Kitty (a pantoum)

 

Your cat has killed my singing bird

she sunk her teeth into its throat

and now, its every song deferred

it wears a reddened funeral coat.

She sunk her teeth into its throat

and left its body on the mat

an ornament for Charon's boat

does kitty give a damn for that?

She left its body on the mat

and licks her paws without a care

does kitty give a damn for that

or anybody anywhere?

She licks her paws without a care

her tail she'll switch in plain disdain

for anybody anywhere

she casually causes pain.

Her tail she'll switch in plain disdain

for having killed my singing bird

or casually causing pain

by any bloody song deferred.

____________

The Word Garden Word List is very much active and can be found HERE. 

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.

 

Satisfaction

I'd like to borrow your senses,
sight and smell.
What is coffee, or a kiss
by the time you're done with it?

My darling hyena, short of ass but blessed in jaw,
it's hard to tell what sex you are,
except for your feminine tendency
to make docile grass-eaters think they ran right into your maw.

Oh how we laughed over that, until, honey,
you noticed I have no spots, but brought the pride on every side.
_____

"Curiosity killed the cat. Satisfaction brought her back."

For Kerry's mini-challenge at Real Toads.

Image from weheartit.com
 

The Fiddler's Cat

The fiddler's cat
keeps one claw in a treble clef--
keeps one eye on the mouse that's left--
the fiddler's cat--
white but not deaf.

The fiddler's cat
caught the note she drew from you--
knows polished maple from driftwood, too--
the fiddler's cat--
can scratch and scratch she do.

Nothing to worry about !

Go Tigers!

A Shy Girl's Apology Comes Too Late

I am shy--
to the last or the nth degree,
depending upon my mood.

I hide from the males--
bigger, bolder--
less inclined to bother with formalities as they get older.

I'm a quiet girl--
padding softly, barely breathing.
I don't like sloppy unplanned meetings.

Soft as a whisper, careful as a lie--
out on a limb
when the sun is high.

I am shy--
a spotty rumor, or a golden-eyed beauty
depending upon my mood.

So, you must forgive me
if my approach seems rude--
I couldn't help noticing that you're made of food.
________

for Hannahballistic's Transforming Friday!

Last Night

I had put away the cat's teeth,
and the blood of what I had to be, and do,

because, darling, I am after all
just caught up, mid-step,
as you are,
in the way of things, and in the set of the stars in their indifferent sky.

Still, there is only one Moon,
and only one for whom I wait softly like this,
unguarded,
all girl and garland, asleep in the ribbon grass.

Soon, the cat will come back,
and with her, the harsh edge of all I must do--

but last night, why was the air so chill,
the Moon so dark?
and where, sweetheart, where
were you?

________

A Ngorongoro Nativity

If you are a Cape Buffalo,
the first thing you do in life
is fall.

For your mother, there is no hospital bed,
no breathing exercises, no Lamaze,
no idiot husband with a video cam.
Stoic, she stands and gives you to the ground.

This stunned moment of grass and hoof-shadow
is the last rest you will get,
Little Runner.

The only other place to lay your head
for the rest of your life,
will be that final hour of stifled surrender
in the lion's mouth.
_______

For dolls, part 2, at Real Toads. This doll was created by Becca Nenow. I don't think she probably intended it to be a Cape Buffalo, but this is how it spoke to me.

And, from Detroit's own...

 

Keeping Tigers

My tigers become restless, locked up in the house all day.
I have a service, which comes by and feeds them,
leaving carcasses 
and the long bones of domestic cattle.

These meals are cold from the refrigerated truck,
and they do not struggle,
and so are not satisfying to my tigers.

I can feel their rage vibrating against the chambers of my heart as I work,
like a murmur,
or an embolism.

My tigers dream of high grasses,
dizzy with unending heat.
The sun teases them from the high windows,
until they are crazy with frustration.

The houses on my street are new, and identical.
Differentiation only arrives with occupancy--
the houses are like virgin lungs, and the buyers, air.

There is a woman inside the walls of the house across from me and over one.
The sun-hot bricks contain her, and her soft skin.
Whatever bounty she possesses
is closed off from me, as by a hard cupboard door.

I long to deliver myself into her life.
She sometimes comes out, Queen of the Green Lawn,
and when she does,
my tigers and I tear each other bloody for a place at the window.

Not everyone can keep tigers.
The daughter of the couple next door kept a bird,
a beautiful tropical specimen, which flitted from sill to ceiling fixture
to the trees outside, in summer.

When the bird disappeared, the girl reached her china-fine hand into the empty cage,
and slammed the metal door on herself
until she was bleeding so badly that paramedics had to be called.

"Were you trying to hurt yourself?" inquired the doctor.
"What made you do this?"
The girl replied, "Lack of music."

I know this because I transcribe the doctor's session recordings.
I know this because it was my tigers who murdered her bird.
I know that my silence is vile,
and that Beauty should never lower its guard around Appetite.

I grow restless in my cubicle, doing my work.
I dream of my across-the-street neighbor, and in these dreams
I run my fingertips down the backs of her thighs--
I kiss her hip, and turn her over
like a page of religious text, and I the ecstatic ecclesiastic.

In the evenings, I go home alone.
My tigers are waiting, ravenous and angry.
At my front door, I kiss the key,
and make the sign of the cross over the lock.

All night,
my tigers scratch to get into the room where I sleep.
The door quivers and splits, but holds, barely.

My neighbor is inside her house, mixing calm with catkins,
like batter with a finger.
I start across the street, though it is past midnight.

I wear only my black kimono.
My tigers trail after me, lit like candles with excitement at being out of doors.
I knock, haloed in the porch light.
She answers, and I stand there like a little innocent bird,
offering her my heart like an Aztec.

_______

for Real Toads OLM

Nice Girl

I'm a nice girl
Most usually,
And ain't nothin'
That you done to me...
But if you hurt the sun, the moon will know--
I'll chill deep blue and sink down low
To fuck you up bad
And cut you cold.

Do you think I'm joking?
Did you think that if you broke her heart
That I would sigh and just forget?
Did you think I'd not use blade and fire
To leave you just this side of dead?
I'll fuck you up hard--
That's what I said.

I'm a nice girl
Most often times,
But if you cross my sister
And make her cry,
I'll use every magic,
Every edge,
Every blasphemy
To make you see and feel me
Much better than you ever did for a girl you could never deserve;
Do we understand each other, sir?
I'm going to fuck you up wicked,
So bite on this
And I'll begin it.

_______

Ungrateful

My mother used to say
"You'll fall and break your neck,"
with uncharacteristic hope in her voice
like gilt edging on a pendant.

It made me want to fall and break my neck
just to please her.

It made me want to hold on vicious hard
just to vex her,
to get down and dance like a Hottentot
around a pot of missionary stew.

So, last night I was up on a ladder hanging a picture;
I had little nails in my mouth,
a big old honking hammer in my hand,
and my foot on a banana peel.

Yep.
Fell and broke my neck.
Who's gonna feed my dog?

It was off to the nursing home for me.
where I couldn't feel my ass or my broken bones.

Cantcha hear me knocking, I'd sing/scream

from behind the edges of my teeth

like a tornado in a jar.

I wanted to ask all the nurses personal questions.
I wanted to wheel down the hall like the runaway Number Nine,
Making train noises and peeing in a bag.

These beautiful dreams that ne'er can be,
Roses forever left unbloomed;
How melancholy the dubious hour
When Desire's crimson comes to ruin...

Ah, what shit!
Somebody else will get my apartment,
After I circumvented the waiting list
By finding out who I had to kiss.

My mother used to say,
"You'll break your neck,"
And the bitch was right.

I return to my body in an access of spite,
With my stupid neck at ninety degrees
and I'm back! Just like that.
Happy Mother's Day, Frosty,
from your darling young, your serpent's tongue

falling hell-for-breakfast beyond your grasp.

_________

 

 

The Best Trick ( or, Cywydd Llosgyrnog Does Toad Aid )

Woman, never trust a gypsy.
She will thieve your heart so easy,
And if she doesn't, then she's fake;
Watch hard to catch her at her crime,
The stolen dollar, pilfered dime,
The smooth climb of the charming snake.

Faith suits saints and children, not you my dear--
Cradle fear like a favorite shiv;
Hold it low and easy beneath your skirt,
To hurt if you must, but also live.

Woman, never trust a liar,
Hearts will fall that fly that gyre--
Better to wire a trap that keeps;
Catch thieving hand in fox quick fist,
Bind fast your gypsy by her wrist--
The best trick's sudden, sweet, and cheap.
________
for Grace's Welsh form prompt at Real Toads. Hey, I said I don't LIKE to use form, not that I couldn't!

My Sixth Life

for Elizabeth

I brought her early light in a leather pouch,
And a snake's head in a handkerchief.
What a fool I was.

Every April, she crouched on the muddy roads
Like something not human.
First warmth carries taint,
And she rolled until she was filthy with it;
Don't think there weren't those who admired her.

A sick sky will deny that it ever held clouds
And a thousand lies without pause will make it rain,
If only in the upturned palm of a lunatic.

I brought her a ring made from poisonous metal,
And instructions on how to drown herself.
A gray cat is no haloed nun,
So if I grew claws from the ends of my fingers,
It was only to prove before the maypoles went up
That God was mad or that she was. 
________ 

Dear John

This is for Jenny Matlock's Saturday centus. I was limited to 60 words, two of which needed to be "Dear John".

Dear John,

I'm glad you've found this note I've pinned to the casserole.

Welcome home. The city is a madhouse since the virus.

All changed? Sitting down eating? See how well I know you?


Thanks for promising to end your affair.


Full now? Full of virus. (The casserole.) I know you've been with her.


See how well I know you?


_______

Lions

Lions are wash-outs at counted cross stitch,
Disasters at building model battleships,
And show no aptitude for playing the piano;

They have feet the size of pancake griddles,
Brooking no bullshit--
Where they stand,
The earth stays.

Lions make piss-poor babysitters,
And cannot become pope
Or president;

But, as the stumbling gazelle can attest,
At a single touch, lions can impart
Everything in the world that is worth understanding.

_______

Photo by Adam Romanowicz for One Shoot Poetry Challenge

Congratulations

Etiquette note: one congratulates the groom, and wishes the bride good luck. To congratulate the bride implies that she was lucky to snag a man at all, and saying this could be construed as snarky. Miss Fireblossom deplores snarkiness.

Congratulations!

Oh honey, congratulations

On the success of your

Machiavellian machinations.

(I'm so glad

So awfully glad

I didn't say that out loud.)



And really,

I just know you'll both be

So happy,

So happy...

He looks dashing,

And you look smashing,

If just a little

Only a little

Trailer trashy...



And I just want you to know

That I wish you

I wish you both

Would just fall down on the polished floor and choke

Til death do you part.

Thank you for letting me be a part

Of your special day!

Do you know what I wish?

Oh, I wish you would both fall head-first down the stairs,

Down, down, down.

(And thank Goddess I didn't say that

Honey, I would never ever say that

Out loud.)

_________

If You Love A Tiger

If you love a tiger,

Accept her temper as you do her pleasure--

Learn her body with your own, by night and day the same.



If you adore a tiger,

Though you long to kiss her claws, resist the urge--

Warm her through like afternoon, keep her wet with evening rain.



There is always some witless goatherd--

Feed his poisons to his ugly wife,

Switch his bullets out for bindis.



There are always other tigers out to find her--

Change the seasons to confuse them,

Paint the moon with oil of linseed.



If your dreams are full of tiger,

Be the mangroves for her shelter--

Memorize her yellow eyes, forget the way you came.

________

Angel Sweet

ANOTHER MIDDLE-AGED PERV GOES MISSING
Suddenly subtracted
Name redacted

One, then two, then three go missing
But before it hits four
It's rained ten more

Nobody thinks to blame Angel Sweet
The mumbling schizo
Of Sycamore Street.

Another perv emerges from night
Hung by his junk
From the traffic light

SAVE OUR PERVS! is heard the call
But their nieces and neighbors
Say nothing at all

Nobody snitches on Angel Sweet
The mumbling schizo
Of Sycamore Street.

_______

for One Shoot Sunday

Troika

When I feel this way,
Nothing will do except that I have wood.

Wood in the strips dividing the window panes.
Wood in the frame of a picture on the wall.
Rotting wood birthing foxfire in the wild.

You are the wedge
Around which my heart is split,
Riven to its shivering core.

When I feel this way,
Nothing will do except that I have glass.

Glass the skin the rain crawls upon.
Glass the blanket over a sleeping portrait.
Glass the spirit jars hung from moody trees in the dusk.

You are the heat lightning
Around which my heart wraps, refracting
Colors where there were none, blood with no wound.

Listen...
The cuckoo kills, then sings;
The mother bird's babies on the ground
Like dead leaves.

When I feel this way,
Nothing will do except that I have water.

Water dappling the sill, like first signs.
Water rippling preserved paper against its backing.
Water falling from the oak leaves, into shadows.

You are the devil
Around which my heart curls
Like ashes, haloing the match that bore them.
_________

for One Shot Wednesday

Tightrope

For every hour spent performing wickedness,

I need an hour to think about what I've done

And savor it.



Little birds can fill a long wire,

But eventually, that wire runs on, alone.



This solitary creature loves nothing as she loves your name.

Your silence.

Your distance.

You are the thing that will not open, but might,

And so my nails, and my mood, are often jagged.



For every hour spent performing wickedness,

Take a minute for the one who loves the wicked-doer

And savor her.



Little attentions can buy long devotion,

But eventually, that devotion needs more.



Stay away just one day too long,

Judge it wrong,

And you'll find out how much I love my solitude--

Not more than you, my dear,

But more than waiting.
___________