Kittens
A ray of sun strayed softly round,
For something to caress,
Until a resting place it found
Of joy and thankfulness;
'Twas Minette, our Angora cat,
With deep contented purr,
Relaxed in rapture on a mat,
Three kittens nuzzling her.
With tenderness the sunbeam kissed
her fur of silver-grey;
Her eyes held an ecstatic mist,
In boundless bliss she lay;
The sunny radiance seemed to hold
Her longer than it should,
As if it sought to shine in gold
Such mystic motherhood.
The darling kittens grew and grew;
Then one day Mother Cat,
Back from their gambolling withdrew,
And glared at them and - spat.
Aye, though they toddled after her
With playful stratagem,
Instead of soft maternal purr
She snarled and clawed at them.
And now she goes her callous way
And never gives them heed;
You barely would believe that they
Were children of her breed.
Upon the roof we see her creep
And howl with fiendish tone,
While on the hearth-rug softly sleep
Three kittens on their own.
And such is nature's way, it seems,
And maybe right at that;
So Mother, drop your foolish dreams
And emulate the Cat.
And when your offspring well are grown,
And strong and swift and tall,
Just turn them out upon their own
And let them fight - or fall.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Pinkle Purr
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
'I'll ask my mother,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
'Two friends together,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn't much bother about Tattoo,
For he knows it's nothing to do with her,
So 'See you later,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that's nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
'Dear little Tat,' says Pinkle Purr.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Kittens Got Claws
(coverdale/vandenberg)
Walking down the street
Youre the center of my universe
You got the world in your pocket,
My manhood in your purse
You aint a bad girl, honey,
No matter what the neighbours say,
Its just that you were those skin-tight dresses
With your g-string tuned to a
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Heaven sent, youre an angel dressed in black,
Cool, stiletto strut, youre a drop jaw cardiac
Youre the genuine, feline, prettiest girl Ive ever seen,
With your thief of hearts smile
Youre a certified pleasure machine
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Dressed to kill in diamonds and fur,
You get what you want
With your pussy cat purr
But, the kittens got claws,
Shell tear your heart out
The kittens got claws,
Shell scratch your back
The kittens got claws
Shell tease an please you
The kittens got claws,
Shes a heart attack
You treat me good,
Sometimes you treat me bad,
But, keep it up, honey,
Youre the best time Ive ever had
No matter what you put me through I must confess,
Oh, you got more style than a brand new xjs
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Dressed to kill in diamonds and fur,
You get what you want
With your pussy cat purr
But, the kittens got claws,
Shell tear your heart out
The kittens got claws,
Shell scratch your back
The kittens got claws,
Shell tease an please you
The kittens got claws,
Shes a heart attack...
Walking down the street
Youre the center of my universe
You got the world in your pocket,
My manhood in your purse
I know you aint a bad girl, honey,
No matter what the neighbours say,
Its just that you were those skin-tight dresses
With your g-string tuned to a
Sweet, sweet, child of the street
Dressed to kill in diamonds and fur,
You get what you want
With your pussy cat purr
But, the kittens got claws,
Shell tear your heart out
The kittens got claws,
Shell scratch your back
The kittens got claws,
Shell tease an please you
The kittens got claws,
Shell blow your stack
The kittens got claws,
Shell tear your heart out
The kittens got claws,
Shell scratch your back
The kittens got claws,
Shell tease an please you
The kittens got claws,
Shes a heart attack...
You scratch my back, baby,
An Ill scratch yours...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Colubriad
Close by the threshold of a door nailed fast
Three kittens sat; each kitten looked aghast;
I passing swift and inattentive by,
At the three kittens cast a careless eye,
Not much concerned to know what they did there,
Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care.
But presently a loud and furious hiss
Caused me to stop and to exclaim, 'What's this?'
When lo! upon the threshold met my view,
With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,
A viper, long as Count de Grasse's quoue.
Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
Darting it full against a kitten's nose,
Who having never seen, in field or house,
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse;
Only projecting with attention due,
Her whiskered face, she asked him, 'Who are you?'
On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,
But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe,
With which well armed I hastened to the spot,
To find the viper, -- but I found him not;
And turning up the leaves, and shrubs around,
Formed only, that he was not to be found.
But still the kittens, sitting as before,
Sat watching close the bottom of the door.
'I hope,' said I, 'the villain I would kill
Has slipped between the door and the door sill;
And if I make despatch and follow hard,
No doubt but I shall find him in the yard;
For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,
'Twas in the garden that I found him first.
Even there I found him, there the full-grown cat
His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat,
As curious as the kittens erst had been
To learn what this phenomenon might mean,
Filled with heroic ardour at the sight,
And fearing every moment he would bite,
And rob our household of our only cat
That was of age to combat with a rat,
With outstretched hoe I slew him at the door,
And taught him Never To Come There No More.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rock Me To Sleep, Mother
BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,—
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,—
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,—
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
poem by Elizabeth Chase Allen
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In The Firelight
The fire upon the hearth is low,
And there is stillness everywhere,
While like winged spirits, here and there,
The firelight shadows fluttering go.
And as the shadows round me creep,
A childish treble breaks the gloom,
And softly from a further room
Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep."
And somehow, with that little prayer
And that sweet treble in my ears,
My thoughts go back to distant years
And linger with a loved one there;
And as I hear my child's amen,
My mother's faith comes back to me,--
Crouched at her side I seem to be,
And Mother holds my hands again.
Oh, for an hour in that dear place!
Oh, for the peace of that dear time!
Oh, for that childish trust sublime!
Oh, for a glimpse of Mother's face!
Yet, as the shadows round me creep,
I do not seem to be alone,--
Sweet magic of that treble tone,
And "Now I lay me down to sleep."
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rock Me To sleep
Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for tonight!
Mother, come back from that echoless shore;
Take me again in your heart as of yore --
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair,
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Backward, turn backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears --
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain --
Take them and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay --
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away --
Weary of sowing for others to reap --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded -- our faces between --
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again;
Come from the silence, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old --
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light!
For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more,
Haply will throng all the visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother! the years have been long
Since I last listened to your lullaby song;
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream;
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep --
Rock me sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Introduced to Claim
I remember first noticing,
The mysteriousness...
Of a flower blooming.
The whiskers on kittens.
And a puppy's wagging tail.
I remember wondering,
How God made thunder!
Who and what was crying when it rained?
And when the Sun appeared,
A rainbow came with vivid colors I could name.
I remember walking near a pond,
And watching a frog hop out.
I then became quite curious.
Since I was told,
Only in ponds ducks swam about.
And as I grew older,
I loved to be among the trees.
When the seasons for me began to change,
In New England...
I thought as a child,
Mother Nature was doing this just for me.
I remember first noticing,
The mysteriousness...
Of a flower blooming.
The whiskers on kittens.
And a puppy's wagging tail.
Today as I age...
That same curiosity,
Seems to have remained.
With something new on my journey,
Introduced to claim!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Live Kitty and a Puppy Atop a T.V.!
A live kitty
And a live puppy
Atop a TV!
I placed a kitty;
Also a puppy,
Atop a TV
Box – my ditty!
But there wasn’t much place;
They could not fit the base;
Each had a lovely face;
My eyes began to gaze!
The kitty girl was smart,
And sat as if by art;
The puppy boy was small
And slept until my call!
Cute little animals
Looking so lovely;
To make them sit there,
Wasn’t that easy!
I coaxed them to do it;
When one sat, the other stood;
Both had to pose,
For my photo, close.
The kitty mewed;
The puppy whined;
They never liked
The narrow place!
The kitty black
Sat with duck-back!
For puppy slack,
I knew not the knack
The light was dull;
Shadows were full;
But both were still,
After some drill.
At last, I clicked a photograph!
It came out well after all;
It wasn’t so clear;
Behind, there was the wall!
And this was done
When I was a boy;
How well they adjust,
Animals, when young!
Like puppies and kittens,
Children too are so innocent;
They do not carry ill-will;
Love looking o’er the window-sill.
The kitty and the puppy
Remained very happy;
They licked the milk together,
From the same container!
They chased each other, playing;
And sometimes even biting;
The kitten mewed and snarled;
The pup would bark and bite.
Young children too are like-wise;
To talk with, they are nice;
They love to eat and play;
From dawn to dusk, throughout the day.
They fight over little things;
Unlike adult earthlings
Forgiving others soon;
Admire the Moon!
And children love small kittens,
And caress them with love;
And like to wear mittens,
Or keep warm ’fore the stove.
And children love small puppies,
And play with them for long;
And tease them to have fun,
And make them to even run.
Alas! Adults are different;
They fight for everything;
They will not forgive others,
Nor forgive their brothers.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-7-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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you and I, and the cat
we shared a cup of coffee- you and I,
as the cat looked on.
you had two lumps of sugar, a shot of cream.
mine was black.
I thought to offer cream to the cat; he’d like that.
and then you smiled.
you peered across the rim of your upraised cup, taking a sip,
scrunching your face and smiling through the steam as it
rose from your milky, sweet coffee,
and I forgot about the cat.
he purred.
quickly, I put him outside,
knowing his familiar purr, a purr that soon
would escalate into a full-blown howl
that demanded my attention and some cream.
I wanted only to savor the contented sweetness of your face,
perfectly formed for my delight, but
you felt sorry for the cat.
I had been abrupt, insensitive.
“Why can’t the cat be allowed to purr, even to howl
“if he wants? ' you said.
“Why must the cat be refused a simple request for attention
“and a sip of milk? ”
alright then, I’ll let the cat back inside,
and give him some milk.
are you happy now?
no answer.
the coffee has grown tepid,
along with your smile.
I loathe that cat.
Animals Can Count
PART ONE - DIAMOND AND HER KITTENS
She was a proud mother
Of four little kitties,
She told us thereafter
Of her maternal bliss.
Two days later, two died,
She looked and was frantic-
She thought we tried to hide
Her newborns in the attic.
Her mournful mother's cry
Kept gnawing through the night
To her we tried to lie-
Only two saw the light.
Yes, cats know how to count
So we had to explain,
Whatever one discounts-
Mothers cats know the pain.
PART TWO - MACKIE AND KUTCH
So if cats can count,
Well the dogs can too.
In our home there are two
Who guard who goes through.
They know who is still out
They will watch the gate waiting
Not at home hereabouts-
Which master is still missing.
They know by the sound
And can smell miles away,
Their master has been found
And he is on his way.
Their jubilant greeting
Say the number is complete,
They are through with the counting-
And they are ready to eat.
PART THREE - SAMMY THE SPIDER
Now you say this is odd
And there is no proof
Meet a spider lad
Who lives up our roof.
Sammy's home is a web
Of clean measured strands
Numbered lines does he have
Lots of room in his hands.
He can count the distance
Each web from the other
Skills learned by chance
Obviously from his mother.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pretty Words
Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens fed on cream and curds.
I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees,
Gilded and sticky, with a little sting.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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You Made Us
Their motors will purr into the night; what an infernal atrocity
To the beds the children stay in a state of brumal sleep
Deceived by reality’s hold; they rest into the break of day
Into the break of day their motors will purr
Upon the urban and rural they pour, devouring hopeful thoughts
Their movements shuffle to the pace, of the faintest of the hearts ticking
Steady they stop for the readying engagement; a droning mist seems to rest
A droning mist seems to rest upon the urban and rural
Hushingly so the children stretch, ready for a life of unintended living
Scarlet eyes bore into their heads, signaling the sign for extermination
Descend they do into the doors with weapons to the children’s heads
With weapons to their heads the children stretch their arms
Synchronized are their screams, synchronized the weapons fire
So their motors will purr into the night, what an infernal atrocity
To the beds the children stay in a state of brumal sleep
So that droning mist will forever rest; upon those children’s pillows
poem by Brooklyn Joy
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An unpleasant incident
Two days ago we found
a cat has delivered her two
new born kittens on the cement floor
in our building.
The day was very cold
and a friend of mine
made a card-board box
for them to secure.
Today I saw the worst and unpleasant thing
in my life.
My own eyes couldn't believe
This ferocious mother cat was breast feeding one
and the other was half eaten,
only two legs and the small tail remained
Oh! what a catastrophe is this?
I thought a blind is fortunate than me.
Luckily my poor mother who was gone earlier
without seeing such a heartbreak.
The buddha must have seen a similar incident.
That's why he was frustrated
and left everything for a perfect bliss?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Lemnos Harbour
The island sleeps,-but it has no delight
For em, to whom that sleep has been unkind.
My thoughts are long of what seems long ago,
And long, too, are my dreams. I do not know
These trailing glories of the star-strewn night
Or the slow sough of the wind.
I hear the rattle of the moving car;
The children crying in the lighted street,
I walk along the same old asphalt way.
I see the church,-I hear the organ play.
I see the hills I wandered on afar,
And spots of rain at my feet.
I see the dust-strewn hedge,-the latched gate;
The gravelled path with roses either side;
The cedar tree,-my mother’s window pane.
I see the place where I sat long and late
By the trellis deep and wide.
The red Virginia crumbles at the wall.
The bed is bare where winter’s snow-drops grew.
I feel my dog come licking at my hand.
I pause awhile beside the door, I stand.
And hear the well-known footsteps softly fall
And the voices that I knew.
I slowly creep and peep beneath the blind.
-My father reads his book within his chair.
Some children play their game of dominoes.
My mother sits beside the fire and sews;
Her head is bowed. I know her eyes are kind
By the grey lines in her hair.
I tap the pane to see those tears unshed.
I see all turn, and watch them sadly stirred
By the sound, and peer to see my face without.
They see, and smile, I hear no welcome shout.
They sit and gaze as they that see the dead,
But no one says a word.
The island sleeps. May sleep come soon to me,
And lull these dreams within my shaken mind;
-These dreams that tell me I have seen the last
of those I left so,-loved so in the past.
* * *
I hear the murmur of the moving sea,
And the murmur of the wind.
poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Things
When I walk in my house I see pictures,
bought long ago, framed and hanging
—de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore—
that I've cherished and stared at for years,
yet my eyes keep returning to the masters
of the trivial—a white stone perfectly round,
tiny lead models of baseball players, a cowbell,
a broken great-grandmother's rocker,
a dead dog's toy—valueless, unforgettable
detritus that my children will throw away
as I did my mother's souvenirs of trips
with my dead father, Kodaks of kittens,
and bundles of cards from her mother Kate.
poem by Donald Hall
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What is life? Let us talk about it
ok, let us talk about life
my cat Kuting has just given birth
to three kittens
she must have loved their fathers
too much
three for i love you
the bitch in the house is pregnant again
we are sad
she is having a relationship with a native
dog
the one that takes trash for breakfast
no definite master
and house
a vagabond
she loves
i think and that is what we too believe
a cat has nine lives
and with her three kittens she gets
an extended twenty-seven lives
wow, that is amazing
cats indeed know how to live a longer time
than us
people who is into
birth controls
life is an early morning tea
a view from the veranda to the sea
a sunrise
a run to take the dip of the salt of the sea
closing your eyes
and see everything that this world is offering
life is a march of the ants
keeping an empire stable
feeding the queen
to ensure a birth of a hundred or more
soldiers
life is what we are here for
who thinks about death tomorrow? Nobody.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother Is Dying: Part 2 (Filicide)
Mother is infuriated
Mother is irritated
Mother is agitated
Mother is aggravated
Tormented by Her children
Sickened by Her children
Scarred by Her children
She is beginning to die
Mother was gentle
Mother was accepting
Mother was enduring
Though mother is now corrupted,
Similar to Her children
Her anger boils from her very core
Swirling vortexes of hatred dominate the skies
Her loathe floods Her children’s lives
The incarnate of Her disgust with Her children
Is devastating and cataclysmic
Her children can no longer find
Sanctuary from mother’s mercy
Mother is too enraged to rationalize
Mother will create The Rapture.
Mother will cause The Apocalypse.
Mother will eliminate humanity.
Mother will commit filicide.
poem by Alex Gomez
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A Child's Fancy
"Hush, hush! Speak softly, Mother dear,
So that the daisies may not hear;
For when the stars begin to peep,
The pretty daisies go to sleep.
"See, Mother, round us on the lawn,
With soft white lashes closely drawn,
They've shut their eyes so golden-gay,
That looked up through the long, long day.
"But now they're tired of all the fun--
Of bees and birds, of wind and sun
Playing their game at hide-and-seek;--
Then very softly let us speak."
A myriad stars above the child
Looked down from heaven and sweetly smiled;
But not a star in all the skies
Beamed on him with his Mother's eyes.
She stroked his curly chestnut head,
And whispering very softly, said,
"I'd quite forgotten they might hear;
Thank you for that reminder, dear.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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For Ariana Campbell
just a girl
blue glass windows
for a dizzy world
catching sun
in her hair
running
without fear
without care
little girl
with sapphire dreams
sunlight ribbons
in her hair
kisses for mother
kisses for father
hands for holding
to soothe all fears
precious girl
your day will come
to dance like lilies
under the sun
dreaming like kittens
and sugarcane tongues
my darling girl
your day will come
poem by Alexandre Arnau
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Without Strings
if only there were no strings
there would have been no puppets of us
no marionettes
no domestication of our births in the freedom
of the wilderness
there are gods and if you see them
you also feel that there are monsters
(deep within one asks
for once, why can't we just be happy slaves?
contented pigs, singing cows, lapping dogs,
sleepy kittens? caged birds?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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