You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘cats’ tag.

TGAP 3 Week 14 submitted July 4, 2011 featuring art by Kenia Cris

“Listening to Different Drummers” by fellow Geek Kenia Cris
Grisly mouse murders on the dining room rug,

Felines with attitudes, acting real smug,

Pet hair on your favorite pants,

Crunchy, spilled kibbles covered in ants.

 

Vet bills, rabies shots, and amputated tails,

And a snuggling cure for all else that ails.

This is my submission for Week 14 of the Twingeekz Artz Project 3.  The accompanying art work is by fellow geek, Kenia Cris.

TwinGeekz is a loose affiliation of loose affiliates in New Hampshire who began the TwinGeekz Artz Project challenge in May of 2005; the task was for each of the original seven participants to produce and submit a piece of art every week for one year.  Every artist succeeded in completing their 52 pieces of art, and thus the TGAP theory was proven: “all creativity needs is a deadline”. 

We grew each of the three years that the project continued. It’s time to bring it back. 

Let’s do it again! #tgap2020 join us!

December 31, 2016

Cats don't care about Trump,
(Even if he is a pussy-grabber.)
The day after the election,
They didn't hiss and pull out their fur
In grief, worry, and outright

Anger. No. They got up.
Played with hair ties
And tiny fabric mice.
They asked for treats
And chased their tails;

They curled into tight balls
And napped. Around them,
Morning rose high amid
Our collective disbelief
That some could hold

Their own country
In such low esteem
To vote that way -

But the cats each purred,
Rolled onto their backs,
Invited us to rub
Their stomachs.



This wraps up the year-long Poem (almost) Everyday Project. This, Poem #230 (not 241 as originally erroneously counted), was the last of the writing that was perhaps my best therapist during one hell of a tumultuous year. One that began with the deaths of Bowie, Richman, and Prince and ended with the deaths of Michaels and Fisher. One in which I experienced exceptional workplace drama, and where an outdated electoral system decreed a bullying troll had been “elected” and would occupy the White House.

But, thanks to poetry, we can survive much.

Now, onto a new project for 2020. Put your ass-to-chair and keep writing.

December 24, 2016

We are all on the same schedule.
The cats, in some Pavlovian
Evolution, know the alarm
Will sound, bladders full,

They pounce, meow,
Knock things off of the counter.
A pre-alarm wake-up chirp.
These fuzzy greeters,

Each day, welcome the joy
Of just being alive
And waking to cat treats,
Kisses, and pats.

Dishes full and water refreshed.
Remember that. Each day
You wake up, you are
Already blossoming.

This is Poem #225 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

December 9, 2016

All morning, sleek balls
Of fur wrangle across the hard wood.
A mouse of yarn - untwined -
And claws in the easy chair.

Enemies or friends - transition
Flows. Words hide for a description that
Cannot be named. Where

Do cats go when they leave
My bed at three a.m.
To travel our dark house?

Adventures outside
of empty food bowls
And litter boxes waiting to be scooped.

This is Poem #215 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

October 8, 2016

At three a.m. the bed becomes
A trampoline and calisthenics ensue.
Cats prowl in the night.

It is their way.

We rescue, feed, pet, and love.
They attack our hands
In vicious, savage play.
(Tiny tigers practicing for the hunt.)

Triangle-velvet ears are perked,
And round eyes lock with yours.
Sleep can come at another time.


This is Poem #176 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

Describe the Wallpaper on Computer – Include an Illusion to the Summer June 20, 2016

img_0302

The best part of my summer

Vacation was the idea of her

entering our lives – not

 

At all what I’d thought

I’d wanted. “Get pets,” they

Always say. “They’ll help

You practice for the bigger

 

Deaths in your life.”

 

When Chris died,

On the bathroom floor,

Scrawny and writing

Like a broken accordion,

 

I’d promised no replacement.

Then, she presented herself-

 

Afraid of the outdoors,

Chaser of elastic bands,

Voice of greeting in the morning.

 

Diva on the couch – 

who wakes with the birds,

who nest on the front porch in the warmth

and startle in surprise

when her nose twitches

at their eggs.

 

You can train yourself

For bigger deaths, I 

Suppose. You can 

Find a new way out

Of tragedy when

 

The kitten reaches

Eight weeks and moves 

in with her food and cat toys. 

 

This is Poem #100 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

I suppose it’s appropriate the milestone #100 is about cats and death.


May 24, 2016

She peeked from behind bars.

Her big, grey eyes,

Round tabby face,

Pink, kissable nose.

We took her

To our little, yellow cape

And she has stayed,

18 years our kitty.

Perpetually pregnant.

Round, roly-poly belly.

I will sit with her,

Grade papers. Fold laundry.

All day. 

This is Poem #81 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

As I type this, according to WHOM, pet owners are happier, more likely to exercise, earn $5,000+ more per year, and donate to charity more often. 

I wrote this poem when we lost our rally-polly kitty.

RIP Emmakins. xo 

May 17, 2016

Eventually her plumpness

Wains and all that made her

Fat Emma has left. 

 

Her spunk and fierce

Protectiveness. Her

Big, round, rolly-polly

 

Belly.  Now, she snores.

 

Weezes. 

 

But the purring

Is still

And she smiles

And eats.

 

Decision. 

 

This is Poem #79 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

April 23, 2016

catamount_pale_ale

Malt and Mothman,

Brewing for Bigfoot’s

Fame, Catamount

 

I’d drink it, just because

It had a cat on the label.

 

If you can remove

The label

From your beer

Without tearing it,

 

You’ll get laid that

Night. Mythology

And alcohol do

Mix.

 

This is Poem #63 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map, and write from there.

easterncougar_960x400

 

She slank across

93 North – all hunches

And shadows in the dark.

 

No bear or dog

Boasts such shape

And movement on four paws.

 

Fish and Game won’t

Come clean

And admit she is here,

 

Guarding her kittens

In the White Mountains,

Feasting on deer

 

By the spring. She is too

Sly for security cameras.

Our own Big Foot in the midst

 

Of traffic jams and music

Festivals, beer tents,

and county fairs.

 

Someday, she will saunter

In, rollover to let us

Stroke her belly. Decide

If she wants us

For play

or for prey.

 

This is Poem #37 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map above, and write from there.

 

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has seen a Mountain Lion roaming in New Hampshire. Have you seen her?

Goodreads

Lady Diction’s Calendar

April 2020
M T W T F S S
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930