"cath" poems
The old order changeth, yielding place to new
-Tennyson, Idylls of the King
Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there
If you vote they give you a sticker
The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees
If you vote they give you a sticker
The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.
If you vote they give you a sticker
Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps
If you vote they give you a sticker
Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math
If you vote they give you a sticker
An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather
If you vote they give you a sticker
And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence
If you vote they give you a sticker
While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world
If you vote they give you a sticker
And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists
(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)
But if you vote they give you a sticker
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
If I expect to be a born
again christian, I would
be hoping that they got
rid of the fish, unless,
that is, my mother was a
Mermaid, in which case,
a Caesarian section is the
only other option I could
consider, now that I am
100% Herbivore, avoiding
*********** completely,
even on Mardi Gras, when
Cath O' Licks, have a Papal
exemption on Fat Tuesday.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
It's in the bag
or is it?
The unmeasured liquids
that I've been drinking this morning,,
coffee, prune juice, cranberry, pill water
then the mandatory diuretic
taken at 6:00 a.m.,
a cath a ten,
lunch at twelve thirty,
and then a lap moat of **** at one!
A transfer board out of the wheelchair
onto the made bed.
Rocking 'n rolling off the wet pants,
rocking and rolling on a pair of dry slacks.
**** **** I hate this."
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
I've figured out why its harder
to write poetry when
you're happy:
No one wants to hear
about the butterflies in
your stomach
or the rainbows
you projectile *****
across every surface.
People relate better
to the days spent curled beneath
six, thick layers of Grandma's quilts
and Auntie Cath's baby blankets.
They understand
the puffy, pink eyes that are
so swollen you can barely see
Tonight's featured chick flick.
They can imagine
the isolated nights spent
crying into a cheap glass of Merlot.
But
for some reason we can't picture happiness.
We can't associate with the unicorns and
marshmallows for the fear that
we might lose ours
and slip into that
blissless reality.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 9:11 PM UTC
#EVERY GIRL I HAD A CRUSH ON I DREAM OF YOU EVERYNUGTH IN MY DREAM WE GO TOGTHER BUT IN REALITY WE NEVER GO TWO TOGTHER YOU SEE ME AS A FRINED TUUH I THOUGTH YOU WHERE MY SOUL MATE &NEVER; HAD THA COURGA TWO
TELL YOU HOW I FEEL BOUT YOU "THY WAS BEAUTIFULL LIKE A RED ROSE YE LIPS ARE LIKE POVSION IVY&GO; A CATH A STAR LEThtS US MATEANX MAKD NO NOIDE "DECUES LIKE CHRIS BROWN SAID.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
There once was a wicked Warlock
Who lived on Crabtree Hill,
He lured the Witch of the Morning there
Who was my mother still,
My father, he was the patient type
Said, ‘Son, she’s just a witch,
And she’ll be back in the morning, once
That Warlock’s scratched her itch.
I didn’t know what he meant just then,
I was far too young to know,
What people did in the darkness once
Their feelings overflowed,
But I was forever curious
And suppose that I am still,
I wanted to know, so had to go
On a trek up Crabtree Hill.
The Warlock lived in a copse of trees
In a tiny little shack,
A goat’s head hung up above his door
I remember, looking back,
A window covered in mud and dust
Was the way I looked inside,
To see my mother down on her knees
Like a nasty Warlock bride.
I knew that I shouldn’t be looking
Then she turned, and saw my face,
And stopped just what she was doing
Though I’d seen her loss of grace,
I turned to run, then I heard his voice
As he called my mother, ‘Cath!’
Then caught me running off through the trees
As he stood, and blocked my path.
The man was a massive mountain,
And he wore a hat with horns,
His arms like a pair of Christmas hams
As he called, ‘This one of yours?’
I fought and struggled and kicked like mad
As he took me into his shack,
While ever the Witch of the Morning smiled
And said, ‘He’s just my Jack.’
‘I think we should cook him up for tea,’
Said the Warlock, with a wink,
And Cath, my mother said, ‘Let me see,
I must have a little think.
I hope that he didn’t see the act
Of love that I did for you,’
Then took my hand and opened the door
And motioned me out, said, ‘Shoo.’
Now I’m a man, and I think on back
To that day on Crabtree Hill,
And just like the Warlock, I will stand
In front of my darling Jill,
While she gets down on her knees for me
On the floor, without a stitch,
To show me the love she has for me,
Just like the Morning Witch.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Oh mummy !
It's lunch time already
Deb son's house are set
At the family table
For dinner is about
To be served
Oh mummy,what take your time ?
I thought the market is near
Mummy, what kept you
That long ?
Thought your words
Never slipped
Why now ?
Mummy, why now ?
Mummy, should we fill the kettle for you ?
Should we fetch the fire ?
I can defrost the beef
If am permitted
Come quickly
Come quickly
Oh mummy, can we share the apples ?
Cath said we should go visit
To the Debson's house
Mummy should we ?
Eeehn mummy ?
Shouldn't we ?
Because I know
You are almost home
Robinson won't you go ?
Won't you come along ?
Who knows ?
She might have missed the last train
Maybe mummy met a long time friend
At the market square
Who knows
Whether she lost her purse.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
A choking and desperate voice reached my ear this morning. It was a friend. One of my best friends who lives in Michigan.
What she said was barely intelligible...
"Cath... Cathy... I'M D...YING!
C..C..CAN'T B... (cough) B...BR... BREATHE!
(cough. .. cough. .. cough. ..)"
Immediately I knew I had to be calm. I had to get her anxiety level down. In a very soothing voice I stated...
"Baby, you have to calm down. Sit down in front of a fan... slow your breathing. THEN I WANT YOU TO JUST LISTEN & AGREE...
I said a five-minute prayer with her. I first praised God for the miracle that He was going to bring about. For His miraculous nature. For his Power and Glory! I said I wanted to glorify Him with the miraculous healing that was about to take place!
Within 2 minutes she was breathing easier. She was not coughing as badly. And she could talk. Then I instructed her to go lie down with the fan on her and her back propped with pillows...
I called two friends to pray with me on a conference call. We all prayed together. We prayed like our own lives were depending on it! We prayed the Word of God...
"Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man (woman) availeth much."
James 5:16 KJB
I called my friend 30 minutes later. She had been healed! She still had the congestion, but was calmly coughing that up too! She was beginning to blow the congestion from her infected sinuses!
So don't tell me God is no longer in the healing business. He most definitely is...!!!
♡ Catherine
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
He takes up his walking stick,
looks up as if surprised to see me there and smiles,
and together we take the baskets, and walk the stairs,
sharing a well-worn joke and a laugh
and we count, we stack, we tally
and we bag the coins, the notes,
all meticulously accounted for,
- another echo of Sundays past with taller stacks
and notes that knew how to behave better
and then after two signatures he takes his stick,
looking to wrestle Cath from her chat,
and go to get some dinner.
He takes up his drum sticks,
doing the count by instinct and,
with a coordination I can only dream of,
provides a dependable back beat, off beat or up beat,
all in a groove you just have to love,
from a throne that’s all his and his alone
behind his well-worn drums,
- all an echo of Saturdays past
with stage lights, later nights,
and delighted crowds,
leaving me to thank God
for servant hearts and patient servers,
for lives lived well and long,
and for John, whose beat goes on,
whether with two sticks and his kit in the sun,
skin deep and soul deep in the same beat,
or holding one stick, with a fresh joke to test run
(or perhaps on repeat), but always laughing
comfortably keeping time, 90 years young,
walking with his King.
Jun 20, 2022
Jun 20, 2022 at 1:12 PM UTC
Small Tales
by Michael R. Burch
When Artur and Cai and Bedwyr
were but scrawny lads
they had many a ***** adventure
in the still glades
of Gwynedd.
When the sun beat down like an oven
upon the kiln-hot hills
and the scorched shores of Carmarthen,
they went searching
and found Manawydan, the son of Llyr.
They fought a day and a night
with Cath Pulag (or a screeching kitten),
rousted Pen Palach, then drank a beer
and told quite a talltale or two,
"till thems wasn’t so shore which’un’s tails wus true."
And these have been passed down to me, and to you.
According to legend, Arthur and Kay grew up together in Ector’s court, Kay being a few years older than Arthur. Borrowing from Mary Stewart, I am assuming that Bedwyr (later Anglicized to Bedivere) might have befriended Arthur at an early age. By some accounts, Bedwyr was the original Lancelot. In any case, imagine the adventures these young heroes might have pursued (or dreamed up, to excuse tardiness or “lost” homework assignments). Manawydan and Llyr were ancient Welsh gods. Cath Pulag was a monstrous, clawing cat. (“Sorry teach! My theme paper on Homer was torn up by a cat bigger than a dragon! And meaner, too!”) Pen Palach is more or less a mystery, or perhaps just another old drinking buddy with a few good beery-bleary tales of his own. This poem assumes that many of the more outlandish Arthurian legends began more or less as “small tales,” little white lies which simply got larger and larger with each retelling. It also assumes that most of these tales came about just as the lads reached that age when boys fancy themselves men, and spend much of their free time drinking and puking! Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, boy, boyhood, ***** drinking, beer, ale, tall tales, Wales
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC
God I'm
crazy and
weak.
I wish I still
believed and
could pray -it
really did
help-
A godless
world is exactly
what you'd imagine
it to be -partially
because we
live in it-
I hate
that once
a month I'm
stuck being a
girl with girl needs
and girl whims
I hate that
it makes me
actually miss
you when you're
gone: acknowledge,
assess, process,
exactly
how long it's
been
Maddening.
I imagine
disgusting globs
of whatever
stuff you claim
to have so much of
sloughing
off,
crawling away
half dead in the
cold coming to
the window to
tap, or perhaps
the door
to
knock like a
lonely soul and
you know
I've a psilocybin
enduced empathetic
streak embedded deep,
couldn't possibly
leave a thing to
freeze on its
own,
but
still yet
intruding
against my
will:
This is
the only
explanation:
I could not
thus feel
otherwise
by myself,
nevertheless
being mired
in such muck
I hate
being stuck
with the absence
of you for days
at a time
-especially with
these blobs
reminding of how
once
you were willing
to drive to
Tom's before
I had to cath him
at 2:30
in the morning
Just to smoke
and talk
a little
while
I doubt any of that
even matters now
God...
I must
be crazy
going crazy
acting crazy
I hate it.
I also hate
hating things.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
~~~<(((♥)))>~~~
i love you i love you
brown brown brown is my true
love's hair / his lips are something
wonderous fair / the bluest eyes
and the strongest hands / i love
the ground where on he
stands - i love my love
and well he knows
i love the grass
where on he
grows
♡
£♡¥€
cath
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
She stood then and looked back at the computer on her desk. Her connection to a world she's lost. She decided then that wanted him only for the satisfaction that a young one feels when they win against an opponent in feild games. He was her peer, emotionally at least. In age, he was always beyond her reach just slightly. She remembered trying to cath the hem of his shirt as his life raced ahead. Trying just to catch a ride with him. She was fated to pretend her own life was going somewhere, racing off towards some distant horizon. But there was no one on the hem or her coat, so truly she had no measure of her aging.
The only way to count it is by the moments she wished defined her. Birth, loss of innocence, and finally-Death. She has lusted for it, yes.
She pours herself a glass of water.Her red eyes seem to fall from her head into the cup, distortion of reality is her only release. She finds it in the bowl of her pipe, in the resin left on her ring finger. Her salvation can be purchased as a twenty sack.
She finds him often in the darkness, hovering just above her. She reaches out to her celing, hope sinking as arm rises.
"Are you there?" She will as the air around her, ask as she shifts off to sleep. Her salvation can also be bought by exhaustion.
In her dreams, he's one of changing shadows. A presence, constant and shallow. She has never asked the shadow his name, she doesn't want to know.
She is content in the waking world, her bright and happy world. It's only when the night comes that she wishes to run, to beat her opponent. To raise the flag above her head and beam in victory.
Salvation comes to her with the coming light, be it from her lighter, the sun, or the lamp beside her bed.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
Having an M.I.
Ambulance to JFK
Cardiac cath stat!
Andre Bocelli
Our seats remained empty for
Open heart surgery
Next to CCU
Waiting in the fam'ly lounge
Wanting just good news
Here at JFK
Dr. Lancelot Lester
Mended his poor heart
He won't even know
What day it is tomorrow
Morphine works so well
You won't even know
That I'm staying close by you
While wiping your brow
Post-op time so tough
You must never say out loud
Oh, no, PVC's!
Let his sternum heal
Start on a special diet
When can we have ***
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
TIME OF THOUGHT : 08:45PM
DATE OF THOUGHT: 07/10/2009
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF- Nativepen
IF I WERE TO TALK OF his PERSON(DEATH)
Even if I sleep walk
I wont mix my words
Yes I wont meant A and say Z
Yes I mean every bit of it
For there is no dumb being as you
Neither have I seen a blind like you
The hear you have is nothing but a plug in
My imagination never cease
To think (ponder) on how you operate
Had it mean you are not dumb?
Have you not heard of happy Catherine?
Were you blind althrough to see her countenance
Is as radiant as the morning sun?
Have you ever heard she was angry a minute?
Oh what a radiant smile we have missed
If not cruel, merciless, being you are
You would not have done this to us
And abruptly erase that contagious smile
You have done your best
Your worst, I know nothing of
Whether you can bring her back alive
Yes we are grieved
We know we have lost a GEM
Happy Cath is no more.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:52 AM UTC
He’d been tapping away at the keyboard
So he could get the ending straight,
A labour of love he’d called it
But it was dark, and getting late,
The villain had to be sorted out
By the heroine, called Cath,
He wanted it all to jell before
That final paragraph.
The Moon had risen outside and shone
In a strange and subdued light,
He should have finished before, so this
Was not a welcome sight.
He backspaced over a typo, then
He looked hard up at the screen,
But all that he’d typed was gibberish,
In a font he’d never seen.
It must have jumped to another font
Was the first thing that he thought,
So he scrolled back up, to see how much
Of his work had gone for nought.
The font looked vaguely Arabian
With a hint of Russian too,
Had taken all of his storyline
So he didn’t know what to do.
He tried to highlight the paragraph
And switch to the font he’d used,
But when he read what the wording said
It had left him quite confused.
‘You’ve stumbled in to a place of sin
Have opened an ancient page,
Locked down for over a thousand years
You’ve opened the world to rage.’
‘Delete the whole of the manuscript,
Don’t let it stick in your head,
The more you read you will feel a need
And will probably end up dead.
Delete the curse, and the final verse
And destroy your hard-drive too,
Be sure, if you wish to stay alive,
To do what I tell you to!’
He thought of the work that he’d put in
And the rebel within him stirred,
‘Why should I wear some other’s sin
When I only have your word?’
The screen grew misty, and Cath appeared,
The heroine of his tale,
‘Take no notice of him, my dear,
I’ll die if his will prevails.’
His villain pushed her out of the way
And snarled at him through the screen,
‘Where do you think my evil comes from,
Not from some fictional scheme!
You drew me out of an ancient well
Of lies, of sin and deceit,
To clear me out of your sub-conscious
You’d better hit the delete!’
He heard the footsteps pound up the stairs
And beat on his garret door,
‘You’d better not have my wife in there,
Or else, I’ve told you before!’
And Cath appeared for the final time
In the tale that wasn’t complete,
His neighbour beat on the padlocked door
As he sighed, and hit the delete.
David Lewis Paget
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
THE JOB AT ACTEW WAS ****** I WASN’T GETTING WHAT I WANT
i prefer to be an entertainer, dudes, a really cool entertainer
rather than being in a job where they treat me like ****
you see i was told, i was getting a job in tuggeranong, i never got it
in fact they never even asked me
instead i got some ****** job, in the bush, **** you, yaw ****
i was told off too many times, at least at the rainbow, they treated me better
i hear voices treating me like a hooligan, because my whole job at LEAD, was a tease
i don’t want to go back, they only cared for me, if i worked
i felt i was being judged for my problem, of not handling jokes
but everyone was teasing me in that job
nobody wanted me, for my work skills
well, they did, but, i wanted out of lower molonglo
and now, it looks like i am working at common ground
only volunteer, but it can’t be much worst than ACTEW, or LEAD
anyway, i dreamt last night, that, ACTEW rang me up, to ask if i would like to work
and i said no, because, they are just using me
mental health help me better, and i like to be given the opportunity to help the homeless
and they treat me better, well, at least i think they treat me, better
i performed in a mindscapes festival, reading poetry, doing a xmas show
perform in poetry slams, it could be my left leaning views
you see, the people at ACTEW were nice to me, but i feel i wanted to move on
ya see, my voices were driving me crazy, like i wanted to sing we’re not going to take it, really loud
i love loud music, nothing i did was ever good enough for LEAD, ok
stupid, i really was looking forward to that job in tuggeranong
and they took it away, without fucken asking me, it’s so annoying
all because, i got frustrated, because they kept cracking jokes, about when i wanted a fair go
i do my breakfast shows, tired from medication, so i wake myself up a bit, by dancing
i went to the national multicultural festival, on the weekend
i was at breaKing point, and i had to go to hospital, and turn LEAD and ACTEW off me
i don’t care, i just don’t care, ok, i am showing i have staying power,
you see cath and susan ***** came to me in my dream last night, asking do you want to come back
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
It's when you get old that the monsters you thought were long dead take a hold
again
and I wonder if all that pain was worth it or worth ****
Paul with his Nembutal woke up in the hospital and died five minutes later.
It's always later when we think about it and then sometimes it's too late to think.
They told me that Cath' who smoked crack and was as thin as a lath could **** down that pipe and blow smoke out of her ***
urban myths
I never miss the things I used to think I'd miss
thinking about, but I see it in my dreams, the roundabout,
the swinging doors, the ****** and the street *****
selling more than they had for some more of what more they could get.
Jackson and his chemicals
made it look industrial
which in a way it was
because
it poisoned us all.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
I was like a ball
In a game called baseball
Someone has thrown me
And has to hit me
Or I will not get hit
But the Catcher who promises to cath me
Let me slipped away
I'd rather get hit
Being chased and then thrown again
At least I can experience happiness
Than not to get hit
And experience your failure promise
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 4:56 AM UTC
He’s been on my mind
They say that time heals all wounds but
He’s been on my mind for so long
Thought that I was done
I didn’t want to fall in love
I’ve learnt my lesson from ‘the one’
Your golden eyes are holding mine
Like I never thought I could be
Held like that
Held like that
And then you smile with those summer eyes
And I’m shining like
I didn’t know I could
Know I could
And it’s 3am and the thought keeps ringing
I can’t wait till I see you again
Don’t know what I’ll say
I’m afraid
I’ll want you to stay
Golden eyes to chase me from sleep
Maybe this is all it is
So I thank you for the dream
I lay and I watch wall flowers like they’ve watched me
Catch the moment
Feel it set you free
You’ve been on my mind
I try to stop myself reaching for you
You’ve been on my mind
On top of all his memories
I know I can trust you
But I don’t trust falling again
I can see you falling for me too
I play it over in my mind
Your gentle touch,warm by my side
Didn’t think I’d be okay like that
I’m ok like that
All the fear I’ve learnt from men
I forget when I’m in your hands
Like I never thought I could
Ever do
And it’s 3am and the thought keeps ringing
I can’t wait till I see you again
Don’t know what I’ll say
I’m afraid
I’ll want you to stay
Golden eyes to chase me from sleep
Maybe this is all it is
So I thank you for the dream
I lay and I watch wallflowers like they’ve watched me
Cath the moment
Feel it set you free
And I’m not doubtless
Is this all too soon?
Am I still too bruised?
Is what’s left of me
Enough for us?
Enough for you?
And it’s 3am and the thought keeps ringing.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
For the 20th of January
1961 and 2021
The deed of gift was many deeds of war
-Robert Frost
Miz Hawkins brought a television to school
So we could watch the inauguration
Of a president “born in this century”
But he seemed really old to us anyway
God looked like President Eisenhower
And God was surely a Methodist
President Kennedy was a Cath’lic
(In their basements they hid shortwaves and guns)
Shortwaves tuned to the Vatican and that ol’ Pope
So could a Cath’lic be a good American?
But the nation was young, and so were we
And America was God’s best creation
And because America was the Leader of the World
And we had whipped the Nazis and the **** [sic]
All by ourselves, and invented the Bomb
We were the blessing of democracy over all
Robert Frost spoke grand words in the January frost
I was hoping for his “Stopping by Woods”
Because I had memorized that in school
But he gave us something else, “The Gift Outright”
And then with frosted breath the President
Asked us what we could do for our country
Our country later asked us about Viet-Nam
But for now Miz Hawkins shushed all us deeds of gift
The nation was young that day, and so were we –
And everything seems so much older now
Our long ago optimism a deed of gift
To angry old men whose voices rattle
Rattle from behind armored glass and barbed wire
Barbed wire left over from DaNang and Saigon
And a thousand abandoned desert posts
Each a gift outright to Ozymandias
Who late bestrode the littered Capitol steps
His wrinkled lips loud-yelping in command
Over our increasingly antique land
“Made it, Ma! Top of the World!”
The happy crowds of ’61 are sand
There are no crowds in ’21, only silence
Behind ranks of soldiers (properly vetted)
Standing in empty streets, waiting for a Traveller
References:
Robert Frost, “The Gift Outright”
Shelley, “Ozymandias”
Warner Brothers, White Heat (film), 1949
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 10:00 PM UTC