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Prose Poetry Cat Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Cat

These Prose Poetry Cat poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Cat. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Cat poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Grandfathers Clock Revisited

The wrinkled gent woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. Staring into the 
darkness he saw nothing. Gloom and fear ganged up against his mind. Had he 
heard something? What was it? Something falling with a bang? What? 
He had heard things fall in the night such as glass picture frames—old strings giving 
way. The picture would crash to the floor, shattering the glass. He would recognize 
this. But he did not hear shattering glass. 
Was it a thief in the night? He lay listening, not daring to move. The night was dark, 
cloudy, gloomy—and scary! Desperately replaying the sound, he heard a bong in his 
mind’s ear.
A bong! That would have come from the old grandfather’s clock. Yes, it had to be his 
grandfather’s clock. He knew it. His stomach released its tension.
His eyes popped open again. How could it be the clock? The clock stopped running 
when his grandfather died – forty years ago, this very night!
Suddenly the clock started striking. Twelve strokes at midnight. With bolt-upright 
attention, he sat in self-detention, and pondered.
His grandfather was a strong man who lived to be ninety years old. Then the clock 
stopped to run no more. One of his kin wrote a song about it, and it was sung for 
generations.
	“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf, so it stood ninety 
years on the floor. 	It was taller by half than the old man himself, though it weighed 
not a penny weight more . . .”
He would find out why the clock was striking. Slipped quietly to the room near the 
clock’s encasement, he saw the clock standing with its door open.
His eyes adjusted a little, and there in the floor he saw a dark object. What was it? 
He had left nothing there on which to stumble in the night. You learn a few things, 
he thought, in a long life like his. And you keep things picked up so you won’t fall 
over them.
Moving with stealth, he saw something hunched and furry, standing vigil with eyes 
reflecting light. His cat! Apparently, the cat had chased a mouse up the clock 
seeking safety. Its weight tripped the spring wound tightly, causing it to strike.
In his delusion the old gentleman grabbed his shotgun from the mantle. With the 
menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger. Now the old grandfather’s 
clock is no more. And the cat and mouse are a taxidermy chore.

####
Written for John Heck's "Choose your forte!" contest


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The Quality of Mercy

A mouse doesn't ask for mercy from a cat. It can't meow the syllables.
Though its stomach is full, the cat, being unacqainted with mercy, will toy with a mouse. 
Does the tiny heart that beats to bursting point, feel eternity?.... while pinned to the floor by that mighty paw! Any soldier could tell you.

Suzanne Delaney


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Thoughts from the Mind of a Blogger


It was a chilly morning in paradise...

Autumn was already here...

A time for strange things to happen, as it is that time of year...

She was up most of the night, doing a write....

Regarding some hubs and her series titled "Legend of Fred "

Ahh the questions she had... rolling around in her head..

Were “where were her readers, her followers “ her Hubbers...?

They had all seemed to like what she wrote in the past..

But lately her hubs were falling so fast....

She had written articles on health and life..

perhaps she had targeted too much strife...

Maybe they wanted to read about food..

But when you're not a cook, that would be kinda rude..

Oh, will wonders never cease ?

So she decided she'd get some zzzzz's

She lay in her bed, not moving at all...

but breathing quite deeply, as I saw the covers fall...

So I stretched my muscles and walked ever so slow..

So as not to wake her , then I spied her big toe..

Sticking out from the blanket..it was such a temptation..

And with me having such a" foot fixation".. however...

She needed the rest , so she can finish her quest..

I have some thoughts of my own...

that I would like to share in a poem..

And I would be happy to help her.. but..

I don’t think the world is ready for me...

as I am a BLOGGING CAT.. you see

So I will close for now...everyone have a great week...as

I'm off to seek something that has a tweak and a squeak..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ALWYAS A MEOW


The way he says my name
When he meows
His eyes light up when he sees me
Wagging his tale 
After a long day 
Hugging him like a baby

Caressing his fur under the chin
And between his ears
Taking his face in my hands 
Kissing him on his head
After I am finish with my prayers
He would come lay on his favourite place
Warm and cosy on my lap
My fury fuzzy temperamental
CARAMEL
Oh the many creepy crawly gifts 
He surprised me with
The occasional half dead snakes and field mice
My baby
Licking my forehead to wake me up
So loyal and lovable
Cuddly Caramel
He listens attentively 
Interrupts with a meow 
When he needs for me to explain
Yup we have our one sided
Uninterrupted conversations
And no
This is not crazy 
Cats do understand


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thirteenth Fable

 Thirteenth Fable 
Thirteenth Fable 
 
Superstition 
 
Fables of CharlaX 
 
There is far too many to make a short list there is superstitions eye remember 
when eye was just a kid. The many things my girlfriends had to tell me things 
they ruined life at such an early age there is the BROKEN MIRROR that brings 
the SEVEN YEARS bad luck? The black cat crossing my path. The ladder that 
was never under the beam do not step under that in a funk of disbelief eye did all 
them things and now eye am homeless could it be that eye am superstitious or 
just unlucky in my life but then eye have met my violet flower my only one and only 
new life partner she is such a wonderful person not a superstitious reason in her 
curtain eye am certain of that now? The cat was never black enough to scare me 
but there was that just one time? It ran of course because my petting would have 
kept it from the dinner the mouse tail sticking out of a very black and ebon mouth. 
No bad luck can come to me AH HA eye cried its nothing. Then eye ran a little up 
the hill to home. And almost strangeld self eye ran full tilt boogie into the wire 
clothes line nearly taking off my head and losing all the dread of dying for there it 
nearly was. That was back in 1961 the time is not important there was never any 
time for love. Some things eye can remember but choose not to keep at all. Do 
not mop the floor under my feet is one. 
Do not make such sweeps under my feet and yes we did we told the girls to put 
the feet up so we must seep there anyway do you want me to get fired from such 
an important job as this one? 
They screamed and left the diner sure that bad luck was to come upon them oh 
gentle reader ewe don't laugh Erline never sweeps behind the counter. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

BOSS CAT AND THE BOTTICELLI NUDE

   "Suddenly you remember an old Chinese tale in which cats once ran 
     the world until they decided it was too much bother.  That's when you 
     stepped in, another story.  Say you get up now and go back to work"
                                                                       Dian Duchin Reed  
I once had a Lilac Point Siamese of royal lineage 
who entered our commoner family as a small 
ball of silky fur, home-schooled in the basement 
until he discovered the joys of the climb.  
In time, he grew beautiful, sleek, and mischievous, 
loved the warmth of sunshine and stovetop, 
delighted in rearranging the coffee table flowers
in front of my egg yolk yellow plastic couch,
(it WAS the seventies, after all).  One shout,
and he was out, knowing the rules

of the house, knowing too, noblesse oblige,
that pardon followed hard on the paws of beauty,
intelligence, and a feline sense of humor.
At bath time, cats and water at polar ends
of the tub, I was a Botticelli nude, awash in suds,
cat at breast, his blue eyes black with dread,
and though love prevailed between the species,
when toweled dry, cat fled, taking his righteous,
royal rage to simmer beneath the bed.

We named him "Charlie Chan" for the serial 
father of forties' movie fame, Charlie when in grace,
C Chan, shouted out when in the cathouse 
with his mom, Super Cat by any name.  Daily
reveille was his, crouching bedside each dawn,
minutes to spare by cat time until the alarm clock
triggered a leap into our bed, and a practiced
tread over recalcitrant bodies.

If, as it is said, animals have no sense 
of future tense, then Chan, a blessed Buddha 
of the interminable now, could not foresee "NO pets" 
unwelcomed in our path.  Into the arms 
of another woman who pledged to love him, I 
placed one confused and frightened cat.  Now 
years past, absence making missing stronger, 
I cannot part with the broken heart
I ask this poem to mend.  


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Cat

Surreptitiously sidle,
Stalk the pavement,
Jump up on a wall
And arch your tail
As a dog barks in the night.
 
This is your feline time,
Shadows cast by the moon's
Radiance, hiding under wheels
Of cars or on walls and rooftops:
You are silent with padded feet.
 
Overlooking your dark domain,
An intruder comes and challenges,
Stiff fur, a screech and a hiss
Like fat in the frying pan;
A shadowy flurry of movement and claws.
 
Back in the house you curl up,
Fur soft and yielding to 
Eager fingers and hands that stroke
And produce a rhythmic purr with
Always the threat of a vengeful scratch. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Shadow Art

Her tail quivering 
My cat leapt into the air 
Grabbing hold of my ceiling light 

Being a boring night 
I turned the light on 
And watched her shadow 
Change from time to time 

Sometimes it appeared to be a face 
Other times… as a large bird 
But later that night 
The best shadow she projected 
Was one of a cat 
Hanging from the ceiling


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BIRTH FANTASY FAIRY CATS AND EVENINGS

THE CHOICE

HE WAS asleep
Between space and time
The first light on the world
Floated idly
On him
He was just born.

His folded hands
Glowed a pale pink
To keep the fire of life
He wondered if he was really awake.
Is it the true world?
Is it the true village?
Is it the true nest?
He kept kicking
And cried like a scared owl.

God trod to the next village.



COUNTLESS

Oh said the voice
Let me kiss you
Let me go in the fairy way
Let me love you earth
Overly cautious she crouched
Over a street strewn with splinters
S o confusing for a fairy
She approached a dark alley 
Full of vermin and dead
So confusing for her noble nose
We call it miscarriage in our land
She said and picked up intruder’s naked smell
Leftover of yesterday’s predation 
She did not move
She was crippled in an unknown fear
The emotion alien to a fairy
I want to love you
But you will kill me
That she said and flew all the way
Across hellhole and slammed into a tree
Still young, bright, full of promises
Though clawed by vampire birds
She moved in sense of rekindling 
I’m glad, I’m sure I’m glad,
I am in the fairy way
Because I came down to love


EVENING
Evening slipped out of the cave
Crossed the rock wall
And buried the city in soft kisses
Sun god‘s dripping soup
Gave her child a sunset glow
She went back to her cave
To sleep, to grow

 HATES
Hates were slipping through my fingers
Little ones burning like midday sun
When they cooled made garnets for my sisters.


ANCIENT CAT GOD
An ancient cat god
Slammed down to my house
Went out with a sperm-whale
Harpooned by the mouse

A GRUFF FISH
Tara, I liked her so much
As a fish and as a friend
So in the Sunday night supper
 She had made a double-end.
She was gruff fish after all
In night-supper it took its toll
Tara, I liked her so much
So I wrote this story on the bark of Birch
I gave a tabby cat one ounce  of gold
That’s the way the story was told

 








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DISCOVERING

	Kitten-play is sweet;
	a precious jewel of a moment renewed 
	by each new discovery.

	A butterfly-chase ending in a bumblebee moment
	of enlightenment and sometimes
	a succeeding “ouch”!
	The butterfly is a more hospitable playmate.

	Graceful leap into a patch of soft delicate wormwood;
	A tree-leap, a prick on the nose from a rosebush;
	it’s about as friendly as the bumblebee!

	A jet-sprint to the patio results in a
	back and forth stretched-roll on the warm concrete.
	The pose that says, “I like this place; can I stay?”

	Perhaps on another adventurous day
	kitten will discover,
	the catnip bush at the far end of the yard.