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Charles Vorpal Aug 2021
Oh hello there, my feline friend
Aren't you a silky black beauty?
I have never seen you around here
What brought you to my grass patch?
I afraid I have nothing but bread;
You dining habit does amuse me
As I watch you slap the piece a bit
And jumping around it before eating.
Taking your pictures, I could not help
But wonder, how you and your furry kin
How are you holding up in this pandemic?
I cannot even imagine your hardship
The things you risk to even survive
Or, perhaps, things were no different?
For a wild specimen such as yourself?
Part of me is jealous of you, envious
And it is not just for your good looks
Or how agile and carefree you appear to be.
No, you are blessed with far more
Despite hounded by stray dogs
You seem to be in satisfactory solitude
And most importantly, you have freedom
Free from the clutches of powerful idiots
We dumb humans have for "leaders"!
Inspired by a beautiful black cat who stopped by outside my residence one evening

A photo of said cat :
A black cat stands staring
Eye's wide and glaring
The tip of its tail twitching
Before it pounces upon its toy

A haunting meow in the dark
Paw's clawing to leave its mark
Prowling around the ground like a shark
Before it runs around in circles

Batting a ball on string in combat
Atop of a tall tree it sat
It's teeth baring as sharp as a bat's
Before promptly losing balance and falling to the floor

A black cat in her home to stay
Is ALWAYS in the mood to play
Dolly Balou Dec 2017
The moon is full tonight.
I can feel it's pull.

The cat stares at me.
Her eyes seem to suggest she knows what is on my mind.

As I gaze up into the mysterious sky,
The familiar taste of salt trickles into the corners of my lips.

I can feel a tug of my emotions,
Like the moon somehow has a role in the pull of my interstitial fluid.

It is basically sea water,

The black cat loiters a certain superstition within.
Fear becomes instilled as she stares into my soul with her all knowing glare.

"Blame it on the moon, blame it on the moon.
Tides come and go, so this shall too"

I strive to find the comfort this world has to offer me
Some say it comes from within, this I am not sure of.

The thoughts linger. The cat knows, I know she knows.
What does she make of me in this incapacitated state?

I taste the salt. It is drawn out by the moon.
That is what I tell myself.

Deep down I know the salt is due to the overwhelming grief I try to deny.

And the cat is merely the internalized self stigma eating away at my self esteem and efficacy.
Share your views/interpretation of these words. Am trying to find ways to communicate and would love to know if there are people who understand this.
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
There's a black cat

walking flat,

his back feet

dipped in

marshmallow droppings.

His tail flicks

like a reed in the swamp,

and he can't

help but run through legs


hopping on furniture


belly all soft and white.

Silent is he,

catching the almost-full moon

in his bright whiskers.

Padded paws,

a black tail snaking

twitching as he

squeezes to rest

in tight spaces

wide eyes as green as

a kiwi fruit

with the seeds cut out.

He bats his toy freely,

ears up then

hears a rustle

at the screen door

and sits


but only

for a moment.
Light House Jan 2017
I saw an apprehensive black cat today,
against a snowed-in backdrop of white.
It broke its stride - - pausing to continue down its line;
this only left me wondering why..   It then turned right,
& looked my way ..last ..time ~ before ~ off into...
the brush it jumped -- back into the shadows --
where best it knew to hide.  & then I realized its caution...
for there was a path it would not cross,
a track it would not dare dissect....
“Aye,” I thought.  Aye ..that rail ...was mine.
Jack Nov 2015
Under those bridges like ladders, we walked and we slept,
With the lives that we picked apart and the pieces we kept,
A backwards world gone broken, pieces falling down like rain
Shiny shattered shards of ruin, but the reflection will remain,
And she waits and she watches, slowly licking at her fur,
Maybe we wake up to dream, maybe the path crosses her,
Sleeping under blankets in summer, open umbrellas indoors,
But can’t go back to teenage sunsets, can’t fight our parent’s wars,
It will take time, maybe our whole lives, but everything for now,
Dangling from the end of her string with a sick sweet meow,
And the only thing I need to know is if old men still dream,
When silence is golden, am I worth my weight in a scream?
Seeking a world with cyan skies where Fridays only come in twelves,
We saved yesterday for tomorrow, but still can’t save us from ourselves,
Seven more years, six more months, one last day and then through,
As the thought finally occurs that it was me crossing you.
Barkley Layne Jan 2015
She creeps over my pillow like a
Black cat over a field mouse.

She steals my breathe as if she
Were a masked theif.

She makes me scream like a
Mother in labor.

She sends me night terrors as if she
Is a shattered mirror in my mind.

She pulls at my droopy eyes like a
Hand of terror in the darkness.

She frightens me as if she
Is certain the painful nights will never end.

She flees when the light arises like a
Prisoner escaping their cell.

She is a horrible dream that keeps
I could not fall asleep one night- I guess this is what came out of it. It is very different from what I usually write, enjoy.

— The End —