stealing booty arti-
fact oats from a
cut-up maybe's micro buy-one
brain cache is like abhorring a
clashing washboard
knight in your weird new
beer view mirror
Broken heart like broken bones
Life is hard from a broken home
Amplify my feelings I cry alone
Cat in me reeling black cat moan
Kicking my habits except guitar
Cat has to have it near not far
A rock song stronger than my heart
Tell me you’re over the hard part
Maybe I’ll see you again someday
Only crazy men can understand my ways
An electric guitar screams heart ache
Neon charge and scars why I play
Everywhere I go, I want to cry.
I see a black cat's green and evil eye.
Whether I'm away or at home,
I weep and hear his awful moan.
I look at a constellation in the sky -
it's that cat, and don't ask me why,
but I see his cat eyes in the stars
just before that pound of flesh and scars.
He must be following me around,
on every highway, and in every town.
He's crossed each and every path.
His menacing moan is filled with wrath.
Every time I roll a pair of dice,
he strikes me down like so many mice.
When the hair on his back stands on end,
what does his sinister presence portend?
First, he sent me to my first wife.
Now, I think he wants to take my life.
"Kill me or set me free", I plead.
He says, "A ball of yarn is all I need".
On a mist-veiled morning, when even hope had grown weary, a trembling black cat stopped at our door.
Its frightened eyes held the last spark of trust.
The world called it an omen of misfortune, yet gentle hands opened where others turned away.
Winter found warmth beneath a borrowed blanket. Day after day, a stranger became family.
The black fur so many feared to touch became the warmth that filled our silent evenings.
Then fate arrived.
We stood helpless, watching its frail body struggle for one more breath.
Its fading eyes asked for nothing-not mercy, not tears-
only one more moment beneath the sky that had finally called it home.
Contest: Black Cat Moan by Glenn Hughes
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
Date: July 7th 2026
A title can be the make or break
On if a work is read.
If it sparks some intrigue
Then ideas fill your head.
It draws your eyes and pulls you in
To see what can be found,
Just like Glenn Hughes song, "Black Cat Moan"
Has expressions quite profound.
He's on an inward journey of recovery,
Some soul and spiritual healing.
The title alone - "Black Cat Moan"
Reveals the pain he's feeling!
A title can be a prècis of the work
Or it can give readers a clue.
It aids interpretation.
Though that's up to me and you.
So as I write my poems
I'll give some thoughtful time
To create a title that might give away
The reason for the rhyme.
Haunted Cemetery
Carved stones stand in a silent place,
The moon sparkles on every face,
Not live faces, but carved in bones,
Where whispers warp and shadows moan.
On moonlight nights, near tangled trees,
Spirits roam, with their will quite free,
Beseeching stuffs from passers-by,
Rolling their tongues with a blunt sigh.
One night, close by the graveyard`s gate,
A spirit in white, crossed my fate,
Pleading for a candle as gift,
I took to my heels, with a rift.
I sit alone where the gravestones moan
And wicked winds wail wild
Where willows weep and shifting shadows creep
And the dark is deep and defiled
Ghostly sighs where the lantern light dies
Death spoke my name in a sable rain
With a voice both grave and grim
Tapped his bone on the cold gravestone
As a pale cold hand pulled me in
For the grave is wide where the dreamers hide
And the dead are buried deep
There’s a place for me in the Stygian sea
Where the restless spirits roam
And the night is kind to the weary mind
When the Reaper calls you home
"The earth has music for those who listen."
- George Santayana.
....................................................
The rhythm on tree backs from woodpeckers' knocks,
With rustling of leaves as the trees moan in winds,
The roar of the falls down the hills thrills the flocks,
The whistling of gusts through the space in our minds...
Nature conducts its melody soft yet grand.
Written for the contest: Write Five Beautiful Lines
Contest Judged: 3/14/2025 9:53:00 PM
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Placement: 2nd
No highlights today
My family's away
I miss them more than I can say
So, why do I moan ...
When they are home
~ I've no time for a poem
Poetic mornings
loose verses whisper in moans
broken hearts voices
I
As some on God's good Earth
Arise at a new dawn, I'm grateful
Even to talk with friends I haven't met
Joe called them "myself," & on the internet
II
I say God Morning, for so many reasons
One: God adds another 'o' to make GOOD
I say Our Father (Holy is Thy name) prayer
Two: Start positive! Prefer mood of gratitude
III
In ones sixties, one oft gets up in pain
I thank my Savior, its but a little cross
I bear nothing compared to His! I gain
What Adam lost: If I pray, I won't complain
(Maybe just one of each, later, a moan & a groan!)
I hate what I see
I hate what we’ve become
Squeeze the poorest on poor street
So the rich have more fun.
Seeing homeless soldiers on the street
The cash that I have I give
What the hell have we become
When a veteran needs this to live?
I hate the power and I hate it’s greed
I have no words for Johnson
He’s brought the poor and the weak to their knees
I hate what we are
Me, me, me,me,me,me!
People who are suffering right now. No money, no hope. A broken society.
We grieve for our lost ones.
We should not have to grieve for the lives we live!
Our ancestors fought and died for their beliefs.
We just change channels when we don’t like what see.
I hate what we’ve become.
For God’s sake, what the fu#k are we?
From the moment my fingers traced my skin
Til the second I moaned,
It was your face on my mind
For 'Be Mine' Contest by Regina McIntosh
The tired moan
I’m tired of being tired
I’m tired of all the pain
I’m tired of all the lies and hate
And crying in the rain
I’m tired of acting happy
When deep inside I’m sad
And other people telling me
Be thankful for what you have
I’m tired of the TV telling me
You must try this or that
This will make you beautiful
And this stops you getting fat
I’m tired of all the bad news
Of wars, famine and disease
It seems like half this universe
Has fallen too it’s knees
I guess the other option is
I could be six feet under
And given these two choices
Do you even have to wonder?
Happy birthday, Sister Hazel,
The beacon appears in the sky;
Let this moment be fine and well,
Without tears of moan from your cry.
Topic: Birthday of Hazel Rondolo(March 07)
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