Long Fur Poems
Long Fur Poems. Below are the most popular long Fur by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fur poems by poem length and keyword.
I had a leopard with soft spotted fur
And a tag that said “Duetsch Gemachter”.
He carried it home after his tour;
With a bow saying, “Love from Daddy”.
My first Christmas gift, something that said,
He loved me, his oldest daughter.
But time went on, and Christmases passed,
And life took its toll, naturally.
My mother complained, “Too many children live here;
One less will surely not matter”.
The lady looked sad, as she reached for my bag,
For my mother had chosen me.
The world fell down and everything changed;
No family, no love, and no laughter.
But I had my leopard with soft spotted fur,
Which once sat under my Christmas tree.
I had proof of his love, with soft spotted fur,
Telling me once, I really did matter.
And no one could take his place in my heart,
For once, my dad had loved me.
I am almost embarrassed to admit
that spread out along the armrest
of a lounge chair, a fox fur
complete with head and feet
has found a refuge in our home.
Rescued from an op shop,
it seems relaxed on its elevated bed
and sleeps with its glass eyes open,
snout closed and missing its teeth.
It has become a novel oddity giving
an accent to the decor of the room.
Considered vermin in this country,
the fox is hunted and treated as a pest.
A ten dollar bounty is still paid
for each scalp whether fresh, frozen
or dried. Vulnerable native species
are no match for its cunning
and killer instinct. Its presence
in our home could be excused
as a symbol of the righteous fight to rid
ourselves of this villian,
the stuffed remains a trophy to mark
the measure of our meager success
in culling it from the continent.
But I somehow feel for the life
that once filled this gutted creature
and all that it was in the span
of its despised existence.
Here it has its final rest not as vermin
but more a victim sacrificed on fashions
alter, its first ancestors brought
to these shores by wealthy landowners
to satisfy their lust for the hunt.
This animal was no willing immigrant
but meant to be bloodsport for a few
and ripped apart by dogs.
I find myself in two minds, a part of me
wanting to erase all evidence of our
more primitive instincts to adorn
human life with what has been taken
from other species. Yet I see how
some of its perfection has transcended life
and the furriers art and lays here
in this house, magnificent, acknowledged
and admired, instead of being carted off,
despised or pitied, at the bottom
of a bin.
Sans seed - it’s not Spring now - green grass concealed.
Cute, cuddly happiness with floppy ears.
White rabbits leap, in the fluffy snow field,
when the zephyr and flower disappears.
Plush wings that sink into the angel-snow.
Flapping in the thirst-quenching cold, faux-fur
envelopes limbs with a diamond glow.
Flurries dash from above, brighten dark fir.
Buried halfway - barrow and bicycles,
shrubs and bushes, and children of small size.
Melting ice reshapes into icicles -
nature’s decoration delights the eyes.
1/17/2023
12 Lines of Rhyme - Winter Nature Themed
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Of fur and bone and feathers blow
Along the road many travelers go
And who would think of food and life
Where others die and struggle with strife
The road laid out so far and wide
Scattered bones and feathers and torn hide
Scraps of food thrown out litter
By passersby no regard and bitter
But creatures drawn by hunger seek
A scrap of food however small or meek
And in their savage hunger eyes don't see
The threats of death so close they be
The buzzards fly from high carnage lies low
A smear of blood a torn hide death by auto
Quick uncaring no regard for the lost soul
God Bless this world and make it whole
Of fur and bone and feathers blow
Along the road many travelers go
And who would think of food and life
Where others die and struggle with strife.
"A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast…" Proverbs 12:10 of the King James Bible
Belonging to where I’m loved warmly well
My best “dogistically” does excel
Since puppy times of varied joyous days
Fed and sufficed in my home-base, safe place.
Surviving apart from dear Mother
After forced abandonment of Father
Adopted was I with my three siblings…
Yet only I --- thrived --- by kindness’ enablings.
Living with my loving “fur-family”
I hear songs, praising God jubilantly
Beholding them pray secures my welfare
As they exercise genuine give and share.
Thankful to their sanitation routine
I feel clean and fresh with favored hygiene
Around my domestic environment
Satisfied with contentment-fulfillment.
Blest with wonders of blissful growing up
Here am I now, a healthy Mom, prepped-up
Nourishing own puppies, with gentle nurture
Assisted by gracious human nature.
June 26, 2022
2nd place, "Personification- Pets Talking" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 7/1/2022.
It was an early Christmas present
I was so anxious to give it to him
It was so soft and luxurious
I thought how it would keep him warm
With the winter months ahead
Turned out he didn’t need it
He never saw one flake of snow that year
No more walks across the fields
To his creek over the bridge he built
To the cabin with his woodstove
Where he’d percolate fresh coffee
And toast bread on its hot surface
In a flash it was all delegated to a distant past
How I would treasure that snapped photo
Of my father’s precious smile
As he tried on his new fur hunting hat
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020
Your memories quirk in the rays of
stagnant oceans,
my yearning hangs on the tail of the dark
knight moon
as it illuminates the beats of your heart
racing through shadows.
Let us dance all night long sneaking
through the rehearsal of a royal ball
so echoes of your voice leave a trail
in my heart that my thoughts can't
comprehend.
I am lost in the awry beauty of your silence.
even when the waves haul your kiss from
its shores
the wind leads them back to me.
our bodies are synchronously intertwined
with beautiful melodies.
imaginations spread in wildfire, our
names written on the flames.
squeeze me in a smile of scented bluebells
soaked in the berries of your wrong I play
you right.
In the winter sonata
our eyes met in an estuary where our love
was sung by evening birds that flew
through the road of our sailing feet.
What more can I ask of life when saturated
and adorned with tons of rare petals that
stick to me like galium aparine.
I could gaze at you through the spring of
snow and ruffle your hair until the tides ride
low.
My love for you works
against the laws of
time, not fitting into a
scale we will soar like
the sirens of the deep blue sea.
My love, you have shown me ways to exist
amidst cheerful demons and I promise to
spend it all with you even in immortality.
Wrapped in a ballet of
cherry blossom, your
arms are like Fur in the
snow of winter sonata.
Spring is sprung.
Clouds of maple.
Skies of pine.
Red in green.
Serviceberry understory.
Spring is sprung.
Skunk cabbage spathe.
Black birch sap.
Poplar flowers.
Opossum tires.
Spring is sprung.
Blackbird wing.
Wasps won’t sting.
My father died.
Town meeting Monday.
Spring is sprung.
Sing cuccu!
There’s no down side.
Infinite willow.
Leaning oak.
Spring is sprung.
Budding flame.
Budding thumb.
Cat claw.
Bird yolk.
Spring is sprung.
Dandelion
Shoots. Arrowhead
Roots. Waterproof
Boots. Old bed young.
Spring is sprung.
Ring and wrong.
Thank and thought.
Seed and sawn.
Wait and walk.
Spring is sprung.
As the moonlight reflected on a lake
Whomever you choose to be or make,
Your mind and heart can have a choice,
Add my consent if fair according voice.
Ether happiness is just a state of mind
Like joyful clouds gather or go with wind,
All states of mind, may also reproduce
Themselves in physical forms or use.
Unknown station, future may belong to hoards
Ready to gather up and sharpen the swords.
Fear may becomes panic. Its rhymes get witness
As exhausted love may become possessiveness.
If we could only have a little a bit more time,
More money, more love, maybe a better rhyme
More known or unknown thing he did not have,
We’d be truly happy. All these make us behave.
Any sequoia will watch us from higher places.
Each repressed emotion in childhood lets traces.
Cycle of life: tangled branches of every wood.
Angry may bring kind of rebel like Robin-hood
Grief may become chronic deep depression,
Envy may become jealousy, even obsession.
Sorrow looks like a robin, but what else may be?
Or sing another song, or choose another tree!
Sweet and soothing, the night is settling by now.
Shadows loaded with sleep, dull, soft and slow,
Clouds over the earth like water ready to give up.
Playing : softly, slowly, joy of love grow up:
Feelings, like the steam carried over a precipice,
So, wishful thinking carried over prejudice,
Sneaking through the trees, moon runs to here.
White lights turn off, descend and may disappear.
The overtaken, discolored, pale moon`s childhood
A hidden rhythm presides and resolves this mood
Of tonalities loaded with the hope that does not fear
New dreams crawl to the heights to fresh air.
You need a measure, if want too much without be able
Rebound for men like the expensive wine on the table.
Serotonin beyond each ill that would corruption bring,
Over dose brings neuroses, or subjective suffering.
If the feelings` denominator can flood the cognitive,
Try keep smiling: in good transfer as dough can live
Resilient like the seasons`colors and scent of the leaves
Enjoy the joy of the others under the unknown eaves.
;;;;;;;;.............;;;;;;;;
so many frigid clouds
so many dangling drooping dippers
on this icy, icy night of paper, powder and pearl…
she gushes out from the night blanket,
cats and tigers in flight, trees mashing ivory
feathers with silver stones.
her lukewarm eyes sink with velvet birds
sketching her photographs tissue crepe,
ocean crème and maiden white,
nesting on hemisphere’s balding coves
the sky-lamps trip on her thermal feet
naked… i mean, like breasts of newborn doves
on the nest’s chilled waiting room...
and just past midnight
at the basement of stillness, nothingness,
her translucent air swerves in transit
between visions of secluded saints and sinners
weeping then laughing at the bite of polar time.
this moon lady of frost
embraces lantern clouds waning,
heralding her sacred infant-like incantation
seemingly detached from earth mother’s limbs
on this icy, icy night of paper, powder and pearl…
she is cold changing to warm,
breathless along an arctic season longing
for her new moonchild to bear the fruits
of plump colors soon to be.
........................................
(( here's to: Chris D. Aechtner's " Free Verse for Winter"))