catnip,
We both ate up all the green eggs,
"I told you it was good!" the cat said,
giving us both hats like his to wear,
saying it's just a little souvenir,
We said next time we'll bring the catnip,
to the cat accepting the cash tip,
wearing our cat in the hats out the door,
we knew we'd definitely be back for more!
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2017