The next poetry contest – pets

After my week of Extreme Monarchy and its associated Deadly Sins: Pride, Gluttony and Sloth (no, not the royals – me and my family), it’s time for a change of scene with another topic that arouses our primeval passions: pets.

Every cherished poet now has the chance to vent all their feelings about their furry or feathered friends or fiends, maybe with an epitaph or a sonnet, a limerick or just a let-it-all-out-rant. No holds barred with rhythms or rhymes; any length, any style, anyhow in fact, just so long as it arrives here before breakfast on 1st July.

So if a pet you love or hate

Become a chariot laureate.

Author: Janus

Hey! I'm back ...... and front

20 thoughts on “The next poetry contest – pets”

  1. G’dag, Soutie! I suppose they have ginormous pets where you live? 🙂

    Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk…….tumtetum……

  2. Here is an entry for you, Janus:

    Peggy

    I had a dog whose name was Peggy,
    Whippet like, so slim and leggy.
    Not a bouncing ball of fun,
    Quite timid, but she loved to run.

    Away she sped with me behind,
    I pedalled hard and didn’t mind.
    Over fields and through the wood,
    The exercise would do me good.

    The Turkey disappeared one year,
    The adults, full of Christmas cheer,
    Couldn’t understand the lack,
    ‘Till Peggy proudly dragged it back.

    She’d only started one small wing,
    To this she seemed inclined to cling.
    We let her have it, seemed quite fair,
    She gnawed it underneath my chair.

    She lived quite long but as we know,
    We miss them when they have to go.
    The next was slower, short of leg
    A basset hound; we called her Meg.

  3. Janus,
    D I have to have author status to take part in this? Tried posting one as a comment and it seems to have disappeared into the ether.

  4. Hello jhleck, I’ve asked Boadicea to sort it out for you 🙂

    Don’t see why your entry wouldn’t work as a comment though, let’s wait and see.

  5. Hi jhleck! Sorry about the delay in getting back – dinner beckoned and it was far too good to allow to go cold… 🙂

    I ruled some time ago that these competitions were open to members. If you wish to become a member please read and respond to my e-mail – which should be sitting on your computer right now.

  6. Total garbage, but the best I can do…….

    I won a gold fish at the school fair
    I called him Nelson
    My Dad made me buy him a tank
    This nearly broke my piggy bank.

    I fed him and got him a friend
    They lived to a ripe old age
    But there was no pleasure to be found
    All they did was swim round and round!

  7. Der Fürball’s in his crate now, not fifty feet away,
    (Fogo, art tha sleepin’ there below?),
    Poisoned by a hunter down below The Cave.
    However he could make it, I don’t know;
    Yonder lay his basket, yonder his sister,
    Yonder lay the only home he knew.
    With his lights a’ dimmin’and his brave heart failin’,
    He made it to the carport before his life was through.

    Der Fürball was a feral cat who roamed o’er hill and dale,
    (Fogo, art tha sleepin’ there below?).
    Roamin’ till the very end, it really wasn’t fair –
    Poison is an awful way to go.
    Keep his memory with you, keep it to the fore,
    Keep it when your life force’s runnin’ low.
    If the cat can do it, every one of you can do it;
    Dob them in t’GNR and make it ever so.

    Fogo’s in his grave now, since the hunters came,
    (Fogo, art tha sleepin’ there below?)
    Stretched between your wooden walls, you never had a chance
    Once the Hunters said you had to go.
    You were clipped and chipped and registered,
    But still the bastards said you had to go.
    If they ever find the fekkers who thought that this was fine
    I’ll feed the fekkers paraquat and watch the fekkers die.

    OZ

  8. Uncle Jack

    My uncle was a butler
    and his boss she did keep pets;
    her favourite was a monkey
    who shared her bed of rest,
    But one day monkey died
    and lay stiff upon the floor.
    the owner called my uncle
    to take it by the paw
    and give it stately rituals,
    a funeral no less; she gave my uncle £100
    and said “sort it, do your best.”
    My uncle being practical
    and partial to the gin,
    he wrapped it in a newspaper
    and put monkey in a bin!
    “How was the funeral” the owner asked
    My Uncle sighed “a lovely send off,
    a truly lovely cask.”

    Based upon a true story attributed to my Uncle in the twenties or thirties.

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