NaPM April 2 2015

[milo]

Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month. 



Topic 2: AJ (Cidermaid) would love to see a poem inspired by a favourite pet.  
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

---

[just mercedes]

Ralph the Wonder Dog
 
 
 
I’d been losing eggs.
I’d suspected snakes
but they swallow whole
and I’d found broken shells
so I hid and watched, astonished
when my cocker spaniel nosed a red hen aside
and took her egg.
 
Looking thoughtful
she worked it around in her mouth
then casually, head back,
her neck a vertical line,
she crunched back teeth together
swallowed
lowered her head
and spat out the pieces of shell;
 
like reading Agatha Christie –
so clever and so well-done.
 
 
 

[milo]

The Pussy and the Cock an Aesop's Fable
(for billy)

A farmyard pussy caught a cock
and though he knew the rules forbade it
thought to make a case (and if he made it)
thought to eat the cock for dinner.

“You strut the yard above the other stock,”
said the pussy, implying dinner in the saying.

“My strut, it gets the hens to laying.
The farmer’s breakfast? My hens laid it!”

“You crow before the day’s begun,
and night’s for sleeping, we can’t sleep them!”

“I crow to greet the morning sun
So man’s commitments – he can keep them.”

As the cocky cock declared himself the winner
The cat hunched low, then pounced and ate it.

Strut or talk or early morning clock
nothing stops a pussy eating cock.

[ellajam]

^^^ ha, love that one


Rupert the Lesser is More

Bravado and beauty are not my forte.
I shiver, slink, won't meet your eye
and hide away when you're awake.
I bow my head and wait my turn,
just nibble and be grateful.

But when at last I am set free
from my life's love, my buddy boy,
my world turns upside down and fear
is swallowed as I run this town.
I'm king of my domain.

I brave the weather (when I can)
and lay my scent to property.
I strut my stuff and stake my claim,
each treetop and each lap is mine.
As I turn gray, I'm handsome.

[billy]

napalm 2nd April

ratatatat

I've a rodent called Euripides, whose throne sits on my desk;
he's Japanese and cast from bronze, with fur like arabesque.
Sat up on his haunches, with a certain intellectual stare
he takes umbrage at my spelling when I'm typing something there.
My rat is old, his ears still sharp, his age is on his tail.
A tricentennial; wise in years, he helps me when I fail.
To write a poem about a pet, that's way beyond the pale
and I did it without cliche; okay, the one above is stale.

[cidermaid]

Pinnock Portence.
We named him Scrumpy,
he came fully loaded for the field and gun.
Day one, he ran away and sat few feet off
for the rest of the day. Waiting on his peg,
eager to obey – the whistle we had lost.
His shooting days with us were done.

Re-purposed to a Scrumping dog,
at half past ten he was off like a shot.
First stop, the girls had a sandwich drop.
At eleven the men made their pasties hot
and at twelve it was time to pop round the shop
to tidy the muffins too old to be sold.
It was a hard life for a cider maker’s dog.

[jasmine.m.wardiya]

I hope the pet garden variety spider counts because that's the only pet I've ever had.
...

It was my precious friend of a few days
before Mum found him there, and tossed him out
to the wind. How cruel, I thought,
imagining a person windblown, waiting outside the door -
I tried to coax him through some cracks
but he couldn't come.

I found him first on the posts of my bed, slipping.
I stared at him, blurry eyed in the morn
before scooping him into a bathroom cup
and giving him a place to stay.
I told him all the rules: no scaring Mum (Dad doesn't care
too much), no making webs where they'll be in the way
but the cup is fine, it's your home

But only for a few days because Mum found him there
and I never saw him again.

[just mercedes]

napalm 2nd April

ratatatat

I've a rodent called Euripides, whose throne sits on my desk;
he's Japanese and cast from bronze, with fur like arabesque.
Sat up on his haunches, with a certain intellectual stare
he takes umbrage at my spelling when I'm typing something there.
My rat is old, his ears still sharp, his age is on his tail.
A tricentennial; wise in years, he helps me when I fail.
To write a poem about a pet, that's way beyond the pale
and I did it without cliche; okay, the one above is stale.

A certain intellectual stare - You lookin' at me? Yo9u lookin' at me?

 'anumbrage' and ootz 'something'

Have I told you lately that

blue turns to grey
and try as you may
you just don't feel good
and you don't feel all right
and you know that you must find her, find her find her ...

[Erthona]

A Dog named Blue
 
I have an old dog named Blue,
(of course he has me too).
He's loyal and brave and true,
except when caught with paw in pie;
nose under paws and forlorn eyes,
crocodile tears he'll start to cry;
then  I know he's very sorry
and he knows he has no worries,
he sees I've bought his con.
His tail starts wagging, his day moves on.
A happy lie, I'm happy to buy,
until Blue dog is gone.
 
Erthona
 
 
©2015





©2015

[ellajam]

Pussy

I've a pet named pussy,
she's dark and she's light,
she constantly wakes me,
throughout the whole night.

       —still—

I'd rather have pussy,
than a rude grouchy wife,
to cuddle me sensually,
throughout my whole life.


Erthona


©2015

ha, good example of the power of the comma.

[Tiger the Lion]

Sea Monkeys
 
“Puppies make great Christmas gifts”,
the pet-shop lady said.
My daughter knew better at 4-years-old
and stopped to bow her head:
 
“Lord, forgive this silly fool,
she knows not what she does,
she likely never finished school,
may we take her home with us?”
 
She taught the pet-shop lady well
that pups were not like toys;
they pee and poop and vandalize—
and make a lot of noise.
 
So, lesson learned she quit her job,
but still inclined to sales,
she took her new crusade online:
a site called ‘Fishy tales’.
 
Our nature is to nurture!
the mission statement said,
Teach responsibility!
And next here’s how it read:
 
Some draw tadpoles from muddy pools
and some paint faces on rocks,
but here we sell the gift of life,
for ninety-nine cents a box.

Day 2 was fun. Thanks Milo.

[Erthona]

Nice one Paul!

Sorry ell, I had to replace it, one poem with wordplay around pussy is enough and milo beat me to it, so I had to reboot. No great loss. Still, I'm glad you liked it.

Dale

[ellajam]

Nice one Paul!

Sorry ell, I had to replace it, one poem with wordplay around pussy is enough and milo beat me to it, so I had to reboot. No great loss. Still, I'm glad you liked it.

Dale

Well, it's pet day, pussies and bitches where bound to come up.

[Todd]

Why the Dog No Longer Comes When I Call
 
The clouds run like rabbits
to dim the eye of heaven.
My feet like sea foam blur 
as when wave meets shore.
I have become a skipping
 
stone too quick to be contained
by this mask of a man’s name.
My teeth are squirrel death;
they shred what ears
 
will no longer hear.

[just mercedes]

I feel as though I spent the morning in a pet shop! Lovely.

[shemthepenman]

My wasp, he's swell,
parasitic, as well;
leaves vampires
and spires,
and stings
like a belle.

[Keith]

Captain

Saturday night Mint imperials,
he would only eat five
then play with the sixth
until it stuck to the carpet.

He took my teenage tears,
buried them with bones
and hand-like paws,
much more than just the taste of salt.

I found him in the rockery,
blind with two good legs,
kidney failure,
couldn't be fixed with tonic
from the dark glass bottle in the pantry.

Still growling,
still shaking,
still wanting salt.

Through smokey silver
he followed something
behind me on the wall,
chasing sunlight from a wrist watch.

[milo]

I feel as though I spent the morning in a pet shop! Lovely.

Yes, the ones today were particularly enjoyable to read.

[rayheinrich]

                < a Cheshire cat >
               
                her grins
                still disappeared
                and blinked back on
                bright tooth by tooth
                (by now a few were missing)
                then today she whispered to me:
               
                "there's no need to morn my death
                with all i've killed
                i bit into the mothers
                tasted milk mixed with their blood
                their children left to starve
                i am a beast
                there is
                no need to mourn
                come close"
               
                she bit me
               
                then she disappeared
               
                - - -
               

[bena]

this one was so difficult, it took me a while.  Still not satisfied, but this is as deep as I could cut.



First Love



Buffy was there when I was born,
as far as I knew she would be there forever.
Black and tan mutt,
all paws and tongue,
she would lick my face full of slobber
and steal all my snacks.


At nine I was walking her,
something I did every day,
when the leash snapped like glass breaking
and I watched in flash pan slow motion
as the truck tires rolled over her back.


I looked down at the cartoon flat spine
of the thing I loved most in life
and she returned my gaze,
managing somehow one last lick
before death looked back at me.


A guttural scream ripped
from my toes to the sky.


It would be the first of many.