Whilst walking through the woods one day
A crystal brook there, shone so gay
The sun was shining oh' so bright
As brook reflected all it's light
Buzzing insects all around
Oh' they made a delightful sound
Birds flew upwards to the sky
These parrots made a hue and cry
Carpet of flowers with lovely scent
It seemed this morn way heaven sent
The flowers opened to the sun
This walk for me was so much fun
Sheep bleated from far away
Oh it was such a lovely day
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014
The newborn wolves, March babies, cannot see.
They need their mothers, like all creatures do.
In just two weeks, they crawl; then wondrously,
they view their world through open eyes of blue.
A few days pass; and it’s not too long when
they stand and walk; they whimper and they yelp,
then learn to fight while playing in their den,
but in the meantime, they will still need help.
Fed by their pack, the grey wolf pups get strong.
With family, they’ll never be alone.
The months go by so fast. It won’t be long
before the winter when they'll be full grown.
When new March babies come, they’ll do their part,
for in the pack, the grey wolf shows his heart.
Written 3/28/2015 for shadow Hamilton's Canis Lupus the Wolf Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
My Molly May
I had a little pony
I called her Molly May
So often I would venture out
And feed her bales of hay.
So then she’d frolic
Kick her heels up high
Round and round she would run
Looking sweet as she passed by.
She’d run until she was worn out
Then to the stable she would go
I’d bed her down then for the night
My love for her each day would grow
She was my, cutest Molly may
This pony always made my day.
25 September 2014
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014
Your dad, a Dachshund once stuck in Chihuahua.
The best of both in you, with that expectant
Confusing carpets for the lawn enigma.
I know….the raining….getting wet….you can’t.
As coldness chills the room, a sheet for you.
The perfect tucking of in, but you moved!
I ponder, just how crazy is my Boo?
The sheet’s thread count too low to be approved?
Your dance in circles, spinning on the floor.
Rewards and treasures known upon the racks.
Induced by meals and that one pantry door.
In such a fury, choking on the snacks.
I know what God’s book says, I’ve searched it whole.
But still, I hope you have a little soul.
Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2014
The moon is full and white, and chill, this night,
it cascades past my open window sill,
and all the color fades to dark from light,
a monochrome of gray which can't be stilled.
The armoire's shadow strays across the floor.
I watch it from within my canopy bed.
as a nightmare gallops through my open door,
a Pooka* black as coal with eyes which bled.
Its jaw agape red gore froths from his maw,
and it slowly paws the cover from my bed,
a scream freezes in my throat to bird-like caw,
it dips for me to mount, as I am led.
Upon a demon spawn, I scour the moor
'til dawn descends to end this foul glamour.
*The pooka is a primarily a creature of Irish folklore. Considered to be both bringers of good and bad fortune. The creatures were said to be shape changers which could take the appearance of black horses.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013
He stood before me, giant, brown and hairy,
this animal the biggest of them all!
I didn’t find him all that very scary
though next to me, he stood three times as tall!
My father stood beside me with a look
of deep concern while holding high his gun.
One steady discharge. That was all it took!
My Dad had hit the target. We had won!
That final shot meant Dad had been the best.
The carnie sighed. I jumped around with glee,
then hugged that huge stuffed doggy to my chest,
but Daddy had to carry it for me!
Mom’s “no pet rule” I’d sure had too much of.
At last I had my own big dog to love!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
May the wisdom of the serpent be thine,
Close to the earth as it lives underground,
Into the forest, we follow the hind,
Knowledge surrounds all, waiting to be found.
Secretly I sit, silently in awe,
Captivated by all the breathing trees,
Esoteric in nature, I see more,
Against my face, I feel the warmest breeze.
Time stands still when you're sitting on a hill,
I drift off into a deep calming spell,
Thy soul is replenished, it's gained its fill,
As if I've taken a drink from youths well.
Thou secrets that fall from heavenly heights,
No matter to me if it's days or nights.
(10 syllables per line)
Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2016
We Sailed Across the Sea
I boarded, me the old Fairsea
We left England my wife and me
To sail towards those sunny shores
In land, I’d never seen before
In land of kangaroos I Live
This land it has so much to give
Me thinks it is a paradise
This place so warm, and sweet, and nice
I’ve been here now for fifty years
I left me mum behind in tears
But Aussie land has done me well
I love it, the whole world I tell
Oh, I would never turn my back
For Aussie land, it nothing lacks
7 December 2016
Copyright © Peter Duggan | Year Posted 2017
A Sonnet To Growing Older
My heart now speaks to me of ageless things
Of solitary walks down country lanes
Of quilted calico with simpler schemes
Unhurried times, a pause, as quiet rain
In memory drenched, the budding heart reviews
Her nightly liaisons in twilight realms
Illusive childlike carousel renews
Majestic pensive thoughts and hopeful hymns;
With joy rekindles ! Magic carousel
It moves round and round in measured beat
Bewitching power of music sounds compel
The ageless ones to rambunctious retreat !
Unhallowed fruit of age-
My heart can sing !
Redeeming time to catch the brass-bound ring
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2017
Harambe was my gorilla boyfriend;
Harambe's greatness you could not deny;
He was met with a most untimely end;
Harambe was one hell of a big guy;
Harambe outshone the bright shining sun;
Harambe was not you average boy;
The ending of his life was from a gun;
My boy Harambe did not injest soy;
Harambe did not enjoy anime;
He was not like an actor from a show;
Harambe was a true friend who said, "hey";
Harambe stay woke cause he always know;
Harambe the gorilla with the brain;
Harambe knows everyone knows his name.
Copyright © Harambe In Heaven | Year Posted 2016
A Spenserian Sonnet
(Mr. Snake falls in love with a garden hose)
Today I slithered up a grassy hill,
wet from the creek and eager to explore.
The urge to snare a mate devoured my will,
could not this be the day for me to score?
I spot you there beside the garden door,
your slick green shape pervades my hungry sight.
Your golden head criss-cross my eyes before
your trim tight coil peals visions of delight.
Yet when I push my moves into the light
your body squirms and grows before my eyes,
and dread arises in a burst of fright.
You spit at me in angry spurts, surprise
me with a gush of clear and liquid spray,
while I make haste to scuttle fast away.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
I've had many pets in my life.
Right now two cats and I abide
In my small house the size for us,
But I can't let this pair outside.
They're feral cats that I rescued
When wild coyotes invaded nests.
Wild coyotes on our rich farm land
Have become real cat-nab pests.
A neutered tom and spayed kitty
Have the full range of my loved home.
Their antics keep me entertained
And none of us now care to roam.
They run and play amicably
And gladly share their lives me.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014
The thicket moves, my aim must not waver;
with strengthened arms I bend my bow of yew:
My eyes pierce the brush, intent to savor
the sights of a good hunt, an arrow true.
The bracken parts, rattling, empty sighs;
My draw fingers quake from the constant chill.
My quarries' breath floats to the clouded sky,
my own breath muffled as I track my kill.
Overhead, an arrow in deadly arc
speeds toward the bear I'm seeking, still as stone;
A shadow moves, the arrow strikes its mark.
The hand that loosed the shaft was not my own.
I am a man shadowed; death comes knocking:
The hunter hunted; the past comes stalking.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014
It is the laziest of all creatures,
It could eat and eat filet all the day long.
Investigative eyes is a feature,
And it will sing to you its forlorn song.
It will avoid you like the plague by day,
Skulking, running, bounding, from room to room.
By night it searches through the halls for its prey,
The hunted will meet its impending doom.
The whisper of whiskers against the door,
Tip-toe, pitter-patter, sneakily creeps.
All at once bounding across the floor,
Whoosh goes the paw across the mouse hole deep.
“Drat!” says the cat, missed the mark once again,
Once more the mouse hunt will have to begin.
Copyright © Hanna Potter | Year Posted 2013
He has been beside me for fourteen years
Compassionate and wise, he always cheers
Once, as a puppy, he played happily
An older dog, he’s a sleeping beauty
He snuggles close to me when I’m sleeping
Always aware that we’re both now ageing
Giving up longer walks for shorter treks
Growing old, it seems, is a bit complex
He still wags and nags for bits of good food
Hoping for the bites that I always stewed
He has his treats, his sleep and he is loved
More than words could reveal he’s beloved
With all of my heart and all of my soul
I love this little guy who's my console
Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Date: November 21, 2014
Copyright © Regina Riddle | Year Posted 2014
Each morning, when I first awake;
a daily vigil, I will take.
I arch my back and I stretch out long;
this helps my body to grow strong.
To my box, I take a walk;
release a stench, in lime-like chalk.
I dine in silence, savoring;
the tasty flavors…mouth-watering.
Upon my favorite stool, I sit;
paws tucked beneath, belly and chest.
‘till I transcend, my physical home.
I am a Buddha-cat, you see
And a Bodhisattva, I hope, to be.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015
Cling to the last fragments of your credence
Forgetting all mistakes and faults
Forgiving the critics of their impotence
and slandering those the world exalts
They can lock an animal in a cage
Depriving it of its God-given right
However can never take away its rage
So they instead put it in a vexatious plight
Despite this all and control of a tyrant
Driven by a claim of purity
A claim of which he needs to recant
I would have pity for one with such calamity
But for those who hope wrongdoing on another
And receive from it some sick sense of pleasure
I wish for you a long life and pain in which you smother
For they are great and to them you are of no measure
As comforting the song of an angel calming the rage of the caged animal and setting it free
That same angel's song heals the enraged caged animal's wounds inside of me.
Copyright © Jacob Frey | Year Posted 2014
THE BRIDLE OF LOVE
Put on the bridle of love, or the dark places
Will inhabit your soul like a dream of plunder:
Put on the bit of desire, lest the old faces
Merge in passionate moments and betray wonder.
You pledge only with the combat of the hours
Your words fall in the silence, like coins jingling
Into the hand of the fortune-teller, who scours
Your reverie of love on your palm, tingling
Of a stranger. You are an actuary where a shadow
Turns fascination to death. Put on the bridle
Of tenderness - forgiveness, sad and low,
Can whistle with the raindrops, idle
As witnesses of profound truth. Curs
Snap at gentleness when their hunger stirs.
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2015
The fierce, graceful tiger
(a fearsome, wild beast)
is not meant as dinner
for someone's lavish feast.
The giant, harmless whale
(a great, ocean mammal)
won't survive or prevail
against ruthless people.
All Earth's feral creatures,
of land, the sky, and sea,
are here as our teachers
and life's diversity.
Save man's endangered worth
and restore God's good Earth.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013
(A Slant-rhyme Sonnet)
As autumn treads across our piebald patch,
she drops her frost to shelter, soft as wool,
but brilliant blossoms curl in moonlight watch
and shrink beneath the snap of hoarfrost cool.
Then every critter lodged inside the farm
begins to hide a hoard of winter chow,
use nature’s fabric fluff to cradle warm
and stash in cache beneath the muted show.
Persimmon limbs are bowed with orange loot
which deer desire if hunger leaves them poor.
The frost has signaled time as under foot
true sweetness swells at autumn’s open door.
I rush before the deer, with knife in hand
to read the seed as weather forecast wand.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
Post coitum omne animal triste est,
sive gallus et mulier*
Yes, no cockerel who rules the cackling roost
Will stomach slander from Latin master;
But who will stand aside and let the ghost
Of hints slur old motherhood’s register.
Manhood must of needs hang its head in pain
After all the sweat and toil in loins of love;
After millions of squiggly soldiers in vain
Drop their lean tails at the egg wall alcove.
Only the fool who dares call woman’s bluff
Shall learn hard way positions in bedstead;
Virile pride will sink in the depths of fluff
While smooth gym-trained muscles rage instead.
As they say hereabouts sur le vieil Continent
La différence, Mon Sieur: lip’s shade content.
· * “After the sexual encounter every animal is
excepting the cock and the woman.”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005-2012. From the collection:
Poems Omega Plus, 2005. Rev. 2012.
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012
A raptor formed from days of dinosaurs—
the largest and most nimble—it is said
our Golden Eagle flies with highest scores
for fear. Neath clouds, heroic wings are spread
with grace, but carry death—talons and beak—
his tools of killing prowess honed to hunt
down prey in tree or nest from mountain peak—
adept at swooping down, sharp eyes confront.
Yet held as symbol, Golden Eagle gleams;
from fledgling on, his strength presents a sign—
a calling to be etched in cultures' dreams.
His courage symbolized—with him aligned:
The aspirations to attain new heights—
and self-discovery through soaring flights.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Golden Eagle
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Includes required words: flies, clouds, tree, nest, fledgling, calling, swooping
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
A glass wing butterfly,
so very gossamer;
A rainforest treasure,
she looks up to the sky;
And away she will fly,
in deep dark rapture.
Small frogs of the forest,
the bright, colourful hue;
Sweet, they play in the dew,
on green they like to rest;
Oh, they are the sweetest,
and there! Hummingbird blue.
Small creatures all gripping,
under green leaves, dripping.
August 16, 2015
HexSonetta (Iambic Trimeter)
For the contest, The HexSonnetta, sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Down below pelagic giant lids peep
upon the watching boat's sea hunt and chase;
great barnacled seafarers of the deep
a voyage of the Great White Whale retrace!
Beneath the waves in echolocation
breaching bulls and cows dive the feeding pod,
where from its depths of ocean migration
lives the ghost of Ahab and the Pequod!
Now age-old haunts and breeding grounds die out
but not the chilling whalesong far reaching,
only cavernous mouths unmade to shout
trapped by moon and tide on remote beaching.
Beware the flencer - the harpoon's death throes,
and may long live the shout of "thar she blows!"
Written: July 1992
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014
Oh, no star, no fan, no fame, no nerd
how they see, hear or feel is how they treat
no cash nor need to be rich, life is red
low in rank but same with man as meat
each pair form from the need not to wed
a cat’s a cat, no rank, all in one seat
ants to lion, all be the same when dead
fend for kids like with the rope of a kite
that’s all it is when duty is on site
more than a type can mix with no bite
a dog and a bird can play and marvel
lie the tiny head on a big navel
love in a show to give a good novel.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
Little Black Cat
Little black cat amidst the trees
I see you sitting mind all free
I see the silence in your form
Your body snug, your coat so warm
I’d love to look within your soul
You look so peaceful, and so whole
Hey you could teach the human race
You’d show them how to live with grace
Little black cat, please do me show
How I can sparkle with that glow
That resonates from you, dear cat
Oh, show me please where you are at
My lovely cat all black and white
How you do give me sweet delight
1 May 2016
Copyright © Peter Duggan | Year Posted 2016
The cat and the dog are wrangling
I see a paw hit the canine.
A row and now a tangling.
I put my bet on the feline.
My job is to see no mangling
and not one hit at all is fine.
The cat is now fandangoing
to put the big dog in line.
How did I get in the jumble?
I try to get out and I fumble.
Hit by the cat, I tumble.
Tit and tat is elemental.
I say to the cat, "be gentle"
It may be the dog is mental.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2016
Part I – Plow’s New Home
He was squiggly and fat with dark round eyes.
The auctioneer held him up, but no ayes!
HE MUST HAVE BEEN ABLE TO READ MY MIND.
Five dollars, do I hear $10? …. A real find!
“He won’t get much bigger than he is now.”
My ticker was beating faster and how!
I held up my card; my heart did a jig.
Before I knew it, I had bought the pig.
Ruth had a cage; so we brought the boy home.
He was so much fun and he loved to roam.
Each morning, Plow would follow me around.
Rooting under bushes where snacks were found.
Plow worked in the garden everyday.
But then one day, the boy ran away.
Part II – Plow’s First Adventure
My heart was sunken and my fear took flight.
He was growing bigger, a yummy sight.
Suppose he had wondered deep in the woods.
Or worse yet, plundering the neighborhoods.
I loved that pig and his little pig snout.
Apple in my hand; Plow would take it out.
Sometimes the dog would race him for the find.
The pig and the dog seemed to share one mind.
What would Ginger do without her pig friend?
After three days gone, would our sad hearts mend?
He had grown so fat, safer if thinner.
I prayed to God he would not be dinner.
Riding to town down the winding dirt road,
We saw Plow confined; good fortune bestowed.
Part III - Courting the Sow
Down the way, there lived a pretty pink sow.
She must have been shocked when she first saw Plow.
He was eighteen inches long, not at all tall.
Yet, there he was flirting her in her stall.
The sow was huge, ready for the slaughter.
My piglet had roamed and become a squatter.
The landowner said his sow was in heat.
And there stood Plow with his head at her feet.
High ambitions for a pot-bellied pig,
He went half a mile for his courtship gig.
Running through the woods, he wanted to stay.
But we caught him and took him home that day.
We had to build him a special pigpen.
His days of free roaming came to an end.
November 13, 2014
P.S. Thanks for the Contest! I've finally started my book, today. This is a true story...and there is much more to come. Big Smiles.
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2014
We still face the test of absolute truth
As creatures of the wild roam on a vast field
The sun burning through their earthy pursuit
Within this mind, a darkened haze concealed.
I watch their shadows, deepening a leer
My fingers grip waiting for the light of dawn
While mossy scent pervades on woods’ frontier,
Restraining a planned scheme as moon grows long.
Daylight wakes and I seek the open trail
Across the range, a moose nibbles on weeds
It’s curve -like silhouette fine like handrail
Now, desire for prey claims a game sullied.
Then noises ring, and noises ring again
Deafening the echo of silent glen.
Seven Stones in the Crown & other Gems
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
Lions from the sultan court have made their den
Water gurgles like roar from marble jaw
As if gilded with water as they glow
The crystal spills, with every roar, heard then
Motion felt, while in circle standing still
Lurking there, a quite stir could tease the beast
It seems as if their wild nature were missed
Standing back, awaiting a time for kill
In the sunshine, blazing with fiery hue
Waters sparkle as the marble tongues lick
Like fountain swords, in the sun light, they glow
Then melt into brooks, spurting in sharp streaks
As if the breeze from ripples made a shield.
Intricate craft, waters bear masters' skill
And fruits wellow, the hungry eyes, they fill
A sea of wonders, at which the heart thrilled
Trees of gold, magic spell must be right cause
Bewitched beholder, the wise mind is lost
the Birds turn to gold on branches as they pause
Quiet alight, as the bright tree is host
Lanterns and birds of gold adorn the trees
Alive they seem, about to take the air
Silver spills from their beaks a sound to please
Waters whisper, like real birds singing fair
Note :Arabic classic poetry is called Vertical poetry. with two lines divide by a short space, each line called ''House'' with the same number of syllables; which i transported here into a SONNET.
ten syllables each line.
***My own Translation and Diction from Sicilian'' Ibn Hamdis '' a discription of * El hambra*
Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2016