# Saturday, April 04, 2009
April PAD Challenge: Day 4
Posted by Robert

Hope you're having a good weekend!

For today's prompt, I want you to pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem. You could be very general with your animal title ("Bees" or "Lion") or specific ("Flipper" or "Lassie"). You could even be very silly with something like "Tony, the Tiger," I guess (that tiger on the cereal box).

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Whale"

Would you know my name
if found out of water? I hold
my breath for hours and sing
across the spaces where I dream.
Would you believe I was ever
vulnerable? I find the part
you love most is the monster
lurking in me, that unknown
quantity hiding beneath
the surface. If I could swallow
you whole and hold you within,
would you call out my name?


Poetry Challenge 2009 | Poetry Prompts
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Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:34:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)  #  Comments [1095] 
Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:37:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
4 April 2009

On a motel balcony
in Memphis
the music seemed to rise
in strings of smoke.

First violins, flutes,
light and brittle,
almost bird-like,
a note that needed
to be fed.

Then a slow piano
rang in quietly,
a temperate bell,
a tone that was not
in a hurry.

Finally, the drums began,
softly, like trucks
in the distance,
then these great kettle drums,
war drums,
their skins banging down
with each hammer’s pound

until the conductor’s
hands hover high above
his own head
and then freeze.

His arms drop,
the baton clatters on the floor
like a shell casing.
He steps down and goes
to his car
for the
ride home,
alone and
without music.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:41:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tabby the cat!
****************

Tabby
You are a gorgeous kitten
Though you can be naughty and rotten.

Tabby
Is it since that you heard you will be sold
That you became an asshole
And shit everywhere so bold.

I love you Tabby
But you are not mine
And my sister had sold you to the pet shop
I hope you will find better life with your new master.
Nadura Kamarulzaman
Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:42:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
butter fly
how did you get your name?
who saw your wings
and thought of butter?
is there some other exotic name
you're not telling us?
what about that cocoon
can you teach us to build one too?
to construct a place where we can rest
where we can weave some new creation
of ourselves
what tells you to start the process?
what tells you it's all right to go inside
where's it's dark
and empty
and know that you will emerge
knowing how to fly
Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:43:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The skunk

The skunk slunk sleepily
As the skink and sloth looked on
The snake slept on and the snail sniggered
The skunk slunk slovenly on

Spot the skunk!
Badger the skunk!
Stripe the skunk!
Mohawk skunk!
Punk-tailed skunk!
Squirrel-cousin skunk!

See the skunk squint
The skunk squeals and squats
Slink, skunk, don't slack.

Tanja Cilia
Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:50:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Beautiful Dog

for Molly

Beautiful dog lights up the day for me.
No thing in this world
I would rather feel
than your breath upon my feet.

Beautiful dog - chase cross that hill again.
There when it all began.
Do you remember me?

Thought I’d die on that long night
when you went to fetch that far away star.
You’re not coming home.
You left me alone,
and I can’t get to where you are.

Beautiful dog - chasing those stars again.
Thought I would die
while you ran wild
across the sky
without looking back.

Will you wait somehow, somewhere for me?
I promise that each tomorrow starts
with a memory of you.
Do you remember me?


Julie Eger
Saturday, April 04, 2009 1:54:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Girlie

Her name is Cleo
But she's hardly ever called that.
the cutest, sweetest girlie
tabby so serene

i got up this morning
envying her as she curled up
on my bed in the warm spot
purring loudly

her favorite treat
a can of food
she chirps her familiar "RACK"
and i laugh out loud

Such joy the fuzzy face
of the sweet Girlie brings
the sweet little kitty breaths
on my face as she purrs





Pamela Sue Gordon
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:01:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I like Tanja's Skunk!
Marie Elena
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:03:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
April 4, 2009 - Cats

It seems utterly impossible
to sometimes love cat.
An animal so aloof
ignoring this or that.

Walking high and mighty
across the counter rows,
Laying in the window
time of to dispose.

Purring it its own right
not meeting my demands.
Looking at me when called
"I'll come because I can."

Lazily wasting the day
lounging in my house.
Teasing birds that fly by,
playing with a mouse.

Meowing when I get home
wrapping around my feet,
all as if to say
Feed me - time to eat!

Starring across the room
as I lay down to nap
and curling up with me
Ah....to love a cat.
Cresta McGowan
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:06:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bat

Rat! I've been called that.
Rodent with wings who sings
squeaky like a mouse in the chimneys
and attics of your house.

I am but an angel,
and I look at life from a different angle,
hanging topsy-turvy in the sooty night.

My sight is twenty-twenty
and I have have virtues, plenty.
Why do you persecute me,
impale me like Bela Lugosi?

Go see me close up at your local zoo.
You'll see the folk lore is just not true:
I'm just like any nightbird;
hanging out, I pick and peck.
You might consider, though,
wearing something about your neck.
Bill Stewart
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:07:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Subject: Animal

"Her name is Fawn"

In fields layered
with butter gold,
I gather especially
when night falls
gently or morning breaks

My caution strong,
I feed on sweet berries
and weeds to keep me
thriving, while
avoiding slayers stalking
in the distance

I lap the lush landscape
in a desperate effort
to embrace another day
without starvation or
a bullet in my covering,
for not all see my
existence as meaningful
and precious.


Linda Balboni
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:11:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Daisy

Daisy, Daisy, Daisy Doggy
So much of your past is unknown and foggy.
If only you could tell us what your life had been
Before we adopted you and took you in.
Watching you blossom has been such a pleasure
And you definitely are our treasure.
From frightened to confident,
From starved to robust,
You still have not learned to completely trust.
You only seem comfortable with a mouthful of food,
Yet even without it you’re in a great mood.
So loving and happy,
So bouncy and cute,
Your actions certainly are not mute.
But even without the gift of speech,
Into our hearts you deeply reach.
We are thankful each and every day,
So glad that you came our way.
Wanda Gray
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:13:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Cows”

Oh, thank you cows for all you give.
Thank you for milk.
Thank you for cheese.
And most of all thank you for Ice Cream.


Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:16:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Dachshund Tale

A dashing young dachshund named Mort
Honeymooned with his Basset bride Wort.
They bayed all night long
Their wooing hound song,
And that's it, the long and the short.
###

Just my first thought, I'd best return later after long injections of caffeine.
Shirley T.
Shirley T.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:16:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jaybird

If everyone on Willow Street
in Poughkeepsie heard it
sing it once, they heard it
sing it thousands: “tweet, tweet…”

My mother called me Jaybird,
but I couldn’t sing, couldn’t fly.

My mother didn’t know Jaybirds
as well as I, because I knew why

Jaybirds lived and flied in the sky…
so they’d never be grounded. Sounds

like a bad joke, telling it to you now.
But when my mother made asparagus

and I fed it to the dog under the table,
my mother asked me why asparagus tips

were in the dog poop. Unlike a Jaybird,
I couldn’t fly away, sing a pretty song,

get away with a lie. If everyone heard
me on Willow Street in Poughkeepsie
cry it once, they heard me
cry it millions, the screams after my lie.

I was not a Jaybird. Jaybirds do not cry.

J. Martin
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:25:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sam - Backyard Hunter

haunches tensed,
whiskers twitching,
he lunges
from behind tri-colored crotons

flutter and flap of wings
carries the prey
just out of reach of
outstretched paws and claws
Diana D.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:27:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Humpback

Without warning, a forty-ton waterfall
hurtles from Frederick
Sound.
A humpback
strains to fly like a featherless gosling

only to fall—a Saturday matinee
cowboy who’s been
shot.
Its belly white
and as furrowed as the fields of Cincinnatus.

It descends, rolling beneath
the surface,
spiraling
gracefully down,
a paper airplane on a calm day.

Then a U-turn, rising angelic,
laying bubble nets,
soaring
to the krill.
Another attempt to fly, another wheezing failure.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:27:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
C.A.T.
I knew a girl
once
who, looking like
an eagle,
believed herself
a cat.
Somewhere inside,
I think,
is an animal
we have never
seen.
Peyton Ellas
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:28:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Leo

Now there’s an image--
The massive cat
The lolling in the African sun cat
Yawns rumbling deep
Layers down into the earth--
Nervous gazelles and the pride
Stretched out all around

Not some punk garbage picker
Or lazy window sill ornament
Teasing cocker spaniels or pulling muskrats
Off the banks of little streams cat

It’s a lot to live up to.

Denise P.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:32:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
New Dinosaurs

I walked among the fallen
dinosaurs of Drumheller,
a pocket of Alberta where
they mated and ate and slept.
Swallowed by sand and dirt,
scary monsters disguised as rocks
for eons.
Patient bones, they waited in shallow graves
for us to finally discover them.
"Discover" sounds odd, doesn't it?
They were here first, after all,
and under our feet for a million years.
They were just animals roaming in a footnote
(longer than ours)
blessed to be surprised by their deaths,
free of the curse of foresight,
never making the mistake
of inventing a word for "extinction."
They had the earth to themselves forever
until forever was redefined.
I walked among the fallen
dinosaurs of Drumheller
and held hands with my wife
in the museum parking lot.
We drove to the hotel where we
mated and ate and slept
and for a moment, I thought I'd
live forever, too.
In that tiny heaven between
dreaming and daylight,
I thought I could fly
and never fall.
Then the sun invaded through
the crack in the curtains
to break the spell
and I thought of
fields of lucky corpses.
They never saw it coming.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:33:20 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My Cardinal, My Star

Oh cardinal, as red as you are,
makes you easy to spot, like a bright star.
A sign, you are, of hope and love
sent to calm me from up above.
Whenever I see you come my way,
I am reminded to stop and pray.

Oh cardinal, the song you sing,
is as beautiful as a diamond ring.
Exquisite and clear is the song I hear,
reminding me of a friend, so dear.
Whenever you chirp your song so sweet
I wonder why I deserve such a treat.

Oh cardinal, oh star, how I dream of you.
Even though my friend's life was blue,
you are always here to get me through.

Laurie K.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:33:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Squirrel

You live so high in the trees
In nests that sway in the breeze
Do you really stay warm in there?
In your tightly woven lair
A tail for a blanket upon you back
When cold winds blow and heat is lack
Burying nuts all over my yard
Yet finding them seems to be hard
Chasing one another round and round you go
Until the game is over and you need to slow
Kim Jakway
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:35:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Waiting for Sheep

The barn is finished,
big galvanized garbage cans
filled with sweet feed
and hay stacked neatly,
pastures are greening up,
limed and ready, fresh after rain,
water trough running nicely,
the idea of sheep is everywhere.
But no pellets of manure
litter damp straw,
fragrant or stinking depending
upon interpretation,
no bleat or maa yet, insisting on attention,
no clacking grain against the little bucket.
I have prepared a set
for my ten year old self,
to play out her dream of shepherd,
Heidi with the goats and Peter
in the mountains.
Granted, they are sheep
on their way to this space
that, in my sixties and alone,
I have carefully prepared,
but the little fair haired girl
dreaming in the city finally
has her farm.


Lynn McLure
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:35:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Play Things
By Erin Diane Sweeney

black unicorns
with hot pink hooves
I was Ariel, you were Flipper

those plastic horses came to life
those hot summer nights and how
I remember crying when the grey one
took a fatal fall

now we work a 9 to 5 but we
will always have those summers
to remember the innocence, remember

the sheer joy of our imagination
running wild like those plastic horses
Erin Sweeney
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:36:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Pussy Love


She slinks
across the street
at the sound of his car
rising from the marshland
where she has lounged all
day soaking in the wild
rain,snow, sun blazed mist
bloodied birds or small
soft things all
melt to
sinuousness
sliding in green eyes
flashing here
rubbing each toned
muscle against the glass
door that my husband
sparkling in innocence
opens wide
"How sweet"
says he
as she slides
past my outreached hand
in unspeakable
unanswerable
triumphant
treacherous
pussy love

Pearl Ketover Prilik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:38:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stray Cat
*********

She’s got the package
says her name is Willow
and if I can buy her some candy
she can give me some pussy.

What clothes she’s got on
suggest she’s eighteen
but her teeth and hands
say otherwise.

I pass her a cigarette
light it up for her
tell her to keep the change.

The light turns green
and I mash on the gas.



Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:39:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
ANIMAL POEM: CATS

Cats, cats
They know where it's at.
They get their food and massage
And then go take a nap.

Cheryl B. Lemine
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:44:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Forgetful Elephant

Once a baby elephant was born,
But his mother died and he began to mourn;
So the good ol' wise owl looked after the poor baby.
She took care of the elephant patiently and lovingly.

As the elephant grew, the owl taught him many things,
About love and life - its cheers, risks, and bets;
But the most important of all, the wise owl did sing:
"Remember this always - An elephant never forgets!"

"An elephant never forgets, always remember that;
And that should be easy, for you are an elephant!"
The wise owl joyfully continued to croon,
And the elephant joined her though he was out of tune.

"An elephant never forgets - I should remember that;
And it'll be easy, for I am an elephant!"
And so the two sang joyfully, merrily;
They screamed, chuckled, and danced in glee.

Days passed and the elephant got worried,
For he couldn't do it, though he really tried.
Much as he wanted to, he just couldn't remember.
Poor elephant! He thought he was a blooper!

He kept on forgetting things - like which was left or right?
Or what day or time was it? Or was it day or night?
He always forgot what he had to do,
He forgot to fulfill his promises, too.

"Why do I always forget? I'm a failure!
Oh, dear Aunt Owl, can you give me the cure?"
So the owl taught him this little old trick:
"Tie a colored knot on your finger so you can remember things."

"The knot will remind you what you need to do today.
This green knot says you should water your plants everyday.
You can also write down on a piece of paper,
All the things that you need to remember."

"The secret is planning, organize your day.
Follow your schedule, do it, I say."
So the elephant felt really happy.
He now expected his life to run smoothly.

But one day, the elephant rushed to his aunt.
He still had some problems. Oh, poor elephant!
He did tie a knot on his finger;
But for what that was, he couldn't remember!

He also wrote on a piece of paper,
All the things he wanted to remember;
But do you know what was the problem there?
He couldn't remember where he put the paper!

"An elephant never forgets - you should remember that;
And it should be easy, for you are an elephant."
The owl continued to console the elephant.
She embraced him lovingly and tried to cheer him up.

"An elephant never forgets - I should remember that;
But I'm having difficulty, my dear wise Aunt.
It's a very big problem, and you know what?
I always forget that I am an elephant!"
Issa
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:45:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Rising Still

in the
Cradle of our Nation
over
Rushing and Roaring
of
Hidden Waters

in the
Valley of the Forge
around
Forested Desert
of
Sacrificed Souls

in the
Howling of our Barrenness
under
Wasted Blessings
of
Forgotten Land

in the
Grand-Descendant of Life
along
Shallowed Waters
of
Closing Channels

eagle
Rises another Day
in
Glorious Memory
of
Her Humbling Fall
Daniel Davis
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:47:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
BIRDS

No trees, no bushes, no branches, nothing green
Or, better said, nothing natural, to hide
Behind or under, in the Yard. Only hard fence
Interrupted my view when I looked out at the sky.
Released in summer, overwhelmed by change, I
Didn't know the tiny, throaty songs of birds would
Shock me to tears that first morning
Of freedom. I didn't realize how I'd missed
Nothing so much as the songs of uncaged birds
Going about their everyday lives.


(April 4, 2009) Dianne Borsenik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:48:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Moby

Six nights I've dreamed of you
ascending indigo deeps
a wreck reconstituting your way
to the surface of memory
--what are you really?
Father? Failure? Fate?
You were a real whale,
Mocha Dick; Melville
plunged his pen in you,
(ravaging, avenging)
his nightmares congealed
into a backdrop fit
for your majestic ferocity but you,
you were a real whale, last night,
surging, verging on my slim
canoe of cedar strips
albino rarity, a terrifying dawn,
shimmering reflection of abyss
the cerulean menace of you.
Bide your time, behemoth mystery
beneath my storm-tossed slumber;
Leviathan, you cannot be denied.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:51:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Nice Weather for a Duck

In the tub, the weather is always fine
for a duck, which is good news for you, too.
You can splash and play. He will not decline
the wet misadventures you might pursue
since water runs off his back, by design:
he’ll be okay, even dunked in shampoo.
And also, in bubble bath, he will not duck under
unless you hold him down. But why would you, I wonder.
RJ Clarken
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:53:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
DUMBO

You made me cry when I was small.
You tugged my heartstrings, one and all.
You made me cry when I was small.
But now I’m fifty. Now I’d bawl.
Marie Elena
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:53:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Green Eyes

Good morning, where are you going?
Oh, I am sorry, we go through this
every morning don't we? I ask you where you
are going, and you give me the same
nonchalant gaze and tip toe down
the hallway. How graceful you are with
that beautiful black fur. Oh, how the other
ones envy you. You don't care, it's all about you
and it always will be!
Yvonne Wills
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:56:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Cardinal

He sings outside of my bedroom window,
His serenade softly settles on the morning dew,
The melody echoes sweetly across the meadow,
His greeting welcomes the day, all shiny and new.

Flits an flutters from limb to branch to fence,
His flashes of scarlet feathers bedazzle the eyes,
An exhibitionist searching for an audience,
She answers, flies and joins him, it is not surprise.
Barb Nieves
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:57:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Humpback by Keith Vanden Enyden, my favorite so far.


Tiger

Tigers frequent my dreams
They start by being cute, adorable cubs
I feed them, pet them, play with them,
Love them
Until they turn on me
Chasing me down streets, jungles, grassy hills
Labyrinths of my dreams
I always wake up before they get me
Not so in real life
Connie
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:57:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Khabibulin the cat.
At the Humane Society they called you “Smokey.”
A tag which never fit.
No dimly lit rooms or soft jazz for you.
Rock ‘n Roll all the way.
You jumped up with joy when we entered the room,
saying, “Pick me! Pick me!”
We never had a chance.
You chose your new name by the way you played goalie.
No milk bottle cap stood a chance.
Warm to your family but fierce to outsiders,
we worried when we brought our daughter home.
We set her room as off limits and watched for the signs.
As she learned to crawl she always came your way.
You would stop, roll on your back and expose you belly,
letting her cuddle then walk away when you had enough.
Some day I think you’ll be her cat by choice.

Chev Shire
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:59:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Don't have a Cow Man.


You can kill it, cook and eat it,
you can put it in a can,
you can stew it in a good red wine
or fry it in a pan.

You can slice it thin and salt it
you could mince it for a pie
it is delicious any way,
just don't look it in the eye.

For its lashes are long and feminine,
its pupils large and brown,
with soulful wisdom in its looks,
and demure when glancing down.

It gives the sense that it is wise
with knowledge beyond age,
it could put you off your dinner
even if well-laced with sage.

I've considered all the arguments
regarding wrong and right,
but I'm weak and it's my burning shame
I'm having steak tonight.


PS I'm not really having steak - I'm making chicken liver pate.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:59:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Sloth"

S
L
O
W
L
Y

Cal---cu---la---t---ed

Moooooooovemmmmmmmmmennnnnnnnnntsssssssssssssss

O--v--er
O--v--er

Riiiight...............Leeeeeeefffffffftttt

STOP!

freeze-breathe

S
L
O
W
L
Y
S
L
O
T
H
Saturday, April 04, 2009 2:59:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Tabulata”: Rock of Our Soul

We have never gone away,
nor have we been in absentia.
We are not extinct.
Given the opportunity,
we find others and colonize
and wait for the ice
to freeze the passing
of days.

Rock of Our Soul

We bring our six traits:
sides and senses and cast
them onto the harder elements
of wood or stone
sensing the best parts of ourselves
are left behind in the carved
etches of the rigid, unforgiving lathe
or rendered in the smooth strikings
of a hammer and chisel.

Rock of our Soul

The permanence of our being
left in the gifts of nature—one—
whether it be via strike or stroke;
given the opportunity,
we find others like us and colonize,
cast ourselves upon the flat, hard,
smooth, secure surfaces
and wait for the moment
when our stories can be read in

the Rock of our Souls.
Paul W.Hankins
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:00:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Crab"

Like an old crab, shell
brittle and bone white,
you stepped slowly
over the black rocks
at Kamari, heat burning
your feet, until the blue sea
bore you up, tossed you
high as the ancient cliffs
where the marble girl
was buried for centuries,
and took you away,
shell loosened, free at last.


ann malaspina
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:01:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Grating Grackles

Don’t you understand that
we have been planning this gathering
for weeks. We the important
people who are so busy that this
meeting took forever to formalize.

Now you, you birds, inky black
raucous compete for airwaves.
Hundreds gathered in the huge
woody tree, scream, dissonant
ear-splitting chatter of little importance.

Whistle and scream in hundreds of ways.
One at a time, you fascinate and entertain
But a mass of confusion gathered outside
the hotel dining room and our voices raise
in frustration. Hush we think. Useless

So, we gather our bags, our notebooks
agendas, coffees, lemonades
pens, hats, sunglasses and
move to the other end of the dining
room and leave your party behind.

kimberly
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:01:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Blacky

i found this cute and innocent puppy
lying on the pavement one gloomy day.

he's looking for his lost dog-mommy
or maybe he was forgotten,
he's hungry and nowhere to go
and i'd look for his new haven.

One day, i left home.
To live in oblivion,
To find my lost self.

I forgot my little puppy
waiting for me.

Years gone by.
Leaves are fallin
until one day,
I found a new little puppy
on that same pavement.

But now,he's sleeping
beside his dog-mommy
Oh my cute little-puppy
that i had left many years ago
is now a big and loving dog-mommy.







Nilo G. Simogan
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:01:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Soggy the Shih Tzu?

Yesterday Sandra watched him
dodge cars on the paved road
that leads to our lane
a small white Shih Tzu
with a blue leather collar
and red mud trousers
halfway up his short body.
It is spring here on the island
and this spring is slow
the snow is melting away
leaving patches of pale green
faded by long winter days
and lack of proper contact
with the sun’s bright face.
There is also rusty mud
that sticks and runs and stains
and adheres like mortal sin
clings to the over scrupulous.
The soggy dog came back
after a night of cold rain
coaxed finally to our deck
this damp and chilly morning
in spite of the hissing white cat
and is now wagging and thankful
to that same uncooperative beast
for a few meager bites of dry food
and a plastic dish of clean water.
If we can catch a proper hold
of the scrawny shivering pup
the veterinarian on the corner
has promised to keep him caged
until his delinquent owner is found
or we decide to bring him home.



J. Hugh MacDonald
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:02:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Squirrel

Enemy of dogs
Bushy tailed nut collector
Runs across my lawn

Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:02:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mr. Liz-ard

Mr. Liz-ard is in the front yard,
Royally sunning himself on the brick
Windowsill, four feet from my desk.

Sally the dog starts with a
Twitch, a whine, then a scratch,
Frantically trying to get to her catch.

So, I’m forced to rise from my chair,
Stomp outside and storm the window,
Where Mr. Liz-ard beats a hasty retreat-

Till I get back to my chair.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:03:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ginger... you got the Sloth. right on.
and i love Cows and ice cream and BATS
kimberly
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:04:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I am re-posting as I made typos on my initial posting. Sorry I'm still bleary eyed. Been up since 4:45am.


The Cardinal

He sings outside of my bedroom window,
His serenade softly settles on the morning dew,
The melody echoes sweetly across the meadow,
His greeting welcomes the day, all shiny and new.

Flits and flutters from limb to branch to fence,
His flashes of scarlet feathers bedazzle the eyes,
An exhibitionist searching for an audience,
She answers, flies and joins him, it is no surprise.
Barb Nieves
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:05:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
pigeons

eat the bread crumbs that i throw out

pigeons

relieve me of my guilt

their price, an affordable pile of pigeon poop crusted on my windowsill
AJ
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:08:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stray Dog

I see you every day
As I drive along to work
You're white and black and tan
You got a home little dog?

You trot along the road
With that wagging fast tongue
You look like you're busy
You got a home little dog?

You're not a skinny dog
So I guess there's food to find
And you always seem in a hurry
You got a home little dog?

Maybe this is your place
Our little country town
With sights and smells and passing cars
You got a home, little dog.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:08:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Birds

Meaning was the Robin of the World.
I turned to see it.

Sound was the Cardinal in the Tree.
As the air encroaches, the purpose tells of clarity, it forms space, it exalts a bookishness best felt outdoors.

Light was the Finch flying overhead.
I said nothing, did not see that one.

Breath was the confluence of three Rivers under the wings of seven Crows.
And they say somewhere, in the hungry wilderness, a person's prayers yield up a paradise without form but eternal. The catch is, you must become invisible in your devoutness, a prisoner to your own ministrations.

Time was a pair of Nuthatches in the Lilac bush.
So when they ask you, what have you done with your day? You can tell them, I have been watching the birds with my eyes closed.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:10:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ginger and Banana ... cute stuff!
Marie Elena
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:13:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pussy Love When The Car Is Away

Pussy Love...When The Car Is Away

Where is he?
Where can he be?
Can the hunger pangs wait?
I'll see if SHE's around
Not the same but I'll make do
My surrogate love
When the car is away
What can I do?
He'll never know I can love another
When the car is away

Ira Prilik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:15:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Myrtle the Turtle"
The largest and oldest resident of the
Giant Ocean Tank.
My longest running friendship by far.
You sailed by me when I was barely high enough to see over the edge
Now I can peer down into the watery depths with ease
Marveling at your constant companions
Patiently waiting for a glimpse
The sharks glide by, the silent sentries
The eel pokes his fluorescent head out and surveys the scene
The stingray “waves” as he circles and spirals,
Then bubbles a ripple then the slow graceful ascent for air begins.
You break the surface not once by twice
Lights flash, you make your rounds,
Greeting the guests, grabbing some provided produce along the way,
One last graceful gasp then you wind your way back down.
We follow down the stairs, then the sloping curve, hoping for one last glimpse
Of our 800 pound friend who has slowly settled by a coral reef to rest,
To take the nap of an 80-year-old surrounded by fish and fins.
We’ll see you next time.
Melissa Rossetti
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:16:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Turtle

Suspended in backlit oceans of IMAX and wall calendars, you
are the magic of centuries multiplied.
DNA replicated for billions of years, longer
than any other creature. What secret
chronicles must be carried within you?
Wise eyes, your slow demeanour on land
has not evolved across the eons, which
is telling, I think. In this world you are an example
of the slow pace, the beauty found in steadfast.
Native American legend has the land rebuilt
on your back, foundation for us all. And when
you have had enough, you simply retract your head: another
lesson for us vindictive humans. I touch your shell
with reverence, and hunger, wanting to claim even
a small part of what I feel you know.

Corinne
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:18:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Smilin Penny

Here they come again
pulling me out of my pen.
I've been here many a night
I'm just too tired to fight

They are looking at me
passing me around for all to see
I try not to get my hopes up
I'm bigger than a tea cup

They always say I'm too big
and toss me back in the breeding rig.
Ignoring them is how I cope
But I can't help but hope

One day the visitor will pick me
and a whole new world I will see
I'm so sad sometimes I scream
But still I can dream

Soon I feel a strangers hand
grabbing me where I stand
OOO what a gentle touch
These hands don't feel rough

She's placed me on her arm
I'm filling with alarm
Gently she pats my ear
pulling me softly near

She's carring me out the door
This is too scary to ignore
I shiver and shake
My whole body seems to quake

She's putting me in her truck
is this good or bad luck
Softly she speaks to me
I'm so scared I pee

Wait she isn't yelling
soon I start sniffing and smelling
round the old truck seat
I don't think I'll be beat.

Wait! we are stopping
My heat is throb throb throbing
She's grabbing me
holding me out for all to see.

I'm being sniffed and licked
I'm getting a bit ticked
But wait
these 3 dogs seem great

I'm starting to feel
this ladys love is real
She will feed and care for me
Gently pet and love me.

I start to shiver and shake
a deep breath I take
I pull my lips back not full of fears
and a pretty little smile appears

The lady is happy
The other pups yappy
and I recieve a name
Smilin Penny and here I will reign!




FYI We rescued Penny from a bad breeder. She is an 8# Chihuahua and she has a way of pulling her lips back in a very pretty smile!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:19:26 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


TAURUS

Come into my life
Oh Bull
You, one born on
the cusp of Aries
Hurry now
tarry no longer
Make your footsteps
gentle as you
enter my world
your boldness
bringing harmony
from the chaos of
infinite anticipation
Bring to me
the blossoming
spring of our
soul-mate union
as I wait
for you to
take my
breath away.

Carolyn
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:19:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dear Goldfish,

Is it the right of passage
of every human child
that they must endure
the painful experience
of flushing
their dead goldfish
down the toilet
in order to have
truly lived

or

Is it the right of passage
of every fish parent
that they must endure
the painful experience
of hooking
their living children
onto human fish lines
in order to have
truly died

Sincerely,
Just Wondering
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:19:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day 4 – animal

Peace

The cat named Peace is a very important part of our family.
Her mew is big and full and high pitched and incessant,
and loud - very, very loud,
and Peace has taught me that the state of being of peace is just that,
it doesn’t mean easy or quiet or relaxed.
Peace means we don’t kill anybody –
no one –
for any reason –
ever.
To have a world at peace may take some mewing
at the top of our lungs,
it may require being uncomfortable
or making someone else uncomfortable.
Peace is about accepting everybody anyway,
it’s about allowing a yelling screaming crazy lunatic cat
into your life – and accepting her
and once she is accepted, her purrs are as loud as her mews,
and that final peace,
that peace we attain by being calm
while those around us are being crazy,
that is the sustainable peace
and perhaps if we are calm –
when others are crazed,
they will return the favor.
Yes, peace is acceptance
and once we let go of tolerance
and welcome acceptance
and lay down the guns –
trade them in for cat food,
the world will be sustainable,
we will be sustainable
and even while we’re mewing at the tops of our voices
we will remain in peace.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:20:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Bingo”

What a silly song to sing
Because you named me Bingo.
What farmer in his right mind
Could think of such a thingo?

Did you ever once consider
The name of Rex, or Luke
What kind of crazy name you thought
Or was this just a fluke?

For years the children sing this song
That always makes me howl
I can’t believe you named me Bingo
Just throw in the towel!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:20:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Wild Rabbits


My father rescued the four baby rabbits
from the tines of the rototiller, dug up
as new potatoes from that clumped soil,
their mother fertilizer for that season’s
corn crop. Orphans in a cardboard box
lined with straw until my two-year-old
sister hugged each one, squeezing them
to death between chubby hands, to put
in her Easter basket.
Kim King
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:22:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Giraffe

I stretch out your yards of neck
Each day under the streaming water
One two three four five
The vertebrae unwind and pull apart
I reach for that distant high leaf
Watching--wishing—yearning—pulling
Six seven eight nine ten
Ahhh a nibble of tender greens

Pebble brown and sand tan
Patterned coat of flat fur
Purple-black foot-long tongue
Skinny whisk of two-foot tail
Slanty back, giant legs
Confidence to look anyone
Right in the eye.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:23:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I, Dog

Animal,
spanimal!

I'm more than that,
I've more devotion than some snotty cat.

I've more strength in my tired old jaws
than a hundred crows expounding their caws.

I surely don't sit to chew my cud,
but romp and fetch for my favorite bud.

I assume you got that last detail?
That alone should close this sale.

But did it not, remember this,
should, human qualities, you dismiss:

Real animals don't give a care
about mangy secrets you might share.

They run away, or screech and squawk,
fly out of reach, hover to mock.

I sit beside you to listen intently,
allow you the privilege to hug me gently.

I'm more human than I'm not,
I suggest you remember it - or - just rot!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:24:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Robert, love your entry for today, J
mjdills
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:26:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
What Nature Intended

The bull saunters across the field,
testicles knocking against hind legs.
He nudges the odd grazing cow,
nuzzling for a pheromone,
that advertises she is on heat,
ready for him, accepting.
One old girl edges away,
settles her arse up to the fence.
She’s lived the routine,
fucked, ignored,
giving birth to calves,
who suckle from swollen udders.
Her offspring will disappear
into the winter days
and come the spring
he will be there again,
offering his penis
with the swallows.
It is what he does,
it is what she does,
but each year she faces him,
makes it just a little harder,
offers him his bovine reflection
in the polished wood of her eyes.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:28:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Lobstah"

Here in Maine, "Lobstah" is one of our many trademahks.
I've been eating it ever since I could remembah.
Used to to go my aunt's for the night in Vinalhaven when I was little so we could dine on the delicious crustacean.
We kept it a secret from the rest of the family,
it was too good to share!

Just boil 'em up 'til they turn red,
melt some buttah, and you've got yourself an expensive,
but tasty meal.
Well worth the money.
Make sure they're from Maine, though!

I used to think the tail was the best paht,
but as I got oldah I stahted to love the big claws.
The tails ah still good, but they're a little chewy,
whereas the claws are full of flavah, and easy to eat.

Now that I've written a poem about "lobstahs," I think I'll have to buy a couple.
My dad works at Maine Shellfish, and can get any seafood for a cheapah price!
I should wait until next week, though.
I've been spending to much cash lately.
But I can taste them now.....
Heather Stanley
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:29:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Shirley, I thought your limerick was genius!

Also shout out to Diane Borsenik and Ann Malaspina. Hugh J MacDonald, that "adheres like mortal sin to the over scrupulous" - brilliant.

Robert, yours is so lovely it almost winded me.

Some fun stuff here today!
Corinne
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:32:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

The Oath of the Border Collie
On my honor I will try to
uphold loyalty,
encourage curiosity and
maintain organization
for the humans
at all times
to stay by their side no matter what
(especially if they are cooking bacon or talking to the master of a potential mate )
to make sure I greet everyone with a routine sniff and promptly signal my human when I do not like the odor entering the house
(this can be done one of several ways - I prefer the tap to the said offender's privates)
to consistently go through the human's things and place them in piles so that they can better find them (this is also a good way to get their attention)
to make sure that the following is always upheld
Loyalty
Curiosity
Organization
(and to hope some of it rubs off on the humans- they desperately need our help)
April
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:34:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dogs

Angie clicked her heels
then stepped in shit
from some dogs ass
one step on concrete sidewalk
the other, on the grass
red heels with shades
of green and brown
wish the dog owners
picked the shit off the ground
dogs run amuck
owners walk and talk
dogs stop to excrete
either on grass or concrete
wish the masters pay attention
and pick the shit off the ground
hell no! to such situation
they don’t give a rat’s ass
who cares on who steps
in the shit off their dogs ass.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:34:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dragon Haiku



Deadly dragon
Spewing red flames
Hording treasure selfishly
Hungry endlessly
Evil.
Arrvada
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:36:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Country Dogs

My fathers hates that his daughters are
afraid of dogs and how at the sight of a stray
one, we take off – run into the road –
never mind the cars coming. We say we’d rather
get hit by a car than bitten by a dog
and this makes him cry out, makes loose his tongue
and the stories about his childhood dog Bozo
come quick— stealing our afternoon. How can
you expect to make it in this world being afraid
of dogs, he asks— shaking his head in that
how-did-I-end-up-with-no-boys kind of way. "Me
and Johnny," he says about him & his buddy, "useta go
up to stray dogs, pick ‘em up and bring ‘em on
home." Daddy claims that dogs, especially stray country
dogs, understand him and that if he ever came across
a mean one, all he had to do was give it a good-lookin-at
& the dog would mosey on. Ma says that’s nothing, says
it’s probably ‘cause he’s some kind of kin to them.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:37:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(reposting because of an error; should be my FATHER not my FATHERS)

Country Dogs

My father hates that his daughters are
afraid of dogs and how at the sight of a stray
one, we take off – run into the road –
never mind the cars coming. We say we’d rather
get hit by a car than bitten by a dog
and this makes him cry out, makes loose his tongue
and the stories about his childhood dog Bozo
come quick— stealing our afternoon. How can
you expect to make it in this world being afraid
of dogs, he asks— shaking his head in that
how-did-I-end-up-with-no-boys kind of way. "Me
and Johnny," he says about him & his buddy, "useta go
up to stray dogs, pick ‘em up and bring ‘em on
home." Daddy claims that dogs, especially stray country
dogs, understand him and that if he ever came across
a mean one, all he had to do was give it a good-lookin-at
& the dog would mosey on. Ma says that’s nothing, says
it’s probably ‘cause he’s some kind of kin to them.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:38:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
M.I.A.

My cat went splat,
Or perhaps ate a bat,
And choked on the chewy wings?

Perhaps he got lost,
Or was bitten by frost,
And counldn't get past the sting?

Maybe he was eaten,
Or just simply beaten,
And too weak to fight the thing?

Maybe he got bored,
Or just found a whore,
And now he's too busy fucking?
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:39:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Bipolar Penguin

The bipolar penguin thought he was a bear
So he went and stood over there
They’ll eat him or even worse
Which ends this silly verse
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:39:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Abby

Abby is my kitty
And even though she's pretty
She's a little ball of trouble
Wish I could put her in a bubble.

I love her with all of my heart
But sometimes she makes me come apart
She's into everything all of the time
And tries to make me lose my mind.

She loves the water and splashes around
Gets my dander up as puddles abound
She hates the sound of the ringing phone
She runs to answer it and won't leave it alone.

Callers are amazed when a meow is what they hear
They may think the connection is just not clear
But friends and family know it's only Abby
She may be a cat but she's very gabby.

She's constantly trying to get outside
Behind a couch or wall she will hide
The door opens and she makes a mad dash
And proceeds to give me a rash.

Through it all, I love her so
Even though she fills me with woe
Never a dull moment, as they say
When she leaves, it'll be a very sad day.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:43:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Behold her ways

God himself used the lowly ant
As an example for those who think they can't.
Together ants build homes and colonies in sand
Not waiting around for a man with a plan.

Ants form armies, some search for food
No matter the job each one has something to do.
They work to store plenty of food in summer
Planning ahead for the long winter to follow.

To live in harmony ants must communicate
Not in words, but in touch with their antennae.
The ant has learned to work with sister and brother
Not passing the burden on to another.

NOTE: This was based in part on Proverbs 6:6 and 30:25
Jean Lutz
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:43:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Peregrine

Beyond reach where stone meets stone
I enter your nest
Fierce, proud and parental

Emperor of the hunt
Prized for a thousand years
For speed and beauty

A collection of names
Cannot capture the majesty
Of your wing or claw

You leave me panting
With wonder
Captured with awe

Remembering
The freedom of flight
And the kill
And the gnawing hunger for height and speed

Stephanie Miller
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:44:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Goats

Voracious recyclers
Of man’s detritus
Cursed by gardeners
And chased by Trolls
Goats are not
My favourite pet
And yet
When you want one
None can be found
And I needed a Nanny
Or Billy or Kid
To dispose of
Her letter
Better than shredding
Faster than worms
Securer than locks
On Guinevere’s belt
A goat would dispose
Of my indiscretion
With no questions asked
No need for confession
David C Johnson
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:46:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cymbal Monkey

He bangs his cymbals for days.
With insanity in his gaze.
He wears a red hat,
And sometimes a cravat,
But on, relentless, he plays.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:46:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterfly

one black and orange
butterfly on rye
blowing in the wind
peppered with sunshine
affordable
delicious

Julie Eger
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:47:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sorry, Robert, but I have to post this newly revised version of my poem for the day-- a couple words are changed to make it better. I guess the coffee finally kicked in!


BIRDS

No trees, no bushes, no branches, nothing green
Or, better said, nothing natural, to hide
Behind or under, in the Yard. Only hard fence
Interrupted my view when I looked out at the sky.
Released in summer, overwhelmed by change, I
Didn't know the tiny, throaty songs of birds would
Startle me to tears that first morning
Of freedom. I didn't realize how I'd missed
Nothing so much as the sounds of uncaged birds
Going about their everyday lives.


(April 4, 2009) Dianne Borsenik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:47:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Felidae

I am Egypt
I am Bastet, daughter
and protector of Ra

I am Hetepheres
I am Sphynx,
temple guardian

I am Africa
I am Lioness
queen of the Transvaal

I am India
I am Panthera Tigris
Great Tiger of Asia

I am the Americas
I am Jaguar
spotted or black, I am sleek

I am Canada
I am Mountain Lion
Ghost Cat of the eastern provinces

I am World Traveller
I am Felis catus
I am strongest of them all
For I rule the world and own my humans.

I am Cat.

Carol A. Stephen
April 4, 2009 PAD Challenge
Carol A. Stephen
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:50:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Leopard

Yesterday I learned your spots
are different from a jaguar’s
(they don’t have borders around them,
they’re just spots).
Never mind. You’re still my choice
of all the fleet-footed cats: lion, jaguar,
cheetah, hyena. Yes, you know
when to run, and you can run fast,
but you also know when to rest.
Your favorite spot is sprawled
across a branch, only your tail twitching,
meditating on your next meal.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:52:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Octopus V

Should I be eaten today?
Should I stop the running?
Should I stand still?
Hold fast?
Fight or die?
Should I fight to die?
What is left to me here?
I am surrounded by kith and kin--
Shattered shells at my feet.
Who else must die
Before I come to peace?
Should I live today?
Should I flee inside?
No.
Today I think I shall feast.
Leave the worries to the beast
And the fowl.
I am here.
I survive.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:54:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bees

At first they seemed just errant bits of shade,
until the humming grew too loud to be denied
as the bees flew in and out, as if choreographed
---Eleanor Rand Wilner, "The Girl with Bees in her Hair"

I

You've read the headlines, I'm sure. All the bees
are disappearing from around the United States---
what researchers call Colony Collapse Disorder.

Millions of bees are simply abandoning their hives
as if they've stopped taking their MAOI's,
to discovered they don't like themselves any more.

Leaving the queen and their developing pupae
the adults leave no trace of themselves as they search
for their lost childhood amid the scattering winds.



II

Researchers are puzzled. Blaming everything they can
from parasites to pesticides, they blindly offer
this small modicum of well thought out advice:

"Do not combine collapsing colonies with strong colonies."
"If you feed your bees sugar, incorporate antibiotics."
"Hide the abandoned hive, as to discourage coming home."

Most important, if you see honey bees where you
have never seen them, report your sightings
to the proper authorities and try to act normal.


III

With the disappearance of all the honeybees, experts point
to the decline of the almond crop and global warming,
laying yet another doomsday scenario at our feet.

I believe they have forgotten the music of bees en masse,
that noise of Yeats, the solace of the world like a choir,
harmonizing with all the other beasts, great and small.

I myself will miss their dance, their swarm, men wearing them
for beards. I will not soon forget that imagined masterpiece
of Monet: Tiny specks of light against a canvass of meadow green.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:57:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sheep


Twice a year, spring and fall,
sheep moved through the town,
temporarily blocking traffic
on the B29 from Stuttgart.
In the third-floor classroom
we heard them calling,
their muffled bleats
drowning out Shakespeare.
Students and teacher rushed
to the windows, looked down
at hurrying blobs of cream and dirty grey,
moving along the middle of the road,
keeping off the sidewalks.

(This was Germany, remember).

After five minutes or so they’d passed.
My students drifted back to their desks,
all of us smiling at the memory
of the running of the sheep in Swabia.
Susan Peters
Saturday, April 04, 2009 3:58:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gazelles

I have them leaping at the end of a poem
about my family of origin, to embody
the energy in a round of laughter
around a table at a Chinese restaurant.
Real restaurant, real memory, I think,
though extreme elaboration, at the least,
was of course in order and was served,
bare memory being such a damn
bare-bones affair for me. eg: Chinese
restaurant, Dad almost chokes;
turns out to be a super-hot pepper; I laugh.
Did all of us laugh? I can’t even say that
for sure, but in the poem, certainly, “laughter
leapt from us all like
gazelles, like steam." And there
the skinny poem ends, or stops (take your pick),
broken just so, to assist, I hoped,
the leaping. No tears in Dad’s eyes, no fear
even. Or if there is, in the wisp of a memory
I started with, it was all in me, like the laughter.
But in the poem, as in my despair
to recall, to raise the dead, the tears are real,
the fear is general, shared, whole,
and so is the relief. And the laughter,
from all of us, leaps.
Peter Danbury
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:00:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Snake – By Jane Eamon 2009

Eat the apple he said
In a hissing voice
You have never tasted anything so sweet
No one will notice he said
I will protect you
And you will be free
Come here my pretty
Look deep into my eyes
Let me lull you to sleep
Sleep, sleep, there’s no need to worry
What do you want?
I can get it for you
Anything because I can do it
Strings? No there aren’t any
I just want you to be happy
My tongue is like silver
It’s shiny and bright
You like that?
Come a little closer
Jane Eamon
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:04:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(Abandoned) Dog

I feel like a miracle sometimes.
Direction is something I’ve always known
Even when the true dog facts are hard to explain.
Where does the sidewalk end? How
Can I get a get that water to drink, anyway?
I crawled through the new strangers’ back “dog door” once.
I don’t regret my “mistake” though because
I don’t even know where I actually once lived.
You can’t go to your own “home” if you can’t
Communicate. They didn’t give me a tag.
There is no language for that: I still bark just the same.
I smile at the new people who give me food
Though they call me something that’s not my name
I forgive all people anyways. I wag my tail all the time
and understand something else every single dog day.
I love everybody -- despite everything, still.

Ashlee R
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:06:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Sallie"

Ears flapping in the wind,
short legs close to the floor,
a long body, a sweet face,
the bark of a man.

Belly gracing the floor,
tail skinny and long,
they say you look like a sausage
to me you look like dog.
Olga P.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:07:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stuffed Moose
by Therese Haberman

She loves stuffed moose.
Even has one that smells
Like apples and cinnamon candles,
Bought in a cute little shop up in Maine.

She takes them so far away
A college in central Ohio.
Even steals back the little one
She gave me for my birthday.

He sat on her desk shelf
In a dorm room for three years.
But she forgot him
This, her senior year.

Maybe she doesn’t need him anymore?
Maybe she’s all grown up?
He cries stuffed moose tears with me.
For the baby she once was.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:07:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat
Displacing scientific labour
in favour of urbanomancy,
I look up, catch a flash
of black and orange,
nose upturned in question.

I stand, push chair legs back
along tiled floor. Another
flash of black and orange.
Cat retreats, gathers itself
around four tucked-in legs
on the brick of my back garden wall.

A search of fridge produces wafered ham.
I lay it on the concrete like a napkin,
sit back in green plastic chair,
cat on the wall opposite,
keeping zen watch
as molecules of pig
biodegrade.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:12:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snails

I hate the crunch of snails underfoot
when I forget to look,
and yet each time I respond with guilt
instead of resolve to learn to look.

Old men learn very slow it seems
and thus the snails still die,
but let me say right now I’ll try
to keep the snails in mind.

And should I miss and kill a snail
I’ll waste no time on guilt,
but say a prayer for one gone on
who’s helped me learn to see.
Randall Jones
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:13:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Blue heron stands guard
at the swimming pool daring
you to just jump in.
Lawrence George Jaffe
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:13:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Soldier Fly

Paths to the bin
are zig-zagged with your
relatives and you
arial trapezee stunts done at
supersonic speed
through the space between noses and
rails of backyard fences:
a cocapanee of buzzing
tickling my senses.
I never liked you,
overpopulating the earth from your home in
south and north america then
pushing eastward, westward to make
homes of Europe, India, Asia and
even Austrailia.
Can't you find a resting place
only one continent wide,
make a pest of
yourself
in a land far far
away from where I'm living?

Such fantisies would rid the earth of your
talent: 15 kilograms per day of
restaurant food uwaste per square meter,
a 95% reduction in the weight and volume of
this waste we need ridding of and every 100 lbs of waste
i make, you'll leave only 5lbs behind.
Only now I think of you as a necessity
stuck with soldier fly/ Stratiomyid Fly nicknames instead of:
Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides which
has the ability to
envoke terror into even the most well-read teacher
converging upon a class with a register in hand
over pronouncing names to
maintain the highest standards
yet would stumble over your name,
illustrate their inability and
only you and they would know their misstep, both of you
ill at heart wanting to
die, the floor to suck you in
evolution to forget about your existance, clock hands
slowly ticking to class end.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:14:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Centipede

It’s probably good you still see me as a mass murderer.
Your dead cousins’ sisters from up north must have
sent word not to visit our house.
And if that’s what has kept you away, so be it.
I don’t like the way you move.
Better you don’t know
I am more of a catch-and-release gal now –
it’s only been tested up to 8 legs.


Linda Voit
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:15:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dodo

Flightless bird
Confined to a dangerous prison
Earth
Chased, hunted and driven out of time
I see myself
Running with you
Wishing that I could fly
The dogs of war
The four horsemen of the apocalypse
For sport we are
Offered peace where none is found
Offered food but poisoned by it
Offered medicines that burn our veins
Offered kindness without mercy or compassion
Even oblivion can be withheld now
We have that power
Poor bird
Poor, poor flightless human
Who will remember us when we are extinct
Will our bones tell
A story and paint a picture
How far has the animal come?
Where will it go?
Just go
Go
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:20:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Armadillidium vulgare

sidewalks, cracks - my home
doodlebug, roly-poly
you know me: pillbug


Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:20:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I have been keeping two word processing files open on my screen, one containing the poems I post here, exactly as they are posted, and the other for reworking them after posting. Some of the changes I've made make the poems so much better, by my lights at least, that I really wish I could replace what I've posted with the later edits.

Any thoughts? Robert?

That isn't quite doable, is it? But what about posting the later edits, accompanied by notes to Please Ignore The Earlier Version? I'm sure some here would protest that First is Best. Me, though I'm well aware of the glory in spontaneity, I'm completely in the opposite camp when it comes to editing.

Perhaps at the end of the month there could be a day or a few days when you invite us to post our preferred "final" versions? Just a thought.
Peter Danbury
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:23:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Deer

They came to Lloyd Neck seeking
New grass and bushes,
A place to roam unseen.

I see them running through
Our yard,
Sometimes just brown
Backs catching sunlight.

Yesterday four deer ran through,
Two mothers,
Two fawns,
Their eyes gelling with sunlight,
Their tails lifted high,
Necks outstretched,
Seeking something other
Than what we could give them.
Absorbed, intent,
They faced danger bravely.
A surplus of deer
Brings guns.
And although they seem
At one with the winter grass,
Brown oaks, green hemlock,
They carry the weight of death
With their beauty.
Linda Benninghoff
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:24:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
BUSTER 4/4/09

I don't like dogs.

Truth is
I'm frightened of them.
Watched my cousin shriek
her thigh gashed open
by the fangs of Grandmas
German Shepard
A schoolmate mauled, killed
by a farming herd.
I myself, attacked by
a Chihuahua
who snapped at my ankles
and forced me to the ground
Toddler against mammal
In a wild fight.

So when you wandered into my yard
after the divorce
I approached hesitantly.

I don't like dogs.

Eating garbage from my mulch pile
you did not ask for much
Your golden muscles rippling
in the sun
A mighty lion of a dog
I alone in your wilderness
in awe of your mighty jaws
broad shoulders
lean muscled body

We wooed each other
You obviously traumatised
by some cruel young boy
who forced you to fight.
My friend-the-animal-lover
advised animal protection
would put you down
if I turned you in
Pit, she said. An abandoned pit,
You are his only hope.

And you mine.
For once I slept soundly in an empty house
as you trailed the yard's borders
wearing in your path
marking your territory
in my life
bringing me evidence of your nightly hunts
by the morning sun
snakes gophers rodents
distasteful creatures dead
frightening monsters alive

I don't like dogs.
I was afraid until you rolled over
to bask in the sun
tail and legs wiggling
smiling at me
gentle brown eyes beckoning
me to scratch your belly
This,
This may indeed be love.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:24:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Birds

For me, Hitchcock’s birds fit the bill.
Birds freak me out.
The crow that swooped in for a freeway fly-by
In one t-top and out the other
Left me fearful of the
Warm-blooded, egg-laying, feathered fiends.
It’s said that next to mammals birds are most useful to man.
Their hollow, air-filled bones make for light flight
Unless you are an ostrich, emu or penguin.
Colonel, here I come.
Sharon Spielman
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:26:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sea Turtles

Sea turtles wanter the seven seaas for 150 years.
Do they question the meaning of life - where they come from, why
they exist, what will happen when they die?
Do they hurt one anoather, bear grudges, or tire of life?

Do they smile somehow when the warm current envelops them;
or when they creep onto afamiliar sandy beadn and unload
their burden of eggs and seed in the sun?
Do they live in the magic of the moment?

Are they like the birds of the air, soaring
unfettered above the earth, neither sowing nor spinning?
Do they simply have faith - or are they faith personified...

Another parable to ponder?
Barbara Horgan
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:27:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
LIZARD

Cold-blooded, you’ve come out
this spring too early. Frost on the grass,
ice on the windshield. Cold sun
coming up over the east horizon.

Lifting off the windshield wrap,
I find you. Did my car keep a bit
of engine warmth through the night?
Flat skull of hope – here you are

waiting for heat to stir up bugs
for your breakfast. Gray-blotched
scaly pattern. Blue on throat and sides
of belly. Western fence-lizard.

Old summer friend. Just now, stiff
with cold. Movable eyelids. You blink
at me as I place you in my own
cold palm, carry you to the edge

of garden, put you down
where sun rubs its fingers over rock
to warm it. Wouldn’t it be cold-
blooded of me not to?
Taylor Graham
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:27:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Hummingbird"

Don't cry for me.
This rock in my path will only mean
I take a new turn.
So many opportunities still to learn.
For I am the Hummingbird.

I never tire or lose my way.
I will go on to see a new day.
The things you do won't stop me,
won't injure my determination, on my journey
to find happiness.

Be optimistic, be charming.
Life is full of searching
for the sweet Nectar within.
Only apathy is sin.
Be a bird among men.

Do as I do.
For I am the Hummingbird.
Jin
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:29:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Animal Violation Poem (C) Rich Atwater 2009 (April 4, 2009)
www.3swanspublishers.com
The theme for today was "animal",
God created them all.
But first was "the darkness" then "light of day",
But that's not an animal at all!

Next was the firmament of heaven,
Separated from the waters below,
The land became Earth, the waters the Seas,
Then herbs and fruit trees to grow.

Signs and seasons, and two great lights,
The sun to rule the day,
The moon at night, and stars also,
And the fourth day was on its way.

Now the fifth day we get close to the object at hand,
Great whales, winged fowl, and creeping beasts of the Earth.
Every living creature, cattle and such,
The Bible specifies each on day of its birth.

And God said, "Let's make man in our image",
After "our" likeness created He them!
Male and female, a man and a woman,
The crowning jewel of God's diadem.

On the last day He rested from His labors,
And sanctified Sabbath's behest,
And offered to man another command,
To keep it holy and also blessed.

But time was overcome by circumstance,
And man became a "beast",
At least for some, "the animal" came
Out of the "fallen man's" yeast.

The fermentation of every nation,
Through carnal sin and of woe,
Of degradation, and violation,
Made man an "animal" low.

But hope yet thrives in the promise of old,
REPENTANCE through God's only Son,
To remove "the animal" in us all,
And obtain forgiveness for what has been done!
===============================================================
Epitaphs 31 March 2009
“Prime the Pump Poems” for stylistics of Prompts

Epitah for a Liar:

Here lies a man
Who told “the truth”;
The truth he told
was based on lies.
And thus we see
The truth at last
Cannot lie below
But must be seen above.
=============================
Epitaph for a truthful man:

Here truthfully he lies,
A man of God.
For God is truth,
And man must rely
On Revelation to
Lie down with “the truth”;
And he indeed
Relied on truth from above.


Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:29:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

“Monkey”

See.

Do.

No eyes, no ears, no mouth.

Get paradoxical.

And then freak out.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:31:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

We miss you, Shiatsu
Not a day goes by
That we don’t reach
Out for you when
First awakening
Memory senses filled
With how you slept between us
You were neutral territory
Giving us our space
Protecting our borders
Uniting us through
Mutual affection

Barbara Moore
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:32:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sheep

The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary is a legendary plant of Central Asia, believed to grow sheep as its fruit. The sheep were connected to the plant by an umbilical cord and grazed the land around the plant when all the plants were gone, both the plant and sheep died.
-Wikipedia



Tethered to the stalk, the sheep parade around in tight circles, orbiting, their cloven hooves, eating each sprout as the green emerges, digging their noses in until the earth is moved, and they can pluck the roots.

The stalk shudders with each of the sheep's swallows, satiated and full. Blood commingles with chlorophyll, turns the sheep and plant a dark mud brown. Symbiosis only works as long as the child feeds to support its ever nurturing mother.

Oh what beautiful fruit she makes, that thick curled fleece flesh, the nut of slate gray. Oh little sheep, which begin as small blooms on the end of furred and throned stems, and then grow, wonder by anatomical wonder, until it has discovered the fullness of its limbs and stands and stretches and walks and rests and eats.

There is a danger in restraint. The sheep knows this and begins to eat slowly, savoring five leaves a day, trying to make each bite last as the sparseness of the earth grows. But despite rationing, the food is depleted. Plant and sheep turn pale. The cord withers, curls, blackens. The sheep presses itself against the plant base and breathes loudly, panting, licking at the blooms which failed around it. Mother cannot be fed from herself.

Slowly, slowly, both die and shrink, fermenting in the heat of the sun, becoming relics, prunes, which are picked years later to flavor native soups. And in the breeze, the little sheep, waiting to touch the ground and spread their roots, and learn of leashes and patterns and the ends of all things.

Alana I. Capria
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:36:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
goat

got from the get-go. some quick heat
chemistry explosion between us. billy gruff
who last called your bluff, hot-air cud breath?
who'll tug your beard? you shake your head.
can't take it as well as you kick it out,
eh li'l munch-lunch?

no match for this troll, your reputation goes
under-retorted. Y'know, I'm thinking chevon,
sliced, diced with a little tarragon and cream.
no? I'm sure you wouldn't like it. too fine for
your taste. you're undiscriminating
in what you chew into, walk all over.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:36:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I loved reading Robert’s poem this morning. Its topic reminded me of an Old English poem called “The Whale,” which is much longer, and its structure (which is brief with questions), reminded me of Old English riddles from the Exeter book. The allusion to Jonah in the belly of the whale delighted me! In all, Robert’s poem made me think I might write a short poem on the Phoenix, because there is a long poem on the Phoenix in Old English, and that I might use an acrostic and an alliterative line to do it - poetic devices that Anglo-Saxon poets loved. So I tried, and came up with a poem, but it was hard to write and it wasn’t very satisfying, to me, aesthetically speaking. So I wrote a ballad about a unicorn, inspired by an idea from later medieval thought interweaving mythology and belief. Here it is:

UNICORN BONES

The bees led me to the unicorn bones:
I wept, wondering where his soul, like Eurydice, went at his death
and I longed to sing him back to life in the broad world.

I looked for a gardener but saw none through the golden trees:
I knelt on the grass and my tears of glass fell and shattered
on the bleached white bones that I touched with trembling hands.

Then I heard a Child in a singsong voice say, “Woman,
why are you weeping?” and fury woke up inside of me
that anyone could wonder why anyone else would weep.

“Do you not see these bones?” I cried. “What can make these bones live?”
“The wind,” said the invisible Child, “the wild wind blowing west
from the storehouses of heaven on high!”

And behold! The wind blew west from the Sun where it was rising,
and the bones before me put on bright flesh once more,
and the unicorn, all white and uniquely shining, rose up in undying majesty.

“How can this be?” I cried. “How can you be alive once more in the broad world?”
“I am,” he said when he spoke to me, “the beginning without end eternally,
the life and the light and the love of your deepest desire:

the whispered word heard in your secret dream, the wild one
who rears up free and calls you to run after me and to ride
from this hidden wood of golden trees into your own great immortality!”

In wonder, I wiped the tears from my eyes & said from the center of my will:
“I will run after you, I will go where you go, I will bind me, body and soul,
to the hope I have seen in this miracle of sudden life remarkably restored!”

Then the invisible Child, whose voice I had heard, incandescently
surged up inside of me, my Soul! So that all of me was whole
and the Life that made those bones live became mine for eternity.

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

“Similar to the ferocious unicorn is God’s Son who destroyed those men and angels who opposed him and aspired to what was beyond them. But he became mild like the unicorn when he grew [the body for] his sacrifice in the lap of the Virgin, thereby fulfilling Isaiah: ‘the young man will dwell with the Virgin.’” ~ Ranulf Higden, “Ars praedicandi / The Art of Preaching” (14th c.)

Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:37:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Annie’s Dog

Sasha, Lhasa Apso,
ran in the woods
at sixteen, blind and
mostly deaf, but still
excited by smells
and the feel of wind
in what was left
of her fur.
When I came over
she barked a greeting
half an hour after I arrived,
better late than never.
A brain tumor
made her walk
in circles in the house,
but never in the woods.
There she ran straight
nose to the wind
pulling the leash.
She would stop to greet
invisible strangers.
Annie thinks they were spirits,
because she came back
smelling like perfume.
Annie heard a voice
call her once,
and no one was there,
I mean, for miles.
The phone rang this morning.
Annie told me Sasha died,
just when I had this prompt
to write about an animal.
I like to think
Sasha is still running
in the wind, in the woods,
and her spirit friends
are taking care of her.


Lori Desrosiers




Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:38:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Robin”

Red, red robin
be-bopps across the newly
green grass. He struts
his stuff, chest out,
head up, eyes bright
surveying the scene. In a blink,
he dips his beak into
the earth,
a snap, a snatch,
a catch—
a fresh worm
dangles from his mouth.
Mealtime victory.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:39:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Fy”

When I was young
I played “I Spy”.
I saw a bee
And called it “fy”.

My grandpa rushed me in
And then
Told me not to go near it again.

Until this day
Every bee
Continues to be a “fy”
To me.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:40:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

_the fish who swallowed Jonah_

maybe you were tired of being empty
and he was pretty, no? how he raged against his
lot of prophet wanting only to be ordinary.

those nights you rumbled with his cries were
something, no? fishes gathered at your belly
mouths gaping in imitation of his prayers.

there are things you’ll never know, no?
why some were chosen to walk out of the sea while
you became food, stayed limbless as a tongue.

then he who first denied you breath & womb
commanding you give up the game. horrifying, no?
to come to motherhood this way, to lose a son.


.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:42:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Death on the Living Room Carpet

Death is unpredictable
It crouches beneath the sofa
Leaps forth jaws outstretched
Biting the head off the budgie
Strutting the carpet in front of me
I kick death out the front door
It sits on the doorstep
Nonchalantly licking its feline lips

Melanie Kerr
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:46:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PHOTOGRAPHER
Let me be clear about him.
He was in (underline) the pictures.
He did not take the photos.
He was the dark figure in the Kodak moments.
He posed in the afternoon sun.
He groomed his shiny black coat while basking on the gray cement veranda
He was a perfect feline missing only a snippet from his ebony tail--the price of chasing smaller creatures in the not-so-lucky green clover.
He was the center of the tween years.
He survives in the pictures.
He was my ten-year old cat.
PM27
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:46:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
p.s. I LOVE THE POEMS people are posting today. I think critiquing problems is a very important role the poet in our culture must fulfill, but it is discouraging to read a long, long list about all the problems there are in the world. There are so many!! Still, I'm glad we wrote them because it is so important to acknowledge what they are and how they affect us. But it is BEAUTIFUL to read all about the animals in creation. Have y'all seen the mini-series PLANET EARTH? Unbelievably cool. And very inspiring. The series ... and, of course, your poems!!!

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet. net
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:46:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Orca

An orca leaps
A joy breach.

Dazzling water shards
Shatter my hardened thoughts,
Scatter rigid reflections,
Opening an oceanic space.

Wave on wave frees the aching
Currents, echoing, echoing
Back to the stony shore.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:48:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dragons:

Scales that resemble precious gems,
And eyes that glitter with intelligence.
Forgotten, hiding, from prying eyes,
From the destructive taste of man.
Despite their wisdom,
Man hunted them down,
Slayed them.
Spilled their blood,
And stole their treasure hoards.
Stole the eggs,
And killed the chicks.
Pierced their wings,
And cut their throats.
Man is a dragon's only enemy,
Only predator.

Why,
Why must man hurt them so?
To force them into a retreat,
So that they become mere myth?
Some long to see their glowing eyes,
Their long, sinuous necks,
Powerful muscles.
And the powerful, overwhelming wish,
To take part in dragonflight.
In today's world,
It will never happen.
For man has taken over,
Crushed nature,
Changed it to its will.
And made the dragons flee this world,
Never to return.
Kyhaara
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:48:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
:Penguin:

We are kindred, you and I. hidden
In tundra, apart from the sky. Dressing
Ourselves in the latest styles. Going
Nowhere. Sometimes I wonder

Do I imagine you? In dreams of
Flight have I forgotten you? We,
Shared breed of least concern, gather our hopes
Under dark wings. Would you know me

If we shared the avenue? Against the sky
Will I remember you? No, in our flightless fancy
We are strange brothers, and nobody bothers
Training us to soar.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:49:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ant

“…the ants switched tasks. They switched in some directions but not in others. The general pattern is a flow of workers into foraging from all other tasks. The flow seems to originate with the nest maintenance workers, and once an ant leaves nest maintenance work, it will not go back.” – Deborah Gordon in Ants at Work

I have graduated
from feeding the pupas and the antlings
repairing and tidying
thoroughfares and tunnels to
(thank God I’m not a captive queen)
the outside where I mount patrol
monitor technology and trends
forage freelance information
broadcast on the billboard of my blog
But such a commencement
does not guarantee I get to miss my turn
tending the midden matters
of my annoyingly egalitarian
and cooperative colony
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:49:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Bird

The boy is a bird
Behind darkened eyelids.

Hands float high and rest poised
Like a crane.
Brittle limbs
For want of downy feathers,
Imagine elbows
Crooked in the backward way of a wren.

The boy is a bird.

Lifting hands like motes in the breeze
A starling circling in the sky.
Round and round he goes
Rooftops, treetops, orchards, groves.
Soars,
Wheels,
Plummets,
Dives.

The boy is a bird.

Perched on sills,
Innocent, blameless, free.
Eyes like beads;
Peeking,
Spying,
Fly away.

The boy is a bird.

Bows head
Like a swan,
To worthless legs
Still, unused,
Trapped in lack of motion.

Yet today…
The boy is a bird.

mjdills
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:53:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PLATYPUS

Now a moment or two for the platypus.
It’s one of God’s creatures just like the rest of us
With God’s sense of humor one might think it’s a hoax
But, a platypus is surely not one of his jokes.
Platy’s a mammal with stumpy short legs
That waddles reptilian to go lay it’s eggs.
It isn’t a beaver or otter or duck,
But it looks like all three, of all the darn luck.
It has a duck’s bill that holds no true teeth
It has rubbery pads to grind all its meat.
A tail like a beaver’s for self-locomotion
When diving in water like rivers or oceans.
The waterproof fur is thick, so it’s hotter
(That is the part that it gets from the otter.)
His silly webbed feet make it perfect for swimmin’
And the musk he exudes attracts all the women,
The platypus does not have ears on its head
So his bill has a sensor to “hear” what is said.
The platypi thank you for taking the time
To learn all about them in this prompted rhyme.

Walt Wojtanik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:55:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Ode to my Cats

calico sits, head tucked under her, staring out the window
bobtail stalks about, white as a ghost, and just as silent, with a mouse in his claws
the unplanned additions, the happy accidents
who taught me to love and keep my house clean
Saturday, April 04, 2009 4:56:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Leech

Everyone thinks the tattoo on the back of my hand
by the jagged scar is the Mercedes logo. But it’s not.
It’s a picture of the mouth that saved my thumb.

The table saw accident last fall—late afternoon
light slanted across the floor as I ripped the last
sheet of plywood before heading to the bar—

I did what they always say not to do: I ditched
the scrap and pressed the wood to the field by hand.
Red spray soaked the table and frame by frame

I saw it all as if floating to the left of my body:
the thumb’s arc, its sawdust landing, the belt-tourniquet
tight in my teeth, the one-handed drive to Emergency.

I waited there a short time for a surgeon, fading
in and out of consciousness with the ice bucket
and its cargo in my lap, the crowded room’s voices

a thread tethering me to the chair. I woke up
the next day, hand in a bandage. When the doctor
said leeches are making a comeback, I balked.

But as my hand swelled over the next few days,
he convinced me to let the sucker do its work.
The 100 saw-like teeth in its three muscular jaws

caused no pain as it latched on, the 34 segments
of its shiny brown body swelling ten times, my blood
six months worth of food. When it fell off, satiated,

the wound drained for hours, my blood thinned
by the creature’s hirudin, the encircled inverted Y
a welcome remnant of its compassionate hunger.


(note: in the penultimate line, "hirudin" should be in italics)

Marie-Elizabeth Mali
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:02:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Retriever

Your skin is buttered bronze,
silky and radiant before
a quick dip in the pool.
And when you burst
to the surface,
the sunset strokes
your hair, a halo
shimmering among the trees.
You smile, aroused
with things old and new,
blue and borrowed
as your nose and lips
confuse scents and tastes
when you spin 'round
and 'round and 'round,
spraying drops of water
around you
like when the wind blows
on the falling arches
of water fountains.

And when you are
finally dry again,
you run over to us,
your golden hair trailing
behind you, your body
stretched out towards us,
and your happy paw
finds a place between
the lilac truffles of
our wedding cake.

There is your ultimate
walk of fame:
the scene stealer.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:05:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I used to know a Care Bear
Who did not care.

And so I asked him, or her (I couldn’t tell)
What it was he/she/it had then to give, to sell

Love, he/she/it told me with a grunt and a condescending glare
What the hell else would you would you expect from a Care Bear.

He/she/it lit up a tiny plush overstuffed cigarette.
Well, said I, I was hoping I might learn to forget

What it feels like to know yourself again,
And know that you don't know how to care.
Elizabeth Hocker
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:07:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Trix Rabbit

So often with the bowl cupped in his paw
The song of spoon quivering against the lip
Of a ceramic bowl,
And then, as if from heaven,
The words split the silence,
The condemnation of being labeled
Silly, the disembodied arm of a thief
Stealing the cereal,
For kids,
The insult of the unfinished puffs on the table
Turning mushy in a pool of milk
The constant pursuit of the vibrant prize,
that is never for you.
Bridget Gage-Dixon
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:09:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Walking on long legs
dew splashed on silver-spun threads
waiting for June bugs.
Jessinchina
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:10:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Early Morn Animal

Peeking at the clock through tired eyes I sigh
Then softly in the quiet morning air
I feel you touch my shoulder as we lie
I shiver as your breath ruffles my hair
I turn to gaze into your eyes of brown
And whisper “No dogs on the bed – get down…”


Nita G Isenhour
April 4, 2009
PAD Challenge # 4: animal
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:11:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My Horse Dixie

Once upon a horse I did ride
Through trails of ferns and trees
We climbed hills, greeting wild rabbits and birds
As we strolled along in the cool damp breeze

Once upon a horse I did ride
Through an open field of green
We trotted, then galloped as fast as we could
Racing nothing, just feeling serene

Once upon a horse I remember
Who taught me kindness, patience and trust
I dream of those days as a young girl
Whenever my mind or attitude needs to adjust






Robin D.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:11:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Lioness

I lay calm on a hot summer day,
Waiting for night when it’s time to play,
Once the sun sets and night comes to be,
I become the hunter, and the world succumbs to me,
I prowl and I sink low to the ground,
Watching and waiting, not making a sound,
Something tasty catches me eye,
The animal doesn’t know it’s about to die,
In my stomach a low rumble begins,
The animal is closer to meeting its end,
I run and I pounce with great power,
My mouth waters, for the meal I’m about to devour,
Strong massive teeth tear the animal apart,
I witness the last of its beating heart,
As I move slowly away from the corpse,
I know I’m a hunter, I have no remorse.

Written by: Yvonne Vela
Yvonne
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:15:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CORRECTED TYPO:

The Lioness

I lay calm on a hot summer day,
Waiting for night when it’s time to play,
Once the sun sets and night comes to be,
I become the hunter, and the world succumbs to me,
I prowl and I sink low to the ground,
Watching and waiting, not making a sound,
Something tasty catches my eye,
The animal doesn’t know it’s about to die,
In my stomach a low rumble begins,
The animal is closer to meeting its end,
I run and I pounce with great power,
My mouth waters, for the meal I’m about to devour,
Strong massive teeth tear the animal apart,
I witness the last of its beating heart,
As I move slowly away from the corpse,
I know I’m a hunter, I have no remorse.

Written by: Yvonne Vela
Yvonne
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:17:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
In the Hand, In the Bush

Startled by the loud thud of your body
hitting the patio door, I figure you have
learned your lesson. Seconds later, you
approach again, leaving little specks
of desperation on the flat glass.

I adorn the spot with stickers, hang
obstacles as warning, but you continue
undeterred. I cover the pane first with
a piece of newsprint, then a bed sheet,
both to no avail. You just keep coming,

the commitment to your mission
astounding. There is something in
this house you think you need,
something you are trying to save.
Hours on end, your tiny body beats

itself into oblivion and only my
presence on the porch dissuades you.
You wait, bedraggled, on a nearby
branch, and the moment I move,
you fly again, your desire perpetual,

insatiable. I cannot stand-in as scarecrow
all day. Later, the dog nudges your
trembling feathers as you lay exhausted
in the yard, not quite dead, but beaten.
I carry you to a haven of shaded mulch

far away from any windows, wish I could
huddle with you in this cool respite. Months
later, your fragile bones sit in that same
spot as I turn the soil, my own forehead
bruised from the persistent slap of the world.
DJ Vorreyer
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:21:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Otter

I'm sleek and I'm playful.
I love to have fun
by swimming all day
as I float in the sun.
But feeding is serious
and what you won't see
when I dive to the bottom
for food from the sea -
I look for a rock
to beat on an oyster
for succulent food
locked tight in its cloister.
So again on the surface
I flip on my back
and give that old shell
a good solid whack!
Once it is open
I dine on the meat
relishing life
that tastes ever sweet.
Brian Hager
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:23:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Turkey, Oh Turkey

Scritch, scratch,
Make a mess.
Roam the hills
Claim your turf.

Big and bold
Feathery show
Gang runner
Solitary soul.

Who would expect
You in my yard
Challenging cars
Strutting your stuff?

On the street,
You proudly boast,
“Put up your dukes
I’ll dent your ride.”

Car and beast
Dancing to and fro
Don’t you know
It’s you we eat?


Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:25:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jonah's Whale

Jonah, running he set sail
To farthest land.
The weather storming, turned to gale
the sails were manned.

The weather worsened, stinging hail
There must be plots.
With wiping brow their faces pale
The men drew lots.

The lot it fell on Jonah sleeping
Dreamless they find,
Grabing Jonah and things heaping
Into sea brine.

Weather turned from gaul and terror,
Opened black sky
To blue and sunny turned it fairer,
Jonah was why.

But then an error to the tale,
Jonah drowning.
God sent a beast to man inhale,
A whale sounding.

For it wasn't anger sending
To him a whale,
But, God Jonah's life defending
Against the pale.

You see, Jonah's whale is simply
Often mis-read.
Saving, throwing Jonah Limply
On land instead.

Jonahs whale's not base and low,
All hero shouts.
So long protrayed in haste as foe,
Dismiss all doubts.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:26:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
RATTLED

It’s hard to rattle a snake
They slither away too fast
after spitting their venom
at you…
The reptile version
can poison too
Joe
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:27:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CHICKENS

The family pet is a precarious
decision, like adopting someone
you know will die before you
and yours.

We could not agree on a dog
or a cat; the former too much
like a third child, the latter yet
another unpredictable in-law.

Guinea pigs were a consideration,
but since we left the Bronx,
willingly taking in a rodent
didn’t make much sense.

Six more months into this
recession and backyard chickens
would fit right in with canned food
and ammo in the basement.

Eggs in the morning, amusement
throughout the day, and when times
get rough, heartbreak is lessened
by a delicious dinnertime memorial.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:30:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
How fun and please enjoy my crazy Texas spin on the...

Beezebra

Black and white, buzzing
Neigh saying, critter
Knocking over nectar barrels
Flying in a family rodeo

Come back to reality
Little beezebra
There is no place for you
In the RL (real life)

Where your costume,
If it were real,
Would cost a beezillion
Bucks

Hoof you latter
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:31:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Butterflies

The butterflies- I watch them play.
I call it play, although I know
it's no more play than work-
It's life-
and yet I call it play.

And what a joy
to be about a life like this-
when no one can tell by watching
whether I am at work or play.





Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:36:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bee
Caught
In mid-flight
In mid-hover
Back legs flying
Forward into
Front legs
Ebony tail
Down
Small head
Aimed straight ahead
Obsidian eyes
Drowning the light, soaking in daisy
Frozen in time
Frozen in flight
By a brave photographer close by
Butt back
Camera straight ahead
His glorious Micro-Nikkor lens
Opening to the sight
Of the bee intent on his flower.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:37:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Little Kitten"

Do you have any clue
how caustic your pet name is?
You purposely use it
during my poker games.

And don’t think I haven’t noticed,
that you’ve let it slip erroneously
as the guys and I are rousing celebratory
on NFL Sundays?

Your emasculating ways are trite,
as you stare at me with that faux
expression of hurt, when I don’t respond.

I could almost let it slide,
however there was that Spring
that you decided I could do renovations,
and I was in my element at Home Depot,
and you casually crept it out
in electrical, plumbing, and lumber.

With six degrees of separation
you taunt me any which way you please,
trying to let the entire populace know
that I’m your Little Kitten.
John Pupo
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:38:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PARTY ANIMAL

Give me a beer, dispense with the wine,
I'm here for the evening and expect a good time.
Crank up the jams, put out lots of food,
and dim the damn lights to get me in the mood.
I don't need to know the all words to this song
'cause I'll just make them up as the night moves along.
And after this gig, I'll be ready for Hades,
so I hope you invited a lot of fine ladies.
I'm not "shaking booty", I don't really dance,
I'm just standing here like I've ants in my pants.
I'm nursing my drink, there's no need to get toasted
so early this evening, I'm making the most of
my view of the scene. "What's the name of this song?"
That dude's turning green blowing smoke from his bong.
I go to the fridge to grab a cold ale,
there's a pretty young thing turning six shades of pale.
The pizza is good, the best wings I’ve tasted,
If I don’t eat some soon, I’ll be sure to get wasted.
My friend pours me a shot of whatever he's drinking
but it smells like manure, it's no wonder he's "stinking".
The party gets rockin', the neighbors start pounding,
I don't really care how the music is sounding.
The room starts to spin, my metal's been tested.
If I leave this couch, I’ll be getting arrested.
“Ain’t this a party?” a girl starts to shout,
But that’s all I remembered before I passed out.
Walt Wojtanik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:40:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CORRECTED FOR MISSING TITLE

"Bee in Camera"

Bee
Caught
In mid-flight
In mid-hover
Back legs flying
Forward into
Front legs
Ebony tail
Down
Small head
Aimed straight ahead
Obsidian eyes
Drowning the light, soaking in daisy
Frozen in time
Frozen in flight
By a brave photographer close by
Butt back
Camera straight ahead
His glorious Micro-Nikkor lens
Opening to the sight
Of the bee intent on his flower.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:45:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Brown Dog

Why on earth
do you keep running
out of your driveway
to chase cars?
Snap at the heels
of kids on bicycles,
growl and snarl
at babies in strollers?
Your owner says
you’re such a good boy,
wouldn’t hurt a flea,
but I see
long pointed teeth,
smell the threat
in the air.
Wonder which will come first—
the bleeding bite
or crushing tire.
Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:46:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
animal - Dog?
You stalk, an animal caged, wary worn
Not trusting anyone, not even your masters
Or are they your masters?
You strain and struggle against your bonds
Freedom your goal
Or is it the struggle you hunger for?
What would happen if one day you finally broke free of the chains of oppression that bound you?
Without the struggle would you lapse into apathy and calmly fade away
Susan LeFort
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:53:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pippin

I know a little, white
dog named Pippin, with a coat smooth
as silk and an angelic face
accompanied by a bubbly personality.
Pippin's friendly bark is
his trademark, his bite nonexistent.
Pippin loves everyone and the
world is enamored with him.
He lights up a room and turns
even the saddest frown
upside down. Pippin's needs are few,
he loves his bones and a belly rub,
but what Pippin gets he
gladly returns tenfold.
Behold, the great Pippin,
the adorable dog that
is always tons of fun.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:56:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Greyhound

brings to mind a big bus, interstate travel or
bets, races where money-makers chase fake rabbits
at the track

when racers get too old or are born too slow to win
they don’t cover the dog food and are culled (yes, killed)
unless saved

rescue a well-mannered, gentle giant (they say greyt) pet
unless you need a yipper jumping around your ankles,
bonus: they won’t pull on a leash

elegant floppers, so calm, no frantic barks at passing
cars, deliveries, squirrels, birds, strollers, kids on bikes
or blades

big and easy, greys lend you elegance, sport huge thigh
muscles, short coats, narrow heads with liquid eyes, sweet
sweet natures,

so ancient a line, they’ve posed thousands of years on
Egyptian tombs, sight hounds chased dinners in distant pasts
always aristocrats

http://www.adopt-a-greyhound.org/


Carol Tremper
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:57:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
What becomes a legend the most?

Chanel No. 5?
Marilyn Monroe?
Elvis?
Evil Knievel?
Babe Ruth?
Princess Di?
Mother Theresa?
Pope John Paul II?
Nope, the omnipresent face of the sphinx
half cat, half child
who in Zen-like fashion
speaks from the heart
without mouth
in no particular language
yet is understood by everyone.
toting a red bow on her left ear
and a red purse in her right hand
standing five shiny apples tall
and weighing about 3
loving daughter of George and Mary
twin sister to Mimmy.
Dear Daniel’s main squeeze
mother to Charmmy and Sugar
A Scorpio ruled by the Sun
SHE IS PERSUASIVE, RESOURCEFUL AND SECRETIVE
Born in the Year of the Tiger
SHE IS SENSITIVE, GIVEN TO DEEP THINKING,
AND CAPABLE OF GREAT SYMPATHY.
This now retired spokesperson for Target®
has served as unofficial
U.S. children's ambassador for UNICEF since 1983
was named Japan’s ambassador in 1994
received exclusive title as “UNICEF Special Friend of Children” before turning 30
working to educate fans about gender-based educational discrimination globally
has been featured on a Master Card debit card from Legend Credit since 2004
to inspire and teach little girls to manage their money
and has her own theme park.
a cute and clever girlie girl
good at baking cookies
whose favorite meal is mum’s apple pie
perennially kind-hearted and sweet
this is the object of idle worship
worn as keepsake, amulet, and talisman,
by itsy-bitsy tots, pre-pubescent girls
and Hollywood starlets
and fashioned into diamond rings by
Queen of Baby Phat
Kimora Lee Simmons.
all living the fantasy
Forever in the 3rd Grade.
Would you believe she’s turning thirty-five
this November 1st?
Say Hello to Hello Kitty.
"Just Be Yourself!"
and remember
"You can’t have too many friends!"
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:58:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fox

Sharp fervid stink, and
a flash of brown in the snow.
Racing through the night.

Dione
Saturday, April 04, 2009 5:59:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Quail’s Tale

There once was a whale
Who lived in a vale.
One day came a gale
Mixed with hail.
The whale began to wail,
“To escape I’ll have to bail.
So I’ll use my father’s pail.”
He made a boat of a rail.
Next he made a sail
Of his mother’s old veil.
Then he flopped down on a wale.
As he floated down the trail
He heard the railing of the quail,
“Stupid whale! Just swim! You fail!”
Willy Kalnins
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:01:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Wren"
Tiny little bird,
Flitting through the bush,
Sometimes flying high above,
Sometimes flying far below.
Different colors,
Of your species,
Make me see with wonder.
So small but so fast,
You make me want to fly.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:02:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sweet Ella

You were black an beautiful
We named you Ella and
You made our hearts sing.

We had a blizzard
You swam in the snow
Such a sight.

We had blackberries
You picked your own
and ate more than I picked.

We took walks
You ran ahead and back
You loved it.

We went swimming
You swam and fetched with
Great enthusiasm.

You loved everyone
Who loved you in return
And those who didn't.

You smiled often
As only you could
People were amazed.

You were a
Comfort and a Blessing
All your days.

We hope you are
Where all doggies go
A happy place.



W. Yvonne O'Neill
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:04:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Evil Easter Bunny

How he scares the little kids with those big non-blinking eyes. It could be something evil in disguise.
He motions for you to come near. That's when you scream out of fear.
Now when you go to bed he's in your nightmare. When you wake up he's still there! And your in your underwear!
Oh dear!


Laura Ciorlieri
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:05:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Nudibranch

Sari of the aquatic underworld
Feathered boa drag queen of the deep
Planetary post-modern sea-slug
Type-dyed oceanic head trip

It seems
you have evolved to show off
and yet you are so small
and dwell so deep
you have to be searched out
and scavenged for in a
cumbersome suit.

Does this make you jealous
butterfly whom
merely must land on a flower
to get attention?
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:05:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Birds a-Flutter

Where suddenly,
does this car, careening fast
from the corner of my eye,
bearing down at last--
Senor, if you please!
My skirted birds and bees,
stirred now, buzzing the tree,
with no intent of
stinging thee--
Brenda Skinner
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:06:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"The Brown Bear at the Cleveland Zoo"

The brown bear at the Cleveland Zoo
paces in his created environment.
He roams from cave to artificial
lakeshore to the top of a concrete
rock outcropping. He shakes his head.
His shaggy locks fall from his temples;
a cascade of sadness. They flutter
in the air like a coat collar
he snaps after putting it on.

He slides into the perfect blue
of his artificial lake and swims,
restlessly digging for his home.
He climbs onto the shore and flops
himself down, exhausted, expelling a sigh.
His paw drags listlessly in the water.
He sleeps off the fatigue brought on
by his futile, aimless roaming
of the unknown range encoded in his genes.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:06:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Burrow Owl

Protected species, football mascot,
these do not seem to clash in you.
Four inches tall, beaked, taloned,
hunter of rodents, you lay claim
to the ground we have set aside
for you, have walled off with low
barricades more likely to trip us up
than hold us back. We stylize
your form to a blue-black oval,
suitable for a helmet's side,
drop the first half of your name.
We keep the fierce eyes.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:07:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
2 questions. 1. If we get in the ebook, do are names get in there with the poems to? Also were do our questions we ask get answered? This is for Robert. Thanks!
Laura Ciorlieri
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:07:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Wolf

My eyes have an eerie glow.
My fur is gray and white.
I am the leader of my pack,
prowling the forest at night.
I stand beneath the starry sky,
howling at the bright moonlight.
Darla Smith
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:09:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dog

I'm a cute little Spaniel
with long floppy ears.
But my other half is Chow
which causes many fears.

Sweet, but yet stubborn,
I hold out to the end,
Hoping my loving master
her rules she will bend.

No soiling the carpets,
no licking my butt,
No eating the trash.
Yo, man, I'm a mutt!

But when it is bedtime,
a treasure I've found.
The treats and massage,
I didn't get at the pound.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:12:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pika

Furry, mite-y mountaineer
Scurries up Sierra slopes
Seeking sanctuary from
Carbon-belching Hummer kin,
Methane-belching steaks-to-be.

At the summit he dreams of wings
And finds his grave.


Note: The pika, victim of global warming, was in this morning’s news.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:14:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Squirrel”

As he sits on the branch of the birch tree,
our eyes lock.
“My yard.”
“My yard.”
Neither of us flinches.
Kata Kollath
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:15:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Emperor Penguins"
for my parents

We love them for their fidelity to each other.
They stick it out on the ice
together.
They pair up and lay their eggs.

Then winter strikes
like a long
slow
bolt of lightning,
and the women take to the ocean
while their mates huddle together and wait
with their eggs
on the ice.

We love their story.
We love to hear how it ends.
The dark winter months pass
and the sun finally rises.
Ice in the air dissipates like sweat
and the chicks poke their hard noses
between father’s feet
as the men break their huddle
and the women
who survived,
return with fish in their bellies.

Who wouldn’t love them,
the fantastic idea of them.
Who wouldn’t love
to watch them wait on the ice
without food
without sunlight
through months more cold
than we can know.

We love – we almost can’t believe
their devotion,
how no penguin ever said to itself,
was ever capable
of saying to itself
I’m cold
I’m hungry
I won’t wait any more.
Ryan Adams
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:16:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Feline Reunion

If what I believe is true
And I believe that it is
My mansion in Heaven will be
Populated by all of my cats
Except for Gizmo
‘Cause I think he may have been
Possessed

But I’m sure Tom will be there
The Maine coon black and white
24 pound long haired monster
He spent 19 years with me
He’ll have his ear back
And the tooth he lost
In a fight that he had
And won against
The neighbor’s dog

Tippie will curl on my lap
With his black fur and white feet
And that white patch
On the very end
Of his tail

Charlie, the orange tiger cat
So stupid that he was cute
Will entertain me again
By walking into the walls
And jumping in the air
At nothing at all
Poor Chuck

Sylvester was a magical cat
Unpredictable in every respect
He would disappear for days
Return out of nowhere
Just a few hours
After we’d given up
Looking for him
Then he’d do it all over again
Until one day he
Didn’t come back
At all

Two of my favorite cats
Well, favorites as of late
Will once again be reunited
For Scratch has been gone for a year
We all miss this black and white beauty
Long haired and long in the tail

He left Sniff behind
Our gray oversized tabby
Now he rules the couch
And my office chair
Which I’ll push out of the way
And sit on my footstool
So I don’t disturb his nap

Sniff misses his 12 year long pal
That is until Keno
A long haired orange stray
Took over the roost
At least he thinks he rules

Of course, over the years
There have been many more cats
That have curled on my lap
Knitted on my leg
Purred in my ears
Licked my hands
Grown old at times
And died

But in Heaven I believe
They will be with me
forever

Oh, by the way
What I inferred about Gizmo
May have been stretched
He was just crazy
Not possessed
He’ll be my heavenly
Outdoor cat
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:16:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Animals


He tells us to write about animals
plumb images from depths of beloved
house pet memories or whine on, ad nauseum,
about extinctions. I would lie to say
the plight of the polar bears didn't sicken me,
oh polar bears! Oh, the habitat destructions
of Amazonian birds and beasts. But let's
be honest. I let my Facebook dog starve
for months, and the only cat I ever loved
died when I left her for graduate school, at my
mother's house, because she had not seen
Virginia snow and I was afraid
of moving her, old as she was,
to the full-seasoned South. She did not
punish quietly, was not invisible
to my mind or parents then, not like the
Facebook starving dog I keep now, without
tending. Long days and hours she spent lying
in the middle of asphalt roads, then my mother's
driveway, just before her refusal of food, and
the terrible mewling she made when I told
my mother to "Put my cat on the phone,
please," when it was questionable who
was more upset by her cries--the cat, my
mother, or myself. I just remember I heard
her say: "Abandoner! Little girl who tortured
me, trained me, you, whose woman self I learned to
control--where are you going and where have you
been? Without you, I suffer." And then
she died in a freak vehicular incident, not
accident. She had been laying in the road, hopeful,
for months. All this, as I sat in a cabin in Virginia,
painting nude women, writing down the wrong
traits of people I'd taken leave from. So I haven't
much to say about animals now, shouldn't be
trusted with them, have a dog I've gained
but since gifted to the teen because I think of my
cat I loved but left and can't bear the shame
of letting another living thing down. Yeah,
write a poem about animals, he says,
as if this is not painful, but all I can think about
is how I have searched long and hard for a button
to turn off my Facebook dog so it can stop giving
me that ill-kept, ill-watered look when I chance by,
stop being mine, stop landing on the least fed, least
loved list. Sometimes, in guilt, in this dog, I see my cat,
so I stop in to toss a false Frisbee or pet the faux dog
with click and drag, obediently provide water, food, and
read its name for familiarity as I scan
what I can possibly do to make it stop, make
it go away, but the dog lives on, won't be rid of,
and I know that button will
continue to allude me.



Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:18:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lucky

He will sleep all day
run in circles, wag curled tail
when I arrive home.

He barks seldom, snorts
when excited, whenever
friends come to the door.

He loves Goodale Park,
center of doggy culture,
only when it’s warm.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:18:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
teenagers

now that I've got your attention, I thought we could talk
about a few things. do you think you could please take off your ipods
for a few moments? that's OK. I know you can probably hear me anyway,
right?
*
OK, well, I'll just assume you can hear me, then.
should we talk about the fun things
first, or the not-so-fun ones? here's a fun one! your
grandmother is coming to visit, isn't that great? and she is always
saying how impressed she is with both of you because you always
give up your room for her to stay in.
who is going to volunteer this time?
*
OK, well why don't you start thinking about that and get back to me.
now i need to talk about something difficult. we are not animals.
well, actually, we are animals, it's just that we humans like to pretend we're not.
some say we're even capable of being the worst kind of animals,
but I also think we humans are capable of being the best animals, too.
what do you think?
*
do you remember when we used to sing songs together in the car?
that was so fun! I loved that.
*
that's OK, though. too old for that, eh? well, back to this thing about animals.
how should I put this? I really, really appreciate how
you two take turns cleaning the toilet on Saturdays.
that is so--remarkable. not many teenagers can do that without complaining.
but now there's a new problem, you see. it's...well, it's poop marks,
to put it bluntly. the poop marks are there all week long, and
it's just gross. we don't have to live like animals anymore.
now, I don't want you to get a complex or anything, poop is perfectly
natural. It's normal. I just don't want to have to clean it up anymore.
you two are big enough now you can clean up after yourselves.
I mean, I didn't mind when you were small,
but now I really want to move on to other things.
did I ever tell you I won lots of poetry contests in college?
*
you can write poetry, too, you know. everybody can do it. it would be
good if everybody in the world wrote poems. In fact, I am pretty sure if everybody
wrote a poem a day, and took a nap--at least for ten minutes--
there would be world peace in no time. what do you think?
*
sorry. there I go again, with my "holy goodness," just like you say.
all right. what do you think of these mountains. Pretty beautiful, eh?
*
my therapist friends tell me the best time to bring up stuff with teenagers
is when you're driving on long trips in the car.
sorry about that, you're kind of trapped now.
but I thought maybe we could talk about dating a little bit.
your father isn't here right now, but Zach,
is there anything you want to know?
*
that's OK. I probably shouldn't be bringing it up with both of you here
at the same time, and I probably shouldn't mention therapists, either.
But if you ever want to talk about boys--or girls--I mean, I don't mean,
whatever. I just hope I can truly be open and supportive of anything--
This is your life, not mine.
that's the kind of mother I hope to be, anyway.
Pregnancy, that's another story. That's not what I'm referring to here.
I'm just saying maybe, for all I know, Amelia, you want to talk about girls,
or maybe Zach wants to talk about boys, how would I know?
you never talk about anything, so I don't have the faintest idea what's
going on with you. Not that I'm trying to persuade you one way or another,
that's my point. I hope you feel like you can talk about anything with me,
I mean, any kind of gender at all. Or anything, OK? I'm cool.
Do you understand what I'm trying to say?
*
these next few years, everybody says they're going to be hard for us.
do you want--does anybody want some cookies?
I put some in that bag back there, if you want them.
There's water, too. I know that's boring, but I just didn't want
you drinking Coke for hours in the car and then have to stop
to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes.
*
Isn't somebody going to at least complain
that I'm treating you like babies?
*
did you know the next generation of babies is going to be born
with ipods already implanted in their ears? I'm not joking.
and that's not Apple doing that, it's nature.
Really. I read in a magazine that evolution only takes one generation.
I am not shitting you.
*
I know I can use words like that because I know you're not
really listening to me, so I can say whatever I want to now,
FINALLY, for the first time in sixteen years!
It's great, isn't it? I'm actually starting to like it. I feel free as a bird!
In fact, that bastard that just passed me doing a hundred and twenty
and flashing his f--- lights and blasting his f--- horn?
Did you see that?
I should give him the f--- finger! Bet you didn't know I could talk like that,
did you? You thought I was just a holy goodness Quaker mother,
but turns out at one time, I had a life.
but just to make absolutely sure, can you hear me?
*
OK, then. I'm putting in some of my John Denver music, since your father
isn't here. That's another thing I haven't done in years.
&&&&&:&&&&&&&&&:&&&&&
&&&&:////
"Mom, if you play that music, I am getting out of the car right now.
I don't care how many hundreds of miles it is. I'm walking!"

Madeline Strong Diehl
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:21:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Once again, Walt delivers. The funny thing is, I wrote a piece a couple years ago entitled "God has a sense of humor." Here are a few lines from it:

The Duck-billed Platypus? Oh PLEASE!
You can’t escape the humor!
Now here’s some information
that is true, and not a rumor.
This odd, warm-blooded Manera
has some reptilian features.
So some dismissed him as a fake,
this odd one of God’s creatures.

Keep it up, Walt. I'm looking forward to seeing your daily submissions.

Marie Elena
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:23:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
HA! I just realized Walt submitted a second piece. Funny take on the subject, and well done!
Marie Elena
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:23:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Henry the hexapus

Henry, I am with you
in that tank: most
of what I ought to be
and all of what I am.

Henry, we are lesser,
honorary vertebrates,
ordinary sorts
of errors.

Henry, being interesting
is not a selling point
you choose, but love
sees a difference

like the riddle
of an answered prayer.
We poor suckers, Henry,
twice as many arms as hearts.


NOTES: Henry is real and was found in a lobster pot near Wales, born with only six arms. Octopuses are "honorary vertebrates" under British law, for purposes of protection from animal cruelty. "An ordinary sort of error" is how biologist PZ Myers described Henry's circumstance. Animals of order Octopoda have three hearts.
Mike Stutzman
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:26:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Animal"

What type of animal is Animal?
Dude. I tell ya. Muppet's not enough.
And rule out monster, man -- Animal wears clothes.
But he ain't human...bear...pig...frog...grouch.
Least, not the way I'm seein' him from my couch.
He talks weird, too, like...what is it he's saying?
But when he plays the drums. Dude. He can wail.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:27:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Morning Room for Magpies
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
And seven for a secret never to be told.
-- Old English folk rhyme
Seven magpies on the fence.
Her head on the pillow, face turned
to the window, back to the wall and door.
Morning comes up white,
stars obscured. The garbage trucks
Hum and an engine coughs with cold.
She’s up at the door slam, and
he’s gone. Air returns to the room.
The mirror tells the tale she won’t, not
to a soul. Her fingers on the glass,
where it hurts: tracing new black borders
to the pale map of her face, eyes fixed
like birds caged in melancholy wire.
Swollen, wingless bird. She returns
to the edge of the bed, watching seven magpies
on the fence, still in a knockabout world,
fuming with breath that turns out of throat
into ghosts of life, trails of white smoke.


Kelly Searsmith
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:29:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jellyfish

We spot a white net
spattered with clear gellatinous orbs,
We dig child heels into sand, running.
The orbs are the color of clouds-
more undertones than whiteness.
We lift net, pull.
Orbs tear apart.
A living being ripped to shreds or
a dead thing further killed or
something never alive imitating death,
what kind of violence?
We gape, prod, and drop,
run in to the ocean,
let salt sting wring out our senses.
ceroper
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:29:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The little black bird

You are there
every morning
in the park, though
it's not every day
that I see you
dart across the grass
on my rounds
in the park.
I have named you
without permission
my inspiration for
the day; could I be
as spontaneous
joyful and
charged with such
supreme unconcern
about the untold ways
of the world;
when I see you
in my perambulations
I realise the shamble
in my step
and the life in shambles.
Aliashesh
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:30:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)



The Path of the Hawk


The hawk swoops down low
As his gaze glows

He enters your path
All unknown

The path of the hawk
Can bestow
Good or bad
We will soon know

The beauty it holds
Is magnificent
To show

Its wings spread
Its glide slow

For all eyes
To endeavor
As it puts on a show

Whatever you believe
Know its true

For the path of the hawk
Is warning you.


By: Melinda Elmore
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:33:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
White-Tailed Deer

The white tailed deer left a trail of red drops in the snow
Dragging its dangling hoof down the hill,
Trying to reach the cover of bare winter shrub
As the sound of our footsteps signaled it to run.

It stopped behind a bush, no real cover
But we stopped as well
Not wanting to cause more pain

Had it had been struck by a car
Or escaped coyote jaws?
Inside, we called wildlife rescue,
But were told
Nothing could be done:
No one would carry an adult deer
Anyplace to heal.

As we watched through the window
Other deer appeared
Sniffing the injured one
Forming a semi-circle around it--
The herd would not leave
And the injured one could not go.
From our vantage point,
They seemed to be saying good-bye,
Each touching a nose to the injured one’s nose

We left for the day
Though wanting to stay and watch
Filled with questions about nature and its neutrality--
Would the deer survive the day?
Would the herd leave?

When we returned that evening.
The bloody trail, the injured deer
And the hovering herd:
All were gone
Faded into the silent woods
With our questions unanswered.



Anne Corey
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:35:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My dog

I saw her cuddled in a cardboard box
Alone and scared
She was so small
She shivered as I held her

I knew she was the dog for me
She soon came out of her shell
And was running up and down the house
She brought new life to me

She gave us a scare when she was young
Jumping over a 6 foot fence
And breaking her leg
All because she was lonely

After a year of searching
We found her a companion
The perfect companion
Her new best friend

Now she is almost 13
It seems like a lifetime ago
But she is still the first dog I ever loved
She holds a special place in my heart
With her paws engraved
Grace Martinez
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:36:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dolphins

Swimming along the ocean wide
sharing the Earth with human-kind,
never do we meant to harm
it's often said we lack no charm.

We live in large schools,
raising our young as humans do
frequently seen as we jump and play
living life day by day.

Survival harder with passing time
as motor boats, oil, filth and grime
contaminate our habitat near and far
and fishing nets scoop us to the stars.

Poisoned, brutalized and captured, we
the graceful guardians of the sea,
still smile and frolic and play for you
until extinction claims us too.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:36:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Birds

An exaltation of larks
A convocation of eagles
A walk of snipe
A spring of teals

A kettle of hawks
A murmuration of starlings
A watch of nightingales
A charm of goldfinches

A gaggle of geese
A sedge of bitterns
A covey of partridges
A flight of cormorants

A bevy of swans
A muster of peacocks
A parliament of owls
A baffle of humans?
Cara
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:36:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Macroglossus Minimus


In the tree above the house Desire hangs nightly, ornamental
in her shimmering between knobbed branches. She is wrapped
in her own desire to become like them: long-tongued but minimal.

Digging deeply into the mouths of flowers, they feed only on
the rawest sugars found there. But Desire is not like them.
She admires their cravings, but cannot own them.

Sugars are not enough for her. But so sweetly does she croon
that you risk everything and watch from your window. Once
you almost allowed her in. You had the door unlatched and stood

on the threshold, poised to call. It was then that you saw her.
Not Desire, but the woman Desire was consuming. She lay on
the lawn, a white star against a deep green that was almost black,
disappearing bit by pretty bit into Desire’s greedy mouth.








Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:36:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Elephant

Not for me the image
of a friendly beast
in a wrinkled grey suit.

No, my nightmares hold the
picture of the day we
were charged by a
herd,led by the matriarch.

We ran.

A shot rang out.
They stopped,re-grouped,
changed direction.
"I shot into a tree" said the ranger
Smiling at our terror.

Do you know how the ground shakes
when a herd of elephants is
rushing towards
you?
elaine
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:38:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fox

A fox lay dead under the porch all winter,
unnoticed except for the dog’s unavailed
keening and rooting one December morning.
The body was perfect come spring.
I have taken old cats to be put down,
helped them breathe their last, but
I was not prepared for this; the sweet
scent of decay, that some wild being
had come to die. We cut the floorboards
to reveal his tomb, stepping across
the curled body as though it were a
revered ancestor carefully lifted from the dust.
There was no saving him, no final rites or
coins on the eyes, open and unseeing,
a death not expected that day.
Lesley Pasquin
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:40:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
the english bullterrier


I am Munnin of Ragnarok
what's that you say ...
funny sounding name, huh, peasant!
google it.
my ancestry is excellent
my mama is Bilboen Lucifer's Daughter
oh yes indeed ...
impressed now are you?
Terjo Lord of the Ring is my papa
your eyes widened there!

we are big boned and beautiful
my mouth is show perfect
why are my ears bandaged?
obviously you are one of the ignorant
occasionally, my perfectly formed
pointy bullie ears, well ...
they flop, flopping is not good
hence the ear gear!
it is a passing phase
soon my ears will point wickedly at the sky

who might you be human?
tell me your ancestry
pure mongrel you say...
and not young either
your hair is quite silver
and to be honest
your teeth have seen better days
your legs still look pretty sturdy
perhaps if i decide to take you
i will still be able to walk you for a while.

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann
Eryll Oellermann
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:42:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Turtles
I love to watch my turtle
especially when music is played
her front legs lift up and down
as if she was dancing.
Bonnie House
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:44:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Mohini my doggie”

Mohini my doggie
likes her biscuits soggy

At night she digs up the earth
of uprooted saplings there is no dearth

She frowns on the rest of her ilk
and dines royally on humble rice and milk

She loves roti and ghee
To see her waggish face, that’s a small fee

She rests on the floor under the tap
I say, “What a cool way to nap!”

When we get back from a movie late,
she greets us at the gate post-haste.

She is as common as they come
Yet to send her packing would be dumb

She was a stray
Now she’s here to stay
Priti Aisola
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:45:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
THE SERPENT

when you slid down the rough brown bark,
o nahash of the garden,
twisting and twining around the trunk
of the Tree in the Garden,
and your infinite coils that stretched
the length of the garden,
let fall a single perfect pomegranate,
for the Woman in the garden
to take a tiny bite, and offer it
to the Man in the garden
and all the world's troubles sprouted thence,
o nahash of the garden,
and you were banished from the boughs
to the dirt of the garden,
and wound, wounded, into the world,
unforgiving as the garden,
you had no idea why that fallen fruit,
let slip in the garden,
by accident, had laid you so low;
what They did wasn't
even
your
fault,
o nahash of the garden
Joseph Harker
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:46:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sweet Harley Girl

Born in a used car lot of guard dog parents,
One of eleven marked with various coloring,
We chose you when you were days old.
A tattered green string marked you as ours.

For nearly twelve years you graced our lives.
Magestic, strong, gentle, warm.
With each new child we delivered,
You sniffed, wagged and loved them.

Just months ago you left us,
Burying yourself in a snow bank the night before.
With only hours of warning, the end came.
Your eyes told us the truth.

There is a hole in our hearts.
In your enormous wake a huge-pawed puppy frolics.
Sweet in her own right, but it’s not about comparing.
We know you whisper in her floppy ears.
Molly
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:47:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Canine

The dog has found her place: a soft
pillow dimpled with a shallow well.
She’ll nest there, tuck her nose beneath
front paws as if to hide from a day’s

frustrations: two rabbits that scuttled
across the brick walk, children who tossed
stones over the fence. Still, I watch –
imagine her world stretches beyond

the backyard, wonder if she considers
the neighbor’s dire straits: olive paint peeling
off the house, cat catching its collar
on a bicycle pedal moments before it rains.

I hope tonight she’ll think of me: tender me a deep
sleep. Perhaps, in the morning, she’ll help me
find matching socks, assure me a stranger will
compliment my cologne, my newly trimmed hair.


Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:48:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Tribute to Loup
Pronounced Lou, Wolf in French but you probably knew that already!)

Loup, the Malamute is a handsome fellow
He even makes Tyna, the St. Bernard bellow,
All the girls swoon when Loup walks by
He’s a Matinee Idol and he doesn’t even try,
With those big brown eyes and that wolf-like face
He stands so proud, full of strength and grace,
In the winter he pulls us on our skis
Everyone yells “Watch out for the trees!”
A regular “Snow Dog”, he’s going to go far
Some day Hollywood will make him a star,
Until then, he’s the most charming dog you ever saw
Can you tell he’s got me wrapped around his paw?
Cathy Graham
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:49:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Barnacle Says

I am a lunar crater on a gray whale’s back,
a lightening bolt on the Bering Sea.
I am hailstorms stinging Pacific swells,
baby fog drifting on hidden lagoons.

I am feathers that tickle el Niño,
a calm morning before the storm,
the wing of a dove as it lands on a branch,
a curl of smoke from distant lands.

I am the silent breath of a slow ride,
the chill in the air, an alpine moon,
a shiny nickel found on the sand.
I am antique paper rolled in a bottle,

faded letters scratched in blood.
I am the tip of a whittled stick,
the thoughts that drift out to sea
and return with the incoming tide.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:49:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Grace, the Hippopotamus at the San Diego Zoo

Sailing silently through water blue,
Tubby legs tucked under leathery hide;
One foot touches down tenderly then
Propels her greatness lithely by.
Her tonnage reflects in the shimmers above,
A rippled shadow her companion below;
Celebrating freedom from heaviness,
A smile plays about her hippo lips
As she glides by smoothly, steadily, slow.
Amy Nichols
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:49:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Narwhal

Strange and beautiful,
Like a unicorn from the sea.
Magical or dangerous,
Their long teeth used for tusking.
A literary legend,
A harpooned woman,
A royal curiosity,
A mythical beast.
All and none of these.
It is unique.
It is wonderful.
The Narwhal.



Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:50:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tigger, Fierce Watch Dog

Four feet clicking on the tiles
Claws like razors because I
Didn’t make the time to take
Her to the vet
But she doesn’t care
She’s all about treats and
End of meal plate licks
Laying on the cool tiles
When the temperature soars
Growling at the cat
Just outside the door
Barking from the couch
Nose against the front window glass
Throwing pillows off at random
Trying to let the garbage man
Know of her fierce defense
Of all that is her property,
Her people’s things,
And his imprudence
Of entering her private space
Protector, who loves attention,
Plays ball like a pro,
And only occasionally allows
Petting and hugs
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:52:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

FOX


In nineteen fifty one the night
is cold
moonlit
and scented with hickory smoke.

Inside
beneath one hanging bulb
beside the searing woodstove
surrounded by tan golden sheetrock walls
on a patch of dull tan flower linoleum

One settee with a satin pillow from Hawaii
One rocker, oak, with split oak seat
One rocker, maple, planed by hand
Two ladder chairs and two slat back
One chrome tube with red seat pad
Quilt frame, pinned and basted quilt
Singer treddle, iron lace black and gilt

A fox cub
A burlap sack
A shotgun
A child
Barbara Young
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:52:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Tribute to Loup (Pronounced Lou, meaning "wolf" in French but you probably knew that already)

Loup, the Malamute is a handsome fellow
He even makes Tyna, the St. Bernard bellow,
All the girls swoon when Loup walks by
He’s a Matinee Idol and he doesn’t even try,
With those big brown eyes and that wolf-like face
He stands so proud, full of strength and grace,
In the winter he pulls us on our skis
Everyone yells “Watch out for the trees!”
A regular “Snow Dog”, he’s going to go far
Some day Hollywood will make him a star,
Until then, he’s the most charming dog you ever saw
Can you tell he’s got me wrapped around his paw?
Cathy Graham
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:56:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MOCKINGBIRD


in the tall maple
concealed behind
a collage of leaves
I perch myself
still as windless day
and ridicule life

inhale sounds
exhale in mimicry
human complaints
the squabble of ants
the gruff voice
of hungry dogs

the gossipy bee buzz
preening daffodils
with pollen argot
talking up the sun
I mock them everyone
then flap my wings

fly skyward where
my mockeries
float up
then descend
flakes fluttering
like acid rain

#
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:56:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Black Panther

I was ten years old when we moved
away from city lights
A country road through country woods
took me to a new life

Somewhere I heard the scary tale
of a black cat that roamed
through the woods and around the hills
of where we now called home

They told of a large black panther
with eyes as red as fire
that screamed just like a baby hurt
and lived out in the briar

I swear I heard it more than once
Its cry rang in my ears
I know it was that darn black cat
that filled me full of fears

Now all these many years later
no one recalls the tale
of the black panther in those woods
though it was once my hell

I wonder why it happened so
What was that cat to me?
I know that when I let it go
I never felt so free.
W. K. Messinger
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:56:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
cat

delicately you scoop your
california natural crunchie
chicken and rice formula
bits from your special
paw-embossed bowl with your right
paw, slurp them, chew quickly
then dip the paw in the water bowl
and lick it clean
Bill DiBenedetto
Saturday, April 04, 2009 6:59:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mosquito

Grandpa calls them daddy long legs,
but I thought those were spiders.

Justin, three, calls them scary,
and I try to reassure him:
These are special mosquitoes
not the “bad” kind
who bite.

They only look scary
I say. They are our friends,
keep us safe at night
from the bad kind
who do.

Oh, he observes.
They are super heroes
who keep us safe at home?

Yes, that’s it: Security
Super heroes,
Protectors.

Then I begin to wonder
whether what I’ve always
heard is really true or
if they might be the kind
who carry West Nile Virus.

It’s so hard today
to discern
a friend from enemy.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:01:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Opossum

Oh, when you think of me
You may drop the "O",
But that's 'k with me -
Possum is "I am able" in Latin!
My teeth are sharp,
My mind sharper still,
All the better to eat bugs and snails with, my dear!
And for dessert, I'll have
Some awful avocados,
Outrageously rotten oranges,
And gross grapes,
Leaving the good for you -
And your guacamole, your marmalade, and your wine!
Like those of my koala and kangaroo cousins,
My joyful joeys - my kids - spend their toddler years
In my pouch,
But when they reach kindergarten age,
They ride as your children like to for fun,
Piggyback upon my sturdy back!
My hands are like yours, and my feet
Are like your hands,
And my tail gracefully grasps branches
As your brain might do some crazy concept.
But I fear you, so please respect me
And stay away when you see me
So my children and I may enjoy your garden
In peace.
And when you think of me,
Please think positively,
For I am your friendly helper -
I am a possum!






Katrelya Angus
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:04:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
OOPS! I see it posted way up top there. I didn't think it went through as it was really slow. Sorry about posting it twice.

Wonderful poems everyone. I find them truly inspiring and I'm humbled to have my offerings included amongst all this great work.
Cathy Graham
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:05:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Phoenix

Even the Romans thought you a myth;
they imagined you nesting in the far East -
preening peacefully one thousand years
in hanging gardens, only to return West
to the desert- Heliopolis- when you sought renewal.
And, at the end of your flight, you landed in flares
and fire bursts – scattering blood-red and gold
plumes among your own glowing embers -
until, in mystic re-fusion - you reassembled
from gray ashes into eternal,pulsing color.

Now, I have always believed the Romans
didn’t take their own stories literally,
bouncing their little Livias on their knees,
I thought they discerned legend from truth, all the same,

until now, when in the darkest of months I have left
my home – sneaking out through the lush garden -
to fly West, to the desert, back through time
zones, over land and ocean and various states;
descending, I press my nose against the window
taking in the dull earth studded by cacti
and rocky hills circling the valley, and land,
exhausted, to finally end this long day
with aging parents in Sun City - that's paradise,
they say, life extending , even –

I sleep, and then, late the next morning -
our big star hot and high - nervously gripping
the wheel I crane and reverse, leaving the palm oasis,
as I head towards the center, to You.

And it happens: there you are in the flesh –
all lit up in the afternoon sun, on a bench before a fountain.
You- who have had me wait almost half my lifetime-
dissolve the fatigue of my full day flight and today’s hours
when you reach your open palm and massage the space
between my shoulders as if no time has ever passed,
as if this moment were the source
and end and continuum of all moments.
And then I face you, brushing aside my auburn hair
illuminated in this light to flaming gold.

And then later, in your home, before we part
I explore your space and bound up a helix of stairs
that leads to an empty loft, and pace the bare room.
Below, where I can’t see you, you call up softly:
that room is yours, a nest for when you are ready.
And then it finally dawns. You and I,
and our story that has spanned an epoch,
and that is still happening now – find the fire of
new life in what the Romans couldn’t say,
literally: the phoenix is no myth.
Claudia Marie Clemente
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:05:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Three-Legged Dog

One step below stock characters
in Westerns—cowboy sidekicks,
small-town doctors, the school marm—
the three-legged dog stands—
shaky, sure, but always there. He guards
the poultry trained for cockfights,
barks his warning before the revenuers
discover the moonshine still, but never
runs for help when the child falls
into the well or knocks the blind
old man out of the way
of the oncoming train. A clever
owner may call him Tripod,
but usually he’s just Dog.

He spends his days in the shade
under the porch, still except to
dodge a fly, circling down to sleep,
dreaming of younger days when
he ran unhampered,
then jerking only half awake
to nightmares of crushing bone.

Nancy Posey
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:06:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cougar

Thirteen
when I saw her step out
from behind the door
glistening from water pellets
hair slick and back
legs exposed
walking gingerly toward me

A smile swept over my youth
her thick body exposed
through a thin veil
I stood still
admiring the beauty
I could dream about
but never have.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:07:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Monkey.


My mother had a monkey,
she never said what sort,
it was when she lived in India,
it was from the wild not bought.

It was supposed to be a tame one
and with it she played
until it turned and bit her
then she got afraid.

Grandma asked a servant
to take the monkey away
because it had bitten her daughter
and she didn't want to play.

My mum was still interested
in the monkey though it was vicious,
So she asked the servant how it was
and the servant said 'Delicious'!


This is true - it happened in the 1930's.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:07:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CROWING MURDER

there they go
the murder
quite so free
crowing about
the marks that
they made on
my car last week
we'll do it
again
they crow
from the park
overlaid with
trash
we'll pick your
car to pieces
and rip up the
silver dash
they watch until
my back is turned
and try once again
to turn my car
into a bathroom
and a cozy
little den
Carrie Ann Eggert
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:09:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Coelacanth"

Oh, my Coelacanth.

Three-twenty-five million years.

Master hide and seek.




Kevin Olitan
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:13:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Canis Lupus

When you do your own thing
they say you are
one of us alone
When you hear any remotely
canine sounding cry
in the light of the moon
you blame it on us
and imagine an adventure for yourself
You even believe the moon can give
your kind our form
and call such a thing a monster
writing stories that both terrify
and delight you
but do you know us
would you even recognize us
Or would you say
some uncaring pet owner has
forgotten that
poor dog’s collar


Lori P
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:14:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Elephant

Don’t you know by now that
I remember everything you do?

You better be careful
What you say
If you don’t mean
To say it.

You better not
Touch me if you don’t want
To be touched.

Because
I am watching.
I am listening.
My nerve endings are functional and attentive.

We touched trunks in earnest
Smells have been exchanged
And you want me to forget.

I wish I could.

Because the dreams of you my memories have made
Are of me
Charging
Trumpeting
Preparing
To dirty my ivory.

And they
Are of you
Running
Yelling
Shaking

In fear.
David Yockel Jr.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:14:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat
found playing
in the street
in the snow
your pride
a sibling
and a parent

Cat
you hide
on a chair
under the edge
of a draping tablecloth
chary and coy
softly timid

Cat
you rub
against my cheek
purring crooning sprawl
across the other pillow
we are now
our pride
halfmoon_mollie
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:16:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dolphin

For over fifty years they have brought me joy
From my first sunset sighting
Of arcs and fins against a reddening sky
To the lone traveler on a recent March morning
Gliding easily through the current in search of food.

Once I saw a frenzy of feeding families
Hundreds of silver bodies spinning and diving,
Twisting and turning, riding the waves
In groups of four or eight or ten
Playing with abandon.

But one stands out
A most amazing one
Rising to say thank you for our gift to the sea
The ashes of a loved one
Who too enjoyed their play in earlier times.

It greeted her, and us,
With a body fully risen from the sea
A turn, a smile,
I swear, a wave,
Then it was gone.

I was so overwhelmed by nature’s way
So deeply moved
That I could not stir, or think, or say but
“Did you see that? She said goodbye.”
I believe unto this day.
Judith Breadner
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:18:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I am still overwhelmed by the number of poems. I want to comment on some I particularly liked, but I have trouble keeping them in mind as I continue to read the volumes that appear. I did find "What Nature Intended" an entertaining approach to the poem (good use of sound elements as well). I like "Bees" too. I'll keep working my way through the posting.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:20:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rorschach Awakening

I wake to see eyes on mine
Greener, deeper than oceans
Wise as yogis, impenetrable

Dogs smile, cringe, look ashamed
Cats do not appease, show weakness
Maybe I am equal, maybe less

Insistent paw grips my scalp
Daggered claws half-sheathed guide me
Delicately balancing intimacy, threat

Tongue grooms my cheeks
No messy, joyous slobber of dogs
Instead fine sandpaper moistens, refines

Velvet body curls against my heart
Head tucks tight into my shoulder
Soft comforter of purring blankets me with sleep

(Note: Rorschach is my black cat.)
Nori Odoi
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:20:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ostrich

I’ve had enough, I tell you
It’s all a lie
that I bury my head
in the sand
when afraid

The truth is
I run faster
than any other
two-legged beast
can kill a lion
with one kick
of my sharp-clawed foot

If I see no escape
I might drop down
lay my head on the ground
become almost invisible
but that’s camouflage
not stupidity

So cut it out!
How would you like it
if I ruined
your reputation?
Joy Harold Helsing
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:22:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Blobfish

There was a lawyer named Bob Fish,
Not the good looking sort,
I needed some services rendered,
He was an attorney of tort.

I wanted to do some research,
I Googled him using my Dell,
But Google was set to image,
And I typed an erroneous L.

What I saw was horrific,
So ugly it was sort of cute,
The greatest thing all about it,
Was that he won my lawsuit.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:24:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fluffy

Walking one day the family in tow
Out in the air enjoying a breeze
Passing the local pet store
Dad let’s go in, please

So many pets the place like a zoo
Birds and dogs and kitties too
The kids gather ‘round and all in one voice
Dad can we get one, pretty please

The smallest little kitty
A tiny little fuzz ball
Inside my jacket he goes
Smiles and kisses, I stand ten feet tall
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:26:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)




Bull Tactics

An endowed red bull parades virility;
walks through vacant faced huddles
as he nuzzle shoves young heifers,
and contemplates warming.

Settling, he mounts an old cow.
Any port in a storm, I think.

Bottom balanced on a worn tractor seat,
I turn the path uphill and call them on.
I scan low pastures for shoots of new green;
haul out the last worried bales, and wonder why
you are coasting down my driveway today.



Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:28:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I hope this isn't printing multiple times...seems to be a problem posting...

Rabbits

Soft and cuddly
noses that twitch
fluffy tails
long fuzzy ears
deliverer of eggs
beloved by all

timid hoppers
forbearers of spring
chomping on clover
alert for the fox
amazingly prolific
immortal cartoons

Yet dreaded by
gardeners from north
to the south
I hate the sight of
them with my flowers
in their mouths.
I'd give them their
own gardens, I promise
I would,
if they'd just
leave my prize blossoms
to grow as they should!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:29:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MANATEE

The lumbering, slumbering manatee,
as big as an elephant out in the sea.
It eats all the fish it can get for its fill,
to see one up close would be truly a thrill.
But, I think that I won’t want to see
something that could make a lunch out of me.
So I watch Geographic to see on TV
the lumbering, slumbering manatee
Walt Wojtanik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:32:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snake

Bereft am I of limbs and separate head
condemned to slither on my belly scales.
No feather nest but sand will be my bed,
before my silent stare the strongest pales.
What was my crime that I must bear this fate?
No great a thing, perhaps, as one might think
but a simply offered pomegranate
the seeds of which were softly muted pink.
The barely fluttered lashes of the girl
were thanks enough for she could not yet speak.
The sweetest fruit of all the garden, curled
into the hand of Eve who nothing knew
until she ate the fruit of knowledge true.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:34:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
4

You gave me these two,
Children of my heart, not my body,
Maternal unexpectedly,
2 plus 2 isn't 4, it's family.

(note: Sorry I didn't stick with the theme today... I'm pursuing a numbered theme that's working well for me, so I wandered away... I'll be back!"
Lisa Mrazik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:34:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Angel
Kitten crying alone and scared
out in the cold dark night.
I hear you little one
I come.
Powder puff and not much else,
huddling in my hand.
Happy now, well fed purr.
Welcome home.
Jean
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:38:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The panther
In a forest far away a panther stalks the ground for its pray. Its lean, and beautiful, with fur black as night, it has eyes that glitter like starlight. One stare into this creatures eyes and you’ll be hypnotized. it’s the king of its jungle, and when its tummy rumbles you must be careful, not to be in that path of trouble. The panther is like a mystical creature, and if your lucky to get a site be careful not to run with fright.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:39:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sofie, the soft touch kitty

She is so soft that when ou pick her up and she flops back
In your arms, you think you are holding one of those plush
Kitties used to decorate little girls’ bedroom.

Scratch under her chin and she will close her eyes and purr
Keep it up and she will fall asleep in your arms like she’s
Known you all her life.

Don’t forget to admire her tail. It is her pride and joy. Thick
As the tail of a squirrel or raccoon, she always sits with it
Arranged so it will be seen at its best advantage.

Yes, she is a Maine Coon Cat, with long hair, tiger-striped
With a lot of orange. She will pose for any picture. Just don’t sit
Her on your head with her tail hanging down. She loves to perch
On tall objects, but her claws scratch deep.

We try to keep her inside as much as possible because the
Neighbors all go hunting and she does look a lot like a squirrel.

Her favorite game is “Queen of the jungle” where she will manage to
Squeeze herself under impossible places like under the couch, then
Charge and pounce on any unwary creature (or kitty toy) that comes near.

She is the youngest of our 3 kitties & at first the older kitties hissed at her
But as she grew bigger and bigger & her claws longer and sharper, she
Really is queen of the jungle – uh, house.



Marian Veverka
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:42:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fish
I swim all day
Seeking food to sustain me
My life is ever so dangerous

Seagulls, seals, and most of all man hunt me day and night
For the fish there is no rest
No opportunity for solace

There is only swimming
As fast as my gills can take me
Hoping against hope
That this won't be the day when my luck runs out.
Mario
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:45:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ants

My mother thinks
ants are taking over.

In studious lines,
they drink the poison
I dribble on orange cardboard squares,
after telling her about queen
and nest; the science of killing.
She forgets
and steps on them, crushes
a defector between her thumb and forefinger.
So they propagate politely

undeterred by sweet noxious
solutions. I suggest she learn
to share her space.
They don’t eat more
than crumbs she drops;
an open sugar packet
pilfered from a restaurant.

She calls me early in the morning
furious with their victory.
Arriving late,
they have already receded
to their safe haven

to hoard their spoils,
plan expansion.
Lisa
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:48:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pantoum: Dog

My dream is to return
as a dog that I might own,
a life of luscious luxury:
treats and love and walks.

As a dog that I might own,
I would dream of running boldly
a life of luscious luxury:
all my owner's hopes as well.

I would dream of running boldly
into warm and waiting arms, fulfilling
all my owner's hopes as well:
living sweet with me alone.

Into warm and waiting arms
he leaps, high and bold and frisky-free,
living sweet with me alone:
for we are one, my dog and me.

The two of us a family,
A life of luscious luxury,
Oh please let him return to me,
My dream is to return.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:48:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I've taken to looking for David Blaine's work--and "Stray Cat" doesn't disappoint!

Marie-Elizabeth Mali's "Leech" is excellent. (Love the phrase "compassionate hunger.")

DJ Vorreyer's "In the Hand, In the Bush"--I wish I had written it!

Happy Writing, Everyone!
Padgett Posey
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:56:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
KESTREL

This street don't have much. We do
our best. We know each other,
we might help each other, but nobody's
going to make it out of our street.
The children, we know, will stay
as much as we might wish they'd go
and grow. This is our street.
It's his, too, that kestrel,
see him hovering down there near
the car park? He comes and goes.
I thought I was the only one
who had seen him but others
have mentioned him, even gave
him a name. He comes and goes.
He belongs to our street,
we belong to him.
He's the only we can see
when we look up or out.
Christine Brandel
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:57:20 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
*Sorry missing word*

KESTREL

This street don't have much. We do
our best. We know each other,
we might help each other, but nobody's
going to make it out of our street.
The children, we know, will stay
as much as we might wish they'd go
and grow. This is our street.
It's his, too, that kestrel,
see him hovering down there near
the car park? He comes and goes.
I thought I was the only one
who had seen him but others
have mentioned him, even gave
him a name. He comes and goes.
He belongs to our street,
we belong to him.
He's the only thing we can see
when we look up or out.
Christine Brandel
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:57:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lion

They walk with grace
and run with speed.
They are full of pride
and the protector of their kingdom.
they have a loud roar
but can be as quiet as a mouse
when watching for their prey.

I am a lioness for that is my sign
my ruler is the fire
and so much am I like the lion
the only difference being...
A lion goes good with his pride
but having such a strong pride
Is my weakness.
Nicole Carr
Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:59:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterflies

I saw them out my window,
Mingling with the bees,
Two off-white butterflies,
Dancing in the breeze.

They danced around the daisies,
Then they danced around a tree.
So I ran outside as fast as I could,
So they would dance with me.

But when I reached the meadow’s edge,
The butterflies were no where to be found.
And I regretted not staying at my window,
As I sat alone on the meadow ground.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 7:59:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Kringle, Chris of the North"

Kringle lives at our house and has for some time
Not the roly poly guy you've heard of in the rhyme.
He's dressed in white and has a tail that wags
And Kringle, Chris of the North is engraved on his tags.

His bark is definitely worse than his bite
He's very thin; he's a mere four pounds light.
Eighteen years he's graced this earth
And with each year he's proved his worth.

He's one of the family, he's man's best friend
He's comfy and cozy if your lap you'll lend.
His sight is fading and his hearings faint
But he's alive and kicking; dead he ain't.

He's been with us since the boys were small
He's survived their growing years, even a fall.
I thought it time he deserved a poem
Because I don't know how much longer he'll roam.

He reminds us of Christmas, white as the snow
And groomed to the hilt with a Christmas bow.
He posed with us in our family picture
He's Kringle Bass, a permanent fixture.
Christina Bas
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:00:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lemmings

We're going there,
We're on our way,
We're going there,
We cannot stay.
We're going there,
It's not too far,
We're going there,
Follow that star.
We're going there,
Like those ahead,
We're going there,
Nothing to dread.
We're going there,
Right to the end,
We're going there,
It's 'round the bend.
We're going there,
You and you and me,
We're going there,
Oh! Look! The sea!
Don Swearingen
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:01:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Creation of the Platypus

And at the end of the sixth day
God asked his heavenly chorus,
“What have we got left?”
And the Angels—
Much resembling Santa’s elves—
Recite him a list:
Snake fangs
Duck Bills
Beaver Tails
Otter feet
Bear Fur and
Something called electrolocation
“But we haven’t had much luck
With that one, we’ve only used it once before”

And God said unto the angels
“Sounds good,
That about makes it a wrap,
Who wants a beer?”

Though the angels were confused,
“I know you’re in a hurry,
But how exactly are they going to reproduce?
We can’t really rely on a standard here.”

“Come on guys,
do I have to make all the decisions up here?
For all I care let her lay eggs!
I mean what’s the worst that could happen?
You guys know where things go
You wouldn’t put fangs on their feet
or anything stupid like that.”

After an uncomfortable silence
And much shuffling of feet,
the Angels again spoke:
“But you said ‘her’ and
We don’t have any tits left
And only one working ovary.”

“Oh for my sake!
So put in the damn ovary
And just let her seep
Milk out of her pores.
Now I’m getting a beer
Come get me when it’s done.”

Thus, the platypus came to be
And when it was arisen,
The Lord was called back
By his chorus of Angels
And spoke to the platypus
“Well, where’s what you’ve got:
The bill of a duck
The tail of a beaver
Electrolocation—
You’ll have to play with that one—
Feet of an otter
Fangs of a snake...
But on your feet
And you lay eggs like a bird.
Now go out there and
Be your own animal.”
Good luck.
Rick Bush
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:03:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Humans


Animals
We humans are

We believe ourselves
Unique, creative
Above all others

Thieves
We humans are

Armor
From the armadillo
Plates, rolled tightly
Impenetrable
Without the correct key

Speed
From the cheetah
Sleek determination
Celerity
To catch and subdue its prey

Stealth
From the owl
Silent, undetected
Deadliness
On the whisper of wings

Flight
From the barn swallow
Daredevil control
Precision
Nature’s wings of jet fliers


A short list
From one that could be
Zoologically extensive

We humans are
Ungrateful
Stealing what already exists

We humans are
Inconsiderate
Of those who came before

We humans are

Animals
TAHWeaver
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:04:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Elephants


Smart enough to know what we assume
to be their fears are only our cartoons.
They will walk a thousand miles across
the desert, to the ocean, when it’s their
time to expire, not hanging around too
long, defying their departure with crude
medicines or tinctures. To have no single
natural enemy, to be threatened only by
an entire pride, to know the strength of
numbers, they are eternal until they decide
otherwise. When the circus stopped coming
to town & I hoped it due to an accident, the
breaking loose of restraints, stampeding a
boulevard somewhere, paying back. Killers
they are not, until they must kill, lost to captivity.
Ryan Collins
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:07:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Piggy

Little piggy wants his girl back
Can’t imagine why she left
With his best friend of all things
Hit him right where it hurts the most,
Exactly what he deserves, if you ask me,
Not that I’m an expert on crimes of passion and lust
But he had his chance, with her, with me
He said she was 90 percent of what he wanted,
The rest he’d have to steal,
An hour here an hour there without the slightest
Concern, regard, or care
He certainly didn’t have my best
Interest in mind
Now, in his twilight years, he sits in his
Pigpen mansion, alone, counting his money,
Wishing for one thing, but
She’s long gone

Heather
Heather
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:08:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ash

Holding my breath
I lift her box
My friend
Asleep
Inside

The bottom drips with gore
She is silent and still
Her dreams are
Sweet
Now

I try to assure myself
I carried her before
Dripping with water
New and
Clean

She will not shake off
The dust I throw
On her stiff
Broken
Body

Until a sweeter day
Of sunshine, rides,
Treats and play
Reunited
Happy


Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:10:26 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Hi Robert,

Your whale poem just blew me away, I absolutely love it. I'm afraid it daunted me all day in thinking about the prompt. So finally, I gave up and just wrote it askance.

Impossible Flight
(for Elrico)

You want to lift off,
fly free from the iron
and wire that cages you
In your mind
you accomplish difficult
landings on narrow sandy beaches
in strife-torn island nations
bringing food and supplies,
but instead you can only
raise your useless limbs
to hover in narrow circles
unsure of any destination
like a bee, missing its flower.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:10:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Thanks, Padgett, for the compliment. I'm new to this blog, and I am enjoying the poem a day challenge. I appreciate your comment.
DJ Vorreyer
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:11:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bumblebee

Yesterday, a bumblebee stumbled into my apartment.
it blithered and bluzered into closed window-glass, seeing
a false way out, and I,
concerned it might hurt me, spoke to it
as though it might be calmed by my human jibberings.

Bumblebee lost its vigor, rested in sad sill-corners
and I wondered if it was dying.

Bumblebee, I said, we are too alike. Flash of yellow,
maker of sweetness, industrious, relentless, you seek
until you hurt yourself. Daughter of the sky, still bound
to the earth, do you ever pause
to witness your own grace?

After a while, I
gathered my bumblebee’s tired body into a cup,
placed her the porch. she shook her wings. I turned away.
And when I looked back,
my friend had flown.
Aimee Suzara
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:12:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Minx

It is hard not to envy your existence
From the moment we brought you home
You cuddled up on our bed
And never left
(Even though our first rule was to not let you on it)
Exploiting our weakness, you’ve reeked havoc
On furniture, bedspreads and plants
All while managing to still be
The world’s laziest cat
With dog-like qualities
Begging for food
As you ignorantly jump on the table
No matter how much I shoo
You’ve even taken up fetching
When we are up too late and
You need someone to snuggle with
Your meows elude to the hour
Shaming us to submit to sleep
As you prance around the bed
Perched on my body like a lion
Surveying where you’ll retire
But then, what did I expect?
When we got you at the animal rescue
It said your name was originally Princess
Guess some things are just a self-fulfilling prophecy
(Although in retrospect, I’d have named you Queen).
AdrianaB
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:13:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ram

You are pig-headed, bullish
Brawn and beating down my doors
with your one, two horns
and you loud, deep voice
asking, "can i come in?"
but only so when i answer yes,
you can reply,
"no, i can't."

it's actually kind of funny,
when i think about it
in a "how does this
always happen to me" way,
but usually, i don't.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:14:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(An acrostic)

Butterfly

Beauty of the never ending sky
Uniquely colored patterns
Tickling the lips of flowers
Tasting their sweet nectar
Extending wings to take flight
Rarely stopping to catch your breath
Flying higher than a cloud
Lost in the vast expanse
You find your way back
Lauren Wingrove
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:15:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Seventh Kimik

Yu'pik for 'dog'. Unoriginal names
for the seven dogs my family owned
while living in the Alaskan Bush.
I remember only the last, best loved

brown husky my dad left behind in
the last village we lived in as a family.
Kimik met us at the airport, somehow
knowing we would be there for my sister's

wedding, we'd be there to take him home.
My dad ignored our pleas to take him
on the plane, to take him with us. “I
gave him away. He belongs to someone

else now.” My eldest sister wrote a little
later that he died not long after we left.
Stopped eating, stopped living when
we abandoned him a second time.

AC Leming
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:15:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Miss Piggy

Female hero,
You’ve always gone your own way,
Wearing clothes no one thinks you should wear,
Unafraid to tell the world what you’re thinking.
But your one weakness, Kermit the Frog,
turns you into a groveling girl.
When will you learn
there are more frogs out in the pond?
Surely there is someone who will make you feel
like the queen you really are,
will welcome your smothering kisses,
and jump on you for a change.
Lisa Kwong
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:15:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Minx

It is hard not to envy your existence
From the moment we brought you home
You cuddled up on our bed
And never left
(Even though our first rule was to not let you on it)
Exploiting our weakness, you’ve reeked havoc
On furniture, bedspreads and plants
All while managing to still be
The world’s laziest cat
With dog-like qualities
Begging for food
As you ignorantly jump on the table
No matter how much I shoo
You’ve even taken up fetching
When we are up too late and
You need someone to snuggle with
Your meows elude to the hour
Shaming us to submit to sleep
As you prance around the bed
Perched on my body like a lion
Surveying where you’ll retire
But then, what did I expect?
When we got you at the animal rescue
It said your name was originally Princess
Guess some things are just a self-fulfilling prophecy
(Although in retrospect, I’d have named you Queen).
AdrianaB
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:16:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Phoenix

She looked like any old bird,
A little larger than most perhaps.
Some glint in her eye might have warned
Of something strange, but who had time?
Yes, the effervescent feathers indicated
Not an ordinary fowl, but who could see?

The striking moment came and went,
Incendiary and sublime, but still,
Aren’t these merely moments we all know?
Auto-da-fe with the emphasis on auto,
Giving up the ghost, giving in to
Circular destinies. Thermal incentives,
Transcendent introspection and a fiery finish
With a touch of ennui and melancholy
Thrown in for the bystander.
But wasn’t that on just last week?

When the ashes shifted in the breeze,
And the bird stood up, blinking its fresh eyes,
No one remained for the miracle.
But they’d known that was coming too.

© 2009 Chuck Puckett
4 April, 2009
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:19:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Having by no means read them all, I would like to offer kudos to the one about Lemmings. Love it!

Keep up the good work, everybody!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:21:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snowy

You are his constant
in a world his brain scrambles,
a place where he doesn’t understand
lining up for recess
writing his name.
Joyful playground screams cut
his ears like glass shards.
Pencils are hard, hard against
his small fingers, fingers expected to hold
and move and write in a certain way.
They change his world minute to
minute. They push, expect, force him
into their boxes.
You make no noise,
expect,
need - nothing.
You are a soft weight in his arms.
You are always where he left you.
You always do exactly what he wants,
what he needs.
To them you are all fluff and stitches,
a crutch,
to him
a rock.
Vonnie Thompson
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:21:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tufted Titmouse

Small backyard songbird,
wishing for a Nom de Plume.
Parus Bicolor.
Mrs. V
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:25:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Hippopotamus

Stranded, blind, desperate. On shore—
pure reaction. Move through darkness,
sense only shadows for surroundings;
assume harm. First
always, survive.
Grace underwater. Sanctuary.
She gains control. Her ferociously capable
profile: wide-hinged yawn crests the lake’s surface
like two hands raised, reaching out and skyward.

-Marissa Bell Toffoli
Marissa Bell Toffoli
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:25:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MORE THAN JUST FROGS

Morning mist glides along the river
like the cloaked ghost of Hiawatha
seeking peace astride the gentle flow.

The brume seems to absorb every sound
of man and of nature.

We sit lotus-legged upon the bank,
softly singing the gayatri mantra,
today feeling guilty for daring to make sound
where Gaia declares there should be none.

The sun ascends; the mist thins
from Stygian mantle to wispy mantilla,
and the faintest sound steals across the water

Sleigh bells, I whisper,
forgetting winter has left us,
and she says
No, it's the spring peepers
awakening the robins.

Winter's gone, spring arises
and Pisces yields to Aries
as the heavens turn around us.

I’ve never seen a spring peeper.
Wherever I am, they are always
in the distance.
Over the hill.
Across the river.
Down in the hollow.

I know they’re very small
but their song brings spring to my soul
with great power, again and again.
In the depths of me, I sing their song, too.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:25:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
poem 4


the sun creeps through morning clouds and wind splays blooming seeds against my window , reminding me of an old dog that I used to love who would sit by the window watching the morning come and go, patiently, as he waited for me to wake up,
hobbling up and down the stairs, pissing at the foot of my bed as if to make his mark,
tail wagging eagerly for a cheek to lick and settling upon the sofa, nose pressed against the glass as the sun crept through morning clouds waiting for dusk to come and go, patiently.
L’Oréal Snell
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:30:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Horses

There was a movie a while back,
1969 to be exact
that starred Jane Fonda
set during the depression
when people were out of work
and hungry like now.
And Jane and her partner,
played by Michael Sarazzin,
both aspiring to make it in Hollywood,
she as an actor, he a director,
enter a grueling dance marathon —
24 hours of dancing
with 5-minute breaks each hour
until Jane’s character can stand it
no longer and begs to be put
out of her misery.
After some days at work,
I too feel the hopelessness
and uselessness of it all.
I relate to the character in the
movie when she says:
“After all, they shoot horses, don’t they?”
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:32:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Snake"

I did not
entice her to eat that apple
she took it of her
own accord
while I lay coiled
round the branch
luxuriating in
the feel of my
shining new skin
absorbing the warmth
of the day.
- m.u 04/04/2009
Morgan Underwood
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:35:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
German Shepherd
Barks inside
Left at home
Alone in the ghetto

German Shepherd
Barks outside
Doors slide open
Ashes on my face

German Shepherd
Barks at us
Shows its teeth
A tall uniform

German Shepherd
Barks at them
Women to the left
Men to the right

German Shepherd
Herds them
To the showers
Sends them Home

****

German Shepherd
Barks inside
Protects me
Licks my face

German Shepherd
Sees for me
Guides me
Leads me home
Terilee
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:39:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Beach Dogs

Pull on the wet, sandy rope
To romp and crunch driftwood.
Barrel in, biting waves at top speed,
Tangle up the leashes smelling the grass.
Crabs bite, ouch!
Seedoo hotdog floats are scary
Bark! Bark!
Forget that, the pelicans
Need friends!
Swim after them to the end
Of the thirty foot tether.
Back to shore,
Eat the seaweed,
It rolls in and out
Chase it!
Hot, thirsty, wet roll in the sand
Filthy mutts.
Michelle Maiers
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:40:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sweety

You look upto me with innocent eyes,
And I engulf you in a tight hug
Until I see the spoilt rug!
Just then you know to swiftly run
Ah you know! Its no time for fun!

And yet when I don't see you for long
A thud in my heart simply cries out!
Filled with fear and many a doubt
Oh my baby my darling sweety!
Where are you? Won't you come along?

And on the cue you appear from nowhere
As if you were waiting for my voice
Calling for you with loving care
Contrite you look, wagging your tail
And I can't stay angry, my resolves simply fail :-)


Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:44:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Problem With Nose Hair

It’s always there, it’s always there-d
To tickle the nose with each breath bare-d
Sometimes it grows from an old man’s nose
Sometime it’s clipped this is the way I chose
When they twist together and make a knot
And gather the leakage some call it snot
Some snot need to be finger nail pickin
Mothers and sister say that’s just sickin
So hide your digging under a tissue
That way it won’t be any big issue


Don Hewlett
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:45:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
GRAY WOLF

Shadow-figure,
god of my ancestors...
weaving through the timbers of my dreams,
into the open fields of thought,
galloping across the futile pastures
of hopes and aspirations,
you bring lessons of ancient truths.
Facing you, I am lost in the depth
of your eyes. We are one...
wild, wise, yet wonderful,
filled with imaginings beyond
this reality...
into forgotten realms, we run
through ancient ruins,
stealthily crossing the sanctuary of space,
where, before the altar of truth,
heads tipped back in harmonious unison,
we offer our hymn of praise.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:47:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PIGEON

You strut before my feet without a glint
of obeisance, your feathers not nearly
as dreary up close as from a distance.
My mother always chased creatures like you
away from wherever she was, said you
were dirty like a bum who drank and stank.

I disagree. Your cooing bubbles up
from your chubby breast as you peck at crumbs
from my own lunch, your eyes ever alert
to the slight possibility of more.
I will not deny you. Bits of sandwich
bread leave my fingers to fall before you.

I watch you satisfy your hunger there
on the ground as if it were a lavish
banquet in your honor. Who am I to
say your place in life is to beg from me?

Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:50:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Porter
Whenever I hear the tune Shady Grove played
on the banjo I have to fight back the tears. So even
If you hadn’t died just last week
I’d probably still be crying.

We assume we will outlive our pets, so losing
You wasn’t unexpected or shocking and even though
I miss you
it’s the remembering that has me sitting in
the tub with my splattered notebook.

It’s that you were at the foot of the bed
when Adella was born.
It’s that when we brought you home
I had never played the fiddle and
both of my parents were living.

And this music is so lovely that I keep playing it
over and over.
So even if you were still with us,
Curled up on the white leather couch
Where you spent the majority of your fourteen years
I’d probably still be crying.


Teresa Sundmark
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:51:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Elusive Butterfly

O elusive butterfly, fluttering across the sky,
How I watch you spread your wings and fly,
When the world's an oyster to find total freedom,
A majestic view from above to buzz all and some,
As that pearl you seek is nectar from pretty flowers,
Like bees to honey, you won't be sipping long for hours.

Those patterns on your wings are colored with eyes,
Bright as can be in various species to our surprise,
The transformation's amazing from your cocoon world,
As a former caterpillar morphing, as it's a bit twirled,
Thank God you're not an ugly moth I do truly detest,
When you're amazing and breathless to be your best.

If I ever find you, you'll be captured in a lone photo,
Not by a net or a jar to prison your innocence real slow,
I'll plant a butterfly bush in my garden to watch your flight,
So I'll wait for you from morning all the way to the night.
Kristen Howe
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:55:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Three Wolves Running

He runs on my right side still,
four legs and the road's freedom
to turn.
Yes beloved, I remember
a truck, a bedroll and that
great grey head.
I curled in your fur and stories,
laughter
a playful growl between us.
Deep in the dark of Steeple mountains,
all trails led to your door
and let go.

She runs on my left side still,
amber eyes and the road's reading
to learn.
Yes beloved, I remember
a fire, a teaching and your
panting breath.
I followed the scent of your
longing
for the old grey between us.
Singing songs upon the moonlight,
three wolves running 'cross time,
the ribboned line of the
howling highway
Lorraine Hart
Saturday, April 04, 2009 8:59:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tookie

Her name was Petunia
13, we believe
English Spring Spaniel
Nickname was Tookie.

I don’t know how it started
I guess it was me.
The nickname seemed to fit
And, she seemed to agree.

Petunia was oh, so sweet
And oh, so free
She could be oh, so irritating
To Nick and me.

She loved us so much,
Slept by my side
But then she started waking us
Night after night.

Nick said she was conning us
Didn’t want to pee
Checking in with her critter friends,
you see.

In the daytime she relaxed, panting
Smiling under the redbud tree
Taking advantage of the shade
She’d keep an eye on me.

She listened really well
Therapist she could be
Always alert and attentive,
Coulda had her Ph.D.

Then one day she sat there
Wouldn’t eat her food
At seven still not interested
Didn’t change her tune.

Breathing was too labored
Panting way too deep
Brought her in to watch her
Lay down beside her to sleep.

Panting, panting, panting
Watching me so sweet
“Put your head down and rest,” I said
“Get some rest, Tookie.”

Awoke with a start
Only five minutes had past
My friend no longer panted
She was at peace, at last.

Denise Buschmann
April 4, 2009




Denise Buschmann
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:02:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Earthworm

Oh lowly earthworm you work so hard
Making soil in my yard
Mining the ground with endless toil
You leave behind a rich dark soil
You mill the clay and make it friable
Quite a feat for one so pliable
For eons you have shaped the land
By making humus out of sand
Might I suggest you pause your mission?
Let’s knock off work and just go fishin’

RIck Blacow
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:02:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Turtles

They crawl out from the rock wall
blinking in the spring, the light
so flint-edged, so different
from the padded winter with its long dreams.
This is no dream, Some nose the cold soil
for worms or wait for the incautious fly,
serious work in the shifting sun while brothers, sisters
crawl for the river, markings fluttered on shells
like dappled leaves rustled by the hawk above.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:04:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PAD Challenge Day 4
Stephanie Allison


Hawk

He cruises over the field,
an opportunist summoned
by the drone of tractors
making their first spring cuts.

His keen eyes scan
the freshly-peeled meadow,
spot a mouse not quite as fast
as the rest, who scatter
like seeds and disappear
into the cattails.

With flexed talons
he swings toward his prey.
A rustle of grass near the pond
distracts him and,
in that moment,
the Great Blue Heron
flashes his silver blade
and fells the mouse.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:06:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Three Wolves Running edited

He runs on my right side still,
four legs and the road's freedom
to turn.
Yes beloved, I remember
a truck, a bedroll and that
great grey head.
I curled in your fur and stories,
laughter
a playful growl between us.
Deep in the dark of Steeple mountains,
all trails led to your door
and let go.

She runs on my left side still,
amber eyes and the road's reading
to learn.
Yes beloved, I remember
a fire, a teaching and your
panting breath.
I followed the scent of your
longing
for the old grey between us.
Singing songs upon the moonlight,
three wolves running 'cross time
and the ribboned line
of a howling highway.

Lorraine Hart
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:07:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“River Otter”

Riding down the hill on my belly
Inner tubes are not needed here
Valleys with dips and turns to slide on until
Entering the waterways that are
Running between the land forms

Only in theses wetland woods amongst
The trees and ponds can you find me
Taking the clams and crayfish for breakfast
Enjoying a swim on a summer’s day
River otters like to play
Michelle H.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:11:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I'd like to call this "Moving the Aquarium Downstairs," but in keeping with the guidelines, it's called....


Tetra

The Great Lifter
has taken us in his arms. My universe
and I are descending
wave by quiver. The green dead man

tilts toward the pink
castle. That chest by his feet
has no treasure. I checked. Anyway,
my treasure falls

from above, from the hands of
The Great Lifter. We who are
caught between heaven
and the muck that stirs

as our universe settles here in this
brighter place, we who
swirl in the green-gray life,
we take power from His manna

and dance here between until we go
the way of all fish: not down
like the stiff man and
his empty box, but

up, as she drifted,
that sad yesterday, up
to the border, to be caught up
by The Great Lifter.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:12:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Well, Bat was too obvious for this prompt, so I'm going with...

Robin

The idle chitter chatter didn't start initially
when the young boy donned the bright yellow
cape. It took him a while to find his song,
to be comfortable beside him - the big intimidating
bat with a small, brightly colored bird
perched next to him silently while the criminals
laughed at his stature and only stopped laughing
when they felt his fist break their nose
and once their laughter faded, and his started,
he witnessed the young boy falling into himself
much more easily - all effortless grace
and wingless flying in tandem with quips
flying from his mouth with less trepidation
than he had shown previously. He is no longer
shaking with nerves or peek tut tutting
in anxiety and that makes the Batman
keep his young bird close to assure him
that he is doing a good job on his
first night with the red badge of honor.
Kateri Woody
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:13:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pangolin

My note says you’re an ant- and termite-eater
with overlapping scales and a long tail.
Your odd beauty held my gaze—
immaculate arrangement of the armor plates,
balance of the snout and tail in asymmetric grace—
they made me forget the heat, and that I hadn’t eaten.
Wandering in that airless museum room
among glass cases, I chose you over your
less attractive cousins, the screaming hairy armadillo
and the Southern three-banded one.

Pengguling is Malay for something that rolls up.
That day, I did not know your comprehensive system
of defense, or that Marianne Moore
had written a poem about you, called you
“Leo da Vinci’s replica” and praised
“the flattened sword-edged leafpoints” of your tail.
I hadn’t seen the You Tube video or read
the Wikipedia article exposing Chinese poachers
who sell you for meat to restauranteurs. That day I wanted
just a souvenir—an item for my trophy case of images.

Now that I know something of your habits
and your habitat—the ways you are equipped to eat
and keep from being eaten—I think that like Miss Moore,
I might encapsulate in stanzas of my own
the wonder of your being.
But no. Enough of egos and of images.

O Pangolin, defenseless against my language
and my lofty aims! Wondrous, I’ve eaten you.



Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:13:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Pantoum: Dog"

(version two -please evaluate this version)

My dream is to return
as a dog that I might own,
a life of luscious luxury:
treats and love and walks.

As a dog that I might own,
I would dream of running bold,
a life of luscious luxury:
these are my owner's hopes as well.

I would dream of running bold
into warm and waiting arms, fulfilling
all my owner's hopes:
living sweet with me alone.

Into warm and waiting arms
he leaps, high and bold and frisky-free,
living sweet with me alone:
for we are one, my dog and me.

The two of us a family,
A life of luscious luxury,
Oh please let him return to me,
My dream is to return
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:14:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dolphins
Flagships gaining, racing
the prow, collective taunt
all smiles and quick glances
as we lean over slick edges
that terrify us, trying
to connect. Gray as sea
gray as the sky it mirth-
lessly mirrors—your deft
feints astound us as you toy
with the boat, our clumsy
island following you, on which
we’ve stared at old sea all mor-
ning, noting mass, dreaming
nervously of lunch (tuna
sandwiches) and land firm
and warmed by feverish sun.
We are yours, hopelessly dull,
waving and speaking single
syllables you’ve heard before.
We cannot, not one of us leaning
understand why you have come,
except for your own amusement.
Look: even as that man’s cap
tumbles into ocean, promptly eaten
by wake, you’ve had enough, ig-
nore us, leap into silver horizon
and, selves owned, depart, leav-
ing us to sink back into our private
opinions of silver black as a fathom’s
dark.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:20:20 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bears

I didn’t stay where you placed me,sweetly
in the house of your imagination, with a set table
of bowls and only porridge breathing on the stove.
You needed to send me on a picnic, iang
of jam and crackers, blankets, gingham baskets,
gave me a spoon as the only way to trim my claws.
You sent me over the mountain in an explorers cap,
interpreted each movement as dance, lead my
furry footsteps in a meander around your garden.
I let you believe it; snow lands on my nose,
I look as if I may chase each flake and lick
confusion from my enormous, largely useless paws.
I sniff; move slow as honey, when I want to,
meat and anorak between the teeth of my smile.
Hug your children tight, in my namesake embrace,
cuddle my cute voodoo with a rainbow on a belly,
if it helps. Don't know, and do, that the day
I came over your mountain all I could see,
all I smelt, till my mouth watered, was you.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:20:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
THE FLEA
Nobody else knew
how sad is my blood, black
& iron rich
like tracks
a night train runs on.
With her, how ecstatic
was my scratching!

She leapt on me from a stray
dog that pressed its speckled
nose against my slacks to smell
my crotch. I didn’t mind.
I’m used to mammal-ways,
the exploratory
sniff of sex,
of the body’s holes.
She sat on my shirt,
light as a pepper flake,
then burrowed
& grazed me
& we were one.

In imago she was blind
& kept to dark places,
wingless
& ridiculous like
an ostrich, hard
& polished like a Dodge.
She was covered with many hairs
& knew my every vibration.

Bless you, John Donne
& your blood-gorged flea.
Mine had legs
& knew how to use them.
She was poisonous in her bites
& kisses.
My fever still rises with
every thought of her touch.

What’s really happening
when we fall in love?
The ancient brain responds.
Keeps old aches alive.

One gets tired of violins.
We must not forget
the importance of coldness.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:21:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bears

I didn’t stay where you placed me,sweetly
in the house of your imagination, with a set table
of bowls and only porridge breathing on the stove.
You needed to send me on a picnic, iang
of jam and crackers, blankets, gingham baskets,
gave me a spoon as the only way to trim my claws.
You sent me over the mountain in an explorers cap,
interpreted each movement as dance, lead my
furry footsteps in a meander around your garden.
I let you believe it; snow lands on my nose,
I look as if I may chase each flake and lick
confusion from my enormous, largely useless paws.
I sniff; move slow as honey, when I want to,
meat and anorak between the teeth of my smile.
Hug your children tight, in my namesake embrace,
cuddle my cute voodoo with a rainbow on a belly,
if it helps. Don't know, and do, that the day
I came over your mountain all I could see,
all I smelt, till my mouth watered, was you.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:22:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Her Name is Dog

She is indescribable,
a freaky little thing.
She turned up in the yard one day
and been here since the spring.

She's short and wide, pug-faced and white
and has the strangest features
A ridge of fur along her back
makes her a freaky creature.

Her legs can't be four inches long
She's wide as she is tall
The brightest eyes gaze all around
as if she gets it all.

This is no dog, my friends all cry
She has a sense of humor
Everyone says she's human
I swear it's just a rumor

She's sharp as a tack, and oh so smart
although a bone treat hog.
I named her Lil' Bit for short
But always call her Dog.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:23:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
dogs

the Bateman’s pug, Beanie, was always my favourite
she and the black lab lived next door
that summer their owners were gone
and we got to pretend to have a dog for awhile

one Christmas Sunshine came to stay
only he spent most of the day sleeping
and smelled as old as he was
the fireworks New Year’s Eve made him panic

when I was ten
I bought an encyclopedia of dogs
memorized all the breeds
and gloated over my favourites for weeks

by then I’d decided on big dogs
little ones were yappy, unimpressive
but lately the superiority of pugs
has reasserted itself

someday, I’ll have one
(named Beastly)
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:27:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
hummingbird haiku

gutsy grape gorget
tiny feathers like chain mail --
nectar defender
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:27:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
OOps- got a bad typo when i pasted it in- so here it is again- with sang instead of iang ! :)

Bears

I didn’t stay where you placed me,sweetly
in the house of your imagination, with a set table
of bowls and only porridge breathing on the stove.
You needed to send me on a picnic, sang
of jam and crackers, blankets, gingham baskets,
gave me a spoon as a way to trim my claws.
You sent me over the mountain in an explorers cap,
interpreted each movement as dance, lead my
furry footsteps in poderous meander round your garden.
I let you believe it; snow lands on my nose,
I look as if I may chase each flake and lick
confusion from my enormous, largely useless paws.
I sniff; move slow as honey, when I want to,
meat and anorak behind the concealed tooth of my smile.
Hug your children tight, in my namesake embrace,
cuddle a cute voodoo with a rainbow on a belly,
if it helps. Don't know, and do, that the day
I came over your mountain all I could see,
all I smelt, till my mouth watered, was you.

Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:28:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)



for the birds, may all beings be well

every year, just before spring,
my skinny legs would wobble
a kitchen chair in the middle
of my grandmother's backyard,
the scissor-scissor of the spray
bottle mixing with the sun to border
my body in rainbows, comb-comb
cut, comb-comb cut, march's wind
carrying with it what fell

she would tell me the birds
needed it more than i did

the bendable beauty of
my auburn hair winking
in the spring sun, weaved in
mud, twigs, bits of newspaper
& string, whatever she could find
to build a home

i think her heart, four
hundred beats per minute
warming & waiting for
the sharp squawks
that follow

the constant give
& take that a
mother's love
brings


Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:30:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek
wheek

brrrrrrrrrrrrrr

wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek
wheeeeeEEEEEEKKKKKK
wheek wheek wheek

brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

e
eeeeeee eeeee
wheeee eeeeeek!

wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek
wheek wheek wheek
wheek

Holmes & Watson
(Julia's guinea pigs, who took over from her - see an old pic of us on her website) ;-)
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:30:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gracie

“His dog up and died,
he up and died,
and after 20 years
he still grieves.
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Dance.”
Jerry Jeff


Cooking dinner, the smell of hot rolls,
Green beans, roast beef filling the air.
Such a beautiful evening,
Cool breeze dancing
Around the plates
Set out on the table.
The neighbor’s dog
Playing with my Gracie.

They frolicked in the drive,
Chasing each other, panting.
Then there was the moment
She looked at me
As if to say
Goodbye.
The two started running
Until I couldn’t see them anymore.
I called and called her name,
Cried out for help, prayed.
We spent all night searching
Until the next morning when the
Lady who found
Her brought her home.

She had been hit so hard,
He head an odd shape, the hip bone
Protruding through her skin
Spoke volumes of how hard
The impact must have been.
In that moment when
She told me goodbye
She knew her end was near
And my tears
Are just as painful today
As they were back then.
Goodbye Gracie …
Play with the angels sweet puppy.

Patti Williams
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:32:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sorry, the lines beginning with a single e should have been indented, but my quinea pigs aren't that good in using a computer. ;-)
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:33:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Black Mamba
Othello Gooden Jr.

My bite is feared by many
I am unique in my design because of my super agility
I have bragging rights because I am the fastest land snake in the world
Put me in a race with a Cheetah and it’ll be forced to relinquish its athletic title.

#1 one on Africa’s deadliest snakes “Most Wanted List”
The reward?
Something for you humans to wear?
How about reassuring the populous of you killing one of my uncles?
All we can do is run with our extreme speed.

I am called what I am because of the black substance secreting inside of my mouth.
It is where my true strength lies.
I am small compared to my cousin, King Cobra.
Yet we “small fellas” were also created equal.


One bite will spell doom for you six to seven footer humanoids called humans.
We use the non-sentient beings as food in our 10-25 member households.
Am I cold blooded killer or the victim of a one tract mind?

I watch your young from the inside of an invisible barrier, I am mesmerized by this place you’ve contained me—I feel right at home.
The only thing missing is a wider open space for me to flex my scales.
Othello Gooden Jr.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:33:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I Came Home from Work and the Dogs were Gone


The screen door had a slit
the size of a tissue box.
I put my hand through it.

I had to test things my water-colored eyes didn’t trust.
I went out and called “Luke! Emma!”

The sky was a combination of blues
like from the 120 ct crayon pack.
Big things seem to happen in contrast colors:

9 hues of white in a wedding
on a stormy April, blood pasted
on a pale newborn, you leaving
dazzling and buoyant at 1:26 am,
the dogs’ infidelity.
Yoly
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:36:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stallion

He stares back at me
Ears pricked at my approach.
Large brown eyes follow
My every move.
He sees my
Inner most desire
Those eyes speak
Of kindness and
Wisdom far beyond normal
Comprehension.
I am drawn in,
comfort and peace
envelope me.
He strides forward
Closing the gap between us.
His legs are sturdy and long
Hooves solid.
I reach out tentively
velvet muzzle meets
waiting finger tips.
He knickers softly
raising his sculptured
head, blowing sweet hay
Scented breath against my cheek.
He shifts to the right exposing
His left side and flank.
Knowingly I grasp
his ebony black mane.
One, two…three I
Spring up throwing my
Right leg over his broad
Back. I didn’t have time
To process the rightness
That I felt before,
He was off. I tightened my grip
In his mane. His legs stretch out
gaining momentum.
He picks up speed carried them far
devoured distance
in leaps and bounds.
Nothing and no one stood
Before them. He was fast and free.
I knew he was lending
me a small taste of freedom.
The very thing I longed for
But had always been denied.
Destiny B
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:37:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
4 April, 2009

My bestest doggy friend

She wagged her tail and cocked her head
Her whimper woke me from my bed.
The thought of baths filled her with dread
(She wanted to play ball instead).
Sweet memories still fill my head;
I miss my Ashy, now she’s dead.

-AG
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:39:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I am loving this challenge and am benefiting greatly through its execution. What writer's block?! Thanks to Marie Elena for your kind words. They help in a big way. Glad I am making an impression. I do approach things from a slightly skewed perspective, and it is good to know it is appreciated outside of my own mind. I have been developing favorites of my own. I am fortunate to be considered among a bunch of incredibly talented people.
Walt Wojtanik
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:41:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
TYPO, opps, revised version:



for the birds, may all beings be well

every year, just before spring,
my skinny legs would wobble
a kitchen chair in the middle
of my grandmother's backyard,
the scissor-scissor of the spray
bottle mixing with the sun to border
my body in rainbows, comb-comb
cut, comb-comb cut, march's wind
carrying with it what fell

she would tell me the birds
needed it more than i did

the bendable beauty of
my auburn hair winking
in the spring sun, weaved in
mud, twigs, bits of newspaper
& string, whatever she could find
to build a home

i think of her heart, four
hundred beats per minute
warming & waiting for
the sharp squawks
that follow

the constant give
& take that a
mother's love
brings


Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:42:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bees

Bees humbuzzle around
as if trying to connect,
to warn of devastation
just around the corner.
They beg an imperative
for preservation of all
living things. They toil
to keep our small planet
balanced with beauty
and sweetness, ask our
pardon for the occasional
sting, and forgive the
noxious fumes we propagate.

They ask us all to
stay still and listen as
bees humbuzzle around.

Lynne Nelsen
April 4, 2009
Lynne
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:44:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kingfisher


Many things and a waterbug
in the pond. I’m counting the days
until summer and you are poised
on the telephone wire, hunting.

Church bells, traffic, a wild
sumac. We wait together.

The nursing home is closing.
My niece just lost her job.
I have always thought my life
could be a kite without someone

on the ground holding the strings.
Drifting. Drifting. Many springs
I have worried about my restlessness,
how I float without a destination.

You are always there.
That February in a cabin,

you showed up. Tucked in the loft,
I was crying because I left
the only people I loved.
Outside my window, that clattering

and a rainforest. Older now,
I still mistake curiosity for longing.
I still see chaos as a house
to escape from. I’m counting

on getting through this,
that we will be filled. The silver
fish circle for you
and I want you to dive in.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:47:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Corgi

I know what
the Queen keeps
in her purse
little greasy
porky treats
for me
and my gleeful
knee-high family
N.E. Taylor
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:48:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bear.

Bear! I’m a bear, a big burly bear
I wonder through woods with nary a care.
I eat when I want, in your cooler I’ll snack
Please read the signs—I’m prone to attack!
Bear! I’m a bear, and a good mother too
I protect and defend my cubs against you
And look at the reputation I’m given
To blame when the market is downward driven.
He’s in a bear mood; she’s loaded for bear
When all that I want is to sit here and stare
At the lovely north woods, outside of my den,
To teach my young cubs the ways of the wren
And the deer and the fox, the fish and the hawk
Come with now, we’ll take a long walk
I’ll tell you ‘bout my kin, a line long and steady,
Polar and brown, black, panda and teddy.
Bear! I’m a bear, barrel-chested and proud
Raising my babies and singing aloud
To the new rising moon, a chill in the air
A perfect spring evening for a sleepy-eyed bear.

Maryann Younger
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:49:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Monarch Butterflies

Orange paper thin wings flit,
fluttering two thousand miles.
Six months on slivers of onerous
air and borrowed light rising
exactly 57 degrees above
a North American horizon.
Due south to their mothers'
remembered Mexican skies.

Human chemicals curl their milkweed
pod diet. Resultant sparse feedings
decrease eggs to ensure futures
for monarch communities
and annual returns on delicate
floating insect souls.

These mere ganglion brains
unerringly proclaiming,
"This way, this way,

This way home."
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:50:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"FERGIE THE FISH"
By: Hannah Bowles

Oh Fergie you feel slighted in your minimal enclosure,
you swim around in the glass bowl with a cold shoulder.
The students taunt you and knock on the glass,
little do they know you could be the teacher of this class.
Years of learning with fish chin propped on your fin,
listening and wondering if you will get the chance to answer again.
One day Johnny noticed you counting,on your little fin fingers,
another day he saw your lips moving in sync with the singers.
He put his ear to the bowl and to Johnny's suprise,
Fergie knew how to spell the vocabulary word sunrise.
Fergie smiled and put his fins on his hips,
he said, "now will you listen to these little lips?"
Little Johnny jumped back in shock,
he was so astounded he couldn't even talk.
He ran to the board and clapped his hands,
everyone wondered what had gotten into this little man.
He gripped a piece of fresh white chalk,
and wrote in bold letters,"THE CLASS FISH CAN TALK!"
Fergie got moved into a bigger fish tank,
with appreciation he gave Johnny much thanks.
He even got a twenty minute teaching slot,
Fergie's dreams came true and the kids learned alot.

Hannah Bowles
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:52:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Black Mamba [Edited-Remove previous entry before this]
Othello Gooden Jr.

My bite is feared by many
I am unique in my design because of my super agility
I have bragging rights because I am the fastest land snake in the world
Sharing that is me being #1 one on Africa’s deadliest snakes “Most Wanted List”

The reward?
Something for you humans to wear?
How about reassuring the populous of you killing one of my uncles?
All we can do is run with our extreme speed.

I am called what I am because of the black substance secreting inside of my mouth.
It is where my true strength lies.
I am small compared to my cousin, King Cobra.
Yet we “small fellas” were also created equal.

One bite will spell doom for you humanoid skyscrapers.
We use the non-sentient beings as food in our 10-25 member households.
Am I cold blooded killer or the victim of a one tract mind?

I watch your young from the inside of an invisible barrier
I am mesmerized by this place you’ve contained me—I feel right at home.
The only thing missing is a wider open space so I can flex my scales.
Othello Gooden Jr.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 9:55:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sharks

Look scary and are
wild and mean
Gray or White rubbery skin
And if you ever find yourself in the
Ocean with one
Just pray it
is a Movie You're watching
Jaws
Deep Blue Sea
Or a terrible nightmare
Of your own
Cause it's doubtful
You will make it out alive
If you see a shark
Unless it is a fake one
Like the One At Universal Studios
In Florida
Diane Rowland
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:01:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Earthworm and Crow"

(I thought picking 2 animals was better suited for the purpose of my poetry... to bring out their traits in a binary sort of way!)

The wriggly little thing did quick
To build up clouds of soft soil
The moment a crow drew near him
In cawing expectation for food.
The excavation by the sharp beak
Drilled away in Parnassian hits yet
Nothing was smarter or simpler
As the worm dug inside the earth
Threading away at mucousy moistness...
Meanwhile, the crow perched unafraid
A hatha yogi meditating as long as needed!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:01:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Goldfish

From left to right, from right to left
And now and then around
The bubbles rising from the pump,
a soothing, steady sound.

So does it live day after day
In constant search for food,
Seemingly quite happily,
In a never-changing mood.

In its own idyllic world it is
Submerged, as it may seem:
The oceans, rivers, lakes and ponds
a merely distant dream.

Sabine Metzger-Groom
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:01:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Earthworm

Apocalypse:
torrents of water
leaking through
tunneled walls
of sweet home earth
millions drown

Escape:
harsh Layer
of concrete
smeared under
heels of careless
passers-by

Survive:
tossed dazed
on the lawn of grass
displayed to predators
silly humans
there are no
survivors
katie hoskinson
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:01:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Walt W.,
Although I like your manatee poem (you have a nice way with words), manatees are herbivores! No way would one eat you for lunch. I have seen one in the wild, and they are gentle enough to swim near, though perhaps a bit on the large side to have bump into you.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:04:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
St. Bella Bernard


I rub the three freckles on your snout
The ones on the right.
Your eyes search mine
Or mine search yours.
They are coming, I tell you.
Maybe tomorrow
Maybe Tuesday.
They’ll put you in a truck
and stash your food dish under the seat
and you will be gone
to your new home on the farm.
I will pretend it is a
dream.
I need you to pretend it is a
dream, too
because that will make it easier for me.
I don’t want you to know
that I am letting you go on purpose
because I love you too much
to hurt you.
So, just pretend
and I’ll pretend
that my tears
aren’t real.


Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:09:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ants

Heard the news . . . . . . Who found this katydid? . . . . . . I have six strong legs . . . . . . My cousins are on the way . . . . . . We come from a long line of strong jaws . . . . . . Let me carry for a while . . . . . . Take a break . . . . . . Heard the scouts found this one . . . . . . What if we flip him over? . . . . . . I’ve dreamed of wings this size. . . . . . (Scuffling feet) . . . . . . Whoops . . . . . . Rotate positions. . . . . . . Carry word up the hill . . . . . . How much farther? . . . . . . Enlarge the tunnel entrance . . . . . . How far? . . . . . There’ll be a feast tonight . . . . . . I love wing chips . . . . . .
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:11:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PLATYPUS

From the dark bush of swamp Australia
Came a beast that none believed to be real.
A Hamlet to nature's Ophelia,
Its features a bottom of God's deck deal.
Some might call it cheating to have all those
Handy devices. A bill, to help find
food in deep water. For swimming, webbed toes
Barbed with venom keep predators in line.
Oh fair Platypus! You kept us guessing -
Were you bird or lizard? We did not know.
We settled finally on mammalian.
Studying was hard you hid and laid low.
Platypus you are like a dream that leaves in the morning
Scuttling away in water no warning.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:11:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bird

Bright, colourful plummage winging
Into the azure sky;
Returning to roost at
Day's end.
Amanda Kelley
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:16:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Welsh Corgis

Corgis, from Wales,
are born without tails
which doesn’t derail
their passion to run
faster than anyone
in rain, snow, or sun
on short legs with fat paws;
they’ve big ears and long jaws,
the better to hear and chew
with, my dear;
and next you’ll hear,
if you’ll come near,
that Corgis love to eat
and don’t indiscriminate
(this is no small feat)
between edible food
and charred wood,
brand-new socks
and Lego blocks,
sun-dried crab shells,
and once, alas,
whatever the vet would tell
you a sewed-up intestine held;
confess it, you yelled
at the price of the bill
but what the hill -
he’s our Corgi,
he’s family.




Sheila Murphy
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:18:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sunday
He showed up in spring when I was seven
outside our little whitewashed church
a tufted ball of black and white
he would venture out just a few feet from the trees
and sit in the grass, hardly moving at all

He behaved much better than I did
from where I could see him through the window
me, fidgeting anxiously on our hard wooden pew
him, sitting there in the soft grass, patiently, silently
when we prayed, he folded his paws
when we sang, he rolled somersaults in the grass
tumbling around, exultantly
and at the end, when the bells rang,
he stood on his hind paws in rapt attention
watching us all plunk down the four wooden steps
before he would amble back into the woods

After church one Sunday, I ran out
to find him, to feel that soft fur
to find out if church was better there
but he shrank back, and I was yanked back myself
by the scruff of my neck
by my mother
who threatened a tomato juice bath
if I did not leave him be

One Sunday we sang of being washed
in the blood of the lamb
I could see his curious face cocked to one side
The next week I saw him come to church
with red splotches staining his white fur
and heard later that Mrs. Purcell’s
tomato patch had been vandalized

I wondered how much he understood
at why he never tried to come inside
perhaps he knew better than I that he didn’t belong

I saw him every week, he attended religiously,
and one morning in the spring when I was twelve,
he ambled out for the service
but did not move after the bells had rung
I snuck back later that afternoon
buried him in his holy place under the trees
marking it with a small cross
that said Sunday.

Darla Rehorst
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:19:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day 4, An animal

Splotch

Dear Splotch, my kitty, fairest of them all,
Upon your furry body rests my hand.
Your beauty causes other's charms to pall.
Your fur, both black and gold, makes their's look bland.

I gaze upon your face; your eyes meet mine.
Dark, dark they stare, resembling blazing pools.
From love received, returned they gain their shine,
Both set above your nose as two rare jewels.

But now your sides are bulging, why is this?
I see your fur expand to greater size.
Perhaps a tom cat graced you with a kiss.
You listened to him? Girl, that wasn't wise.

You should have stayed away from that there critter,
'Cause now you're going to bear his pesky litter.
Margaret Gates
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:19:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Downward Dog

At yoga class, the woman to my left
radiates anxious importance
and under-applauded expertise,
proclaiming how many hours
she's already worked that morning
and how little sleep she's running on
and how much she's sweated
through her other sessions at the studio.

It feels like contagion, like water
from a river soaked with pollutants.
I try to increase the distance between
her body and mine without being rude

and then I want to sink through the floor
because it's dawned on me, _This is how
I come across! Not as a glowing
whirlwind, not as a bringer of fire,
of fuel, but as someone tarred
by her own mis-juggled torches...._

My face burns as I stretch. I slouch
back home to my couch, the better
to lick my self-inflicted nonsense, but my girl
shoves her snout into my lap, full
of warm, insistent _pet me NOW_.
I tell her she's a menace. She slurps
at my toes and wags her tail harder.
_O teach me, Lord,_ I silently stammer,
fingers obediently sliding through fur,
_to render my own insatiable clamoring
into something I myself would want to welcome._
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:21:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Binky

A Pomeranian delight
Unlike Bear,
Standoffish cat
with his celadon eyes.

Binky
you strut and follow me
your pied piper
Unlike Bear
who hid away to be found.

Binky
you dance circles of joy
when you miss me
unlike like Bear
asleep,astral bound.

Binky
When Bear died
the holed up
unexpected grief inside me
made your fur my healing balm.
Donna LaFlamme
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:21:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Transparent nighthawks mournfully blink open
First and innermost
As the sun wearily shuts
It's shaggy Cyclopean--
When the Giants' Bread
Is to lost Heaven's rafters,
Whose fiery light glances from
The glistening entrails of ended song,
The first bright anvils of youth;
Crumbs gather into clouds
Centuries in diameter
Massive clouds which fitfully solidify
Into a stillness of lead,
Wingbeats begetting silence.


Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:25:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Feral Cats

Feral cats live on the fringes
of polite society,
shrinking into shadows,
touching no one.
A retro species,
they cough up fear balls,
scratch at life,
strike before being stricken,
eat the discard before becoming discarded,
a remainder of our lesser selves.
Sally Valentine
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:26:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
April 4 Poem An Animal Poem

The Cadbury Bunny

I am a sucker for seasonal novelties,
You know, the stuff in stores at holidays
Like tabletop Santas who sway and
Say “ho ho ho” and leprechauns who
Wave clovers, so today I took
A detour in the grocery store to see
The Easter display. Well, the cutest thing
Going was a fluffy little white bunny
Holding a Cadbury crème-filled chocolate egg,
And when I squeezed its right front paw
(A sticker said “press here”) the bunny clucked.
Just like a chicken! I laughed out loud,
And bought three, because I know
At least two other people who need
A clucking bunny in their lives.

Lyn Sedwick
Lyn Sedwick
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:29:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Thank you Beth! You made my day! Lotta good ones here.
Don Swearingen
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:30:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Doves

Working together
They always are two
One boy and one girl
Doing what they do

Fashioning a nest
Of twigs they create
Her hunting for food
Him guarding his mate

She will settle down
At home she shall stay
He’ll give her reprieves
Not far will he stray

A few weeks shall pass
One baby or two
This mom and this dad
Have reason to coo

Together they’ll stay
‘till out from the nest
The babies they’ll fly
Poor mom how she’s stressed

Some time will go by
New family moves in
The story repeats
Each Spring to begin
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:31:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Lovechild of a Parrot and a Pigeon

Perry saw Peggy fat on a rock one day
and knew he had to have her, no matter

the odds. Biology, the flock, her cock,
her indifferent orange eyes.

He swooped down and threw out his
RAAAARRRRRK eh RAAAAAKR!

She demurred, flitted her wings, and
said, coo roo-c’too-coo coolly.

(A quick snack ant distracted Perry)
(Peggy waddled into a dusty bush)

One Cloacal Kiss and several weeks later
a Parrgeon was born…or a pigarrot, you

name it what you please. But Perry
and Peggy called her Daffodil.


Cassandra O'Shea
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:33:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gray Anatomy

Topaz is her name, she wears a gray coat,
sometimes she sounds like a goat.

Her ears are like a radar, turning at the slightest sound.
Her eyes are like bright yellow gems, always searching around.

She plans and calculates,
she has strategies and knows when to wait.
She ambushes, waving her hips,
preparing the attack, straight,
giving no tips.

Smart, she knows when to jump.
Fast, precise, without a thump...

Nothing is more important
than getting the prey...
Now... let's play!

Tossing the victim left to right
She seems to have won the fight
She's ready for the first bite.

Chewing on the head first
She ends the work
with a smirk
as if she had rehearsed.

Licking her chops now
she seems to bow
It's nap time for Meow...


Rosangela Cricci Taylor / 04-04-09
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:34:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
IS anyone else here having a terrible time trying to get their entries to post? Is it just the high volume of traffic? I wait awhile before checking, and then see others who've posted long before my posting time. It's getting quite discouraging.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:35:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bears

Brown, black, big or cub,
soft fur if you dare to rub.
Polar ones are pure white,
in snow they hide in plain sight.

Deep growls that warn those near
Grizzles are just one to fear
Winters they stay in caves and sleep,
Not near an edge, but in real deep.

My favorite one is white and blue
I'll totally love him, I really do.
And he's not one I'll ever fear
He's my precious teddy bear
Sandy Senay-Ellefson
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:38:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gato

chipped ear flattens against skull
curse words thrown with rocks
race away

crusted nose detects water
crouch in the driveway and drink
screen door sounds warning
fly, fly, faster than the pellet

curl up under the sweet warm
bounce breath of a vent
yanked from nap by snarls
snapping jaws
keep low, dodge and dash

hop into a shed
rip with claws until kibble flows
from a bag carcass
nibble, choking as food scratches past
oozing sores along throat

lean on hip to lick
a tail still scabbed and hairless
gnaw at the tightly knotted firecracker string

chipped ear swivels
car approaching
jump out of shed
stay low, disappear up the hill

just a few hundred more yards to go
little gato
there is a green and white house where
you can sleep under the porch on blankets
eat and drink at will
find wound relief
and nobody will hate you for needing
Judy Phillips
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:38:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day 4: An animal

Puff
Clarabelle
Tom
Tony
Felix
Fang
There have been more
cats,
but I remember these
best.
I retired and
didn’t want
a pet,
but now I have
Lady, a dog.
I don’t need
a pet.
Cat or
dog or
rabbit or
guinea pig or
even a
fish.
But I have
Lady,
because I am
a pushover for
the lost,
the tossed,
the homeless
animal, and
so I have
Lady.

Judy
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:38:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I'm having a horrible time trying to get my poem to post. For all I know, it is posting but I can't see it. I keep trying, so if there are multiple entries of the same poem, you'll know why.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:39:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Siamese

On April Fool’s Day, she tells me
she was born with a kinky tail
centuries ago in Siam, a country she renamed
Thailand, pronounces it in cat-ese, Tail-land.
Says she picked me to teach about longevity,
shows me how to stretch my body like she does,
says we change as we live our nine lives,
but remain the same no matter the length.

She walks on delicate bones, teaches me balance,
a high-wire artist’s view of this house we travel in,
coaxes me to look at time from the top of her world,
purrs as the refrigerator hums,
says there is an open can of tuna here.

She rides my shoulder, jumps onto the table,
looks in my eyes until we are both cross-eyed.
We share what lurks in our darkest places,
those blue points of instinctive fear,
puff up to face down the squirrel in the garden.
I say our differences outweigh our sameness.
She sweeps away my objections with a bushy tail,
gently bites the hand that feeds her.

She does not like to be left alone, carries her wand
and string toy around like a toddler’s blankie,
chews on the plastic, clunks it along the stairs,
scolds it when she can’t find me, leaves it
at the door for me to discover when I return.

At lunch and dinner, she stands on the window sill,
rings the chimes. I go to the kitchen
where she rubs against my legs as I open her can.
Says she knew I could be trained, declares
one of us a kinky April fool adopted from Tail-land,
stretching our imagination to extreme lengths,
changed, yes, but the long and the short of it is that
under our coats we are svelte, sociable, the same.
Chris Lord
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:39:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ladybug

Each blade of grass is
a challenge to climb
So when I reach the top
I feel so sublime

I crawl on the sidewalk
And take in the sun
I’ve been up for hours
But my day’s just begun

I watch out for shadows
They’re trouble, you see
They mean something’s coming
That’s danger to me

My little legs scamper
To run far away
Whenever the children
Come outside to play

They say, “Oh, she’s cute”
As they reach out a hand
Then whisk me away
To a weird, foreign land

A twig from a tree
A few leaves of grass
In a jar do I sit
and I peer out the glass

I yell, “I want freedom”
But no one can hear
Will I stay here forever
I wonder, I fear

I notice the light
That is shining above
The pathway to freedom
That I’m thinking of

I climb and I slip
Again and again
But I won’t give up
Until I leave this den

Oh no, I am tumbling
Inside of this jar
It’s carried away
I wonder how far

Then shaken, not stirred
All the contents spill out
I’m caught in a free-fall
I hear someone shout

“I’d told you she’d fly
if given the chance”
I smile and I turn then
To give him a glance

I’m free now, I’m flying
Away from this place
The life of a ladybug
Is a rat race!

Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:40:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Sunshine Lady of Zephyr"

Runt of a litter of ten,
least spotted and more delicate
than all of the other Dalmatians
bred by my mother-in-law,
when offered one, we chose you.
We registered you with the AKC
as Sunshine Lady of Zephyr,
but we called you Sunny.

You loved to sit in my husband’s lap
while he played his guitar,
or lie on the kitchen floor
near the space heater
while I cooked or did dishes,
or on the living room rug
near the stereo speakers
and chew through the speaker wires.

I took you through obedience training,
where you learned to sit and heel.
When we walked around the neighborhood,
you would stop at every corner on your own,
waiting to cross the street,
growling protectively at strange dogs.
But obedience only went so far
when you chose not to obey.

Daily, when time came for me to leave,
I had to chase you around the yard
to get you to come in.
You tried to dig your way under the fence
to go visit the neighbor’s dogs.
We adopted one of your brothers
to keep you company,
but that did not work well.

You heaved sad sighs because
you were no longer the only child,
the focus of all attention,
He took over your favorite spot to lie.
You refused to play with him,
and so we returned him after only a few days,
restoring you to what you saw
as your rightful position as lady of the house.

One day I left you alone in the car
while I was in class for an hour –
only to find when I returned that
you had eaten a large chunk out of the parking boot.
Then we moved to an apartment,
and while the only things left in the house
were you and the bare mattress on its springs,
you had fun eating a foot long and wide hole in it.

The apartment was no place for you.
You barked when we put you in the bathroom
behind a kiddy gate when you
came into heat and started bleeding.
Management said the neighbors were complaining,
and I was tired of chewed up speaker wires,
parking boots, and mattresses, and dog hairs on my clothes.
I placed an ad to find you a new home.

My husband reluctantly faced the truth
that the whole dog thing was not working,
and so the day came when
off you went with your bowls and brushes,
collar and leash, your toys and registration,
seeming glad to go to your next adventure,
acting as if we had never existed,
taking your sunshine with you.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:41:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Princess Alexandria Rose Roney

We call her Lexi,
soft red toy poodle
liquid brown eyes
so knowing, so wise,
resigned, joyful, scared,
or is that just my reflection I see.

Judy Roney
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:42:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
SAUERKRAUT

I’ve never seen a sauerkraut
In all my youthful years.
I’ve always pictured some brown cat
With porcupine-like spears.

I think it’s smaller than a dog
And bigger than a flower,
But don’t know why it’s called a kraut
Or why it would taste sour.

I’m Christian, but I keep the Law;
I went and asked the grocer,
“Are sauerkrauts like crabs or pigs,
Or are they really kosher?”

She had a guy escort me out,
Then laughed herself to tears.
But I haven’t seen a sauerkraut
In all my forty years!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:43:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Buddy Dog by Lynn Potter 4/4/09

Buddy dog, my buddy dog
You ran straight to me your first day home.

Just a little tyke so many years ago,
maybe six weeks old, full of energy
and spunk…

Oh, how you’d run and play.

You sleep a lot now, limp and sigh.

We’ve got so many memories
Buddy dog, you and me.

You’ve stuck by me through
Sunshine and rain, laughter and tears.

You’d look at me like you understood
and I’d nod back thankful for a friend.

We’ve grown old together, you and me.
We both limp, sleep a lot and sigh.

But we’re still together,
yeah we’re still together,

my Buddy dog.


Lynn Potter
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:44:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterfly

Shelter the butterfly
that clipped its wing
with twigs, leaves,
and lawnmower-scented grass,
anything lying around
that an idle child
can make into a triage
for an injured insect.

Prod the butterfly,
a most unwilling patient,
suture it up with
hastily made daisy chains,
offer it a dew cup
with some honey
served in an unnamed flower
torn from the ground.

Leave the butterfly
to heal in peace
only to find it gone
hours later when
hide-and-go-seek ended
down the street,
the triage dismantled,
the wing left behind.

Sean Hanrahan
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:45:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
We Roar All Like Bears And Mourn Sore Like Doves

Cooing shakes the hibernation from the eyes,
With a twist the paw digs into dust matted fur
Soothing the belly ringing hollow underneath.

The foreign taste of feathers lies stale
In the jaw, a memory of something extra
Coming away with the last September blueberries
It pulls a growl of remorse, involuntary,
From a heart still foggy with the sleep of angels.
Helen Peterson
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:47:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Brandy
We are linked by love
You and I
You have been my steadfast friend
My anchor in the stormy seas
My safe rock on which to stand
And survey my uncertainties
The sharer of my secrets
The keeper of the wings of my spirit
You have given so much
And asked so little
Touchstone of my soul
Transcending even the distance of death

Nancy Bell, Balzac, Alberta
Nancy Bell
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:50:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Black Lab

Picking out our pup
From a litter of eight
Was hard at first
But then—it was fate.

Crawling over to us
Was a small black one.
Onto the lap she curled
Of our little grandson.

That made a done deal;
She quickly stole my heart,
With her long floppy ears,
Black, sweet, and smart.

She's more than just "dog";
Her name, Sadie Rose.
She's companion and friend,
Going wherever family goes.
D.K. Ernst
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:53:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Maxie

You wandered up to my house as I said no more pets ever, only glass gold fish.

Excuses:
Country living
Skunks spraying
Scary sounds
Saving thrown away pet

Reality:
Howling,
Chewing,
Digging,
Escaping

Why didn’t I listen, I look at those fish floating in bleach clean water and sigh.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:53:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kaiya (A tiger I pet)

Glowing eyes glared at me,
I see
the fierceness staring sinuously
through my gaze
a haze covered the cage where
she was being kept out of harms
way,so she wouldn’t stray.
Not today,because she is my friend
as I bend to caress her beauty; I looked
at the wild within inches. I became one
with Kaiya.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:54:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Blacktop"

Perched on the window
sill he waits for some careless
bug to graze his claws
Saturday, April 04, 2009 10:54:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Written in memory of my heart-horse, Ginger, who saved my sanity and quite possibly my life. Although I did not possess legal ownership, in every way that counted, she was my horse. I love you, Ginger.


Ginger


A near half-century gone since I saw Ginger last.
Some memories are lost; some are dim.
Others play hide-and-seek in the woods of my mind
And materialize on a whim.

But the memory of Ginger is etched in my heart
Fresh and clear. It has yet to be blurred.
For that bittersweet time of my youth resurrects
from a sound or a smell or a word.

In the personal world of a shy teenaged girl
Emotions are deep and intense.
Taunts wound and slights shatter a girl's self-esteem.
It's a difficult time at its best.

My school life was dreadful, despite my good grades
(though the teachers liked me, of course).
I was harried, tormented, rejected by peers.
My refuge I found in a horse.

“Free” riding exchanged for hours of work -
feed horses, clean stalls, polish tack.
Saddle the horses for each trail ride
And groom them all when they got back.

But once chores were done I was free to select
a horse for an hour to ride.
And I was transported for those precious hours -
I was National Velvet inside.

I entered each contest where the prize was a horse.
Wished on each birthday candle as blown.
Made the same wish by starlight and importuned God
But I still had no horse of my own.

God works in mysterious ways, it's been said.
Although not as I thought it would be.
No van with a show horse arrived for my birthday
nor red-ribboned pony under the tree.

One day at the stable when my chores were all done
there wasn't a horse anywhere.
I needed a mount so I walked to the pasture
And spotted a horse grazing there.

I called to her softly, then opened the gate.
With a toss of her head she responded.
She regarded me with an inscrutable look
as I tacked her up and then mounted.

She wasn't a pretty horse, coat patchy and dull,
of indeterminate breed and quite small.
But to my eyes she was every horse I had dreamed of.
Truly fairest of them all.

Our bonding was instant. Two bodies, one soul.
We flew over field and stream.
I was the heroine of every novel and
she was the horse of my dreams.

The owner rebuked me upon my return.
“That bay mare is vicious,” he said.
“She's thrown or bit all of the guys working here.
You're lucky you aren't hurt or dead.”

That didn't describe the horse I just rode.
If she wanted to throw me I'd slide
from the saddle as easy Jell-o no doubt.
But I'd had a wonderful ride!

I learned that to mount they jerked her and whipped her
and tied her to a tree.
My offer of extra work persuaded the owner
to let no one ride her but me.

No matter how awful the school day might be
or how worthless those girls made me feel,
I saw in her eyes the reflection of one
who was missed, who was loved, who was real.

For three years we partnered our way throughout life
Confidantes, soul-mates and friends.
A spin of the wheel by an uncaring Fate and
Our partnership came to an end.

Like the ill-fated cart horse of Black Beauty fame
Her time on this earth was too brief
They sold her. The new owner shot her I heard.
And I was alone in my grief.

A whirlwind of years found me older and wiser
but didn't diminish my regret
that I in my youth had been powerless to save you.
But Ginger, I did not forget.

While my two horses graze in the early morning mist,
saved in redemption for your sinless death,
a shadow of a third is seen
and your hoofbeats echo in my breast.
Kathleen De Witt
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:01:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
bees

bloated with the grief
of unrequited flowers,
drunk on the cruelty
of sugar they float
singed with light
slather of afternoon
blur of appetite
each thistle
of nectar shimmers
an emblem, gem,
tender petal
trembling stem
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:02:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Surprise

Silky, black stallion
Tell-tale stripe white
Strolling contentedly
All through the night,

Grazing on foliage
Nuzzling kin
Who’d ever guess
Such power within,

Not armor nor speed
No camouflage protect
Most passersby
Your presence detect

But all shy away
Your return to your bunk
For naught overpowers
The smell of the skunk.



mamayut
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:03:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
PAD- April 2009
Prompt: Animal

George
George
is an old boyfriend’s cat.
He lives in a greasy apartment
in Hell’s Kitchen in the 1960’s.
His owner, an egocentric actor,
still wears a rolled sleeve t-shirt
like James Dean. Both cat and owner
are thick and peachy as
a Good Humor creamsicle.

When you first meet George,
the actor brags
about his trick,
“George feeds himself.”

You, in white flowered peasant blouse,
doubt and protest, “Don’t believe it,”
until you see:

George reaches,
opens the refrigerator with his paw,
lifts the cat food can from
the shelf with his teeth,
jumps on the counter with
the can in his mouth,
places the can under the magnet in
the electric can opener,
presses the lever,
slips the top off the can,
and gobbles chunks as if half starved.

You are instantly in love with George and
his startling performance, of course,
whisks you to bed with the actor,
while George, stinking of tunafish,
snores and sleeps
at your feet.

No wonder the guy
takes such pains
to train a cat.

© Gretchen Gersh Whitman April 2009
Gretchen Gersh Whitman
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:04:26 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sugar, my heart, my dog

Just today I missed you
looked for you where another
white German Shepherd lives
to catch a glimpse
through some other
dog's still beating heart.
Once at the Beacon Hill library
a Chinese woman stopped me
asked if she could pet my dog
she too had had one just like you.
I saw the love in her eyes
as she remembered
touched your head,
the spot where I'd rub
dandelion's yellow stain
in the shape of a star
make you look silly
walking the streets of Seattle.
We had one month in Milwaukee
but we took advantage,
the river knew your name
the paths felt your foot steps
squirrels and fish scattered.
Had we longer
you would have felt
Lake Michigan's waves
lap your paws, sand in your claws,
some Midwest camping,
but the surge took you out,
the cancer was stronger
but I still remember
and carry on your name.

Angie Trudell Vasquez
April 4, 2009

Angela C Trudell Vasquez
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:05:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tulip

Tulip, you stand before me,
gaze into my eyes as if trying
to figure me out. I look into
your eyes, try to read your

mind. Often you seem so
human to me in your reactions.
You tilt your head as I speak,
listen carefully to every word.
Your face is so expressive.

Then you bring your ball to
me, squeak it at my feet,
incite me, with persistence,
to take it, throw it as far
as I can so you can run

after it, squeak it again,
return it to me, assured
now the game will continue,
that I've been hooked.

When you are tired you
leap into my lap, curl
up, a ball of fur, to sleep
at peace now loved, safe.
Tulip, I love you.

Mary Kling


Mary K
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:10:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
So, I know it's supposed to be a specific animal, but in my search for the perfect animal I somehow stumbled upon an amazingly wonderful selection of oddity. They were all just so good; too good to pick one. Therefore, I present to you…


“Funny Animals”

I Googled “Funny Animals”

Response:

Double faced kitten, frog and a half
Two headed piglet, eight legged cat

So sad am I for animals that look
That they belong in some fairy tale book
Emily A.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:11:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Elephants


We live with elephants
who freely roam the house.
They are not numerous
but to call them awkward
would be understating.
On giant tippy toes
they lurk at our dinner
table, peering over
shoulders, snatching nibbles.
Settled on their haunches
watching Andy Griffith
seems to make them happy.
We make allowances--
skirting their favorite
hang-outs and resting spots.
No one's really sure who
first said they could come in.
They're here now--let's not ask.
Penny Henderson
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:11:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterflies

Clouds of orange wings beat the air
A migration blots out the sun

Joan
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:11:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Ottercat”

You’ve not heard of me, I suppose.
Most haven’t, but who knows,
perhaps I’ll one day come knocking on your window,
pounding with my paws, that look a bit like flippers.

My brothers live in the ocean.
For me I have no notion,
of being near the water, cold and wet, what a ghastly
thought! The hearth’s my humble home and perchance, the feather bed.

Stretched out upon my back,
the dumb dog posed to attack,
I curl my limbs onto my chest and tuck my tail up and in.
Rolling and reeling, bouncing on imaginary waves, my whiskers dance.


Karin Larsen
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:14:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snow Leopard

And if you hide I will find you. And if
you ask me to speak I will sink
deeper into the white carpet, I will push
my nose into everything cold. Mountains
upon mountains where the land forces
itself underneath itself. Walking
into an abyss of ice where you can't hold
me. And if you rope me off I will jump,
hurtling over arms or pine trees, throwing
my eyes into that empty space, that pillowed
steep, that matted canvas waiting
to be spotted. To freeze seems more lovely
every time I watch the ice tense up,
bracing itself against the sun.
Elizabeth Wilcox
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:15:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Waterbug and the Red Breasted Bird

I watch it take a leisurely stroll across
my back porch outside the sliding screen door
absorbing the warmth of the early evening
without a care in the world. Simply inspecting.

It stops as though realizing, without having
granted permission, it was being observed.
Planted in one spot. Turning momentarily
to acknowledge my stares. Continuing on his path.

It pauses a few inches later as inches
become mountains, mountains marathons.
Yet it seems an uneasy respite,
nervous, sensing heavy blackness.

A red-breasted bird perched on the wire
across the backyard watches the whole time.
Undoubtedly salivating. Waiting for the right moment
to swoop in and devour the waterbug.

None of its two thousand lenses saw
That bird approach like a kamikaze pilot.

Copyright © 2009 by Sal Treppiedi - All rights reserved.

----------------------------------------------------

DAMN, Robert, this was a tough one. Took me awhile to come up with this one. Very rewarding, however, to finish this piece.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:19:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Turtle

He's a pretty shade of green
When he's clean
He likes to stay in his shell all day
And at night he likes to play
He takes things slow and steady
And waits until he's ready
When he's cold outside you can tell
He goes back inside his shell
Deb Peters
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:27:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stray Cat

Cat
Nap,
My lap,
The boy is
Walking toward me. He’s
Looking for some company.
He circumvents the shadows
Where the raccoons linger
Looking for some kibble. He is
So sly. He isn’t shy! He jumps me,
Settles in. He rubs my thighs, and
Wraps himself around my hand.
The boy is purring. Soon, he
Will be sleeping. Kitty-boy
Is safe with me tonight.
Cat nap, my lap.
Deborah Hansen
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:29:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
dog

i am dog! i growl
voice raised in a howl;
then silent i prowl.

feared by sick and weak,
even the strong shriek -
ha! i am not meek;

i was made to kill!
i am death's own will!
i will not stop till

prey falls before me!
you can't ignore me -
i haunt your stories..

wild i once ran, and
terrified the land,
i and my hunt's band.

teeth sharpened on bone,
claws hardened on stone,
more hated, more known..

fearsome, terrible,
hungry, horrible,
nightmare of people!

so .. WHAT AM I DOING IN THIS STUPID WOMAN'S HANDBAG NOW?
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:31:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
That Black Dog

He hangs out in front of Getty
like he's a gas attendant

—like Wellington was.

Black
and slim
and old, too,

—like Wellington was.

They could've been blood.
Like they were of the same woods.

The neighborhood boys
call him Welly in memory of…

but I call him That Black dog
and cross the street.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:31:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dolphin

Twenty- three we counted today, you,
the first, the best, the closest, drafted
in our wake. I welcomed you and called
you ‘baby’. You looked me twice in the eye.
I’d like to think you recognized in me
a kindred, open soul, I’d like to think the
sight of me lifted your spirit the way
you lifted mine, I’d like to think that
if I jumped in we could be friends, you’d
teach me how to jump straight up and out
of the water, the best places to surf,but
I’m not as naïve as you might think,I
know you were really just hoping for 5free
fish
Kristy Worden
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:33:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Zebra

Beauty of the Serengeti
Ebony and ivory
Unique Equine Socialite
All adorned in snazzy stripes
With fecund fashion flair
Sporting spikey two toned hair
On the plains you dance and sing
Domestication's not your thing!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:34:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Oh, I'm loving this. Especially love: Cassandra O'Shea's poem and Amanda Oaks's poem!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:35:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Broken Bear

Man-made hibernation
Sooths the shattered beast
Victim of another man’s
Destructive collision with nature
Human splints
Struggle against leg muscles
Strong even in sleep
Broken bones reconnect
Like a steel trap snapping shut
Freeing the bear instead
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:35:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sorry for the double post, had a typo in the last line, that's what I get for still editing, when I'm supposed to be done...

Dolphin

Twenty- three we counted today, you,
the first, the best, the closest, drafted
in our wake. I welcomed you and called
you ‘baby’. You looked me twice in the eye.
I’d like to think you recognized in me
a kindred, open soul, I’d like to think the
sight of me lifted your spirit the way
you lifted mine, I’d like to think that
if I jumped in we could be friends, you’d
teach me how to jump straight up and
out of the water, the best places to surf,
but I’m not as naïve as you might think,
I know you were really just hoping for free
fish
Kristy Worden
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:36:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pollywog

I am the in-between, a soft link in a soft
chain. My large head protrudes like sperm
but most of me is fin and possibility.
I revel in the chance to come to life
out of a bed of mud, out of sky

because I am from air and water,
a mineral, like this planet circling
the universe. Touch my colors,
light and poison run through me.
But be warned, you of the less-soft

uprights! My fate is written
in the sands, though I come apart
in stride and can regrow my limbs,
I can not put back the glisten
that is leaching from this earth.
Nancy Lazar
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:37:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(4th day, 4th form: a Tanka 5/7/5/7/7)

Kingfisher Fledgling (A Tanka)

Oh squalling child, hush!
And just look at your feathers.
Disheveled, hungry,
still screaming from the cliff face—
a toddling terror with wings.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:37:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kathleen Cassel Mickelson, I love your Pigeon poem - it captures something I feel as well. Well done! There is a lot of splendid imagery and evocative stuff here today. Clearly we love our animals!
Corinne
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:37:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Oooh good one, Missy McEwen!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:38:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Real Big Bad Wolf

The Big Bad Wolf?!
Red Riding Hood and her Granny
gave you a bad name;
Why would you cover your beautiful
gray coat in an old hag's nightie?
Why would you taunt a little girl
and threaten to eat her scrawny hide?

You are a noble resilient creature,
Having survived since the Pleistocene Age,
Proud and sometimes shy,
A devoted parent and loyal friend to the pack.

But if your death continues to precede
too many more "Happy Endings,"
Your image and that of your kin slandered
in silly Fairy Tales,
You may have to rewrite the story,
And for Granny and Red
it won't be pretty.

Terri
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:41:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
BELTED KINGFISHER

Perched on a branch above the river's churn,
the kingfisher tilts his crested head
and blinks his solemn eye as he spots a speckled trout
shimmering deep by a boulder's curve.

A big one, nearly big as he.
Careful to shift his weight in rhythm with
the breeze-stroked branch, he readies himself,
then vaults into the air, to hover, wings astir.

Then down he swoops, flattening
his blue gray wings against his sleak white sides.
He streaks into the water, skewering the trout,
who thrashes but cannot escape.

Then up he soars, breaking from that liquid realm,
his writhing prey clasped tight in sharp black claws.
His stuttering wingbeats slowed by the fish's weight,
he makes his way upstream through dappled light.

Elizabeth Claman
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:42:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Robert, I am approaching the April prompts based on our November challenge--with a theme. All my poems this month will be related (in some way) to Germany and my life here. Hope you don't mind, that I didn'T use a specific animal name for my title.

Day 4 – animal prompt

ANIMALS

My reluctance to see her stemmed from
the fact that she always welcomes
confrontation, the type who insists on
discussing topics she is well-versed in or
those she'd given much thought before
presenting them like one of OJ's attorneys.
But I felt confident I could survive a
mere hour of her company.

We spoke of Germany-—the Wall,
the food, and Volksfest, where
waitresses clad in their Dirdls
lug huge mugs of beer in hand
and crowds of people sway back
and forth, arms intertwined,
as belting out "Marmor, Stein,
und Eisen bricht" and other old,
familiar tunes. But when the
topic suddenly changed to
wildlife, I instantly smelled
the scent of an immortal rat.

She stated that nobody
associated Germany with a
native animal, at least not in
the way that golden-maned
lions lurk in one's mind when
one mentions Africa or the vision
of a chubby giant panda gnawing
on bamboo in Japan.

On and on she rambled about the
unique creatures whose sole
habitat is Australia-—kangaroos
springing around, cute furry
koalas climbing high in the
Eucalyptus trees, Dingos running
free, and wombats snuggling in
their underground burrows,
as well as the duck-billed playpus
that attracts so much interest.

To add insult she remarked that
even a small country like
Madagascar can boast about
being home to the lemur, that
the proboscic monkey is
endemic to the island of Borneo.
And Germany?

These truths I couldn't deny but
felt the urgency to somehow turn
this chase around and hunt the
hunter. With mere seconds to
react, I stared her in the eye and
said "Bears! We are absolutely,
positively known throughout the
world for our bears-—Steiff teddys,
Haribo gummy bears, polar bears
Knut and Flocke, and even poor
Bruno the brown bear dominated
the headlines and hearts of people
around the globe."

With no words for rebuttle, she
merely growled like a grizzly
protecting her young before
scurrying off. No doubt, she
now sits in her den, planning,
awaiting the next visit, determined
to get the last bit of honey in the
jar that today remained uneaten.

Linda H.
Linda H.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:42:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coyote

Driving home, I see you
trotting on the ridge of land
next to the new McMansions.
The owners rally in the news
against your existence.
Cara the cat disappeared.
How soon before you take a child?
I lay in my bed at night
listening to your songs,
hoping that this time
the West isn’t won.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:42:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
for Maggie

A head on the sofa that lazily lifts up to greet me
Eyes follow
And sorrowful maybe
You’re crying, remembering where
As I head for the door, hear your paws on the floor there behind me
A collar will lead you
We’ll walk round the green
Crying sorrowful maybe
Because you’re not there.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:43:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Horse"

I gallop through the fields.
I live to run,
it finally makes me feel free.
When I run
I'm in my own world.
It's nothing but me
and the plane of grass that I'm in.
There's only one thing that makes me go back into reality
And that's when my master calls me back into the stable.
Tiffany Quick
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:43:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
So many well written poems. I'm loving Michelle McEwen's Country Dogs and Amanda Oak's poem.
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:46:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Plugger

There was a young beagle named Plugger
Who turned out to be quite a hugger
He’d jump on your lap
To take a nap
Relax and you’d yell “Yuck, Plugger!”
Nicole R Murphy
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:49:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
J. Martin's Jaybird...well-written!!
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:49:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Meekins the Lamb

He’s five inches tall
This little toy lamb
And looks a little worn
In his heroic stance

He performs his duty
What duty? You ask
He comforts the sick
And takes pain to task

So don’t be misled
By his innocent charm
In reality, this hero
Protects me from harm!
Christy Brewster
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:50:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
prompt: Animal.

April 4, 2009
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
he knows...

by Faye E. Arcand.

seduced into believing.
into falling. hard and fast.
swept some say.
a confident smile; promises of love.
his touch made her heart pound;
blood pulsate. she could hear it
coursing through her warm body; deafening
all logic and raison d'être. his story
captivated her soul; he wept openly;
vowing his never ending need
to be near; to know. she understood;
accepted. she was a dreamer.
a believer. a fixer of all things wrong.
she looked forward, not back; a stumble
realized as she lay in a pool of her own
tears. wounded flesh aching;
slowly killing the spirit.
hidden. again and again.
trapped; shamed; isolated;
he is an animal.
Faye E. Arcand
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:54:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bandit

The forest bandit strikes at night
Creating quite a stir
It creeps along in search of food
A criminal in fur

The forest bandit wears a mask
A permanent disguise
The wild kingdom’s Zorro
can cut you down to size

A bandit on the run
A thief too tough to trap
Those who suffer man’s revenge
Become a coonskin cap
Joe
Saturday, April 04, 2009 11:58:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Possum



There were never very many
days of real cold in Dallas
when I was a boy, the kind
of sharp, bitter winds better
not to brace yourself up
against, but only surrender
and let it wash through. There
were even less days of hail,
sleet, ice or snow that might
actually stall the traffic
of humanity for two days
or more, extinguishing power
lines and preserving enormous
branches in a glassy coat
of frozen precipitation, drooping
till it was finally brought down
altogether. Oh how the grown-ups
would carry on how the rituals
of their vast and crucial lives
had been interrupted, even I
was old enough at five to understand
doctors and cops were more vital
and really not all the time. They
would dance around, hands rocking
in the air, what a nuisance this
intrusion on the teetering rotating
globe. But if I was lucky and alert,
and frosty vegetation grew sparse
enough or shriveled in the golf
courses and parks, I would glance
outside to see a possum nibbling
from the bowl of Purina Cat Chow
we’d left for our cats, vagabonds
freely navigating the shrubs, pickets
and St. Augustine of our neighborhood.
Oh the cooing noises I made, watching
as our extraterrestial visitor munched
pensively on the offering we’d left
her among the columns of our outdoor
temple, as if prompting an oracle. My
mother rolled her eyes incredulously,
she’d seen many growing up, found their
empty, gemmy eyes and thick ratty tails
repugnant. “Don’t get anywhere near it,“
she said, “She’ll bite.” And of course
I never did. But none of these revelations,
unsavory or grotesque, could quell
the rapture or exquisite chills spontaneously
taking hold as I marveled at her
canny reverie.
Christopher Stephen Soden
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:03:09 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mrs. Beasley

Some might think she’s a doll
Just by hearing her name
In reality, she’s a cat
Yet a doll just the same.

I went to adopt a new kitten
When I lost my dear old friend
(I had her for 17 years)
I had my heart set on another
But she chose us instead.

When the kennel was opened
She leaped out with a bound
I watched in amazement
With the bond that she found.

Mrs. Beasley is now
Just shy of a year
She’s fun and she’s playful
And has filled a void right here.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:03:50 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I'm am idiot - found an error in my structure; clearly I need to wait to post next time.

Third attempt.

"Pantoum: Dog"

My dream is to return
as a dog that I might own,
a life of luscious luxury:
treats and love and walks.

As a dog that I might own,
I would dream of running bold,
treats and love and walks:
these are my owner's hopes as well.

I would dream of running bold
into warm and waiting arms, fulfilling
all my owner's hopes:
living sweet with me alone.

Into warm and waiting arms
he leaps, high and bold and frisky-free,
living sweet with me alone:
for we are one, my dog and me.

The two of us a family,
A life of luscious luxury,
Oh please let him return to me,
My dream is to return.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:05:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Deer

Blinding white eyes bear down on me
as I'm frozen to the spot.
I strain with all I have just to move,
but I fear it's all for naught.
Panicked thoughts overwhelm my mind
as the shiny beast draws near.
All that's left to do is wonder
how did I ever get here?

Suddenly the beast slides to a stop
looming over it's prey
and it hesitates just long enough
to allow me to get away.
I'll never know what happened that night
or why fate chose to spare me,
but I think it's best not to ask why
and just to let it be.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:10:33 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kitty (Haiku)

It purrs softly; hums
Sleeping beside my form. I
Am warm next to her.
Melissa Hogle
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:10:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Sloth"

He eats
alone,
clinging to trees.
The dirt beneath him
writhes,
everything
clawing,
killing,
for scraps.

"Leopard Frog"

Cigarette burns
on honeyed skin
boil.
Fat escapes
into a pan.
A boy stands,
dejected, peeking
over a stove,
having never heard
a frog scream,
and still hasn't.
Jason Carnahan
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:15:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Insect

Brown praying mantis
Walks carefully on a branch
Camouflaged by leaves
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:16:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dinosaurs
Could Dinosaurs live today with all this pollution and the ozone going away? Could they live in the ocean or sea. Could they even breathe. Could they walk in the park, way after dark. Could they even have a place to walk. Could they fly in the air and not be in despire of hitting a building in flight. Could they just be able to be and be free. Would we leave them alone and just let them roam. Would we want to build a fence to hold them in and still call them our friend. Wouldn't children's eyes be wide, to see one of them in full size. How amazing would that be, to see them all running free.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:18:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A thumbs up to Sabine Metzger-Groom, Don Swearingen, and banana-the-poet.

Alessa Leming...that was so sad. That poor dog.

Linda

Linda H.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:18:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
How The Platypus Came To Be

“It is done”, God said,
“It’s time to take a rest.”
The angels marveled at the sun and stars,
Jesus liked the Earth the best.

God’s workshop was a jumble,
And Gabriel started to clean.
He found a pile of extra parts,
And caused some kind of scene.

“You know I can’t stand waste, Lord.
“You’ve got to use these bits,”
“Can’t be done,” God told him.
“Nothing left there fits.”

“You’re the Lord!” Said Gabriel,
“Ain’t nothing you can’t do.”
So God jammed the bits together,
And made the platypus and you.

CLA
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:19:09 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Groundhog Day Reprise

Punxsutawney Phil
got it right again this year
except for the number of weeks
til spring arrives.

Better luck next year, Phil!


Theresa Cavicchio
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:20:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Mollie

Half Pit bull, half Shar Pei,
she channels gazelles and kangaroos
leaps from sofa to chair to sofa
over humans watching television.
She fetches as long as they are willing
slides down hallways at breakneck speed
returns and drops her spit-covered ball
on the closest lap, stares with wrinkled brow
and one cocked ear proclaiming cuteness
to keep her humans engaged.
She is totally on or totally off,
doesn't stop her breakneck speed
until she drops, exhausted,
on her Ikea doggie bed.

Renee Goularte
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:21:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
What a nice collection of intriguing animal poetry.

My entry is posted here:

THE BEAST'S BLUFF

http://nickersandinkblog.blogspot.com/2009/04/beasts-bluff.html

Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:24:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Animal"

Thump! Thump!
Crash! Crash!
Drive the beat,
then break and smash!

Beat! Beat!
Play! Play!
Keeping time
in a crazy way!

Chomp! Chomp!
Crunch! Crunch!
Tom-toms and snare
and hi-hat for lunch!

Sit! Sit!
Stay! Stay!
Dr. Teeth holds
Animal at bay!
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:24:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
HORSE

Mane white as cream
lashing against the wind;
Each hoof beat heavy,
thundering, circling;
Defying gravity, humanity.
His nostrils flare, ears erect.
Just as the equine epitome
memorialized by Job,
he looks to the distance, alert
for the hail or trumpets
and the smell of battle
somewhere beyond the
honks of cars and the
sputters of black exhaust,
the cacophony of the city;
beyond the girl
prodding his ribs
with sandaled heels
as lukewarm ice cream
dribbles onto his withers.

And he waits,
sniffing the air.
He waits.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:26:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cottontail

At night the gulf between us widens,
a chasm opens in the middle of our queen-sized bed
and I am stranded on the east side.

Coyote roam the canyon floor,
hawks scream overhead
and I know there are rattlers beneath the low, dry scrub.

I see the soft green grass in the west,
stretch out a paw
but cannot touch the space that you inhabit.

Fur shivers on the back of my spine.
I twitch only slightly, remain frozen in place,
all my blood a desperate longing to leap.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:35:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Corvids

I have a thing about crow, crows and ravens, crows and ravens and magpies, and maybe jays as well, at least the West Coast Stellar’s Jay with her punk crest and midnight-blue feathers—a boisterous bird, and smart.

I have a thing for crow girls, girls who are quick and bold and notice the small things that glitter on the beach, like the silver sliver of smelt wriggling under the sand I saw a crow dig out with a quick twist of her beak and, tossing her head, swallow.

I have a thing about crows and ravens and also, I think, writers. They speak in tongues.
I could listen all day (and sometimes, half the night) to the rise and fall of crow voices and Raven’s rolling rattle you hear sometimes as she chases her sisters across the high meadow.

I have a thing about crows and ravens, and women who choose their words carefully, alert for the right pitch, whose prose is clear and precise and flecked with light, whose words mark me like a fine calligraphy of tracks left by crows in the sands above the
tide line.

I have a thing about crows and ravens, and writers who stay up late nights drinking cheap wine and hard cider, story-talking about fish and fathers and their fate, who afterwards wander in the hills, flashlights out, the dry rustle of leaves underfoot, without guides
but not lost.

Kate Miller
Kate Berne Miller
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:35:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Spider

I do not like you spider,
When you are inside my house,
Or even outside if you're a bit too close.
At least there however you are safe.
I accept that I am in your territory,
I'm inappropriately you might say invading your space.

This is not why I do not commit act of spider murder.

I fear revenge...
Imagine being tucked up in bed,
Whilst a scurrying 8 legged army marches,
Moving silently and fast,
As an allergic rash,
Taking my breath away without warning.
Imagine whilst driving,
Old 8 legged spider,
Creeping across the dashboard,
Rather than risk,
It is better you lived.
Became bird food as nature intended.

Still the fact remains, spider.
I do not like you,
and once found in my house,
I may treat you like a mouse,
And set my cat upon you...
She is as fat as you are fast,
spider you have the advantage.
I would prefer,
If you stayed out there,
amongst the grass and the trees,
And spider predators.

Whilst your pretty webs look good,
I know their sinister,
Creative traps inducing slow death,
On unsuspecting flying creatures.
Until you eventually eat them.

spider, I do not like you,
but i would never eat you nor torture you slowly.
Honestly...

riddlewoman09



Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:38:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

SQUID


Nutritious and delicious squid
at first look daunting on the plate;
so try 'em, you'll be glad you did.

Some say their legs are best left hid
'neath lettuce leaves or breadcrumbs. Wait!
Nutritious and delicious squid

need not be shy, no, God forbid,
for, unlike us, He gave them eight.
So try 'em, you'll be glad you did.

You'll love those little suckers! Slid
right down, now didn't they? Great!
nutritious and delicious squid.

Though, if you give them to a kid
p'r'aps just the rings they'll tolerate.
So try 'em, you'll be glad you did.

Stewed, fried, or grilled. Come, lift the lid!
With tartar sauce or eat 'em straight.
Nutritious and delicious squid.
So try 'em, you'll be glad you did

Pete Sjogren
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:38:33 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mouse

A mouse ran across my red slipper.
I was startled to see the wee nipper.
I couldn't have peed,
just took care of that need.
I continued on up with my zipper.

Denise Noddin
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:40:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Tiger

Tiger, tiger flying kites
Claw to string in great delight
Broad-beamed head and topaz eye
Balanced stripes, not one awry.

In foreign land 'neth sapphire skies
He stands erect, logic defies
A manner of being he acquired
Now a creature much admired.

For more than attitude and smarts
Tangle the presence he imparts
Feline allure and grace elite
Recognized the incomplete.

What of the need to entertain?
In what was once a cub's domain—
Delighted sounds, a growling rasp
Escape between fangs tightly clasped

When gusting winds did blow and shear
Kite from string to disappear
The black-striped cat snarled no plea
Acknowledging they both were free

Tiger, tiger flying kites
Clawing string with great delight
Playful gaze and distant eye
Tethered to a silk ally.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:42:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
WORMS

Turn over the dirt with a shovel
and you find the earth worms.
Pink, vulnerable,
their segmented bodies
writhe in the damp soil,
carving out tunnels,
bringing oxygen to the depths.
With their tiny jaws
they turn the leaf waste of fall—
lifeless and decaying—
into nutrients, feed the lilies
and the butterfly bush,
the velvety lambs ear,
soft and pale in the April sun.
The worms nourish and sustain,
like your love,
the way it transforms what came before,
gently digging
into my very depths.

Devon Brenner
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:43:27 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
wolf

& who else
spike jonzing for an
adaptation of a 10-sentence tale
of anger's wild beasts
bound for goryless
greatnes & i remake
the making of the movie
with a wolf in human costume yelling
"cut and print"
because how else could
such ferocious brilliance
shine out from Hollywood
honest animal
spiked punch
tipsy smile
trickster
laughter
for
kids
for
e
v
e
r
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:43:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rhinoceros

Someday a child will say,
“Did they really exist? They
Look so
Weird.”
Wikipedia calls you odd-
Toed ungulates.
Is this about the three toes
Or having toes and being
Odd?
I quip you are the misunderstood
Animal of the Kingdom.

How could the child believe?
Is Wikipedia reliable?
Even modern Noah’s Arks
Leave out the
Pair.
Scant evidence in popular
Culture; There are some movies
But parts are small,
Comic:
1. Ace Ventura’s births a man
2. The Gods Must Be Crazy stamps out fires
3. The Lion King on stage—
Needs a tad more rhino.

The rhinoceros tat on my right shoulder
Is a conversation piece about
Conservation.
I connect to misunderstood.
Your thick hide and my tough
Skin
Handle laughter at our expense.
Ready to charge—for better or worse
Your big horn—alas, had I
A big horn.
Dann Norton
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:44:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mockingbirds


He sounded just like the
telephone in the barn,
she said, and told me how
they’d come running
to answer the phone --
only to find
it wasn’t ringing.

Took them days to discover
it was a mockingbird.

She told a tale about how
they were said to mimic
the lonely cry of other birds
to help them attract mates --
mockingbird matchmakers.

Was it true? She didn’t know.
Still, it makes a great story.
She’s been gone a few years now,
but we still keep in touch.
Every once in a while,
I’ll get a call
from a mockingbird.

PSC in CT
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:48:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Millipede

Myriapod
Introverted
Lengthy
Laggard
Inexpressive
Pedigerous
Elongated
Drawn-out
Excavator
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:50:42 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Great Blue Heron

For fifteen years you’ve lurked
on the pond outside my window.
My friend the dreaming woman
told me once that the Great Blue
represented Death, and since then
I’ve believed her. Each time
I see you there, swooping across
the water to the highest tree
I remember that we are all this
close to going with you,
that you are patient, allowing,
but when the time is right
you will move swiftly.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:54:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rescue Pup

My name is Zoe,
but for those that know me,
I respond to zz or z.

I'm dark and fuzzy,
Mama sometimes loves me,
but that depends on the day.

People will comment on my unique look,
duh- I'm not a standard in your breed book,
but don't you call me mutt!

The old van got me one day,
while I was enjoying being a stray,
so now I'm a rescue pup.
A M Forret
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:57:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Hope this is not a 2nd posting. Forgive me if it is.

Ode to a Dog

There have been eight more before you
All loved and mourned when gone
Every one of them a rescue
Adopted gladly with no qualm
Now you are our only pup
Spoiled as an only child
You look part fox or maybe wolf
Your black-rimmed eyes do so beguile
You smile and want to lick
All other animals and people
Pizza crust is your favorite
Dog food’s considered lethal
You love your walks and playmates
We are joyous when you cuddle
So when a new dog needs a home
We’ll comply with no rebuttal.
Sara McNulty
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:58:23 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Blue Crab

"Why so blue, friend?"
I ask rhetorically,
Knowing you're at the end
Of your species.

Do you have any idea where
You are going from here?
Or notice the changes
You've lived through?

You are taking it well,
brave in your shell,
watching the tides
as they change too.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:00:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Coyote"

I am the trickster,
winking eyes and wily smiles.
If you pay attention,
my tricks hide lessons
for those willing to risk,
for those willing to think.
Follow me, and see what you can see.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:01:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Beautiful poem Nancy...I like watching the herons too :)
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:02:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bad Kitty


O, my glorious pet, my pest,
your morning claws climbing
the back of my pink bathrobe.

My mouse chaser skittering
across the floor in fierce pursuit,
dropping the catnip bounty

on the floor for me to throw again,
then sprawling with your prey gripped
between your teeth like a fat cigar.

Guardian of the front door,
your long tail switches as you spy
on the sparrows outside.

Tramper of counters and mantles,
all territories forbidden, opener
of cupboards, hunter of rubber bands

and other hazards requiring surgery,
your imperative meow insisting
on treats and all doors ajar.

Then you slip into a paper sack,
or curl up in a basket, soak up
the light in a square of sun.

You of bell and purr, soft fur, curl
next to me when, finally, you fall asleep.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:04:26 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
bare

bears don't need clothes because of all there hair
hare's don't need a gun because they can always run down a hole
whole legion of hairs live down there
their comfort is the ability to warn each other with their great feet
feat of being safe from the danger of the bear

bare
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:05:13 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Doodlebug


Such a pleasant sounding name
for one who lurks like you
behind that friendly smile
waiting for an employee
to slip over the edge of your trap
so you can show the true nature
of the ant lion who pounces
on the ant who slides accidentally
and unaware into the pit you made,
slid down that slippery slope
into the maw of the ravenous,
the one who waits to receive
his intended victim
then repairs the snare
and waits for the next
unsuspecting soul.
Del Cain
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:06:36 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
lion and Lion

lion with a little "l"
you are the liar.
Wretched beast and great pretender
posing as the King of the forest
prowling and seeking to destroy the flock
luring your prey into false comfort
until they sigh, "Peace!" and "Safety!"
then they are ripped to shreds.
Be afraid little lion.

Lion who bears the Capital Name
you are the King of Kings
great and mighty conqueror
awesome protector and true sanctuary.
You are not scared. One day You will
destroy the 'little liar' and set the captives free.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:07:49 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Limpet

Life in the intertidal zone is not easy:
dried out by sun for hours, then swept away
by waves ascending, the limpet clutches
to coastal rock with pedal mucus, resembles
this ancient host. It will die rather than let go,
providing metaphor for the obstinate.

Hungry, it ripples the muscle of its foot,
forages for algae in the shallow waters,
its tongue a floating ribbon with rows of teeth.
As the tide recedes, it returns to the home scar,
sucks deep into its rock to avoid desiccation,
shell shaped to complete the hard house.

Food of starfish, shore-birds, men, it competes
with barnacles, mussels for space on the rock,
shortens its own life when the eating is good.
Hermaphrodite during the first nine months,
it settles into male youth, then transforms
into female while clinging to this rough world.

Kristina von Held
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:10:49 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
DAKOTA, THE DOG
Being vulnerable, we purchased you
Missing home, we named you
After our beautiful home state
Where the blueness of the sky
Is like nowhere else on earth
And the Black Hills loom to the west
And the prairies roll in waves
Just like your curly, red hair
Your wild and untamed like the land once was
Sometimes, I want to give you back
But then you look at me like you can read my mind
You’re sad and I’m sad, so we do the doggie boogie
And you put a smile back on my face.
Rita Weatherbee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:12:56 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
WATERSKIMMER

In those days
when the world
appeared in full color,
I would escape for hours
to that hidden spot
where the creek rushed
down over a large rock
into a quiet still pool,
and enter that miniature world
where you were the king
of all creatures
because you could
walk on water,
and massive crayfish
waged war on the bank.

Whent the afternoon was spent,
I would trudge back home
with mud between my toes,
awed by the bigness of
something so small,
and fully charged
by the sunlight
breaking through the trees.
Bill Bowling
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:13:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Bee Dreamed a Prairie

The bee dreamed of a woman in a white dress.
Her skin was the color of lilies but the woman
was plain; she didn’t resemble a flower.

The bee dreamed of a black dog as big as a bear
named Carlo; the bee crawled on the pane
until the dog snapped at the insect.

In the dream, the bee flew away, buzzing
in the woman’s ear, buzzing through a house
empty except for dust and stale air.

In the dream, the bee was the queen.
It was autumn; time to kill the drones
and abandon her hive, her home, her nest.

The bee dreamed she was the woman
in the white dress standing at an open window
as the scent of world wafted in. The bee dreamed

she was the dog running through a field
of white flowers, the pollen clinging to his black hair.
The bee dreamed a prairie of clover into existence.
Laurel K Dodge
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:13:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MO


There are two things Mo knows
bunnies and a good nap.

He came to us as a rescue dog
left behind an empty house
and chained to a tree.

We fostered him
but you know how that often goes.
It starts with a meltdown of the
heart and there was nothing else

to do but take him in. I mean
for good.

Mo loves the outdoors
I suppose-

because his enormous energy
will not be contained indoors.
He would easily run off
if given half the chance. I know-

he's tried it. I don't believe
it isn't because he is not appreciative
of his new home, he just travels faster
than the speed of his attention.

Released to the back yard he will lap
the fence line in seconds
then he stops to sniff for rabbit.
Mo loves him some bunny.

When he is not carousing
he nests in the bedspread
in our bedroom.

I mean a dogs gotta rest
and tomorrows another
bunny opportunity day.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:15:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Creature of Habit

At the window, cat-like
and pawing blinds, eyeing
the neighborhood
on soft haunches, good
intentions

Asleep in a sunbeam:
oblivious; a young
beagle waking
to new arms, bigger
skin

An egg hatches, spills
the yolk of day; at night
a city alerts itself
and becomes
an owl

Building to train, bus
to ocean: awkward
shuffling and half-sleep
has rhythm but makes no sense
like flamingo legs
K Weber
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:16:40 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Raven"

Raven warbles in the bush
Warning, humans near!
Wah! Wah! Wah!
Three cries,
"Beware, but do not fly."
Wah!
"Gather near and prepare
the game."
Wah! Wah! Wah! Wah! Wah!
"Change of plans, race with the wind!"

As the forest grows silent,
the glistening birds return.
Resting here, there, laughing
at silly humankind.

No ears are tuned to hear,
so now the party begins.
The sweetest melody of all
flows from deep within.
If anyone might hear,
who would ever guess
a Raven sang this wondrous song?
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:17:00 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Brown Puppy

Floppy, dark brown ears,
black oval eyes, shiny button nose –
a gift from an innocent soul.
Perceiving vulnerability and loneliness she said,
“Here, Mommy. Brown Puppy will protect you.”
I hadn’t realized I needed protecting.
Yet she felt, saw, understood… my fear.

The innocent heart, desiring to protect
the one who should protect her,
presented me a guard dog
who to this day
sleeps in the cubby of my night stand
next to my bed
watching in the night
for things that go bump.

M.B.
4 April 2009
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:18:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
alone
alone in my thoughts
alone in my bubble world
reaching out
but still identify with alone
alone is a past time of mine
she maybe is a relative,
because being alone
I know her well
no need to impress
no appointments made
she is my companion
my shadow of the day
alone
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:18:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
FLICKER

Each and every morning
when I do rise and shine
I hear a flicker tap,
which makes me shriek and whine.

Tapping, rapping, flapping,
this flicker works his way
through stucco, foam, and wood,
each and every day.

My house is full of holes
that range from big to small
I ponder how to fix
and then I hear his call.

Why does he wish to live
in a hole in my house
when trees abound outside
with holes no rain can douse.

Again I hear tapping
upon my chimney pipe.
rat-a-tap-tat-rapping.
There he goes again, cripes!

I’ve had enough of this,
I think. This HAS to stop.
I’ll get that crazy bird--
A BB-Gun pop, pop!

I’ll buy a cat that hunts,
set traps, or get an owl.
That bird must go away
I say, in piercing howl.

And then again I hear
that sound that I so dread:
Rat-tat-tap-tat-rapping
it’s pounding in my head.

I look up and I see
Conniving Flicker there
eyes gleaming shimmery
He’s laughing at my stare.

I give up, I’ll let him go
he’s just a bird outside.
Trying to find his own home
in mine he’d like t'abide.
Kristi Beguin
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:23:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MANATEE

The lumbering, slumbering manatee,
as big as an elephant out in the sea.
It eats all the greens it can get for its fill,
to see one up close would be truly a thrill.
So, I hold out hope for someday to see
this hulking behemoth of the sea.
For now I watch Geographic to see on TV
the lumbering, slumbering manatee.


***Thanks Jane M. for the info and the kind words. I went to the well once too often today with my third submission and tried for the cute poem instead of going with my strengths. Here's the corrected attempt. The critique is appreciated.
Walt Wojtanik
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:24:09 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
California Pocket Mouse

They are noticeably plentiful.
Little scamperers, little cheek-stuffers.
At home in thin air, under granite
where something has formed a shallow
hollow. Fodder for red-tail and barn owl,
gopher snake, King snake, rattler, if
they don’t scramble fast enough.
Whisker-twitchers, trembling
with alertness. Pocket-sized only
when you have a very small pocket,
and you’ll need a lid on it.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:24:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Scorpion

I am a scorpion
reptilian
spikes curled in toward my body
I know what my venom can do.
I will carry my ugly babies on my back
when i need to
i do it because I have to.

I am a boa constrictor in a cage
Still, still, but so powerful.
I can see you, lazily,
looking in with amazement at my
huge, long body,
so soft and it shines
but I can squeeze you to death
if you choose to look too hard.
If you bang on the glass too long.
I can see you, too.

I am a desert beetle on display in your zoo.
I smell unfamiliar and glint
beautifully, like a jewel,
you want to hang me on your neck, forever,
but I am just foraging for food.
I am a cornered animal in this museum of beauty
and remember,
the cage is there for a reason.
If you get too close,
I cannot be blamed if I strike.


Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:25:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
horse

i'm not smart
but i'm pretty and
i'm real fast
i may be dumb
but my intelligence
lies in my heart
in my legs
my eyes
--if i don't like the look of you
i won't carry you
if i do
i will bear you
even if it breaks me
i'll take you fast
over fences
over fields
and you can feel the rise
when you make the jump with
me over hedges --
it's the closest you'll
get to flying.

afterwards, you breathe in my sweat
the way i lather when i work
and you'll see in my eye
something of yourself
when you were an animal
not so smart
but sleek
and swift
with the smartness
only the body
knows.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:25:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coyote

Coyote comes knocking
My life turns upside down
My totem
My doom
Trickster
Lonely and loony

Coyote brings stories
Legends are born
Creator
Hero bringing inventions
Discoveries

Yet he is tricked
He tricks
Love and hate
Night and day
Comes and goes
The circle is renewed
Never gone

Christiane Brossi
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:26:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
April 4- Animal
RABBIT
I can barely stop shuddering, whole body wracked in fright,
Long lop ears running down my back,
My nose twitches morse code, warning those in nearby cages.
Then held by the neck scruff, dangling, hundreds waved and shouted
And a man spoke a blur of word
And a man said, "SOLD!"
And a man threw me in a box
And a woman waved goodbye
And two huge eyes from a small little girl
Preceeded the carrot, and a welcome petting.
Michael L Neff
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:26:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
fat cat

takes the stage
when he stretches up
as if the follow spot
has no where else to be
fluent, that’s the word, loose
as tongues at Mardi Gras
when shine and moon meet
he’s primed to let you know
what rubs him wrong, now
he wants to play, you’re his
until the rug beckons, nap.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:26:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dogs In Waiting

There's no such thing
as a leisurely breakfast
in our house. The doglets
simply will not allow it.
Doesn't matter if I eat
Cheerios with yogurt and
blueberries or toast with
peanut butter and bananas
whatever I eat turns into
the favorite food of the day.

They take their positions
at my feet and stare at me
intently. The smallest looks
at me like Bambi, an innocent
pleading look on her face
please, I'm small and hungry.
The other squints in suspicion
and gives her message -- don't
you dare! I'm your favorite!
Don't give in to that little scamp!

When it's time to put down
my dish for cleanup, I have
to decide whose side will I favor?
The bigger one will get
to the dish first. I try to favor
the little one but it doesn't work.
I have to hand feed, the little one
first, then the big. They eat
voraciously, lick my fingers
then dash off until the next meal.

Diane Truswell
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:27:29 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pigeon

The human eye sees angels
in the white wings of the Dove.
My cousin promises peace in their world,
yet rarely can people distinguish
the intricacies of my feathers;
how their lives mirror shades of gray
—Like the golden concrete in summertime,
when old men perfumed by cigars and coffee
sit on park benches sharing stories,
teaching boys the rules of chess.
Or like the shadowed pavement at midnight
when the homeless convert benches to beds
and make meals of the leftover pieces of bread
scattered by the chess players, uneaten by my flock.
The white bread hardened by time, dyed a dingy gray.
With full stomachs for the night,
these men and women sleep at peace.

LaToya Nelson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:29:49 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Feline
Back haunches raised, muscles tensing
From side to side.
Black fur shining, green eyes focused, hungrily
On the target, claws extended.
Head lowered, poised to pounce with ferocity
King of the jungle
The jungle of a Brooklyn apartment.
That ball of aluminum foil is doomed.
Sandra J. Robinson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:30:45 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rabbit

Doing a cool 43 down route 18,
passing my new and soon-to-be haunts
I see it.

A creature of yellow that nature would
never dare to create,
with long ears, button nose, no basket,
gardening gloves, and standing about 6' 5".

Post-traumatic stress kicks in and
I dream of doubling my speed and
flattening it next to the
violets, roses, and shrubbery it was
inviting me into buy;

possibly also for a carrot.

Years ago a toucan with an affection
for radio followed me around
a local mall.

The mission has been clear ever since.
Paul Pikutis
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:31:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stubborn Old Goat


That stubborn old goat
casts his beady stare to either side
while I stand in front of him
scolding and yelling.
He chomps on my nerves.

Those two knobby devil horns
let me know how hard-headed he is.
I could pound them with a hammer
and still they’d stand on top of his matted head
like permanent goose eggs
from being hit over the head
by so many infuriated people.

Immovable and slow-moving,
he must be the bane of his barnyard neighborhood,
While the kids run amok and tear up the garden,
he eats the dinner bell
and double shares of the patchy grass.
Just try to shoo him away or chase him off;
He won’t budge.
That stubborn old goat locks his knees
rotates another jawful of food
and pretends you’re not even there.
Juliann Wetz
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:37:32 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Little Dog

The sun, creating water mirages
on the blacktop, obscures
the end of the highway
a little, tan dog trots down
scouring beer cans and sardine
tins for leftover meals
to help him reach
his family on the horizon.
Scruffy brown nape and short,
fast moving legs - he happily
howls as semis fly by.
He stays out of traffic
walking the shoulder
next to the concrete.
As we approach
thoughts of swerving,
ending his fruitless journey
patter through my head in time
with his quick tapping paws.
My girls squeal for the puppy
begging to save it, adopt it.
But I drive on, telling them that they
have enough stuff already.
In the rearview mirror,
I see the little dog sit,
cock his head,
watching us drive off.
Steve King
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:40:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Javalina

Bristly, brown hide
and long teeth
frighten at first glance.

You frolic in the grass
with family and friends
not afraid of my camera.

You look me in the eye
chewing at the same time
sharing the open space.

You keep your distance
knowing we are not the same
trotting away as I get too close.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:42:09 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snake

Never mundane, I am
the double-edged sword,
slithering - cunning is ambivalence.
Shedding skin, I offer rebirth
to willing souls.
Hidden among tombs, I guard
precious treasures -
within the forest, nature bears
witness to deceitful lies.
The wisest of all -
I am divine.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:42:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
'Fish in a bowl'

Round and round
In a small glass bowl.

Body blasts,
left, right, left, right,
past the blubbling, bubbling treasure chest.

Fins flutter,
back, forth, back, forth,
gracefully, without thought.

Mouth morphs,
open, close, open, close.
Are you trying to talk to me?

You stop.
You stare.
You start to swim again.

Round and round
In a small glass bowl.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:44:37 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ultimate Fighting Champion

You guard this small section of air space
as if life hangs in the balance
What life is it?
Is it new life? Your offspring
ensconced in a rain gutter?
or is it royal life?
Is there a queen sitting on a throne
wearing a tiny bee crown
speaking in hushed, British bee tones
discussing the fate of the monarchy?

You never rest -
you hover
waiting for someone to invade your no-fly zone
then you attack
zooming towards the encroaching enemy
and he, the interloper, darts off,
tiny bee tail tucked between tiny bee legs

Were you in Rimsky-Korsakov's backyard
at some point in your bee life?
Because if it wasn't you
it had to be your dad
or some close relative he watched
before he wrote your theme song

I heard it today
while watching you
defend your territory
in your primal struggle
really, the eternal struggle
of good versus evil
light versus darkness
life versus death
and so far,
it appears you are winning
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:46:13 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

The Falcon
Perched nobly
At his elevated height
Impresses upon me
With his superior sight

Able to see far beyond
What I can conceive
Reminding me
That there's always
More to achieve

I stand in awe
Of his strength and skill
His presence re-energizes
My resolve and my will

As I study the Falcon
Silhouetted in the sky
I am grateful to him
For teaching me to fly
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:50:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Skunk

On the path
between
the latrine
and me
stands
a skunk
who's
not sure
what my
intentions
will be
"no worries"
I say to he
as I turn
off the path
toward the
woods
to pee.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:50:49 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Roc of Ages

White hot wingspan of 30 paces,
We dream you into our days,
Weary from living through our senses.

Was Marco Polo’s passage so temporal
As to create your mythic proportions?

You, who lifts elephants to dine on at your leisure,
We, who long to be carried to your nest.
Expel your semiplumes from our eyes.

Where are the real heroes?
Those who pursue the unembellished journey,
Who drop your feathers for others to find
along the path?

We gather purity and wilderness,
odysseys and enemies,
manifest destiny and rebirth,
Into our brief histories.

There are no hymns, no reveries,
For those who crossed quietly among the living.
Those who had no need to ride your wings
To see into the night.
Nancy Hatch Woodward
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:54:34 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


pearlscales


The aquarium is supposed to soothe
in the middle of a living room,

although, no one stops much
to gaze

as goldfish
swim through fluorescent sea plants
and fresh water

from one end of
a wall to another --

not recognizing the same scenery
for over two years,

bubble
after bubble
after bubble
surfaces from their mouths,

like the people with dementia who
wander up and down the halls,

lost, confused, and
forgetting where they are:

I want to go home.
I want to go home.
I want to go home.


Tara Wilson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:57:20 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bird

Soaring
High above the clouds
Free
To go where the sun shines
Flying
In a an empty sky
Living
In places only in dreams

Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:59:07 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Llama

Loping across the lawn in your fine wool coat,
your Maybelline lashes and Mona Lisa smile
an apt allusion to your curious, convivial self,
you stretch out your swan neck
wiggle your donkey ears
lift your horsey nose
and slowly, regally, kneel on your camel legs.
You are the king of the pasture, indeed.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:01:30 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Bird

It started with a bird
in our house,
ransacking,
over and over again
till I locked her out
permanently.

Weeks later she came,
again,
slamming into our windshield
feathers raining tiny
messages I could not hear.

Months later,
still persistent, she flew
through the car window
dying at your
feet
feathers flying birdless
blocking my view.

When I finally left you
she came to me
once more, reborn,
a bright white dove.

An angel that earned her wings.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:03:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Luna Moth

Light green. A yellow moon crater circle on your angelic wing.
Luna moth.
Where did you come from?
So light and refreshing.
Delicate.
Lemon and lime.
Flying from leaf to leaf.
Too perfect for this earth.
Too beautiful to die.
Too beautiful to endure life's pain.
Luna moth.
Surface of the moon reflected on your wings.
Light green of a back lit spring blade of grass.
Yellow circle.
The sun.
Insect of the sun.
Insect of the moon.
You were born and died too soon.
Did you know the impact you made on this earth?
Your life was too short.
What was it worth?
Was it worth being born at all to live a few short hours?
Did the attraction of the lightbulb kill you?
Did you overdose on the fruit of the flowers?
Or did you die of boredom?
Summer creature lives and dies in pointless profusion.
But your beauty remains.
And reminds us of the wonder of life.
Design and beauty. Regeneration.
Magic color of time.
Luna Moth. This life is thine.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:06:42 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

It doesn’t even seem that long ago,
since first our paths did cross.

Fur so soft, you snuggled up close,
Slept on my back, purred in my ear.

Frisky old cat, you jumped onto counters, over fences,
And frolicked with the neighborhood cats in the evenings.

Now an indoor cat with no where left to roam.
You cozy up next to my baby boy, no longer frightened by his energy.

You sleep most of the day, wherever you please.
Most happy when the sun is shining right on you.

I often wonder how much time we have left with you.
My frisky old cat, Oreo.
Cari Resnick
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:06:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lacey

I hear the rattle of your dog tags
In the still midnight darkness
Hear the clicking of your nails
on the old wooden floors
Feel your warm panting breath
On my left hand as it hangs
Over the side of the bed
Fingers stretch and reach to pet your head
But meet only air
It's not yet a year but still
I feel you near me,
A comforting spirit
Loyal as ever, gentle, kind
Even though you are only
With me in my mind.
Lin Neiswender
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:07:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stink Bug

Big brown eys
Stray from the swarming letters
To a point above my head.
I direct, redirect
But those eyes return
Until they pull me with them
My body swivels, I adjust my glasses
And scan the white board
Behind me

There on the top corner
Poised as if listening
Attentively
Gray triangular body
Pin dot eyes at the apex
Six stick legs at unnatural
Angles

No match for the masking tape
Not the slightest odor released
In its defense.
The stink bug died
Learning to read.

Linda Hudson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:08:23 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Messages of the Birds

Funny, some of these bird names…
Hairy Woodpecker,
Tufted Titmouse,
Warblers, Cuckoos,
Sapsuckers.

Hairy stopped by today,
just as I opened to read
the poetry prompt for the day – “Animals.”
Well of course, Hairy likes to share a good story too.
“Tell them the one about handsome King Hairy…”

He was sitting right there in view,
on the top of a tall piece of driftwood, almost eye level,
cocked it’s head to the left, perhaps,
for a better look, questioning me,
“Well? You gonna write something?”

Titmouse, there were several around all day,
flitting back and forth, from Cedar trees to feeders.
Each time, landing on the top of the metal hook,
sound off it’s sweet tune of gratitude, grab a sunflower seed
and then flit back to the tree again.

“EAGLE! Flying right over top of the house!”
These woods and rivers, she flies above them every day,
our messenger of community, and lately,
so much about healing past communities,
our ancestors.

Hairy returns, for one more look, seems to sort of nod,
and then swiftly sails to the top of an old Oak tree.
He is our drummer, thumping out messages from the Earth.
If you stop, quiet yourself, and listen closely,
you will know exactly what he is saying to you.
Vanessa Mitchner
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:12:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Husband

I'll tell you a tale of a peculiar beast
The man who wed one day
That day, I know not why, sweat pouring down his face
He did not bother to correct
The way I did in error
Light the candle in the middle
I asked him why
He simply said "I wasn't going to correct you."

I'll tell you a myth of a man
That should be all sorts of wonderful things
Then I'll tell you the truth of a lovely man
Who today made chicken soup

There are so many times that I
Perhaps should keep my cool
So many moments when the mind reels at how he thinks
Not what he should be doing

Then I will think of many times I've trembled before others
Feeling less than secure
Not knowing how to fit in
So why do I have no control of hurtful things I've told him

Who is this beast and why is it
That days and years go by
When we do not connect at all
Heaping painful actions

Who knows what many years will bring
If we will be together
There are some times that bind us now
But, nothing bound us then
We could have walked away a million times

Somehow, we did not choose to.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:13:21 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cow Haiku

Grass. grass. grass. grass. grass.
More grass. More grass. More grass. More.
All day.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:15:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dragon Fly

She dances gracefully across the sky
Her wings majestic as she fly’s high
Through the trees, through the clouds
The pinks blues, and greens running through her from the world
She’s beautiful, tiny, yet large
A mere speck in the world and yet large
Virginia Snowden
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:17:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Hey Guys, sorry about the late entry. It has been a very busy day, long story, my 13 year old was not where she was supposed to be, we fear she was with her um (Experienced) boyfriend. Anyway, I promised to find time, and if you know anything about the Cheyenne, you know we believe "Honesty is honor."
So, here is my entry for the day.

The Dog

She can be a mighty beast
Though some are smaller then a cat
Others are bred for that, at least

The call her man’s best friend
With Unconditional love
She’ll stay with you to the bitter end
though, the last one your thinking of
you’re the first in her mind

Often, she’s treated unkind
sometimes the right owner is hard to find
There’s no fit
where there’s no chemistry
Not, that she’s always it
maybe, it’s just not meant to be

She can be used to help one see
trained for that type of slavery
Servitude, of the highest degree
But, usually, she’d have to be a pedigree

She can roam the wild open spaces
Traverse to and from many places
She can take the form of the mighty werewolf
The one the Cheyenne call the Skinwalker
Perhaps, she’s more of just a talker
Barking to let you know of coming danger

She can be company to the lonely park ranger
then again, maybe she’s a perfect stranger
Somewhere in your past
She was there
A life long ago, though not the last
When you didn’t have a care

Where ever, you have found her
Though she may have gone
her love, has found a way to endure
You’ll find her spirit still standing proud
and if you listen closely you can here
her spirit still calling to you, nice and loud. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, April 4, 2009, animal poem.
Ralph J Fitcher
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:18:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CAT

Tired.
Stretching lazily in the sun
lost in the warmth, oblivious
to everything and everyone else.
Bored.
Walking back and forth, to and fro,
always dignified, yet disdainful,
nothing of interest to be found.
Excited.
Running, jumping, pouncing.
Faster and faster, nails scraping
across the hardwood floors.
Lonely.
Curling up close, eyes pleading.
Little face, nestling in my neck,
begging for love and attention.
Beautiful.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:19:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Walrus

Smooth, sharp tusk
makes my lisp more pronounced.
It's harder to enunciate with a mouthful.
But my family and friends don't mind
we get along well, travel and see the sights
when we can muster the strength
to drag ourselves across sheets of ice
with flippered feet and rolls of fat.
Don't feel sad for me
I don't need Jenny Craig
and I don't need that thermal suit of yours.
I've got my own.
Besides have you seen me dance
below the ice, in the cold ocean, I've got
silky samba moves.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:20:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ravens

The exiles trudged from place to place
always in a race to live, to survive;
always searching.
Seeking water, gathering food--
Hiding.

Too soon wearied of surviving;
too soon letting go of hope.
Fearful, grieving, tired.
Oh, so tired!

Then ravens came.

Alana saw them first--
Watching them watch her.
In her despair
she saw them a threat.

The sentinel rose up
on bold black wings.
Circling high, he glided ever closer.
What evil did he bring?

Alana stood.
She would not yield
to this new fear.
He swept toward her--
a monstrous shadow closing in...

He loomed huge
black before her eyes.
Then lifting past
he dropped a bundle at her feet.

Alana opened it with caution--
a gift of food.
It was not death
that came that day,
but hope.

Diane
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:23:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bride, with Reindeer

It’s likely the bride got a good deal on the zoo
having booked this spring Saturday early.
But it seems she forgot to ask for specifics
of location. Maybe she didn’t mind the grunts

of white-cheeked gibbons, the gasping breath
beluga make after emptied of water, or children
dancing their slack-kneed jiggle, demanding
to see tigers. But she’s sharing a hill with reindeer,

stocky lichen-eaters molting in the sun,
laid out on their sides like sacks of melons
and losing hair in tufts with each movement of breeze.
Even the reindeers’ downy antlers are unsettling—

the flowergirl is frightened, asks her father the nature
of “that thing” that grows from the head.
Downwind, the bride holds her veil away
from her face, keeps it from sticking to lipstick,

tries to breathe through her opened mouth
to avoid the stench of animal body. Her eyes
water, and to those of us on the artificial steppe,
the tears are almost as if from joy.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:24:30 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Maybe the dog

Deaf ears,
eyes fogging like
wintry car window panes;
I only ask: where is my old
Maybe?

--starky morillo
Starky Morillo
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:27:22 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cody

Iron will,
Won't take pills,
Hard to train,
What a pain!
Come when called?
Not at all!
In my lap,
Takes a nap.
Sweet as pie.
Makes me cry.
My best friend.
I love him!
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:29:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Counting Cranes

From the window of the bullet train my son and I
count cranes. Between Osaka and Okayama
we see twelve, one for each month we’ve lived here
in his father’s land. Rising from rice fields,
the oldest flying things on earth take wing,
leave earth, and come back, for nine million years.
Cranes mate for life, another way of leaving.

In Florida too we counted cranes in the pond
outside our apartment, in Lake Alice with alligators,
on Payne’s Prairie. Sandhill cranes migrate,
teach their yearlings to make their home
in the moment, their only constant dwelling.
Along the route their ancestors traced, cranes recall
what no one told them but their own braided bodies.

Migrating cranes fly across the Bering Strait.
My son too crosses water, the ocean the name of which
he bears, in Japanese. The ocean that lies between
his parents’ homelands. No, corrects my husband,
the ocean that connects them. Did my son hear
this distinction made by the one who lives at home now?
No, he’s busy counting cranes in two languages.


*The phrase “the oldest flying thing on earth” is borrowed from Richard Powers’ “The Echo Maker.”
Jessica Goodfellow
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:31:47 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Squirrels’ Hunt
By Diana J. Baker

I hid a few eggs for an egg hunt
For my grandchildren—a total of eight;
But had to rush to a birthday party
To help my grandson celebrate.

I returned home a few hours later
To finish my egg-hiding chore,
And was surprised to find a number of eggs
Contained their contents no more.

There where each egg had been hidden
Was its chewed up plastic shell,
A few balloons, some crinkled foil,
And footprints with a story to tell.

It seemed that some neighborhood squirrels
Had hurried, and scurried, and dug
The eggs from their hiding places,
Eating as many as they could chug.

I thought it a bit ironic
That an animal some people hunt
Became themselves the hunters,
And the people received the brunt.
Diana J. Baker
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:33:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Boots

A hunting dog with allergies
to some varieties
of weeds.

For a Beagle she was small,
maybe sixteen inches tall.
Her long ears nearly dragged the ground,
her tummy did, when big and round
with puppies.

Grimy hands she washed for free
without expecting grateful treat
and then she offered up her ear
as handy towel.

Lady White Boots
“Bootsie”
She could say her name
“Boo-oo-ots” she’d bray
and we would say
“Good girl”
Smartest dog in the whole wide world.


Marcia Gaye
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:34:21 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rabbit

A bunny named Snoop
made my head droop.

Now I'm growing to try
to hold my head high.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:40:58 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
It Was A Dog

Only had one pet.
It was a dog.
His name was either Roscoe
or Rascal.
I don’t remember which.
But I do know that I loved that dog.
He was tan and frisky
and I loved to play chase with him.
Then one day Granddaddy shot him
dead.
I heard the shot but didn’t see him shoot him.
He told me that the dog had rabies
but he didn’t apologize or anything.
I cried but not sure if anyone noticed.
Soon after that, I got a Pink Panther bike with a basket.
That was cool but I still missed Roscoe/Rascal.

Tracy Chiles McGhee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:50:54 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Neighborhood Coyotes

Sometimes
when I get up early
to run with my dog
in the rosy pre-dawn chill,
I’ll catch sight of a pair of
fluffy salt and pepper
tails skulking quickly through my yard,
only a few feet from Dukie and me.

Duke watches them, oddly still and quiet
in the breaking daylight
as if he understands their strange
kinship.

Beside him, my heart races with the thought
that one of these two might have carried
Lucy away in his jaws last spring.


Last night,
awakened in the small hours from a
strange dream of giant cube shaped
underwater ice sculptures
and my office walls covered with hundreds of colorful
lacy blouses with bright silk flowers pinned
to each décolletage,
I heard a chorus of
coyotes shrieking
in the distance.

As I wiped the dark from my eyes
and the reality of the sound set in,
my insides started to twist,
working themselves into the
frenzy of a school of fish out of water.

In a sleepy stupor, I felt around the rumpled
sheets and blankets for
little furry heaps of warmth --
1… 2… 3…

all accounted for tonight.

The coyotes’ celebration
sliced screams through the night
into my bedroom,
peeling away my sense
of safety and security;
a harsh reminder that
all is not well with the world.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:51:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dogs

There was Annie and Sandie and Buffy too
There was Sweetheart and Sammie, and
Meatloaf made more than two.

And then there was Buddy,
A basset childhood companion,
The longest and lowest, he was certainly funny.

There was Fritz and Mick (like Jagger) he sang,
and Mikey, and Kelly, and Sophie, so smelly,
Nothing we could do, but keep using shampoo!

Always in my heart, there was Ginger, so sweet,
And then there was Rumor, a saluki, so neat!
Dogs are the best friends, because they’re unique.

There is nothing like a good dog
To keep you in life’s good graces,
Nothing like a good dog, they love all your faces.


Now with three, they are wonderful pups,
Although one is sixteen, Alphie a mutt,
Then T.T., at fifteen, who can drive me nuts.

And then there is the new girl, her name is Ivy,
All full of spunk and hair to the floor,
She’s everywhere at once, topsy turvy some more.

When she first came she was a neurotic chore
But now she understands a whole lot more,
And is learning to be the dog we adore.

All of the dogs in this poem who, “was”
Are missed since they left for heaven above,
They all had their gifts to share with us,
And it is in their memory that I have more pups.
Sharon Chaffee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:56:40 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
West Highland Terrier (Duffy Blue-Eyes)

Our dog, Duffy, is a West-highland terrier
He could be called Mickey as his eyes are blue.
After his bath he is white and fluffy
but only stays that way for a day or two.
He snuffles like a hog for truffles on the ground;
and when he sees squirrels chases them around.
Then he barks to come in, being tired of the yard
Keeping him clean and pristine is just too hard!
Our nest, long empty, filled once more
He keeps us both amused.
When I try politely to pass by
All I do is give a cry
"Excuse me" and I am excused.
When either one of us goes away
He'll mope, as if left alone.
But when Duff hears us coming home
he readies his toys for play
Mom's home! Dad's home!
Each one of us, Duff misses.
For when we both come through the door
We're smothered with wet kisses.
Duffy noses his toys into the air
just ten minutes of rugged play.
He's tired out. We're tired out.
Thus ends his doggone day.

Sheila
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:57:39 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mice

I'd rather have spiders all over the place
Than a mouse who believes he can live in my space.
I simply won't share, not even a corner.
I will not abide a mouse for a border.

At night I'm awakened by clawing and scratching.
So I make a plan for trapping and catching.
Mice are good for something; it can't be denied,
But the only place I want a mouse is outside.
Emma S
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:57:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Zoo

Eels are finding peels of me
Shredded at the sea’s sandy shelves.
I am dust now I am fragments
I am losing.

Stip-steps of horses’ hooves carry me
Like lucky lambs they bring lamps
They are not too lame to love me
They have not yet left the light.

Trodden sod cragged subdued and burdened
The long walk had just begun,
Drugged and hurdling alley-bound
To fix the unfixable
Folding solace in with self-pity
Like a deranged Betty Crocker
Two cups of revenge for every cup of haunting resentment

Mules are seeing pools of me now
They lap me up like lacking luster
I am liquid now I am seeping out
I am losing.
Nicole D. Gadbois
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:58:33 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Camelopard

It should not be so hard
To imagine a camelopard.
If a lepoard would happen to mate
With a camel who couldn’t get a date,
The result might be and please don’t laugh
What you would find at the zoo when you see a giraffe.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:59:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sadie

I still catch myself expecting you to greet me at the door,
Tail and body wagging,
Dog tags jingling,
Welcoming me into the house after a grueling day,
Or after simply walking to the mailbox and back again.
I’ve left your dog bed beside the woodstove, just where you liked it.
I can’t bring myself to put your water and food bowls away.
I feel naked and exposed when out walking without you.
Just two days ago I awoke to the sound of you signaling that you needed to go outside.
I ran to the back door in a foggy slumber,
The sound of your prancing by the sliding glass door fading as my mind began to wake and take in my surroundings.
Sheila Allard
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:00:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jaguar

Sinewy ceramic cat
Crouched on the curio cabinet.
Shades of gold, spotted sporadically,
Green luminous eyes.
You are a cylinder of coiled energy –
Will you spring today?
I wait, like my mother
And her mother before,
Hoping to see your intensity
Explode across the room.

You once belonged to my
Great-grandmother,
Whom I did not know.
She was a lady, laced up straight,
Quick to correct and shame.
But she chose you, jungle cat,
To decorate her parlour,
To menace in readiness
For an eternity.
The severe and strict Puritan
I know too much already.
Yet I would know, if I could,
That vital and sensuous soul
Who cherished your feline grace.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:04:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The wind of Columbus,
the voice of change,
rattles through my window panes.
N.D. Smith
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:07:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat Furrgus

Sting of claws through my shorts
And a 15 pound, 11 year old kitten
Takes up residence across my torso.
Most beautiful and intelligent poose.
First in his litter to crawl from under the house.
First to cry in that muck and mud and be rescued.
First to get a bath and first to be prematurely
Rejected by momcat for smelling odd.
Smelling of contented housecat now
Kneading and drooling for the late evening meal.
When the feeder pings, those claws and that speed
Will remind me that your ancestor/cousin had
First pick of the ambush and the prey.
Christine Fletcher
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:08:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Copper Chickens"

Barnyard fowl
roost in an aerie

strut in the yard
all bright and airy

copper chickens
with a nod and a bow

flap tawny wings
perched on a bough

plump fat hens
sisterhood clique

sing solidarity
cluck, clack, click
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:10:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
African Brown Geese

Small puffs of mocha and cream
More work than I thought
They’d be
Sleeping in the straw filled
Dog carrier
Making crop circles
On my lawn during the day
While they play-ed
Twisted wire play pen
Finally grown
Down shed
Mocha stripes running
Down their necks
Cream bellies
Broad wings every taupe shade
Inbetween
Greeting me every morning
With their braying honks
We parade with the brimming bowl
To their shaded dining hall
And after the male’s ritualistic hiss
And my counter feint
They scoop and slurp the grain
Wagging tails and snaking necks
Chasing off squirrels and other
Would be diners, until they’ve had
Their fill
Then sauntering to the pond
For a little after meal swim
Gliding across tea tinted water
And trailing a silver wake
As they sail to their nest
In the iris
SaraV
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:11:24 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The bird feeder


My backdoor opens to a pulsing garden
alive with birds.
White as a bride,
the Hawthorne tree
entices them into her sweet arms.

With swoops, glides, sudden alarms,
they succumb, settle into the blooms
and trays of sunflower seeds,
weave their own invisible nets
of flight and sound,
capture my heart,

Now they are more tame,
And I, more wild.
Carol Igoe
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:22:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

“A Triolet to Honor Snoopy’s Rich Inner Life”

Joe Cool,
beagle in hepcat shades
and t-shirt, hanging at school.
Joe Cool
(dogged by jazz sax soundtrack)—gotta break the rules,
Peppermint. Don’t care what Charlie say.
Joe Cool.
Beagle in hepcat shades.


Padgett Posey
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:25:04 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Dog In Winter

Walking the streets in the dark with me at the other end of the leash, racing across the sidewalk back and forth, suddenly charging up a snow bank dragging me behind, to stick his nose beneath the snow and come up to the air again chomping on a treat. How does he find them: bones, breast crusts, pieces of meat from discarded sandwiches, leftovers from the Italian restaurant down the street; how can he sense them or smell them, frozen under all that snow?

Inside my head I don’t walk on streets and paths of neatly laid out thoughts and creation, but run back and forth and up and down, dragging my thoughts at the other end of the leash, suddenly rushing to pull up from hiding a memory, half a thought, a once discarded idea now recovered to be chewed upon. How do I find them buried, hidden, frozen down below?
Gail Stonemark
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:25:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Little Baby Bird
Mouth open to the world
in response to
the uncomfortable pain
of instinctual hunger

I hunger too
for different things.

Do you know that you are waiting for worms?
Close the barn door, before the flies get in!
Susan Jones
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:26:20 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
April PAD Challenge
Linda Robertson
© April 4, 2009


SEAHORSE

A combination of horse,
aardvark,
puffer fish,
kangaroo,
lizard,
monkey,
Stegosaurus,
and chameleon,
I am but one being,
flowing and floating in the oceans of the earth.

My family is hippocampus –
sea animal and horse,
shortened and combined to become named
“seahorse.”

I am mother to my babies,
although I am the male species.

I keep my brood in my belly
from two to five weeks,
delivering up to 1500 sea ponies at a time.

Being a social creature,
you will find me friendly to the touch.

Do not be frightened by me;
I will not harm you.

Some may see me as a dragon,
but look closer.

You will see
that I am beautiful.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:28:05 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cougar

Sly fox, she slinks over
extending her polished paw.
Her eyes subtly stay in place
as she stakes out her pray.
Growling at distractions
that may cause the cub to sway.

She passes glass of tonics and gin
in hopes that time will halt.
Brazen hair striped with sun
expresses paradise desires to bathe in salt
and shed her skin.

The cub is cautious as she’s been
bitten before but a double-take
doesn’t lie and cougar bats
an eye, reeling in the feathery
fur, making her purr already.

A suggestively delivered invite
to her darkened den,
perks a twisted tail and summons
paper and pen. Numbers expand
to dates and dates lead into nights,

where Cougar crawls on wooden floors
to lead her cub to heights.
Stephanie Darrow
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:28:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Zahdi



Tata’s short, squat, black Lab, all
muscle and pose, paternal dog of the
neighbourhood. Zahdi wagged his body,
odd grin, chin wet with drool and
whatever sauce made its way into his
dish. One winter, Tata tried to raise
guinea fowl; Zahdi began to stalk
them. Put into our care, those hens
lived high in the mango trees, coming
down only to bathe. All day long their
weird cries: cack, cack, cack, cack!
would drive us mad, but come evening,
they’d roost like any bird, heads tucked
into themselves. When they were fat, Tata
got them into her pot and stuffed them.
Thick, brown gravy. Next, geese—she
thought their angry stance would keep
Zahdi away. He got two while they were
sleeping; the others came to our house.
Tata got kittens.

The mother goose had the loudest hiss,
pecked my shins when I went to hang the
laundry. Sunrise: honking broke dreams
in two, feathers everywhere. Zahdi had
found the geese’s scent through the bush
between the houses, stretch of hill so
thorny and dry, he was thirsty by the time
he started killing. The mother was the
only one to live, biting at the dog until he
went back to Grandma’s, bleeding, limp,
embarrassed. He slunk into the kitchen,
taste of blood still curled into his lip. When
no one was looking, Zahdi killed every
kitten. We never saw him again.
Julie Mahfood
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:29:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Great Snowy Owl
By Judy Kneprath
4-4-09

Startled out of a sound sleep
In the loft of the barnhome
The “WHO” resounded and echoed in the night
Twice, three times – loud, clear, strong
Seemed it was right in the room with us
But out of sight completely

I woke him up
And we both went to the window
Nothing out there
But once again
“WHO” loud and clear
Just like you read about
In the children’s books

The moon was bright that night
And the rows in the fields behind us
Stood out clearly
In its glow

Suddenly
We heard the rush of mighty wings
And the huge, beautiful
Great snowy owl came
Oh so gracefully down
From the top of the barn
Over our heads
To the top of the dirt pile
Back of the barn

“WHO” it said again
Majestically, it turned its head
Enthroned there
Owning the back yard completely

And all we could do was
Turn and stare at each other
And mouth the word
“WOW” to each other

Doesn’t take much vocabulary
To have a magical moment
In the middle
Of Minnesota
Judy Kneprath
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:29:33 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dog
You greet meet at the door,
running away
you look back at me
waiting to get chased

Your smirk says it all
Because your toy is
flying across the room

You fetch but
you don't drop it

This little game continues
until you get bored.

Then we go our own way.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:29:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Eagle's Wings

Of all the birds I'd rather be,
the eagle's the one that appeals to me.
So majestic when he spreads his wings,
he reminds me of the royal kings.

Soaring higher as he circles the sky,
reaching heights most birds wouldn't try,
the eagle has halos without the rings
exalted with the wind beneath his wings.
Linda Black
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:30:42 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day four


Spider

Spider, spider hanging on the wall,
one mistep and you will fall.
The safety net you weave so fine,
Will break in half if I try to climb.






Leslie
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:30:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Distracted by a Turtle


While watching a frog slide into a pond
was distracted by a turtle; I became fond.

It wasn’t too pretty, in fact it was plain
but was close to the path, right next to my lane.

The grooved shell was oval, dusty brown and flat, too
turtle was settled in grass, not looking too new.

Only the head stuck out of its shell
but withdrew in a hurry, into its neck well.

Picked it up, looked it over from bottom to top
wonder if turtle was happy I decided to stop.

Put it carefully back in its spot in the grass
we shared a moment together, then let it pass.

Of all of the animals I saw on the trail
the turtle up close was my favorite, no fail.

Kathleen Claire
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:32:00 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

FROG KING and HIS MONKEY

She keeps the golden ball in storage. Wrapped inside her dad’s old work shirt. His name—Ray—stitched in red. The shirt, like the ball itself, a keepsake from his vending days. (Truck stocked fresh each morning with boxes of Hersheys and Snickers and Mounds.) He saw the ball as he worked his route. A competitor’s gumball machine. Thought his Monkey might like it. (None of that Princess shit for Ray. His daughter was smarter than that.)

She’d used the ball that summer shooting marbles with the boys. They played a variation; involved a manhole cover. Something about the labyrinth grooves—she can’t recall the rules invented over a period of weeks. Only remembers playing for keeps. Taking all their steelies. Her bag so full by the end of August (time to return to her mother’s realm) that it burst the day she dropped it.

The golden ball found its groove in the gutter. The one they all called Squeaker—he outran the pack. (They took no advantage to reclaim their own. Easy pickings in the grass.) He planted a Chuck in its filthy path; splashed his calves—a fish-belly white—with tainted rainwater runoff. Stopped it only seconds before it scored the sewer grate. She plucked it from his instep while he fended off the rest.

Not all men ask for rewards.
Padgett Posey
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:36:13 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Robin

So plain.
Brown, like the trees.
Not flashy,like most expect.
No red-breast.
No vibrance,
or brilliance.
Dull dun feathers.

He gets the attention.
The recognition,
The name.

She gets the quiet,
Anonymity,
Of being one thing,
Appearing another.

She gets her nest,
Her babies.
Which is all
She really needs.
Alyssa Poinan
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:36:50 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cotton the pooch

The very first day I met you
You were tiny and small
I didn't know what to name you
But I found a sticker for
"Cotton" that came in the bag of cotton balls
I knew this would be the perfect name
I stuck it to your dog house
We played, I threw you ran
But I could never understand
Why you were left outside
While my family slept inside
Time passed you grew older
Still my parents kept you around
I remembered you barking so loud
When firecrackers swept through the town
My fond memories of you I keep
First lesson of compassion
We didn't mean to leave you behind
Dogs aren't allowed in a transcontinental flight
I was sad to hear that you ran away
You must have thought,
"Where did they go?"
I didn't want to leave you that way
I'd like to think you bred
More down for your canine line
To bring love, comfort and joy
Pass on the hope
Relieve the sorrow.
Charlene Navoa Lee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:37:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Creature of the Night”

Creature of the night
Watches from such height
Sitting upon a branch in a tree

So old and so wise
Falls at sunrise
But tell me, Owl, what can you see?

Stirrings of the life
Seasons causing animals strife
Watching as they work and play

Turn your head around
Tell me, what’s that sound?
Your feathers ruffle, please don’t fly away

© A.J. Schuch 4/4/09
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:39:20 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Bear Named Bear

Such a long time ago I suffered a jolt
It caught me off guard like a lightning bolt
To many it seemed such a silly event
Let me explain how the real story went

I had just turned ten, still carefree and such
Problems and fears didn’t bother me much
A strange thing happened the year I turned ten
It seemed a giant problem way back then

No brothers or sisters, I just had a bear
If something was wrong he’d always be there
He lay so near me each night when I’d sleep
Whisp’ring those secrets he’d be sure to keep

Though one summer day words struck me so hard
A young girl walked past in front of our yard
And Mom said, “She’s crazy, that girl over there
She’s talking out loud to her Teddy Bear!

Those simple thoughtless words struck me that day
I turned t’ward the house and walked slowly away
Walking to my room I picked up my bear
I said, “I’m sorry but you can‘t sleep there.”

I worried and fretted for three or four days
And looked up at God to make me okay
My mom had no clue of what she had done
She’d shattered the safety of her only son

I cried and worried, and then cried some more
At three in the morning I paced the floor
That’s no way to act if you’re only ten
But each lonely night I’d do it again

On the fifth cay I cracked and started to cry
My mother and dad now asked me, “Why?”
I cried as I told them just what she’d said
How could I ever fix my broken head?

They calmed and soothed me as best as they could
Soon they had managed to make me feel good
But “Bear” now lived on my dresser instead
Of snuggling with me in my lonely bed
Ray Alkofer
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:40:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chicken

We played it
on the monkey bars
hanging, arms straining,
grappling with our legs
until the loser
hit the sand

I was good,
but once when I fell
I found an arrowhead
in the sand.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:41:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
An owl perches high on his staff
staring at the joggers and watching them pass
The “thump” “thump” of the sneakers rushing by
fill the morning air
But, the hooter doesn’t care ‘cause he spots
a tiny mouse in the field
He swoops down to grabs his next meal
Daniel McGill
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:44:19 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Note: I'm on the West Coast so please count me with plenty of time to get it in for today.

Donald R. Anderson
Blue-bellied Lizard

Lizard, your breath
is not as bad as they say,
I'd much prefer it over a dog's breath,
but lizard,
you make such a fickle, fickle pet.
The way you run away,
and then you run away,
and when it's the next day,
that's when, again, you run away.
I've caught you before,
tried feeding you leaves, insects, fruit,
but nothing seemed appetizing to you,
in your clear plastic four walls,
and you looked out,
banging your head against the wall.
It made me feel sorry for you,
so now you're free again,
free to be who you are meant to be.
The king lizard of the vents under the house.
And I'll not be trying to catch you any more,
especially since that black widow came out
when I tried with a hose to wash you out.
But, alas, I wonder why
it is I still long to have you tame,
to play with, but life in some cases isn't a game.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:45:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Manatee

How sailors mistook you for a woman
is a mystery,
with your homely looks.
It’s strange
the things loneliness can make us see:
a beautiful, elusive woman,
fish-tailed and round-breasted
after months at sea;
a charming prince in a frog
when no man seems right.
Alone at sea with ourselves
or the wrong person
we make a myth, a fairy tale
to satisfy our longing,
even when the real thing,
though not pretty, is
all that we could ask for.

Lee Kottner lee_kottner AT NOSPAMmindspring dot com

Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:46:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cats

Cats
must think that
newspapers
are dangerous
to our health.
Why else would
they
fall upon the print
as we read with
our morning coffee?

They must also
fear for
the coffe-lover
in us.
Why else would
they
jostle our elbow
as we lift
our cup
to swallow?

Roast chicken
must be
bad for
us
as well...and salmon
and tuna...relly
awful.

Cat toys are
just fine.
We can play
with them
all day, as
long as we
are supervised.

Lucky us
that we
have such
fierce and loyal protectors.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:46:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Manx

The story says Noah
Cut off your tail.
Caught in the door,
Eager to set sail.

Or, the isolated island
Where breeding takes place
In generation after generation
Rounded out your race.

Both ways are equal,
Let’s not be grumpy.
Anyway you get there
I love my rumpy.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:46:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Cheetah”

“He’s a cheetah,” she says.
He chases his prey for fun
Out races them,
Then makes them pay

He’s lean and mean
And ready for anything
And as wild as he needs to be

“Yeah he’s a cheetah,” she says.
A cheetah, a cheater
A breed all his own
He makes it his business
To leave them alone

He can’t be trapped by normal means
He’s way too fast for that
He’ll trick you in to thinking you can keep up
Then he’ll take off and leave you
With a mouth full of dust

“Don’t let him fool you,” she says,
As she appraises her daughter’s date
That boy’s a cheetah,
Leave him before it’s too late.
Kimberly H.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:47:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Vultures




I’m sure there is a skeleton flying above
Us. Some decaying foul, far from the form
Of a dove. Has death passed over our home,
In its steady circular route? Is the end soon to be?
Soon we also will be carried away. Carried
fragment by fragment, piece by piece
Like they say. I am sure I smell death lurking
Near. It creeps in through any crack or crevice in
The walls, windows, or doors. It submerges
Itself in our nostrils, it pulls at our throats
Making us gag, it places fear in our hearts.
“What could that possibly be?” We exclaim.
“That terrible scent!”
Then we hear their haunting cry. “Ha, Ha.”
A laugh, yet solemn. The scuff of their
Wings sends chills up our dog’s spines. Instinct
Presses upon our pets to bark those freakish
Goose bumps from their backs, others run and hide
In the nearest place that they can find. The horrid,
Mutilated sight throws our hearts into a flurry.
Beating, beating, beating, also trying to escape.
Instinct is attempting to take charge in us also,
But we hold fast. Our toes gripping the ground
Beneath. Some of the hooded creatures fall to
The ground ripping at the poor victim. Others fly
Upward with raunchy tissue between their beaks.
Our instinct gives in finally and we run, holding
our mouths and noses, to the nearest spot to hide.
“Ha, Ha,” They laugh.


Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:47:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tiger

little brother
nicknamed
costumed
not fierce but
fiercely loved
lost man-cub
set loose in jungle
stalked, mistaken
for something else
consumed by predators
out of reach
of the sister who
could not change
her spots
Maria D. Laso
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:49:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lioness awaits
Hidden in the tall grasses
Africa untamed

The prey senses her
The gazelles gracefully trek
Through the savannah

Searing heat rises
Awareness, fear, famine, feast
The chase begins now
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:50:15 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Monti”

They told me at the pound,
You don’t pick the animals,
They pick you
And so you choose me

My affection for you could never be
As enormous as the love you had for me
Your silk black fur and orange eyes
A Halloween likeness in mid summer

From then on you became my closest friend
A confidant unwilling to see my ugly side
A love so pure I felt undeserving of
As your world revolve around my time
Stopping shortly for the food can opened

You left me in the night
The worst night I can ever recall
Unable to save you or bring you back to life
I let you go from my present world
Holding onto hope that you will meet me
When I get to the other side
caroline Flatley
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:50:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mallard

A figure dips down into
the polluted Delaware River
searching for sustenance.
A green head illuminated
by passing speed boats
and nearby spotlights
that swoop into the night,
infiltrating the silence.
He is not distracted.
At a calm pace, he drifts,
dips back into the muck,
and shakes the water
off his feathered head.

From the water's edge
I hear his low quacking,
almost a sort of mumbling.
Perhaps, a frustrated grumble.
"No fish, no ladies. Nothing."

He continues to search,
nearing the Burlington Bristol Bridge,
with the hope of a stray piece of bread
thrown from a boat,
another wayward body on the water
or maybe,
a little bit better luck in Pennsylvania.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:51:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dog

Sometime friend and sometime foe
but "Man's best friend"? I don't think so.
He skulked around outside the cave
hoping that he might just have
a little food, a few small scraps,
unwanted by these caveman chaps
and if such scraps were not to be
I'm sure that, any which way, he,
to sate his hunger, for his health,
would eat the human beast himself.
I had some dogs, in number, eight.
They'd lounge beside the garden gate
waiting for the moment when
the door would creakingly open.
They'd crowd around and wag their tails
and whine in various minor scales
and any scraps I'd deign to drop
would start a fight that didn't stop
until the scraps had disappeared
and all the dogs were left dog-eared.
Of course, the biggest male assumed,
his alpha place and thus consumed
the larger part of any food
and beta was in sullen mood.
One night a typhoon, very strong,
with winds and heavy rains along,
swept alpha male into the pool
with branches leaves and twigs. The fool
could not get out and when the storm
was over, in the pool his form
was floating midst the other stuff.
Yes, life's unfair and death is rough.
I buried him in shallow grave
and covered him with stones to save
the body from the other dogs
who'd doubtless eat him up like hogs.
Next day, returning from a trip,
to fill our cupboards, re-equip
ourselves with tools to cut up trees
knocked down by that cyclonic breeze
I met the beta, wagging tail,
declaring self as alpha male
and in his teeth, a leg he held.
No matter how I chased or yelled
he'd not give up that precious prize;
no giving in, no compromise.
And were it I, drowned in the pool,
I'm sure that, like some morbid ghoul,
the leg the dog held to so fast
would be my own, a grand repast.
And so I say that dogs pretend
to be, of man, the closest friend,
but when the push comes once to shove
'twixt man and dog there is no love.
John Wood
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:51:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ishmael

Don't even tell me the hippies have died;
like most other things, I know you have lied
about this one. The gorilla still has things to say
and there are still many who are willing to hear
as they reconsider this life we are living.
Don't think it's just hope; there's more Ishmael gives me.

Knowledge.
I know you don't know why your bible falls open
or why it falls closed when you need it to save you
but Adam and Eve as a tale of destruction --
shit, I'm inspired! Ishmael told me to redo all my life plans
and I know you might be too busy
with Twilight and Twitter to read anything thoughtful

but after the chaos comes a return to order
and after the wandering we slide into home.

Ishmael, in glass, told me twenty years ago
but the words didn't stop.
Hair opened on Broadway this week
and you may not even have stopped to think
about it while you fed your kids anti-depressants
instead of free love
but Ishmael stopped.


Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:51:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Our Cocker Summer ( Sumy)


Summer is a smart two year old girl,
A mid sized wonderment to the world,
She came in our family’s life when we needed her most,
A feisty little thing, full of charisma and charm, she boast,
I will help erase sadness and pain,
With laughter and joy in the place of disdain,
Heartache will not remain during the reign of Sumy,
Her nickname for Summer,
An English Cocker,
Beautiful, shiny black coat with a speck of whit on her chest,
Long floppy ears that can not escape getting wet, when drinking water,
Our dog daughter,
She is the best, she will lick all of your wounds better,
Leave socks a little wetter,
We watched the TODAY’S show the other day,
She discovered she won’t make the presidential list of pooches,
Awww, Smooches,
You’re not hypoallergenic, I tried to explain,
Not hypo what? She asked,
Well, not exactly in those words,
But the cock of her head to the right,
Led me to illustrate those words for her,
Are you sure?
Yes, I’m sure,
My; what will happen to friends like me she pondered,
She stood still, wagging her bobbed tail,
Awaiting my opinion,’
We still love you,
You will be around us a long time Sumy,
Your position is safe within our family,
She overheard me talk to friends and relatives about adoption from the pound and ASPCA,
Once more she cocks her head to the right as if to say,
I wonder how many other Cockers live this way,
She stands on my knee,
With one paw raised,
Looking at me,
That’s our Sumy.





Happy Birthday Zah Zah!
To A little darling who loves her Sumy.
4/4/2009




Racquel Charlemagne
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:52:26 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Huskies Fib

Big
Ten
Spartans
Final four
Detroit Michigan
Eighty Two to Seventy Three
Poor Uconn Huskies
Big Ten Rules
Spartans
Go
Green!



Marie Elena
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:53:32 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
SEA STAR

I was alive the day you found me
but you didn’t know or care,
you were just excited
when you saw me laying there.
You could add me to your collection!
What a prize I’d be!
So you reached into the ocean
and tried to tear me from the sea.

I held fast to the rock
that was, just then, my home.
You pulled and swore and were quite surprised
when I would not let go.
That should have been your first clue
that I was a living thing,
that there was so much more to me
so much more than what you’d seen.

Blinded by greed and lust
You would not let go.
I was not a star fish
but the star you desired for your show.
You pulled harder and harder, determined,
until you heard something crack.
So surprised were you
that you fell flat upon your back!
(I did try not to laugh).

Fate came in a rushing wave
That carried me away.
A single leg clinging to the rock
was all of me that remained.
I imagine that you left it there,
no longer such a prize.
And I, I am whole again,
and very much alive.
Anysia Derora
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:55:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My Sasha


Not too bright, they'd say,
Seeing only the doleful eyes
Or the curious way she'd cock her head,
As if she couldn't puzzle out even the simplest of words.

Not good for much, they'd add,
Looking at her rat-fur, her scrawny legs,
Trying to imagine her miniature fangs
Piercing anything but the thinnest of fabrics.

Good dog, they'd say,
Patting her on the head in that absent-minded fashion,
Smiling in an irritating, patronizing way,
The fake-grin of those who are oh so superior.

They never saw her.
Not the real dog,
Not my soul mate.

They never saw
How she'd nuzzle my hand when I played the piano
Begging me to stop torturing her with that noise.

They never knew
How she tricked my pet-sitters into longer walks
By giving them the "I'm too confused to pee" stare.

They wouldn't believe
She would walk up the stairs butt-first, refusing to turn her back
On my roommate's cold-fisted lover.

They couldn't imagine
That she and I heard that bump one night
And our eyes met, held, but we were both too scared to check.

They couldn't understand
How giddy I was when she devoured Happy Strawberry
Her favorite squeaky toy.

Or how warm and protected I felt
When she'd snuggle up in the crook of my knees at night
And rest her head on my leg.

They couldn't possibly comprehend
That I still miss my beloved dog, even now,
A husband and three kids later.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:58:27 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bumble Bee

Industry
is the usual metaphor,

as in "busy as,"
but I wonder about you,

your vague meander
over and over---around,

not in---
the wisteria,

its few soulful whites,
its corpulent purples.

Perhaps the slant of the sun
is wrong,

the air too humid,
some condition wrong.

Perhaps its you: you're sick
or broken, a failure,

the sole procrastinator
of your species.

Since we cannot speak
across our separate uselessness

I've decided to think you're just
unhurried,happily alone,

and as free as almost anything
else with wings.

Melissa Carl
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:01:04 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jackrabbit

Strong enough to survive
The heat and wind and cold
Living in a barren land
Where it is hard to grow old.

With long ears
The brunt of jokes and tall tales
Jack, the Rabbit
Survives where others fail!

Big brown eyes catch every move
Ears pick up every sound
Such a joy to watch these creatures
Jumping by leaps and bounds.
Nedrajean
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:01:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
a-dressed and going

lazy lizzard eyes,
unhurried
you pass a second glance

what concern
should make you run
and break your sleepy trance?

sleek, your emerald form
races to your rendezvous;
spring is life's new dance
Elaine Parny
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:02:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Trilobite

before time,
swimming in
chaos soup.
now, stone bone
a child finds
near a stream.



Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:04:00 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Blackbird

Why you say, he whispers,
and his eyes are lighter
than his flesh; his flesh
as smooth as his voice.

And he has the voice of God,
if God himself did sing
the sweet, sweet notes
of the underworld. Like a hand

on the low of the back. Tremble.
Susan Culver
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:05:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Hamlet Fish


We might say this fish is neither fish
nor fowl since every one of them
is both male and female and when
one meets another they take turns
playing each role in their sex — certainly
a game we have all imagined playing,
switching it up, just once, to know
what it’s like to be the other, though
I sometimes wonder if this fish
is named after our most famous
and favorite indecisive character,
his role play as the world’s most
ponderous cold fish so swimming
the one who loved him drowned.

Michael T. Young
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:05:41 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Trifle

at the bookstore
where I work
there is a dog
a dust bunny of a dog
named Trifle

with hunched owner
she sneaks in
under the lip
of our front of store counter
seeking treats

no treats today
her master
says she’s too fat
since he cannot feel her ribs
so she sits

she will not move
no dragging
or tugging works
until she gets her desserts
or a scratch
J.A. Jensen
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:08:29 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Birds
Alfred Hitchcock
Edgar Allen Poe
Robert Graves
artist of every age and form
have an obsession with birds
poets have it bad
herons appear in most journals
at least twice
their slender legs and
yellow eyes
patience and sudden
speed
crows are popular
not only with indigenous
peoples but everyone
finds symbolism in
their black sheen
bobbing head
taste for the dead
white gets equal time
with egrets and doves
peace and tranquility
a yearning for the horizon
do we like to imagine we
are birds knowing
their inner most thoughts
of fish berries and string
feel our bones drain
of marrow
our feet lift
as our arms blur
lifting past
that horizon
Sandra Evans
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:08:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
the bear

in the alternative universe
that is the Dodge Poetry Festival
we were driving on a New Jersey highway
looking for a hot lunch and hot coffee
that misty, foggy day in late September
then
that unexpected sight
lumbering up the hill
a small black bear
our talk of poetry and life
punctuated
by this incredible creature

our car slows, stops
we hold our breath
as he reaches the guardrail
our collective gasp of concern
reaches his ears somehow
and he changes course
turning back to the wet woods

we move on reluctantly
thankful for the gift
Kristin
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:09:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rabbit
My brother went fishing,
And caught a rabbit.
He named him Bogart
After Humphrey; though
We found out later,
The he was a she.
Bogart was black and white
Swift and soft, twitching nose
And gentle.
Bogart was patient.
The cat would bat her ears
Over and over;
Bogart sat stock still, contemplating the cat.
Until
Out of Nowhere
Bogart would attack
With front paws;
Scaring the cat away.
Bogart got drunk
One day on the fermented
Berries from the mulberry tree
Purple mouthed bliss.
Bogart loved to eat clover, tomatoes
Lettuce and cabbage.
Bogart was happy and kind;
An abandoned pet
Rescued from the woods
By my brother.

Kathryn Varuzza
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:09:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Honeybee

Where did you go, small honeybee?
Where is your secret hive?
You danced around all summer long
and made the flowers thrive.
Your efforts are industrious
and useful to us all;
and of your labors we have fruit
to harvest in the fall.
Will you return again in spring
to pollinate our fields?
Or will you disappear for good
and take with you our yields?
Each year the honey pot grows slim,
your numbers have diminished.
The hives are disappearing
long before the harvest's finished.
What of the sweetness for our tea?
What of the harvest table?
How long before the skep is clear,
the honeybee a fable?
F.L. Topliff
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:10:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Small Bird

She is a small bird
bone wings unfolding
from the ribcage body
and sugar on her tongue
opening the flesh
to the heavy earth
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:11:26 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Felines”

Eyes slit and smug smile
Purring, curled contentedly
The essence of cat
Kit Cooley
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:11:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Monster

What secrets do you keep
hidden deep below?
Do you know we named you
& told your story long ago?
Do you know you infiltrate
the dreams of who believe,
& even of those who disagree,
say you are a fantasy?

I‘m silent when people sneer
‘That monster doesn’t exist’,
they don’t deserve to see you
& I doubt they’d believe
their eyes if they ever did!
But I’m one of the lucky few,
who saw you rise above the gloam,
so I know for certainty that Nessie lives!
Caili Wilk
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:12:04 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Woodcock Antics

An avid
Birder
My friend
Dave
Came to the
Upper Peninsula
In May
From
New Mexico

With a
Life-list
Target

A common bird
In the East
American
Woodcock
Is not
Found in the
Arid
West

We set out for
Alder Creek
Where log landing
“Openings”
Just old enough
To brush-in
Create the
Perfect
Habitat

The male
Bird has an
Evening
Mating ritual
Flamboyant!
The female is
Seldom
Seen

The ritual is
Two-phased
For two, three, four
Minutes
The male rustles through
Leaves
At the edge of the
Clearing

Constantly
Repeating
His nasal
“Peent, peent, peent”

He then flies
Straight up
Peenting constantly
Higher and higher
And higher
Until the
Peenting is
Almost
Inaudible

Then a
Faint
Hollow
Whistling
Sound

Louder
Air against
Wings
The descent
As fast as
60 miles per hour
I’ve been
Told

Miraculously he
Lands
And repeats
The ritual
Over and
Over
The performance
Stops
Right at Dark

He peents a
Few more
Times

I always go
Back for
Encores
And
Never
Tire
Of
Woodcock
Antics
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:14:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Toro”

Vaya toro
Encuentre una muerte
brava
Dé su sangre
en un goteo
terciopelo rojo

Todo el tiempo
gira hacia atrás

Matt Marshall
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:17:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Flint


There’s only one animal.

Never mind how much I admire
almost lustfully other species.

The great eagles that used to coast
on the thermals outside our windows

when we lived near The Pinnacle
across from the Border Ranges.

Like dancers. Or like high divers
when they arrowed for their prey.

Sleek felines, big or domestic,
their shapes and the way they move.

Again, predators. Is it that I love
efficient, ruthless savagery?

Not so. I don’t love crocodiles.
(Sorry, Steve Irwin.) Cold brutes!

Nevertheless there is only
one animal. Not even the right kind.

Really I’m a cat person (obviously).
Not so mad on dogs. They’re nice enough….

Merely the only animal? Flint
is more: the only dog.

(A pang as I think of Dakota –
but he was mostly wolf.)

Flint who stood the height of my thigh.
Flint with the curly brown coat

and smooth forehead as if his hair was styled.
The slim front paws, the strong back legs.

Flint who was all kindness
despite his size and baying bark.

Flint who would have died for me.
Didn’t, but is dead.

There is no other.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:19:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
FOX IN THE HEDGE

She comes every night when the warm air
bakes against the house, and she snatches scraps
from the neighbor’s slop dish, her musk
edges the cat under the porch,
the dogs bark and squeak, bark and squeal.

In lamplight her fur ages nightly
and like a movie star she is silver,
she is orange. Her head cocked
with a dash of drama, her tail
sprung for surprise. The children name her

nightly, it is sport, the discovery of her trot
her mischief, her eyes.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:24:36 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Maggie

Sit!
Good, Maggie!
Go get the ball.
Here, Maggie.
Drop it!
Good, puppy!
No!
Maggie!
Uh-oh.
Night, night…
Michelle
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:25:42 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My Little Bitty Mutt

I didn't want a dog.
I'm not a "dog person".
I like cats.

The kids wanted her.
So I checked out Pet Finder.
There she was.

Took her awhile
To get used to our family.
But she did.

She loved me
From the start, the first day.
She was mine.

Slept with me
under the covers behind my legs.
against my back.

Depression set in.
couldn't get out of my bed.
except for her.

She was there.
she knew how low I was.
a quiet presence.

An old friend
in a new little fuzzy body.
She was there.

No words needed.
Just those caring brown eyes.
and a snuggle.

Didn't want her.
I'm not a dog person, you know.
But I needed her.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:26:40 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Bear In Me

The first bear dream that I recall,
a friend and I rowed far beyond
the rocky shore of a green lake;
we had in mind a swim to take.

To our surprise and our dismay,
a large black bear did swim our way.
We rowed and rowed to no avail,
the bear kept pace and then prevailed.

Fast-thinking, we stood end to end,
one in the bow, one in the stern,
one glance, then dove and swam away
at breakneck speeds the other way.

Twas I the bear did choose to chase
and gaining on me inch by inch,
fear climbed up on my straining limbs
and gaining, almost made me flinch.

But then the fear transformed into
a courage that I’d never known.
I turned and chopped that bear a blow
and wakened strong from head to toe.

I pondered dream’s significance
but then for years I did regress
and ran with fear from bear to bear;
at times its cubs were also there.

Through the woods,
around the house,
then in the door,
not one chance more.

But then came change surprisingly,
a staircase circled trunk of tree,
around and round the bear and me,
we seemed to race on endlessly.

‘til out of breath and laughing stopped,
and long discoursed on fears and me.
Then one day the aggressor, I,
chased that old bear far up a tree.

It stood there swaying at tree’s top,
grey grizzled fur, one arm in sling.
To that frail greenery did it cling
and fear looked out its eyes at me.

Now shocked was I to see and know
what fear had driven me to be.
CJ Lewis
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:27:34 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mark. vs. Steve

Strange how a wildcat finds it way
onto a university's welcome sign
and how a cardinal, glaring
and sharp-faced, flies
upon the breast of a game jersey.
Strange how the team calls itself
rams, bengals, or hawks,
and, often, faces another team,
like blue jays, falcons, or colts.
Even stranger, though:
I've never seen a jaguar, a bear,
or any animal for that matter,
don the name of men:
Mark or Steve.
Then again, animals don't play games.

Wes Ward
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:27:46 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

"Samson"

Black as night
but for a patch of white
across his broad
and bulging chest.

Heart of a warrior,
soul of a saint.
Vexed and vilified.
Misunderstood.

Bark worse than bite
(he never bit), though
nowhere as painful
as his memory now.

Playmate, protector,
family, friend.
Pit Bull by birth.
Samson by name.
Kimberly T. Thompson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:27:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The female flat-back turtle

The female flat-back turtle lays her eggs
in dunes at night and turns back to the sea.
Birthed by the indifferent sun and drawn
by blood-tides, the hatchlings plod, drag, stumble
across dunes, blindly over rocks, through pools
that hide octopuses, (camouflaged tentacles
drag them under to drown) while in the sky
sharp-beaked seagulls wheel, (swooping from the sun
to pick them up, dash them against rocks.)

The female flat-back turtle swims far out
in green ocean, passing by hatchlings
who may be her own. Mother of forty
thousand eggs she swims calmly,
knowing there will always be turtles.

I have only three children
and I fear the tentacles,
the sharp beaks, the rocks.
Sometimes I would like a shell.
Jenny Doughty
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:27:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Oxen

Our only Anglo-Saxon plural,
No foxen watching the furrowed field,
No boxen holding unburied yield,
Unless our modern glyphs go feral.

We curved the N in all but this,
The last refusal to futurize.
We used to plow by teamsters and yoke.
We only speak because we can choke.

The fox slips from the thinning hedge,
A darting flame across a bridge.
The oxen low, align with north
Just like a thousand years before.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:29:40 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Maggie

There is silence now
where there used to be life,
a gulf has been opened,
an impassable chasm,
where we watch, and walk
in amiable discomfort.

There should be birds singing,
I miss their melodies,
but the palpable substance of
sorrow lingers in this air,
and no creature would dare
disturb your slumber.

The clouds hang low
and the rivers flow
and all is as it may be
but no matter the cause
there’s a distinct lack of paws
walking in this field beside me.

We lay you to rest
and we do our best to move
on, but the ground has taken
a sacred hue, and we cannot
bring ourselves to walk in these
fields with only the memories
of a time and a love we have lost.
Alan Deeth
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:30:07 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Firefly

you are beautiful

you glow from the inside
and my insides tremble with the beauty
of you and your siblings,
fluttering on a hot, philadelphia evening
back when i was small
and things seemed uncomplicated

after I catch you, hold you in a jar
you are the embodiment
of all that is selfish in me
of all that is small and miserly
and willing to take what i want
without regard

and you are beautiful
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:34:27 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Baby Tree Frog

Rake, trowel, and spade
Fall in violent clatter
Over the neglected grass
And my big boots stomp
And something pops up
A tiny pink teardrop of life
Flea-jumping free of my grasp,

All his world was
Beneath my notice

Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:36:21 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
BEAR
for Nathan

More than nine
red cloudberries
picked with honey-paws,
I prize you, Bear.

Born of the starry spoon,
keeper of the ancient sea,
your towering shape swabbed
on granite cliffs.

From an apple tree
you fell into my basket, Bear,
and never has such warm woolen awkwardness
swathed such an iron heart.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:37:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Animal

Red scraggly fur
Big bulgy eyes
Black bushy eyebrows

Red bulbous nose
Large mouth
Seven shingly teeth

Frequently shouting
Uncontrollable, wild
Always chained

Long lanky body
Stick thin arms
Electric Mayhem Band’s Drummer

Just my type
Julieann S Powell
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:37:23 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Deborah the Dog

Fawn body
Snow chest
White socks
Topaz eyes
Heart of Gold
Love for all
Lived only inside
Unsure of being a dog

Rarely barks an oddity to some
Burst of energy when family comes

The body quivers, the tail wags
Flip to back and do a break dance

Home alone and anxiety kicks in
Got to do something, bite something, chew something
Where shall I begin

The bone is gone, the food is gross
Must find a possession special to the owner of course

So on to the hunt, to search, seek and find
Found the treasure, totally destroyed it and left little behind

Owner returns and I shirk away in shame
I won’t come and don’t go when they call my name

Over to my bed I lay with my faced turned away
Only to look out the side of my eye, hoping they don’t see me I pray

For what could you expect from me you see
As I was brought into a home full of life buzzing like a bee

So home alone I hate with a passion
Hoping that one day my master would stop the madness

Take me with you wherever you go
No, no, no don’t close that door

Get me a friend, not just the twins
But a companion of my own who can always stay at home

A puppy, a kin, some type that can fit in
A pal that likes to run, play chase, tussle about and even howl

Oh someday I pray that I’ll eventually have my way
Not only to be left at home but to have a friend of my own
Tara Hooper
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:37:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pushme-Pullyou

Oh great beast
Until I saw you myself
I never thought you real
You walk one way and then the other
In a steady argument
Left head bobs, then right head
No tail to swish flies
One nose, one set of hooves
point the wrong way
Ears radar backward
to discover obstacles
Never trust yourself to go
faster than a slow trot
No wonder you droop
like Eeyore

Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:38:34 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Zebra

Do you wonder how
zebras view the world?
Strictly black and white
like its clothes insist?
Or is the mind as free
as a dreadlocked hippy?
Social they are
wearing that Mohawk
to the sassy grasslands party
on Friday night.
Humans try to imitate,
donning threads inspired
by the stripes.
Pink and black.
Black and lilac.
I bet you didn’t know
these undomesticated
zoo kings were such
trend-setters.
wild by nature,
cool by color.
Erinne Magee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:38:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Patch


Tri-color master hunter
presents living rat,
pays tribute to her owner.


new dog arrives
with house guest.
owner seems to think it ok.


run! hunker down.
watch from afar.
do not respond to call or treat.


when the coast is clear
Patch cat announces
here I am
Joan Bissell
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:39:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Slug

I'm the fastest in my family
but that's not saying much
I'm the one who leaves a trail
on everything I touch

You hate to see me in the flowers
You hate to see me in the grass
You spray me with chemicals
that knock me on my . . .
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:40:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pushme-Pullyou

Oh great beast
Until I saw you myself
I never thought you real
You walk one way and then the other
In a steady argument
Left head bobs, then right head
No tail to swish flies
One nose, one set of hooves
point the wrong way
Ears radar backward
to discover obstacles
Never trust yourself to go
faster than a slow trot
No wonder you droop
like Eeyore

Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:40:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterfly
The beat of a wing against a cloudless sky
You rest easy on lilies, violets and daisies
They whisper love songs, you come closer still
A pas de deux in the wilderness
Springtime is finally here
Shauntice Rodriguez
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:42:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lion of Judah

Lion of Judah
Great is your name
Representing
King of the Ages
Larger than us all

And you
Really
Just a tabby cat
Named Judah
Yellow furred
Mimic of larger beast

To me
A representation
Of Biblical proportions
To others
A simple housecat
Yet you remind me
Every day
Of the real
Lion of Judah
Kimberly Brock
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:44:47 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Wapiti
by Gregory Gusse

Wapiti we revere your spiritual force
From tree line to grasses below the pinon
Grandfathers heard your bugle and saw your dance
bringing forth new generations of the People
Majestic beyond all other spirits
potent and fleet

Wapiti we revere your spiritual force
Adorn the teepee and lodge with your image
name the finest children in your likeness
Call to you in our dreams day and night
fill our souls with your powers
far seeing and true

Wapiti we revere your spiritual force
at one in the night sky and moonlight
Silently speaking with all other spirits
breath incense of sage and cedar
Empower me in the smoke and bath
with wisdom wind

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:45:05 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Animalia, Chordata, Mammalia, Proboscidea

Once you were millions
roaming every continent
except Australia and Antarctica
favoring a side: right or left tusked
replacing teeth like a conveyor belt
the new shoving the old forward
creating sunscreen with mud wallow masks
tiptoeing on a cushion that swells under pressure
or shrinks as you lift the foot
freeing you from any sticky situation
You walk or run
Sailwide ears wing you
flap and cool your blood
Efficient in herbivorous inefficiency
16 hours a day you work to feed your mass
ripping leaves, chewing grass
your undigested spent fuels others
clears space for new growth
your coveted tusks debark trees
dig for salt, roots, water, providing for more
Your nose lip arm hears as well as caresses,
breathes as well as showers,
100,000 muscles for your snorkel hose hand
carry water to your mouth, lift logs
You are small grey mountains with a bigger brain
and much to say through subsonic rumbling
infrasound traveling through the ground
further than that dazzling
trumpet through the air
things humans cannot hear
Mothers daughter sisters aunts
cousins all for all and many to care
for babies, long carried
within, welcomed upon arrival,
long protected , long taught
peace, play, light, love, family
our appetite for your tooth tools has
your elders dying too soon
leaving fewer teachers
for your young

Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:45:23 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Clownfish

Brightly colored fish
nestled safe in stinging arms
mutual support
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:46:15 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gloves

Your sleek blonde hairs
are still threaded into my gloves
like stiff porcupine quills.
And I still find your curly undercoat
all over my wool jacket and every
dark sweater that I own.
I can still feel my boots sensitively
stepping across the yard
to where you could have been sleeping.
I still see my gloves on your fur, which shines
white from the freshly hung Christmas lights
and I whisper, “My baby…”
I still hear my brother howling inside,
Mom’s throaty sobs, and the rustling
of Dad dragging up a tarp and blanket.
I look at my gloves, not you,
and I realize what all of this means.
Sarah Strickler
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:46:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterflies

The most pretty of them all...
In a fascinated world they must be
with rainbows everywhere over their wings.
For us, they are a clear symbol of hope
flying softly from their darknes to the rose.
They are like honey, sweet
a source of nutrients for the hungry soul.

An inoffensive being
in a world full of pity and sadness.
To our days they bring some light and brightness
making even our soul to have feelings.
They are in my heart and, I am existing
with profound happiness
being able to love their colorific living.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:47:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lucky Day Dog

By Leslie Odell


I cannot say what life was like for her before we met.
I only know that she had trouble.
The sort that multiplies each day without correction.
That breeds like mold in dark and damp conditions
Mounting one trouble on another until the next blooms up
Until each feeds on the other and there seems no end to it
And no way out, no way to slow the course.

It happens like that sometimes with all of us.
The trouble comes in and brews and grows
Takes on a life of its own
Cannot be repaired
Without the help
Of someone willing to hear the call.

My dog, Lucky, is grateful to be alive.
She was delivered from the doors of the gas chamber
In the days when the chamber ruled the shelters.
A deliberate count of numbers that required
Daily executions to keep the budgets right.

She was only moments away
From the flick of the switch.
Safely inside her tank of trouble
In recline with closed eyes
On a stained cotton pad.

She knew her moments were looking bleak
When she was first leashed in her cell
And led down the long hall.
She became certain
That doom was looming all around her
When she could smell death
On the hands of her handler
On the faded floor
In the sweaty room that held her cardboard coffin
In the jars of toxin that lined the room
In the smells of countless that passed before her.

She didn't fight it, though.
She stepped quietly forward
Hesitating only a little with each tapping step
Just slipping a bit on the spotted linoleum.
She’s a good dog, so she would do as she was told.
Walking forward into the chamber
Would be her last great obedience.

But who would guess that stepping well into
That black and rusty vestibule
On a hot sunny Sunday in June
Would give her the answer that she was seeking?
Who could guess that she could pull in
Any answer
In that back room
Where she seemed so stuck
With no way out?

But with just one throw
Out into the universe
In one carefully crafted
Silent call,
She brought me in.

You know, I wasn't looking for an animal
Didn't care to own one
Didn’t have one plan to connect to beast of any sort.
I was on my way to somewhere else, in fact.
But I turned into the shelter
That I just happened to pass
Like a drone soldier
Reporting for duty at the desk with a question about
Those that might be short for the world.

We’re laying one down now
Came the unexpected response.
And I was led to the back room
To the chamber of death
Where the handler was irritated
To be asked to hold a moment
The door safely slammed shut
Moments away from the sweet choke.

And when the knobs and dials had been unwound
And the leaded door had been swung open
In those slate black eyes
I could see
An entire world
Of heartbreak.
For me,
It was like:
How on earth
Did I find my way
To this very spot
At this very moment
To land on this shameful sight?
And for her,
It was like:
I’m having a really bad day and I could use some help.

So they drew her out
And I picked her up
And I could swear that she started to cry.

God knows that I need someone to help me from time to time
And everyone does
With no exception to that rule
And I guess it was just my day to be the one
To grant someone’s dying wish
To keep on living.

Now
Seventeen years later
Lucky is still lucky
To be alive
And I’m so lucky
To have cracked the code
To a universe
Filled
With silent calls
For help.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:48:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
ANIMAL: ODE TO A BIG, FAT KITTY
I am by no means a “Cat Person”
My view on keeping animals in the city
Does not jibe with how I feel
About the nature of animals

When I first met her she was so fat
She looked like an ottoman with feet
My first words to her were:
“Dang, that’s a big, fat kitty”

She had a terrible disposition towards me at first
We joked that she did not like me
We also joked that if she could talk
She would have the throaty croak
Of a cigarette-y woman named Vi

Later, we decided
Her personality was more
An Al Swearengen type
It fit

As the years wore on
We discovered sweetness underneath

She looked out for our two girls
Waiting at the door for them
As they returned from school or trips

Hopping onto their beds in the dark
When they were scared
Cuddling with them when they were sad
She was protective of them

In 2006 or so when she was
Diagnosed with stomach cancer and
Given a few weeks to live
Those vets never knew how stubborn she could be

Our landlord graciously allowed us
More cats in light of the news
So here came new kitties
The New Guard was not very welcome by the Old

As young children are wont to do
Their focus of attention was on the young and cute
Not the tried and true
Suddenly, she became “our cat”
Bonnie’s and mine

She snuggled with us
As she still did with our girls
She hunted socks and mittens for us nightly
Dragging them into our room to share
She would join us on the couch
For movies, Deadwood, and The Daily Show

She then kept the Young Guard in line
Even mothering the smallest
She never had kittens of her own
When ever we left the house
We would call out to her that she was in charge
It was comforting.

Later on her Girls came back around
She became our house mascot
Attention, adoration, responsibility;
Heavy lies the crown for our big, fat kitty.

Then, the dog arrived.

Our ever-gracious landlord permitted us a dog
So, once again, she made adjustments
Bonnie and I imagined if should could talk
In her best Swearnegen would say to us
“Kitties pooping, girls need cheering, and now a dog?
I have to deal with that!”

But her sweetness shone through once more
She became protective of the young kitties
She once railed against
As the dog jostled in her pen
There was our big, fat kitty standing sentinel
Keeping an eye on the pup as her kitties ate
Or moved past to go upstairs
She also kept the youngsters from bothering the pup
Agitating her

Then, when it seemed as if the world
Had righted itself
And as it must to all cats
Death came for our big, fat kitty

-o-

Bonnie found her that Monday morning in a seizure
And rushed her to the vets, where she passed
The stomach cancer that had threatened
Her life, finally took it

The vets were surprised at her longevity
Having diagnosed her over two years ago
Our Girls were able to say goodbye
And give our big, fat kitty one final pet

-o-

She was found in the streets
From an abusive home over fourteen years ago
She endured many moves
Many younger cats
Many other pets
She was in the girls’ lives
Their entire time from their arrivals from China
She watched our house, kept things in line
Prowled for socks and mittens nightly
She watched over our two girls
As a second mother, almost.

Not bad for a Big, Fat Kitty.

Splendid behavior.

Her name was Chelsea.


Ernest M. Whiteman III
Ernest M. Whiteman III
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:49:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Rawr"

Is it part of a word you tell me
as we fall asleep?
I think you meant to say
Prayer
or
Parsnips
but I am not entirely sure.

Maybe you are referring
to an arsenal in the secret place we should
meet when the world falls apart
(since we read about the economy again
today in the NYT at the coffeehouse around
the corner).
Our friend Michael insists
we will have to fight over food
like tigers over antelopes
like wild beasts.

Perhaps you express
your concerns about our car,
in need of its 90,000 mile check-up.
"How will we pay for this
what with the cat surgery
my job catastrophe
the rising cost of horse feed?"
I worry, too, about this
before sleep.

Then you reach for me
bite into my shoulder
until I bleed.
"Oh, I see," I say,
"you need me. You need me."
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:50:17 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Hog

Would a hog be a hog
if he didn't hog? What makes
me me, what makes him him?
If you take him to England,
maybe add a G, is he really a sheep?
What if he goes hog wild not being a hog?
Can a whole hog live high on the hog?
Take away the essence, the definition,
aren't you naked? How can I be me
if I lose half of me? How can I be fat
if I'm not?

Barbara Rollins
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:51:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
BEAGLE

Thief by instinct and design.
No one's food was safe.
Pizza on a plate, bananas
on a baby's tray, a crust
between fingertips moving
toward her owner's lips.
Three-fourths of a birthday cake
while the family played outside.
A sack of Halloween candy,
wrappers and all.

Sometimes charm was her first tack,
under the table, chin on a knee.
Lift the tablecloth and see
brown, beseeching eyes
almost batting lashes.
When that failed, all was fair.
She leaped like a dolphin,
black, brown, and white blur,
making off with some savory
or sweet before the victim
realized she'd come and gone.

And the garbage! She undid
every trashcan lid
with a safe cracker's skill.
Leftover or rotten, she didn't care
if it was even edible (bloody
beef waxed paper, taco wrappers,
used napkins). First
and foremost: food,
any flavor or form,
although twice as delicious
for having been stolen.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:52:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fuzzy

I miss you so much.
I had to give you away before we moved.
They said we couldn't have cats.
I hated to do it...you meowed so loudly in her car.
It hurt me so badly to hear you crying.
I wanted to grab you out of there and run away.
I wanted to tell them-
"I'm not moving, I'm keeping her".
I hated it! I didn't want to leave you.
I wanted to take you with me,
my tears dripping on your fur
and hold you so tight.
I can still hear you crying.
It's been over 6 years and I wonder how you are,
where you are and if you are ok.
I love you Fuzzy.
Penny
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:52:50 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dove

gentle?
is that why God chose you
to fly through heaven’s door,
descend and settle on His Son
or was it
sadness?
you a mourning dove
with plaintive call, a ghostly
harbinger, holy foreshadower
or was it
sacrifice?
were you a turtledove,
temporal atonement
for the world’s sin
or was it
wings?
and did you fly,
bearing good news
of prophecy, baptism of joy,
eternal sacrifice
fulfilled

Sharon Mooney
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:52:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Archaeopteryx:

feathered thing,
bone bridge,
map fragment.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:55:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sea Otters

Logs drift
in the kelp beds
in the Monterey Bay…
postcards of sea otters make us
wonder.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:56:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Tyler: Toddler or Puppy?

He likes sticks
And giving sloppy licks

He likes to eat rocks
And chew on socks

He pees where he wants
And does dangerous stunts

He obeys no rule
And tends to drool

He needs constant attention
Watching birds is an obsession

He nips at fingers and toes
And runs off with needed cloths

You can try and try but he just wont' sit
But if he had a tail he'd wag it
Tom Smith
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:56:45 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chicken

I have your cell number
hidden away in one of
your e-mails

I haven't called you

I don't know if I will

I couldn't handle you
rejecting me

Not you
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:57:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kip and Emily Jane: A Love Story

Failed herding dog and Florida Welcome Center rescue,
you love each other like no one else I know. You even have
your love-at-first-sight-story, when Emily and I were
ambling down a gravel reservation road, and a tri-colored fuzzy pup
started to follow us home. When I brought him to the farmhouse door,
his owner offered him for keeps. Your daily routine since then—
Emily out for the morning, waits next to the kennel for Kip to be set free—
then a mad rush around the yard. Boxing, spinning, growling.
Your vicious play has scared those who don’t know you, but afterwards
you calm each other with kisses, clean each other’s ears, and cry when
you’re apart. Except, at the boarding kennel, you have to be kept separate.
I didn’t believe it, thought it was a fluke, until I witnessed it myself.
Kip, frightened by a larger dog, panicked, and grabbed Emily by the cheek,
like he didn’t know who he was biting and just lashed out. Still, I think,
this is like any lover’s quarrel. A hard day at work, a string of misfortunes,
and we are there, tearing at each other—the one we had to follow home
at first sight, the same one we know will come back, even as we snap
our teeth.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:59:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I wrote two for this prompt:

SERPENT

which carver in stone
which scrawler on scrolls
did you first insult

whose intrusive ankle did you strike
to be made the devil
or tempter who'd be made
Lucifer when light & pan pipes
needed to be feared?

I understand his fear of breasts
of figs I bring & know

come, Splendida, yellow & black
drape yourself around my shoulders
——we'll face the world nude




WORMS

you teem my darkest soil
with everything radicles need
to begin (but rain

you're deeper red
than I would be (or blood
uncovered before dusk

& if I die a legal death
I won't be allowed
to help you feed the laurels

no, I must be preserved
in costly treated oak
——or burned
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:02:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bunnies

There are real bunnies
stuffed bunnies
chocolate bunnies
marshmellow bunnies
bunny salads
bunny cakes
and bunny cookies.
There are dust bunnies
big bunnies and little bunnies.
black and brown bunnies
white and tan bunnies
and Easter Bunnies
ceramic bunnies
brass bunnies
hand painted bunnies
bunny slippers
bunny ears
all kinds of bunnies
but the one I would not want to be
is the Dumb bunny!
Judy Stewart
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:04:10 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)





i try to explain that i am a sea gull








a milkweed boat stretches long in a palm
whistles escape between teeth

your eyes smooth and milky sea glass
your beard thick with ocean grass-



i am a gull
i explain


but you call me sand
and finger wet hearts on my flesh






























m

Mary Virgin Kerkes
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:05:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cyrano and Roxanne, Brother and Sister Cats

Romantic names for certain
Dashing figures you cut
fencing with one another by way of claw
pouncing from around the corner
of the hall
in a gallant attack
one sleek long and black
one with Elizabethan neck-ruff of white fur
one large with golden buff markings
one small with white socks
one silky boy rubbing ankle
rolling over for a rub
one fluffy girl jumping lap
purring like cricket, dove, wringer washer
both look innocent
after shelf's been upset
lamp's been broken
antique lid to the cheese preserver
smashed beyond glue's help.
Two cute
but vandalous cats.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:06:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sea Turtles

Baby sea turtles head
for the breaking waves at
sundown. Blue water
turns gray as clouds and
darkness move into the sky.
The end of there first day
brings about big adventures.
I only hope they get to
See their first sunrise.
Xochitl-Julisa
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:07:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Insects

I would run to Georg at his easel with the
latest incredible creature perched on my
finger or cradled in my palm. A walking
stick 15 inches long, a giant red velvet ant
Spotted with black, frantic green triangles
careening on smooth surfaces. I dubbed
them Mars cars. Two-foot tall wasp
hives facing the guest room window.
We'd creep in with a flashlight,
tap the glass, laughing to see the
soldier wasps rush to man the gates.
On mountain hikes I stopped, then
squatted to watch the dung beetles at
their Sisyphean task. Clouds of tiny
white butterflies hovered over summer
puddles. Leafcutter ants would strip
the rosebushes in one night, but who
could not admire those green
miles of mini-workers, each holding
umbrellas of rose leaf over their
heads? Most of these bug wonders
disappeared. They belong now to
my youth, to that new life in Mexico.



Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:08:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Zebra


You are not who they say you are.
You are Nubian with white stripes
and sport a Mohawk for a mane.
Once hunted to extinction,
your deafening bray
is a song for the fallen.
Some might even say you are God’s mistake.
But how ordinary the world would be
without you. They will tell you to stay in your herd,
stick close to your mother’s side. Remember,
you are all equine. Put another way,
you are a wild ass. Raise those ears.
Kick your legs. Gaze that impenetrable stare.
Your forefathers once grazed on African grasses.
Your place in this world is the one you claim.


Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:09:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lexi

Every time I enter he comes up to me and sniff sniff
Brown, and black hair, and black eyes,
Look up at me and ruff ruff the dog says
I know all he wants is to be rubbed on his tummy
Arnissa H.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:09:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
White fur fluffed against the cold
gray nose sniffing he scents the air
always aware he might need to
run and hide

Ears twitching he's listening
who is that stranger there

ah
it's only her
it must be dinner time

With a spring and a bounce
his Highness dines in state
no manners ever, he cannot
wait

He has no pride you know
this pink eyed bunny the
Prince of our back yard

~ ~

I really enjoyed Dove, by Sharon Mooney
The Skunk, by Tanja Cilia and Death on a living room carpet,
by Melanie Kerr
Eaton Bennett
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:11:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I wrote Thw Ewe's Complaint almost two weeks ago. When I shared it with a friend, she sent me the notice for the poem a day challenge. So I guess this poem is the reason I'm havin' all this fun. But since it wasn't written today and it will soon be published in a newspaper (along with a photo that I took that provoked it), I'm including two others that were written today.
Robert, thanks so much, I'm really havin fun with this.

The Ewe's Complaint

Spring has sprung the days are warm,
but I’m still wearing wool
It wouldn’t be so uncomfortable
If I weren’t so full.

Full of lambs
like Ninjas sparring in the dark.
Waiting for their arrival
is no walk in the park.

And all the little miracles
who are already here
spend their time incessantly
bleating in my ear.

And then there are the chickens
Who strut around and gloat

They have no lambs inside them,
No wool to make them hot.
They have wings, the lucky things
And freedom I have not.


#2

Joe Claude the Camel

Your birth my dearest camel boy
brought us sadness, brought us joy

Your life came with such a cost.
We got you, but your dear mom lost.

So now we with a bottle feed
our boy who’s growing like a weed.

We all worried at the first.
You were weak, we feared the worst.

We kept you warm, we helped you stand,
We scratched your ichy spots by hand.

But now you are strong, you jump and play.
You like to explore outside all day.

Your human friends come from far and wide,
For camel kisses, to scratch your hide.

#3

Williebob

I have become
the worst dog snob.

Not one compares
to Williebob




C. L. Banahan
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:14:15 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Bat and Owl"

i like to stand
in the openness
under a red purple sky
and throw rocks up
when bats fly by
it makes them stop
turn and dive

my power animal
the bat and the owl
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:18:29 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
hippo
hoopla

the hippos are having a party
some merriment in the mud.
their faces are all full of mischief
just grinning and chewing their cud.

no one says they hippo-poto-musn’t
and so they stay dirty all day
as they wallow and they wander
in their hip-hip-hooray way.

and when the day is over
they all take a little rest…
after making a wonderfully,
toppy to bottomy, flip-flopopotomy
hippo-poto-MESS!





























De Jackson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:18:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"SQUIRREL"

He has to time this just right,
to grab the bread with out fight.
He sizes up the distance from bread,duck and tree.
Oh what a time to scratch a flea.
Then going as fast as he can,
just as the bread was tossed from the hand.
He grabbed it before the duck was even aware.
Then… he was out of there.
Up the tree he scurried as fast as can be
And sat where the tree split into a V
He looked down at the creatures with web feet.
Then in tiny hands he lifts up the treat.


Shirley A. Auer
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:19:47 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Song of Heron

Against the graying sky,
a heron, all legs and beak,
surveys the beach.
At my approach, he spreads
his wings and wheels above the roof tops,
then glides into the lavender edge
of the sky and disappears,
like my dream of you. To summon you,
I close my eyes, and drop into a purple night,
deeper than the sky, darker than the sea.
You elude me, oh, bird of dusk,
and the shore stands empty from end to end.

I wind my way home,
turning inward the thought
of the heron watching over a deserted
beach out of reach of human eyes
and await the next encounter
on another twilight shore.


Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:20:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I Be A Seahorse

I ride the deep blue waves,
A horse without hooves
Bobbing in gentle octaves
Tail curled upon weedy staves
Upright and proud,
I’m a magical, mystical thing
I can change my coat to many colours,
But I sure as hell cannot sing!
I’m just a normal kind of fish
In a very special dress
Like all males, just wanting to impress
Do you know we have a baby pouch
Cos Daddy does it best?

Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:20:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fox

I’m not like M.
This is not the woods at dawn
I haven’t been finding meaning in the lift of a pine needle
Or waiting for the sunrise to inspire me
And I didn’t find the fox
Nestled in the curve of an old tire

No, I’m on a short cut through
A pretty nice neighborhood
Though kind of steep and winding
Lots of blind curves
And there it is
on some guy’s driveway
like it owns the place
For which of course there is an argument

I notice the rows of teats
So it’s a she and a mother
Maybe she’s more like M. than me:
Nosing around in foreign territory
while most of her kind sleep

Is she collecting images
Figuring out the story she will tell
To all those eager kits?
“A blue giant sweeps by like the wind
and a face peers out, a human face—don’t
worry it’s far enough away—
it looks startled
and I think
who’s out of place
depends on where you stand.
Remember that and only be frightened
when you have to.”

She and M. would make a great pair.
I drive on.



Laura Symons
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:24:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Possums

I have a family of possums
Living in my roof
I rarely see them though
They are rather aloof
But late at night
As I try to sleep in my bed
They kick up enough ruckus
To awaken the dead
They race around the rafters
With what sounds like army boots on their feet
And loudly squabble and fight
With other possums they meet
They throw gum nuts and seed pods
Down inside the wall
As I lay awake I hear the plonk, plonk
As they fall

After a restless night’s sleep
I awaken the next morn
To see they have left my beautiful garden
All tattered and torn
The strawberries are stripped
They have left me none
And all the peaches lay half eaten
To rot in the sun
The immature cucumbers
Have been munched through
An oh on my delicious mangos
Have been eaten up too
The carrot tops and rhubarb leaves
Have been nibbled away
I just can’t believe it
The garden was fine yesterday

So though they my look so cute
I tell you the truth
You don’t ever want to let possums
Reside in your roof!

© 2009. By S-J Etal
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:27:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I swore I wasn't going to be one more woman writing about her cat, but since cats are writers' companions, I guess it's okay.

"Cats" or "Pumpkin Head"

Pumpkin Head,
I sit on my bed
tired and frayed from the day.

Your orange fur
like a comforter
keeps the demons at bay.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:32:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Maddie

Somebody used to beat her,
abuse and mistreat her.
Her fear scratched my heart,
and inflamed my anger.
I never meant to love her,
I just wanted to protect her,
to guide her to the safest hearth,
never knowing her next home
was in my sheltering heart.
My reward for her rescue
is her soft meow,
her head in my hand,
her bravely exposed belly,
inviting my tender touch.
Chrissey Baley
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:34:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Cockroach Defense

Don’t hate me because
I’m beautiful.

Your police
use body armor
that is but a faint copy
of my birthright.
I have been
tempered in everything
designed to annihilate me.

We probably could triumph
over AIDS.

Don’t hate me
because I’ve dined
at the finest tables in Europe
and have stolen morsels
from Dust Bowl sharecroppers
and I have prospered
where your kind has perished.

We inherit the wisdom
to turn your refuse into manna,
a feat you’ve yet to accomplish.

And we thrive on waste.

We are efficiency personified.

And the only tool
in your arsenal
to defeat us
is an atavistic and angry
shoe crushing down upon us.

Don’t hate me
because I violate
the sanctity of your pantry.

Hate me because I defy
your greatest technology
with impunity.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:35:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cardinal

bright red cardinal perched
on a budding branch
your winter has melted away

your cousin the robin with his
bright red breast
announcing spring for days

through the open window
a mild breeze carries
your song to my eager ears

and I smile as I begin
the seasonal cleaning
while afternoon storm clouds clear

I won’t tell if
you don’t sir
the robin need not know

that you’re my favorite
winged friend
you can believe it’s so
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:35:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bird

She witnesses what awakens in the wet early morning street,
bard of steel and rubber, cement and weeds, teaching the
car alarm choruses the sonorous ability to burst random air with
break-in blues, drive-by ditties and carjacked concertos, singing
top forty under-the-manhole operas played by flask-fisted street sages
and homeless scholars of the native pigeonry (stunning in their scrapheap wisdom),
and beyond it all, a spectacular understudy of millions of crows and finches,
one for each human and two for the politicians,
delivering her urgent messages and hoping somewhere
people will hear and stop the world, but for now she (always alone)
flitters and flocks, calling out at the downtown forest, empty branches
harboring bright lines of mirrors in which she sees others like herself,
flickering heads whirring and darting, golden trumpets slung over shoulders
like automatic rifles, royal gargoyles crouching on a hundred skyscrapers.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:36:32 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

A small spot
Nibbling at my
Toe
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:38:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Great poems..funny,educational and enlightening :-) Shout out to all those who have lost pets we love. (Molli, Ash, Gracie, Sweet Ella, Lacie, Sadie, my own Samson, and the ones I missed.) Thanks Kathryn for taking in Buster :-) and Maria Elena you hit the nail on the head with "Dumbo", lol. Thanks for the great read!
Kimberly T. Thompson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:39:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lion

there is no pride any more
cubs tattered, manes worn unkempt
not like my day, back home
where we would strut and roar on the savannah

now there is a different pace
seventeen steps, turn, seventeen steps
watch the hairless apes gawk, turn again
it was different once, food undelivered

hunger made you sharp, focused
skills developed so that kills followed
now the favourite art of the young
is lounging, yawning, swatting flies with a flick
of a poor groomed tail

lion-to-go they should name us
take away experiences, smell the beasts
on either side of the fence
pad, pad, pad, but nothing of note
extinction our only path, kings still
but only of the bungle

©DP April 09
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:40:09 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cookie
The old man we brought home
You were for me, but you weren’t a “kid” dog
Right away you were mom’s dog

Eventually you tolerated my presence
And over the years you became just one of the family
As you watched other animals arrive and leave

I imagined the speech you gave them –
“I’ve seen ‘em come and I’ve seem ‘em go,
but I’m the king around here.”

You even witnessed my departure
With that practiced eye of yours
I doubt my leaving alarmed you

It was mom you loved and mom you pined for
Those long nights when she was away
Waiting right in the big front window

And she loved you always dearly
Never complaining of your presence at her feet
Mourning for you deeply the day you left this earth

Though you were bought for me
And brought home to be mine
It was mom you were truly meant for
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:41:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(animal)

***
the dog
***

Sundays

as if
another day
mattered

the dog and I
would walk
the known
road

and step off
for me to smoke
and throw a stick
and if the dog
returned
before the cigarette
was done
I’d put it
anyway
under my shoe.

on a Monday
much later

the dog and I
did our stepping
and the dog

either knew
it was Monday
or that
I had a gun

either way
he was old
like me
and sat down
and cried
which was something
I’d never seen-

a dog
sitting up straight
and sobbing.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:42:04 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
She moved around so gently
lovingly she purred
her fur was slightly missing
I was not disturbed

Her tail had never grown
she didn't seem to mind
if ever I needed comfort
she wasn't hard to find

She taught herself to fetch
with an old hair binder
when I slept she'd be there
always a reminder

That I am a warm lap
a pillow for a friend
I thought she'd always be there
up until the end

A child of mine started crawling
he would not leave her alone
I tried to get him to listen
She would just lay and moan

When she had to go away
sadness fell over me
I so very much loved her
as you may plainly see
Shannon Cameron
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:42:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bees

I once told a boy
I’d rather eat a jar of bees
than be without him

He left anyway

He didn’t know

I was stung by a bee once
I stepped on it with bare feet
and blew up like a parade balloon
there was an ambulance ride
a night spent in the hospital

I was thirteen
but all I remember
is the sting

I never stepped on a bee again
bare feet or not

I learned the consequences
of not respecting small things
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:43:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(the title of my poem is Athena)
Shannon Cameron
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:47:49 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tiger
The expanse of his jungle is
1313 square feet plus the basement
Stalking the lair
Killing the dreaded string
Sleeping out among the…
Well, shopping backs strewn on the floor
For the crackle when he lies on them
The closest thing to the leaves of the outdoors
In his habitat.
Striped fur and a repertoire of growls and howls
As he stalks the territory where the squirrel ran in on Sunday
Sweeps the perimeter and each box, corner and shadow
Of the entry point in the garage.
He turns away from the wild when we offer it
Content, no, proud and vigilant
Inside his walls
Pink wet nose pushed against the tuna
Only his gallops and growls whisper back
To his very own jungle.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:51:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mockingbird

Not much gets unsaid or unsung
This morning, at least,
As I sit over cooling coffee
While his repertoire warms up the sun.

If this gets him the love he needs,
Then let the natural ringtones
He's downloaded answer
The oldest call in the universe,
And make it new again.

Boyce Miller
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:54:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snowy Owl

Shadow of death, silent as breath,
White on white, soul of night
New moon dreamer, star sayer,
Omen caller, pattern closer,
Who hooter, I listen for my name.


Victoria Hendricks
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:55:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coyote

When fall kisses winter
you come to the mountain
to cast your circles of reunion
and speak to one another

of the desert, the sun, the shade
the roadrunner, the jack rabbit, and the quail
the watering holes
and the roads of man

where other coyotes lope
undeserving of your name
sometimes you cross paths out in the Sonora at night
scents of human sweat,
ripe with fear
mingle with the sage and creosote

an easily tracked trail
of clothing, empty water bottles,
broken hopes and
small bones.

speak to one another
of what you have seen
and what you know.
Amy McLane
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:55:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
OCYPODE

I stick my finger deep into the sun-warmed pit of sand
Its dark down there
I cannot see
Your face your eyes your claw
And yet the very thought of you
Propels my frantic search
For Ghostcrabs have the coolest homes…
…The ocean also helps

Rebekka White
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:56:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Midnight”

Four out of five
black cats
are named Midnight,
Or so it seems

but our Midnight
perfectly
matches her moniker.

She crept
into our yard
at the witching hour
on a moon-filled night
on Halloween.

Seven years later
she still creeps
and crawls
on ghost-like paws,

stealthy,
guarded,
mysterious,
shrouded

like her namesake.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:56:54 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Estranged Wife's Python

The estranged wife uses
the reticulated python as a fisherwoman
uses her net: yes, to gather thrashing
bodies, but more so to cast. At costume parties,
she wears the python as a boa
and doesn't mind the confusion caused.
After all, she's not the only woman
in snakeskin thanks to Prada.
Near the coat stand she waits
in ambush for the hawaiian-shirted one,
then tells him these pythons have been known
to colonize small islands, but that's not why
she likes them. No, from this mother
of hatchlings she hopes to learn
when disruption can be shaped into a mask
and how to swallow her whole suffocating weight
feet first when it is shaped like a man.
Lisa McCool-Grime
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:58:36 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
4//30
[the owl]

tattooed on my arm steadies little more
than its own suede outline. A downy stare,
covert feathers, yoked only to my pale shade
of moth-dust, my cracked-wheat scars.
I know it marks me and I do not care.

Okay, I care. So, call me the dirtiest
color of October. Call me a bright rustling
plume. This body is mine to preen.
Let me molt and bloom.



Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:59:54 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Alpaca running

I frightened you in my
Orange running shirt
was I a hunter or a
Tiger on the wrong
continent
The humming stopped as
you warned the herd
The draft horse didn’t
even flinch

- P.A. Beyer
P.A. Beyer
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:09:05 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
buffalo blue

homosexual behavior
is common among the buffalo,
[See: unashamed] does
that make it easier
to stream sewage
through their
graveyards,
(just in case)
better yet,
are you man
enough to
ride a great
american bison
knowing he’s
packing a long black
rifle, are you proud
enough to look
into the shining glass
below his brows,
(where you’ve let
bullet shells sleep)
can you look there
and see yourself,
is it not enough
that there is one of
you in each eye, that
you outnumber him
when it counts, or
must you think
first of your
sisters and
wives,
when you
squeeze
the tiny
prick
of your
trigger


Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:09:13 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Flesh Fly

One of hundreds, I raised you
From an egg, your mother, too
To bring you to this platform
Dissection microscope

All I want is your proboscis
And even then, the hairs upon it
And only the nerves within those,
And just their receptor molecules, at that.

But you will give your all
Have it taken from you.
I know this is immoral
In the ethical code of flies.

Even the activists from PETA
Outside the university building
Have warned me of the peril
Of species imperialism

But know, they would swat you
For setting so much
As one tarsus
On their veggie burgers

And I will pause a moment
Ask forgiveness of you
For using hundreds like you
To save one of my own kind
And avoid the expense
Of using guinea pigs.
Paris Elizabeth Sea
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:15:07 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

The Fowl Owl’s Scowl

I’m a wise old owl
so I can find my prey.
I grab it up; it howls,
No time to pray.
“Just get a trowel
and dig where I say.
You could say, ”Owl!“
You’ll have to pay.”
And then I’ll scowl,
“Exx-cuse me!, Okay?,
But, you know I’m fowl!
And that’s how it is today!

Carole

Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:15:41 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lions

Brenda misheard you in the office. “That’s my house,”
you said, seeing our number on the caller i.d.,
but Brenda heard, “That’s the lion house.” You laughed
when you told me, and I pretended to growl, then purr.

Born under Leo stars, with a pair of round-eared cubs
and all of us colored tawny, I can see how it fits.

I grew up on the Bronx Zoo and “Born Free.”
Aslan was a proud-maned savior.
Kimba kept me company,
at least in summer when there was no school.
We lined our plastic animals in front of the tv
to watch, each with their clan. The tigers were cousins.
One of the kangaroos was a widowed mom, like Shirley Partridge.
The lions lay down with the lambs.
The lions were good, pure good.
Even the Cowardly one found his way to courage.
We aspired to the lions. They were what we knew
of Africa, homeland of us all.

Elise Huneke Stone
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:22:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Great White

Jaws agape,
Monster of the deep,
White underbelly, dark coat,
Ebony brooding eyes,
And a fast sweep through blue-salted waters.

Always on the prowl,
Alive with a growl,
A silent approach, a hidden approach,
Your presence strikes fear,
Seals beware. And humans too.

A fin,
Akin to fear,
A jagged tear,
As though through a pear,
And a gaping wound,
Is all that's found.
Liam Mullen
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:22:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
parrot

i'm loud and eager
because
i have something

to say

just words

you've heard hundreds
of times
rearranged
in different ways

i sound my yawp
Samantha Karren
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:33:13 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Animal prompt - Lovebug (okay, it's a bug, not an animal - so sue me)

Erotic Snowfall

He searches out his soulmate
From the moment he takes flight.

Devoted and committed
He gives her his short life.

Erotically attached
End to end they will fly.

She carries him on with her
Tho post-mating he will die.

Two headed insects dancing;
His carcass slowing her down.

Her eggs ready for laying;
Their future safe on the ground.

Spring and summer will witness
The clouds of lovebugs befall,

Nature’s spectacular shows -
Deathdance, erotic snowfall.
Mel Braun
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:35:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cow

Nothing makes me feel more like a cow
Than being a mother.
From the moment of conception the grazing begins
Even before the physical resemblance emerges.
I feel like a cow because I eat like a cow.
Then I grow.
And grow.
And grow some more.
By the end my belly seems to grow out the sides
Like a cow.
I would probably sound like a cow while giving birth
If it weren’t for the epidural.
And when my calf is finally here I become the dairy cow.
My one purpose in life is to feed.
And so the grazing continues.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:35:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Puppies

No decent poem
ever focused
on fuzzy puppies,
leaking excitement
on the carpet or your toes,
gnawing the table legs
or chewtoy bones.
Movies may make
heroes of Benji, Lassie,
or Beethoven,
but a good poem
just can’t stomach
puppy-breath kisses.
Audell Shelburne
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:38:07 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Oops! removing an extraneous "the":

Flint

There’s only one animal.

Never mind how much I admire
almost lustfully other species.

The great eagles that used to coast
on thermals outside our windows

when we lived near The Pinnacle
across from the Border Ranges.

Like dancers. Or like high divers
when they arrowed for their prey.

Sleek felines, big or domestic,
their shapes and the way they move.

Again, predators. Is it that I love
efficient, ruthless savagery?

Not so. I don’t love crocodiles.
(Sorry, Steve Irwin.) Cold brutes!

Nevertheless there is only
one animal. Not even the right kind.

Really I’m a cat person (obviously).
Not so mad on dogs. They’re nice enough….

Merely the only animal? Flint
is more: the only dog.

(A pang as I think of Dakota –
but he was mostly wolf.)

Flint who stood the height of my thigh.
Flint with the curly brown coat

and smooth forehead as if his hair was styled.
The slim front paws, the strong back legs.

Flint who was all kindness
despite his size and baying bark.

Flint who would have died for me.
Didn’t, but is dead.

There is no other.



A shout to you Robert for that lovely metaphorical whale, to Peyton Ellis for C.A.T., to both of Jane Beal's especially the Unicorn, Jane Eamon's Snake, Pearl Pirie's goat, Dianne Borsenik's Birds, lacy j's owl, Kate Miller's Corvids, Bonnie House's Turtles, Tom Lewis's Birds, Juston Evans's Bees, and above all "Animals" by Heather Fowler. (So far. Who has time to read them all?)
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:44:13 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
XXX

No, I will not tell you my pet’s name; at least not
on an unsecured, unencrypted channel. It’s like
asking for my birthplace or my mother’s maiden
name or the name of the street I grew up on. Don’t
bother. Obviously, I can’t fucking remember!

Yes, what’s my password reminder? The
color? Yellow. No, orange. The number of paws?
Five. Just kidding. What do you think? Four,
naturally. Tail? Does it have a tail? Yeah, sure.
Why not. Let it have the tail. Long and bushy.

Sure, I’ll wait. It’s not like I just lost
a thousand dollars! Oh, wait! I did! And did the
thief know the name of my non-existent pet?
She must’ve! Or else how did she get past
the pet police? You tell me, how!

My god, you’re worse than airport security.

No? Try again? You people are un-fucking-
believable. Ask me my birth date. Ask me my
social security number. Ask me how much
money I’m supposed to have. Ask me
anything that’s related to—

Oh, wait! I got it! It’s a simple riddle. Don’t
you see? It’s in those questions, it’s already
there. Whew. For a minute there, I thought I
totally lost it! Ask me again, my pet’s name?
Fox! Ef, oh, ex. Fox! Now can I cancel my credit
card? Yes I want to report it stolen.
Olga Zilberbourg
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:45:40 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Here are just a few of my favorites from this evening. Thanks everyone for sharing. I'm learning from you all and appreciating the supportive atmosphere of this blog.

Lions by Elise Huneke Stone
Bees by Eli Reed
The Dog by Barton Smock
Chicken by Natalie Lorenzo
Mark Vs Steve by Wes Ward
African Brown Geese by SaraV
Teresa Sundmark
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:45:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Red Squirrel

trips from tree to stone
tips and tilts, loop-tail,
small paws grasp a nut
teeth nibble oval

surface ripples while a pool
by the inland loch
holds wild cold northern
water-lilies on its palm

silk shape scampers,
plants a future oak
in a pocket of soil
for the plump acorn

smooth then flight,
bush flicking in fright,
spirals bough, silent,
russet, nimble, slight

where loch shore waits,
wind stirs grasses,
no other movement,
firs feel less life.
sally evans
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:02:30 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chicks

We can not have a cat
Or you will not breathe
I like your deep breath sounds
at night you snort and snuffle
wrestling your day dreams into sleep

We can not have a dog
Or I will itch and sneeze
Rub my eyes from their sockets
I like my eyes first view of you
in the morning as you set down
my coffee and kiss my cheek to wake

A fish would never do
orange swimming blue circles
around its green plastic plant
metaphor for the monotony of days
where is the hope in a bowl

But five free feed store chicks
peep joy
peep peeping fluff and new feathers
sratch and peck
their faces lift to greet us as we peer over
the brooder box
I love to watch
my children chase the chicks
through the cool mud
stealing the first warmth
from a sunbeam
our spirits lifted by the sun
day filled with peeps
peep peep peep exploring
Spring in the April dirt
what can we feed them, the children ask
a dandelion leaf
a grub in the grass
pecking pleasure
peep peeping the promise of eggs
home grown backyard
I cherish their chattering company
peep for joy
small sisterhood of hens
Emily Snyder
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:12:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

Still welcome even
after puking on silk rug,
because he returned.
Sherilyn Lee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:16:24 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
hummingbirds

flittery little mama
flying in on the 3:10 to cram lunch
down little throats attached to balls of fluff
scolding them for this morning’s renegade practice flight.

we are not so different, you and me.
and when you twitter off to the next tree
a piece of my heart follows,
as fragile as your tiny wings.
De Jackson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:19:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gummi Bear

mid-sized, the length of my palm
your short pink fur, black-stitched smile
initials, “GB” imprinted on the top
of your left paw, you ride along with
my car keys, clipped to the ring,
popping out of my purse, catching
a wailing child’s eye, I’m in a forested
monotony of a grocery line, comfort
foods like pizza and chocolate bars,
maybe it's okay, maybe it's okay
if I tell others that I heard you growl
I’ll eat a handful of multi-colored
candies in your resemblance tonight.

Ruth Nolan
runolan@aol.com
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:22:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dogs

Written by Miss E.- age 9

Dogs are fun.
They play until the day is done.
They’re big or small,
I love them all.
Sometimes they bite
But they don’t know it’s wrong,
But I will love them all day long.
Miss E.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:36:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
RoboCatText

(To mieKAL AnD)

the surgical cat with feathery ears
lives by word surveillance and
paws that throb

cat action: early sipping and licking
stretching and sprawling
sewn through the skin
laced in
soft alignment on livingroom light

the lazy text purrs
aprowl with daily possibility
spins itself larger out of its own regurgitations:
musical angles from the window
muscle wires and twangs
glazed sidings, deaf thumpings:
sleepy enumeration

text commingles
the edges splay
embodied bodies of feeling
redolent with anxiety
expand

chamomile eyes shatter the glass of the story
each edge in frail articulation: c-a-t

the paint removed to show the aluminium color
underneath the Cat Song
towards the grafted semantics underlining
the subtext
that withhold and bestow a claw
on a gold chain, dangling hypnotically-
a Marlene claw in agony
prisoner of the text

Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:39:21 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cockroach

Darkness is my cover as
I crawl from stove to floor
I lurk in kitchen cupboards -
Food and garbage I adore!

I always am so careful
As not to make a sound
But sometimes papers rattle -
Lights on… and I am found!

Exposed it is a battle
To make it out alive
Amidst such screams and frenzy
I must focus to survive!

With all that is within me
I scramble towards the door
As giant feet impede my path
Spraying mist that I abhor!

Arch enemies are closing in
I fear the worst ahead
Then quickly spy an oak armoire
And race for that instead!

I stay there safely hidden
And wait till all is clear
Then celebrate with thousands
Behind the antique mirror.
Nanette DeLaittre
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:40:20 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coyote

you sneak across the border
swim the Rio Grande where the water's low
dry yourself by rolling in the dusty sand
howl at the first rose-red of dawn
then trot off to find something to eat
maybe a Chihuahua or two for breakfast
easy to snatch out of a backyard
you can jump six feet without hesitation
and the neighbors won't complain
as long as you leave
gatos and garbage cans alone
and while you'll eat most anything
frogs, snakes, poultry, even fruit
nice fresh Mexican food is a real treat
for a hungry coyote
whose last meal
was road kill
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:40:50 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
LANCE

Golden dominance tail curled smile
Big brown eyes of Egypt
My furry love, lovie bug...Lance
Sleeping beside my dreams
Protecting his people, his pack
My loyal snuggle doodie
Waiting his days for mommies praise
Pouting Runyon
Wishing mountains
Sneaking toilet water
EWWH! EEKK! NO!
Oh, but mommie so so yummy!
My comrade my friend my little boy doggie dude
You teach me how to take care of you

You teach me how to take care of me
My lovely
My fur-ball
My very own magical beast
My wise oracle messengering light
My Love
My Lance



Valerie Hager
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:45:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dog

Slower than the rest,
she's dogging it up -
she's slowing it down,
she's lagging enough,
the network is slowing,
the animals cry,
the pipeline's stopped flowing,
there's cracks in the sky

a barking sound echoes from somewhere over your right shoulder.
Surreal swirls stutter sleepily somewhere surrounding subject's status.
Everywhere injured people lay waiting for help,
discovering desire doubts destiny's desperate drag ...

At the back of a mind there's an itch not yet scratched,
some rhyme not yet rhymed, innocence unhatched,
some talent not breached, some impetus lacked,
the purposeful strides of a person who's last.

The dog is an icon, the dog is a cry
yelled towards the skies during pointless times,
wild packs roam streets but others imitate
the features of the animal who should be fast -
but waits.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:46:39 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Flight of an Eagle

I watch her with awe
the solitary splendor
the queen of the universe
in shimmering liquid gold

Like an elegant dancer she
glides across the
marbled floors
of the morning sky.

Swaying with the wild wind
touching the sun split clouds
a symbol of courage and fierce pride
she circles to the end of the earth
and the misty waters.

She soars above
the high mountains
vast oceans,
meandering valleys
and serpentine rivers.
feeling the warmth of the sun and
hearing the rustling of the wind.

All beaks, eyes and claws
her wings stretched wide
she sweeps to the earth below
then soars again, high and low.

A majestic bird of wisdom
strength and pride
romancing its senses
through the heights and depths
of the boundless realms of the universe.

She carries with it
a piece of my heart,
a song of my dreams,
some joy unbound.

She lifts my soul higher than
the words can carry
I feel the wind on my face
exhilaration fills my flight
for a moment
I feel the thrill
of freedom in its purest form.

My mind seeks new horizons,
new dimensions
ascending with grace and dignity
with renewed courage

No bonds chain my soul
or extinguish the flames
of passion in my heart
No one crushes my dreams
No one subdues my song

I fly free on the wings
of the Golden Eagle.






Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:48:50 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sheep

Let my dreams bring a masterpiece
As I drift to sleep,
For though I’d love to stay and write,
It’s time for counting sheep.

Jeanette Shumway
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:51:22 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I gave up swimming because the undercurrent said, “No.”
At least that’s how I heard it.
Now I lay on the ocean floor. I swallowed a ship
100 miles off Costa Rica. They were poaching
sharks for China. I didn’t regret it.
It is so easy to give in. I gave
my best years to migrating away. Now
I stay. The others say, “Come.” I tell them, “No,
not today.” I like to see them leaving.

I want the ocean floor to swallow me whole.
I know there is a world under there. I have songs to sing
that have never played well here. The weight of the
water pushes the hurt down, down, down, and it’s as if
I was never here at all, or the water was not really
saying, “No,” but “Know.” I forgot
that I was the ocean as much as the ocean was a whale
and that it was just one dance
just one.
Meadow Phoenix
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:59:56 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Wolf

A wolf howls in the dead of night,
Then retreats to a cave out of sight.
He doesn’t like to be seen in the sun,
He waits until night to play and run.
I am like the wolf.
Paige
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:16:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Judy (WWJD)
April 4, 2009

You were the first example that came to mind
I thought of everything I'd learned from you
I wanted to say
Judy exemplifies unconditional love

Everyone should have such a fine teacher
You are completely present with each guest, in the moment
There is no other human and they know
You hear what they say and accept them where they are

At the end of the evening everyone wants to take you home
There is no jealousy in me
There is none in you
We offer nothing you do not already possess

Nothing can break our bond
When you love another
You love me no less
There is only more love for us all

When I love another and complications arise
I ask myself, what would Judy do?
How can I love this one as purely as you love me?
My pet, how can I love with no bounds?
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:16:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

I was four
When Kitty Cat
Entered my life
My brother’s find
Hated me
All I wanted to do
Was hug him
Never allowed
Either by him
Who scratched me
Or my mother
Who slapped me
I admired him from afar
Independent
Proud
Free
Hit by a car
When I was 10
I missed him
Although I couldn’t
Call him friend

Given a kitten
That autumn
By a family friend
My sister as well
Mine was Timmy
After Tiny Tim the singer
Who made me smile
With his falsetto
And ukulele
Singing in the Rain
He died soon after
My kitten I mean
The singer died later
Taken from his mother
Too soon
My heart broke
I understood completely
I was adopted too
Wondered how
I ever survived

Found Spring on top of a truck
As I walked home from school
Child of Fishface
Wild cat in my neighborhood
Cleverer than most
Never caught
Never collared
Survivor
Spring purred
When I pet him
Didn’t run away
Followed me home
Chose me
For a while
Lost him
To Redondo Beach Blvd.
Lost a few after that
Seemed cursed
Gave up

Contented myself
With Tommy
My sister’s cat
Who lived
Who stayed
Petted him for hours
He kept me sane
In that sea
Of insanity
Cuddled him
And my sister
On many a Friday night
Alcohol flowing
Anger inevitable
Testosterone raged
Fists flew
My dad vs. my brother
Never understood
Violence

Escaped to Hollywood
As soon as I could
Finally fit in
Finally accepted
Among the oddities
And personalities
Which surrounded me
Asked by my landlord
To adopt a kitten
Abandoned by mom
May not survive
Needed love
And an eyedropper
Called her Roxy
Bryan Ferry my icon
Stayed with me
Through three beloved roommates
Eventually my husband
Three children
Moved across country
Seventeen years
My companion
My friend
Her ashes scattered
In the St. Joe River
Farewell

I will always keep cats
They offer
Peace of mind
Make me smile
When they cuddle
On my lap
Creatures of grace
Independence
Humor
Sentient to the max
Personalities as individual
As any human I know
And twice as stubborn
Arguing with cats
Never recommended
Still from them
One can learn
Contentment cuddling
In a corner
Of the couch
Joy in chasing
A ball of string
Across the house
Innate curiosity never satisfied
When to keep my claws in
And when to use them
That Love conquers
Any disturbance in the force
The importance of balance
When walking tightropes
Inevitability of equality
Life is for the living
Sometimes letting go
Is necessary
And the beauty of lying in a garden
On a warm summer’s day
Grateful for this moment
In time
Great lessons in life

Selah
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:18:11 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
miso

My black & white scared-y cat
takes her time around corners.
She likes to sleep in a cavern of quilts on the bed
and will sit on my hand while I watch tv
if I rub her belly.

She used to be fat,
but now her cheeks are severe
and her little paunch sways back & forth
as she sashays across the carpet.
Every morning,
she rubs her nose against the floor register
and lays along the warm vent awaiting breakfast--
her impatient cry my persistent alarm clock.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:57:54 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"My Dog"

Golden Retriever
His head, nestled in my lap
Loyal companion
Anela Shimizu
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:05:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fireflies

Fluttering by
On a midsummer's night
Luminating the path
Less beaten
skipping past
Grazing your sight
As they form your own
Personal fairy lights
My guiding luminosity
Guiding me deeper into
The night
Where predators await
Jolanta Laurinaitis
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:12:26 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The last poem (Primates) is really a shout-out to all the wonderful poets who posted by the time I got up - Thanks for giving my son and I a wonderful break this morning.
(I don't know what's going to happen if I keep writing more poems each day of this PAD - Day 30's going to be nuts...)

ina
--

Nudibranchs

Chromodoris cavalcade -
New Year's Dragon Maw parade -
Dorsal fichu: catherine wheels -
Sushi mimic - raised lime weals -
Stria glowing - leopard spotted -
Undulating cream that's clotted -
Spanish Dancer: orange flirt -
Ruffled yellow maiden's skirt -
Cactus garden - pallid dew -
Blisters rupture acid blue -
Photosynthesizing ruff -
Porcupinous - cotton fluff -
Alabaster Hidalgoa -
Algae farmer - feather boa -
Blue and black striped Mondrian -
Seven colours of the dawn -
Neat red row of poison wells -
Lacy mantle, doily shell -
Black and white suit of a panda -
Carmen faux-fruit-hat Miranda.

--
Birds

Whip-poor-will.
Whip-POOR-will.
Cheep! Cheep-chip!
[sparrows]
Pip!
[hummingbird?]
Whip-POOR-will.
Pip!
[pause]
Pip! Pip!
[hummingbirds, territorial]
Whip-
Scraw!
[scrub jay]
Car alarm!
Cheep.
Cheep pip!
Caw! Caw!
[crows back already?]
Dud-dud-dud-dud-d-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-d-d-dud-dud
Pip! Scraw!
[pause]
Caw!
Dud-d-d-caw!
[woodpeckers out late?]
Pip!
Car alarm!
Car Alarm - caw!
Whip-POOR-CAR ALARM!
CAR ALARM!
CAR ALARM !
CAR ALARM!
[Oh. Mockingbird.]

--
Primates

Observe
The primates.
The juvenile (male, three years of age)
Clinging to the maternal parent
Who has groomed him
And fed him with toast and jam,
And on the continued peeps of discontent
Settles the infant
On her lap
And begins to read aloud
Poems
Of labradors, squirrels, pythons.
Quiescent for a morning hour,
Develops a rhythm of pauses for pictures
Of leeches, shih tzus, other unknowns,
Stretches the hour by a half
For the octopus, platypus, and
A babbling cadenza on the merits of
The household feline
Who has in turn tuned his
Radar dish ears to the poems
And the quiet.
From the outside
What is seen (is)
A fleeting moment
Of the Eternal mother and child.

Ina Roy-Faderman
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:13:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
THE LEGEND OF WILLIAM AND HARRY

Our great black dog had passed away
We recovered, but still felt sad
So we went to the animal shelter
Thought we’d help out there a tad

We took classes for handling the big ones
The cats and the dogs that were there
How to help them become more socialized
And from humans to have no fear

But the place most neglected
It seemed to be
Was the small critters room down the hall
So signed on the sheet to go pet them
It wasn’t so hard after all

There were rabbits and ferrets and gerbils
The mice were as cute as could be
But the ones that got closest to our hearts
Were the rats, there were six you see

They were just like little puppies in a big glass cage
They’d jump up to see who you were
They loved to be cuddled and to run around
And to have you pet their nice fur

They were smart and liked toys
They were mostly all boys and
We loved spending time with them all
But they got adopted, they went to a school
And now they’re having a ball

Once more we were sad, in spite of our
Time at the shelter and then we were told
That the pet store housed two little rats
Needing homes, I can tell ya, we were just sold

When we brought home those boys
A large cage and their toys and dishes and
Bedding and stuff
They endeared us more than we ever imagined
Two lively little balls of fluff

Harry and William the royals
Would run up to your shoes to greet you
And sniff you and try to climb up your leg
They were more than happy to meet you

Oh I know the bad rap that little rats have got
That they’re dirty and scary and carry disease
Most folks can’t take to them, especially their tails
And their little black eyes put them ill at ease
But the reality is, they are wonderful pets
Never once did they try to bite
They’re quiet and smart,
Get right into your heart
Giving hours of sheer delight
entle and sweet e paces
SusanB
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:15:17 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
owl -

her dark nights, wide eyed. waiting.
who perches, head up, hoping?
searching the forest and sky
asking stars and gods for wants
in a wish. in a prayer.
and the still...the still remains

her best nights, eyes glazed. open.
who follows, with heart, hoping?
beat racing when the sounds, ring familiar
all for dreams. all for kisses
to beat the still... still no movment

she wants more
(eager to taste, to wake)
in the sun
(wiling to fall, to be)
not alone.
both eyes desire contact
before sheep and sandman
count their hundreds

at first light, they share. making...
whoo sound, with want. hungry
she goes the distant, following a sun-god
watching him rule her day until heaven purples
and goes dark. she goes wide.
and the still...the still remains

-the end


Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:18:30 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Robert, this is really, really late, but it took me a long time to write this one.:)

Lion

Sleek body leaping through tall grass
Jaws set, large almond shaped eyes
focused on the prize
Your energy and power forged our bond
on that day
in Fortunoff’s where I saw your image
in gold staring at me through the glass
and knew in an instant we were one.
Jungle rhythm beat in my soul though
mine was not the predator versus prey
existence you must follow

The noble turn of your massive head,
The triangle of your mouth at rest
Deadly claws sheathed in soft white fur
Stately mane surrounding your face
Melded into me
Born under Leo I gathered the
strength poured into my body as your
golden image lay on my chest

Jungle noises rang in my ears
The sure reflexes of the lioness
Her easy glide as she trapped her prey
Were mine, are mine.
Roaring from the depths of despair
Brilliant light sparkled as I emerged
The lionmother - invincible.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:53:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Birds Taking Flight

Three times this week
we've found feathers,
piles of blue and black
striped ones we know
the blue jay lost; the yellow-
and red-tipped black ones
we can't identify. Tufts caught
in the rough fence railings.
The cardinals seem safe,
no red trails scatter
like dandelion seeds
near the copper feeder.

This morning, a gray wing
is caught in the blackberry brambles,
gingko shaped,
nearly perfect, only
a ragged joint exposed.

Thousands of branching barbs
attach to the shaft.
A hooked mesh, fine
as mail, lifted the dove's wing,
feathers, primary, secondary,
tertiary (soft as dust),
a woven fabric of air
and quill.

I should remove the
bird bath, the dishes of
seed, but I cannot bear
the emptiness of no
doves, could not wake
except to trilling and chirps
and strident calls. The blood-
bright patches of color blooming
on the apricots and pears,
no flowers of their own.

To be left with a mound of leaves
and a severed wing.

Patricia Bostian
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:13:05 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rats:
A Letter to a Landlord

Every morning when I wake
and scrape the crunchy layer of
cemented ooze, which coats my eyes, away
(in spring, when new and fulsome foliage
at its apogee begets an allergy attack)—
but I digress—each day I smack
my forehead and exclaim: Praise God! I’m sane,
alive, and whole, and richly blessed
with opportunity to love and learn and grow!
And so it is that I am slow to find, within
the glowing, teeming, singing, ringing,
symphony of life, a sour note—a petty sting
upon the senses, a distraction from the
undeniable attractions of an otherwise
felicitous and fortunate existence. For it’s
undeniable that when I listen
for the scratch and clatter
that, not many weeks into the
past, denoted (dare I say it?)
rats within these walls, I hear
no rodent feet, nor do I smell a rotting
rodent corpse, inhale detritus from the
onetime blighted bathroom floor,
or otherwise perceive the presence of the beastly
carnivores. Those fetid days of yore
are happily no more, and I am
grateful beyond measure. Furthermore,
I treasure all the gleaming tile; it seems
to smile a greeting: “Welcome, Mary,
“to your shower. Aren’t you glad I’m
“here instead of in
“ Islamabad ? Praise God, you need no
“longer trek across the miles to
“shampoo and to scrub.”
And while it does occur to me to
wonder who injected me with LSD,
and when—for tile, however bright,
is almost universally believed to be
inanimate, and tile conversing is unheard
of, so to speak—I must approve the sentiment, for
it is true that one’s own bathroom and
amenities related should be
celebrated, and I do.
And yet—forgive my mentioning the
lack of anything that’s needed to
achieve an utter inundation of unmitigated
ecstasy—as if our mother Eve, surveying
Paradise , and saying, “Oh, how nice,” were then to
set about bemoaning how the gardens
were, if anything, a little overgrown, and
shouldn’t there be baskets of begonias
over there?—
I wouldn’t be completely
candid if I didn’t mention how I think from
time to time upon the merits of a sink that
operates in all the customary ways; and if I didn’t
share my fervent wish for running water in
this monument, which gleams in ineffectual resplendence
‘neath the mirror on the wall; or that the door
that leads into the hall might be restored to
something of its former elegance; that cracks
and crevices be filled, and towel rods installed, and
heat as well; and that the window might once
more be seated in its frame, and the unsightly pyramid
of plaster, rock, and possibly whatever might
remain of Jimmy Hoffa, be removed to southern Spain.
Lame and self-indulgent is my plaint and
egocentric are my fervid wishes; still,
allow me to impart a further supposition here, to wit:
that it not always is sufficient just to not have
rats. Oh, I have not forgotten to be glad, but surely one
might aim for higher purposes than this, for
bliss does not consist of being varmintless
alone. Our spirits call us to a holier perspective, I
suggest. And though I nightly rest in peaceful
and serene repose, now liberated from the
threat of those unwelcome guests returning
to relieve themselves, I hunger to achieve a
loftier objective: that I could invite, perhaps, a
friend or two to dine and that, when all the courses had
been eaten and the wine imbibed, and they excused
themselves to answer nature’s call, upon completion
they could wash their hands.
No more than this can anyone desire: a bathroom
as described above, that has a window, and a
finished wall beneath,
and the capacity therein to brush
one’s teeth.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:51:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snail

Snail winds a slow trail
towards his destination
(determination)
Chelley McLear
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:52:37 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cats
By Damon Fitch

Agile and acrobatic
Bouncy and balanced
Curious and cuddly
Did you ever love a cat?
Elegant and dignified
Fur so soft and fastidiously clean
Great are the days spent with a cat.
Huddled snug in your lap
Independent for sure and the
Jungle not absent from their midst.
Kittens so very cute
Life is good for a cat.
Meow, meow, meow, the meanings are many.
Not everyone likes cats.
Object to such a notion I do indeed.
Pure contentment, a cat does purr.
Quite soothing is the sensation of petting a cat.
Remember the call of the wild remains.
Savage beast they can be when prey comes into sight.
Time to play, time to eat, time to sleep, this is the life.
Ugly cats, there are none for me.
Very happy your life could be with
Whiskers tickling your face.
Xavier – a stately feline ready to play.
Yes indeed, make like a cat and pounce.
Zany high jinks will be many and enduring friendship
their purring will announce.
Damon Fitch
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:02:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Civet-cat

The koels woke us first,
Their whoops spilling across the night
Like honey.
Then the dogs, racing back and forth
In front of the balcony door.
Their strange and urgent symphony,
Treble clef and bass, fear and fury,
Was, for once, in harmony.
And in response, a shiver, mango
Blossoms spinning through the city air,
A burst of musk.
Ayesha Chatterjee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:03:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Short History Of The Great Apes

Gorillas, they diverged a bit too soon
to benefit from later genetic
developments,
though, to be sure, they proved
quite good with their particular technique.

The great ape strand continued, all one link
(gorillas aside), moving forward.
There
within the branch, love’s touch and anger’s stink
entwined, entrenched, as humans split, to dare

the droughted plains devoid of trees and where
extremes of both emotions caused a lot
of chaos,
as the species rose to stare
across the empire it’s now got.

Then chimps with anger, bonobos, love,
split –
each monotone where man’s schizophrenic.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:27:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
GULLS


Gulls aflight
following the river`s drift,
stopping at the garbage dump
for sustenance.

Dirty Birds!!!
you think and shudder-
But ocean liners
wonder at their persistent beauty.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:34:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Orang Utan

What a privilege, in retrospect, to have done
the touristy thing. All that hype had made us
almost jaded. Then, as we waited our turn,
it felt like a first date: butterflies fluttered
in my stomach. She must have done it
a million times, yet when she put
her matriarchal, hairy arms around me,
I felt her palm curled around
my shoulders, and she became real.
This is Ah Meng, our poster girl.
If she felt churlish, as she probably did,
posing on a rock with homo sapiens
ad nauseum, she seemed to have
understood this thing she did,
flying the flag for the Singapore zoo.

Irene Toh
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:39:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Saving Mr. Platypus

Noah knew the flood was coming
so two-by-two they came
to get the first cruise ship tickets
that saved them from the rain.

And down and down it poured
like God had said it would.
The animals all hunkered down
and so the storm withstood.

No fancy entertainment,
Or food buffets galore;
No luxury apartments,
Or shopping trips ashore.

But I’m sure these passengers
were happy all the same.
Saved from sure destruction
to glorify God's Name.

Finally arriving
at their destination,
Down the plank they went
to explore a damp creation.

So now we see their children
living all around us,
Consider for a moment -
He saved weird Mr. Platypus!

What a mixed up thing he is -
Tail like a beaver, beak like a duck,
Covered in brown furry fur -
Laying eggs in muddy river muck!

If such an odd little animal
was worth His loving care,
how much more should I know
He counts my every hair?

What a beautiful array
of creatures all around,
evidence of God’s Mercy
does everywhere abound!
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:48:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Greyhound with the Blues

They call me a mini, why I don’t know
My sisters all look different, I know you’d think so

Their nose is short and cute
Mine’s skinny, long and resembles a flute

My tail is long and curls up like theirs
And although my ears flop more, who cares

Oh woe is me, it gives me the blues
Why I’m not like them I haven’t a clue

They are cute and tiny and can fit in mom’s purse
But I’m tall and spindly, it’s a preying mantis curse

Why do my legs have to be way so high
It’s like I’m on stilts, makes me want to cry

They can’t run as fast on legs so stubby
But do my toes have to look so nubby

I spin, fluff , trying to curl in tight
To fit all of me in mom’s lap, oh what a sight

I suppose I know a Chihuahua I can’t be
So instead it’s a Greyhound with the blues
That’s me!
Victoria Lee Collings
Sunday, April 05, 2009 12:49:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CAT N MOUSE

Cat
Patient Hunter
Searching waiting pouncing
Small Scarred
Running struggling Dying
Mouse
Trisha Taylor
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:09:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fish Tale

The biggest fish Dad ever caught
was at Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri:
a one hundred sixty-five pound sucker,
hooked through the lip on a red-and-white,
treble-hook Daredevil—
dumb fish struck the lure unbaited.

Unbelievable, Dad knew,
so soon as he got home he got
the camera, had Mom take a picture:
close-up of the smiling fisherman,
the big fish flushing, blanching
red and white in alternation.

Then Dad drove off to the hospital
to have the hook removed.
The doctor stitching up his lip
said not to be embarrassed,
showed Dad a box full of flies and lures
removed from fisherman.
Lake of the Ozarks was fully stocked
with suckers every season.
Dad offered him the Daredevil
to add to his collection.
Terri Klein
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:11:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bottlenose

I almost got to swim with you that day at Lucaya. Too late,
I signed up. Not like the girl whose parents paid the eighty bucks
in time for her to go middle-schoolish when she got up close
to you and shrieked and said your skin felt yucky. I could only sit
at the edge of the pool and cherish our brief touch
when you slid through water beside me. You’re on my bucket list,
and next time, I won’t delay to be with you
for you give beauty to gray. You give cool
to sleek and soft. Your Bob Hope smile makes you
the perfect oceanic ambassador of good will. Smart, flippant.
If God has emotions, the Creator must be ecstatic
over you. I love you,
you amimal.
David H. Snell
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:16:07 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My Triptych

Icon I

Lumbering she-beast
pulls herself onto the beach,
flippers heaving
carapaced weight through the sand.
No one can see the water borne grace.
This is where she labors,
burying for now,
protecting,
what the future will bring.

Icon II

The savanna is hers,
she of the coiled strength
and dangerous mouth.
Those jaws know the pleasure
of the crunch of bone
the chewiness of sinew,
the tension of a muscle,
holding,
before it is torn away.
There is no difference
between the hunter's roar
and the rolling purr
while licking the soft fur
of her pride.

Icon III

Beak, talon and wing,
she is stillness until,
silver kissed
wings slide silently through the night,
limp rabbit hanging from her claws.
The liquid note of her song
pierces the night.
Round eyes see
what the forest tries to hide.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:18:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sloth

The Saturday morning bed is comfortable
but she lifts herself
hating how the damp aches
not sure her knees will hold her
as she stands

an hour later
she nurses lukewarm coffee
watches the birds
hop like energetic children
in puddles.

Janet Richards
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:18:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Reaching forward,
his long black neck
like a banner, waving
he watches.
The dark capillaries
in the land below
reach to vessels
then veins.
But after white crystal clouds
blow past
the rich dark fields
bleed in the new sun.
The dark waters fill the wound
the valley of the Red
swollen.
Ryan C. Christiansen
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:20:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bottlenose

I almost got to swim with you that day at Lucaya. Too late,
I signed up. Not like the girl whose parents paid the eighty bucks
in time for her to go middle-schoolish when she got up close
to you and shriek and say your skin felt yucky. I could only sit
at the edge of the pool and cherish our brief touch
when you slid through water beside me. You’re on my bucket list,
and next time, I won’t delay to be with you
for you give beauty to gray. You give cool
to sleek and soft. Your Bob Hope smile makes you
the perfect oceanic ambassador of good will. Smart, flippant.
If God has emotions, the Creator must be ecstatic
over you. I love you,
you animal.
David H. Snell
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:25:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Electra

Dark corner of a closet her lair,
soft carpet, small and cozy.
She feels secure and secret;
perhaps her homeless shelter time
conditioned her to solitude.
In playful moments she
sheds maturity and puppy-like
runs wildly through the house
leaps through dog door to
circle the yard--her yard--with
favorite toy waving
in the wind created by her
jubilation. Rescued from
her past she's made this
home her own and fills
empty niches in closet
and heart with her presence.
Charmion Burns
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:30:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I am so sorry about doing this--ignore it if it's annoying. I just couldn't let the earlier draft lie as is, it was making me cringe.

Civet-cat

The koels woke us first,
Their whoops spilling thick
Like honey across the night.
Then the dogs, racing back and forth
In front of the balcony door.
Their strange symphony rang true for once.
Treble clef and bass. Fear and fury.
And in response, a shiver, mango
Blossoms spinning through the city air,
A burst of musk.
Ayesha Chatterjee
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:42:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lion

Be ye of courage, have no fear, be dominant be strong
Who assigned his task to be the king of all in the jungle?
To take on the challenges of the wild, his mighty roar a familiar song.

His proud walk, slow prance, his appearance demands respect as the animals watch as the commander strolls.
Each praying he will not seek them as his feast, wanting salvation for their souls.

His features bring a internal fear to all including man,
How great God's creations? Having a large kitten rule, a part of his master plan.

He chooses his mate, protects her and their family has no fear
And from birth they know they will rule, their purpose is clear.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 1:58:26 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Black Dogs

All my dogs have been black dogs
except one
Sounds like a country song

All my dogs have been girls
Except one
I never had a sister
So they kept my secrets

Dixie heard me when I was fourteen
As I cried into her fur
Telling her about my puppy love
And she listened

Peanut was the runt of the litter
But such a digger and
a boy
so he was the kids' dog
and I didn't really miss him
when we gave him to a man with four acres
To run and dig in

Then along came Sally
Who was a surprise gift
All tiny and curled up
on the floorboard of the car
And when we moved she rode all the way
In the back of the Malibu being towed
behind the UHaul
She was everbody's dog
And they all hated me
When I gave her away
Because of the stress

We tried to make a go of Brownie
The brown dog
And she was a good listener
But not one to cuddle with
And when we moved
She found a happy home
With acres and hunting dogs
And she became the favorite

And now there is Loretta
A sweet souled girl
Black, cuddly though not small
Who watches TV with us
And chases ducks
And wants to play with the cat
And she is mine
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:03:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Panther

Slinking, always prey in sight
Black as onyx in the night
Stepping gently on the ground
Never making any sound
Ever ready for the chase
You move with eloquence and grace
Stalking in your patient stride
Never having need to hide
Gleaming eyes and twitching tail
You spot your game and then you sail
Through the blackness of the night
And take him down without a fight
Though you’re fierce and powerful
You’re smooth as silk and beautiful
Ruth Mattern
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:05:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
NEWMAN

comes to visit
sometimes
he leaves his scent
under my car
and I take it to work
one time
he waddled
down Walnut
in broad daylight
most times
he comes at night
white stripe
hidden from sight

still
we know
he is there
his scent
is in the air
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:10:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Pig Idea

Give her a trainable pig
the size of a cocker spaniel
with a studded leather collar
and brown bear stuffed animal

a pig that noses a beach ball
and reaches for the sky
and jumps through rows of hoops
and appears to fly

give the pig a trailer
with a food and water dispenser
pillows and rags, mirrors and flags
painted pink fender to fender

she'll learn to train the pig
you'll take them on the road
county fairs and school assemblies
eating a la mode

she'll dress the pig in clothes
she'll carry the pig in front
she'll feed the pig from her own spoon
she'll sleep next to the little runt

And in this way, perhaps she'll stay
most likely, hopefully, maybe
bit by bit, trick by trick
she'll forget about the real baby.
Jason Bellipanni
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:21:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Goldfish

From left to right, from right to left
And now and then around
The bubbles rising from the pump,
a soothing, steady sound.

So does it live day after day
In constant search for food,
Apparently quite happily,
In a never-changing mood.

In its own idyllic world it is
immersed, as it may seem.
The rivers, lakes and ponds and streams
a merely distant dream.
Sabine Metzger-Groom
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:23:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Serena”

Wobbly legs painted and all
You swayed your head away
to watch from afar.
Your mane so dark and untidy
swayed with the wind
as you celebrated so mighty.

Unable to touch you
we admired your inexpert trot.
At six months old we fell in love
with the one we brought.
Young and naïve you turned up your nose
and that became our favorite pose.

You came to our home and kept away
and looked to us only in dismay.
Once rescued from the wire
your injured leg was well
and you proved your true fire!

Your painted body glides through the air like a swan’s
as your gallop to the barn transforms into a faultless dance.
The daily visions of your sophisticated canter
produce an audience who engages in playful banter.
Your long still tousled mane flows freely on your sides
as your tail follows your body with its elaborate strides.

Just like a mustang your legs dash free
sending off spectators on a talking spree.
Muscular and erect for your towering jumps
you leave us in awe as we gaze with bumps.
The day will arrive when you will be ready to ride
til then we shall enjoy your continued strive.


Elisa Alaniz
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:30:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Peacock

Even at rest
The blue of you astounds.
Even with your train trailing heavy behind you,
The color of you bewilders – a blue so unseemly blue
That blue is rendered insipid. Hence, we event “Peacock”
To describe the jewel-sheened shock, the iridescent crash,
the eye-drunk luster you carry so lightly.

And then you open.
And the hundred bright eyes of a slain Argus,
Come alive again. Juno’s memorial to her private-eye.
What began in her envy ended in your plumage.
A husband’s infidelity, a wife’s jealousy and carnage in-between.
Still, you remain indifferent in your grandeur while we
Stagger in admiration remarking how romance has made you bold.


Alison Linnitt
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:40:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CAT

Willow, cat from hell

She claws, yawls, even climbs the walls,

Can’t catch mice – ah, well.
Karen Kennedy
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:50:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Killdeer

Two killdeer swoop and call out
when we enter the field;
we make story of them:

a nest in the rushes of tall rye grass
eggs like small rocks our tractor has kicked out
one, a female, flies low and lands between two
nearby red pines where she wants us to think
her offspring wait to hatch
the other will feign a broken wing
we know from song
this is the part where we forget ourselves,
just now.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:53:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snails
Prized for luminescent mobile homes,
Snails bring to life the virtue of patience.
Striving not to go far, but leaving a mark,
They slither through my garden.
The trail they leave illuminates their path,
Over step and stone to leave and limb.
My outdoor brethren tease the puppies,
And spur me on to stop and think.
What I most love about snails,
Is the lustrous flavor they bring to my tongue.
Whether swimming in garlic butter or
Floating in a sea of gorgonzola sauce,
They make their presence known
In such wonderful ways.
Praers
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:58:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dolphins

He put dolphins into space
no one knew how they breathed
or how they blew bubbles
in the depths of the galaxy
but they looked so graceful,
against the pitch black backdrop
silver bodies arching as they chased the Earth
like a beach ball.
He put dolphins into space
he confessed to his students
bashfully unfurling tattered posters
and reminiscing about the aquarium
where they leapt unpredictably
drenched him over and over
but he captured them and placed them in orbit
sent them shooting like comets to distant suns.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 2:59:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Riley is Her Name
She pranced in on Christmas Eve
A scar from long ago
Under eyes that radiate
pain from the soul
White with spots
We thought natural
But later learned
She'd been set on fire
Skittish
Don't come up on her
too quickly
She'll bite
And who could blame her
She'd been set on fire
Three months
And she's grown on us
Jumping up (so high for such a little dog)
Like only a Jack Russell/Taco Bell dog can
Such a pretty girl
Old man face
Snuggling under the covers
Cuddling sucking up
She'd been set on fire
She's home now safe
And loved
The funniest dog
on God's green earth
Begging on her hind feet
A circus dog
Whimpering in sorrow
She'd been set on fire
Jumping with joy
We're home from work and school
There she flops on her back
Trusting and loving us too just
Wanting to have her belly rubbed
So vulnerable
She'd been set on fire
And
I know how she feels

Connie
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:00:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Cat
My cat is lazy, this is true.
He lies around the whole day through.

He eats the garbage and the trash
And often causes things to crash.

He doesn't catch the rats and mice
And sometimes isn't very nice.
Katie Daniels
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:01:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sensitive New Age Dog

When we come out to the car
after the movie, everything this dog has eaten
for the past twenty four hours
has been sprayed over the front seats,
the doors. The gear shift, emergency brake,
all drip with something that didn’t agree
with his sensitive innards. Mortified,
his ears are flattened to his head, his tail
is tucked, his eyes blink back shame that would
put the worst sinner’s to shame. We clean up
as best we can, and I ride with him
in the back, where it’s dry. We mouth-breathe
all the way home, windows open, and it’s miles
before he will consent to sit, to rest his
unworthy soul against me. There, there,
we say, knowing he expected a different reaction,
knowing whoever said that animals feel
no emotion, never had pitbull
with diarrhea.
Annie
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:07:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gandering Gooses

We’ve been copulating
in these fleeting curlicues
entirely
Finding, in feat
the courage to pine
direly. . .
Break water elsewhere!
We’ve been miming you!
. . .but now, its time we be us!
Don’t make a fuss
You know who was here first!
. . . and there are plenty of places like this
Plenty of places!. . . so, go fish
and make it quick!
. . .before you get pecked to death
or we put a teth around your S necks
and make you kvetch up hill with the Chariots of Aphrodite!
Whitey!

Stop looking at me swan!
Kimmy Van Kooten
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:15:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
LASSIE

Wonder dog of our youth,
sat a round scratching himself
but when needed, he
could teach some children how to read,
or save a blind woman from a fire
or teach a little boy how to swim
or feed the hungry
or free the opressed
or make the world safe for democracy
and then just sniff some fireplugs
and take a nap ‘til lunchtime.

Alfred J Bruey

Alfred J Bruey
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:35:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
4/4/09

STONE DANCE FOR A HUNTING DOG

The hunt interrupted
you sit lonely
holding his dog
on the way to the vet

Your legend heavy
on your shoulders
numb from this
latest stone leaf

You missed the target
your best friend’s dog
jumped in the way
and now whimpers on your lap

I stay behind, eyes closed
Pray I could reach you
in the distance
soothe your anguish

These hands can mold stone
into flowers for you
the moon will no longer be dark.

Let me follow you
through the woods
we will dance the veil away
and rise together in the sun.




Yolande Gottlieb
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:35:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Black Widow

Lighten up, people –
I can’t believe you actually named
a phobia after me.

My eight legs
and homely, hairy body
are no reason to run screaming.

Okay, there’s my bite,
and my “hourglass figure” –
the red spot on my belly.

But I’m nature’s greatest spinner –
I defy you to find a stronger thread
for its size.

And when I’m on,
the silk shooting from my rear,
my webs are a work of art.

Find one on a dewy morning
in your back yard
then tell me if I’m wrong.

Yes, I trap helpless flies,
wrap and dissolve them before dinner;
and yes, I eat my mate after sex.

But hey, a girl’s gotta live
and make babies. It’s only business;
it’s nothing personal.





Bruce Niedt
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:47:13 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Elephant

I enter laughing,
knowing all
without learning,
infinite wisdom
surrounds me,
entices me to thunder.
My trunk will trumpet
my surprise,
my body painted
powders blue
and red,
though I am not
the real Ganesha,
just a distant cousin
running wild
and bending trees
in my tremulous wake.
I roll in the Ganges
to cleanse the celebration
from my wrinkled
and aged skin.
I am knowing,
wisdom, sucking life
from those around me.
Kevin
Sunday, April 05, 2009 3:52:07 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Sunday, April 05, 2009
PAD 4
My Triptych

Icon I

Lumbering she-beast
pulls herself onto the beach,
flippers heaving
carapaced weight through the sand.
No one can see the water borne grace.
This is where she labors,
burying for now,
protecting,
what the future will bring.

Icon II

The savanna is hers,
she of the coiled strength
and dangerous mouth.
Those jaws know the pleasure
of the crunch of bone
the chewiness of sinew,
the tension of a muscle,
holding,
before it is torn away.
There is no difference
between the hunter's roar
and the rolling purr
while licking the soft fur
of her pride.

Icon III

Beak, talon and wing,
she is stillness until,
silver kissed
wings slide silently through the night,
limp rabbit hanging from her claws.
The liquid note of her song
pierces the night.
Round eyes see
what the forest tries to hide.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:21:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
here's the poem i posted for day #4:

"tangerine fusion"

a shade of orange. a garage band.
an energy drink blended cheerfully
by a girl with pink hair in a mall kiosk.
a phenomenon involving the union
of smallish space rocks in the asteroid belt.
the decision to live full-throttle, a choice
to follow bliss and grief and betrayal
and scream at the thunder, at lightning,
at god: give me what you’ve got.
everything. everything! everything,
you bastard! isn’t that what we’d say
if we could? give me the tangerine fusion,
each sad drop, each bead of nectar,
each bold release. give me all of it.
all of it. isn’t that what we’d ask for?
isn’t that what we get?
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:23:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
slithering she snuggles up to me
moves in and deep
stretches herself long
writhes in ecstasies of rivers
undulating
undulating
curvy snake of the world
kundalini longings
hssssssssssssssssssssss
hsssssssssssssssssssssss
there is only your slither
silent
hssssssssssssssssssssss
hssssssssssssssssssssss
up through the furrows of me
rising
climbing
up through the chackras
spinning
turning
up through the hours
laying open
waiting
you sssssssiiiingggggggggg
to me in hiiiissssssssssing songs
i feel you move me
move me
whole
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:31:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dusty and Cody

You might think
With two retrievers in the house
One of them so truly golden
He is now a golden oldie,
The other young and blonde and brash,
That we could keep the geese,
The mallard and muscovy ducks,
From owning our front yard.

Since the fowl ignore petitions
Signed around the neighborhood
Urging that they cease
(And also to desist),
Petitions that I sign
Knowing that this signator
Harbors in his very home
A certain feeder of the birds,

You might suggest I loose the dogs
Upon the noxious fowl,
Because police refuse to shoot the birds
Or even to arrest them
As the neighborhood petitions urge,
But you would be mistaken

As the younger one
Would find the cutest duck
And strike up conversation
Of the intimate variety
As he is wont to do with
Objects of his interest
Animate or not

While Dusty simply and reluctantly
Stretches his arthritic bones,
Steps outside and says,
"Bark! Bark! Now,
Can I go back inside?
My shows are on."
J. Alvey
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:36:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cokey

They say dark chocolate is the best kind
Full of the things that make your heart healthy.
My dark chocolate Lab was the proof
Her golden amaretto eyes sang and danced
And Beckoned me to play.
Life was always a party when she was here.
There was chicken to eat
Tennis balls to chase
Birds and squirrels to hunt
But never to catch
Where was the fun in that?
The chocolate dog grew old and frail
The party stopped.
Still...she made my heart sing
She gave me the gift of eternal sunshine
And now I'm sure she romps and plays somewhere better
While my vanilla-colored yellow Lab beckons me to play.
There is chicken to eat
Soccer balls to chase
Birds and squirrels to hunt...but never to catch.
This time I know what I've got
And I'll enjoy it while it lasts.



Maria Schulz
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:40:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Scorpion


I’m sorry I shouted
when I saw you crawling
across the floor like
a nightmare wind-up toy
towards my mother,
who was lying beside me
as we watched
cartoons together, but she
was dear to me, carried me
on her back when I
needed a lift, made me
sandwiches before I asked,
and once called me a
cocky little shit so it
felt like she’d pinned a
medal on me, so I had
to scream when I saw
your meager sting
near her and she rolled
over you in panic
and your stain remained
awhile in the red carpet
and now I check my
shoes each time, knocking
them against the floor
and dumping nothing
but this prick of guilt
for murdering you,
small predator, probably
just passing through,
trying to make the silhouetted
mountain of my mother
before morning.

Brian Slusher
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:59:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dear Hen, I'm Sorry I Lapsed
(a Lune)

Even this vegetarian can be found pecking
at crispies
on cold fried chicken.
Amy Nixon Karsmizki
Sunday, April 05, 2009 4:59:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Dog"

Quiet
Eyelids twitching
Tail wiggling
Feet running
He dreams.
Of what, I’ll never know.
But the beauty is knowing
That his soul sours
While he sleeps.
And in no time
It will return to join mine
If only for a little while longer.
Maggie Landess
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:00:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Hippopotamus

Cartooned, in a pink tutu,
you are ridiculous.
The chubby, toothy maiden aunt
who wants to feel pretty,
whose bulk breaks those golden
bamboo chairs at weddings,
whose haunches can’t be contained,
whose gaping mouth is less maw
than vulnerable plea for acceptance.

But you are not this at all.

Blouson and baggy,
your flesh like velvet
drapery filled with oatmeal,
the color of storm cloud,
battleship, drying cement.

You are a river creature,
like deadly currents,
subtle and swift.
Little fanfare in your
efficient survival.
No pleading or simper
in your stoic maternity,
the perfection of
your pink offspring.

Melissa Johnson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:07:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)



Guardian


In the darkness
She comes to check on me
Tiptoeing on my sideways frame
Balancing quiet

She sits
Making sure
My breath is constant
Rising
Falling
Like the ocean

When it stops
A small meow murmured
Wakes me from my suffocation
There will be no drowning tonight.
Lauren Dixon
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:09:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

butterfly

spring’s orange wingsplash,
question mark butterfly, asks
do you notice joy?

[Note: Anglewing butterflies have very jagged, angled wing margins. On the undersides, which exhibit a leafmeal or bark-like pattern, a white mark, comma or question mark shaped, gives them their common names.]
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:11:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fireflies
for Erin

The night I turned twenty,
fireflies lit up like candles,
caught my breath.
They glittered together
the whole way home
in the jar I brought.

I said good-bye,
watched them light up
the sill, fly against the glass,
kiss against my fingers
flingin them to freedom

You, twenty now,
catch me with your light.
You beat your wings, test
the glass and fly away,
trailing all that light.

Carol Bachofner
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:13:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)




Ant


Where there is one, soon will be many –
like scurrying ink drops escaping
a pen. I love the legs:
neat embroidered stitches
that will never stay sewn.
I imagine one still;
the whole thing trapped
in a ring, fat back encrusted
with a diamond of sugar,
feet ambered with honey.
I like best to see it this way:
on its own, unmoving,
legs broken into thin filigree.
I try not to think of it loose while I sleep;
lacing my hair, beading my skin
– like the black trace of his fingers.


Sarah James, UK.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:18:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
HUMMINGBIRDS


They suckle at the feeder
hover and recede, hover and recede,
in that peculiar angular flight pattern,
like a baby at the breast gulping,
gasping, diving in to gulp some more.
A half dozen of the tiny creatures
stage a mock war around the orb of red
sugar water, the promised land.
When it is empty they swoop past my head,
threateningly, as I emerge from the house,
and follow me around until I fill it.

A red breasted sentry tries to hold off
the enemy, but while he chases one away
three others advance to claim the spoils.
The sentry is kept so busy guarding his territory he hardly has time for his own mess.
We found one like him on the garage floor last fall. Firm and compact and beautiful as a precious gem, now lifeless in the palm of my hand
like a rock dressed in iridescent feathers, he is
more lovely in death than in life.
We do not return him to the earth.
Instead we place him in the crotch of a tree
where his soul can soar with the eagles
and his feathers fly again on the wind.
Was he a casualty of war? Assassinated in a coo?
Did the troops finally unite behind this new Napoleon
en route to Waterloo?
Deanna Northrup
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:20:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Platypus

As common as a carmine cloud,
As gentle as a gale-force gust;
Venomous, cantankerous, synonymous with "curious."
When I get furious, I turn injurious.
Defer, o drifter: as discussed,
My autarchy is all avowed.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:21:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
ARMADILLOS

4/4/09

Never seen ‘em in a zoo,
or plodding in the grass.
From what I hear,
they don’t move too fast.

I guess that’s why
the only ones I see
are road kill, with feet
pointed toward eternity.


Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:22:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Woody

He yelped a plea
It hurts to sit
This massive growth
I have on my hip
My sweet brown-eyed pup
His nose flecked in grey
He must be eleven
Give or take a day
He lies by my side
Or barks to go out
He digs up my yard
And leads with his snout
But his days are numbered
That growth gaining mass
It looks like a second head
Sprout from his ass
CatDog we call him
Dark jokes made in vein
Yes inside we’re sad
Laugh masking the pain
Each day I expect
This might be his last
The day Woody dies
His barks part of my past
Kim
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:28:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Cat"

Consider the cat
Duplicitous by design
Cuddly carnivore
Vandy Shrader
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:29:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MY FAIR HARBOUR

Victoria's Inner Harbour
beckons in the nighttime glow
of the lighted outline of the
ornate buildings of parlialment,
and the daytime sunlight
kissing the waters and windows.
From here horses and carriages will take you
on a tour through the quaint sights of James Bay
to the ocean
and back through beautiful Beacon Hill Park
to where you started. Then, across the street
to the original architecture
now housing all manner of famous people
is the Royal London Wax Museum,
above the walkway that welcomes visitors
with WELCOME TO VICTORIA printed in flowers
where steps lead down to the maritime museum
it's glass sides showing a sampling of what lies below the water,
to alight again on the street-width walkway
where buskers of all kinds,
mimes and musicians,
artisits and crafters
line the walkway way to the harbour ferries,
dancing ther ballet
from point to point within this wonderful harbour,
where you can choose to alight at any one of the famous hotels,
restaurants or shops waiting for you,
standing within the realm of the famous Empress Hotel
that has hosted Kings and Queens
and been home to many an original Victorian dowager.
Standing elegantly across the street
is the incredible, unforgettable Royal British Columbia Museum
housing a wonderful permanent aboriginal exhibit of storytelling poles
the likes of which Emily Carr
painted, and for which she is revered.
The Imax Theatre
within will show you huge closeups of reality
on it's all-encompassing screen.
This on an ordinary day, when the carillon bells
aren't ringing, when you're not being entertained
by Dragonboat festivals,
or Classic boat shows,
or the Symphony Splash,
with the entire Victoria Symphony Orchestra
on barges in the harbour for all to hear,
before the oohs and ahhs
of Fireworks.
W. Yvonne Oneill
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:34:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sparrow

sparrow in flight
twisted in a stormfront -- keep
your wings from breaking
Sunday, April 05, 2009 5:40:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Ode to "cat"
composed by LaDonna Reed
April 4, 2009

Independent, non caring attitude;

no one can tell you what to do, where to go, how to think;

....you're a bad mamma jamma;

you jump when you want to on whatever you want;

roaming every where at any time; with your do what you want style;

explorer, that's what you are; fear does not prevent you from completing your goals.

I love your strong, outgoing, goal oriented, and courageous character.

Although I do not wish to have nine lives, I would not mind borrowing your bold manners.
LaDonna Reed
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:04:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mighty Thylacine
All Hail!
Tasmanian Tiger
Goofy Marsupial Wolf
Striped Opossum Doggie of Downunder
It is you at last!

Idiot farmers
their hot shotguns belching
stinking up the air
all smoke and noise with
their killing toys

millions of you fell
centuries of
the hunt
you running madly
with your young
in heated pouches
and somehow
you made them feel safe

millions of you died
and they called you extinct
but you were smarter
you knew the way

so all hail the mighty thylacine
but don't say a word
because while being
the hunted one
the cause célèbre
everyone knows
the hardest thing to do
is to disappear
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:04:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Turkey

Old Ben wanted him for
Our national bird.
Outranked by an eagle,
He mourned the word.

And still he gobbles
Through suburbs near,
Forced out by humans
I greatly fear.

Or is it just a
Protest clear?
Don't eat my darling
On thanksgiving this year.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:08:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
can I still do this: I worked till midnight!

Ralf, My Wonder Dog

My older sisters were mature,
my brother was a tease.
My little sister was too cute
so who ever noticed me?

My parents finally realized
that I had my needs, too,
so they gave me a cute puppy;
the easiest thing to do.

Ralf, a Tibetan Terrier,
loved me more than life
and would run all day beside me
as I found joy outside.

Flip Wilson had a comedy show
that made everybody laugh.
He dressed like a girl named Trudi
and had a dog named Ralph.

Ralph was an invisible dog
who did amazing things.
Ralf was my own life preserver
that made my teen years sing.


Trudi Jarvis
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:09:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Animal

My cat won't let me
write this poem
she bites my notepad
and claws my pen
I don't want to spill
blood on the page
so I must stop now
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:28:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chameleon

I can be found all over
but I prefer to live in Africa
or islands in the western Indian Ocean

A tropical kinda animal
I hang out in trees and change colors to communicate
It's my favorite thing to do and the ladies seem to love it too

My enemies call me a poser, but I disagree
I think it's jealousy
because I can do things they can't do

I love my life as a chameleon



Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:28:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
This is a silly little children's poem I wrote years ago.

Miss Belle’s Cat

I’m Miss Belle’s cat. I live in the city
In a tiny apartment but it’s such a pity.
‘Cause I long for the country and wide country lanes.
For a tree to rub up on and a cottage quite plain.

Miss Belle looks in my eyes, she says, “Sorry, my cat,
I would live in the country, but the country’s too flat.
I love the big city, its buildings so tall.”
I stare back and think, “No, that’s not right at all.”

Miss Belle is asleep now, I slink and I slither,
Right out the door to go hither and thither.
You see I can’t wait and I can’t change her mind.
I’m off to the country to see what I find.
The Writer Stuff
Sunday, April 05, 2009 6:38:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Harley my dog

Harley is a Shih tzu my little fur-kid with a personality all his own.
He was a gift to cure an empty nester since my children are grown.

He fills my life with laughter, love and purpose.
He is so sweet and his loyalty is priceless.

I know he is what some may call just a dog but to me he is so much more.
When depression from missing my family sets in, he is my temporary cure.

I come home from work at the end of the day,
he is there to greet me in such a non judgemental loving way.

He jumps up and down to get my attention,
He’s had a lazy day, he just wants to play without question.

We go outside and he runs around,
like a little child on the playground.

I love my fur-kid with all my heart
In my life he’ll always be a big part.
Terri Quick
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:03:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Unexpected Appearance of Cedar Waxwings

Three stories high, they glow in the old oak, lamplight through
pre-dawn windows: amber warmth from fervid hearts pours
through feathers burnished by the rising sun.

They bring their reputation, trapeze from tree to power
line, survey this land of morning traffic -- pose, facing front,
then profile. Sunrise reveals their markings.

Do not take them for the naïve robin or the crude jay as they
depart with brisk grace, wingtip almost to wingtip, flying
carpet elegance, farewelled to orchards and hills.

Each morning since, I return them to greeting the sun, being
lanterns in trees, claiming the power lines, the garden,
infusing all the waiting air around.

~~ by JoAnn Anglin
JoAnn Anglin
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:09:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Benji

Do you remember that little dog?
Made friends wherever he went,
the butcher, the restaurant owner,
the nanny with two little kids.
As happy with scraps at the park,
as with leftover filet mignon.
Fun was chasing a cat up a tree
or a run through a sprinkler
on a summer day.
Size doesn't matter unless
it's the size of your heart.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:19:17 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Boxer

Used to be a struggle
to get you to sit
or lie prone on the ground

Supplicant wasn't your middle name
or even an initial

When convenient for me
I would force the issue

White whale eyes
followed my torso upward,
unbending, righteous from the command

One day, many games and struggles behind us,
we came in from playing chase in the rain

you taunting the mark
but more catchable now
chomping the rubber between your teeth
like a hitman's cigar

You dropped to the cotton throw rug
something you learned a long time ago
and I'm always amazed to find you there
for the sake of wet feet and muddy floors

I bend down
hooding the terry over your head
while you gaze into the distance
rubbing against the grain
legs, stomach, face
A sensation you hated and fought with all your might
before

I think of two boxers
at the end of a match
Past their prime
whose managers won't utter the words

One fist thrust high by the referee,
another towel draped and panting
slumped in the corner,
struggling for air


Deanna Larson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:32:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Another Cat Poem--

"My Apologies"

litters dissolved into
countless houses,
home to dozens of
our lineage.

we came with one,
pregnant upon our arrival
at the new place
we would reshape as our own.

keep just one,
and when spring arrives
children learn of procreation
through a triple litter year.

dispose of four
just coming of age,
to the agony of mother’s poor breasts
not ready to let go

keep just one,
a mischief-making male,
recycling his long-haired half sister
and fixing his mother and he

Never again.

death brings longing
to replace the tom
who slept at her feet
and comforted her fourth-grade heart

bring one home,
and when spring arrives
the “never again” exasperates
through a triple litter year.

keep just one,
forget their names
and the way they played
and overwhelmed the litter box

coaxing the remainders
of this year’s first and last delivery
into the box for sterilization day--
thank you tax returns.

keep just one more,
fix the problem before
it’s a problem, never grieving
the loss of their womanhoods

Never again. . .again.
Leslie Levy
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:38:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pudge

The first time I laind eyes on him,
I knew this dog was meant for me.

All along, in a small black cage,
His tail wagged hopefully.

His floppy ears perked up
"Take me home" his eyes seemed to plead.

The man slowly opwned the cage
amd the little brown dog made a beeline for my arms.

His fat little body shook the whole way home
I strolked his fur gently.

He is my constant compainion and best friend.
Brittany Crawford
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:39:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Poetic styles are mutilated, partial or Impartial Found Poems with meter/rhyme still undefined.

6 poems (Sixth Sense said to include all, all for non-animal lovers written by a person with an affinity for saltwater aquarium life. #6 is ONLY for politically strong-minded only).

Being prompted to be inspired by Clio the muse of history, my love of elephants, my doll/elephant collections that were destroyed in a fire in 2001 and of course politics with all of its political animals. For your reading pleasure (or displeasure!):

(See Elephas Maximus (1), Copperhead (2), Elephas Maximus like the political Grand Old Pachyderm is on the Endangered List (3), Elephant in Ass Skin (4), Dinosaur Lesson (5) and (6) either titled “The Elephant’s Southern Opinion” or “the fastidiousness of ‘Copperheads')



Elephas maximus (1)

Elephas maximus
35,000 max with us
Number 35,000 still unnamed
For the ivory prize many were gamed
Endangered to say the least
Diminishing is their feast

Copperhead (2)

Feeding on historic, political comedy
“Donkey of Democracy” v. “the Republican Elephant”
From Harpers’ Weekly, January 15, 1870
Exalt “Success of the Donkey”, as Time and Money is spent

As the “vials of party hatred opened anew”
From legacies, dynasties and family trees
What is defined as American Blue Blood true?
As America was colonized, but not like the bees.

From party origins in slavery
“Long Ears” kicks once more
as the “Long Ear” comedic president
kicks in the Washington door

as the “Long-Eared animal dropped off of Nast’s pen”
Now give birth to “Big Ears” alas
and WHAT there’s that damn chimpanzee again!
While the GOP profoundly mimics the “just plain jackass”
At their own expense, GOP laughter comes much to fast.

Since history as it is known repeats once more.
1776 is when it started, but when will it end?
With engaged politics alive from shore to shore
Minority Jackass plan's to be labeled “Copperhead” again

“Truth to Tell”, I was taken aback,
was the political campaign
really the Republican’s smoking pot
calling the Democratic kettle “unblack”?

Elephas maximus like the political Grand Old Pachyderm aka Elephant is on the Endangered List (3)

“The Elephant” it goes without saying
“was meant to symbolize political greatness”,
The Donkey once known for “loud braying”
GOP now declared a civilized state mess
Change has come with the Donkey
As it picked up the “Change We Need”
And now we are loosing jobs because
Elephant grew in banker’s loan mortgaged greed

Elephant in Ass Skin (4)

Slow stings of the copperhead
at the base of the Great Old Pachyderm
Threaten to topple the beast back into the pit
When politicians of both sides learn?

Rebellion continues at grassroots to be
The fuel that feeds Democracy
The bread and butter fight we learn
Creates class war, dissention and more fuel to burn
Here is why the lessons of life you see
are found through study of American History.

Power and influence the rally cry
Will the elephant and the donkey
Continue to amalgamate?
Or will America surely die?

Dinosaur Lesson (5)

From Animal Planet,
“Individuals communicate
by vocalizations, foot stomping and postures,
in order to stick together and
to warn each other of approaching predators...”
And like
“The Asian elephant is rapidly declining
due to loss of suitable habitat
throughout its range.”

Consequence of lack of sense of obligation to humanity, poor communication and poor management

A TRUE FOUND POEM
The Elephant’s “Southern Opinion” “is an insult to the intelligence of the American people” quite possibly the catalyst of the GWB Depression and Global Economic Decline

“The Elephant’s Southern Opinion” (6)

Friends,

“it has become a fashion to placate despotism by flattery and falsehoods”

“The design of the well-written lie is to impress the reader with the wonderful intellectuality and great moral excellence (of Americans)”

“our country is in danger of perishing into the ocean of cowardly shames and lies”

“Within three months they will be more or less organized in every county”

“for the purpose of protecting their own race in America from the abominations of negro rule.”

“A fire is kindling that will not much longer be suppressed under the bold efforts to Africanize American Society”

“The Elephant’s Southern Opinion gives sound advice to give employment and support no longer to those who banded together”

To elect a black President

“people turn off every (one) who voted against the Radical Ticket”

“nothing can be worse than for whites to go into a campaign of equal voting with negros…”

“the deepest degradation which it is possible for white men to descend to, below that we can conceive of no lower deep”

“If it is possible for them to fall so low as to forgive themselves, they will never be forgiven by their children”

The Elephant’s “Southern Opinion” is to fear Obama as the Native Son of America,

"as he is no brother of mine”

“to say the least, the negro is no more the brother of the white man that the ass is the brother of the horse.

“A blooded horse which should conceive the desire to make himself the equal of the ass an 'amalgamation'".

“Instead of teaching the people to respect such monster, they should be made to abhor them”

“the negro has to be met on the plan of bread and butter”

“He must be treated, not as a creature gifted of brains, but chiefly as one having a stomach”

“the battle of American civilization” AND “conflict must come and the sooner the better”

“we are not idle spectators of the animus of the negros.”

“They are fighting for liberty and for the natural supremacy of their own race”

We should put Country First and not support the President of the United States.

Work, “…not for the Africanization of American Society”

“this government shall be preserved for white men and their descendants forever” and be “so proud of being a white man that he will not admit negros to become his equals”

Elephant’s Southern Opinion states that as depicted in many cartoons and other forms of entertainment,

“The negro differs quite as much from the white man as he does from the chimpanzee, a fact which we do not conceive prove that the negro is not a human being, but only that the highest brute and the lowest man approximate quite nearly in their anatomy.”

“Bullets rather than soft words are the deserts of all such scoundrels. At any rate, let them be hated and despised by every man and woman”.

“it is a time when the whole truth must be spoken”

“We rejoice that there is at last a society formed in this country which will spread broadcast the correct information upon this subject so vital to the civilization of our race”

“Severe, yet perfectly just and wise advice”

No longer send money to the RNC (keep Steele hungry and begging the Colored and sympathizers as “the negro cause ever can be in victory”), send it to us directly at our underground railroad address. We will work out the tax details and investment bonus incentives among ourselves.

Your Friend,

Rush Limbaugh

(with excerpts from the legacies of Rove, Cheney and GWB)

(as reading from Cornell University Library’s Making of America retrieved 04/01/2009 from http://cdl.library.cornell.edu/cgi-bin/moa/pageviewer?root=%2Fmoa%2Foldg%2Foldg0005%2F&tif=00961.TIF&cite=http%3A%2F%2Fcdl.library.cornell.edu%2Fcgi-bin%2Fmoa%2Fmoa-cgi%3Fnotisid%3DABS9288-0005-166&coll=moa&frames=1&view=50
Nikki Griffith
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:44:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
UNICORN

Golden horn
Unicorn
bedazzle us with magic
Knowing eyes
realize
the fate of myths is tragic
Silkensift
magic’s gift
rebel against tomorrow
Fate depose
life transpose
your passing’s marked with sorrow
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:44:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
woodchuck

you are a shock.

the first time I see you,
snarfling your bow-legged path along route 13,
I blink four times to make the monster go away.

don't blame me.
I'm a west-coast fledgling,
wide eyed and bit-lipped and new york city bound but
I have never seen your forests.

since that first yelp I've seen you twice.
first: the only company on a sans-streetlight evening
I waved. you did the blinking.
the second
lured by the smell of salt onto too many winding roads
body left steaming and cutthroat in the damp

I thought by now I'd be used to east coast corpses.


Kathleen Jercich
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:45:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Raccoon

The Algonquian word that means
“he who scratches with his hands.”
I hear you all through the night
inside the walls scritch/scratching
so we go to war
and I try everything. Told you hate
some kinds of music, I play
Barry Manilow and Kenny G,
but you just start beating your kits.
I know, I hate it too.
Oscar C. Pena
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:51:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dog

I had a different name before.
I was what my people called their “baby.”
Being a “baby” meant I got lots of
walks, belly rubs and chew toys,
and every day was playtime.

Now my people have something else they call
their “baby.”
He gets all the walks, belly rubs and toys,
and whenever I want to play,
all I get are words like “no” and “don’t” and
“go lie down.”
I also have a new name –
“dog.”
Kathryn Shirley
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:52:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Spike

I could see that he was adorable
even in the brown murk that was
suffocating him, only his beak
and blinking eyes breaking
through the scum. He perked
up, regained his green
complexion, the pale yellow
underside turning golden.
Darkening tattoos,
like revealed invisible ink,
appeared on his protruding
legs, tail, and head. I scrubbed
his algae corroded shell
with a toothbrush. Slippery,
he shot out of my hands,
landed hard against aquarium glass.
I was sick, worried he'd hate me
the rest of his amphibious life.
Like picking up a footbalI,
I wrapped my fingers
around his carapace,
looked Spike-his new name--
in the eyes, saw that all
his limbs were clawing
the air, shell intact.
I lowered him to his home.
He took a swim around,
scratched at the glass walls
on each side, then crawled
onto his floating plastic dock.
Spike stretched his head
as far out of the shell
as he could and looked
at me with what I thought
was friendship, then readied
himself to jump into the water
if I intended to encourage
friendship close-up again.


Billy Angel
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:53:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Porcupine
Most people pity the mangy, beady-eyed porcupine
Pacing all day, every business day, in the dilapidated cage
Outside the shady looking shack
Owned by the Cajun Critters Swamp Tour business

But they still board the boat
to listen to a boy from the bayou
bewitch them with stories of the beasts in the water
and then beckon those same beasts with marshmallows

they watch as once a gator is gettable
that bayou boy reaches into the water
grabs its tail
and attempts to lift the beast onto the boat

they (the gator, the boy, and the patrons of Cajun Critters)
look anxiously at one another
uncertain if this is how things should be
until the boy gives up his grip on the gator’s tail
letting it splash back into the water
and the boat meanders its way back up the bayou

the bayou boy stands at the ready for a few more bucks
as everyone unloads, passing the pathetic porcupine
and commenting on the marvels of nature
both human and animal





Karen Decker
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:58:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Housecat

Sleep on the chair,
Sleep on the bed,
Sleep on the other bed.
Walk raggedly to the food dish and chew your food slowly.
Sit on a human and be petted,
Look out the window at the birds,
Sleep on the couch.
Get up, stretch and go to the litter box,
And then…

Streak like electricity across the house—
Jump on people— jump on tables—when you hear the yelling, jump off again;
Attack the toy mouse, flinging it wildly and contorting your body;
Bite any hand that gets too close —
And then…

Sleep on the chair.
Sleep on the bed…
Stacy Wright
Sunday, April 05, 2009 7:58:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day 5

Temple

A shining beacon on a hill
A gathering of the worthy
A place to shelter from the world
A residence of Spirit
A Holy House of deity
A work for those passed on
A conduit of earnest prayer
A stillness of reflection
A site where blessings overflow
A temple of Our God

Copyright 2009 Penny L Kjelgaard
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:11:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CYMBA

A tea party for two,
Kitty Cymba and you.
She sits up straight,
In the chair ‘cross from you.

You offer a cup of tea,
And a kitty biscuit or two.
She stares at you.
“Some tuna?”

She sniffs it, but no.
“Of course, I know,
Some milk in your bowl?”
She looks with sad eyes,

But sits very still.
“Is this no longer your favorite?”
She cocks her head to the side,
A gleam in her eye.

“Is your tummy upset?”
you say with a sigh.
Kitty Cymba stares at the floor.
As if she wishes for more.

Oh the puzzle is solved
And the problem resolved.

She is much too polite to eat
From the table,
As she has been carefully taught.
“Let’s move to the usual spot.”

She winks at you
As she jumps to the floor
Looks up from her bowl
To ask for more.

As for you,
Curl up on the rug,
Snug as a bug,
And enjoy
Tea for two,
Kitty Cymba and you.
Diane McD
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:30:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

Your scratchy voice,
Your calico fur,
Your insistence on a
Territory no longer
Yours; I’d love to
Let you in, share a
Book and a sit, but
You’re every bit as
Much as any allergy
My lover suffers.
You’ll have to find
Another door to
croak your outdoor woes.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:44:33 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Puffin


Bright-beaked in the breeding season, they waddle the crag,
spread feet treading the purple verbena. Coupled like swans
in monastic robes, they cuddle their eggs
to their plain breasts. Lilac-shelled, delicate,
the unborn chicks curl up like commas
plucked from a sentence as their parents line the shallow nest
with picked grass, leaf and feather plundered from crack and weathered rock,
small savant architects constructing their honeymoon home together -
the coastal cliffs are combed with them,
busy as bees, building and toiling for their own sweet ones,
riding out the weather, the warm updrafts, each keen predator.

Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:54:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Rabbit Born
by Tod Pardon


Francisco, "Did the rabbit be born
after you wounded it up?"

Simona, “been to the seaside once
In time to tell a lie in his life.”

Lie and lie had come to General Francisco de Orellana
The wounded rabbit born.
Half-hour chance had decided the question
Of go or stay.

“For I will be with you till no brother=20
And all the Tapuyas gone,” said Francisco.

They were symmetrical without having a shape
Waiting among the green leaves as they giggled.
The women let loose their arrows
Upon the trembling rabbits.
One breast in the wind
Nipple hard in expectation of rabbit born.

It can never be the same wind in cultures
Rooted in different rabbit structures.
Who could have known
Surely not the beast himself.

The General sailed on with what soldiers were left.
Their pupils being invaded by small bugs
That eat the brain slowly over years.
A fine gift for an arrogant invasion.

Eventually the rabbits had been tied to trees
Making their eggs drop into the grass
with the colors of open veins.

04.05.09

Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:58:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kenny the Cat, I Mean,
Explained Over the Cheap
Bottle of Gato Negri
As Poured for Us Repeatedly
At the Black Tulip Hour

He cries like he cried
when I was reading Henry James.
Professional weepers
by now, and the library
fears us like southerners
fear a powder-sugar-French-toast
-dusting-of-snow.
I am not saying the librarians
buy up all the milk and eggs
and leave the grocery
looking robbed. I am saying
that they bring in sand bags
and move the rarest books
to higher ground. That first
edition Dumas signed, for example.
We’re allowed nowhere near that section,
and yet, shouldn’t the entire library
be ashrug with sobs? The tragedy,
the gorgeousness, all gathering in a folding wave
of the unbearable ache of the glorious
uses of language to bring us: flowers, countries, back
to life. A thank you for being
this species to sing this string
of words taught to us so young
we could barely guess what we meant
by promises that contained four witches upright,
or prayers that suggested death before waking
and someone told me just yesterday
that what Sylvia Plath was missing was God
and dear fellow follower of the words
I thought of us: full of Christmas cookies
and writing about a year lousy with meteors.
How we escape however we can in the black tulip
hour, his needles, her pills, our sugar highs and lows,
the dresses we put in our virtual shopping carts
only to have them pillaged in the night.
Cindy, I almost knew your father:
years-gone before I even met you,
and on his birthday, when we dined
at our favorite Chinese cafe in his honor,
I felt he saw you somehow, sees you:
wonder, toy-hearted, a mind sharp
as his warnings about a world
he could barely trust with his girl.
We had helped each other farewell
so much, by then. your father goodbye,
your love goodbye, and me, newly-wrenched
from what I thought was certain love.
The story was the same when we left
for new distant towns months ago, only the lovers
were swapped out for new ones to leave or leave us
and we wrote back and forth, to remind us
how to move, how to do anything
not to hurt him, anything not to hurt.

Incidentally, I don’t know where the rest
of my life went, but this morning,
it’s Sunday, early spring, and outside
my window, I spy a man
teaching his daughter
how to ride a sky-blue bicycle
with a basket, plastic-flowered,
with streamers, and there is only
that first bike, father’s hand: solid-lightly
on the small of the back, believing
us into feeling it there still
when, holding his breath,
and her balance with just
the muscular-wish of his gaze,
a ghost-hand lingers, steadying
and she rides away still with him
with every push on the pedal,
every sparkling-spit of silver
off the spokes, the planet,
the daylight-saved clock
everything that spins,
spin-certain, spin.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 8:59:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Dragon
by Diana R. Wilson


I love virgins
I want them with some meat on their bones
Not those scrawny little bits that taste like chicken
No, I want them with round hips and full breasts
The ones that taste like milk fed veal
Not too young, like bitter grass
And not too old like musky mutton
They have to be mature and ripe

It’s more fun to pluck them from the fields
Like fat little plums toiling over their crops
Free range lovelies full of cries and struggles
But I’m not picky
I’ll burn buildings until someone brings me one
Trussed up and perfumed
Lashed in ropes at the mouth
Of my lair



Diana R. Wilson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:10:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
YOU are an animal



Sometimes
You roar like a lion at me
Only to become soft and gentle
And then make love to me like a rabbit, lol
I call you my pit bull
You act like an ass
You say I move like a cat
When sometimes I feel like an elephant
They say swans mate for life
But humans mate for fun
Are you my swan?
kathryn frey
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:24:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)



Tabitha
by Diana R. Wilson


It’s another hangover morning
avocado and tangerine
green and thick on my tongue
orange tart in my eyes

I press my face into the cool linen
spearmint and grape
blue tingling prickles
lilac and sweet in my nose

She curls in against my stomach
my silky little nurse
midnight with stars down her throat
a dab of milk between measuring eyes

You lay here a moment longer
says her heavy little paws
damp nose checks my eyelids
all the while, the blessed purr


Diana R. Wilson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:24:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Barney, the Mississippi Dog

His master leisurely drove the A.T.V.
through the Mississippi woods
while Barney ran along beside him,
companions enjoying a spring afternoon,
inhaling scents of pine and magnolia trees.

When they approached the house,
Barney pricked his ears, alert,
waiting for his cue,
like a racehorse waiting
for the jockey’s whip.

His master gunned the engine
and the race began.
Somehow that lazy Mississippi dog
always won.
Debbie Pea
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:25:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
animale

your plumage is alluring
calls to my wild
untamedness

i answer with my call
to love the you who
you have manifested

your wrapping captivates
but it is the gift of you that
holds my attention

to your details of
skin chin the best side
being your inside within

here we can dwell in the
nature of us
whole uninterrupted as one

Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:31:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cats

Major
My 18lb baby
Sucks his tail
Hates it when I leave

Face
Thought she was a boy
Turned into a girl
Our little empress

Eddie
Looked like Eddie Munster
So beautiful now
She is the princess

Blondie
Athletic little boy
So sweet and quiet then
Demanding and kneady now

Muffin
Latest addition
Stays outside
Helps me in the garden

They are my family
My children

My life
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:34:50 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

Impudent little scrapping feline prancing around unaware,
aloof and independently proud Siamese, striking in beauty and unreachable in spirit.
upright tail with its own language, secretive and frustrating.
non-accessable, fascinating, self-appointed.
clawing at fish and mice, delicately, fragile but acute.
slow without sloth, tangible without knowledge.
obviously bored of captivity, being made to settle for the same as us.
Its eyes wise, spirit wild, personality compromised.
oops! it got ravaged by a dog
but dog is not the name of the poem -
so that's another story!
(bloody men)

Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:42:39 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Octopus

Fifteen and he has no idea
what he's doing.
She doesn't either,
but she knows
this isn't how it works.
He's all tentacles and suckers,
reaching and groping and embracing.
She's never been kissed before,
but she's pretty sure
it's not supposed to be this wet.
Sarah
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:47:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Skunk

Work late and wander
A sniff out of any
Pedestrian insects in that corner,
Under the sweet fern along
The riverbank, or to dawdle among
The tiny pebbles on the sandbar.

Partly sated with exoskeletons
Weary with the daily salt of experience
The scent of inherent gland
Discourages any larger creatures
Wanting his endoskeleton.

Creature of habit
He plonks down on the sofa
To watch TV.
Sam Nielson
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:54:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Lupine Loveliness

Last night you howled me awake
The pair of you, serenading each other
Making love with voices ululating
With such eerie tenderness I found
Myself unable to return to slumber

Such primitive yearning in your voices
Made me wonder, were you about to mate,
Or simply singing love-songs to Luna
As she blessed you with her fullness and
Showered silvery light on mountain peaks

Thank you for blessing me ancient ones
With your ghostly presence again this year
An affirmation of the circle of life, you are
Appearing in my night as if in a dream;
Staying long enough to grant me peace.
S.E.Ingraham
S.E.Ingraham
Sunday, April 05, 2009 9:58:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cats

Well, it's about damn time you started
paying attention to
me.

I am the one in charge
here.

Yes--
right there.

puuuuuurrrrrr
Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:13:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
baboon

There’s a baboon in my bedroom
he’s making lots of noise
thumping his chest and making a mess
playing with all of my toys.
Julie Eason
Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:21:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Tatiana the Tiger

It was after hours, in San Francisco zoo,
Tatiana killed a teen-aged boy.
His name was Carlos Souza. He was a
thin youth, with American Indian blood,
and long raven black hair. He had
stayed hidden in the restrooms
after closing. When all was quiet,
he ambled out with his paper boat of
cold cheese nachos and idly kicked a
fallen branch along the path ahead.

High on a hill, the tiger sat peacefully,
stretched out on her still-warm rock
in the dying light of the day.
Leaves rustled in the cooling air,
and the sun blotted the trees
like a Rorschach test over
her head. She blinked indifferently,
yawned, and tossed her striped head
around in an arc under the leaves.

Something in the power of her
lassitude provoked him. He
stared into her round pupils
that were like drops of black
blood, and felt his own blood surge.
He waved the branch and let out
a lusty whoop. But Tatiana only
stared at him, stretching her claws
a little, as if reluctantly awakened.
A small jerk in her loins and
she was up on all fours.

Carlos started cooing, cooing and
wheedling, "Here kitty, here kitty!"
as she swaggered toward him.
She lilted impatiently at the lip
of the gorge, and began to pace,
head surfing the idle breeze,
shoulder blades churning. Then Carlos
hurled his stick like a spear over
the iron rails. It ricocheted
against the side of the ravine and
flew upward into Tatiana's face.

Then she was 14 feet up in the
blue sky, a giant writhing cat,
pulsing herself outward two times
in mid air before alighting in the
middle of the walkway. Jaws open, she
sprung the rigid chords of Carlos'
neck and nestled down beside him
to lap at the stream of his blood,
and to tenderly wrap her paw around
a tangle of his long black hair.







Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:43:20 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Betta"

Kept for so long
In tiny jars
A prize to admire
On a shelf
By yourself
To not grow strong

A fighting beauty
With ribbon-tail
To happily swim
Among the roots
Of a peace-lily
You fan your fins
L. Vidal
Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:47:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Rats



Like a thorough critic, the tribe made comment
on every single thing we had: every painting,
pillow, dish and spoon--There was no way not
to know. New scrollwork on our bookcase gnawed,
dent by dent, by two or three generations;
mahogany stains rubbed on our oak headboard;
and, of course, the overflood of punctuation marks
chopping up the sentence of our material life.

I’m sorry, Grandpa Norway Rat,
for storing birdseed, tea and nutmeg nuts.
Starting there, how else could either of us respond?
I don’t regret what’s inevitable, only what’s choiceless.
That makes little sense. But did you have to shit
on everything? On every single thing? Of course.

You measured eighteen inches tooth to tail.
I made nine notches and stapled up new mesh.
All your evidence is being painstakingly bleached.
You’ve a right to live, of course, but nobody I tell
has any sympathy for your vanished clan.
That’s us in a nutshell: mouse and man.


Daniel Ari
Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:49:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jack Ass

From the other room, the sounds
of kicking and braying and the smell
of sweat, salty, thick, like the air
is swollen, about to pop and ooze.

This room is quiet. We sit here
pretending the other room is empty,
sip water, talk of weather and play
music to drown the hee-haws.

We are stubborn, refuse to bend
or we might break. We ignore the noises,
the change, the smell and the sound.
Maybe it will go away.
Monica Sanden
Sunday, April 05, 2009 10:57:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Salamanders

Born again, with the warm spring rain,
they leave their little holes in the ground
searching for new holes in the ground...
not searching, really, they know exactly where they
are going.

Across the highway.

There are people
with strong flashlights
slowing down the cars
and scooping up the spotted creatures
taking them to safety, 20 feet away.
Gratia Karmes
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:10:28 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
09-0404

Bear

My clueless bear
of a brother-in-law
who lets his magpie wife
(my sister-in-law,
my husband’s sister)
walk all over him,
came to breakfast this morning
without
his
shirt.

When he walked into my kitchen
I gasped
(softly so as not to disturb his hairy eminence)
and turned
carefully
away.

In my family, we may walk
bare-footed
but not go
bare-chested.
We can go bare-headed
but not go
bare-torsoed.
Especially when one’s chest
is as bearishly, hairishly,
protuberant,
almost expectant
(in an “are you expecting” kind of way).

It’s rude.

And so I,
not knowing how to react
or what to say,
turned away.

And during breakfast
I made sure not to bump his
bear-tummy
with my careful elbow.
I’m no dummy.
Bears don’t take too kindly
to
that.
Diana
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:16:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Great Auk

An Atlantic sea-witch, who fell in love with Eric the Red.
Maybe it was the black silk ballgown, the way she danced,
the blade she always carried or the fact that she could
Fly underwater.
Their bridal nest was called America,
Or the Nest of Dreams.
Of course, she has to return to the Water every day
because she had OCD.
The Totem state accused her of being a terrorist,
Her children were taken away and experimented on,
The world began to forget.
Eventually she made it back to her home
But she was beaten to death by two drunk Scottish fishermen
Who had never set foot outside St Kilda.
They thought she was just a clumsy old flightless bird.
Roy
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:20:49 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Diane McD, I love your kitty poem. Cats and tea are two of my favorite things...
Thanks for giving me a smile.
Diane
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:24:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stolen Beagle

I had a beagle when I was twelve,
a black, brown, and white bitch,
who relished in assorted city smells
--enough that she took little note
when a sly stranger approached, sidled
up to her on the street, scooped her up,
stuffed her under his arm like groceries.
She must have been silenced, startled.
Not a yelp was heard down the block
where my mother waited for her return.
I have always wondered where she went:
Was she sold into a better family where
no one yelled, no one hated each other?

Margot Suydam
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:33:34 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Beijing Zoo

They sell weed
at the Beijing Zoo,
so I bussed there
hoping to score.

No one gestured
toward me. Instead,
I found still monkeys
in sad fish tanks

kept stubbornly lighted
with fluorescent light,
and children banging
on the glass.

If ever I felt us evil,
this would have been the day,
when I saw those monkeys
pacing edge to edge

as if to ascertain
that three feet
was all the world was.
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:38:03 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Crow

Ebony crow in
the cottonwood tree.
My brother in
moonless night feathers
or only my talisman,
I don’t know.
I only know your
sleek blue-black plumage,
hollow rattle-call questions
I can’t answer.
Toni Gilbert
Sunday, April 05, 2009 11:49:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Iguana

Iguana holds the secret
beneath its lizard skin,
the memory of ancient life
the dimmest dream of God.
Iguana blinks his slow
blink and slides away
in pursuit of survival.
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:06:48 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Boar

(After Marianne Moore)



boar
your name re-
minds me of tedium, but dandy
snout resembles most an
overweight English gentleman.

sow
with piglets
farrow past summer, forage.
Gored for meat, and courage.
Born for berries and helmets.

spine
razorback
Coat of colors, thickset bristles.
Night watchman of the fertile.
Surprise her with small insects and roots.

war
assail strong.
Cornered, butt feral heads, escape hunt.
Snout up, dart board stunts.
Struggle with extinction, distinguished.

shave
boar bristles
from his back, dart stuns sounders,
cat-drawn chariot deracinated,
bearer of arms, lowly no longer.

Boar
Symbol of
war, courage in a nose,
mascots of stalwart soldiers. Could those
pigs symbolize peace, stave off war?


Mary L. Westcott

MARY WESTCOTT
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:12:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sunny Bunny’s Sense
Sunny Bunny
What do you do?
Run through the grass
And play peek-a-boo.

Sunny Bunny
What do you see?
There’s a robin singing
In the old apple tree

Sunny Bunny
What do you hear?
A cricket family chirping
And a puppy coming near.

Sunny Bunny
What do you smell?
Kids tending garden
And carrots! I can tell!

Sunny Bunny
What do you taste?
A big pile of clover
Not a leaf to waste.

Sunny Bunny
What do you feel?
Tenderness and warmth
And love when it’s real.

Sunny Bunny
What do you say?
Easter is coming
Celebrate with me today!
Laura M. Meadors
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:25:56 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Dodo Limerick

There once was a bird called a dodo
Who made a big species no-no.
Hunted to the brink,
It went quite extinct
And then disappeared in toto.
RTChrisman
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:36:29 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"snakes"

snakes love little mice
i ain’t got no hands and feet
everybody’s got to have a hobby
can’t get on my knees in prayer

i ain’t got no hands and feet
a hug from me is rather lethal
i can’t get on my knees in prayer
see the church and see the steeple

a hug from me is rather lethal
i use my eyes to take control
see the church and see the steeple
she’s afraid to look at naked fatal

i use my eyes to take control
we just might get what we’ve got coming
she’s afraid to look at naked fatal
i tell the tale to save the lizard

we just might get what we’ve got coming
she’s afraid to look for fear of seeing
i tell the tale to save the lizard
his planet can not have me on it

she’s afraid to look for fear of seeing
she’s afraid of me for fear of being
his planet can not have me on it
i’m afraid she wants to kill me

Monday, April 06, 2009 12:38:00 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cockroaches

window's icy film
cockroaches warm by the stove
my airways constrict
Li Yun Alvarado
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:55:24 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bear

My evening was rattled,
along with my coffee cup,
when a neighbor appeared,
Kilroy-esque, at my window
shouting, "A bear! A bear!
He’s going through your yard!"

And so he was, upwind
of the growing column of
neighborhood men following
like disciples at the Second Coming
his zig-zag path,
the setting sun glistening
off his furry ursine behind.
Laurel Szymkowiak
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:09:25 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
day 4 (Animal)

Snow white tiger
stripped for maximum fear;
why so cuddly?
N.D. Smith
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:20:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coati

(1) Primarily a word gambit by which my husband trounces me at Scrabble; (2) A small, difficult to control animal hailing from the Southern hemisphere. Like me. Well, why not take greater liberties? Let’s say, I’m also a Morpho butterfly—rare monster, shade of blue deeper than all cobalts. Deeper than all color, all waters. Turquoise-green—when I walk towards the ocean, my skin tingles, cells sing: "I am alive, I will be dead. I will be dead; we will be dead together": what the geese say as they stitch the grey sky back together, before nightfall. Before stars.
Before the wound of sunrise.
Michele Santamaria
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:23:43 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Puppy

When you nap with your nose between my legs
I see a master in the art of love.
Little avatar, you’ve shown me the way.

Magdalena Alagna
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:27:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
How We Got Our Cat


Simba was her name until we learned that most
calicos are females. Our friends explained it
right after Maia brought her home, rescued and
hidden in her coat.

Our two daughters fell in love with the little
creature instantly, and implored both of us:
“It’s okay, Mom, Dad. If you want, we will find
her another home

in the morning. Can she please stay overnight?”
Pixie (her new name) squeaked her mew and I knew
she would be living in our home most likely
beyond that evening.

If we said yes, absolutely, the girls would
change the cat litter all the time and feed and
give her water -- and, now, years later, the chores are
left for us parents.

Maia and Chloe, chasing after that cat,
squealing “so cute” one hundred times -- we gave in.
All of them precious, it became apparent
our family had

been incomplete, missing a member who now,
weightless, purring, sleeps on top of my chest much
like the children had when they were just babies,
irresistible,

purring into my caressing of her fur --
orange, brown and white, indescribably soft,
tapping into my predisposition
to be a mother.

Naturally, we decided to let the girls
keep the kitten for it was starting to be
difficult to part with her then -- once bonded.
It was predestined.


Laurel Kallen
Laurel Kallen
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:54:58 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Gray Squirrel

Acrobat of the branches
Scampering headlong down the tree trunk,
Scurrying across the yard,
Tightroping along the porch railing,
Conquering the birdfeeder with a ballerina’s grand jete,
Sending wings fluttering,
In a frenzy of flight.
Bushy tail balancing.
Ignoring scolding birds,
Stuffing seeds until cheeks are bulging.
Leaping to the ground,
Dashing lickety split through the grass,
Neighborhood dog in hot pursuit.
Darting across the street,
Escaping narrowly death by SUV.
Treed gray squirrel
Stashing the bounty,
Chattering in the treetops.

LBC
LBC
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:16:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rufous Hummingbird

I want to tell you, little hummer,
You turned my winter into summer.
To have you drink my preparation
Gave me great cause for celebration.
Your “tick-tick” welcome, your levitating
I found especially exhilarating,
And when you hovered in mid-air,
And snapped at gnats that were not there,
I knew that cuteness was your name,
And I will never be the same.
I know, of course, you’ll soon be leaving,
I, as surely, will be grieving,
Yet joy I have, and deep thanksgiving,
Your presence – giving life to living.
Lynn Barber
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:24:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MOONDANCE THE CAT

Moondance the cat fiddles with me like the moonlight-
Content to follow time through it’s motions.
Knowing the future but letting this moment become that moment.
Sharon Camp
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:26:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Hummingbird

Facebook says
That if I were an animal I’d be a hummingbird
According to their very unscientific quiz method

I don’t see it.
Those birds are very flighty,
Not at all like ultra-political, often too serious
human me.

Some hummingbirds
must eat three times their body weight each day
to survive.
If I look at fudge or a bacon cheeseburger
I gain 5 pounds
Before fork reaches mouth.
Martina Robinson
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:33:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Donkey AKA Ass

I am the “butt” of many jokes.
You get it, of course,
if you are at all like most folks.

Now will you please consider this?
Of all the creatures
I’m not so easy to dismiss.

I’ve spoken plainly to a man
with words that made him
see; the Lord’s will to understand.

Now when a dumb animal speaks
it makes one wonder.
Who’s the smart ass, and who’s the freak?

--Sharlyn Guthrie
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:41:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ant

Small black ant
searching for some food
on my desk.
Go away.
The kitchen’s the place to eat.
Better yet, the park.
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:48:04 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CHARLIE

Sitting here rocking with tear filled eyes
Missing you Charlie and wondering why
Thought it would heal faster, this loss in our hearts
Not realizing Charlie that you played such a part.

You came as a puppy so cute and so small.
Growing a little larger you remained cute overall.
The moment Charlie you came through the door
The bond started growing and will remain evermore.

A small little bundle who wandered around
By my side or my partners you‘d always be found
Asleep on our bed or at the window aware
Of the traffic out front, you sometimes would stare.

Sometimes annoying when the barking did start
We would trade that annoyance to hold you close to our hearts.
To have you to hold you to say that we care
Our dearest pup Charlie, are you happy up there?

I know you’re in heaven I know you’re all right
Charlie we miss you and long to hold you so tight
I will close now forgive me if I start to cry
It is so hard for us, since we told you good-bye.


Raymond Alberts
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:51:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ming/Ching
Two short-hair exotics

One is the bad child
Full of curiosity
Full of life
Puts the owner to bed
slides up and down
the bannister
runs at breakneck speed
down the stairs
knocking the owner
out of the way -
Ming

One is the good child
calm and peaceful
Content to stretch
out on the bed
warming it for
her owner
Likes to jump
on the computer desk
first and beat
Ming to the draw -
Ching.

Two sisters
different
as night from day.
Robby Lynne Strozier
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:52:27 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Betta"

She asked me to keep you while they sprayed.
I thought it was just for an hour or so
but she left you for weeks. I knew nothing
of fish in tanks or bowls, only on
hooks and in skillets in ultra hot oil.
You food was flakes that would not
the back side of a pinky fingernail,
your domain the now empty vase her
long stemmed red roses had come in,
and your company the roots of a philander,
a few pretty rocks, and some odd shaped
imitations of life. Yet, I feel in love
with you, streaking around that vase,
flashing your electric blue in excitement
when I came into the room. Who knew
a fish could do so much for a
broken heart.
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:57:28 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Queen Bee

Bzzzzzz
The Queen is here
Her Royal Buzz can be heard
Her drones bow low
She takes her throne
Let the proclamations be sent
More honey shall be made
Her subjects moan
But do as told
The Queen she knows
What’s best for them
She’s always known
It’s her burden to bear
Her wings are tired but
Go forth she must
Her duty to carry out
Fair and true
She is the Royal
She is Queen Bee
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:57:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snake

Cursed am I among living creatures
Feared am I for my elongated legless features
Cold-blooded,
I rhythmically meander in sand and water
Slithering over rocks and into caves from cold air to hotter
Waiting patiently
Time is on my hands
Ready to strike
Whenever I can
Diana Mwamunga
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:59:30 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
What the Eagle Saw

From its perch atop the hundred-year-old pine tree,
A Bald Eagle looks out, surveys all that today
it rules over. Behind it, scrub forest, leftovers
not cut down in the name of growth, cabins
along dirt roads leading away from the lake, garages
filled with last decade’s snowmobiles, a ‘51 Ford
pickup truck now home to families of mice he leaves
for smaller hawks. In front, the lake. Shadows of fish
and a family of ducklings, waiting to be plucked
by sudden talons and brought back home to the nest,
another generation fed. And the pier below, patient
water lapping against twisted pilings, the bench on the end
empty, no fishing pole, no tackle box or cordless phone
next to an elderly thigh. An absence in the late afternoon.
A small change which changes nothing, but the bench
feels a missing weight, knows the meaning of loss.

Paul Scot August
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:12:22 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jelly Fish

Eating up the oceans like a starfish
I pulse my journey to your shore
Where unaware I turn your skin
Into a cushion of pain.
My crystal blob of life with
Tentacles of power
Reaches to all corners of the globe
Without paying homage to the
Need for restraint.
Today I move to rule over shark and whale,
But some scientist, animal or human, will
Find the key to my reduction.
Adieu.
margaret
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:17:45 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
If Giraffes
sleep only ten minutes at a time,
heads pressed to the ground, legs
folded beneath them , do they find
time to count their spots once
through between the rise and fall
of night, notice the symmetry
or lack of, the shades of chestnut
or rust, outlined in buff or beige,
the magic motion picture that grows
and shrinks with each flexed muscle,
or do their eyes eclipse one another
as the long lashes of each lid blind
a vision that diverges, inverts
the spots before their eyes,
and do they know that vertigo in
the tallest animal on the planet
is only a hoofless blink away.


mary hutchins harris
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:22:36 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
April 4, 2009

Kahlua

Whenever Kahlua’s in a rage,
He bites at fingers through his cage.

His Pavlovian response comes through
To my command, “Do your doo-doo!”

Anytime Ed comes through the door,
Kahlua beelines across the floor,
Prepared to snap at Eddie’s shoe
No matter what Ed tries to do.

Squawking and screeching with all his might,
He wakes me from sound sleep at night.

But on George’s finger, perching there,
He talks and coos without a care.

Gerry
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:31:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dinosaurs

Enter the Urban Jungle.
Tall skyscrapers replace canopied trees,
Highways roaring with cars, trucks, and buses,
Placing the virgin land in deep freeze.

Enter the Scientist.
Microscope in hand analyzing the data,
Piece by piece of the ground left,
Trying to determine the Alpha and the Omega.

Enter Mankind.
Build, kill, and rape the land,
Concerned with self, assets, and money,
In God we trust, but on technology we stand.

Enter the Conclusion.
Dinosaurs wiped from the earth,
Promotion of the new world order,
Computer chips, atomic bombs, violence gives birth.
Nancy Ringkamp
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:33:17 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Smudge

He looked like he'd been blessed by the ashes of the palms
The only mark on an otherwise white coat
Streetsmart
Hard
Too many miles for one so young
Persistent as a child at Halloween and indeed that's what he was
Lord of the frozen wastes
Nothing showing in the snow but golden lanterns
Highly intelligent eyes
Efficient killing machine
Yet vulnerable and needy as any child
Soft and compassionate
My worst critic
My best friend
The brightest lights burn hot
Burn fast
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:33:19 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Little Bird

Chirping and chattering in the ancient cedar
Mocking, teasing, singing for a mate.
Must I always hear you but never see?
A robin hops across the lawn,
Then another,
Searching for worms
Silent, wary of being watched.
Little bird chirps and chatters.
Friends answer.
The tree is alive with bird songs, yet none I see.
I stare out the window, hoping for a glimpse
Of feathers or beak.
Perhaps tomorrow you’ll brave the wind,
Leave the tree in search of food,
And I may see.
Sharon Young
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:42:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Gingham Dog

Who's the source
For the gingham dog and calico cat?
Who in the world would think of that?

Eugene Field,of course.
Sharon Young
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:48:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CORRECTION:

"The Gingham Dog" was written and submitted by Rita Senkler. She is unable to post to the blog online but is very much enjoying participating and has asked me to post her poems for her. I forgot to change the name and e-mail address to hers when I posted "The Gingham Dog."

My apologies.
Sharon Young
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:00:19 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Unexplainable"

You say that you just don't see,
Why horses are so big to me,
To you they're work, that may be true,
But to me they're fun and enchanting too,
When we work as a team how can I say,
How everything just seems Okay?
And what is better than a soft muzzle in your hair,
To wipe away your every care?
You may ask "isn't a dog the same?"
I'm sorry, I just can't explain.

Allie B.
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:04:21 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Sky is Black with Pearly Birds


Your passing will be marked
with one long shadow
under a tree grown thin with winter.

One gaunt finger of
wind burnt bark and
fallen leaf
clawing fleshy sky.

On the day
you are proclaimed to earth,

given stone to stand your ghost upon

with whatever small comfort
one can find in words spoken over them,

you will hear
the pearly birds of shadow
slap their wings against the
startled sky.

A sound reminiscent of clapping,

a release of starlings from the trees

as if celebrating
your marriage to the earth.

I wait for you, my old friend
to relive the nights you spent
with my own black pearl
secreted in your hands,

to consummate with you
this long ceremony of earth and time,

beating sand
and baring bones.


Monday, April 06, 2009 4:42:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cats

My yard breeds cats that prowl
the surroundings of the house,
yowl on the patio, the porch, then spread
to the hood of my car,
leaving feline footprints
‘midst the dust, rust, and dirt.

I would rather rambling weeds
spread their seeds than these cats that
sire offspring while they’re still suckling.
The weeds I could spray, but it’s harder to
Spay cats you can’t count,
Too many to pin down.

I did take out one with the front of my car
and hadn’t gone far when any regret
turned to triumph instead.
But littering in Texas,
even litters of kittens labeled ‘road kill,’
is a serious crime, and I think I’ll buy earplugs
rather than do time.
Beth Melles
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:55:16 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snail

Locked to the broad chard leaf
like a deep tongue-kiss, eating
the shiny green in the
secret space of your spiral house--
no one sees what happens
between you and the leaf, only
that your passion leaves ragged
holes when you ooze from one
plant to another, antennae regal
like the plumes on Carnival dancers
in Rio, undulating your opalescent
self inside your shell, slow so
the grains of dirt massage
your underbelly, stopping
to sip fresh rain from the
puddles between pebbles.
I watch you and want to find
my love, ooze my juices
all over him, then eat him till
my wanting burns a tiny
hole in his soul so
he will never
forget me.
marcy rein
Monday, April 06, 2009 5:37:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
ORCA

When I scrambled up the intertidal rocks
and stood scanning the Strait
I was looking for inspiration: specifically,
a name for the raspberry of a person
forming in my belly
and this, my first time
spotting the Blackfish, they came
in a pod of twenty, they came
sprawling the width of their water highway
one so close that as it rolled on its side
flashing the white of its divided underbody
and the ovular patch that guides an infant to nurse
it seemed a personal address
like she came in close to my developing daughter
and I thought: Orca? Can I call the little thing Orca?
Monday, April 06, 2009 5:39:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Music Critic

Loco was a singer,even though
he sang only one line:
“My Old Kentucky Home.”
He sang each word with gusto,
drawing it out for emphasis.
I attempted to play the clarinet,
but instead of music, I often
produced screeches. That
stinky parrot let everyone know
his assessment of my so-called talent:

“Help! I want out!”
Monday, April 06, 2009 5:51:29 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
cockroach

mexicans sing about you and i fail to understand
your hard-shelled flying cousins click by
the large ones crunch, small ones squish
and the gut squirms at both eventualities
your suggestion of dirt; your leprous presence
i once imagined you sluggish, rare
but you dash away from the light
crawl where my mind doesn't want to go

i wipe down the surfaces
sweep away the crumbs
leave sweet smelling bait
stomp, swat, drown
happy in my insect genocide
satisfied. ants annoy but you disgust
i mistrust food, drink, cupboards
eyes dragged to the corners of rooms
trying to shrug of chitinous whispers
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:14:19 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Love Lies Bleating
(thank you, reginald dwight)

when i was a child, i wore shoes on my hands and crawled around the floor on all fours.
clip clop clip clop.
goaty was the name, saving lives was the game.
saint frances of the neverworld,
my purpose was search and rescue.
find the lost
protect the weak
love the ugly.
clippity clop! clippity clop!
throw in a head toss and a snort for good measure.
strange embodiment for a little girl,
a cloven hooved masculine energy;
i like to think i was channeling pan--
genus capra,
or faunus, as the romans would say.
stubborn goaty,
loving in your unruly, goatish fashion,
how could anything as sure-footed as a goat be as clumsy as you?



dana stone
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:15:19 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Spider

with its long legs of death
spewing a web, forcing
us into a box of light we
do not wish to caress
but after examining our doubts
can do nothing else but
pick up one small drop of
spider dew and drink deeply.

-- karen perry
Karen Perry
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:25:51 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sea Gull

A Sea Gull I would be
If I were an animal
Flying high would be my specialty
“Only me, only me”
I would shout out
For as far as I could see
Landing in the warmth
Of sand cushions
I would do throughout the day
No one else of my kind
Would land this way
“Only me, only me”
I would shout out
For as far as the vast shores ran
Breathing in the damp salt breeze
Sun felt rays on my feathered coat
I have no need to venture off
To landfills, inland where the others roam
For the ocean waters borne me to dock
At blue seas home
“Only me, only me”
I would shout out
For as far as all could hear I would proclaim
There simply is no other Sea Gull like me
Free…free…free
yolanda davis-overstreet
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:37:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
What Skunk Hour?

We never saw
The skunks.
Not now or
At any hour.

We think he made it up,
That sour
Poet, Robert Lowell,
Surrounded and alone.

The Bombay Gin
Kept him
Half sane.
Cal was not so-well.

Depression broke his life,
And ruined his first wife.
The skunks were light and shade
In songs he first had called
'I'm Afraid.'

Michael1917




Michael1917
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:04:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Werewolf

Must you meet me face to face to believe?
Is every man or myth made to deceive?
Am I merely relic of ancient lore,
maligned associate of blood and gore?
Or am I victim of some primal curse
when you encounter me you think the worse?
Consider. I await your response, sir.
Are the only choices gods or monsters?
I know well where you rank yourself, god-man,
while I am cast as monster in your plan.
Old wives' tales, false films form your vision.
I see less cause for such blind derision.
Isn't the humaness you feel resides
in the coddled canine at your side
Alive in me beneath the pelt and claws?
Can't I retain a soul despite these flaws?
Clear choice? Some things are grey as a wolf's belly,
not black or white to one in the hell he
didn't seek and does not, perhaps, deserve.
Yet you can hate and fear without reserve.
When next you hear hounds baying at the moon,
Harken~my hapless howling joins their tune.
You may find that in plaintive yowl of beast
There is one spirit begging for release.
Seek out the man in the beast, if you can,
As I find the beast in every man.
#####
Shirley T.
Monday, April 06, 2009 10:24:55 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
warthog

He looked good enough to eat,
we could cook him slow on a spit
with an apple in his mouth
the horns on either side hanging pineapple
rings to offer playful sweetness.
But who would slaughter such innocence,
when chicken and goats exist here for food?
who knows how many the warthog saves in prayer?
He kneels to eat as if thanking his maker for life and food,
worshiping. He learned from example or his bones
told him. The rains are near, perhaps he offers thanks
for that also, while we complain at its delay,
and defile the land endlessly as only we know how.

- by Ngwatilo
Monday, April 06, 2009 10:48:34 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Towel Monkey

Fluffy and white
Clipped to the pants hanger,
You hang by your outstretched arms on the hook in our cruise ship stateroom.
Reynaldo, our stateroom steward, expertly crafted you to make us smile.
You look full of hijinks and shenanigans.
You know as the week at sea sails on
There will be a parade of your pals-
Snake
Swan
Puppy
Elephant
Stingray
Rabbit.
We suspected nothing
Until the night we returned to our room early.
We took a picture; we have the evidence.
There you all were
Lined up on the porthole window ledge
Lookin’ all cool
Wearin’ our sunglasses
Empty beer bottles in hand.
We caught ya’ll…you party animals.
Just keep the noise down!
Karen Masteller
Monday, April 06, 2009 10:54:49 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(Ooops there was a slight mistake in the first posting)


"snakes"

snakes love little mice
i ain’t got no hands and feet
everybody’s got to have a hobby
i can’t get on my knees in prayer

i ain’t got no hands and feet
a hug from me is rather lethal
i can’t get on my knees in prayer
see the church and see the steeple

a hug from me is rather lethal
i use my eyes to take control
see the church and see the steeple
she’s afraid to look at naked fatal

i use my eyes to take control
we just might get what we’ve got coming
she’s afraid to look at naked fatal
i tell the tale to save the lizard

we just might get what we’ve got coming
she’s afraid to look for fear of seeing
i tell the tale to save the lizard
his planet can not have me on it

she’s afraid to look for fear of seeing
she’s afraid of me for fear of being
his planet can not have me on it
i’m afraid she wants to kill me


Monday, April 06, 2009 11:40:56 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Animals would
never do the
imperfect things
many of us humans
are capable of through our
lives and despite our
souls

humans should
understand that we are all
mammals and therefore
animals - so we are
nothing
special

Sorry for being late to send in my "real" poem – I was away on a Role Playing Convention and it was hard to concentrate on a poem while Jedi Knights, Stargate teams, orcs, dwarves, knights and pixies were trying to learn medieval dances in front of my tent... ;-)
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:22:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Penguins by Ian Phillips

Penguins don’t have it easy, as with their name
They have a witty construction.
Hands melted away and arms locked behind
No swan dives allowed, just head first
And, how did I look?
No time to check scores as fish stop, dart left and right.
And suddenly we are birds, soaring
Skidding, back onto crushed water.
Shy now, as feathers are ruffled
I must look a state.
And laughter is muffled
As falling back towards the water
I accept my fate.
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:32:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
What has become of the chickens
whose legs we delighted in, juicy and crumbed,
the steer whose flanks we gnawed to the bone,

the sand my father complained
had not been washed from the spinach,
an apple seed gobbled in a moment of suicidal bravado.

The ashes of the B-list actor who played
a thousand Jewish fathers, always begging daughters to stay home
rests behind the square doors nearby, unvisited.

The squawks of the chickens, the lowing of cattle,
barely break through the roar of silence.

Robin M.
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:34:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

DOG

As Adam sat beneath the tree the animals came one by one.
They all lined up from A to Z, This was gonna’ be fun!
The kangaroo came with it’s hippty hops,
and the leopard came next, with it’s dark black spots
The mole came by with its’ diggety nose.
The monkey came too, with its’ climbey toes.

Every one that came got a name that fit.
Until Adam got to… just plain It!

Adam tried, but could not quite say,
a word that means, furry ball that plays.
With big brown eyes and a wiggly tail, it was too big to be a guppy,
then with a sloppy wet kiss, from its long pink tongue,
Adam said, “I think I’ll call it puppy!

Then Adam, and Eve, his wife, made a huge mistake that ended life.
In the garden they could no longer stay, not even another single day.
Puppy came too at Gods command, a companion for the fallen man.

Puppy grew from the size of a frog, to a strong and faithful, healthy dog.
Together they stalked, and hunted prey.
Defended family all night, until dawn each day.
They explored the earth, wandered far from home.
With dog right there, man was never alone.
When things were bad, and man felt defeat,
Dog was still right there at his masters’ feet.

Although he had the strength, to overcome man,
He remained obedient, just as God had planned.
When age began to steal mans mind and eyes,
Dog still stood beside him, as his trusted guide.
Then when death approached, Dog nuzzled close by,
and with mans last breath, appeared a tear in dogs eye.

Dog had watched over man until his very end.
Now you know why, they call him mans best friend.








Monday, April 06, 2009 12:38:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
GIRAFFE
(c) 2009 - G. Smith
------------ --------

If there ever was an animal to make me laugh
I'd have to go and pick the giraffe;
With its fuzzy little head all the way up there,
Taking in the sights form the middle of the air;
And its long spotted neck (imagine a sore throat~!),
And an odd shaped body in a two-tone coat;
Long spindly legs and itty-bitty feet;
How does the poor thing ever take its seat?
It folds itself up just to take a drink;
Its brain's kind of tiny, so what does it think
Of people like me, who just have to laugh,
At an animal with such a funny name (who can spell giraffe?)
G. Smith
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:46:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CHINCHILLA

This
pleasantly plushy pet
a
resemble-rabbit rodent
with
massive, mottled mouse-ears
and
tiny, tough tender toes
plus
spiky, sassy squirrel-tail
is a
funny furry fella
my
charming chap chinchilla!
Stephanie D.
Monday, April 06, 2009 12:55:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bushka

Bushka is the best
soccer player ever.
He kicks the table
tennis ball into
the goal time and time
again. He wandered
into my yard one
day and stood meowing
at my back door.
Why did you adopt
me little boy? Did
you know I was lonely?
Or were you so desperate
you had to take a chance?
Now, we're best friends, you
follow me everywhere
and stress when I stay
away overnight -
a cat with abandonment
issues. How could those
people take you from
your mother and dump
you like that. Couldn't
they see you had your
own personality,
that you would prove to
be a wonderful
companion? I
prefer animals to
humans any day.

Maureen Sexton


ment issues
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:13:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Oscar Meyer Weenie Dog

your Michael thought I had a crush on him
but I took the sidewalk two doors down
only for you, Oscar
long and plumped up
fur, high and tight

I came early some mornings
Ms. Patsy would scuffle with her robe
embarrassed by those Safeway chicken legs
she’d toss that green squeaky frog to you
you would chase it
then sit on it
afraid she’d take it away
like she always did

I never got to tell you, Oscar
the reason I stopped visiting –
my brother, you remember him
the kid with the hard-toed shoes,
jumped off the door onto my arm
it broke in two places
I wouldn’t have been able to pet you
at least not properly

when I did make it back,
you were gone
Ferret Faucet had taken your place
I blame her for everything
Michael and I still talk about you at picnics
Andrea Boltwood
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:40:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fall Like A Cat

life hits us with all kinds of things
hits us with a hand full of rings
sometimes hits us below the belt
life raises the heat, and things start to melt

life sometimes doesnt play fair at all
the pain it can cause is far from small
but when it does this, if we could just fall
fall like a cat, we will be alright

life may take you places only death should see
this is what an ex of mines once said
but if we fell like cats, and landed on our feet
we could lessen the chances of seeing that death bed

now of course, this is a reflex for a cat
for us, it would take a lot of concentration
a spine, determination, positive attitude
and no fear of taking life to a high altitude

but really, imagine that we could fall like cats
and land on our feet whenever life knocks us over.....
now stop imagining and make it reality,
because life is coming at you fast
Daryll Sabb
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:42:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
OUR DOG, SIMBA
It’s hard sometimes to look Simba in the eye
He knows me too well
And sometimes it makes me sad
To think how he never asks for anything
But gives everything
To me and to my family
Over 100 pounds, he’s like a lion
Guarding my door, but never needs to bark
Like my ADD Jack Russell who is never settled
Or my immature Pekingese who craves attention
Simba never asks for attention
But he gives it all the time
Like a minuteman soldier keeping watch
Thank you Simba for your pure and selfless love.
Julie Hairston
Monday, April 06, 2009 1:52:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Ladybug”

I am not a pest
Like little Lucinda’s mamma says
I grant little girl wishes
Doesn’t she understand
Without me
How would little girls dream
I am captured yet once again
To listen to another yen
All little girls want to
Hold my in their hand
I understand
They want me to
Take them to that special dream land
Little girls believe in me
Little girls need me
So I tickle their fingers
And make them laugh
Then I fly away
With their little wishes
Tucked away in my wings
Dianne Ryan
Monday, April 06, 2009 2:25:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
oh please, a little armor

Armadillo of my envy
waddles on with leathery grace
and when alarmed, curls to himself
in fetal retreat. Turtle, my other idol
moves at a such slow deliberate pace
and when the world is too engaging
withdraws his head and hides his face.
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:05:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Easter

Flop, flop, flop,
Your ears are darling.

Lop, lop, lop,
Your teeth are snarling.

Your colors are lovely,
You are a lagamorph.

Please leave me an egg or two,
Out on my front porch.

Monday, April 06, 2009 3:05:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Squirrels

I'm not going to bother with them now.
I'm going to give them one last spring,
then get a gun and shoot them all.

My yard could feed a thousand of them.
The scrub oak trees offer an embarrassment of riches.
Their lottery winners and they know it.
But its my name on the deed.

The gnaw at the wood, and they rumble through the attic.
They drop acorns on my head, and peel the screen back from the louvers. They are as insolent as coons, and harder
still to capture.

I am going to get a gun and shoot them all.



Monday, April 06, 2009 3:07:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
DAKOTA I
Consolation Prize

You were not my first choice
Bullied and pathetic
I did not really even look twice
She was just so much more
Vibrant

But she was not mine to have
So very obviously perfect, others clamored for her
And I was defeated
You were my consolation prize
And still, I refused to look
Finally, sullenly, taking you out of pity
I was a fool

Your peaceful nature, your sweetness
Surprising beneath fearsome size
Were ultimately priceless
Made you a king amongst the rabble
Made you beloved
By all
By me

My life history is now
Intimately intertwined with you
More than a decade of us
That was enough time
To change the very shape of me

Your absence now feels like
A toothache in my chest
A constant throbbing reminder of loss
I did not recognize
One of the greatest loves of my life
It stops my breath to think
How I very nearly missed it

I am grateful
I am bereft
And there is no consolation

DAKOTA II
Big Dead

All the tough is gone from him now
It leaked away like
air from a balloon, immediate
leaving less substance
At night he lies with eyes
wide, seeing nothing of this world
Perhaps he is somewhere in a day
long past, with you
I try not to remember you
much. My lungs constrict each
time, making each breath
conscious, exaggerated
You were sweet natured, beloved
to friends and family and
strangers. I hope this new, ugly, raw
feeling goes away soon
Your residue should not taste like this

Chelle Anderson
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:07:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Snufflelophalous

No bugs to big to knock
me out
No bug to small to keep
me in
But this beast that came
to visit
Won't let me out to play.
jane penland hoover
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:12:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Penelope

Gold-flamed locks, a fighter fish
Don’t shove, let me see her
Named Penelope

A girl fish with huge eyes, a Samurai
Boys feeding her goldfish
She mocks them proud
With those teeth, fighting chance
I’ll feed you to her
She’ll swallow you whole

Flicking hair back
Knowing her power
A warrior too, her owner
Waiting for her prey to swim along
Mariel Dumas
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:20:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat on a High Wire

She clambers up the side wall,
Delicately places her feet on the 2-inch rail
Walks to the end, turns easily and prances back,
Never taking note of the fact that she is
Four stories high and the drop below would be
Terminal? Instantaneous? Deadly?

Every now and then she even stops,
Hunches down, looks over to the
Scene below, the tops of trees,
People walking on the pathways.
Eventually she tires of this acrobatic act,
Leaps back to the safety of the deck,
Rests from her efforts.
Rosalie Nelson
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:25:37 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
4.04.09
(blackbird)

fog covers the trees
at M 107’s end—
that blackbird is huge!

Monday, April 06, 2009 3:43:29 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Raccoons
I love raccoons
They are adorable

Raccoons
I love raccoons
They are wonderful

Raccoons look sweet
Raccoons look cute
But they're not very nice
When they are tearing shingles off your house

Raccoons
I love raccoons
They are so mischievous

Raccoons
I love raccoons
They are so devious

Raccoons are smart
Raccoons are clean
And they play through the night
As they tip over garbage cans in front of your house

Raccoons
I love raccoons

Raccoons
I love raccoons
skot
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:45:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
LEECH

“Lemme borrow a 20.”

He’s sleepin on your couch.

“Is that my shirt you’re wearin’?

Drive him to the pawn shop to hock his vacuum,
So he can have money for beer and smokes.

“Wanna buy me lunch?”

To nice to say no…
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:46:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sheep

I called Mama a sheep;
She got angry.
I meant it in the nicest way possible,
Really.

“You go to college and forget about your faith!”

“No,
I take a history class and learn the truth.”

“Your Grandmother would roll over in her grave!”

“I can’t go on believing,
Just because I used to;
I won’t follow blindly.
Besides, Grandma knows
Better than any of us.”

The wool’s over all our eyes…
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:50:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Life in this zoo is pretty easy.
I lay all day in the sun,
swimming when I get too warm.
I bark for my meals, and put
shows on for people. I
dance and balance beach balls
on my nose for fish snacks.
Back in my enclave, I dive
into the water for the watching
crowds, and catch fish on the
first try. Life is good.
Monica Martin
Monday, April 06, 2009 3:50:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Accepting Jay

It takes years of not killing
Nurturing with daily food
and watching.

Watching
because what we are told
of the birds
and the squirrels
and the raccoons,
doesn't match what they do
when they think we're not looking.

They take turns at the trough.
Sure, Jays are greedy
but when they stuff their cheeks too full,
even a chickadee
will tell them it's not fair
and the jay will fly off
awkward with its swollen face.

It takes years to see
outside the filter
of what we're told.
Elaine Wilson
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:02:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Turkey Vulture”
Up close your features and food fetishes repulse
bare red head upon bulbous body
slurping and sucking at carrion
lying by the side of the road
product of a too fast driver
or bad timing on the part of the deceased.

Airborne you display a grace difficult to match
soaring blissfully with updrafts
diving and floating at a twitch of wing
searching for a meal to share
call your sanitation crew
to save us from the yucky job
of removing one more carcass from the roadway

Oh, that we would expound more frequently your virtues.
Maureen Miller
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:05:58 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Kiela

A tiny dog
a broken paw
strong as ever
mighty and brave
conquers the jump
from the couch to the
floor and runs for her
food and eats once more
Adrian Gray
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:10:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Wolf

Misconstrued and misunderstood
all through time. While bears are held
in reverence for strength and solid courage,
you instead were criticized. Demonized.
Hunted for pelts, leaving you offspring orphans.
The pitiful yelps sounding so helpless.
E. Darville
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:15:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Katherine and Samantha

Long-haired sisters
Scratching and fighting
Looking and sitting
Crying for food
together
Shedding hair
Everywhere
These are my cats
I wouldn't change a thing
About them.
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:18:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Rat"

you are filthy
and you disgust me
your mediocre existence
is a reflection
of your lack of intelligence
no one trusts you
in fact
we wish to rid
our beautiful world
of your kind forever
so please
make your way
to one of the many
cats
traps
and or poisons
we have set up
for your much
anticipated demise

thank you
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:18:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Warthogs

Today, we are ignoring warthogs.
Warthogs are not easy to ignore
but we are ignoring warthogs
even though ignoring them is hard.

You see, warthogs are strange animals
with horns at the ends of their snouts;
so, to ignore a warthog requires
iron discipline like not thinking

of a white rhinoceros even though
we have never seen such a rhinoceros
or pretending that calamari tastes good
because it’s a San Francisco thing

and San Francisco has tasted good
since Ginsberg read “Howl” at the Six
and Ferlinghetti made the world safe
to not think about a warthog’s snout.

--H. Palmer Hall
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:20:22 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Stick Bug

Flat from all angles,
Moving slowly on spiny, spidery legs,
except only four,
Unless you count the antennae
Sprouting from the prehistoric and empty head,
Flat as dead,
Flat as dead.
Flat. And dead.

Christine Kephart
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:27:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"The Tongue-Louse"

In the Gulf of California, also called
the Sea of Cortez, lurks the tongue-louse:
this parasitic crustacean is small
enough to slip between the gills of a rose

snapper, enter the fish's mouth, attach
itself to the tongue, and drain the organ's blood
until the tongue drops off; and then the louse clasps
tightly with its claws the atrophied stub

and turns itself into a second tongue.
The fish survives, its new tongue no less
useful than the old, and the California sun
warms the fishermen on the Sea of Cortez,

the mestizos in panga boats casting their nets,
harvesting rose snappers for market.
Matthew
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:28:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Dolphin"

What is intelligence?
indulging the mind until
it figures out
how to destroy everything as we know it?
Or is it going beyond that
full circle diving
to understanding that
Life
is a gift
to be enjoyed, and
Nature
an order
to be respected
as Is?
On the rippling borderline
between our worlds,
Watching you
take me in
through one round smiling eye
for one smooth smiling second,
I can see that you are too busy laughing
To even ask the question
Because all you want
to do
is play.
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:42:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mute Swans

At pond's edge they float,
united still after many springs.
Last sliver of sun retreats
beyond the darkened trees,
saturating the sky in indigo
watercolor. She looks at her
mirrored reflection, as it glides
beneath her, swift but stately.
He dips his head below
the surface for a moment,
and she beckons just once,
her call barely echoing to shore.
In an instant, he is by her side,
paddling for a lifetime of dusks.

--K. E. Concannon
K. E. Concannon
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:48:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Geese

I brought a notebook to a favourite tree, climbed up the rough trunk
and inched across a bough hanging out over the water.
Turtles sunned beneath me and no wind dared disturb
the leaves--all was quiet until suddenly, birds paddled
to my feet in search of a fresh meal.
I had no bread and told them so, but they squawked
and honked back, angry and complaining.
I knew they couldn't understand English so I tried my native tongue-
"perdon! desole! je ne prend saucun pain!"
wok wok wok
"desole! desole!"
Still they chattered, bitter
expectant eyes turned upward to my face,
their honking continued until sunset
and I found that truth cannot be found--
it comes to you, in noisy flocks, feathers flapping
and orange beaks arguing, "sorry, we do not speak your language."
Stacey B
Monday, April 06, 2009 4:51:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Hamster”

My little Fiona,
How I love you.

Yes, you might be just a hamster,
But you are my constant companion,
My cute little, squeezable,
Loveable little pet.

You are there when others are not,
My listener.

Sometimes, you act like a little monkey,
But most of the time,
You act like my gorgeous little pet,
And that means the world to me.


Monday, April 06, 2009 5:12:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coyote
Where is my kitty coyote?
Where is my dog?
Where have the geese gone?
Up through the smog.
Crossing the traffic.
Walking the street.
Jumping the fences.
Searching for meat.
You found the city.
And made it your home.
Through parks and green space.
You endlessly roam.
Do you miss the desert, coyote?
Where food is so fast.
Water is scarce
Rain never lasts.
Or are you content here?
Eating garbage and rats.
I’m unsure of the answer.
But you’re getting fat.
Sing me your song, coyote.
I’ve known it so long.
Way out in the desert.
Now closer to home.
Monday, April 06, 2009 5:25:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Menagerie

Dog and cat:
another spat.
Cat and dog
fighting to hog
the honored place,
the warm space
of Mom's lap.
Dog -- possessive,
high maintenance.
Cat -- standoffish,
keeps her distance
until dog is not
around. Then cat
creeps into
the warm space,
revs up her purr
and drops her
loner facade.
We two are one,
until dog bounds
back to reclaim
alpha hound.

Just call me
The Zookeeper.
Monday, April 06, 2009 5:42:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Elephant"

I am elephant.
I am massive
but I am nimble.
I am a warrior
but I am gentle.
Don't think me dumb.
Of superior intelligence
I am.
I laugh,
I cry.
I grieve,
I play,
I don't forget.
I have no enemies,
naturally
but man is my
only real enemy.
Man has stolen
from me and my family,
be it
our ivory tusks,
be it
stealing
our spirits,
beating us
to train us
to entertain
mankind.
Of superior intelligence,
we are.
Sensitive to our
children,
sensitive to our
family members.
We feel joy
among our living,
We mourn
our dead.
We respect
our elders.
Please strive to understand
us
as we strive to please
you.
Recognize that emotions
are not limited
to mankind,
but that we also
are creatures
of emotions.
Know that we feel sorrow
and pain
that has followed us for
thousands of years.
We are elephant.
We are ancient.
We are massive.
Behold us,
observe us,
learn from us,
recognize us
and understand
that we do not
forget.

Monday, April 06, 2009 5:50:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pelicans

They were military before it was cool,
skimming sound and surf beneath the radar
in attack or surveillance formation, fanned-out
V’s leaving little below concealed,
non-coms mostly, grunts of the animal
world, gangly and ungraceful,
profiles like pterodactyl forebears,
anatomy prehistoric, obsolete,
having skipped the last evolutionary
paradigm shift, yet somehow still surviving,
not the fittest by far, nothing like tern,
gull, osprey. Who would think
something this big could dive
beneath the waves and still come out whole.
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:01:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Garden Slugs
This shell-less snail may be the gardener’s bane
Munching on tender, not yet mature veggies
Leaving behind a trail of slime
and holes in precious leaves
Uninvite them with sun
They love damp soil and shade
But if you absolutely must get rid of the little predators
Share the bad news with a round of beers
They love the stuff so much
They’re willing to drown their sorry selves
in a glass of flat, stale ale
Lyn Michaud
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:09:10 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Barney

You'd recognize him, officer
tall, lizard type?
purple? tends to chuckle?
I saw him leaving the scene
clutching the money in one
hand? paw? I forget what you call them
he talked about revolution
or changing the world
really I think he just wanted
his own breakfast cereal
Jasmine T
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:43:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Raccoons

Fell asleep on the park bench
In the warm afternoon sun.
And woke up from a touch on my cheek,
Chittering of the two raccoons
“Child you aren’t using your mask right!”
The big one chided.
The other was rolling on her back.
“What do you expect from a simple human?
They never remember how to play!”
Startled my only reply was a confused look.
As they laughed at me,
Climbing, and going through the folds on my clothes
“Do you at least have any decent snackies?”
I pulled out the apple in my pocket.
“That will do” nibbling on it.
“If you are going to get anywhere
You need to be able to use your masks well.
They will change you.
Don’t be afraid to create new ones when needed.
They also can be set aside when you
No longer need that appearance.”
Little fingers poked my stomach.
“Are you paying attention?”
The little one laughing teased
“Of course, she is.
How could you ignore us?”
Eileen Rosensteel
Monday, April 06, 2009 6:52:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Like a hare

The season lies flat in the field
quietly watching me pass,
but there’ll be other days
when its ears will lift to the chiffchaff’s chiff,
when it will stand tall as a curlew’s call,
bound high like a lark in clear, blue sky,
flit round the warm Roman walls,
and settle itself in the scent of plump, yellow gorse-tips.
Monday, April 06, 2009 7:03:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Fish

Four bucks for four fish
Four bucks, let’s go for Five bucks
I see Five bucks, do I hear Six?
Five…Five…do I hear Six bucks?
Five bucks sold to no. 41
Pearl scale angels
Multi-colored guppies
Central American cichlids
Who’ll give me a buck for this Red Devil?
In a bucket
No fancy bag
Just a bucket with a lid
SOMEONE must want this fish
He’s really rather beautiful
A buck?
Do I hear a buck?
Anyone…it’s only a buck
Somebody give a buck
And I’ll shut up
SOLD for one buck
Terri Lasher
Monday, April 06, 2009 7:14:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Swan's song

A ghost glides by
My reflection my only companion
For this I gave up my throne
Mary
Monday, April 06, 2009 7:29:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cats, Poetry & Death #35

Pickle & Charlie

Pickle

When I get home there he is
Up on the blanket across the sofa arm
Rolled on his back
Its time to play
Tickle the Pickle
Tickle the Pickle on his tum
Scratch his ears
Scratch his head
Tickle him some more
And more…
…and more
Tickling the Pickle can take some time

And when I stop…
…there he is at my heels
On the kitchen sides
In amongst my feet on the stairs
Trying to break my neck!
Watching me bathe and drinking hot soapy bath water
Watching me shave
Sitting or lying on my legs
Watching T.V.
Running for his food
Begging for water
Always at my side.

Charlie

Is here somewhere
Under the bed
Up the stairs to the roof
Out of sight
Hard to find
M.I.A. whenever people call
Desperately seeking solace
When the cleaners come
Popping out to eat
Or drink
Sneaking round my legs when I write
But running for cover
As soon as I touch him

But when morning comes
Charlie too wants his tickle
Ten minutes on the bed before I get up
He flips on his back
Purrs like a freight train
And makes the most of his special time
Just as I do

Pickle and Charlie both sleep on the bed
They fight and bite
And play mad-cap cat games
But each is his own
Each has his style
They’ve been here two years now
And I’m hoping so much
That however much I loved
Their predecessors
It’ll be many a long year before I have to bury another
Loving but sadly departed puss


Iain



Iain D. Kemp
Monday, April 06, 2009 7:41:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Shark

Misunderstood. I feel sorry for you
When I see you open your mouth
Rows of teeth springing from your lips
Like flower petals overflowing.
It looks like you are harnessed
By your own skin.
Open, close, and swim. That's all you can do.
Who would have guessed
Soft cartillage and instinct
Would produce such fear?
Monday, April 06, 2009 7:45:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sparrow in the Glass
by Lisa Sisler

The frantic fluttering alerted me to its presence,
Though when I peered through I saw nothing,
But pieces of my own face reflected in the glass:
Crook of nose, glint of eye, and I’d have turned away,
Had not the rapid beating seized me.
The bird was caked in soot, fallen
From a roof-top nest through an open flue and caught
Between log and glass in winter’s refuse.
It would not suffocate so long
As the chimney remained free of obstruction.
The channel was too slick to climb, too steep
For the creature’s wings to lift it back up.
And when the bird discovered this
He began crashing into the glass:
One last attempt at freedom,
The Aves version of suicide.
Lisa Sisler
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:02:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Centipede

It was the centipede attacking the baby mountain lion
that really got me
right in the unexpected

like a dose of joy tonic
i can sip anytime the day turns down

my poor 8 year old boy doesn’t understand how precious
this precocious moment in literature is to me
he is pleased to have pleased me
but embarrassed to have been so laughable

“I should’ve made it a poisonous millipede”, he declares.
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:17:02 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Little Moth

The butterflies bully you, don’t they, little moth?
They’re why you’ve flickered out,
a small spark from small fire
that has sputtered into dust.

They lied, little moth.
Staining yourself with night-lights
won’t dye your fuzzy browns
into bloom yellows.

I know how you feel, little moth.
But fuzzy brown isn’t so bad, because
if touched, a butterfly’s acid-inks
will slip off like broken promises.

I’m sad, little moth.
You’re dying on my windowsill,
a pair hushed lips leaving
a quiet kissprint.
Sarah Strickler
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:20:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Honeybees

Tar on white Keds
I walk our country road,
head down.

It is summer.
All my friends live in town.
Swimming in the community pool
in their skinny suits,
feathered hair. The boys
buy them frozen Snickers
and pretzel sticks.

Talking.
Talking about people.

I did not notice him
until he was right in front of me.
A rebel sophomore.

He asked me if I had seen a swarm of bees.
Bees? No.
Oh, they escaped.

He turned and walked my way,
off road and down to the meadow.
"You a freshman?"
Yeah.

Peeling bark from sycamore sticks
his eyes were shy,
looked away when he spoke.

I thought. This could be it.
This could be where I belong.
But he never stopped by like I thought
he would.

Three days later
my best friend called.
In a nearly condescending voice
Your almost boyfriend?
Shot himself.
In the head.

Dead?
Who would care for the bees?
They escaped.
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:31:00 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day 4 - Animals

WHAT GRANDMOTHERS DO

“No”, her father says.
She has a dog, very large,
aptly named LePoo;
two kittens
one white, one black
that sleep together
in a curled yin/yang;
Two hamsters
recently deceased.
“omg”, her mother says.
For Christmas she wants
a “grow-up pup”:
push the button
he barks, walks around
almost and grows
a little each day
and he’s pink.
“It’s in the mail”, I say.

Gina Larkin
Gina Larkin
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:46:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Bird

I had just sat down,
perching like Snoopy atop
the wood replacing the broken
hot tub cover, warm in the sun,
all fresh clothes on a Monday,
when plop, bird splat on my shirt.

I didn't even see the culprit.
All I saw were butterflies
and two rambunctious dogs.

Was it a robin, a jay, a junco?
Not a bird in sight, but now
my fingers feel poopy
and I must remember not
to use the hanky in my pocket.
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:46:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Tigger

Bouncy is
as bouncy does
and only one
can bounce this bounce.

You might try
even bounce quite high
but if it ain’t got this spring
it’s not quite the thing.

Oh, it’s great to be
inimitable
in a world that’s so
proximit-able.

Kimberlee Thompson
Monday, April 06, 2009 8:59:23 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Mayfly”

The moment you matured
You knew you were going to die
It was a matter of moments
At the most, two days
Inevitable
I wonder if it even crossed your buggy brain
Or if death was insignificant
Among the millions of wings
The green-gold swarm around
The party lights
Above the reflective ovals of lakes
Are there any shrieks of denial?
Does depression weight your wings?
When you lose a second
Does it matter?
Or is there only the drive
The incessant urge to copulate
And populate the water with eggs
With no room for fear
Or thoughts of the afterlife

Brandi Guthrie
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:12:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Day 4: Bees

The bees are unwelcome squatters in my walls.
Thousands of them set up shop in my joists,
Without so much as a by-your-leave.

I like bees, in theory. On nature shows.
Part of the circle of life, and all that, but
Not in my walls.

I can hear them, now, scratching.
Being entirely too industrious while
I sit on the couch.

I don’t care! You can work all you want.
I’m happy sitting here, watching Tivo
And eating Funyons.

Although, there was that poem-a-day thing.
It’s too much trouble to do every day, but
Maybe I could try one or two…after all.


Laura Graham
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:16:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
A Jar Full of Alex*

We had been reading about the unlikeliest of pets,
Kept in a jar, so when a friend suggested a trade
I said yes.
She gave me an egg sac for a glass gallon jar,
We kept it in Gabe’s room, on his chest of drawers.
We waited and waited and waited some more.

Finally!

Many tiny acrobats spinning of strings
It was grossly beautiful… of all the things!
Hatching and hatching I watched on the spot
Falling from a stick all covered with snot
OK, it looked more like cotton, but that didn’t rhyme
As I sat and stared, I lost track of the time.

I peeled myself away from my jar for the day,
Finding it perfectly right for I had forgotten the night.
I needed to sleep and stop thinking of creepy crawlers,
But they possessed my dreams until late in the morning hours.

Skin itching and crawling, I had to take a peek
At the jar full of bugs, I wished were asleep.
They weren’t… ewe.

~2

*Alex was the name of the Mantis Collective.
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:16:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
As there seem to be quite a lot of cat lovers here I wanted to share this wonderful story, even though it is completely off topic:
I don’t know if you remember the collapsed buildings in Cologne, Germany (http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/europe/03/03/germany.cologne.building.collapse/index.html)… Today, 4 weeks after this horrible accident, they found the missing cat –alive!! “Felix” was of course weak and just skin and bones, but otherwise healthy and immediately returned to his happy owner. Little miracles in these hard times…
Pics are found here: http://www.express.de/nachrichten/region/koeln/kater-nach-vier-wochen-aus-den-truemmern-gerettet_artikel_1235811481375.html
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:21:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
serpent
~~~~~~~

curled at my feet, quiet
the serpent sleeps.
but your breath in my ear stirs him.

he rises, heating my body
from the bottom up.
with your fiery kiss, muladhara blooms.

your hands, your tongue
snakeskin on my sacrum
your eyes a window to your own manipura.

his tongue flickering,
between my breasts,
lighting the fires of anahata in my bosom.

around my throat,
just enough pressure
to make me gasp for you, and shiver.

my eyes blind,
the serpent can rest,
his head my crown and I your Queen!
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:26:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Whisper

She’s a lot smarter than
She pretends to be;
Laying around all day
Being served mouth and paw
Like a princess.

Her newest trick is
To pretend to sleep when
I need to leave so I
Will have no choice but
To pick her up and
Carry her out.

She knows we love
Her too much to not
Give her all the best.

Her brush is her one weakness.
At the sound of its bristles;
She drops all regal pretence
And is once more that gray
And white kitten that
Scratched at my door
So long ago.
Anahbird
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:28:16 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Them Birds
& Them Bees

Below me in the grass is a sea
of bees busy with purple flowers
& I am afraid if I descend from my bench
I'll disturb their methodical flower-sucking.

Can't imagine what these tiny flowers
could have to offer but it's sure making me thirsty
watching them, thirsty for some of that goodness.

In front of me on the Pond of the Solitary Duck,
the touchdown of seven geese appears choreographed & rhythmic
they swim towards him, he just cleans himself, ignores them
he's been here all summer & part of spring
just a duck without a tribe.

I've questioned numerous people about this
& many theories abound, one is: maybe he got lost,
got left behind is another, but the ducks they don't migrate
in summer, they migrate in winter
so, by that logic they should have been here.
It occurs to me that those seven intruders
aren't in fact geese at all but a swanky kind of duck
stylish white patches around their eyes,
like a raver's favourite Oakleys
Tall necks black grace
make them look like aristocracy
talking, in high tones:
Tabitha look it's him!
You know that duck from the ----- family
who decided to lone wolf it.

The black sheep of the duck world. There's no-one
looking for him, no-one wondering where he is
because they know where he is, right here
what they don't know
is why he chooses to be here
& not with them.

Meanwhile those bees they just keep on jumpin'
movin', shakin' from one flower to the next
not missin' a beat 'cos they don't have time
for all this hapless speculation
They have way larger concerns
like what the queen bee's gonna do to them
if they don't come home
with the honey.

©2009 SAkhtar
Monday, April 06, 2009 9:58:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

dog

he runs with my shoe
from the mat by the door
the toy that I bought him
alone on the floor
he's cuddly and sweet
when he needs an ear scratched
but my ankle he'll eat
if his chow's late a patch
he tornados the place
but I just can't get sore
at that joyous wee face
when I walk in the door

Mike Perry
Monday, April 06, 2009 10:05:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Ode to the Hippocampus

Suspended in waters below
It floats
Amidst sea grass or coral reefs
Its home

The smallest a royal presence, merely an inch long
Another at twelve inches is a ‘horse’ of a different breed

Though not a chameleon
with colors of
fluorescent and neon preservation
It
hides within the mangroves many feet below

A diver’s delight
thirty-three species
of phenomenon to admire
and
They…
live a monogamous life
not expected in their genre

He bares the young
She’s always there

Equipped with
dorsal and pectorals fins
They
a bony fish
make us wonder
how can that be
as we watch the
marvelous
mysterious
beautiful
often hard to find
enchanting
endangered
Seahorses of the sea

© Kellie M. Shanley 2009



Hippocampus: Greek word meaning seahorse
Hippocampus also part of the brain named after the seahorse because of its shape.

Monday, April 06, 2009 10:29:52 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Ocmulgee River

She won't stay
in her playpen
and be good.
She is so busy
climbing
in and out
of everyone's lap -
Wetting
here and there
Especially
when she has
had too much
to drink!
The big flood
of 1994
Macon, Georgia
Robby Lynne Strozier
Monday, April 06, 2009 10:31:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Haiku: Respect the Bear!

Brother Bear is strong,
full of courage. Give respect
to him, for your sake!

Monday, April 06, 2009 10:51:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

fish

a fish drawn in anger
swift belly spiked fins
dropped in indian ink

he flees through the grate of my cross-hatchings
never to be seen again

I bet he lurks in the drains
piranha-like
waiting
just waiting
Monday, April 06, 2009 11:08:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
nightcrawlers

nightcrawlers in rainstorms
lay themselves down on sidewalks
jackbunnies in the nighttime
can’t resist headlights
ground squirrels in warm dry seasons
are drawn to the rumbling of truck
tires on asphault

and i saw two dead dogs on the roadside today.

whoever you are
we all run towards some irresistible
end.

amber lynne o'riordan
Monday, April 06, 2009 11:52:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Cheetah

Born into confinement, he has never known
speeds his body was meant to accomplish.

Instead, he stretches in the noon sun
inch by inch, spots spreading like spilt ink,

blots in which we read restlessness
and dissatisfaction. The cat arches

its long back and rolls indolent eyes
down the slope of the artificial hill,

the shallow ditch, the wire electrified
for our protection. He could not gain

the necessary momentum to make the leap
in such a small enclosure; the incline denies

even the shortest sprint. And so the cat chooses
between caged agitation, which grips the elephant

neighbor in the next pen, and this detached
but decided idleness. Its throes are far less

pronounced than the hunt in progress,
but as instinctual as the kill. There will

be no flash of prowess this afternoon:
instead, the power in remaining still.

Sarah Kain Gutowski
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 12:09:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cinnamon
(January 13, 1992 – January 12, 2005)

My spicy orange
and black
Pomeranian never
liked anyone else.
The pick of the litter
was not her goal.
Preferring not
to move from
Midwest to the
Mediterranean
then the Mid-Atlantic
state, unless we
moved her solitary
corner of the couch.
Unimpressed with
sheep in our Cretan
backyard or pigeons
in San Marco square,
she preferred her
kennel with its cool
metal floor. She loved
us and her quiet walks
in a Maryland park.
Greeting visitors
with incessant
barking, she was
always on guard
to protect at
peril of her life.
Never wanting
puppies she
resisted breeding
efforts and ignored
her offspring.
Cinnamon was
an independent feminist.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 12:10:46 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
MOBY DICK, APPROXIMATELY



24 yrs. old, riffing on Melville
to impress a woman @ a party
after the bars have closed one Fri. night
& my friends from other bands are drinking
in the kitchen, taking turns picking out
new releases from Matador Records
to spin until sunup, when they might sleep
finally, or at least disperse & then
if the Melville reference does the trick
maybe she’ll accompany me to bed
ratty twin mattress on a ratty floor
of my old apt. @ 3rd & High
if she doesn’t stay, if she gets away
we’ll just call the flirtation ironic
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 1:46:05 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
RIP Red

tempted by your vibrant color;
long, flowing tail;
you, the fish bowl, food, and blue rocks
were an impulse buy;
quickly dismissing whispers of caution from the filters of neighboring fish tanks,
like…
“If you are not capable of taking care of yourself,
of nourishing yourself,
of protecting yourself –
it is impossible to take care of others…”
I figured even I could handle a beta fish.

seven hours later…

I learned that was so not the case.

Red, your legacy will continue through Reddwithtwodees.
RIP
Casandra Broaddus
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:13:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Hippo

Hippopotamus
Does not know that it is fat,
That, my friends, is that.
Nixy di Stefano
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:42:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Pookey

At six weeks old,
She fit in my palm,
Bathing my lifelines
In warm, lemon-dropped fur.
How was I to know
A being so minuscule
Would grow to encapsulate
My heart so grandiosely?
After almost fourteen years
Of being thick as the thieves
Two different genuses can be,
She broke our terrestrial alliance.
As she trod her newfound path,
Yapping, I hope, in rabbit pursuit,
She dreamscaped me reassurance:
“You know it’s over now.”
Later, when I hefted her now rigid
Body into my palms one last time,
I clipped a tuft of that lemony hide
For timelessness’ sake.
My brother, a fickle agnostic,
Didn’t want to talk about it.
“If anyone’s going to heaven, it’s Pookey.”
It was an argument even he couldn’t contend.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:44:50 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Morning Butterfly

Tissue wings flutter and my heartbeat slows
to the patient pace of those amber petals,
Perfect in their iridescent shimmer, brown and red and gold
A jeweled scrap of earth meeting sky,
Resting on my porch from the wild autumn breeze.

Soak up the sun, my soul, and seek too
the transcendant glitter of blue and purple,
White and gold,
Borne aloft on the edges of an amber dream.
You too, plain sparrow at first glance, imbued
with glinting indigo, violet luminescence on your tips--
Set out your sails to catch the sun
and float brilliantly away.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:56:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Oliver

Little black kitty
white diamonds on your belly.
Lying in a stream of sunbeams
You stretch and yawn and roll
to the other side
I’d like to lie down and join you
And breathe a sigh.
Vicky Fonnesbeck
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:58:14 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
He’s afraid of me


Some things absorb other things.

Blotter paper,
Kudzu,
Black.

Spiders and
Venus Fly Traps,
In their horrible way.

Snakes swallow other creatures
whole.

And he thinks writers do too.
Genevieve Fitzgerald
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:15:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


GARTER SNAKE

I can’t walk around the block
This time of year
Without mourning you,
Accusing myself.

Last March 3rd A snake!
My toddler was amazed
You were torpid.

You were the strongest
Male from your den
Emerging first in earliest spring.

You spent the first night in our kitchen
In a large ventilated salad container
With leaves from the yard.

You moved to the guest room
In a borrowed reptile aquarium
With a heated pad in the floor.

I studied Peterson and Audubon
Were you a garter or a ribbon?
“Both make fine pets.”

Strips of clean drawing paper
for your bedding
A Kleenex box for your house
Our largest Pyrex baking dish
For your swimming pool.

When you shed your skin
Your identity was without doubt
“Thamnophis sirtalis sirtalis”

Your family den was likely
Where a birch tree had been.
A sag in our yard,
A broken ankle waiting to happen
We filled it in with stones and dirt.

The dog knew first.
She dug up a snake there.
Just its head craning up from the earth
Who knows how many died?

The fish shop sold
Rosey minnows
“A favorite of snakes!”
You ate ten in one afternoon

Usually a 2 year old
Walked up the stairs with a
Squirming worm on a saucer for you.

The dog knew first
That something was wrong
She would not leave your room

Of the 2nd batch of minnows,
You had eaten all
But one.

We planned to release you the next day!

Every day we had watched you
Admired your gorgeous skin
Treasured the one you cast off
Wondered at your love of swimming
Felt proud of helping you out

Helping YOU out.
You, symbol of eternal life,
Leftover of the reptilian reign

Only humans can extinguish that eternity
Only humans quantify life in time.

I cried over your glassy eyes
Your still mouth
Your unbearably limp body.

My son couldn’t understand
I didn’t want to teach him about death yet.
And guilt.
I must know better than you
Do you a favor.

How many of you are there
On our small island?

You, Snake, symbol of eternal
Life
Kundalini
Knowledge
Cunning
Predator

You still haunt me.
I ask forgiveness.
I can never forget
That my egotism
Eliminated your beauty.


Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:44:44 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Feline Delight
By, Lisa A. Wooley

Furry four legged
precariously balanced a top the bookcase
Enjoying a good purr
while getting a favored belly rub
Lazing on the couch
or a sunny spot
Into everything
curiosity unbound.
Napping, eating, playing
until nights romp
Evening company
comforting companion.


Curious
Whiskers twitching poking its nose
Athletic
pouncing from chair to couch, freedom in flight
Twinkle toes
Fred Astaire on four paws.

Melodramatic
Excruciating yowl
Overbearing-King of all he surveys
Watchful

#2 Poem

Canine (because I have to give the dog equal time!)

Capricious gamboling
A smile upon his face, tongue flopping
Nosing into everything
Into every crevice searching for treats
Napping after a long run and bark fest
Enjoying a belly rub, back leg thumping.

Bracing for a leap into watery fun
Asking for a pet by rubbing his head under hand
Racing his track challenging all intruders
Kissing everyone he sees.






Lisa W.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 4:18:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
On Odie, the Blind Cat

I laugh when Odie
Gets stuck in the window blinds
And cannot escape.
Valerie Hochstedt
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:03:45 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Butterfly

“Mistery” she called him –
the color of midnight,
iridescent lights
shimmering the rims of his wings.
A cripple
from his coming out,
she fed him lilac blooms
and nectar from the garden.
A butterfly
grounded by an unfurled wing
gave flight
to one girl's fancy,
grew her heart
a thousand smiles
and fed her appetite
for life's sweet mysteries.
Melinda Hipple
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:38:37 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Crow

There are already too many poems about you, too many
childish dreams you enter and exit at whim. I’m tired

of wondering whether crack shattering
talk showered down on me

from your station on the wire
is your way of telling me which way to go

or whether yesterday when I saw you
splitting your brother’s wings

heavy bodied gravel swirled in black dust
decorating oil stains on the pavement

was your way of showing me
the other angles of my own face.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:53:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"The Meadowhawk"
Spring moves one to sweet surrender
Surrounded by life so tender
Youthful joys, they do abound,
When I hear the pleasant sound
Of the lively meadowhawk
Swooping, sweeping, speaking secret dragon talk
Surely I must chase for all my days
This speedy mystic of spring craze
Martha Duran Ruiz
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:59:54 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
ORCA

When I scrambled up the intertidal rocks
and stood scanning the Strait
I was looking for inspiration: specifically,
a name for the raspberry of a person
forming in my belly
and this, my first time
spotting the Blackfish, they came
in a pod of twenty, they came
sprawling the width of their water highway
one so close that as it rolled on its side
flashing the white side of its divided body
and the ovular patch that guides an infant to nurse
it seemed a personal address
like she came in close for my developing daughter
and I thought: Orca? Can I call the little thing Orca?
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 6:12:19 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Paper Cranes

"They are only a few simple folds,"
Karen from Eastern Dragon assures me
as I wait for pan-fried dumplings.

She shows me step by step, again,
again, as if to a small child.
The child would have learned faster.

I repeat the folding over and over,
my awkward attempts unworthy to join
the hundreds in flight above our heads.

Karen nods, handing me my bag.
"I could never make a hundred," I say.
"Practice," she replies, "while you watch TV."

A graceful wing is taking shape
as an anchorwoman tells me of a toddler
found dismembered in a Dumpster.

I fold a perfectly pointed beak
as she speaks of North Korean satellites,
or missiles, or both, being launched.

I am fanning out the tail
while I watch footage of an ice shelf
collapsing into not-so-frigid waters.

I tell Karen I've been practicing.
"The whole world's gone to shit,
it seems. But now I have cranes."
Chad Frame
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 6:29:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Elephant

Majestic you stand
by and tower.
Gray and wide
like an ancient skyscraper.
Weathered
against the sky.
Powerful when
predators track the
perimeter.
Gentle as
only a mother
knows how.
A great eye
soulful
sorrowful
omniscient.
Be careful as
not to judge.
Or be trampled
by the stampede
of community.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 6:42:08 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Narwhals

I hope that my children
learn about narwhals in school,
because they keep me believing magic.

I thought they were pretend
until I was twenty-one.

Have you ever seen anything so fantastic in your life?
A whale is a tale enough,
with its imposing size and vegetarian diet,
but narwhals add a side dish
of living in the Artic
and having enormous horns growing out of their faces!

I think my kids could use a break
from wars and rocks and calories,
and take a day to learn about narwhals,
the unicorns of the sea.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 10:27:54 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Serpent

Dry scales. Interlocking. Weave makes one of many. Composite rhythm of snake's hide. Undulation. Transformation. That which is outgrown must split and fall away.

The deep-within tries to make its way up and out. Small, tight coin sitting on solar plexus. You may not know it's there. You may not wish to find it. It may know you better than you know it, this secret. Snake's skin is wisdom, an onion peeling. It askes you to make the inside out, let it dry, crack, and fall away.

Around the cancerous nut your body adapts. It becomes a planet there inside you, exerting its own gravity. Organs, glands, fields are drawn to it. Your own blood feeds it, makes it strong. Can you pull away from your own body? The question may ensue from this molten holding. You may choose deafness in the face of snake's wisdom. You might choose to let your body fall away.

Snake skin shard, a flat, dry wafer on your tongue. Take it into yourself. Consume. If you will, I will. Let us be priests together and take in this body of Eve. Let us interlock fingers and go there together. Let us find grace. I will show you. I have heard the serpent whisper:

"Do not fear.
All who leap
do not fall,
All who hope
do not die,
All who heal
must first grieve."
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 11:04:38 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Squid

We gave their boys some outgrown shoes and toys, and a bit of our time to converse

When they could, they gave us a feast
A huge revolving platter of oriental cuisine
Sauces and noodles and oodles of rice dishes
Prawns, crab, pork, beef and something
we had never seen
Rubbery twisted twigs covered with batter
Tasty enough but what was it?

Their English was poor, our Vietnamese badder
But our 10 year old interpreter was game
I asked “What is it?”
He said “It’s guid.”
I said “Yes, it’s good, but what is it?”
“It’s guid,” he said, “Try it, it’s guid.”
And I said, “Oh. Okay. Yes.”

Then, aah… yes, of course, it’s squid!”

trigger
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 11:51:59 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Specimen 528- unclassified

We collect, classify and catalog.
Our records are the most complete in any university or lab.
Billions of dollars are spent to support the work we do
and a child found you in his sandbox.
Specimen 528, you are the most recent reminder of why I love my job.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 12:41:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
CAT

If cats ate harlequin bugs
I'd keep a shed full
I'd let out for an hour
to devour
but that one
stalking my side path
eyes off butterflies.
I imagine the lizards, the small
flippety birds
who've stopped hopping
into seeds, onto the bird baths.
we blocked shelter under the decking,
watch its feline sulk,
hiss at it. She or he
still has the energy to vanish
up! and over! the side gate
before I can catch up.
TOday I know my back yard is
poor pasture -
how strange! But the messenger,
the proof, is in that cat's mange.
Jennie Fraine
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 12:47:47 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Fancy

I’m looking forward to
The delight of chickens.
Their clucking
Their eggs
Their mass attack
On my garden pests.

I’m still dreaming
The details of their abode
I want them to dream
In relative safety.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:42:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Panther

Slinking, always prey in sight
Black as onyx in the night
Stepping gently on the ground
Never making any sound
Ever ready for the chase
You move with eloquence and grace
Stalking in your patient stride
Never having need to hide
Gleaming eyes and twitching tail
You spot your game and then you sail
Through the blackness of the night
And take him down without a fight
Though you’re fierce and powerful
You’re smooth as silk and beautiful
Ruth Mattern
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 2:46:59 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Dog”
I now understand what you meant by this.
You said you’re unlike a dog
Perhaps so
But I can see why you prefer cats
You’re picky just like them.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:08:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Elephant"

If you could fully comprehend
the magnitude of strength you possess
& could obtain the wisdom
to tap into your intelligence
the world could be your inheritance
yet & still my friend
you remain an elephant
Siante Newell
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:15:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cataglyphis

I will march
through desert sands
through sun's judgement
upturned
blistering
relentlessness
unwavering
devotion
today
every other day
carapace filled
with sick heat
claustrophobic
nearness of air
a sky
that lasts forever
my only purpose
the meat
that waits
at the end
of scent’s trail
nescient
unquestioning
devoid
of reason
and dangerously
fatally
efficient.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:37:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Spirit

Like a breath caught in the mouth
Then swallowed
She runs

Like a disease eating at the last remains
Of flesh
She hunts

Like the extinguishing sound of
A candle
She hisses

Only during the witching hour
I see
Her eyes

Vibrant, vicious, victorious
Never has there been an animal
With such dichotomy
Feline thy name is Spirit
Lay with me
Wait with me
Watch with me
Alex Eckler
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:38:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Greyhound

Cookie, enormous

bumbling beautiful

as my heart, grinning

pushing your squirrel gray

snout anywhere, sure

you belonged, always

both of us loping with dumb hope

toward our own lures.


Cookie, stretching

your great spotted body

next to mine, dogs together

confounded.


Cookie, prancing

after me, sweet snoot lifted

in eager love, chasing

chance after chance

into cold rabbit holes.


Cookie, sliding

into darkness on a steel

table at last, two of us

washing your brindled fur

in tears.


And Cookie, finally

we made it. Cookie, we caught

it. Cookie, we’re here.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009 3:51:44 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mr. Snuffleupagus, an Ode

What kind of animal was he, anyway?
An elephant? I wondered, then
where were his ears? And what was with
that long, brown hair? Was he
a tusk-less woolly mammoth form a bygone time
now brought to us courtesy
of the letter R and the number 8?
It didn’t really matter to my six-year-old self
all that mattered was
he was Big Bird’s best friend.

And that he was imaginary? That made it
even better! A relationship so rarefied
and precious, and private. A message
to the child in each one of us
that the world that we create inside
our minds is of value, fertile
ground for play and dreams.
I was in college when I heard.

Gordon, Linda, bob—good god!
They all had seen—and met! The former
‘phantom’ friend. Our Snuffy forced
into glaring bas relief. Turns out,
TV “News Shows” had “uncovered”
that Big Bird having an imaginary friend
was dangerous. For, if Big Bird were a child
who had been sexually abused
(picture this) and told—
and no adult believed,
in his abuser/Snuffleupagus
our nation’s kids would never tell.

And so the Powers That Be
slaughtered Snuffleupagus,
fallen King of Imaginary Friends,
and children everywhere
lost something Real.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 4:14:07 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Monkey

When I wanted to be you:
I was secret, angry, would hide in the trees
In my parent’s backyard. I remember watching, not wanting
to be seen, clutching at the trees, swinging. The boughs bending
beneath me. I was small, and the giant voices swelled below,
hands that were too big, not being able to grab, to hold well enough.

I think I must have had a fever, and it rained for days. I howled into it.
When I woke I wanted to return to a body of fur,
wanted to see and not be seen.
I recovered, sat in my desk all day, getting smaller and smaller,
feeling the pull back to
weightlessness, roots.

Melanie Crow
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:08:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)


Trojan Horse

Prop it up
in front of locked gates
an effigy never built to run.
Gallop over spectator rails:
ignore a poll unless you intend
to shove it up somebody’s
ass: a hoofed mammal with long
ears and the inability to reproduce
truth, fidelity,
sincerity
precludes the necessity to cover one’s
ass: a dunce, a dolt, a lickspittle hack.

Perpetual lies.
Lay them horizontal, track to track
so your donkey won’t hang out
the way friend slips off glib lips,
or deception hangs fogged-in
at the desk where you said No
when you meant Yes,
or the smile that fosters misplaced trust
when you call him in, unsuspecting
to say, I’m firing your sweet
ass.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:13:54 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
April 4th prompt: animal
The Sierra-Nevada foothills - gold country
Clear day – front porch
She sees the six skyscrapers fifty miles to the west - downtown Sacramento
She runs daily – five miles (actually 4.87 according to the pedometer) – not one ounce of fat
Out the back door up to the trail at the ridge - north for two miles
She likes the slap of her shoes on the trail
She was cold when she started but as she rounds into the first western loop sweat appears
The loop runs past the old Harker mine
As the loop turns east to head back up to the ridge trail she hears movement in the brush to the south
She is used to sounds out here but this is different - It is keeping pace with her
Her head swivels as she tries to assure her footing and tries to see what is making the sound - A deer?
She stops at the ridge trail – drinks from her water bottle – listens – quiet, peaceful
A hawk glides soundlessly overhead, a stunning sight back-framed by the rising sun
She shakes her head – heads south on the ridge trail turns west again in the final loop
Nearing the base of the loop she hears it again, still to the south. She stops, stares
She sees the mountain lion cross a small clearing – she hears the blood pounding in her ears
She dumps the water from her bottle – fills it with rocks –the sound continues to move away
She stands – wills her heart to slow, the sound continues to move away -she can barely hear it
Quiet now - she walks up the loop, the last turn 100 yards from the ridge trail
She turns, freezes - it is there ahead sitting at the intersection of the loop and the ridge trail – looking at her
She grips the bottle tighter – will not turn her back to it
She hears movement in the bush behind her…
Tony Walker
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:22:32 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
My Cairn

Frightened by wind;
Frightened by snow;
Frightened by felines;
Frightened by foes;

Frightened by noises;
Frightened by night;
Frightened forever
Or just puppy-lite?
Elizabeth Totten
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:24:56 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
I guess this is the other side to the poem for Day 3...

Dragon

Each night the dragon flew over the village,
Only to find every window and door shuttered.
“It’s always the same” the poor creature thought.
He just wanted a friend perhaps someone to love
Instead he was viewed as a menace above.
He was only searching for someone who knew
The true nature of dragons and why they flew.
In time he realized this village was wrong.
To another place he moved before long.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:27:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Treasure hunting,
Saving cereal.
With nephews bright blue and red,
Keeping kids eating,
Encouraging them to be active.
What would we do without him?
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:32:53 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coffee Siren

Mermaids don’t drink coffee
but they can sell it
out on the express way.

Should I stop already, I have so far to drive.
Will they leave room for cream? I have sipped
to the bottom of many grande skinny
sugar free lattes.

My car finds each green mermaid
stuck on a brown metal pole,
their fins bent up in a tantric pose. Nothing
to mistake for a red headed hamburger pusher,
she could use a new pose, one less dependent
on red and yellow, both too alarming
for my eyes to digest.
Mark A. Jenkins
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:36:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Cat”

He yowled and complained as he prowled
door to door, our pleasant home a prison.

My attempts to placate and soothe
met with impatient rejection.

I offered him favorite foods and
stroked his strong young back.

He peered out the window at the moon
and resumed his restless pacing.

I sighed in surrender then opened the door.

My spouse grabbed his car keys and left.

Guess I’ll go feed the cat

Jean B
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:37:08 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Storm Drake

The clouds coil loop
around themselves
fly the heavens hoarding
the treasure of rain

Around themselves
the storm drake eyes
the treasure of rain
keeping moisture tight in claws

The storm drake eyes
the people below
keeping moisture tight in claws
soaring high

The people below
watch the clouds coil loop
soaring high
flying the heavens hoarding
Megan
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 5:55:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Blue Olokun

I've never seena blue whale up close
but I know they are epic.
The largest mammals on the planet
with a history longer than
my robust homosapien self.
Glide through an ever shrinking
landscape,
doing what you've always done -
babies, pods, krill
love, loyalty.
Your waters are rising
like the weather.
It's just a matter of time.
But you know that
you've been around.
Carrying memories of lost cultures
in your cells.
You keep moving until the moving stops
and you'll glide into the next sun
singing low
nudging your babies forward.
Ramona Gonzales
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 6:24:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chameleon by Rebecca Chasteen

Watching you move slowly between
the ground and the leaves
the wall and the trees
shading to fit
I almost miss you
I almost forget you
do this

you manage to fit everywhere
never standing out
like I might
I'm almost jealous
till I realize
I get to
shine sometimes

you're hiding behind
that (dis?)ability
to migrate enough of your pigments
to match up with whatever world you encounter

is the whole thing all of you?
you are this much, full out, through and through?
or is magic mirrors and make believe
tricks to reveal only what you will let people see?

you're always hiding
you're always safe
and I'm out here
sore thumb that I am
but I stand where I stand
just this way
I manage
to be okay
odd colors and all.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 7:11:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Carolina Wren

soft gold breast and tweed knickers
under smooth brown coattails
your slender beak points into the day
with a clear bright cry
too big for your small body
"I'mprettyI'mprettyI'mpretty"
as if the rest of us hadn't noticed
becky
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 8:34:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Learning Birds

Moravec lights his fingertips
tapping notes of Grosbeak

at the feeder. He dives head-long
toward a sign; where’s the loon’s call?

Get the camera, pour the coffee;
learning birds takes time, seasons

of tracing robin onto rice paper,
goldfinch over quince; there’s still ice,

dirty snow the day the sun penetrates
Maine. Balthus’ subject knows the subject.

How does he connect the sparrow,
each class of finch? How many winters

of watching, rising to weak light.
It’s April, the bleached leaves of maple

Flutter like parchment, cleave like ghosts.
No threat beyond the pane, a sapsucker

appears late; feels his way, uncovers a coda.
Whatever is going to happen, is already

happening to the cardinal’s plume, to him.
when he splits the lark, the call comes full, pink.


Kimberly Mahler
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 8:51:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Rhino Poem

Nearly extinct 21st century unicorn
Gray but called black
White but really gray
One horn or two
Calla lily ears
Lips like fingers
Picking from a prickly bush
Powerful freight train
With body armor like an armadillo
Sumatra has a hairy dwarf
Elusive on Java
Poached in Africa
Prominent on Echo merchandise
Indian is my favorite
Named like a dino
Built like a wreaking ball
Armed like a knight
Buffy McGarrigle
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 8:54:48 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Old Bones For Scrivener

That tawny shag rug you wore as hair
always held bits of kibble and carpet.
Lanky bitch. You showed your teeth
when sneezing. Slept under dinner feet.
Peed on the fireplace. Died drooling
on a blue rubber ball.

by Kitchell Resimi, 2009
Kitchell Resimi
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 9:02:11 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Worm"

Squiggly, slimy, but not slithery.
Desiring moisture but not immersion.
A delicacy to birds of the air
and fish of the sea.

When you putt on the green,
I may annoy.
That is not my ploy.
T’is only the dew I wish to glean.

If the sun be out
It will soon be a drought.
I’ll cease to exist —
burned to a crisp.
Wayne Mizerak
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 9:12:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Horses' Nobility"

A man walking six feet high
Commands less to one
Who sprints five times as fast,
Twice the size, or using four legs to stand.

From intent to honored intent,
Foolishness accentuated to pompous forums.
A horse also turns stern meetings,
Transposing them into illuminating alarums.

Candid when listening,
Loyal throughout work.
Traversing needs blinders,
For inside there lurks
Halfway quenched spirits, nature fails to truly deliver
A conquered anything,
failed supremacy on our part?
Mother Nature lacks Diana’s bow,
Delivering instead thirsty souls.

Our fly-swatting friends
Display their parched throats,
Inviting useful sentiments
To slack, cowering hosts.
Jeremy Jusek
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 9:14:24 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(some history here from wiki etc:
The Chambered Nautilus (Nautilus pompilius) is the best known species of nautilus. The shell, when cut away as in the photograph in the gallery below, reveals a lining of lustrous nacre, and displays a nearly perfect equiangular spiral.

The animal has more primitive eyes than some other cephalopods; the eye has no lens and thus is comparable to a pinhole camera. The animal has about 90 tentacles with no suckers, which is also different from other cephalopods.

This nocturnal animal has a pair of rhinophores, which detect chemicals, and uses olfaction and chemotaxis in order to find its food.

Two subspecies of N. pompilius have been described:

* Nautilus pompilius pompilius
* Nautilus pompilius suluensis

N. p. pompilius is by far the most common and widespread of all nautiluses. It is sometimes called the Emperor Nautilus due to its large size. The distribution of N. p. pompilius covers the Andaman Sea east to Fiji and southern Japan south to the Great Barrier Reef. Exceptionally large specimens with a shell diameter of up to 268 mm[1] have been recorded from Indonesia and northern Australia. This giant form was described as Nautilus repertus, however most scientists do not consider it a separate species.

N. p. suluensis is a much smaller animal, restricted to the Sulu Sea in the southwestern Philippines, after which it is named. The largest recorded specimen measured 148 mm in shell diameter.[1]

In literature and art

Small natural history collections were common in mid-1800s Victorian homes, and chambered nautilus shells were popular decorations.

The Chambered Nautilus is the title and subject of a poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes, in which he admires the "ship of pearl" and the "silent toil/That spread his lustrous coil/Still, as the spiral grew/He left the past year's dwelling for the new." He finds in the mysterious life and death of the nautilus, strong inspiration for his own life and spiritual growth. He concludes:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

A painting by Andrew Wyeth, entitled "Chambered Nautilus," shows a woman in a canopied bed; the composition and proportions of the bed and the window behind it mirror those of a chambered nautilus lying on a nearby table.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ THE NAUTILUS ~

Disappear Here ...

Like the nautilus,
I close as many parts of myself off as I can when I'm down. It's safer that way ...
in my shell, no one can see me.
I don't have to hear the pity in people's voices,
don't have to face their uncertainty in how to react,
how to help.

it's just easier not to reveal the sadness,
but it gets too hard to ask ask ask for help.
Fuck, it gets too hard to talk.

What is there to say when you spend days in bed because you can't sleep at night?

When you've been filling in the hours reading novels or watching bad tv repeats rather than writing an incomplete paper?

When you haven't spoken to another human being for days, except those endless imaginary discourses that fill your mind and heart because they have no outlet, since you can't talk to humans anymore.

I've stopped using all other drugs except for the prescribed ones. I miss them ... not enough to dip back into them, but as a way of trying to escape.

You can't escape when you're depressed.

Sleep offers some relief, when it comes, but more often than not, dreams are terrifying, bewildering.

Upon waking, you're more tired than when you finally fall asleep.
You've fought demons in your sleep, usually unsuccessfully, and the battle scars and weariness haunt you all day.
The fog doesn't lift.

The thought of even getting stoned actually scares me, which I think is a good thing.

As horrible as melancholia is, at least it's real. Besides, I let my drug use get so out of hand that I fucked up in school, fucked up my scholarship, and have had to drop down to a masters instead of completing my phd.

I worked so hard to get back here, clawing my way out of madness back home, only to fall again here.
I've used up the second chance I had.

So I tell people that I want to do a phd in australia, that the thought of living here for 3 more years was not what i wanted.

but it was. it still is.

yeah, there are external reasons. There was the pneumonia, the bronchitis, the devastating heartbreak,the death of my sicilian father-figure from a brain tumour, the evil roommates, which all happened over christmas. 3 moves in 6 months, the homesickness, the political science minors that i had no interest nor background in, and a personality clash with a professor that, in such a sensitive state, destroyed any feelings of positivity about my work.

But the fact is, I dealt with it all so badly.

i didnt ask for help when i needed to.

i acted my way through it all.
I thought i would get back on track. but i didn't.
it scares me how good an actor i am when i want to be.
you just tell people what they want to hear.

it's getting late, and i'm tired.
i hope to sleep tonight, because i did do some work on my paper before, and i know where i have to pick up next.

but i needed to write.

who knows if i'll blog this ... i hate not having the net at home anymore, but it's probably better this way.
i can't blog every random thought and feeling i have anymore.

at the same time, myspace and tribe used to be a really good way of reaching out when you cant talk to people anymore.

to the people i haven't called back, or emailed, or seen, i'm sorry.
please don't take it personally.

right now, writing is the only form of conversation i can make.

disappearing is easy. it's coming back that's hard .... but if the nautilus can do it, so can I.

"Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!"
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 9:35:35 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Sublime Feline

Bird upon my claw
sublime is my flying snack
Spring sun, warm nap, ah!
Ann W.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 9:36:38 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cows

I was six.
In my new, mustard duffel coat
Over pyjamas, the cold breathed at me,
Licked my hands, that stuck
Red as shellfish, from the rolled-up sleeves.
Slow and sleep-sticky
I still saw the change:
Flat grey replaced by a lifting gold
- The dawn of a cold sun through mist.
And there were shadows, insubstantial as clouds,
Smudged like newsprint.
Then a shift in the wind from off the canal,
And a tangle of cows,
Only real by the eyes - a galaxy of reflected sparks -
On the towpath.
And the breath of them, my breath, and the cold's breath
All huffed out together
And were licked bright by the sun.
Kirstin Dykes
Tuesday, April 07, 2009 9:37:45 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Horse

To know a horse from inside
brace your muscled bulk
hold up a girl
who wants to take perfect care of you,
wants to place in your supple hairy lips
apples and good grain,
groom you, make your forelock shine,
whisk dust and sweat from your twitching hide.
Hold her but
let her think
she holds you.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009 12:05:39 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Vulture Couture

When I quit this world and wander no more
Upon rocky cliff and wild shore
Take me up
Up to the tower door

Leave me to rest in the open wind
Spent of heart and mortal sin
All that was
But never again

Give me a glorious burial in the sky
A tower of silence lifted high
A kettle of scavengers
And a merciful sigh

Pray the birds feast well into the night
A festival of carrion delight
Vultures in blood stockings
Finding pleasure in my might
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 12:23:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Hamster


For the moment I merely watched him
Running back and forth in his home
I am patient you see
I am full of time plenty
I am the sly one in the darkness and I am hungry

So I waited, all day I waited,
All night I waited, I waited, waited, waited
And in the morning he came out of his house
I waited no more

I struck like a black bolt of lightning streaking down from the heavens
As if Death itself had ripped across space to sever everything with its scythe
I screamed down from heaven and struck

Only to find him leaping up and over me
To tumble in the air and land behind me
I landed in a crouch...
Peering around over my shoulder I gleamed at him

He for his sake I saw glaring back at me balefully with eyes and one hand beckoning me

I snarled

Spun around and lashed out with my whip as I did
He ducked it,

With the speed of sound my fist struck him
He blocked it

Out came my foot, and then the other
He evaded the first, and caught the second
I rolled and struck him across his face with the first

Again I landed on my feet

He staggered back and with a back flip he was ready once more...

He wiped his nose with one hand
Bade me come at him again with the other
A sly half grin on his lips

I charged this impudent fool
Changed direction, spun around
Out came my whip
Out came my foot
And he leaped over my whip
Flipped between my foot
And struck me twice with his own
light kicks to the face meant to shock me more than hurt me

We parted and circled each other
Looking for openings in the other's defenses

And there because I am patient I found it
A chink in his armour of skill and technique

He was mine
Again I rushed him in one smooth fluid motion
Twin kicks, the whip, my fists, and head butt, knees and elbows
In blinding fury, speed and in the space between thought it was over...

He retreated blocking the kicks,
Ducking the whip,
Avoiding the fists left then right
Catching the head butt in his hands
Countering the knees with his knees
The elbows with his elbows
And then...
He did the impossible
He

Defeated me

Rolling backwards he slammed my head into the wall,
Sliding from beneath my crumpling body with his feet
To stand ready inches from my limping body

I remember thinking then as my eyes closed to the world
"That's one damn tough hamster," I get out of the Kitty Clinic in two days

I want a rematch
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 12:45:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Phoenix
Burning bird of ashes
Glitter of gold
A prophecy ~A sign
Self igniting
To burn, to be born.
Anew


Wednesday, April 08, 2009 1:12:58 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Parrot

My feathers are bright as the rainbow in May,
I repeat what I hear my friends, humans, say.
My beak is both yellow and black,
My tail is red like the feathers on my back.
My eyes are small upon my head,
And they are white, not black as lead.
The pirates are my friends and I’m lucky that’s so,
For I’ve heard that for others it’s not so.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 1:49:18 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chimney Swifts


Come home to me
In the cool of the spring
And sing to me in my home
Bring no new song
From where you’ve been
Just the one I’ve always known

You’ve never asked,
Although you are welcome
To stay here and build your nest
Share part with me
Of your life on the wing,
My faithful seasonal guests

I hear you up there,
In my chimney
I know when new life is born
Once in a while
One will fall to me,
And I’ll help it back up there once more

Some may deem you
A nuisance,
Your fluttering, an intrusion
But I hold you dear
And offer you, here,
Safety in this collusion

From the first day in spring
That I hear you
No tinder will ever light
Until the next fall
When I’ve heard your last call
And your family has taken fall flight

Copyright 2009 by T.B. Bryceson
T.B. Bryceson
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 2:16:35 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Prey

The animal clawing its way out of my stomach
Must have nails as long as daggers
Its teeth like sharpened spears
Scraping and tearing their way through the lining.

His preying is never satisfied
Coming back incessantly for more
Sometimes waking me in the night
Just to assert his power

Occasionally he must tire
And my weariness matches his
For a moment, allowed to rest, and fantasize
About days without claws

Amy T-P
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 3:42:01 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Cat

Majestic, regal
Looking down on me
Do I own you
Or do you own me?

Tensing, leaping
Springing for the kill
If you catch your quarry
Belly you will fill.

Snoozing, dozing
Lying in your bed
Cuddled close beside me
Close beside my head.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 3:48:27 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Max

Red and fluffy and great big eyes
He brought me laughs that made me cry
Smart enough to open doors
Funny sliding across wet floors

My fluffy partner and best friend
Who kept my secrets again and again
Everyone one loved my silly dog Max
He loved to play or just relax

Then one day he was simply gone
Should have tied him but thought it wrong
Someone took from the yard
My bet is it wasn't very hard

I looked a long time, days on end
I hope he's well with his new friend
He plays still in my memory
He's safe in there where he'll always be.

Janice Martin
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 4:28:03 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Canadian Goose

Oh it is great being a goose
Able to fly high to warmer spots
We fly in groups to keep company
But we will stay together with a specific one

Oh it is great being a goose
When we are on the ground we baste in the sun
We eat anytime we want
And swim every morning just for fun

Oh it is great being a goose
Cars stop as we walk across the street
People pay us no mind
for if they get to close
we will get them from behind
Michael Roy
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 5:33:34 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Chimney Swifts (reworked)


Come to me
In the cool of the spring
And sing to me in my home
Bring no new song
From where you’ve been
Just the one I’ve always known

You’ve never asked,
Although you are welcome,
To stay here and build your nest
Share part with me
Of your life on the wing,
My faithful seasonal guests

I hear you up there,
In my chimney
I know when new life is born
Once in a while
One will fall to me,
And I’ll help it fly up once more

Some may deem you
A nuisance,
Your fluttering, an intrusion
But I hold you dear
And offer you, here,
Safety in your occlusion

From the first day in spring
That I hear you
No tinder will ever light
Until the next fall
When I’ve heard your last call
And your family has taken fall flight

Copyright 2009 by T.B. Bryceson


T.B. Bryceson
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 6:12:06 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Coyote

I coax the window open
to release some newborn fears.
Nothing gives that easily.
Lying back, lamp extinguished,

rain abated for now, the coyote yips
its terse message, is answered
by a report – and I wonder
was it the shot’s shock hit hardest

or the beast of nothingness
that stalks the heart?
Another gunshot. So loud
my bones leap within their thin

blanket of skin. As if it was in mu back-
yard, as if it was just beyond
my window. One began to mourn
and was joined by others. I could see

without leaving my bed
the whole horde in the field, the hair
on their backs ruffling gently
in the nighttime breeze.

What’s left of the moon’s caught
in twigs, and I wonder if she minds, terribly
this constant flux – first pregnant
and rounding into lunacy,

only to weaken as she ages
until we are lost in her absence,
our candlesguttering a feeble imitation.
Nothing compares,

nothing computes.
We love and are bathed in light.
We want more and lose our vision.
Coyote howls a love song

to her kill, and is answered by death
in its slim metal coat. What’s left of
the moon bathes the body, illumines
the pool, a halo, red

beneath her skull. Where I can’t see it
she blossoms a red rose, a bellyful
of pups, a body waxing
extinguished on the wind.



Ronda Broatch
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 6:47:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Dinosaurs and Unicorns

“Dinosaurs don’t exist,” she coolly states on her end of the line.
Her declaration is an affront to my scientific mind.

When asked why, after the teachings about the prehistoric beasts,
she does not believe, she says, “it’s an impossible feat

To grow lizards tall as buildings, and tell me, where did they all go?
And anyone can fashion bones and rearrange them all just so.

But I believe in unicorns.” That’s right- the magic, one horned horse.
I grit my teeth in disbelief, amusing her, of course.

“I cannot see a dinosaur and make the leap from then to now.
They evolved into small reptiles and birds? I just do not see how.

A horse easily becomes a unicorn, requiring one step more.
It matters not to me that I’ve never seen one before.”

I treat her with derision, send her mocking pictures of
Dinosaurs eating helpless unicorns. She accepts it all with love.

Her belief and resolve never waver, and it brings me to question
How willing I am to be spoon-fed any theory or suggestion

Conforming to the rigid man-made law that now prevails,
And the ways that we arrive at truth, and what real faith entails.

Tara Vaughan-Williams
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 10:40:58 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Lioness In Waiting"

I sit before you--breasts,
full figure
Male anger beneath
Male traits you unaware of--
You greet me with lips
I disdain
As I discover you are like
the others--
the same--

The Beautiful, Unforgiving Ones:
Intelligence, Perception,
--of My Lioness

My Lioness, Your perceived
Enemy

But perceived
Incorrectly.

For I reach a Higher Truth--
yet Feel Secluded
From Your Race

Coming behind again,
As Eve--

Yet knowing I helped Adam
in his Conception
In his conception.
Debra Cochran
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 12:14:42 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Jemimiah

How refined the cat, she lifts her nose,
cultivated stance, the perfect repose,
Her impeachable manor, so deliciously rare,
A willingness to please, beyond compare,
With silken purrs tone, so she is pampered
with cream,
With peerless response and saucer clean
She retires to her beau-diou, luxurously
bored.

Jemimiah, Jemimiah, my perfect fraud
Janey Millea Clarke
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 1:47:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
The Death of Frogs

As dusk breathes upon Colorado fields
The orchestra awakens
Deep, lung filled croaks
echo like cellos
On the waves of oxygen
These are my 9-year-old lullabies
As I greet the dream world.

We never knew that plastic jumping toys
Would gradually take the place of one-and-a-half inch life forms
That the first victims of smog and ecological disharmony
Would claim these sleek-skinned hoppers first,
A universal pun,
Exchanging one kind of croak for another
And I must exchange my symphony,
Replace it with a cacophony of radio waves
Interspersed with cruel silence
Cami
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 2:05:09 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

A rt
N ature
I ntended
M aking
A t
L arge


POLAR BEAR
or short "Polly"

Dear
Polly Bear,

I really LOVE you Polly Bear...
and like the COLOUR of your fur!
It occurs you're having endless FUN
in the seamlessly SUNSETting polar SUN.
There you are chasing, tossing, ACTING wild
and yet you're still "my little polar child".
I raised you from a cup so SMART
into my favourite piece of ART,
my dearest CREATE-ure!

I LOVE you always,
Mother NATURE


© April 2009 by Martin Anthony Dorn
Martin Anthony Dorn
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 2:31:07 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)




Day 4 Animal

Bushka

Bushka is the best
soccer player ever.
He kicks the table
tennis ball into
the goal time and time
again. He wandered
into my yard one
day and stood meowing
at my back door.

Why did you adopt
me little boy? Did
you know I was lonely?
Or were you so desperate
you had to take a chance?
Now, we're best friends, you
follow me everywhere
and stress when I stay
away overnight -

a cat with abandonment
issues. How could those
people take you from
your mother and dump
you like that. Couldn't
they see you had your
own personality,
that you would prove to
be a wonderful
companion? I
prefer animals to
humans any day.

Maureen Sexton




Wednesday, April 08, 2009 2:48:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Poem about a White Tiger
For Raymond

It
sat on the shelf for twelve weeks, stuffed
with pellets, a plush toy, long enough

to be reduced to half-price.

In Rochester, New York, the White Tiger
is a tatoo parlor where the brilliance of color

and bloodink is spilled.

The plush toy filled me with fear
the week after 911, not knowing whether

anthrax was everywhere

or only in those packets on the news.
In Pittsburgh this week, a man with a tatoo

around his clavicle

killed three policemen called to his home
by his mother, a routine domestic

disturbance, they thought.

Ambushing them as they entered the house.
An American eagle, each pinion aroused,

the tatoo.

White tigers: and are they endangered?
White tigers: and are they well-armed?

I asked you

to tell me your favorite animal;
the next step would be Google

“white tiger” and

learn from a wiki or website
and fill this poem up with each dendrite

of detail I’d gleaned.

But then there were gunshots, a man
with a stockpile of guns in his den

and the world is on edge

and the world is the edge between village
and jungle. America, Bengal, the rages

of nature and culture, the
eagle a vulture, a vulture.






Ellen McGrath Smith
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 3:50:36 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
NARWHAL

My lover will not believe in you
we've shown her some footage: your
sleekness under icebergs, the crowds
of mystic horns. On our bedroom wall
hangs "The Garden of Earthly Delights"
which Hieronymus Bosch painted, full
of faith. You belong there, she says,
and points to pond the pond where unicorns
drink, and to the parade of faceless steel
mermaids, and to the grey hell-ice in which
a man grasps for a flotsam of sanity.

But I say, in a surface world of burning
cities, of great neon collective fruits
to sink our rotted teeth in, in a world
of metal fish dropping from the sky, Narwhal,
the three of us, at least, are right at home.
James Longley
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 6:07:05 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Unending Engagement

Teeth, tail, and tongue that push
into my equilibrium so that holding on
becomes my most prominent thought.
Morning happens when Jackson senses
bipedal movement anywhere in the house.
Francis warned me that eye contact
begins unending engagement, yet I couldn’t
avoid his exuberance. So I walked
and he tugged, trying to herd any creature,
he perceived as lost.
He made me feel guilty for not having us both eat
from the same dish, then entertained me with tricks
done at lightning speed, followed by shredding tennis balls
and Frisbees, and the last of my energy. I needed a 10:00 A.M. nap
and Jackson wanted more play, so lying down
wasn’t an option. By day’s end he had explored
every neighborhood nook, herded children
into small, squealing groups, and tied my muscles into knots.
Stars had pushed through the black velvet when Francis finally came for his best friend
and I, deliberately, dropped my eyes—survival meant no direct eye contact.
Cheryl Foreman
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 6:19:27 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Mouse

Small
Quick
Scurry here,
there.
Hide behind this
under that.

Caught inside
but not Caught,
still free
but not Free.

Rest
Something coming
Scurry away
Hide, rest,
scurry

Food
Trap
Confined
Shaking
Free

John Davies
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 8:08:25 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
“Cuddles” (by Jeanetta Chrystie)

We met, your little white dog and I.
“A Shih Tzu,” you said, as introduction.
“I have a big stuffed lion I named Cuddles,”
I replied. She kept me company and soaked up my tears.

This new Cuddles and I took stock of the competition.
I have long hair too, you could enjoy combing mine too.
Maybe we’d both like it, maybe it would grow into more.
My competitor ignores me, seeking only your attentions.

Our tenuous truce exists for your pleasure, or approval.
I married into dog ownership. You said so, often, to your friends.
Cuddles turned 18, then had the bad taste to die while you were away
On a business trip that didn’t include me.

What do I do? I tried willing her to move, to breathe, to something.
I called you. “Put her in her bed and slide it in a box.” You buried her.
You planted a redbud tree on the fake slope in our yard, “so she’d still have bark.”
Why didn’t that feel funny to me? And why do I cry that she’s gone?
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 9:03:18 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
"Distractions"

though I loathe Facebook
like a bloody crash landing
I can't look away
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 9:25:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Koala


They say your fingerprints
are almost indistinguishable from mine.

They say when your baby is born,
he must crawl across your belly to the sanctuary of your pouch --
your muscles, like drawstrings, pull themselves together
hiding your baby from the world while he takes milk and gains sight.
I wonder if you can feel him seeking out his space
and if his quarter-inch body itches or tickles – <