Stars

 When I was just an olive sparrow living rootless in Texas,

I met Kris Kristofferson and some hay-blond woman with a kind face. I asked Kris, "Are you going to Willie's picnic?' and in that train engine rumble of his he laughed and said, "Hell, I see Willie at his house!" I never saw Kris Kristofferson again after that, except once, last night, around 3 a.m., in a cemetery just off Woodward Avenue. I asked him, "Where's Rita?" He said, "Oh, I couldn't rightly say, but wherever she's at I expect she's singin' " We sat together on a marker for Howard Greenbriar, husband and father, our beers at our feet, brown glass sweating in the grass, their gold-and-yellow labels giving them the appearance of votive candles. Looking up, I said, "I can't see the stars." Kris told me, "That's the lights, babe. We're like belled cats lookin' for angels." It was bright when I woke up. I wondered what happened to the hay-blond woman with the kind face. Her hair wasn't dark like Rita's or mine or turning gray like Rita's or mine. A friend texted, asking if I was going to the Kristofferson show that night. I texted back "Hell, I see Kris at his house!" But the truth is, I haven't seen a star for a very long time.

_______________

The part about meeting Kris Kristofferson in the first part of this poem is true. Or maybe it was just some rando who looked and sounded exactly like him.

Blues & Calicos

 Exes should have to wear a bell

like blues and calicos, so us birds can fly.

But all right, I'll handicraft a smile,

me in the role of a civilized adult when we 

happen to cross paths.

Raise a glass to the past--

vinegar was wine once,

so drink up,

you little arched-back pussycat.

The Cat

 The cat is way from the office.

the cat is away in a manger.

the cat can't talk right now.

the cat hopes that you have a pleasant flight

   but if not, oh well.

The cat cannot sing nor play any instrument.

the cat crapped in the neighbor's flower bed again.

the cat made your bed and is now lying in it.

The cat has won the election and is now speaking to its supporters.

the cat wants in, no out, no in, no out.

The cat can explain everything.

the cat never meant to hurt you.

the cat has been caught in another bald-faced lie.

The cat hates this shitty food.

the cat has claimed the window sill.

the cat has made more cats and they need homes.

The cat will appear at the Royale on Thursday along with 

   the Dakota Danzig Trio.

the cat is lighting out for the territories.

the cat asks that you direct all inquiries to the attorneys.

the cat scratched hell out of the drapes

   while you were indisposed or out with that idiot again.

The cat is hip to your petty deceptions.

the cat refuses to serve in this, or any other war.

the cat is in love again, no wait, well possibly.

the cat has signed no papers, sworn no oath, made no pledge.

The cat thinks the bird will be fine without a head.

the cat has bendy bones and second sight.

the cat has forgotten your name again.

The cat is into avant-garde.

the cat sweeps all awards.

the cat cannot be seen with you anymore, its impossible.

the cat says wake up wake up wake up.

the cat is about to barf on the Persian,

knock your Peabody off the shelf,

and run hell-for-breakfast down the hallway like a lunatic.

Such are the ways of the cat.

Behold them and do not interfere. 

Fireman

 

You're right, I was here.

The cats let me in, they are as untrustworthy 

as a broken elevator.

You're right, I had hidden

pieces of myself, like a nightbird's nest

right under your nose.

Sorry about the fire department.

Sorry about my dual nature, always waving my arms

for balance like a drunken signalman.

You know that they burn

saints and witches alike, and me most of all,

but thieves stole the taps

And you just sat there,

like Buddha of the first editions, plastered in poetry,

a wall unto yourself.

You're right, I meant me

but the cats advised me to say you, over and over

begging to be let in

then out

then in

just like them.

The firemen saved them--

the cats, the other tenants, the stairwells and stars.

Me? I died in the fire I had set because I was in pain, 

did not know how to end things,

and you were not there to get that blasé look on your face

and put me out. 

________________

for Sunday Muse #261. 

top image created with Bing A.I.

Naive Art

 The black cat with the golden eyes

hides in the garden

with the broken-necked tulips

in the Spring.

The tulips

in their pink headscarves

will never raise their gaze again--

only their arms

to the blank blue sky.

The black cat with the steady gaze

hides in the garden

fascinated with the dun-colored mourning dove

on the gray sill.

The mourning dove

watches for the speckled hawk

beneath the yellow sun

of April.

Snowblind Jane

 

I have thought of the gray cat for years now,

though the gray cat thinks of me

no more than a gray cloud would,

or a window pane,

or a key chain.

I leave my life in a dish for the gray cat to find,

but the gray cat is gone

like yesterday's breath.

Who knew I could hurt like this?

If I drop the dish, it doesn't even shatter.

The gray cat's main concern is the moon

and garbage and gray cats and food.

I was sick once,

and became more beautiful.

The fever fell in love with me, poor thing.

Outside myself at last, I hover,

asking what's wrong.

"Bring me my gray cat," I whisper, crying like a child.

Other Me laughs,

says you'll never come back

and were never gray,

                           never gray,

                                      never gray,

but black, dear, black.

______

shared with Sunday Muse #243. 

image at top by Jocelin Carmes

music: Once Blue Now That I've Disappeared

Night Work

The earth is flat

there, where the lily of the valley grows

beneath my window.

Some wandering cat

or creature made sleepy by the dawn, chose

to rest there on the stems bent low.

It's crop circle night work

left by visitors

that were. 

________

For Dverse quadrille "work", hosted by JadeLi. 

Music; James Taylor "You Can Close Your Eyes"

Green

Green as the cat's eyes reflected in the pane

separated from the season and the sparrows in the rain

Green as the moss on the shingle near the sky

as distant from the sparrows as November from July.

Green is the dress I'll wear when I die

and watch my spirit rise in the green of her eye

indifferent to my dying, indifferent to the way

the blades green up and mock her from half a breath away.

________

for Sunday Muse #149.

The Wanderer

The nuns were missing their cat, Beelzebub.

When they held him against their black habits,

he seemed to vanish as thoroughly as worldly temptations.

The nuns bake Russian black bread

and share with Beelzebub, who is what he eats. 

"Such a naughty kitty," scolds Sister Robert, more fond than mortified.

Where is Beelzebub? Is he

walking up and down the earth, seeking the grail

of a fish skelly in a silver garbage pail?

Or is he wandering the tile rooftops,

closer to Heaven than the nuns?

Beelzebub is visiting Bathsheba, a woman of certain skills.

She picks him up and holds him against her camisole

where he vanishes as thoroughly 

as a married man in the morning.

"Such a naughty kitty," she scolds, but smiles.

Beelzebub does not blink, but rumbles like Barry White.

Where is Beelzebub, why here he is,

back from wherever he was 

and smelling like Tabu.

He jumps on the table and inspects a loaf,

vanishing behind it like a hidden desire. 

"Such a naughty kitty," says Sister George, but she loves him as God loves her,

Beyond reason, and forever.

_________

for The Sunday Muse #148 where I am hosting this week.

Lioness On The Bus

There is a lioness on the bus.
She may want a transfer
if her needs lie elsewhere.

Passengers speculate as to how she arrived.
"On four legs," says some sk8ter dude.
He is now Swami of the 7th Avenue Line.

There is a lioness on the bus.
Nobody tries to perv her. 
She could chase down the passing bicyclist
but she can't open the window. 

If you see a lioness on the bus, it might be her.
She is pregnant. Offer her your seat.

Her eyes are golden. 
Her favorite poet is Lorca.
She wishes the signal bell were more musical,

and that it could be night.
_______

poem #8 of my 39 poems in 39 days. 

Cat In Communication With Distant Planets

Cat in communication with distant planets 
thinks you would be more interesting if you were
a fish
or a cardboard box.

Distant planets communicate that personal transformation is possible.
Fins or corrugation become you.
Get cracking. 
__________

timely feline advice courtesy of Sunday Muse #85.

Bonus advice: don't settle. Become a fish IN a cardboard box. Your cat will thank you.

Future Imperfect

A poem appeared, saying it was sent by the horizon.

Naked except for a hibiscus bloom in its hair, it danced upon a pile of old tires burning behind the strip mall.

"A signal fire," it said.
The smoke became blackbirds, their beaks a collective compass needle.
The poem was itself a flock.

Looking up, I said, "Curiosity killed the cat.
Satisfaction brought her back."

That was the last I saw of the poem,
but its hibiscus bloom hangs from a chain I wear on my wrist
like a false hand 
with a true ring
in lambent light that doesn't show the blood.
_______

for Skylover Word List.

In Case Of Typhoon

"Lion Afternoon" by Jacek Yerka

In the event of typhoon, 
hurricane,
sandstorm
or other natural upheaval,

the gathering of certain objects and creatures is advised.
Clocks, for their numerical appeal and sense of order;
flowers in vases whose delicacy illustrates contrast;
and lions, generally useful in all situations.

When traveling by public transport, always be sure
that you have fed your lion beforehand. 
Consult with drivers before installing fountains, saplings,
or other decorative additions.

When hosting relatives, serve ham w/ pineapple;
if a lover, light cakes or honey tea.
When arriving as a guest, be sure to bring your own seating and lion,
as your hosts may lack these essentials.

Finally, treat typhoons, tornadoes, landslides and such as equals--
talking down to them or shouting does no good.
Invite lions into your home.
Serve hors d'oeuvres made from antelope or cape buffalo.

Follow these simple instructions and avoid high winds,
use bus and train systems without worry,
and assure yourself of being welcome in the best venues
in tandem with a lion who neither owns you nor is owned.
________

for Sunday Muse #69. Carrie kindly stepped in for me with this fantastic image, because, like a blithering fool, I simply forgot I was supposed to do the post today!

Damned Foolishness In The Balkans

The Balkans may not be worth the bones
of a single Pomeranian grenadier, but

cats are not much for Pomeranians anyway.

They do not care for your cause,
they do not show up to vote.
They do not seize the means of production
and do not care about class struggle, because

they know themselves superior.

Cats do not care about damned foolishness in the Balkans,
nor your schedule 
nor your needs.

They live by their own (laser) lights,
but if you want to storm the cannery in Belgrade,
summon them by electric opener and they'll
talk turkey (or tuna) but marching in formation is off the table 

(along with your papers and everything else)
from the start.
______

for Sunday Muse #65.

Source material is two quotes by Otto von Bismarck, as follows:

"The Balkans aren't worth the bones of a single Pomeranian grenadier."

and

"If there is ever another war in Europe, it will be because of some damn foolish thing in the Balkans."

The Realtor Said

The realtor said, "We must climb in through the open window,"
and heaved herself over the sill. 
I turned her brochure into a glider, and entered by air.

I said, "I am made of meat and bank accounts."
A talking cheetah on the living room veldt said,
"The place is haunted. 
There is a crucifix in my mouth--
you'll have to crawl in after it."

The realtor said, "We can conference with the other world."
I said, "In the ether or the air."
The cheetah was silent, and her yellow eyes were suns.

Well, girl, I bought it.
The realtor demanded that I paint with pastels.
The cheetah demanded to share my bed.
They both revealed you as the ghost.
I said,
"Tongues should be rough,
living space spiritual (secured by contract),
and love supernatural, locally acquired, ascendant, and wild."
_______

for The Sunday Muse #22.

One Arm

(for Kerry)

One arm is all you need
to smooth a dress
raise a glass
light a fuse
hide a face
turn a page
tease a clit
hold a hand.

In the land of the lion,
this is known:

The empty side allows the dark that holds the roar from miles away.

One sun lights every head,
drives every thirst,
greens every leaf on every stalk
from east to west
down all the years.

In the land of the lion,
this is known:

One arm is all you need. 
________

for Marian's "One Love" prompt at Toads.

 

Poem About A Cat & A Blue Fence

As if, having scaled the sky,
he had stopped to gloat
there above my head
with the afternoon sun behind him.

Cat, gamboling among the gods,
are there fish in the sky?
or must you bargain with the deep
for your dinner so desired?

Cat-stronaut, glide down and grant me a boon.
Tell me, how is it when trees become fences,
fences become divine
and cats-turned-to-birds appear at my toe tip

with eyes the color of the Aegean?
________ 

 

Rather Large Cat Diary

Ah, our patience has paid off:
A Fireblossom in its natural habitat!
This one is a female. She looks to be
an older girl...I don't see any kittens anywhere,
although there does seem to be some sort of wild dog shadowing her,
hoping to scavenge a morsel.

Look, look!
The dog's strategy may be about to pay off,
because we see that the Fireblossom has moved to a large white object
in which she has stored food for later.
This is great....we get to see her pulling out...
what is that? Oh! Some apple pie, and now some ice cream.
(whispering) It's only ten a.m. here, so we were very lucky to catch this scene!

All right. The Fireblossom and her canine shadow are on the move.
They're on the way to a sort of den she's made,
something naturalists call a "living room."
See how she carries her meal on a round flat object rather than in her mouth!
Such ingenuity! 
She's half way there...but wait! Oh dear, what's this?

A small black object in the corner is making some sort of sounds.
It's hard to tell exactly what it is, but...
wait....it's some kind of rhythmic song.
Yes! It's what young hominids in the 1970's called "disco".
It's a sort of mating call, often accompanied by frenetic movements
designed to attract  a partner,
or, sometimes, they just do it for no particular reason,
at least not that we can understand.

Anyway,this could be trouble!
She's moving. With the round food-bearing object in her hand...
Oh no. Oh dear.
She appears to be reacting to the sounds from the box.
An animal of this age and size should never....
See that! She almost spilled the food! 
The wild dog was licking his chops,
he thought the dinner bell was about to ring!
Here she goes again. Watch out for that couch! And the coffee table! 

We've seen some close calls, haven't we?
She had better settle in a tree or under a shrub
or even on that couch and consume her meal.
Hyenas may come and try to steal it--
the dog seems to be trying to tell her this!
But no, she's swaying her hips, moving her arms around--
and there it goes! Oh no! All over the floor, er, ground!
What a windfall for the dog!

Oh! Listen! I think we caught her on mic.
Yes. Yes, there it was. 
When irritated or angry, she'll make these short aggressive vocalizations.
But look at the dog! He doesn't care.
Now the Fireblossom is headed back into the other room again...
Look! She seems to have cooled off
and she's making a sort of snapping noise with her phalanges, or "fingers." 
What's that she's got? 
I'm trying to see now...
Car....car...carpet....carpet cleaner!

Well! I'm afraid we're out of time,
but it's been a pretty exciting morning, hasn't it?
Please join us next time on Rather Large Cat Diary! 
_______

for Bits of Inspiration at Real Toads, where the topic is dance.

 

Book Review: "Business Cat : Money, Power, Treats"

Business Cat: Money, Power, Treats by Tom Fonder

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Business Cat is a tycoon, captain of industry, cat, and cartoon. He's all about the bottom line until something trips him up, like an empty box to sit inside of, or a can of tuna served at a leading restaurant.

Whether he's playing with print-outs or sending employees to sensitivity training for looking at cat memes, Business Cat is hilarious. He runs toward the elevator someone is holding open for him, then sits down and won't get in. His house has a cat habitat on the roof. His Secret Santa gift to an employee is a demised critter wrapped in cheery holiday paper.

The combination of cool, collected CEO and goofball kitty is the funniest thing I've seen in ages. (Not as funny if BC horks up a hairball on your keyboard, but that's life in corporate America.) Absolutely recommended.



View all my reviews

Kcat

It is nice of you to love me, despite my deformity.
I've known, ever since mother, the river, and the burlap bag,
that I mightn't be accepted by all.

When I look at you, I cannot blink.
Do you find my stare unsettling? It is where love starts.
More importantly, it establishes my link with the Moon.

So. We have been together at last. 
Now you know they don't stay sheathed, even in an embrace.
I'm sorry. But not. Better go clean up.

Some say I can't be trusted; such a lie.
Wave a fish in front of my face and your data will never vary.
By the way, though, we're through.

Reader, behold me in my solitude.
I screech at the top of my lungs, position myself pitifully in the rain
beyond your sliding door, but open it and I'll walk away.

We, the deformed, are beautiful. Independent. Unique.
So, reader, why this charade, this posturing for your attention?
We do not hunger--there are songbirds.
Cardboard boxes abound.
What we want is simple, and useless:

Smile, reader, and free us to abandon you. 
Smile, freak, and let us ponder how you do.
________

for Music With Meow at Real Toads.