We could wait
and do things without each other,
a while to tumble,
thumbs down, thimbleful
or fall,
if at all.
But by pause in
claws in;
retracted to be free,
please.

You walked in August gardens,
a young lad,
sleek.
Then old, you lay
by bloom.
But,
you are in me,
not the ground,
nor the sound of tears
but the galloping brook
that ran through my years,
nourishing my roots,
one leaf strong enough to withstand
the autumn of your passing.

As natural as you
is how I want to be,
moving before
formalised thought
into the you
of yourself
without thinking;
understood
as easy
as a season.

I'll besiege your speed
with my speed
and hope to run with the rush of today,
engaging,
not to pass by blindly
and stumble
but reaching,
if not touch,
still reaching

Things that were incompatible
suddenly seem like balance;
the fog now in time
with the sunshine.

Not knowing of the rat race
but races to catch rat,
only works when she wants to does
Poppet The Cat.
Content sat on clothes awaiting a iron,
the creased rest
of a little lion.
Scratching the sofa without care
while brilliantly breathing her tabby air;
see I love you,
I love you,
your running whiskers delight;
you're always
always
a beautiful sight.

After the ordeal
you really make things bright,
replacing tirades of darkness for little skips of light.

You never fail
to rise from fog,
diluted air parted
by what your heart is.
Learning not passed up;
you thirsty cup!
Some
time
you won't shine,
in, be, when, past
fast

Not waiting for return
& craning for perhaps distant flap
of wing.
Or to hark when all will be a flutter
with colour & movement,
arriving with the know of bloom.
Not to think that.
Instead settled while migration back far from thought at night;
but when they do,
swift in flight.

I can speak all day in tongues about Poppet!
Pop! Pop! Popsicle
you're making this time in my life,
the best discoveries towards you, may your joy be rife. When you purr it's nice.
You run to me when my voice does call you noise,
you arrive for our near,
excited for the happy times, I think that's pretty clear.
I never want to own you
as I know you wouldn't like that,
but please stay around
my stupendous tabby cat.

Now I never have loads of cleaning to do therefore I wouldn't class it as a chore,
but despite my scrubbing being easy I do find it a tad of a bore,
when I get in I just wanna chill, catch up on television and have a feed,
perhaps put on some Coronation Street and then have a bit of a read,
but sometimes the bin needs taking out and then I'll have a hover around
as there are little bits of dust and detritus embedded in the ground,
I'll get the wipes and shine the surfaces until they have a gleam
or wash every dish in the sink to make them looking pristine,
but however stuck I get into elbow grease I'd rather be doing my own vibe
like reclining with rest on the sofa or if I felt like it having a jive;
but when I knew you were coming to stay tonight I thought  "ohh I want to tidy my room"
not because it was an absolute tip or it resembled a junk heap of doom,
It was as I wanted the best for you as I like it when you share my space,
your presence places more springs in my step and throws another smile on my face.
So although last night was spent vaccing and taking nascent cobwebs from my wall
I didn't feel like I wanted to do anything else, there was no yearning at all;
preparing my boudoir for your arrival is not a graft I rue,
I don't mind doing cleaning when my cleaning is for you.

Seems more than something this,
the way
you're on my mind.
Any good thing reminds me of you;
a dot of sunshine,
a high five in a happy time,
a joyous voice projected,
a touch in connective,
contentment in reflective,
a mean wall
relented;
you you you,
you make the sky
all new.

If asked I’d say
“yes, that is a sweet place to visit,
you should defiantly go there,
it’s the best.”
Knowing that yes
might be a lie.
The place I vouch for
could have had
******* heaps
disturbing sleep
by day and night
and not known
singing
or joy
or light.
It may have never heard
a voice kind go out of it’s way
and back again just because
it can,
there may have been a laughter ban
or a tax on air,
I would not have seen these rules
or cared
because that's the place I met you,
and the world at once
was just
us two;
that’s good for life,
not travel advice.

We can also learn from men.

On that couch of yours
may we meet more
and have more of our
tour de force,
leg over leg,
involved in everything of me and you,
condensed,
like a good haiku:
taunt and magical,
strong wind carrying the blue,
holding safe and true.

In the air you appear,
slowly,
winning a race and delicate.
Far from frost
and stuck engines
or fall;
with,
exquisite essence of thaw.

You flew in short May,
thriving in nest,
sore from birth
but soar earth with best.
With dreams fell wing;
but fly once, & sing.

Still,
this summer breeze;
no wait for me
or
weight on me;
you make me light
and untouched by form,
when we touched you were warm enough to startle the birds
from the trees,
on the summer breeze.

How does Poppet feel in this sun?
Does she know in a few she's one?
Furry insides;
purry kin rides.

Thank you,
close to you
means
lessons,
no less than
a best,
beat in chest,
best at chess.
you manoeuvre me
to clearing sea.
Thank you,
you.

With swift intuition
Christmas day
always feels like Christmas day,
it's own unique parapet
where reach becomes now,
& close grows,
& cats
always land on their feet
& know the meaning of treats ; grub full.
You've made every Christmas good,
you're too good.
Settling platforms for festive forms
where love is the norm,
as papers' torn.

The stuff of bright
in motion
shining spectacularly fast;
it's the move of
your fantastic.

Silly
to hear you say
that I might not have thought
you looked beautiful
today;
your stupendous made dally
with all the air,
your best side everywhere.

Today,
on paper,
we've toured
a football ground,
but that description
neglects our fantastic found
displayed
in
leaping bound;
it's whenever I'm with you Dad,
it's whenever you're around.

Much you make,
out of nothing,
just the thought of you is
exciting;
you breathing in Autumn,
your pace, your stay,
your wait.
Strident steps
full of all tense at once,
forging anew.

Missing a shapeless space
and preparing for a view
that moves closer,
slowly and sure
into vision.
Precision, timing,
a perfect arriving.
Now.

Near a white room
i'm told,
there are days arranged
when i will miss you.
Cold, and reaching,
for shapes in space;
without home
to run back to.

I sometimes think
the solution
is flowing illusion,
and evolution:
and forward tracks that
stop for delicious snacks:
and put light
into back packs.

I was looking forward to beginning a book about felines,

the beautiful view of moggies in verse and rhymes,

but after perusing a few there was a nagging sense in my head,

I didn't agree with a lot
that I read:

I saw words like "aloof", "distant", "scorning",

as if these things only

arrive when they deem to

call,

and I thought you really

don't know cats at all...

They'll follow you down the road to see you for a bit more time,

and sit on the knee, purr contented divine:

although still a bit scared on her back will roll and with vulnerability meet,

conjuring up the sweetest of greets.

Someone once sang...

"Don't get excited, cats will never be our sidekick
so I know our love will always be unrequited."

However...

Bouncing down the street to see me when I got home from school,

I forgot in an instant a bully was cruel,

then lost, bereft, day all of the slow,

went and sat on my shoulder to say, "I'm here, you know":

an attempt to lift, a furry kick-start,

if that's unrequited I choose a broken heart.

Okay, maybe a scratch, never say never,

but our love is precious

and always forever.

Write what you see, sing your song,

but please, please,

stop getting cats wrong.

As strong
and
bright
as
best light.
The kind of shine
that does
not dig
or seek
removal of dark,
it excavates
with spinning
flourish
of
radiate;
never too much
in your escalate.

In your company
we hop to the top,
our held hands hold
the air we draw on
near the summit;
running gravity out of town,
what goes up
not coming down.

Do not stop and ponder
a decay
but crush brittle curl
with a memory of yesterday,
when I was strong
and green
and could not fall
until this time,
after my time.

On every brink
of an idea
you appear,
nestling with the dive
into thought,
you infuse and wrought.
Fought for position,
to lose,
back to tumbling
without lines
underlined ; or meant clarity,
as for you.

Anything
may
seem
a half life
after
such
rush,
so when the rescind is real
it is totally apparent,
nothing more
than a fade
of the full,
just because
the clear of the clarity that was;
the end of our tour,
our tour to source,
the simple end  
of a tour de force.

Your snore
does not allure
it's clattering cronk drives me mad,
every molecule of it forces me to sad,
I hate it when I think you've stopped and there's
a lull in the house of pain
but then it spluters back into life and invades my space again;
it's obtrusive to my slumber,  it disturbs my beauty sleep,
I try to hold back tears
but I can't help but wheep,
I have no recourse but to nudge you to try and stop the daemon howl,
I need to quell misery's guttural and halt this Hellish growl,
you startle and sit up but soon settle back into the cries of doom: the minions of Belzubub chanting about gloom.
But despite the fact that when you rest you chudder
as a foghorn lacking charms
I am glad when my eyes open I'm near to your arms,
because although you gurgle with terror
and blast a Witchfinder General coo
I'm always pretty happy when I awake with you.

In far muddy ground
you’re dry land,
thickening clogs
blocked with cease
are not beyond your fixing reach;
cautious steps become ballet,
the
dancing for you.

You're right,
your age is a good knock,
made with umpteen strokes
of splendour
and aplomb release;
i'm glad you came to the crease.

When love starts
grief marks the board
and grieves
for parts inevitable.
Forced and unwelcome;
the longest
not enough.
But,
if not for love
parting is kind,
and hurried through the door,
to make is,
what was.

You promise green
&
then grow
with splendid aplomb.
Your fantastic encroachment
verdant & happy;
branching a reach
to beyond.

Don't go cat,
who will eat Go Cat
and lap
a tiny bowl.
A brittle arc in spring sun,
after running's done.
Lame in lazy thoughts,
strident paws
reach for chirping,
when you were fast;
in summer grass
you leap again

Through a train window
I see a little pony
gallop
in
the winter sun light;
that's what
I
do,
gallop
to you.

One last sting I have in me
before the last leaf leaves the tree,
one last kiss you have in you,
before routine runs you through.
In the summer at full strength
I terrorised the giants as they drank,
in the spring when you began,
you skipped and danced and ran.
The cold gets to us all ;
ask
the October wasp
and love in frost.

Some seams
seem
far
from
undone;
they no see tie
in the full of run,
but
can
stop
in
topple
when the future
is fit to burst.

After you’ve ran with green through knowing frantic summer strength
you fall,
in going home rain,
with all the land in the world.

Holding our us is like being in a wonderful clearing that knows fantastic talking hearing,

and,

no contemplation of

division,

as every decision is flowing with the see of 20/20 vision;

senses heightened with perfect precision.

In this early summer placement
it's easy to arrive
at your blue eyed station.

Don't like thinking of what may come,
it can take from the moment,
dilute future fun,
gazing on the moon,
while dreaming of sun,
forgets to walk, as craving run.
But sometimes I see us
laughing in arm, exploring the wild,
ignoring alarm, raising to smile,
touring our spin and erasing  riled,
face to face warm,
shaking seams to
wondrous form.
Side by side in summer storm.
Astral fireworks over head,
lay together in bed;
don't like thinking of what will come,
it dilutes future fun,
but
just
for this moment
I'll think on this one.

I'm not that keen on chocolate,
i can have or have not with sniff,
my head isn't frail it's skully,
what X Files case is this?

1 No coco nut.
2 No coke or not.
3 No coconut.

You rumble gently,
slightly shifting
what was ground,
my feet on it, next to yours,
we tour debris of before,
no looking down at dust,
detritus, not now, not for us,
no time at this time,
for us.

If there was mire
you'd lift me above,
if all was hate
you'd provide love,
if you were a soul mate
you'd give me a hug
and clean the air if I was choking on fug,
and chew for me to get rid of cud,
and find me dry land in days of flood,
plasma me up when short on blood;
you'd walk me if my legs were spent
you'd give it meaning if I don't know what it meant,
you special shimmer,
you're heaven sent.