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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

I like Tanja's Skunk!

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

ANIMAL POEM: CATS

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

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!"

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

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.

"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

“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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Squirrel

Enemy of dogs
Bushy tailed nut collector
Runs across my lawn

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.

Ginger... you got the Sloth. right on.
and i love Cows and ice cream and BATS

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.

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

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.

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.

Ginger and Banana ... cute stuff!

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

"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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

“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!

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.

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.

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!

Robert, love your entry for today, J

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.

"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.....

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!

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)

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.

Dragon Haiku



Deadly dragon
Spewing red flames
Hording treasure selfishly
Hungry endlessly
Evil.

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.

(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.

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?

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

Butterfly

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

Julie Eger

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

(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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Blue heron stands guard
at the swimming pool daring
you to just jump in.

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.

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.

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

Armadillidium vulgare

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

"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.

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.

“Monkey”

See.

Do.

No eyes, no ears, no mouth.

Get paradoxical.

And then freak out.

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

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.

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.

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.)

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

“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.

“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.

_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.


.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

: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.

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

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.

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.

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

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)

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.

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.

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.

Walking on long legs
dew splashed on silver-spun threads
waiting for June bugs.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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/

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!"

Fox

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

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!”

"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.

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.

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!

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?

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--

"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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

“Squirrel”

As he sits on the branch of the birch tree,
our eyes lock.
“My yard.”
“My yard.”
Neither of us flinches.

"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.

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

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.

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.

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!"

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.

HA! I just realized Walt submitted a second piece. Funny take on the subject, and well done!

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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

Turtles
I love to watch my turtle
especially when music is played
her front legs lift up and down
as if she was dancing.

“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

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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?

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

#

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

"Coelacanth"

Oh, my Coelacanth.

Three-twenty-five million years.

Master hide and seek.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.)

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?

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.

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

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.

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!

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

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.

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!"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

*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.

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.

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.

"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.

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!

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

Thanks, Padgett, for the compliment. I'm new to this blog, and I am enjoying the poem a day challenge. I appreciate your comment.

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.

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).

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.

(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

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.

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.

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).

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

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!

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.

Tufted Titmouse

Small backyard songbird,
wishing for a Nom de Plume.
Parus Bicolor.

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

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.

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.

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?”

"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

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

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.

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 :-)

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

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.

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?

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.

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.