Paul Revere by Cyrus Dallin, North End, Boston

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Sunday, October 14, 2012

Sunday Night Poetry



CAT IN AN AFTERNOON

He approaches, impudent as vinegar
He owns his own conduct
And he’s not my friend.
It seems so only because I need
his moody company

I’ve always been a friend
To those who build mud-castles on beaches,
Afraid without their inventions,
I would disappear.

He stalks the baseboard, regards the screen.
I am not here, except to feed him. Worshipper
Of yarn and mote, he is one syllable.

I wish I’d learned Latin or something
Useful like planting orange trees.
I always decline in late afternoon.

Sometime his fur, sometime his claw,
The soft, the sharp enigma.

This door, was it here last week?

                                    --S.K.

4 comments:

Shaw Kenawe said...

To KP and others:

I should know better than to try to publish comments early in the morning before I've had my coffee.

Sorry to have goofed up again!

Thank you KP for the nice feedback on the poem.

And I apologize to all the others.

FreeThinke said...

Reflections on a Former Shop Assistant

We miss Miss Kitty more than we can say.
Each time we meet a fury Calico
All red and brown and black with white below,
Licking herself, or sleeping Time away
Looking Sphinxlike -- or alive with play --
Meeting our approach with regal stare --
Indifferent-seeming to the love we bear --
Such visions wrench our thoughts back to the day --
Suddenly stricken -- when we heard them say,
“Kitty’s ill and must be put to Sleep --
It really can’t be helped, so please don’t weep.”
The Farewell Scene, however, caused dismay:
The darling mewed -- then stretched -- then seemed to wait --
Yielding -- without protest -- to her Fate.


~ FreeThinke - Adventures in Antiquing, Spring 1998.

FreeThinke said...

Thank you, Ms. Shaw, for writing such a charming, insightful poem showing your love and respect for cats as they really are.

Thank you too for publishing my acrostic sonnet.

If I were not so lazy, I'd dig up T.S Eliot's Old Deuteronomy and present it here. It's a great favorite.

I am extremely fortunate to have two cats both of whom seem honestly to enjoy sitting with me and allowing themselves to be admired. One in particular -- a black and white tuxedo cat -- exhibits a dog like devotion, which is very touching.

I admit, however, that such unabashed adoration is rare in felines.

A bientot,

~ FreeThinke

Shaw Kenawe said...

I enjoyed your poem very much, and welcome any others you care to share with me.


Miss Pettipaw was one of my first marmalade/ginger cats who lived to a ripe old age of 21 years, and my next cat, King Yellowman [named for a Reggae singer from Jamaica] also lived a long and happy life.

I haven't had the heart to get another cat, since my heart was broken twice when both of those incomparable felines left me.

Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats is a favorite in our house.