on... Oh! Oh!
Do you think of cats?
We have too many cats.
At least, they feast on rats.
Cats. (*) Cats! Cats! (*) Cats.
What do you think of that? I
have seen them with a mole.
Dead, pulled out of his hole.
A delicacy I once was told.
My cats are: Meow.
Some big fat- Meow!
Rat-eating cats. Meow!
I never see them eat a bat.
I guess at night, they sleep or chat.
Cats do not have wings. They cannot fly!
My, oh my, will they wish someday to fly?
At early dawn it is time to prowl. Not for owls.
Meow! They hunt for snakes, insects, some fowl.
Silently, sneakily, stealthy, spying, they P-o-u-n-c-e-!
It’s survival of the fittest, kitty cat style. Buy a bell.
You may see them on the ground or in a tree looking
down. Meow! Sometimes they will play in the sand.
Rolling, flipping around on every inch of ground.
Or you might find them upside down flexing,
Anticipating their morning prowl. Meow.
By and by, success is found.
In their kitty bowl... Meow.
Smiles! Meow, Meow, Smiles!
Copyrighted on January 27, 2010
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010
Barking at the people who
walk behind our house
is a dog that as a pup
was bought by my spouse.
Tiny border collie mix
he was meant to be,
but a Texas cow dog is
what most people see!
Chocolate-caramel, nutty too,
so it seems just right
he’s named for a candy bar;
just don’t take a bite!
Word Count shows 62 but different at another one. I count 60.
May 23, 2017 for Laura Loo's ONE of FIVE-70 words or less Poetry Contest
In 7/5 Trochee form. Topic #4: Your Pet
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
I remember the day I picked you,
With your sweet little puppy dog eyes.
For my heart was searching for love too,
When I looked down and heard your soft cries.
Your brothers and sisters were running,
They were after a fallen clothes peg,
But there was a puppy so stunning
Trying hard to get up on my leg.
Four years it has been since that moment
And I thank God daily for his gift
Each day you give me such enjoyment
Your love has given my heart a lift.
Today I know as clear as can be,
I didn’t pick you; rather you picked me.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
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
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Adopted animals love their humans;
show it in many ways.
The tiniest pet,
revels in the harmony of its time,
Dinky was a special hamster;
she lived a year beyond the normal life span.
I carried her around in my pocket and she loved the ride.
Her head, peeking out, evoked curious comments
from all who glimpsed her.
She searched for me, when I was at school;
her knack for escaping the cage,
kept me searching for her in the afternoons.
I often found her, in my chest of drawers.
Of course, I found it odd,
but hamsters are four-legged, Houdini’s…
Dinky was the best.
One cold winter night, as I lay in slumber,
That tiny traveler made her way from,
one end of the house, to my bedroom.
I lay there, on that frosty eve,
dreaming that I was outside in the rain;
the chilling raindrops, dancing upon my arm.
In a moment of lucidity,
Reality hit; those raindrops were tiny paws!
I reached, grasped and in the shimmering moonlit rays,
I stared into the eyes of my new bed buddy.
A twitchy nose said it all…
”I found you!”
I moved her cage close by my bedside;
future escapes faded into history.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015
Friends and trouble go hand in hand.
Legends of the neighborhood.
Like statues and vacant buildings still stand.
A crime in plain view no one ever saw.
Held hostage in fear.
The mouse sturggles to escape from
Blood on the bricks that stains my mind.
Time takes me away.
Yet never leaves the memory far behind.
Summers in the city nights run into days.
We turn are backs to the truth.
But in this game everyone plays.
Heros are villians depending
on who you are.
Stories told bout the other night.
Hidden truths like the bat under the bar.
The players are future tombstones
Men glorified beyond there name.
the citys children caught within her confines.
Forced to play a different game.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
I went to Peru
And found a kangaroo
I tried to take him to a zoo
But then I found him in my room!
Now he's my pet
Jumping like a jet,
Oh how I regret
Ever taking him to my flat!
Copyright © Elena Pisani | Year Posted 2016
Behind our house, below the deck
with its pleasing benches and sylvan view,
the back yard we have descends steeply
to a little stream called Chimacum Creek.
It is September, so the Creek’s waters
are shallow, so shallow that
little music from its ripple and flow
rises to meet our eager, listening ears above.
Any day now, the waters will surrender
their serenity and in noisy salute
yield to thrashing thunder,
as salmon spawn and meet their demise.
Sheltering us there from summer’s heat
and winter’s chilled and rainy drench,
a little family of barred owls often call and beg,
their nocturne nearly undisturbed by our home's intrusion.
Outside, my wife stands in solitary contemplation,
for this is her temple, and she its worthy guest.
Yet the minutes and hours pass so slowly now,
as grief stands weary watch with her.
We had grown so accustomed to our dear child’s
heartened ways, as ever eager to greet us
at morning’s hesitant, uncertain dawning glow
as at evening’s surrender to curl upon our bed to sleep.
Jet black hair and soft green eyes—her special dance
each moment to delight us so, we had never ever
thought today would bring us only fading echoes of
all we held so dear in this sweet and tender form.
No matter that she had a tail and two more legs than us,
she lived and loved and spoke with such eloquence
and grace, the best of us were shamed.
Angels withheld not their envy and begged for her return.
So grieve with us a moment, for fled is now
that little feline snowflake in our hand.
My rhyme is vanished; my muse is stilled.
Shadow was her name.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2017
My parrots name was Captain Flint,
Boy that bird could swear.
I never invited visitors,
So blue was the air.
He'd squawk "pretty effing polly"
Or "give us a cracker you t##t"
I'd never heard such swearing,
I never taught him that.
I bought him off a sailor
Who was heading back to sea,
He said to me, "you'll love him
He's such good company."
And what he said was right
He entertained, it's true.
I said "who's a pretty boy then"
He squawked, " well not effing you !"
The profanities just got too much,
I sold him, with regret.
But the house seems so quiet now,
Without my 'effing' pet !
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2017
Oh, Bandit, what's your impish task
While sporting, sly, that little mask?
You seem quite innocent and frail
Yet the kitchen tells a different tale
Floor all messy, the counters, too
Paw prints that led straight to you
But while I had a penance planned
You're far too sweet to reprimand
Looking slumberous in your slouch
Reclining leisurely upon the couch
Soon you'll close those kitty eyes
And off you'll scamper to fantasize
Such fuzzy mitts you'll fuzzily flail
While prizing creatures, (and your tail)
I can't help query what you'll scheme
While making mischief in your dream
Though doubts, have I, it can't outdo
The pranks you pull while being You
But antics granted, here you'll stay
Because I'd have you no other way
So while you're "Plunder-On-All-Fours"
You've plundered, too, this heart ...
That's yours. <3
** FIRST PLACE in the "Picture Prompt: Write Me Something Funny" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Sponsor. **
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017
Lounging licking leaping
Prancing pouncing peeking
Corners closets crouching
Tail twirling twitching
Sniffing sensing sneezing
Hissing huffing hunting
Pretty purring preening
Curiosity kitty killing
Nine long lives living
Copyright © Rick Zablocki | Year Posted 2013
My puppy sure loves to lick me
He thinks I’m a lollypop.
Every time I get home he attacks me
Then kisses me nonstop.
You’d think I was gone forever
When I just left the house for the mail,
He is right at the door when I get back
With a rapidly wiggling tail.
He wants to eat everything I do,
Mom says, that’s not good for a dog.
We want to keep him fit and healthy
So daily we go for a jog.
My toys are all tattered and ragged
My socks are his ultimate aim,
Doesn’t matter how much it upsets us
He thinks it’s all some kind of game.
I know he’s a bit of a stinker
That always wants to be fed.
But I sure am in love with my puppy,
Every night when we cuddle in bed.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
Sprawling over bedsheets
Crowding limited sleepspace with
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2009
She was always there
with her big green eyes
Looking up at me
and into the skies.
Her dreams were of birds
and of prowling about.
I tried keeping her in
but she always got out.
She would hide on the roof
to hunt unwary prey
then gift them to me
in her honoring way.
Sometimes I screamed loudly
at the gifts that she offered
centipedes, roaches and mice
were some things she proffered.
Praises were always followed
by special kitty treats.
While I pleaded with her
to make no repeats.
She always stood guard
as if to give me protection
and would curl up close to me
to offer her affection.
Oh Lilly, sweet Lilly
please continue to purr
and I will continue
to stroke your soft fir.
As her song would begin
well, it made me cry.
I’ll miss her every day
until the day that I die.
November 24, 2014
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
the gray cat, Tempus, in doldrums
lazes, purring, stretching.
I have watched him:
cunning eyes half-closed,
he stalks bright birds in the garden,
near day lilies.
Wings wet from flights
through the sprinkler's sweeps,
the birds swoop, glide, flutter.
They light on dry grass,
strut and shake themselves,
are lulled. Then,
Tempus pounces on one bird.
The rest are routed…
And Tempus fugit.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
You’d think a dog named Lucky,
Would lead a decent life.
But Lucky had his troubles,
And they followed day and night.
One day Lucky ran away
In search of greener pastures.
Just to find a field ablaze,
Thus the start of his disasters.
Although Lucky didn’t die that day
And no limbs or parts were broken,
Lucky smelled of smoldered hair
And you’d swear he kept on smokin!
And Lucky liked to chase the cars,
Till the day he lost his nerve
When Lucky met a big ‘ol bus
That couldn’t stop or swerve.
I’m not sure just how it hit him
Or how he’s here today.
But he’s never walked straight since,
And one eye veers away.
My Lucky always clashed with cats
And was leery of their paws.
Until a “Tom” of forty pounds
Let Lucky feel his jaws.
Hair and fur balls filled the air
Like Cottonwoods a bloomin.
Poor ‘ol Lucky lost an ear,
And now looks twice as stupid.
I confess, I named him wrong
And why he stays, I’ll never know.
I guess that I’m the lucky one,
To have Lucky here at home.
Copyright © Tom Valles | 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
He bites his nails beside me on the bed
so loudly! This strange habit is most grating.
I’d like to throw a pillow at his head,
but he would just continue, not abating.
I’m used to just how vexing he can get,
like when he begs for food that I am eating.
When someone comes to call, he gets upset;
then settles down and gives a gleeful greeting -
Unless the visitor is someone small!
He sits and stares if I pick up a child
then panics if the infant starts to bawl.
I love my doggy though he gets so wild!
Although a naughty child himself is he,
how sweet and trusting is his love for me.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
Poshpaws was our beloved pussy cat
She would clean her fur when sat on the mat
Loved to be stroked, we could tickle her tum
Her purr was loud like the noise from a drum
Large emerald eyes would sparkle and gleam
Her coat so soft with a beautiful sheen
She would lie in the sun from dusk till dawn
Rouse from her dreams with a pussycat yawn
Dad did not like cats - that’s what he would say
But on his lap Poshpaws would always lay
She’d follow my Dad all around the house
Make no noise, be as quiet as a mouse
She slipped away from us aged only ten
Buried in a beautiful shady glen
Contest: I love my Pets
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
Today it’s Sally’s birthday party; she’s the star of the show
She’s a lovely little girl and all her friends are invited to go
They arrive on the doorstep with presents in their hand
Wearing their best clothes, oh don’t they look so grand
Excited children are entertained by Coco the clown
She’s jolly person but her face wears a sad frown
Coco blows up balloons and amazing animals are created
The children clutch them eagerly; they simply are elated
The dining table is laden with glorious treats
Sandwiches, crisps, cakes and biscuits to eat
Sally’s birthday cake is shaped like a cute little cat
Cats are her favourite animal; her kitten is called Pat
The children sing ‘happy birthday’ and Sally makes a wish
Her mum cuts up the pretty cake and serves it on a dish
After tea is over a magician arrives to entertain
He’s called The Great Suprendo but it’s not his real name!
The magician does lots of magic tricks, the children think he’s ace
When he produces a fluffy rabbit they have a smile on their face
Soon the party is over and its time for the children to go home
Sally had a wonderful time but now she’s sad as she’s now alone
Secretly hiding in the kitchen is the Great Suprendo
He gives her the rabbit, her shrieks of delight reach a crescendo!
Mummy and daddy had planned this birthday surprise
Sally is so happy that tears spring into her eyes
Daddy had made the rabbit a wooden rabbit hutch
Sally is overjoyed, and names her pet rabbit Butch
Contest: The Birthday Party
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
This is Mine, All Mine by Chuck Keys
Fall day, perfect,
Sunny brisk alive.
Filtered rays of sunlight.
Shimmering through semi barren trees
Scattered blown leaves
Patiently waiting their first winter freeze,
So - very serene, calm, barely a sound,
A bird or two chirping
Looking about ready.
There, a small sparse bush
Proudly showing a tiny new green innocent bud,
Nonchalantly waiting about.
His chance to grow,
Fading with shortened cooler days coming
On the trail, my dog,
At my front, back and
Protectively jumping, sniffing, flying, yelping
Majestically prancing about and over,
Manly pawing his ground,
Feeling heat from
The October daytime warmed earth
Dried decaying broken leaves of time fading,
Wind behind his gate,
Cantering soundlessly but hard, manly
Racing airborne paws;
Panting with passion, drooling in chase,
Soaring gleefully effortlessly in-flight,
... off the ground
... leaping high, higher, highest
Endlessly into the wilderness,
On his ground. His movements
… echoing, uncontrolled.
The tamed beast; driven as ever,
Head locked rigid aimed forward, high, tongue draped aside out
Eyes opened squinting into the wind, starring affront
Nose twitching alive on fire in hunt,
Tail erect, straight as an arrow on
Legs in sync with one another, together
Body pulsing as one, muscles taught,
On guard, with pride and ownership.
He stops, panting eyes piercing,
… side to side, front to back
"This is mine, all mine" ... he says
... he says to his daddy.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
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
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
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
After the last one was planted, he sniffed it;
Then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.
Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.”
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.
She smiled through her tears.
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too. His name was Pal.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014