Short Whisker Poems

each whisker
kisses my cheeks with springtime
tickling my smile...

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confronted by lions 
                 within a whisker of death 
              laughing through ~ the fence 


By
David Kavanagh...

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the jaguar's tear
slides off his single whisker
clouds do sigh

three offspring
dragged into the river's teeth
one remains

they both stretch
the moment of sorrow lost
life leaps on...

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dandelion sparkles
sprinkles over cupcakes
floating pristine white eight by ten 
dazzling snowflakes 
light and lively autumn leaves
silk scarf flung into the air 
lifting a whisker
glitzy glitter 
weightlessness...

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Limerick : Once a Little Girl and her Sister

Once a little girl and her sister
Went out for a walk in a bluster
Little girl lost her way
Big sister blew away
With a Mister who wore a whisker. 

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013...

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Pitter Patter kitty's natter,
meow on the wall
eight to go after the fall-
what a whisker risk-er!
And such a minxy tinker!
The paws at the door
straight to the cupboard crumb
sneaky biscuits for the tum,
and into the hall a cry "Mum!-
What's for dinner?"...

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Each whisker of your beard waves in the breeze towards me. 
Each one is a whispering whisker saying to me 
Come closer
Nuzzle your chin against mine
In time the whiskers lift my chin
To softly kissing 
The whiskers direct it all 

Good morning my love??...

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The whisper of a whisker
At my window
Scratches at my eardrums
Like inch-long nails on a chalkboard
In the hot sweaty classroom
Where I grew old
So like a student greets the bell
I greet the reaper
Who stares at me through the glass
Through the night
Through thin slits
In catlike eyes...

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does the bush on his face
hide his smile or scorn?
what if each whisker was plucked?
would it hurt?
would hundreds of miles away
zoom close to home,
soft as a newborn
cradled and miniature —
dollhouse size...
far far away,
a dot in the apple
of my eye —
a microscopic teardrop 

9/3/2018...

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Mustache sandwiches if you please
I am confused but a second 
Then I jump on the band wagon
What about mouse whisker sandwiches?
Mortified muffin sandwiches?
Meager mayonnaise sandwiches?
Now to turn this into a poem somehow.
I sit and stare as a marigold sandwich takes a bite out of my leg.
That works I think.
Writing it down....

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dressed in a feather
on a fur cap
and an oil skin coat
the medicine man
sits by
a grave of old wisdom

wearing whisker stubs of
light and mystery
he sits there like a stone
in a dream wthout mirrors

his hands circle my sleep
and in the center
coyotes and bears pad
around the rim of darkness

his arms rise
we see him dimly
then not at all...

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Eye of newt, wart of toad, 
tongue of snake, wing of bat,
 whisker of cat, dragons’ blood…

Mix together what you have
a witch’s brew…

Casting a spell on one who has
 harmed you…

Or to rid someone who brings you 
despair…

A witch’s brew is whatever you
 want it to be…

Be careful, for it may,
 just backfire on you…

By Sandra Lea Hoban
©2009...

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Grasping it like an heirloom.
Alone in this room.
I saw a whisker.
I knew it was from her.
Gray, yet somehow bright.
A piece of you that you left one night.
Trying to clean, to help myself calm.
But now I am crying from what is in my palm.
I miss when your whiskers poked me.
Like needles from a pine tree.
A simple memory of your love.
A reminder you sent from up above....

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Frisky Fish Café, cat-owned, the yellow sign said.
How could they be frisky? They are decidedly dead.
I told my cousin Whisker Wipes to go on ahead.
By the time I arrived his face was puffed stop sign red.
There are apparently shellfish in their kitty bread.
Instead of feasting, I drove him to the hospital instead.
He spoke about the merits of the place from his hospital bed....

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The cornstalks vanished overnight
Shaven fields once flowing, green and gold
Now Dad’s evening whisker stubble 
Ghost limbs of the cornfield

Flocks of nomadic Ravens
Feast on the invisible
And scowl with those empty black eyes
Impervious to man’s judgment

And I think,

There is nothing as beautiful 
Than the first snow on a barren field
Shadows playing with the evening light
And dance among the vacant mounds...

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Untitled 

Every heart felt typed word I send out
 to the lazy technology had become angry wine.
I don’t blame, for my one room is made
 of old stained  glass a tap could break.
No clever posted quotes of the dead 
on books of faces will forgive the day
 I slipped to green eyes someday
Silvia like -she keeps the oven door open
 inhaling  deep the slow kill till sleep 
With each gray whisker count rises
 my truth wants to stop pursuit of forever
To be honest about companionship....

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