Grook Cat Poems | Grook Poems About Cat
These Grook Cat poems are examples of Grook poems about Cat. These are the best examples of Grook Cat poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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For the first time
since the end of Summer,
Mr. Nobody wears his socks to bed,
a sad admission that
things were going to get worse.
Can't count on the
warmth of mother nature's breast
to keep his mammalian nature intact.
When he wears his socks
and he pulls the thin duvet and the
extra purple woven Dacron blanket
up over himself he feels
warm enough to sleep.
The cat, Missy, who sleeps on his bed
wants to go out. This is Mr. Nobody's worse fear,
like a fear of urination
a fear that keeps him from resting.
Mr. Nobody throws off the blankets, rises,
swings his legs over the side of the bed
and rests his feet on the cold wood laminate floor.
He shuffles to the door
Opening the back door, he feels
the dread of the betrayal.
Missy scoots out.
Now, before he can sleep, Mr. Nobody has to remember
to find her and let her in again, realizing now that
William, the male cat had been let out earlier.
He will have to recover them both.
Mr. Nobody doesn’t know why he cares so much
about the discomforts of the cats.
He doesn't know if they suffer the terrors
of the failing pact with nature as much as he,
probably they do not.
Mr. Nobody returns to bed, pulls the cover-sandwich package
over his legs then over his chest. He rests,
planning to rise in an hour to go out and find the cats.
Mr. Nobody is certain that when he calls the cats
after an obligatory time
they will agree to follow him,
almost as if they know what's
good for them.
Copyright © Don Schaeffer
two full hours
later than usual.
Well his dreams
disturbed his sleep
several times just before dawn
and he awoke to a safe place
where everything gradually made sense.
And the cat came in
fell asleep on his legs.
Samuel is grateful to the cat
for crediting him with humanity,
believing that cats have
a way of honoring those
fundamentally good, at least not harmful.
Samuel is sorry to miss
the early morning hours.
part of the day will abruptly end
as sources of irritation soon
begin filtering through his life.
But the sun is gleaming in the Winter sky.
The trees seem supernaturally tall,
dark lines of the branches,
nude branches like bones
ooze upward and outward
through unsystematic pathways in space.
He wonders how the trees
choose the holes in space through which
the branches expand.
They are amoeba like,
protoplasm squirts up
through invisible narrow channels in the air.
Copyright © Don Schaeffer