My little kitten
I have a little kitten, I stroke it's soft paws
but no one told me that within..were some very sharp claws.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pads, Paws And Claws
Shes a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife
But with a drunk-town lament he leads her a miserable life
But when hes full of that beer-champagne
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
And if he should wake up in some terrible dive
And he dont know if hes so-so
But hes so surprised hes alive
"come on little honey, let me under your hive"
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, pads around the bedroom, practicing ways to flirt
He paws, pours another drink and anything in a skirt
Anything wearing a necklace
He thinks of claws scratching his back hes
Going out there hes not coming back
Shes got spider-leg fingers, sharpened whenever he strays
And she carries a bird-purse, with all of her womanly ways
til hes drinking hairspray, she knows that he never would dare
She could be in pictures if she wasnt all covered in fur
Hes coming home now and heres the surprise
You wouldnt believe the lies that he tries
She cut him down to her favourite size
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pads, Paws & Claws
Shes a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife
But with a drunk-town lament he leads her a miserable life
But when hes full of that beer-champagne
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
And if he should wake up in some terrible dive
And he dont know if hes so-so
But hes so surprised hes alive
Come on little honey, let me under your hive
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, pads around the bedroom, practicing ways to flirt
He paws, pours another drink and anything in a skirt
Anything wearing a necklace
He thinks of claws scratching his back hes
Going out there hes not coming back
Shes got spider-leg fingers, sharpened whenever he strays
And she carries a bird-purse, with all of her womanly ways
til hes drinking hairspray, she knows that he never would dare
She could be in pictures if she wasnt all covered in fur
Hes coming home now and heres the surprise
You wouldnt believe the lies that he tries
She cut him down to her favourite size
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smacked
Kept pocketed and it's deep,
Those feelings so hard to reach.
And then with no warning shown...
They're seen unbelievebly,
To rattle as if in battle...
To match!
And...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.
Kept pocketed and it's deep,
Those feelings so hard to reach.
And then with no warning shown...
They're seen unbelievebly,
To rattle!
And...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.
Finding...
No time to rhyme,
When...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.
Finding...
No time to rhyme,
When...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.
Kept pocketed and it's deep,
Those feelings so hard to reach.
And finding,
No time...
To rhyme,
When...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have you ever heard of a kitten
I'm not quit sure how to write a sonnet
So i'll start with a few quite words
Some will make since while others will be an abundance
So here it is I will jump right in
Have you heard of a small fury creature named kitten
With sharp little claws in there cute mittens
With fluffy young fur she seems to be lickn
A cute little nose which is always a sniffn
And a lovable heart that is always a sniffn
To the animals around her always a playn
And a wild mind that is always a wondern
Long fury legs spotted and young
With eyes that are young and always a wondern
Have you heard of a small fury creature named kitten
poem by Lexie Bousman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunter
Laid back,
But ready to attack.
He's fat,
But cute in a hat.
Hunter the kitten,
As soft as a mitten.
Fun and lazy,
Fluffy and crazy.
Kitten at heart,
Always fart.
I love my kitten,
He's as cute as a button.
He's lazy and sweet,
But he loves to eat.
Laying next to me,
Making me happy.
Licking my tears away,
And making my day.
He likes to purr,
But he has too much fur.
My Hunter kitten,
As cute as ever,
You're fat and lazy,
But you're also crzy.
I love you,
ANd I hope you knew,
I'll love you,
Forever.
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Familiarity Dangerous
As in her ancient mistress’ lap
The youthful tabby lay,
They gave each other many a tap,
Alike disposed to play.
But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm,
And with protruded claws
Ploughs all the length of Lydia’s arm,
Mere wantonness the cause.
At once, resentful of the deed,
She shakes her to the ground
With many a threat that she shall bleed
With still a deeper wound.
But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest:
It was a venial stroke:
For she that will with kittens jest
Should bear a kitten’s joke.
poem by William Cowper
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Cinquain
Kitten
Soft, small
Playing, pouncing, sleeping
Sleep little kitten sleep
Feline
poem by Jackie Butler
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Ode to the Tiger
your stripes are whips of fury cracked in wild flames
your reverberating growl fear emptied and bottomed up
your eyes are graces lighted up in two promising caves
your paws and concealed curvy claws, ingenious artillery
to outrace, ensnare and outdo any enemies
your huge and sharp canines, to perpetuate your kingship so that
none of your subordinate would lay claim to your dominance
your furious glare, your readiness to die for what you really care for
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Familiars
In the darkness
They send chills down my spine
The bare descending moon
Has burst into life
Hunting and suffering with prisoned eyes
Familiars play in moonlit skies
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the depths
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the
This ordinary world ain't set in stone as I thought It'd be
Just like haunted prey
Familiars are hunting me
Familiars
The nerves from the creatures
That you receive
Black magic is here
Bow down to it's knees
No emotion, Familiars can grasp
The adrenaline rush takes over so fast
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the depths
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the
This ordinary world ain't set in stone as I thought It'd be
Just like haunted prey
Familiars are hunting me
Familiars
These blue hearts
They will scream
They will scream
You feel them screaming, mourning in the shadows
They will scream...
* This is a song I wrote in my band, the structure and repetition would make more sense if i sung it to you but I'm quite proud of this one =)
poem by Charlotte Riley
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Leave My Kitten Alone
You better leave my kitten all alone,
You better leave my kitten all alone.
But i told you big fat bulldog,
You better leave her alone.
You better leave my kitten all alone,
You better leave my kitten all alone.
This dog is gonna get you
If you don't leave her alone.
Well mr.dog i'm gonna hit you
On the top of your head.
That child is gonna miss you,
You gonna wish that you were dead.
If you don't leave my kitten all alone.
Well i told you big fat bulldog,
You better leave her alone.
Well mr.dog i'm gonna hit you
On the top of your head.
That girl is gonna miss you,
You gonna wish that you were dead.
If you don't leave my kitten all alone, oh yeah.
Well i told you, big fat bulldog,
You better leave her alone.
Hey hey you better leave, you better leave,
You better leave, yeah you better leave,
You better leave, oh you got to leave...
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gentling a Wildcat
The yellowish-red of the caracal
blended like natural camouflage
into the yellow-brown winter grass
and when it moved its head,
the pointed ears with tufts
of black hair caught my eye.
Eighteen kilograms of hate
and pent up rage
hissed and growled at me
and white teeth
was biting death
out of the air.
Far too weak to move from
a hunter’s shot
and caked
with blood oozing
from its lungs
a paw clawed the air.
No birds and small mammals
or any lesser antelope
were to fall
to its claws and teeth again
and as life faded away
with the setting sun,
I saw hate glaring
out of yellow eyes.
Some faculty of mine
let me stretch out my hand
to stroke the soft head
between the pointed ears
and something changed
inside that deadly cat
and for the last moment,
it was at peace
and to this day
I can swear
it sounded
like a kitten being stroked
as life ebbed away.
[Reference: “Gentling a Wildcat” by Douglas Livingstone.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Stroke the dog and he will mark you with his dirty paws.
Further he lies silent
When with his long fur coat
he comes and lies on my lap
and look at me with golden eyes
with black pupils,
his front paws tread softly
while he makes a nest for himself.
There’s a purr sound
coming from his throat
and further he lies silent
while my fingers
stroke his head
and woolly ginger stomach
and two paws
gather my hand at times
like only my serval can
[Reference: Ginger persian cat here referred to as a serval.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Battle Scars
The lion's eyes looked dead ahead,
No smile or smirk in sight,
Just sending out a sense of dread
That others may take flight...
Why fight if you can run away?
Escape the pain and strife...
Born free to see another day,
Another day of life...
The lion's mouth concealed his teeth,
Small daggers every one,
So sharp they'd cause you instant grief
Before the battle's won...
And 'neath his dainty-looking paws,
So gentle, silky-soft,
He hid his vicious callous claws
In wait for those who scoffed...
It's true that he had battle scars,
Yet he had learnt his trade,
No longer thinking it a farce,
A game that lions played...
One lion wins, it can't be two...
One lion takes the prize!
That's why he'll do what he must do...
Look deep into his eyes....
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Battle Scars'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Dot In The Sky
i am used to being
a lone eagle in that highest sky
my eyes are sharp
my claws sharper and more agile
my wings are silver
my feathers platinum
when i met you
i begin to understand what pity is all about
the weakness of the scents of flowers
on those days of May
bathed me and wrapped me into a
prison of sympathy
i tried to lift you up to make you feel the power of wings
the independence of claws
the self-sufficiency of radar eyes
the vision of eternity
i learn love but with all these
i can always unlearn everything
and be back to my own wings again
now merciless, sharp, and ready to forget
you are you
that purple flower clinging to the cracks of the rocks
i am myself
in another journey without any memory
i guess this is what happens
always to that eagle in the highest sky
a dot that you see
and then erased in space.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sanctuary
Dear uncle sold her into the purest kind of slavery.
Hood-eyed little middlemen profited from damaged goods
Along the way.
Good angels brought her back to a last nepal summer.
Debased, hollow-faced, a smile might become her.
Now shes cosied up, cosied up and comforted
In the warm flush of september.
Gone before winter.
Wondering as to might-have-beens.
Somebodys daughter in sanctuary, waiting.
Seen through softer cage of kindness, far and further still away,
From time-warp victorian zoos
Where staring ice cream gameboys play.
Big paws, worn claws and swishing tails.
More damaged goods in the market sales.
Too proud for anger, too late for hate: resigned in dignity.
Gone before winter.
Purring might-have-beens.
Somebodys kitten in sanctuary, waiting.
Somebody near you in sanctuary, waiting.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burning Bright
Oh, how brilliant is the legend
In oranges and blacks.
You look and then your breath suspend...
The tiger nothing lacks!
With stripes so strong, so debonair,
So vibrant in the sun!
How dominant, beyond compare,
A vision that can stun!
Take in the stance, the mouth, the teeth,
The claws in paws of gold...
They keep their secrets there beneath,
For they must not be told!
But come the time the tiger stalks
The prey that's dead ahead...
Those claws aren't merely just for walks...
I'm sure you've guessed! Nuff said...
The tiger tempts nobody close,
He growls contempt for all...
For now, he merely strikes a pose,
As if his curtain call...
Endangered species come and go!
His legend's burning bright!
Yet how long for, no man can know...
Please pray again, tonight...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Burning Bright'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How to Name Your Familiar
When the devil brings him,
like a Christmas puppy,
examine his downy fur & smell
his small paws for the scent
of sulphur.
Is he a child of hell?
O clearly those soft brown eyes
speak volumes
of deviltry.
O surely those small pink teats
could suckle witches.
O those floppy ears
hear only the devil's hissing.
O that small pink tongue
will lick & lick at your heart
until only Satan may
slip in.
A fuzzy white dog?
Name him Catch.
A little black kitten?
She is Jamara.
A tiny brown rabbit?
Call her Pyewackett.
Beware, beware-
the soft, the innocent,
the kingdom of cuddly ones-
All these
expose you to the jealous tongues
of neighbors' flames,
all these
are the devil's snares!
Familiars familiars-
there is hellfire lurking
in the softest fur,
brimstone in the pinkest tongue,
damnation everlasting
in a purr.
poem by Erica Jong
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Arms and the Boy
1 Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
2 How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
3 Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;
4 And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.
5 Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-heads
6 Which long to muzzle in the hearts of lads.
7 Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,
8 Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.
9 For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
10 There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
11 And God will grow no talons at his heels,
12 Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Kitty Play
One little kitten,
Looking at his paw,
Second little kitten,
Standing watch in awe,
Third little kitten
Don't know what he saw.
He's staring at the Kitty,
The kitty that's in awe,
The third little kitty,
I think that's what he saw.