A season passes.
Still,
I remain here.
I am a stray cat.
A human pauses
for a moment.
A hand offers food.
I do not stay.
I leave,
beyond your gaze,
beyond the next wall.
Inspiration for this poem was Gwendolyn Brooks "The Bean Eaters."
Stray fox sleeps closely, near this widow’s pies.
Keeping their bond implies sunrise.
Crisp apples with its wisp to meadows peak,
Bees’ clockwise
This pair of unique pals.
That live each day with ease,
Know that it didn’t leave out sounds
Or banging or breeze.
But Harmonizing…
Harmonizing, blues among hearts restrung,
They pick up fragments to piece, fix, bind trinkets lost, lone
Then the two sit down relish with drinks an pie delightful,
Now viewing that sunset.
Pure and sinful. Saintly and filthy.
An angry dog. Teeth sharp and gnashing. I don’t understand why I’m so angry.
A warning shot before I’m put down. Knocked to the ground, air leaves my lungs in form of sharp breath.
Mans best friend is a quiet woman and lord only knows I am not.
Perfect until my mouth opens.
Then I have opinions and am devalued.
I am bark and bite.
Dog. .
Put me on a leash and lead me around, why don’t you?
I will drag my heels and disobey.
Nip at you and run away.
Mans best friend is a woman that submits.
So I bend the rules and run wild.
Tall grass tickles my legs.
Morning dew drips.
Stray.
Drifting over field and fence,
Cautious, as gently falling snow,
Settling quietly on the frozen lawn,
Eyes blue, like Southern Atlantic ice,
We watched you watching us,
Giving you needed time,
And, in time, you approached,
Slowly, nervously drawing near,
Slender, almost frail, hungry,
Perhaps, just in need of a friend,
Silent, emotionless, resilient,
Battle scarred and war torn
We reached out our hands,
You laid down your shield,
We provided shelter,
We gave you hope, faith
God crossed the street
slowly
counting stray dogs.
I followed Him
hoping
He might lose
one miracle.
paw prints through the yard l
traced up on front porch
looking for food bowl
A bright afternoon lunch, a darker shadow wraps around
your leg. Not clawing, just yawning. Yearning for a twitch
in its way.
You sit terribly still.
Your mother urges you to shoo it off, your father chews
absentmindedly at the way too bloodied meat, gazing through
your forehead. The clinks of the neighboring tables annoyingly
in sync. Your foot turns to face it.
The waiter gets your sister's order wrong, she curls up to a ball
as so does her stomach as she pipes down the vanilla milkshake,
an excuse to leave to the bathroom. To leave here.
The edge of your eyes catches the figure 8 being woven
along your cramping shins.
The heavy grimace of your brother, your mother fixing up
his collar, clearly not ironed. The setting bores you,
you look under. Beady eyes staring at you too. A plea
for what you should do.
The sinful act of feeding a noir stray cat.
With the steady grip of a football player, a knowing smirk
a bright eye glint, you hold it close,
the pitch-dark abomination–
and toss it onto the table.
An approving purr.
A feast for all.
Mixie BeeBee of Stray Cat Alley
was a creature who would dilly dally
she teased the toms all along the way
making her tail swish and sway
as alluring as tuna fish
a pretty feline, exotic dish
backyard cat said Grandma Ellis
saying this because she was jealous?
Stray words pulled from thin air
strung like birds on a wire
as a poem
won't light my fire
random thoughts on the off-chance
hung as wash on the line
is worse and not verse
at least not one of mine
every tenth girl's name
flung from pages in the dictionary
like pretty maids all in a row
is neither prose nor poetry
give me literary or give me wealth
of wisdom humour rhyme or reason
lyrically make me laugh or think
entertain elucidate or educate
for therein lies the missing link
With their carnival of colors
they glitter the grass and the gutters,
till brooms, offended by their loitering littering
brush them aside,
till stray winds and wily stepping strides
scatter them back where they belong
as the foreground to scenes of order, and creativity
confounded my tug of entropy
Where stray sheep lie
Hazy pastures in the misty morning grey,
With dreams like dew drops on each blade.
We graze upon the meadow on the dawning day, in plains we once forbade.
We shepard no one unto their slumber,
For we ourselves are lost.
And when us strays must go under, our souls must weigh the cost.
Good little lambs are counted against the stars, but not the ones who've gone astray.
We go where the stray sheep heal their scars, the hazy pasture in the misty morning grey.
I was born in the sunshine of your house.
I remember the soft fold of your smile,
As you read me bedtime stories,
Sprouting in my memory,
The fall of your heavy dark hair,
Like velvet,
As you bent to kiss me good night.
And, just as clearly, I remember the darkness, emptiness, that fell
Over us;
The empty space that was you.
Broken fences and runaway tears
We couldn't hold in,
Crashing anger and grief.
Alike in our sadness and our looks,
I longed to break through the barbed wire of our hearts,
But couldn't.
I go now
Where I can see:
The flowers blooming;
Trees, thick as wool woven in a loom;
Clouds blowing free,
Behind black boundaries.
Where I can see me
And not just your shadow.
I go now
Not because I don't love you
But because I know
I can't love if I can't breathe.
dogs just took off
wonder if cat escaped
i sit silently
The clairvoyant could be a schizophrenic, or is it the other way around?
Cymbals of the mime must be unbearably loud.
Flowers are for glade and not the lapel of blue clowns.
Is it better for a stray to be forever chained down
or go running off with a pack of the unfound.
After death are we whisked off to heaven
or does the soul shatter against a cold Black wall?
Is faith just a mirage for the eternally weak
or is it a gilded pathway to the purist of all kings?
Rusty Finds A Home!
Rust-hued kitty’s shunned by day, ignored through the night
Unloved and discarded in a world numb to his plight
As he meows by a door
Rusty meets family Tor
Who give him a home, protection and love glowing bright
—Robert Gorelick
Who could resist a kitty like Rusty
Who is lonely, scared and very dusty
Needing a safe home
Of his very own
And someone to adore him who’s trusty
—Beryl Edmunds
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