Best Bobcat Poems | Poetry

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New Bobcat Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Bobcat poems are below this new poems list.

Cat Lady Shadow Cat Looking for his Friends, Polecat, Copycat, Bobcat, Wildcat, Allie-Cat and Tomcat by Cox, rick
An Odd Bobcat by Mahoney, Donal
Bobcat Moon by Jerden, Roy
Bobcat by Kopp, Robb A.
bobcat fringe by Earnest, Shayna
The Bobcat by Nunn, Danny
American Bobcat by Kendrick, Sara

View all new Bobcat Poems

The Best Bobcat Poems

 
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Bobcat Moon

She sits on the porch in a cool desert night
A bobcat stalks prey in the day's fading light
The moon looks like a big orange in the blue
Evoking old memories she thought she outgrew

Memories of nights of moutons and mums
High stepping half-times and booming bass drums
And homecoming dances that ended too soon 
Under West Texas stars and a big bobcat moon

He sits on the beach in an evening gulf breeze
An autumn vacation in the Florida keys
The moon looks like a big orange in the blue
And brings to his mind an old memory anew

The reunion that gathered together that year
Old friends and acquaintances scattered and near
To tell stories of glories till late afternoon
And share in the evening the big bobcat moon

We sit by the lakeside past sunset one time
The end of another communion sublime
The moon looks like a big orange in the blue
And summons a vision of friends we once knew

She flies round the barrel with her long ponytail
He yells and rings joy on the victory bell
We loved them and all those who left us too soon
We'll remember them well with the big bobcat moon

©January 10, 2013

For my high school reunion group. The bobcat is our school mascot. 
In Texas, girls often dressed up for the homecoming game and were given a chrysanthemum (mum) corsage by their date. In the late fifties an inexpensive "fur" coat made from straightened and dyed sheepskin called a "mouton" was often worn by girls wanting to look elegant.


Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2013

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Hillbilly 7 Wonders

The 7 wonders of the world 
Is quite a sight to see
But it don't compare to what we have
In the hills of Tennessee

Uncle Zebs cow is a big ole thing
Quite a sight to behold
That cow's so big that when they milk her
Her udders even have to unfold

Cousin Zeke has a six-legged mule
And man that thing is fast
One time he raced a bobcat
And the bobcat finished last

My granny's teeth are made of wood
Of course, they were bought from a store
But ever since that termite season 
She don't use them much no more

Aunt Imojean has a twine collection
That she started when she was three
I guess if we unwound that thing
It'd reach clear 'cross Tennessee

Cousin Jake has a rattlesnake
He pickled and stuffed in a jar
He caught that thing a year ago
Trying to run off with his car

Uncle Randolph has this chicken
Who howls and barks at the moon
That poor chicken is so dadgum old
That she has to be fed with a spoon

Uncle Sam has the seventh wonder
An invisible moonshine still
We ain't seen it since he made it
But it's somewhere on that hill

So, after you think you've seen it all
You haven't seen anything yet
Come to the hills of Tennessee
And see things you'll never forget







Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010




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Wood Cat

Strong and stealthy, Bold and Brave, Watching the Bobcat I know to behave Quick and Quiet. Patient and Pure.
June 13, 2017


Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017

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Caturday

                                laying down for the nap 
                                 stretching out long 
                                 sleepy orange kitty 
                       
                              snow sprinkles down 
                               paw prints all around
                                  kitty runs to hide 

                                 longing to get out
                            watching birds and squirrels 
                                  oh, no,  hot paws 

                            coming thru the trees
                                 lights turn on  
                               cat eyes shining 

                              look into the sky
                                 wild and free 
                          bobcat on mountain top 

                            moonlight stars twinkle 
                             prowling the night skies                            
                           morning light cat sleeps 

                             morning walking path
                               the sun gets in eyes
                             lingering heat cat sighs     



4 / 7 / 2013


Copyright © Debbie Duncan | Year Posted 2013

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Little Billy

They told me you'ld be ravenous
I thought it was a farse
Until you ate my baseball cards
And bit me in the ars

They said you would not like it here 
So far from Sutter's farm
And living in the suburbs 
would only do you harm

They said you need mountain side
At home there you would feel
Until you meet a bobcat
and become a hearty meal

I say you are content right here
Or so it seems to me
I let you in on real cold nights
and all your food is free

They say a goat can be no pet
So why do I pretend
I tell them that you are no pet 
But you have become my friend.



Copyright © Joe Inca | Year Posted 2005

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Soul Stance River - 3

Night one on the new river, the campfire is spirited
and the future appears hospitable,
everyone has their rations, everybody is resting their pride
for on an expedition epic to each man and for a republic as well
souls must stand sober to undomesticated circumstance and calamity's call,
Dickson and Flyod are on watch duty tonight, in the elms they sit and listen,
disaster and death demand our respect, the mission necessitates that we be prey,
I trust that Sea Man, my Newfoundland dog will be watching them,
with his final moments of strength before sleep Clark, as cartographer
has begun making his meticulous map in the mild candle light,
the compasses look like brass arrows 
aimed into a sketch of ghostly renaissance landscape,
as my mind begins to collapse into the corners of subconscious creation
I ruminate on the journey of Marco Polo, his reception into the court of Kubla Khan
exotic enlightenment exchanged between the tapestries of curious threats
and the gravity of Indian relations pulls my attention within the sphere of brute diplomacy, 

For several days I've been hiking the interior woodlands
alternating the cohort daily to provide total exercise, to subdue monotony
and also to perpetuate the fearless fascination that they'll need
to revere the suffering and ensuing success of the mission,
it is not unusual for us to hike 40 miles a day,  our Kentucky rifles and senses clean
rendezvouing with the crew and camp near dusk delivering game, grunge and odd wonders,
we are all deft huntsmen, in the east hunting was a passion as well as a necessity
all of the recruits are outdoorsman,  tough, roudey and rude but also smart as prarie hawks
Clark and I are Virginian Gentleman,  prepared to kill with cause and to lead with clear authority,
it is crucial that we supplement the keelboat's food provisions
with fresh meat, fruits and vegetables whenever feasible,
on board there are tons of soup, pork, cormeal, flour, beans, salt, pepper and lard,
many barrels of whiskey have been brought along for emotional nourishment and as gift,
every evening each man receives his four ounces, and every night they absorb the gruel of toil,
this afternoon I was surveying the land for agricultural fitness
and collecting botanical specimens such as the dogtooth violet, dovesfoot and cowslip flowers
Peter Cruzzatte, the best big game tracker of the bunch
shot and field dressed two meaty deer and a fat elk,
he is stealth as sin in the Sunday wind, our bellies thank him,
no natives have been seen yet,
while observing and hunting we have found thin trails
that simply lead into quiet expanses,
this tighens the nerves a bit
we are anxious to establish affable feelings with the numerous tribes, especially the Sioux,
the English trapper Bobcat Pendleton whom we met two days ago
said that the Yankton Sioux held territory about two hundred miles up river,
he also indifated that the Sioux weren't skin dressers
that they'd play hard,
he said the Sioux Nation weren't interested in speeches and medals,
they would demand tribute,
beads, amo, whiskey, tobacco, 
Clark and I are prepared to impress, one way or the other,
tonight the river is lying still, like a woman with a wish in her heart,
the moon is high and golden plump, nestled in a ripple of smokey clouds,

J.A.B.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015

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Enjoy to Fish, Fish to Enjoy

In a canoe casting with a weighted rubber worm Felt something aggressive thing hit my hook Up it came through the water’s surface And shot up more than three feet in the air. After some displays of acrobatic leaps and drives, I finally got him at the side of my canoe Banging, thrashing like a bobcat in a box, Whispered, “Hello, I believe in catch and release” The bass stopped thrashing, listened intently Then said, “never thought I’d meet one like you” I grabbed the mighty fish by the lower jaw Holding it up for a closer look. removed the hook. Wiggled off to parts unknown of the cool lake It was happy to be free, I was happy to catch.center> +++++++++ Date: March 7, 2014 Free Verse 12th Place win Contest : by Caleb Smith


Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014

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The Eye Of The Storm


A breath of fresh air, after the table was cleared
we had poured ourselves, one last sip of wine
We marveled a bit over the dip of the sun
An interlude, before the tint had resigned
to the gun-metal gray, and a time to reside

Our solitude broken and it changed on a dime
Unprepared for the guest, which came in a flash
A gash cut by lightning lit up through the dust
without even hinting, as flint hit the stone
A grumbling sky, turned the blush trembling cold

A roar of the wind, where a beast could be heard
all that was peaceful, became quite disturbed
Over rolls of the hills, it stalked like a cat
a monster, of clouds,  on gray bobcat feet
with lynx-like eyes, and with billowing fur
that spurned tranquil eyes, on the softer retreat

A fierce witch's brew, uncoiled with wrath
with wind from the breast of sage and the dunes
Gliding in from the fields, to rage and to seize
where pillars and posts would snap, just to please

Eerie sounds whistled through the long window sills
The peace no longer held calm or a still
Angry whips with each breath,  cracking fearsome with sound
Pounding with rain, gnashing teeth, with each round

Shingles turned loose to mingle with limbs
The thunder, was plundering, and peeling the plains
Rain gushing down, forging new creeks
pushing fast rivulets and forging new steel

We wait until the wrath has spent all it's worth
With gusto, and grit, .... until a last final vent
A tantrum with wiles,  till the cat takes a bow
The monster has gone, to climb to the hills


_____________________________________________
For P.D.'s Contest: "Epic Sightings"
Picture #2


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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Hunting Deer with Dad

One morning, sometime in the Fall,
we went up to our cottage on the lake,
and I put on my camoflauge,
and sharpened my broadheads for the hunt.
My dad and I walked silently through the gray woods,
noting every little barkscrape on the thick trees,
carefully picking our way around brush and ferns.
We found the blind,
a simple affair of branches and logs.
Sitting down, I stretched my bow taut in anticipation,
feeling the plastic fletch on the cold carbon shaft.
A grouse stomped through, a noisy bird,
and my heart started to beat;
I thought it was a deer,
but relaxed infinitely when I daw the fat bird.
Not ten minutes later,
the call of a whooping crane shook me from my thoughts,
and I saw a little figure creeping towards us.
A bobcat, small and lithe,
crept past us,
slinking low to the ground,
the little stump-for-a-tail- held low,
and I smiled at the little feline,
though it didn't smile back.
My feet were cold,
we went back to the truck without a sound.
I love hunting with Daddy.


Copyright © Sharon Downer | Year Posted 2006

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Permanently Stained

With a whirr and grind
Slowly creeps up inching along
Then the banging sounds
The "Bobcat" reaches his paw
Out as far as it can
Pulling back black plastic
Discarded cardboard boxes
Tidbits of vegetables, file thirteen coupons
Last nights scrapes

Then the male voices
Men in banana yellow shirts
Permanently stained 
Men who come once or twice weekly
Creeping along  
Getting the tough smelly job done..


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011

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American Bobcat

Bobcat slipping thru
The underbrush hidden there
Camoflauged  color


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009

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Wild Blue Land

Wild Blue Land Such wind rushed by nearly blowing me to the side; filling my vision so wide, wide dotted with white puffs, rolling clumps, or whispy streaks of froth; gliding slyly in the ocean of an azure sky. Breaking the horizon in ochre, brown, black and beige rock spires and pointed mounds from ancient days; tabletops of plateaus and animal trails look deceptively simple to climb The'people', the "Dine'" arrived in weathered skin and tired eyes; medicine men and women knew this vision, this home, this antidiluvian place of horse, eagle, coyote and bobcat. Myriad thousands of years they roamed; wandering across wind swept steppes, a frigid ice bridge, aboriginal forest, towering mountain vistas; spirits soaring and dreaming abroad on uplifted wings of imaginings. They knew this place, this fractured land an ocean of lifetimes away; caverns and winding insanely beatific canyons carved by swift waters and time, petrified forests and painted deserts, memories of wetter climes. Mesas etched by ethereal unfettered winds, a place both desolate and strongly beautiful; perhaps as history suggests, from a tribe as ancient, who lived here before them; but time and fortune are not always kind blending arts and people as it winds. The sand tells all, swooshing in the gusts, moving like a tide across the highness painted with holy hands to heal and mend that which was whole, then splintered by hate, greed, and misunderstanding again, dancing like the horses and celebrate in the baskets towards unity again.


Copyright © Ben McClellan | Year Posted 2015

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No Friends At My Call

There are no butterflies as yesterday at eve, no birds that sing only quiet ease
Is it too early? Have I arisen before they? Where are the feeders, on the nest far away?
Have they left for a far country to spend the short winter's day?
Where are the ones that entertain me? I am distrubed today...

Maybe I should explore more carefully to see what has happened in the yard..
Is there a cougar or a bobcat? Or housecat that fear arouse....

How can I make it without my lovely friends?
I will have to buy some storebought and try to fence them in..

Maybe they will come later or what if not at all...
I will be sad and lonely with no friends at my call...

Click on "About This Poem"


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012

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Bobcat

Playing cat and hare
Cotton tail was unaware 
Till she caught his stare

By Robb A. Kopp


Copyright © Robb A. Kopp | Year Posted 2010

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Big Cats!!

Whose eyes shine in the night like balls of fire?
Whose paw could break a whole empire?
Whose strength could dam a river in niger?
I say, It is the Indian Tiger.

Who could use its paw to break,
A great stag's skull and overtake,
A antelope running toward the horizon?
I say, it is the African Lion.

Whose voice is a scream instead of a roar?
Who drops down from its tree on a boar?
Whose leap is far and its aim sure?
I say, It is the American Cougar.

Whose speed can fly past the great giraffe?
Who at our run would surely laugh?
Who lives on the dry plains of Africa?
I say, it is the spotted cheetah.

Whose leap is accurate and eyes very keen,
Who like a house cat keeps very clean?
Who eats birds and mice a lot?
I say, it is the sly ocelot!

Who is smaller than the ocelot and faster than a deer?
Whose ears are very keen and it's vision far and clear?
Who reminds me at least of the Egyptian Sphinx?
I say, it is the Canadian Lynx.

Who runs quite fast up trees so high?
Who in races with dogs would only tie?
Who eats other prey but mostly the rat?
I say, it is the little bobcat.

Now who does man consider friend?
Who with mice a hand does lend?
Who plays with paper and this and that?
I say, it is the tiny house cat!


Copyright © Amy Travesser | Year Posted 2007

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Storm Tantrum

Wild hoof beats rumble this night, and rattle my window panes
The day had not noticed that dark clouds tiptoed in on bobcat feet
Stomping feet, like a spoiled child, a storm vents, cries, then flees


____________________________
For the "On Your Feet" Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
By Carrie Richards 1/29/12


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

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Montana

Watching crows eat roadkill in Montana, my rifle slung across my shoulder,
early morning workers sweating, cursing, as they break apart a boulder

Ice cream truck stops by the roadside, driver shouting “come and get it”,
A lumbering moose the only taker, the angry driver shouts “forget it”.

The river overflows into the valley’s golden corn fields
The farmers lay large sand bags, they fear to loose their yields

Crop duster circles as the crows fly in pursuit
of falling butterflies and ladybugs who perched upon the fruit.

The poison claimed their short lived lives today
bees flee, birds scatter, all escaping from the spray    

The bobcat spies the moose, in all it’s forest glory
pouncing on its back it sinks its teeth, I cannot watch, too gory.

Thunder in the valley, rain falls ‘cross the land
a forest dweller begs for help, he needs a helping hand

“My daughter ran away without a word into the city,
I only ask for where to search, I do not ask for pity”. 

“Dear man what can I say, I’m just a hunter, not raised in Hollywood,
where only bad girls find their way there”, the old man understood

He slowly disappears beyond the trees, and softly moans,
The crows have finished with the roadkill and only left the bones.

And me, I think I’ll patch my jeans, and jump into the water
and climb into my pickup truck, go searching for his daughter

I hold a picture I was given, as he walked into the woods
I must admit she is a beauty, and has the proper goods

To drive this man to find her, before she disappears,
into the crowded city streets, that drive young girls to tears

The beauty of Montana, the forest and the farms,
will call me back I pray, with his daughter in my arms 

 
    

  


  

 



Copyright © Gabriel Magno | Year Posted 2015

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bobcat fringe

Let's cut our hair

locks lopped off in hopes of
style and convenience

only because everything in the media
had announced it so
to look one of two ways

stupid or not
the dichotomy of breathing
intermixed with thinking

a miscreant's
entreaty

based upon the logarithm of dog drool
of other's crisis mind fux=

a cute bob with fringe
perhaps, a beehive to capture errant thoughts 
in clouds of hairspray

like ricky lake eating more cake
like the earthy done shaky
like prickly pear sports shake
like trickling ear sweat bakes
like a crepe

just spend the time
emulsifying the generations
tell stories, freak out the other one
basically, have fun



Copyright © Shayna Earnest | Year Posted 2010

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Word play ONE

I could not understand why, my biology teacher said there is a fever in your thigh.

Where do you put the thermometer? I did not ask; for I was weigh to shy.

Driving my pick-up, I went to see my uncle, the Honorable Judge Marvel.

My neighbor’s driveway will be repaired; I’m hear to get the gavel.

It’s Halloween; the children costumes: Ghosts, Witches, and a Bobcat.

I have to ask, wear is the kid dressed as a goblet?


Inspired by Vernette Hutcherson's  Featured  Kimo--" Mixed Breed "
Dedicated to Vernette Hutcherson


Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2007

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Psychic Raven

The Psychic Raven
(Inspired from E.A.
Poe- The Raven)

The red hawk stares across the prairie wide
The eagle glides over all that he is lord
A lonesome vulture sails above a mountainside
And the psychic raven whispers
evermore

The red fox hunts throughout a charcoal night
The raccoon searches on the river shore
A wary rabbit keeps his castle den in sight
And the psychic raven whispers
evermore

The bobcat prowls around a woodland pond
The beaver hides behind his oaken door
Fireflies pulsate like a magic wand
And the psychic raven whispers
evermore

Pick-rel lurk among the water grass
Bullheads patrol the muddy floor
Minnows lie to hide their silver mass
And the psychic raven whispers
evermore

Stones are served to famished border towns
Prelude to an ever-forming war
Rebellion brings another cap-tal down
And the psychic raven whispers
evermore


Copyright © Mike Dudas | Year Posted 2014

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Lulled Into a Dream

Under the silvery light of the moon,
I heard the cry of a distant loon.
Closer by I detected the bark,
Of a lone coyote out in the dark.
The wild bobcat out on the prowl,
Stirred up the screeching of a midnight owl.
While crickets sang a happy refrain,
I heard the whistle of a nearby train.
Competing with the urgent siren whine,
Was the soft humming of the telephone lines.
And the trickling of a sleepy stream, 
Lulled me fast into a friendly dream.


Copyright © peggy caulfield | Year Posted 2012

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A Forest A Capella

Along the forest floor I creep,
not wishing to disturb inhabitants living there.
Treading on pine needles ankle deep,
as if nature had placed a carpet,
so I wouldn't disturb its sleep.

The forest, having long been asleep,
appearing drowsy, begins now to wake
and from somewhere into the deep.
A chorus of Coyotes, yapping in song,
before denning up to sleep.

Have I given them cause for fear?
Are they telling me perhaps I don't belong,
having sensed that I am near?
Or another of natures marvelous ways,
of making music for my ear.

My occasional snapping of a twig
has alerted a Fox Squirrel somewhere near.
Perhaps in a nearby oak so big.
It's chattering, as if at odds, over acorns
being devoured by Blue Jays or a grunting pig. 

With snowflakes now floating from the sky
my eyes are now directed overhead,
and though not seen by eye,
I hear sounds of passing Geese,
as further south they fly.

An occasional hissing and as I turn to see,
somewhat apprehensive, but with no fears.
There walking the trunk of a fallen tree,
a Bobcat singing It's part,
like others, A Capella, just for me.

















































































































Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2008

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red feathered roosters

red feathered roosters cock-a-doodle-do long, loud.... bobcat screech


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012

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Monsoon Night

Over rolling hills, it tiptoes in on bobcat feet
With Lynx-like eyes, and billowing clouds of gray
And turns the hush of twilight's blood red sky
Into a witches brew, alive with piercing cries
A wind that coils in the breast of dunes
Gliding in from distant lands, Saguaro sands
Eerie sounds whistle through window sills
The chill of what was peaceful and still
Has turned to anger, fear and dread
Wildness arrives on chariots with mighty steeds
The monsoon thrives, while a desert blanches dead
It gnashes teeth with biting winds
Shaking shingles, tree trunks bend
The pouring thunder, lightning peels
Rain gushes down as strong as steel
We wait until the wrath is spent
At last with gusto,....a final vent
Like spoiled child it takes a bow
There's nothing but a murmur now
The wretched carpet left behind
Broken wings from dark of night
Trees and limbs are battered hosts
Cacti lift their arms to toast
The remnant of a monsoon's ghost


.................................
Inspired by Paula's Monsoon Contest


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

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Snowed In

It loomed dark inside so I ventured out.
The snowstorm left us powerless.

I can barely lift my shovel in protest
As the bobcat steamrolls ahead.
Stop trudging over my work!

But the driver could care less.
He is paid an hourly rate.

My daughter thinks he is cool,
Or his vehicle is,
The yellow throne upon which he
Reigns, above it all.
Mighty, and high,
Traversing ice and branches and
Frozen feelings.

He plows through moments frosted over,
Ones I cannot retrieve
No matter how hard I dig in.

I pick through the remnants of the damage exacted.
I claw at what melts...
And come up with this.


Copyright © Irene Hammer-McLaughlin | Year Posted 2009