“Show Time!” I hear as they start to get everything ready for the two-legged beings.

I want to hide, not to be seen. Though I know that’s impossible.

I am locked in a cage for everyone to see.

My black fur and spots.

My brilliant golden eyes.

My long whiskers.

My paws and my claws.

All on display.

I start to hear the pitter-patter of footsteps walking towards me.

I stay close to the back wall hoping to blend in with the dark surroundings of my own personal prison.

If I hide my face, they won’t be able to tell where I am.

I hear them hitting the metal bars with sticks.

My ears flatten against my head.

Let me go please, leave me alone.

I don’t want to be seen.

Suddenly I hear it, one of them screams “I found it!”

My black fur raises on my back, sending chills down my spine.

They found me, why can’t they see that I don’t want to be found.

“Look at his spots!”

“Look at his fur!”

Why can’t they stop screaming?

I start to pace, I want it to stop, please stop.

I want to go home; I want to be free.

Why can’t you see what you’re doing to me?

Green grass, silver chain,
a low, slate sky waiting to rain.
My Golden Retriever finishes her yawn,
sits up, and takes off like a shot
towards the far end of the lawn.
In one, long wave the fine mesh links
are played out until the line yanks taut.
The dog never learns. My heart sinks.

From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe

the sunflowers had withered
gracious had they once stood,
competing with the golden hues of the sun,
there exuding radiance had been a delight to gaze upon;
now left to be fetched when morning came.

what golden meaning
perceived when in a moment
is but reflection

Summer gets darker,
Sun begins to fade,
Our lives get more wise, through the dances of autumns haze.
Leaves fall off and a charmed aroma of sweet cider symphonies come down the trees unto hearts that bleed.
Enjoy the rich colors autumn brings, deep burgundy red, grape purple, golden bronze and chocolate sweetness floats into the air of a summoned season that we call Fall.
Delicious treats on our tongue touched pallets,
soft, warm, chewy cinnamon buns, red stains covering our lips from that glass bitten candy apple we bought at the fair. Smells of apple cider and maple syrup and our lovers kiss that is smooth like a pumpkin spice dream when my chap stick smothers your face in such delightful ways.

golden leaf streamers
cascaded o'er the aspen's
tall majestic stem

i want to be
a cat wandering aimlessly,
not caring about it next day
not caring about its next meal or its next hunt

the sun is my goal
warm golden puddles
of cat  fur