Long Hairball Poems
Long Hairball Poems. Below are the most popular long Hairball by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hairball poems by poem length and keyword.
my waste basket reclines on a full stomach,
patting a grated belly
stretching over three course meals
of rotten ideas.
i ask myself why?
you've had your native tongue for,
how many years?
how many months?
how many days
of chatter and quip
could you have spun?
i count the minutes between pencil strokes,
between lines of order and my graphite mess.
i think the only long word i can properly spell is
Tantalized, but only because it's phonetic.
it's not that i don't want to write.
you could only dream of
how i dream of writing praise-worthy poems;
maybe one about a bird braving the storm,
or
how betrayal leaves the
bitter taste of coffee in the mouth.
but then i think of the galleries of poets
who have already written about small birds
or storms,
or both,
and how coffee really isn't that bitter.
and so
mind not made,
my paper stares at me
with blank expression, reflecting
the thick snowy fog
i'd like to think fills my head
instead of empty space.
the kind that clumps up
and trips over itself
like a hairball stuck in a cat's throat,
or a ball of tangled thread.
uncomfortably clinging like an itchy sweater.
(Sick with grief over the loss of our old blind cat, sick because we'd put her our last night to vomit up a hairball and then forgot to let her back in. In the morning I find her dead on the highway, at least it was a quick death. But old BD was a remarkable cat who went through so much she became something other than just a cat...)
"The Deepest Well"
(for DB)
The physiology of grief
is an interesting thing
the way it tugs on our deepest memories
activating layers of neural nets
in a rush-hour tangle of ghosts.
You were our Diamond Back.
Of so many lives, we all lost count
until we lost track of you
putting you out to vomit up a hair ball
then forgetting to let you back in.
DB the blind cat
in the morning remembering
my mistake, calling and looking
eventually finding
you gone for good out on the highway.
DB in sixteen years
to travel so far
to see so much
even though blind
and crippled and half deaf by the end.
I wished you had lived forever
As I do with all my loves
because you became the best cat ever
purified of all selfishness
by all your suffering.
In the morning there's a hole
as we pile fresh roses in your grave
so sad with what we have done
the gentle friend we have lost
with so many lives.
(9/6/23)
To be safe is to cozy up with your past,
Like that old sweater you can’t throw away—a bit frayed, but a blast!
What you see is what you get—
A masterpiece of chaos, like a cat's hairball at your feet,
Born from the brilliant art of dodging responsibility,
And a grand delusion that mistakes are just "creative beats.”
To love is to pretend you care, oh dear,
For something outside yourself—like that plant you forgot to water, I fear.
Yes, most religions have turned this into a thriving market,
Selling “selflessness” like it's the latest fashion—what a racket!
Stained with the colors of thought and wishful dreams,
Dulled by contemplating cultures—you know, the usual schemes.
And if you ponder long enough, who knows?
The future might just wink at you—but only if it shows!
But man—oh, what man dares to take a peek,
At his own quirky quirks, his blunders, and, let’s face it, his cheek?
He is king at heart, ruling with a laugh,
In this comedy of life, where we all play our part—just look at the staff!