Monday, March 5, 2018

Doggie Daycare



By Lisa Marie Harmon

Doggie day care, what is that?
My dog is simply not a cat.
He doesn't like it when I leave.
I hope he's good but I'm naive.
If left alone to his device,
I'll be the one to pay the price.
Plus I don't want him to be sad;
Doggie pals might make him glad!
And so, today, I dropped him here;
I must admit I shed a tear.
He's not my kid, I know that fact,
But like my kid is how I act.
And after work I'll pick him up,
And hug and kiss that silly pup.
Doggie daycare, what is that?
It's where my puppy kid is at!


Thursday, March 1, 2018

Farm Cat




Farm Cat
By Lisa Marie Harmon

Where’re you going, Jackson?
With a mighty leap, to the top of your lookout post, statuesque and proud, you survey every barnyard happening

Where’re you going Jackson?
To the top of my shoulders, to purr and nudge and insist I caress your glorious, silky coat of tabby stripes, and hypnotize me with piercing yellow-green eyes

Where’re you going Jackson?
On a family hike through the woods, to the pond, with kids and dogs, you and sister, June, both meowing so loud, “Wait for us!” when we get too far ahead

Where’re you going, Jackson?
Into the hay barn where it’s quiet and warm to take your nap in the middle of a summer’s day

Where’re you going, Jackson?
On a rodent hunt in the feed room at dusk and then maybe to get a drink from the goat pen water trough, or chase a cricket through the tall yellow grass

Where’re you going, Jackson?
Down the dusty farm road to greet ClaireAnna as she walks to the barnyard to do her chores, then roll onto your back at her feet so she has to pick you up and carry you back to the barn

What’s the matter, Jackson?
Just days ago, the picture of health, now your coat is dull and those piercing eyes are pleading and the doctor says there is no hope

Where’re you going, Jackson?
As my hand is closed around the handle of a small, empty crate and the doctor hands me the towel you were wrapped in when they carried you away

Where’re you going, Jackson?
Where Junie can’t find you and we can’t see you anymore or hear your thunderous purrs or feel your glorious, silky, beautiful, tabby-striped coat or marvel at what a wonderful farm cat you are