Cats
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned
To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.
They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn
To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Don Juan
Under the lips and limbs, the embraces, faces,
Under the sharp circumference, the brightness,
Under the fence of shadows,
Is something I am seeking;
Under the faces a face,
Under the new an old or a not-yet-come-to;
Under the voices a peace.
Am I a darkness all your flames must light?
A mirror all your eyes must look into -
That dares not yet reflect the neutral sky,
The empty eye of the sky?
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Conscientious Deacon
(A song to be syncopated as you please)
Black cats, grey cats, green cats miau—
Chasing the deacon who stole the cow.
He runs and tumbles, he tumbles and runs.
He sees big white men with dogs and guns.
He falls down flat. He turns to stare—
No cats, no dogs, and no men there.
But black shadows, grey shadows, green shadows come.
The wind says, 'Miau!' and the rain says, 'Hum!'
He goes straight home. He dreams all night.
He howls. He puts his wife in a fright.
Black devils, grey devils, green devils shine—
Yes, by Sambo,
And the fire looks fine!
Cat devils, dog devils, cow devils grin—
Yes, by Sambo,
And the fire rolls in.
And so, next day, to avoid the worst—
He takes that cow
Where he found her first.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 204
I stand surveying the angles
And slopes of the land
A plan in my mind and a golf club in my hand
The ball is waiting ready
To live its final putt
This shot is gonna happen, I feel it in my gut
I check the wind direction
And condition of the green
I weigh up all the angles, want the shot to be clean
I plant my feet real sturdy
And eye the balls route
I slow my breathing down as I prepare to shoot
I swing the club back slowly
Now going for the kill
But slip and clip the edge of the plastic windmill
poem by Flying Lemming
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7 Cats of the Cobblestone
7 cats came calling.
7 cats they be.
7 cats came calling
for
a
spot
of
tea.
7 cups
7 saucers
berries
brie
and
clotted cream.
A light fare for 7 cats
7 cats they be.
7 cats
7 names
introduced to us.
One was black and white
the other calico.
Two tabbies sat at the hearth
three more we will get to know.
Lagging behind
we did find
peculiar
ginger cat.
Next to stroll in
cat named Vincent Van Gogh
and Siam,
white as fallen snow.
Kit Kat
Chi Chi
took milk with tea.
Miss Cleo and Rosy savoring dessert.
Duke of course
curious sort
sat out
upon
the stoop.
With no warning
came storming in
last to introduce.
After tea
and light fare
cat nap they did sleep.
7 cats came calling
7 cats we keep.
7 cats of the Cobblestone
7 cats they be.
poem by Gary Kedron
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Loopholes
It's known and shown,
Those habits grown.
You come too early,
And you...
Announce you can't stay late.
But then,
Every minute you're around...
You hesitate to conversate.
What is it you're wishing?
Should we investigate?
Are you wishing we dish less?
Does this irritate?
You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
You need to lick them quick.
Get rid of those sitting to nitpick.
You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
Let them slip through your lips.
And live a life that benefits.
It's known and shown,
Those habits grown.
What is it you're wishing?
Should we investigate?
Are you wishing we dish less?
Does this irritate?
You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
Let them slip through your lips.
And live a life that benefits.
You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
You need to lick them quick.
Get rid of those sitting to nitpick.
You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
Let them slip through your lips.
And live a life that benefits.
Get rid of those loopholes,
Admit they make you sick!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Seaport
Green sea-tarnished copper
And sea-tarnished gold
Of cupolas.
Sea-runnelled streets
Channelled by salt air
That wears the white stone.
The sunlight-filled cistern
Of a dry-dock. Square shadows.
Sun-slatted smoke above meticulous stooping of cranes.
Water pressed up by ships' prows
Going, coming.
City dust turned
Back by the sea-wind's
Wall.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On My Dying Day
The trees will waver in the wind
People will stand within the shadows
In the darkness behind
And in them will raise sorrowful solos
The seeds will cease to sprout
The sun will rise south
Men and children will lie on open streets
Women will wail for my return
My corpse shall no man deem fit to carry
And so loud shall be their long silence
People shall offer to die in my sake
But no one can hold back from exit
How will you leave us?
How do we face it without you?
I know that all this shall happen
On my dying day
poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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Moon Glow
The darkest night, flows with a
wind hush through open blackness.
Ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Rivulets spill with water
across the mountain plains;
as liquid rolls down along the steep slope-
ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Stars glitter through sparkles
of the darkest night.
Wind cold breeze swifts;
swiftly into space.
Laughter engulfs the moon light.
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Moon light angles corners,
as sweet melodies swell into air,
of silence.
You ever sight the bird dance,
as shadow flicker
upon the moon?
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
poem by Celine Berghmans
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Shadows of life! ! !
Com stay in shadows of mine
Shadows of life
Sun dawn at beach
Walkig on moon
Shadows of life
Day bright light aftr darkness
Wht can get it to go thru
Nuthng just an insane clip of my life
Shadows of life
Dunt stay in my life
Leave me alone
Thers nuthng I can offer u
excpt disapointmnt
Take it light or ruin it totally unvoid
There's nuthng I can describe
Shadows of life
Nuthing in my hands
Walking on moon
Day bright light aftr darkness
Wht can get it to go thru
Nuthing just a sweet attempt of urs
Shadows of life
poem by Somia Race
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Unlyric Love Song
It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first:
To offer you now at last my least and my worst:
Minor, absurd preserves,
The shell's end-curves,
A document kept at the back of a drawer,
A tin hidden under the floor,
Recalcitrant prides and hesitations:
To pile them carefully in a desparate oblation
And say to you "quickly! turn them
Once over and burn them".
Now I (no communist, heaven knows!
Who have kept as my dearest right to close
My tenth door after I've opened nine to the world,
To unfold nine sepals holding one hard-furled)
Shall - or shall try to - offer to you
A communism of two ...
See, entry's yours;
Here, the last door!
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Runaround On The Underground
(a. bell / v. clarke)
Im waiting at the bus stop for a double-decker ride.
Supermarket checkout boy finds his way inside.
A shady looking character, his beady eyes on me.
I slip into a window seat, and then pretend to read.
Its a wild, its a wild, wild, wild world.
The hardest thing is holding on,
Holding on and take the strain.
Theyre coming at me at angles that I never knew existed.
They aint gonna get me.
Im building up my colours of resistance. (colours of resistance)
Its a runaround on the underground.
A cybermatic shopper, with a slight sadistic grin,
Pulls a zipper on her sleeping bag; shuts herself within.
A triple quilted chrysalis waiting for the sales.
A bargain basement butterfly going off the rails
Its a wild, its a wild, wild, wild world.
The hardest thing is holding on,
Holding on and take the strain.
Theyre coming at me at angles that I never knew existed...woah
They aint gonna get me.
Im building up my colours of resistance. (colours of resistance)
Its a runaround on the underground.
Its a wild, its a wild, wild, wild world.
The hardest thing is holding on,
Holding on and take the strain.
Theyre coming at me at angles that I never knew existed.
They aint gonna get me.
Im building up my colours of resistance. (colours of resistance)
Its a runaround on the underground the hardest thing is holding on,
Holding on and take the strain.
Theyre coming at me at angles that I never knew existed.
They aint gonna get me.
Im building up my colours of resistance. (colours of resistance)
The hardest thing is holding on,
Holding on and take the strain.
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Standing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
held the earth
in his hands...
until time and storm
finally had their way.
the man standing
in the shadows,
plowed and planted,
season after season,
till winter grey
closed the last door.
the man standing
in the shadows,
built a house
and a bridge...
and swept room and porch
till it was finished.
the man standing
in the shadows,
picked up nests of straw,
and opened tiny cages,
blowing light from cupped hands
till the darkness swallowed.
the man standing
in he shadows,
played a wooden flute,
caught stardust in each note...
till the great stillness came,
and the wind stopped blowing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
still smells like you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cats Eye Resurrection
Cats ~ cats ~ cats
Eye
Cats ~ cats ~ cats
Splashing on my walls ~ my walls
In the field the bodies are tied
To the their crosses hair hanging down
The blood is rolling down their
Arms to the waiting dogs
Bad ~ bad ~ bad
Doctors
Bad ~ bad ~ bad
Counting the meat on the tables
In the field the bodies are tied to the
Altar the popes mule sings a song of
Freedom from his majesty-the pope
Nazi ~ nazi ~ nazi
Butchers
Nazi ~ nazi ~ nazi
Waving their tongues in the air
Cats-cats-cats-bad-bad-bad-cats eye
Resurrection
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadows in My Own Rhyme
here is the cloud shadows ran outside the window, sucking the dewy liquid air, not resist, what is called today? never falling into the sky, the green memories, grazed to the flat lands, once on the edge of the memory, the hunt for is almost over, only be a voice murmur, singing in uncertainty, the wind always blows deliver the weather news, his voice barely audible, crying is just a trickle of water that soaks the window, 'when would you arrive? ' sit in the center of indecision, the wind kept blowing, silent window, shadows recorded on this poem.
1991
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Peace And Propriety
in the name of propriety
to cats we must be cats too
you know what happens when
we show to the cats that we
are really dogs in feelings and
actions,
there will be a chase of course,
and chaos, and there will be war
and there will be losers and
winners,
and in this matter
and manner of speaking we choose
to be dogs to assure that we win
but that is not always the case
the cats have advanced in their feline
technology and breeding
so my dear, let us just be proper
to cats we shall be cats
and make this world a happy place
for all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cinema Screen
Light's patterns freeze:
Frost on our faces.
Light's pollen sifts
Through the lids of our eyes ...
Light sinks and rusts
In water; is broken
By glass ... rests
On deserted dust.
Light lies like torn
Paper in corners:
A rock-pool's pledge
Of the sea's return.
Light, wrenched at the edges
By wind, looks down
At itself in wrinkled
Mirrors from bridges.
Light thinly unweaves
Itself through darkness
Like foam's unknotting
Strings in waves ...
Now light is again
Accumulated
Swords against us ...
Now it is gone.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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June Sick Room
The birds' shrill fluting
Beats on the pink blind,
Pierces the pink blind
At whose edge fumble the sun's
Fingers till one obtrudes
And stirs the thick motes.
The room is a close box of pink warmth.
The minutes click.
A man picks across the street
With a metal-pointed stick.
Three clocks drop each twelve pennies
On the drom of noon.
The birds end.
A child's cry pricks the hush.
The wind plucks at a leaf.
The birds rebegin.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here I Ho Again
Parody of the classic Whitesnake song Here I Go Again
I don't know who I'm doing tonight
But I sure know who I'd like to do
Hanging onto the promises made by rich men in my past
An' I'm made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
On men who don't have a dime to their names
So, oh, here I ho again
Oh yes, here I ho again
Tho' I keep searching for a wedding ring
I never seem to find the bling I'm looking for
Oh lord, I pray
You give me a man to leech off of
Cos I wanna know what it means
To walk along the golden streets of all my dreams come true
An' here I ho again
In another rich man's classy home
Showing off the very best of my assets
Goin' down on him like there ain't gonna be no tomorrow
Working it the only way I've ever known
To get what I want
Who I want
Just don't wanna wind up like my sister
Single with 99 cats
All alone
An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time on guys without a dime to their names
I'm just another poor Cinderella in need of a rescue
Waiting on just one rich man's sweet charity
An' I'm gonna hold on
Going down on 'em all like there's not gonna be a tomorrow
Working it the only way I've ever known
To get what I want
Who I want
Just don't wanna wind up like my sister
Single with 99 cats
All alone
An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time on men without a dime to their names
So here I ho again
Here I ho again
Here I ho again
Here I ho again
Cos I wanna know what it means
To walk along the golden streets of all my dreams come true
An' here I ho again
In another rich man's classy room
Going down on him like there ain't gonna be no tomorrow
To get what I want
Who I want
Just don't wanna wind up like my sister
Single with 99 cats
All alone
An' I've made up mind
I ain't wasting no more time on men without a dime to their names
An' here I ho again
Going down on 'em all like there ain't gonna be no tomorrow
Working it the only way I've ever known
To get what I want
Who I want
Just don't wanna wind up like my sister
Single with 99 cats
All alone
Cos I wanna know what it means
To walk along the golden streets of all my dreams come true
poem by Ramona Thompson
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Shadows She Said
there's no more place to go
the other bars are closed
the night the stranger came to town
how do you know
when you're right or wrong?
how do you know
if you hurt or if you don't?
so many people say so many things
but nobody agrees on anything
there's no more place to go
shadows she said
there's no more place to go
shadows she said
this night's an empty shell
shadows she said
and all the shadows followed after her
you burned the book of life
the cradle and the tomb
how could you ever dare
there's no more turning back
your stars lit up in flames
there's gunsmoke in the air
and yesterday you bought a brand-new car
but you don't feel like going very far
there's no more place to go...
there's no more place to go
shadows she said
there's no more place to go
shadows she said
this night's an empty shell
shadows she said
and all the shadows followed after her
here they come...
shadows she said...
and all the shadows followed after her...
shadows she said...
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleeping With Cats, Or Trying To
From 'Dating at Fifty' a collection of poems about the quest for love in middle age
Trying to sleep with cats,
Cats not content to use their box discretely
But compelled by strange ambition
To dig to China after each smelly deposit.
Trying to sleep in blankets
Full of cat litter
Tracked in by the cats.
Trying to sleep with cats, not content
To sleep or read or wait quietly for the dawn
But driven to actively stalk
The largely fictitious wildlife
Of a two room apartments.
Trying to sleep with a new woman
In strange bed with cats….
Forget about it! ! !
poem by Allan Thorne
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