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Yeah, I too like catetc, an entertaining class of animal - and as various as us. There's a cat poem in my new book, my daughter's cat - Jezebel. I'll post it soon, if'n you don't mind. Keep writing , Ken. And tell us when and what The New Yorker says :-) Andre de Corowa On 26 June 2014 02:54, Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > 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 > -- Andrew http://hispirits.blogspot.com/ 'Undercover of Lightness' http://walleahpress.com.au/recent-publications.html 'Shikibu Shuffle' http://abovegroundpress.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/new-from-aboveground-press-shikibu.html