We’re thinking animals this week. It’s a fact that animals are blessed with certain instincts and traits to aid in their survival. We know a cheetah is very fast. We’ve all heard of how “wise” an owl is. Squirrels are gatherers. Dogs are loyal; cats aloof… Take an animal trait or instinct and use that as your inspiration for your poetry. Mild or wild, get “animalistic” on us!
MARIE’S INSTINCT:
Animals can’t be who they are not. Do you see God’s fingerprints there? © Marie Elena Good 2022
WALT’S TRAIT:
WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM Silently they graze, and suddenly in a dusty haze they kick up their hooves and raise the roofs, a guaranteed stampede indeed. You can hear them rumble, yet they remain humble, they hear nature's call as one by one their obstacles fall. And from the deepest of chills you can hear them shout, Go Bills!
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Walt! Grinning at the game! Hear those hooves stomping. Great job friend.
Marie, how do you get so much profoundness in these simple seventeens? Beautiful.
How kind. Thank you, Damon!
And oh my goodness, yes! WALTER! First congrats on the win. Second, I got SUCH a kick out of your poem! 😀
But, Marie, wasn’t that the ‘goal’? Just wondering! 😉
LOLOL!
It was “billed” as such. 😉
Ditto what Damon said. Wonderful concise poetry Marie. Love it. Walt! Great poem! And those Bills were roaming alright. Great game, er blowout I should say. Now, we’ll see if my 49ers can win in similar fashion.
Thank you!
I could feel that one coming, Walt.
THE ALPHA APEX PREDATOR
There aren’t many,
apex predators.
Resting atop
the food chain.
Sitting enthroned
at the peak,
of their domain—
Their rule, is based solely
upon the consumption—
Of their diet.
Of what they’ve sank
their teeth into.
But, the real
question is…
What, or who
have they eaten?
In order to
survive?
Who, or what
have you preyed
upon in order
to prevail?
You don’t become
an apex predator
Without eating.
or without hunger.
So what are you
hungry for?
© Benjamin Thomas
Ah Ben! What a question, forms a growl within me. Loved it.
Grrrr…Thanks Damon.
Hmmm … this one is deeper than first glance, I believe. I suspect you are not speaking solely of an animal, here. Excellent poem!
Thanks Marie!
So thoughtful, this.
So many /turns/ this poem has IMO… much room for reflection! And Ben,, I can’t begin to comment upon all your wonderful contributions, but I often read and re-read them in all their wonderment.
Thanks pat! That means a lot! 🙏🏽
Thank you sir.
Good one, Benjamin!
Thanks Sara!
Instinct
Is it instinct
for crow to caw
or owl to hoot—
just nature’s law?
I watched a blue jay
argue with a squirrel,
the feeder-robber swirl
his bushy tail at jay’s protest.
Did either consciously
regard the other as a pest?
Is it instinct
that births my words?
Are poets more
than squirrels or birds?
There may be there
in writer’s brains
uncanny urges for refrains,
embedded stanzas
plump with rhyme,
a leaning to put down
in metered time,
words that form from some
unconscious thought.
But there, within,
beneath the written words
is what we know is true
of hungry squirrels and singing birds—
or for that matter,
lions that roar, and loons
that wail over a lonely shore.
A heart there beats with joy,
a soul wants what is right,
bones ache with deep sorrows,
a calm song fills night.
Thru instinct
we may have and wield our voice,
but what we say in poem
comes from a choice.
© Damon Dean, 2022
WONDERFUL poem, Damon. Smiling at the arguing critters. So much fun to watch and ponder, aren’t they? We’ve watched squirrels throw toddler-like tantrums. 😀 We get a kick out of watching the robins line up to wait their turn at the birdbath.
The turn your poem takes caught me off guard. Creative take, creatively penned.
Thanks, glad you enjoyed it dear.
What a beauty Damon! 👏
Thank you Ben.
Really enjoy both the structure/rhyme and positing you present…. like to think there’s a certain instinctual bent to all of us, jay and squirrel and poet so that it just tumbles (albeit by choice) … great IMO.
Thank you Pat!
Masterfully done, in my opinion.
Yes. 👌
Thanks!
Though one might wonder how and why, this piece reminds me of a tongue-twister. it seems to have many variations,but the one I remember goes something like this:
There were two skunks, named In and Out. Whenever In was in, Out was out, and whenever In was out, Out was in. One day, Out was in and In was out, so the mother skunk asked Out to go out and bring In in. So Out went out and brought In in.
“How’d you find him so fast?,” the mother asked.
“Instinct,” Out said.
Hahahaha! I’ve never heard that one before! Hilarious!
Wow! Outstanding work, Damon! Love the play between the squirrel and the jay.
Thank you Sarah!
FEROCIOUS CARNIVORES
There’s hunger for many things.
Things that should not become meat.
Like innocence, naïveté, or trust.
Yet, there are ferocious carnivores.
At odds with our sense of survival,
or the right to a peaceful life.
Long-fanged, bloodthirsty animals.
Lurking, looking, luring—
The next meal.
© Benjamin Thomas
… and here it is. This is, I think, linked to your first poem. This is what I suspected you were hinting at. Well done, sir!
Thanks
Indeed so.
Love that alliterative ending!
Thanks
Anointed
The white-anointed crowns
of cedars bow,
bend over in humility imposed
by weight of winter’s nighttime fallen snow,
flakes frozen to each branch,
each still green scale of leaf
humbled quietly beneath
an inch of cold.
The crow, by instinct, knows to perch elsewhere—
by caution, care, intuitive respect—
lest by his black-feathered weight he break
the boughs where in some spring to come
he would, by instinct, nest and sleep and caw.
© Damon Dean, 2022
*sigh*
The gorgeous quiet here fills my soul. Thank you, Damon.
Sitting here in the quiet after our brief snow last night, noticed the reverent boughs of cedars… had to write.
👌
Superb!
Thanks William!
Another beauty, Damon. Crows are smart.
Thanks, glad you enjoyed.
Thoroughly enjoying the presents here today. Happy for Walt and his sports joy, happy for MEG and her brilliant combo of today’s prompt and her daily seventeen. Poetic efficiency at its best.
Thank you, Daniel.
Agreed on both counts. There’s a lot going on in those 17 syllables of Marie’s.
That makes me smile. Thank you!
A Different Breed
No man alive loves animals
more than he,
naming most birds in flight,
and he’s usually right.
Laughs to see
dogs at play,
kittens with their toys,
all part of his search for
new and different joys.
He has no fear of death,
heard too many reports of
waiting friends, tunnels of light,
once donated blood to see how it felt,
then threw away the donut to taste hunger,
went home and baked bread for the smell,
finding all of it just right.
He has a wonder filled heart
and finds hope in the oddest places,
in the smile of a toothless bum.
the wagging tale of a mangy mutt.
He never met a vegetable he didn’t like,
especially the purple ones, but
best are the wines, tried them all,
zins, cabs, even innocent merlots,
not so much for the alcohol,
just to see how it goes.
He’s made music a challenge,
especially opera, serving
as background, foreground too,
in his discovery of life this turn,
He reads fact and fiction,
has friends gay and straight,
transgender as well,
to him they all rate.
He sometimes looks tired,
at least to his wife,
but that’s how he’s seen
by our eyes, not his,
in his full, artful life.
This poem is so full. Full of little things that aren’t so little, when they fill you up. Good stuff, including the clever title.
Wow. Talk about loving life…. Marvellous!
Love the “abundance” here!! From birder to baker– and doing things for the smell… ah, yes! So many reasons to shift gears and love life.
Wonderful, fulfilling poem, Daniel.
A DOG’S MEMORY
She prowls
and softly growls
with her tail carried low
so that all may once again know
the wolf.
Oooooo!!! The visual of this. The use of form. The final line. A WOW, WOW, WOW, in my book!
Thanks. Marie. Adelaide’s little form is a favorite of mine, and it has few syllables too; 22, I think.
So cogent! Yes, wolf!
I enjoy this form, but seldom use it. I think I need to use it more often. It affords the same discipline as my 5/7/5s, but would give me a different creative outlet. (y)
I think Adelaide Crapsey came up with her form of cinquin because she liked haiku.
That should be “cinquain”. Sheesh!
I agree. Great visual here.
So vivid, William. Love this!
I loved your poems Walt and Marie… I just came in from a walk in a snow…
A walk in the snow sounds LOVELY. Good for you!
Like Footprints in Water
Today in shale beds
where you walked yesterday
nothing remembers
—
It’s the scent
of mystery hovering
an aura barely visible
in wavering light
a slight aroma
musk and hide
breath and wild
luring you in
soft imprints
pad and claw and hoof
signing soft mud wet snow
you sniff air like a hound
as you past last night’s beds
beneath the cedars ground
warm dry even as snow
packs around your boots
and water pools in tiny oceans
behind cougar, deer
you knowing how
but never precisely
where you’ll journey
but as if attached to a lead line
ahead of a straining team
of sled dogs you’ll put down
your head, stuff mittened hands
into storm coat’s pockets
and follow, follow.
For me, this combines Frost and Sandburg.
You had me at the title! So mesmerizing. Each stanza delivers a wonderful image.
When one finds (as I do here) the title of a poem to be astounding poetry in and of itself, one has found an extraordinary poet. Goodness sakes, Pat.
Spectacular imagery, Pat!
Marie, you said so much in your chosen few words. Impressive poetry and a point well made! Not a surprise you chose ‘Buffalo’, Walt. A nice tie in to the Bills, way to ‘score’ the two aspects! The buffalo is such a majestic animal and reflective of your ‘home’ and the range!
A CASE OF MUTUAL RESPECT
A large black rattlesnake
Began his crawl
Across a walking path
I stopped instantly
Just in time
With no intention
Of not allowing the snake
His take
On which direction
He preferred
Ushered along
At his pace
Clearing the space
The snake hesitated, too
Clearly assessing
The situation
And the risk
As five of us gathered now
Somehow
All in agreement
Meant to show all respect
Towards the animal
As it was offered to us
Right back
Once the reptile sensed
We were of no threat
Set on no harm
He lifted his head
Turning it back and forth
Slowly completing his journey
Across our still and quiet path
No wrath
Occurred and not a sound
Heard
As the mutual respect
Allowed for us all
To proceed in total awe
With what we saw
As we were simply walking by
Somehow feeling transformed
As a kind of union formed
With all fear gone
Just a quiet understanding
Between all parties
Parting ways
In a new awareness, I suspect
Following the obvious
Passing of naturally new
Mutual respect
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2022
This is quite vivid in its telling. Loved it.
The long form and slow,measured pace ofits lines fit so well with the imagery. Marvellous.
Bill points out the “slow, measured pace.” Yes. Perfectly used, and perfectly stated.
I admire how you can write this subject matter in this pace, using no dramatic language and punctuation, while managing to get the visual and mindset clearly conveyed. Well done!
… and thank you for your sweet comment. 🙂
“just a quiet understanding”
Beautiful, Janet!
Without Thought
Easily
I butt horns first, my
impulsive
behavior.
Quick to speak, and act before
I can think.
👏 Splendid! I pictured a ram here. You’re quite good at concise poetry too.
Thanks, Benjamin! The ram is my astrological sign, although only I knew that.
Np. Rams are very fascinating animals!
This strikes me as a thoughtful adaption of the shadorma form; the truncated final line fits with the “quick” and “impulsive” notion.
Thanks, William!
Wow! SUCH a creative take on the prompt, and impressive use of few words!! And again I say WOW!!
Thanks so much, Marie!
Indeed.
Marie, that was a great start for this prompt. Love your seventeens!
Walt, a clever, witty poem!
Thanks much, sweetie!
THE PATH OF THE ROBIN
Raw,
emotion stirs….
Grumbling….
Just before the quake
of marmalade dawn.
Raw, thoughts.
Wet with blood.
Drip, onto the floor
of consciousness.
Raw, memories,
displayed.
Unprocessed.
Draw the ire
of the beast.
Lurking from the
dark side.
Howling, hungry,
hunting.
Salivating—
Approaching from
the east.
At the presence,
of uncooked meat.
Raw, as the day
begins.
Mentally.
Raw, food for
thought—
Or, thoughts
for food?
The beast has
always been—
Robbing.
Me.
Of joys, of thrills
of bliss, happiness.
Until—
The raw me…
The robbing
me…
became
The robin in me.
That sang.
A crimson red breasted
migratory songbird.
Full of the hymns
of emergent dawn.
Now there is a
circumstellar song.
Along the edge
of winter’s freeze.
Long before the break
of day.
I now possess the
dangling keys.
Of spring’s chorus,
triumphant release.
© Benjamin Thomas
I think this is magnificent, especially the third stanza.
Thanks. 👍
Completely unsuspected turn. Many poetic phrases. Well done!
Gracias!
IF I WERE AN ANIMAL
Out of all the Animalia,
I’d be a feisty, striped little fella.
With short stubbly legs. A furry faced
micro-rodent.
Always keen on survival.
Always keen to run away—
from whatever displeases me.
Running away from pesky predators.
Running away, from people trying
to get too close. Running away
at the slightest shift in the wind.
Timid, and antisocial.
Always, running away.
Stuffing my cheeks with food.
Foraging. Sleeping. Hibernating.
Repeat.
Stuffing my cheeks with food.
Foraging. Sleeping. Hibernating.
Dusk to dawn.
Letting the world go by.
Day by day.
© Benjamin Thomas
Understood.
😁
This makes me smile.
And speaking of making me smile, I thought of you and smiled during the 49ers game. 😉
😁 Go niners!
Sounds quite pleasant.
😊
A walk in the snow…
Today the sky is blue
With billowing white clouds,
And the sun so bright
It hurts my eyes,
But
Yesterday
It was snowing,
And I took a walk…
The air was cold
And my cheeks were cold…
And my shoes got wet
From the wet snow
On the ground…
It was so quiet
I could hear my feet crunch
As I took each step…
Down in the hollow
I heard a woodpecker
Doing its daily
Search for bugs…
Rat-ta-tat-tat.
I walked onwards
There in my road
Were the footprints
Of a squirrel crossing
From left to right.
I did not see him,
But down in the forest
I heard his chatter.
I came to the crossroads
Where the new road
Crossed with the old road.
I saw in a tree
A black as soot
Turkey Buzzard.
He looked so cold,
That I decided to converse with him.
“Good afternoon,” I said,
He turned to look at me,
And turned his back.
I tried again,
“You know that is rude
To turn your back
On someone speaking to you.”
He shrugged his wet feathers,
And continued to ignore me.
“Mr. T. Buzzard, I just
Wanted to know if you are okay.”
He moved his feet up and down
To get farther from me.
“Take care Mr. Buzzard,
And try to stay warm.”
I assured him that the snow
Would stop soon.
He glanced back at me
To see the annoying creature
Interrupting his quiet repose.
I turned for home for I was tired.
On the way, there was an entertaining
Junco dancing from limb to limb,
And she made me smile
At her antics.
As I came upon my house
I saw kitty tracks of Zippy
And I smiled. He has found the shed
To sleep warm and dry.
He refuses the warm bed
I put out for him.
I came into the house
To find Binkey and Tillie
Sleeping in my bed,
And I sat down to ponder…
How beautiful the woods are
And that my life is shared
With those creatures that cross
My path each day.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
January 17, 2022
on FB I will post the picture of the turkey buzzard I took yesterday…
I could see this in a children’s book.
Mary, I admire your way of living life. You take what is given you, and pour your own love into it. This poem is so sweet. Makes me want to come give you a hug, and take a walk with you.
Thank you, and this Buzzard is not the only animal I have talked when I am walking… There was once a big turtle…I know he usually was living in my spring but there he was on the driveway, and not the friendliest of creatures… very grumpy actually
Contented sighs here.
A beautifully narrated tale of your stroll in the woods.
THE WEREWOLF
Under the fair trance of full
moonlight showers.
Hypnotized by the rainfall
of its sparkling sight.
Full blades of silver light,
beckon the beast—
Summon the hidden storm
within.
Teeth into fangs, lengthening,
glistening.
A once human mandible stretches
into an extended snout.
The vivid, stout orchestral aroma
of the night is music.
Trimmed nails transform into
sharpened claws.
The laws of physics have all
been defied.
What was once human—
has been transmogrified.
The howl from deep inside,
bellows into bowels of midnight.
I beat my chest in rhythm.
Growling in anticipation.
The fluid energy of the
beast has been released.
The smell of the fowl,
the nearing of the feast.
Full salivation. Dripping,
dripping.
I feel, the ultra-spring in my
step—animalistic.
Possessing the impulsive instinct
to hunt, to—feed.
Overriding forgotten logic,
lost human sensibilities.
The beast against all resistance,
has been freed.
The drive to shed blood,
is primal.
To satisfy, to fully satiate,
the dire need of hunger.
To prey upon the night.
Draw nigh upon the unsuspecting.
© Benjamin Thomas
And once again I’m blown away by the array of poems you pen from one prompt. All different in topic and tone. Amazing.
Amen to that.
Greedy Little Monkeys
Greedy little monkeys take what they can get
Shiny gadgets, food, even a cigarette
Watch your belongings; they’re clever little imps
A bit more ill-behaved than their cousin chimps
They snatch, grab and take off, as fast as a jet
They can be exceedingly naughty and yet
They can steal your heart like a delightful pet
“I am sweet and adorable,” they convince.
Greedy little monkeys
Most challenging creatures you have ever met
High up in their trees you may just catch a glimpse
Making their acquaintances is not for wimps
Still seeing them would be immense fun, I bet
Greedy little monkeys
Smiling broadly here.
Awww! Delightfully fun read!
This is a fun poem, Connie!