Had a few cats in my long years -so many characters -although Vile Boris was
a one off- but cheery memories of others from way back as a kid Tweetie who
insisted sleeping up on the fireguard of an open fire -and got singed now
and then -then Ginger who used to attack dogs large dogs -and better stop
reminiscing (if I can spell it) oh and Jessie who turned up on my doorstep
and adopted me -his owner agreed cat had several
moves of home his own idea
Cheers Patrick Mc
This comes under the etc of poetryetc
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Kenneth Wolman
Sent: 25 June 2014 16:04
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Cat poetry
The late Douglas Clark used to do lots of cat poetry. I almost never do.
But the current occupant of my home has inspired me by his interesting
lifestyle. The second of the two is time-stamped because it's shortly after
he woke me up and when I just dashed down anything.
JAILBREAK
The cat has gone missing. I have seen them die, be surrendered, but this is
a first: become Dora the Explorer, anxious to hit the road (his name is not
even Jack), anxious to leave me here between grief and fear, turned to
anthropomorphic monsters risen from the imaginary sewer into the unseen
fears from my own worst self. Is he dead?
Has he found a new friend and gone a-Maying?
He can't do much with a cat named Corinna, he was neutered long ago, so it's
playtime, pure, carousing 'cross the countryside, smelling the roses,
perhaps a dinner of mice, of squirrels. Who can know?
A friend assures me he is a natural-born killer and his domestic mask is his
fraud against the world, if he goes out he must hunt to live, and life is
his prime directive, his mission.
If he comes back to me it will also be his will, a love still pure, divorced
from hunger, come home again because love, too, is in his will.
JOY
I do not have the words for joy
so much misery and heartbreak
for so long and suddenly
headbutted by my lost cat
1:40 AM, the face staring at me
Why are you sleeping old fart
I am home after four days
I am hungry there were no field-mice
so feed me get up feed me.
There are no words only crying
holding him to me a Mary Oliver moment
holding him to me like my very life
depends on him
for it has and does gray is dispelled
banish misfortune indeed
he has banished it answered prayers
a full food dish and water all his
my tears are my life returned
colors where was only shadows and dust
four-legged child where there was only
the orphaned ancient child.
May 22 2014, 4:21 AM
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