This grassed non-place; no-name scent-depth.
Hearts, thereout which bound
Young rabbit-furred, yearling-spotted
Filled with Earth-breathed love.
As free they, and ever fresh, to
This feeling state alone
Left; as I! Floaty peacefulness.
Still yet to drop out of!
A pair of tiny orphans
in haystacks their mother made,
near an orchard by a lake,
with pine tall as an arcade.
Sheltering them,I brought milk
to the lonely kits each day,
but they wouldn't show their faces
till I hovered far away.
In time they learned to like me,
and slowly joined running games;
one brown-furred, one white bundle
Sugar and Puff... their nicknames.
Hearing my voice from the door,
the kitties would run so quick
right up my tummy to the neck;
playing cuddle- and- frolic.
One day, Puff and Sugar left
not marking sign of contacts...
the fun of souls well relished,
how my heart misses loved cats.
Written: Jun 2nd, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
****************
A poetic reply to a piece created by Nobel Prize winner and Mexican poet /writer, Octavio Paz:
There is not
A single soul among the trees
And I
Don't know where I've gone.
"I step—"into the quiet rising from trees,
my fingers are tracing the cold, resistant bark.
"The path— waits, thin as~a breath before speaking"
Birds' flight testifies~our souls prowl woods.
"The wind—" fails to read~the omen of fate,
A frightful form frays from a furred finger.
"The gap—" between roots is all that we are;
a wraith, fumbling for skin~outruns my frantic stride.
"I follow—" until its echo threads my footsteps,
and I am found, rooted to~disappear...
my purring snuggler
seeks comfort while she's sleeping
tortoise furred feline
—Sub Iure Cordis—
If I must choose a furred estate,
I’d be a lion—composed, aware;
Who lingers with deliberate weight,
As though the world conspired the air.
My mane demarcates tempered space,
No vagrant touch, no errant near;
Love sole may consecrate that grace,
And sanction who may venture here.
Yet you—approach; I know your art,
I might concede a tempered view:
A velvet nudge, a yielded heart—
A lion inclines where hearts are true.
For others—pause, observe, depart;
No casual claim, no passing due.
I husband distance into art,
And share my kingdom with a few.
At times I range where shadows lean,
As though I ward some veiled throne;
I watch, unseen yet half-foreseen—
A sovereign most when left alone.
But should you bring no gift, no plea,
No hurried hand, no grand display—
You might, by quiet chance, find me…
Asleep upon your lap. I stay.
If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.
An aardvark, you? Then I’m one, too.
Your vision’s blurred? My tongue is furred.
If you’re a shrew, then I’m a gnu.
You’d rob a bank? I’ve got the gun:
you’re learning français? Moi aussi!
You’re wide receiver? Sounds like fun!
Together we can take the knee!
You’re introvert, or extrovert?
I’m flexible, I can adapt:
If you’re the broom, I’ll be your dirt.
You’re snow? Then I’m a mountain, capped!
The tarot cards know what awaits you:
“Le soleil” depicts two twins:
the perfect lover imitates you:
this is where it all begins!
Hoot hoot goes the owl
perpetual in disguise.
Resting on a twig he scowls
furred up in brown and white.
This superb bird stands wise,
in a forest filled with light.
Contest Name: Spirit Animal
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: Sept 26, 2025
FIRELIGHT FRIEND
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frostbite
Fingers numb
Found shelter
Flickering
Flame's soft hum
Furred guest rests
Frost undone
Have you heard what I have heard -
that when your quill is inspired or spurred,
the act of writing, it might be inferred,
as, with watching feathered beasts (not furred),
must never cause you to to be deterred;
and, as the distinction is somewhat blurred,
the methodology most preferred
is "bird by bird, word by word".
I believe, I may have missed the boat
The water’s deep, I couldn’t float
Perhaps the marks I set weren’t high
The tide’s in now – I’ll wave bye-bye
I read Thoreau and Frost, I know
Of wilderness and falling snow
Of Roads Not Taken tongue in cheek
Of singing trees and babbling creek
With pomp and ceremony flyin’
I stopped to sniff a dandelion
To watch a honey bee rejoice
At making such a tasty choice
I sit beside the croaking pond
A heron blending with the frond
A muskrat watches warily
A dragonfly upon my knee
My pants are frayed, my kayak weathered
I share my time with furred and feathered
Visiting these woods, their home
Leave them, as I came, alone
The Word Nerd Goblin Man
Too many words were inside
The Word Nerd Goblin Man’s brain.
Every time he went for a run outside
words spilled out of his ears onto the lane.
Loner Fairy Woman
She loved alone time more than anything.
It became her only friend.
She named it Everything.
Troll Woman
Troll Woman was such a book nerd
that when she gave birth to letters stirred
instead of babies thin furred
she didn’t think that at all was absurd.
Written: November 03, 2023, For Brian Strand Contest
________________________________________
I was just a child,
enraged by my inaptitude to act
I dashed home,
surprised,
my eyes wide open
trying to retain the tears at bay,
fists clenched
palms are pierced by nails,
lungs contract, begging for breath...
I couldn't keep an eye on him.
He was
a dark furred man-bear
with forlorn, teary eyes,
waltzing to the beat of a drum.
In his irises, I saw
the lushness of wetlands,
cherries and wild fruits
the vastness of the mountains
as well as the nectar of icy streams,
and honey-laden trees.
With a chain around his neck,
standing tall on his back legs
all
he was pleading for
was
freedom.
A closer look at a fantastic word
And no, I’m not talking in bafflegab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
To absquatulate like a fracas herd
Throw a foofaraw over a little jab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A uni-brow is a glabella furred
And whirligigs hung too slapdash to grab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
Scuttlebutt schlepped to sassafras by bird
Skedaddle from a skirmish of stone crab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A quibble over razzmatazz occurred
Doohickey from a lummox, easy nab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
So scrumdiddlyumptious I may have slurred
Like tintinnabulation, it’s not drab
A closer look at a fantastic word
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
My horse's haunches sway,
Saunter up hillocks and down a valley path,
Above a ridge off and on: a village where some people fish,
Phosphorescent flotsam washed ashore.
Green embers breathe as if through shriveled lungs.
Wax in contrast to the gloaming dark that's coming on.
Shrubbery shadows lengthen, enlarging blacknesses.
Crickets ratchet down their temperatures.
The earth cools in wan mirage.
Time lapsed, the stars make
A slow, quiet carousel of lights.
It circles far above us disengaged.
Wings of crows scoop pools of air,
Then dive down open maws
On tiny, furred crawlers shocked stock still.
Crows chalk their caws across the night.
A copse will grow into a stand of oaks.
The vintage children like to climb.
Gnarled limbs reminding them of fiction sailing ships.
Hand over fist to where the topmost rigging is.
For now, people and trees are bottled tiny on a shelf.
At dry dock like some whittled models are.
Until the oak is christened keel and frame
And of agers live lives and make their livelihoods at sea. (9/18/22)
Backyard mavens, wise crones
recall generations of groundhogs
that have dwelt in these hedgerows.
In winter
they seed the ground with 'Puffcorn Delites'
bought wholesale from Sam's Club.
The comfortable groundhogs nap in their burrows
contemplating evening feasts.
Furred paws in tartan house slippers
shuffle at back doors. A grey whiskered fuzziness
that is part critter, part elderly granny
stand ever ready
to lend a hand in case baby groundhogs
need burping.
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