The cat cries out as he wanders
through my bedroom. He can’t
understand why he can’t go out
for another time—I can’t explain.
He goes into the kitchen and looks
up to people in conversation standing
at a countertop. We’ve filled his
food and water dished. He cries out,
I don’t understand.
He comes to me
and I scratch his neck while flipping
through You Tube videos. The next
moment he jumps onto a tote and cleans
himself. Someone online asks for a poem
about cats
[I look to him]
Two years ago
someone brought him in a cage
[He looked at me, I looked at him]
Oh no, I said.
I never knew I was a cat person
but he chose me.
As he cries to go out, I say to him
why don’t you keep me company
as if he’s a child, and maybe in some way
he is. I interrupt what I’m doing
to clean his litter
a duty to dread and embrace.
I sit down to read and ease the night
[and he finds my lap]
I feel his warmth.
Please enjoy this fictional imagining of my lunch at CayCay's, inspired by the realization that there are some subtle differences in our food tastes.
Who should I have the pleasure to meet?
Why, CayCay, who invited me over to eat,
where she nicely offered me a seat -
"Have some pig's feet! You may choose
to have them with or without shoes."
"I'll take the shoes, but hold the laces",
I said, as I tried to not to make weird faces,
but I was thinking, "leaping lizards",
when she dished out chicken gizzards.
Just about then, I was ready for walkin'
when she served up cornbread. Now we're talkin' -
grits, and hominy and sweet potato pie!
I can't wait till next time I'll be stoppin' by.
In most villages away from the main citys
In 1950s say.? Life was that bit more gritty
Yet removed from 'power centers' and
Information bases, i see life was more restfull, the flow of events, went at acceptable paces? Here no connection through ideaology from the intellectual
Groups; leading down through politics and
Milatary boots, linked in; to learning centers, ensuring, speed of delivery, to all and any
'Even then, with consciousness, will, good
Sense, and approbation, disruptive and
Untried suggestions, were not dished out
Just arbitarily.' So even in these conurbations confined, dissconection offered, some respite we find, yet if you
Lived in the country? T'was much better there you lived, for life and not just some letters.'
Music, both sacred and profane,
an elephant in cellophane,
a boa constrictor bowing a cello,
aluminum and lemon Jello -
these are things Ms. Andrews missed
as on her favorite things, she dished.
Our lives have known such different ways
Such different ways have we
And yet despite such varied worlds
The same sun helps us see
The teachings of a higher source
So similar of grain
So why then must our names, our skins
Give rise to hate and pain
The meals we set to nourish babes
To blossom healthy lives
Though dished up from a different pan
A common fire thrives
And yes, the love that bears its fruit
To sow its yielding seed
The very same no matter where
In manner and in deed
Our lives have known such different ways
Such different ways have we
So why not share and learn and form
A larger family
Life littered with litres of distress and stress.
Uncertainties certain to terminate happiness in our nest
But we chose hope
Darkness lingering over our lingerie in secrecy
Hurts dished out in hot tempers
Yet we chose hope
Subjected to torture rather than nurture as though we're objects.
Wrongfully wronged in places where the rights of the people should matter.
Still, we chose hope
There wouldn't be the need to be the light of the world if the world is full of light.
Whatever life throws at us
Our light will never go dim
We'll hold on to the thoughts and voice of hope in cloudy days.
We choose hope.
We won't find a soul mate dished up on a plate,
We won't find a soul mate if we always complicate,
We won't find a soul mate if we over compensate,
We won't find a soul mate if we procrastinate,
We won't find a soul mate if we don't participate,
We won't find a soul mate if their importance we underestimate,
or over their existence speculate.
Our eldest daughter found her soul mate,
And did not hesitate,
An example for others to emulate.
As for her parents fate,
That is up for serious debate,
Now that I suspect I have a friend who to me does resonate,
To me all the aspects of soul mate,
When it is too late,
Yet I cannot help but speculate,
About a different fate,
Or a late change contemplate,
Even though it might complicate,
"Nugatory" my teacher did decry,
As she threw my story up in the sky.
"Why must you write and hand in futile tripe?"
The comment itself, an offal snipe swipe.
At the break, I rushed to the library
To find the word in the dictionary.
There it was found between 'Nugget' and 'Nudge'
Perhaps it was gold dug up, or some fudge?
Then again perhaps it's some kind of soup!
Muggatory with tripe added in scoop!
But the truth was truly most alarming.
All my hopes of praise and good disarming.
For nugatory means futile, stripped bare
Of all adornment, flavor, scent and flare.
Worthless and having no value at all.
Sadly that's what teacher said to appall.
For nugatory robs the moon from night.
Dulls the colors of the sky in daylight.
It scoffs at dreams, dims creativity.
What's left bereft of spontaneity.
So what my teacher wants is same old tripe.
Dished up in plain old nugatory type.
Devoid of colors, bangles and dangles.
The old, old story locked up in mangles.
Good news Zoe, charges dropped drongo
Coppers had to stop, rules aren't laws
Wrongs just that..Love you darl; thats where
I'm at, you did Ballarat an honour.' By being
True against the bother, you took issue.' with
The lies they dished on you, in the very same
old town; where our miners faced some other
clowns
Ballarat awaken now..' And back up Zoe
Who showed you how.!
A mottled crab scuppers its sea legs
in fluorescent foam.
Blue pods rattle on green tides.
Bladder wrack, Mermaid’s Hair
washing tangled ankles.
There are voices in my open mouth,
they roll over a briny tongue,
intoning from the breath
of a luminous spray.
Where the sky hangs low,
gannet beaks gape
trawl the unseen upon a tossing surf.
Mother, father, stranger,
we are all here speaking
through a whirlpool’s gullet
we sink and surface, rise and fall
dished up on a roiling wash
never to find nor land.
Everybody’s looking for Christ
Everybody wants salvation
And everybody pays a price
For the bigger situation
Everybody tries to conceive
Of a Paradise somewhere –
It’s at the end of history –
Or it’s way up high in the air
For some, the Kingdom is near
For some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
Some envision it beyond the stars
Everybody wants to end pain
Everybody wants to rejoice
A plan, reasonable and inhumane
That speaks to the inner voice
Everybody yearns to believe
That everybody’s equal and free –
The diversity of the leaves –
The solidarity of the tree
For some, the Kingdom is near
Everybody would rebel
Against a prison after birth
Be it the cauldron of Hell
Or the rusted factory of Earth
Everybody craves to receive
The body and the blood of man
Either dished out by a priest
Or exacted by a politician
‘Cause for some, the Kingdom is near
While for some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
And some envision it beyond the stars.
Dear God
Its me well i guess you already know that
wait maybe you know everything i am about to write
schnorbitz did you expect that
well lets get to the crux-sorry for the pun-of the matter
I read there were unicorns mentioned in the bible
so were they real
as real as you
but seriously have you seen it down here
its alright for you in your silver haven
its a bit more than misbehaving
You built this in 7 days
can you see the plastic choking the waves
no protection from the sunshine rays
where is the miracles you once dished out
give me something i cannot doubt
Anyways had my gripe
Waiting for your lightning strike
nothing nada nothing there
fairytales of a heavenly lair
take your keys and lock your gates
and leave us to our deserved fates
P, S, Tell Lucy i will see him soon
P.P.S, To take over
Let me publish a book, I thought,
And soon His divine blessings sought.
Bless me God that it’s received well,
And in markets makes a marked spell.
Forget it, my innocent child,
He said, desist from dreaming wild.
If put on poetry sites’ stead,
Be content if some do get read.
You know, e’en I’ve been a failure—
A slight till today I endure.
See, I've been writing scores of fates,
Have ye seen one that appreciates?
I once wrote a mega poem—
My greatest spiritual emblem,
Gita, put on a pedestal,
Talked ‘bout, but who reads if at all?
As part of a greatest epic,
I thought it might easily click!
So, perish such a thought dear child,
Be cool, they’re safely isled and filed.
___________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |13.09.2019|
Topic: humour, god, fate, poem
Aniruddha Pathak
Thursday, April 9, 2020
There once was a frog from Quebec
Who was treated with such disrespect
A gull took him for lunch
But he dished the first punch
And choked the bird by the neck
The Warmth of a Winters Dinner
David J Walker
The blackened cast-iron caldron
Sat on the stove burner waiting for
The task to begin
the water and the low flame
taking its time
all day to claim
a winters meal
It would begin in the morning
with onion joined by
carrots and celery
Chopped on the butcher's block
In bite-sized portions
Adding a bag
of frozen peas
then
Salt and pepper
Eight cups of water
And cubed up pieces of
A frozen round steak, all
Bathed in a tomato paste
For a long-days simmer
The aroma of the low boiling
Flavors escaping the heave lid
Filling the house with the flush scent of
Each ingredient adding its
Own unique element of perfection for
The winters dinner to come
The smell of cornbread baking
In the oven invited everyone to
The warmth of the
Heart of the hearth
Where portions of the stew
would be dished into
the blue ceramic bowls we
knew well and used
all of our lives
The cold outside was held
At bey that night
in the warmth of
A winters dinner
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