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Spring Pets Poems | Spring Poems About Pets
These Spring Pets poems are examples of Spring poems about Pets. These are the best examples of Spring Pets poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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the chickadee tweets
i eat my breakfast
without an egg
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012
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
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
wet mollusks crawl forth;
slime trails tracing their passage
through just planted rows
Copyright © Edward Johannes | Year Posted 2015