I.
Wild fevered summer cat
crouched in night forest
leaf-rustle, ear-swivel
golden eye-gleam, nostril flare
smell trail, chase drumming
hot blood of jugular pulse on tongue
II.
Barest winter, bones spare
as naked trees knock
hungry ghost at door
I crouch, invite you in (“I am not yours”)
eyes warn, my sofa, my fire
recline like buddha, one golden orb
fixed on me
III.
Cat-mind drifts back
ten thousand years
desert goes for days
sun-blaze on fur, sandpaper tongue
drink from Tigris, cool forgiving
Mate with five heated slit-eyed beauties
consider symbiosis, my ancestors
pile grain into a barn too slow to catch mice
while naked two-legged kittens
play with your children.
Humans will worship yet bury you alive—
our dead won’t be lonely
The mice in the barn will find
Master of Night
that no death nor game is too cruel for you
IV.
Now, fates joined
after your hunt, before mine
yawn and blink at the sun
bury my face in electric fur
you drape a lazy velvet paw
over me purrs reverberate
All is right in this universal chase
sun-selves, shadow-selves
predator and prey
for life love
and death
DNA studies show that all modern housecats can be traced back to five pregnant wildcats who domesticated themselves in the Middle East approximately 10,000 years ago.
Special thanks to James Ciriaco, my poetry coach, who always gets my marbles rolling in the right direction!
Copyright 2012 by Ann Marcaida
So intriguing a woman behind a glass pane
My friends are falling one-by-one - gun fires twice -
My hopes are high, but I'm scared of the truth
My personality is much like the a-sea
Wake up to the sound of insecurity staring straight back at me
There's so much underneath, but people don't spend much time getting used to me
Oh Mr. Salty won't you lighten up, you're a bit under the weather, can't you see that? Right.
Well it's hard to find motivation, when the motives working forces against you
In a world full of angst and confusion working in circles to exclude you
Your high is mind, and everybody's a liar behind those glass panes
Your fist is punch, and everybody's got a hunch behind those glass panes, ha ha ha ha
Oh Mr. Salty won't you lighten up, you're a bit under the weather, can't you see that? Right.
Well it's hard to find motivation, when the motives working forces against you
We grow impatient waiting for others to make a move,
But.
Intoxication eliminates our impatience, when goddesses start to groove
Techno-saints dressed in neon paints, won't you groove with me now
Your glass panes, much like the Berlin wall, inebriate our minds, and separate our lives, oh no no no no
Sub-conscience deterioration, too self-aware, I'm blowing up
Arrogance, a cultural virtue now, let's breathe it in, and inject into our veins.
Take your substances - a liquid, or a crumb if that's the only way you know out.
Breath it in, and blow your vapors out, cocoon until you bleed out.
We are all just mere victims
Of people who pursue hidden agendas
Of their own fancies and their whims
Games of people and their vendettas;
While we the simple and gullible
Are caught in the cross fire
And suffer problems unimaginable;
Until the protagonist doth tire
And let us pursue our goal
Which by then become intangible;
So that we end up caught in the shoal
And still remain eligible
And do not victimize those who try
Those who mean to, us destroy
To destroy us and doth us fry
But we are like Helen of Troy
The cause of wars of the world
For we are all just mere victims
Of people who pursue agendas
Which are unworthy even of our rectums
We're one half of a pair of jigsaw puzzle
and like many puzzles, we will meet
the wrong other half
before we find one that is made
to fit with us
but what if along the way,
in the process of finding our other half
we have deformed ourselves
in order to try and fit with the ones
that are just not meant for us?
Does it mean our original shape will no longer
be for the one we're destined for?
And we missed the chance of our
fated happily forever and after?
Or are we meant to be damaged?
So we can fit with another shape
that is also damaged,
but the type of damage that is supposed
to go along with you?
I like peoples hands,
And the things they might do
When they are large
And awkward,
With graceful, long fingers.
Callused, but not too horribly scarred
From years of doing
Something,
Anything really-
As long as it says something about
Their soul
Or state of mind.
The feelings and thoughts of being alone
how you open up to people about how you feel
But no one really understand me or what’s in my minds.
How I truly feeling alone and like no one understand me
like they never would or why should they
I sit alone in a dark room feeling hopeless
And praying they people will stop judging me and the way I feel,
The hopelessness stated to rise in me.
The fear come and the thoughts that you will always be alone.
Like you are now and how I wish I could stop judging myself.
The morning breaks through the clouds
and the sun hits the green in the hills
so right,
like a scene from a foreign movie.
The main character embarking into unknown,
captivating rocks cradling them
as they ride the train to new lands.
Steam from the heat of day
rising and mixing with the wind and the breath.
So full but so silent,
only nature's stories.
But it's not far away
or a place I've never known.
It's home.
And I can't believe it's mine.
Feed me your sadness
and I'll scoop it up in a spoon.
Like a fresh bowl of ice cream
I'll swallow it whole.
It'll descend into the gut
melting away my insides.
I'll let it dissolve everything I need
if it leaves you solidified in my sight.
people like to compare love to big things,
to the movement of the ocean
or the shine of the moon.
love is never a rain puddle or pebble,
it’s always bigger than us,
bigger than we ever consider.
because like oceans and the moon,
it makes us feel small,
and we have to be okay with that,
because if we weren’t,
the ocean would still coat the earth,
the moon would still light the night sky,
and we would still feel child-like in the
face of love.
two years
on and on before
i realized the decision desertion
to leave us in the calm up-moving air (the soul pulling it up wards)
the air was still in the room (remember it well)
with the prayer being recited at your feet
was right: you were correct
naïvety and unquisitive
apologetic as i acted a bird fleeting and unacting
lest we forget the tools of you are going on my skin for the rest of time
the cells, the material will always be there
and the soft sound growl crown voice will echo
in the head (like a dream the dreams of your return or arrival)
and to ask to find your lost wisdom to search
the caverns of the plain space
for the answers to the questions
never asked
