"mewing" poems
Cornwall, Cornwall every day
Bright sun and fresh feelings
Simple pleasures by just being here
Forward thinking into old age dotage
All our lives waiting, hoping, wishing
Never believing it could be
Out of mind with secret longing
Filling up with atmospheric air
Sensing that emotional rush
Deep breaths swallowing cliffs and sea
Wild flowers and cows here
Hedgerows and windblown trees
Lopsided branches pointing inland
As cool salt air combs their twigs
The winding tracks disappear
Love is here all around, so strong
Heart wrenching and stomach churning
Soul and body filling up with Cornish…
Cornish, as long as it’s Cornish
It’s good!
Give us a chance to stay
Give us the chance to live
Ever on the hard granite pathways
Sounds of mewing gulls and thunder of surf
Beating on the windswept rocks and beaches
Cornish light familiar and so bright
Invading our eyes and warming our hearts
Gently massaging our faces with soothing fingers
Lifting our spirits as breaking through the clouds
It charges us with love
Fulfilled and whole
Our lives and minds gratefully feasting
The armfuls of wonder as we carry our hearts
Together, through eternity, watching
As the sun sets in a blaze of Cornish light
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 12:28 PM UTC
Distant island shapes beguiling
Floating ghosts of far off land
Appear sentinel as we lay
Hot and sunbathed on the sand.
Scorching beach has tricked our minds
Ever beckoning cool seas flow
Finely placed as time stands still
Myths of people long ago
Heat above the deep caldera
Yet at water’s edge a breeze
Every wave a stroke of calmness
Drags the black sand out with ease
Pushing, combing lava rock
Once a liquid burning hot
Hearts massaged by the tender noise
Deep sighs as the day burns on
Windy gusts caress unclad torsos
Smiling we hold hands out to catch
Throwing our heads back with the pleasure
Letting our warm brown frames collapse
Lazy resting towels on bodies
Sunbed dreaming, time for lunch
Decisions on the midday menu
A carafe of red or white, too much!
Later when the sun’s behind us
Deserted beaches for the night
Couples then prepare for evening
Soon tavernas come alight
Poolside dwelling welcomes back
Two weary souls from day outside
Scorching sun takes all about us
Thanks for love where we abide
Since we came and soaked our souls
In this perfect atmosphere
Love has blossomed even further
All is wonderful never fear
Patio evenings lying out
Herb aroma fills the nose
Drifting in and out of sleepy
Eyes feel heavy in repose
Cool wet noses brush our legs
Warm fur strokes a silken pass
Feline friends have come to visit
Glad that we are home at last
Nervous ******* lying still
Mewing loudly all surpassed
Two so gentle but true survivors
Bright eyes hiding traumas past
How lovely to have given respite
As more and more attached we grew
Warm and tender stroking softly
Alongside us as if they knew
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
I see her in hooded head
Walking by in the night
The dusked shadows dewy in thought
Rumors fill my inquirious desires
As she transcends the vacuous light
Dare not I to ask where you go
She fills me full of fright
But alluring to me like catalepsy
Mewing the cats-eye of my discontent
Then around upon the angled corner
My phantasmagoria bent
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
running jumping
mewing occasionally
always begging for attention
always begging for a treat
a furry ball of cuteness
warm and playful
my handsome little man
my baby
sleeping on your back
snoring and twitching
my amusement
my love
fetching your favorite toy like a dog
chirping like a bird
an attention-grabbing-kitty-slut when guests arrive
an attempted escapee when then leave
poofy tail
expressive as always
I know you want me to play with you now.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 10:52 AM UTC
Please.
Avert thy gaze
lest you want me
to place my eyes
upon your very soul
********** you down
to the sparks
in your bones
Stripped bare,
your cells will unravel,
the very tectonic plates
of your being
shifting and tripping
under
the ripe dew of my lashes
Please, do not spread your
silken milky way
of treasures,
all of your precious jewels
exposed to the light
of the darkest night
in mysterious pleasures
For they will reflect
in the blues of my retinas
You will be speechless
for the lack of need
for words
I will only handle them
with utmost care
unless, of course
you want it rough
and flung out into the ether
dashed upon rocks of our
liquid beings
in the mewing
writhing wild
of the dark hours
And I
will take the delicacy
of your petalsilk
and ****** it into
planes of healing
It might hurt,
just by pure release of pain
but I will rock you
after your skin has
sloughed off
to reveal earthen wombs
and ***** and scars
that are only made of the
fibers of our stars
I will rock your
tender vibrations
until your very soul
quakes and crumbles
trembling into the bright
the exposure of darkness
mixed together with light
So let me
gather you up
into the fragile sinews
of my very layers
of flesh
of heartstrings
of broken
and holy
incantations
let me pull you to me
in a whirlwind
of sacred and
blushing
spells
that roll, like
silent thunder
into the potency
of night
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
It was January of 1994
when he told me, "Son, true love,
well, it's hard to come around."
Or maybe he said, "come by."
I can't remember exactly.
Memory is foggy, age, you know.
I never thought I'd ever say that.
I've had a pet since I was born.
Not the same one, they always end
up dying. I haven't gone a year
without one close by me.
Before bed, I pucker my lips
and pretend to kiss twice
behind both ears while whispering
to them, "Goodnight." Then,
I lightly scratch their sanctum,
be it cage or kennel, so they know
I am no ghost; I am truly there.
Dog, cat, rat, it doesn't matter really;
they all just blankly stare back
and continue with their nightly business.
"If you love something, it can
never leave. Only hate can
drive others away, and that,
that's called, 'self-hate.'"
Then he laughed,
he laughed out with stretched
cheeks and gold-capped teeth
and that "eyeglasses-off" look
as if the world was deaf,
blind, and dumb. His
white collar crisp, stiff
with starch. That morning was ours.
Within earshot, the cat was mewing,
awaiting our kitchen entry where,
in the white-walled corner, sat his bowl,
staring at the ceiling, brown, dry, stale.
That morning always comes back to me
like a child returning from school.
Homework on the table and a snack
to eat just before rushing out to
meet up with the neighborhood kids for
a game of football down the road.
They've surely had talks like ours, Dad.
They've rubbed noses and brushed
pink cheeks of late lovers, flashed back
to mother and wrestling with brother.
Those important conversations
that only return with age,
we all remember them.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
The cat mews at the moon
It got the hint that soon
The moon would slide down west
Hide beneath horizon to rest.
The moon it can afford a rest
After romancing earth in jest
For the cat no rest is in sight
It has to hunt through the night.
But the cat has lunar allergy
Moonshine gives it lethargy
With eyes drooping and dreamy
It mews Beethoven symphony.
The mice they aren’t easy cheese
Don’t fall prey with any ease
They run and find the hole quick
Alerted by the mewing music!
The moon thus plays on cat a trick
Diverts the predator to music
To give its preys some respite
As the cat mews Beethoven in moonlight.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
darling wouldn't you let me haunt you for a few minutes
when you're sleeping & cold & sweating & dying
I'm a God, the sky and a girl
I'll kiss your mouth until you bleed flowers
and stroke your fingers with my thumb
until you get pins and needles
and ****** every intention you ever had of hurting yourself
I'm merely a butterfly fighting with a lion
in a game of toss and tumble
under bedsheets and in swimming pools
the ****** and the ecstasy that balance on the tip of your tongue
and in the crook of your elbow
are what grounds and holds you
but my love for you is what saves you
sinks you
kills you
makes you crave redemption
but I'm not the daisy or the tulip which you have in the vase beside your bed
I am the cat you always throw out
due to mewing too loud at 3am
and trying to cuddle beside you
just as you drift off to sleep.
I am but a God, the sky, a girl
And you are but a God
The earth
And a boy.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
I came home to find that the
Oven had been left on
And only the burnt crust of the brownies
Had been left uneaten and
Poor Jose had gone to bed drunk
Before nine
I opened Jose's bottle of red wine
Because it was owed to me
And I saved all our lives by turning off
The oven and I sat at my computer watching videos
And thought of how Charles Bukowski's voice
Reminded me of the Disney version of the Jungle Book
Low and soothing and liquid
That you couldn't ever grab hold of
But lived in your memory
And the wine made memory sweet
Poor Jose drinks and his memory
Hits him like a stingray
Sliding just beneath the wet sand
His life is twisting and turning upwards
Towards some horrible nesting spot
And It's just like how sometimes
The cat's mewing seems deafening and
The more pleasant someone is the more you
Wanna pull out their eyelashes
And the cream colored paint on the walls
Is moments away from driving you mad
And with all that **** dully hurricaning around
Who's got time to turn off the oven?
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
A lady whose heart as big as her boils
as ugly as rust, yet kindly through toils
for troubled she was and poor as a pitcher
her purse full of holes, but loving stuck with her.
And having this love with nowhere to store it –
her house filled with cats, the neighbors abhorred it.
For all through the day was scratching and crying
If they hadn't known better, they'd think she was dying.
Her house overflowing and no food to eat;
she cared for her cats like they care for heat.
And one day the folk came at her door wrapping
but she couldn't answer, for she was still crapping.
The folk weren't new; they'd been here before;
she'd leave them long often to wait at the door.
But now with no answer, the cats left to mewing;
the lady left helpless while she was still pooing.
The folk grew impatient and broke down the door;
the smell was of rodent mixed with cheap *****
And all through their nostrils, the folk kept on smelling:
mold, cabbage and ***** then faintly a yelling.
The noise sounded desperate – a cat may be sick!
so holding their noses they trudged through the thick.
The yelling grew louder till the back of the house,
Lady needed some t.p. – instead used her blouse.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
there she sat licking her paws
and her teats red and raw,
pondering, perhaps, how four black
and white kittens
happened.
There in a laundry basket
four little kittens mewed,
wondering where, their momma
was, all they knew was
hunger.
Finally settling together
all curled around each other,
all given spent in their mews,
they slept one white
and black furry
cute.
Until momma cat, her name Panda,
finished grooming her tenderness,
returned all awaking their
mewing, again.
And she licked them.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
What are these pangs
That wake me from my slumber?
Hunger?!? You devilish *******
My own worst enemy, what ***** is this?
Come to fight me on my own turf,
How dare you? Not even bothering to show your own face.
How fare you? So poor that you must come bother me,
A plump little house cat such as I, truly
You disgust me. Hiss.
.......
From the land of the warming rays you would pluck me
My own sacred home, you disrupt me!
But of course Hunger never goes away on its own,
It’ll ***** at you and **** and wear you down to the bone
Until you feed it some delicate morsel,
Like tuna, perhaps. I was always partial
Towards tuna.
.......
Hunger’s a real witty foe, too,
Never facing you head on, no
It’s much too smart for that.
The fool makes you walk to the kitchen.
That’s about thirty ****** steps for me,
God I despise it; but then of course I have to prep for it!
Mewing pitifully and rolling around on my back,
Enticing that lazy-arse human to tally from his track
And come feed me. Jesus, pity me,
I know I do.
........
“Oh, look at the cute little kitty fuzz awww”
Oh **** off and feed me you ****
“Aw but you’re such a fat little cat! You don’t need the food!”
I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch it, what was that?
I’m dying of hunger over here, mate.
You’re not going to feed me? Just walk away?
Very well, you’ve made your play.
I’m gonna go **** in your shoes,
How’s that for a how-do-you-do?
........
Hunger, my mortal enemy, my only friend,
You’ve won this fight, but it’s not the end.
You might grumble my stomach in sweet revelry,
Taking joy in my delicious misery-
But hark, what’s this before me??
Oh hunky dory, ~purr~
... There’s no way he’s this stupid, for sure...
Oh, but there is, though it cannot be!
My master’s, (unawares), left out a morsel for me.
You hear that, Hunger, it’s fantastic, I’ve won!
(Even though you’re victory had only just begun),
Dear fat master had left out his food, you see
And now I shall feast and set my hunger free.
For in front of me, O Sweet Salvation!
... A sandwich, for my consumer-ation.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
Half-breed kitty cat,
Mewing through the gate,
"Too few marbles in your bag,
To paw over this way?
I ain't got no mites in my fur,
Just spots my mama gave me.
We even moved into this yard,
And out that ***** alley.
Excuse my rasp,
From the sharp, sharp glass,
That stuck in my throat last summer.
As, a kind ol' woman took it out for me,
But, left a piece - though, I forgive her.
I promise I'll be fair,
If I can play,
And paw at your pretty marbles.
I'm a kitty cat too,
Like the lot of you,
Just as kitty,
And, just as able."
---
"Oh, I'm not allowed,
To even join the crowd,
'cause my fur ain't as yellow as yours?
Well, I'm a kitty cat queen -
Know what I mean?
This world will open up,
Better doors."
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
When I was a child,
I lived around
The corners of houses,
Hiding from your
Crooked nose -
So hooked
It gouged my
Superman courage
Right outta my
Teeny lil' chest.
My legs quaked a little
In my Barbie boots,
If ever I chanced to
Get locked into that
Loony gaze, of yours -
The one that
Stuck, thick on my skin,
Melting me off,
Like that little girl
I saw,
Covered in ****** -
All over -
You know the look -
The one that made me feel bad
For mewing, purring, and
Licking my paws.
Caroline and I
Shared marshmallows
At night,
Faces glowing in
Rainbow light -
Rainbows that peeked from
The filaments that
Twirled slowly,
Too slowly,
Inside Gary's
Glass indigo box,
And shared
Boogeyman dreams
On what types of things
Probably crawled from
Your crow's nest hair.
--
I saw you last week
In your silver convertible,
Fly away's tied down
'neath Oscar de la
Something,
(Or another)
With cherry red lips,
A silk blouse that slipped,
Flirtingly from your
Shimmering, bronzed
Shoulders,
Beauty on your lips,
Beauty in your hair,
Beauty spilled
Right 'cross your face,
Beauty in your poise,
Even in your toys,
Wait -
Beauty?
Had my wide eyes deceived me?
I found an old snapshot
From your date night out -
The night you should've been
Watching me,
And saw,
With my two,
The you that I knew,
'cept, actually,
You looked
Just the same -
Though, your wild hair,
Now tamed -
Plus a wrinkle and
Maybe a gray.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
to be somewhere without a book on my person. hard word this, hard word that, for the never arriving marble of grief. to rename fish from the lobby window of a submerged hotel. to let the water from my mother’s body but not before telling her god lives in me as long as my son is outside. to have nothing but the mewing compositions of rooftop strays to keep me from becoming the devil your pen pal was fed to. to die well. die punctuated. by imagery the drowning cull from years on land spent openly preparing the eaten, subliminal beast.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
woe is you,
twisted legs that taste like high school,
swallowing sticks of ink
til it seeps out your fingernails.
chicken scratch beads of blood
speak words on your rails of thighs.
woe is you, woe is you,
thunder is your presence
but gentle mewing is your soul.
let’s throw a big ******* after party
for your big ******* three-ring affair.
my fake little darling, your eyes:
shrink-wrapped in disguise,
pre-meditated, post-medicated,
meandering rings of trees
whisper ugly stories of your intentions.
my translucent lovely, your heart
sputters steam from mechanical parts.
it chugs right along, still
you question the last time it felt pure.
woe is you, woe is you
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 4:37 AM UTC
The garden served little purpose
It sprawled across the bored ground, despondent beneath the yawning sun
My mother would wail her annual rage
At the snarling weeds that softly smothered the flowers
How I loved those flowers
Rejected footballs perplexed the lawn
Their obtuse hulks spoiling that ripple of green
I found a four leafed clover there once
He poked his obscure head above his brothers: a suicide mission to bring me luck
They are all dead now
I didn’t waste nearly enough time reclined on that jealous cushion
Watching the lethargic clouds wobble on
But most otiose of all in that seldom wandered paradise was the Wall
That Wall was never high enough
I see it from my back door
Squat, depressed, sighing, each dusty clot of red brick seems so lifeless
Doomed to live out the rest of its days as a failure
All flung ***** that compress their rubbery bodies against it will soon vault over
It crudely bookends the busily neat hedge
Simply because that is where the drunken soil runs out
It fails too at its chief instruction:
Be the purgatory bridge between Our heaven and Their hell
But the Wall was never high enough
I remember the other side of the Wall
How I crouched in filth
Needless to be afraid of a cut from a single blade of grass
Impoverished chickens clucked in the squalor
How they survived such malnourishment awed me
The friends I thought I had there cheated me
And I ran from that disastrous place
Where chaos twisted the agonised branches of the hedge we shared
But it followed me like an age old Gypsy curse
Even today, a writhing, mewing splodge of night will sit on the Wall
Looking too fat for its own fur coat
It will viciously attack the thin air for a while
Perhaps accept a stroke but, seeing no morsel, wander home
But I am not spared
For I can see its wasteland kingdom from my window
It is not an evil place
But the Wall was never high enough
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
mewing, mooing & mewling
(~ for Steve Reimer ~)
legged up and in three, 1, 2, 3, +++
count-’em, poems, the third be this,
as the Northwest Pacific reviews a
recent scribble to which I made reference
to a maternity ward of newbie p~babies,
all mine (!) howling write me, write me!
god, what an awful orchestral, tempting
me to pull the covers up as the National
Weather Service 15 minutes too late,
advises of severe weather, lighting and
thunder, thunder, thunder (imagine Dragons)
between the accursed meteorology, and
the heterology of my babies, all so unlike,
born from different mothers and implanted,
by you my brothers and sisters, the cacophonous
phrase “mewing, mooing & mewling” bellows
and bullies it’s way to the forefront of the list
cause its freshest, ‘jess like my 18 oz. of porcelain
encased Blue Mountain Java and Fat Free Fairlife
cow’s milk, and sadly bullies get away with it far,
far, too many times…
and with that introduction I bid you a fond good day / bye,
as I wimped, whine and woebetide y’all if you’re fool
enough to think multiple births is a piece of cake,
most likely you’ll be howling, not just, you know,
mewing, mooing & mewling
May 23, 2024
May 23, 2024 at 11:17 AM UTC
For a year now,
that cat balanced on the fence,
mewing the distance
of the alley ways.
Oh, how that animus
loved to complain.
his lonely cries
and the sound of clocks keeping time,
could keep me awake,
my sleep scattered for days.
Unprepared,
my eyes form rivers
spidered into tributaries,
that ***** out, in search of Your Seven Seas.
my hands treading the water,
attempting to pull out consistency.
i am amazed,
how at once You can both
stand me
and buckle my knees.
Quiet, now.
The Conductor speaks,
wet your mouths
and reeds,
for soon,
He'll point to you
and say,
"sing! small child, sing!"
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
Black shards of ambition cover this world of right now people,
they drown in sighs of worry over Christmas, and birthdays and races for no good reason,
These mewing children mourn the loss of people they never knew and miss the places that they've never been to.
We prayed no, we prayed someday, we prayed right now and still the hurricanes hit, still the earth rumbles, still the fires burn and still our people go hungry.
The water is running dry, the oil blood of our earth runs dry, love runs dry, stability runs dry.
The children of earth say that this is not good.
But what do children really know about the ancient space they inhabit?
Fear is for sale, plastered on the sides of buildings, screamed from behind pulpits and at press meetings, thrown into entertainment and song and sold at a price we all can afford.
We seek an answer to questions that we manifest on our own.
We want to answer ourselves, to say that we know,
And to solve a puzzle that exist only for ourselves and because of ourselves
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
High school was always mewing
Quietly at the window
As the window filled with rain;
High school had matted fur,
It purred and gazed attentively.
High school was constant prodding,
Poking, miniscule thefts of attention
Piled into mountains.
High school was false and sweet -
Saccharine and lemon-sour.
My friends:
The lost, the needy, the distressed,
The empty, the hungry
With open mouths stuttering
Repeatable predictable rhythms.
My friends:
The quiet, the wise, the brave,
The knights of an emaciated kingdom -
Boys with wooden swords
Defending me from the world.
High school was always shallow water,
Too loud laughter, music blasting:
A cacophony of nothing, three feet deep.
Dancing on the head of a drunken giant
Who for too long had been asleep.
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:17 PM UTC
*love
is on a heart shaped pedestal
sometimes the first casualty of desire
at the mercy of a thousand transgressions
from ticks and triggers
of dark labyrinths primal
and subtle torments of the soul
body language comes sprightly
from chaotic corridors
a reckless black sea
all crossed arms
eye roles of refusal
strategies of power
proclamations of will
and pretty please poisons
while
front stabbers anguish over back stabbers anguished
and
the strong cherish the weak
impelled to rescue
as if delicate mewing kittens
from desolations cold blade
and
abandonments slow violence
then to reconcile
hearts sooty overcast moon
love is a two way street
and i move on to hold precious you
in pain stricken arms
she
my shelter
in a cruel world
of fire and ice
oh to feel her kisses
after blood and thunder
to adore heart breaks mend
to dispel tenderly, dark clouds
as sun sets a new
and no matter the pain
to forgive everything
yet limping still
gall
a slow melting snow
that we may caress each other
the only
kindness and soft place to fall
we may ever know
seeking deliverance
in each other's
dark musty warmth
to make up
in a tangle of tears,
wet kisses
unctuous heated breath
and
tender mercies
because
love is
on a heart shaped pedestal*
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
Crystal, my flea bitten nuisance of a kitten, brought me a little token of affection tonight.
I deplore mice.
Even dead ones.
Filthy buggers.
But, there sat Crystal. Mouse at her feet, mewing at me. As if to say
"See, I love you, even if you are a blood lusting monster of the dark."
I admit, she only mewed once. But I am certain, that is what she meant.
So as not to hurt her feelings, I donned on of my least favorite pairs of gloves and picked the rancid vermin up.
But I drew the line of pretending to eat it!
I must remember to burn those gloves.
Odd. The candle on my desk sputters. There is a breeze. Although the door to my lair was tightly shut.
There is only on other way in or out. That would be the small tunnel I dug for Crystal. So that she may come and go as she pleases.
Ah. But here rests my cantankerous little fiend upon my lap.
The breeze brings with it a scent. One I know all to well.
Blood.
My lair has been breeched.
Time to hunt.
~Lord Kellington
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 8:44 AM UTC