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Emily Mitchell Mar 2020
Kindling a purr...
Stroking the cat's back softly
Contentment ignites.
Anyone who's ever touched a happy cat knows how incredibly calming the sound and feel of a rumbling purr can be... cat jumps in your lap you scratch in just the right place for long enough to get one started and there you have it!... instant relaxation for the small price of playing bed and masseuse to another creature... X'D

*w* heehee... I'm pretty proud of my wordplay in the title... X'DDDD
CA Guilfoyle May 2015
Lilies in the long grass
wild with tigers, striped orange
under trees, cool canopied
buds of sun blossoming
pretty cats slumber
sleek they dream.

Nights,
twitching whiskery
breathing slow
slinking low
as if to stalk
shock the sallow moon
hunt and growl
purr and prowl
animals whispering
stark the tiger lilies
glistening.
betterdays Dec 2014
i perch
like a mindful, tiny bird's spirit,
on the very cusp of the milkyway.

a mere wisp,
of an evocative thought,
a dreams first seed,
a speck of fairydust, 
in the iris,
of tentative belief.

i have,
yet
to travel the spirals
of the windmill mind,
yet
to be fortified by conjecture,
ratified by trial of fire.

my inchoation began,
at the galaxies birth, 
yes
i am a by-product of
the big bang.
and
yes i too, 
have seen
how and why, 
god made the heavens,
such an alluring shimmer
of blue,
and why
all things,
great and small.
need the spark,
the desire to accede, 
to the wont,
to ascend to
something
higher and more profound.

i am,
external,
internal,
eternal,
grace,

i am
in the tears of
sad sorrow,
i am
in the magic of
unadultered joy
in
the laugh of a child, 
the flight of a bee, 
the glimpse of tommorrow
the purr of a cat, 
the bark of a dog,
the roar of a lion, 
the ribbet of a frog, 
in an old womans glance,
the first kiss of new lovers,
in a babes first smile,
in the fragrance of flowers
left in memorium,
in each and every
spark
of  flighted fireworks.

i am
to be found
for i am
hope 
and
i abide eternally,
in all.
this is an older piece, but i wanted to repost it
in response to the events
in Australia over the past week......
My brother told me that cats purr because
it means you’re close enough to hurt them.
Their motors running, vibrating throughout their bodies,
their guards lowered, lying on their backs,
allowing someone to come close enough to harm them,
all the while keeping a position to protect themselves.
And I don’t know if what my brother said is true,
but I think we as humans have a way of purring too;
And we call it falling in love.
Picture this May 2016
The **** like a panther prowls,
He hides in nooks and crannies,
Where he views his prey for hours,
With keen eyes fixed like trannies.
A playful pounce, may announce,
His attention to a need,
To catch a bird or little mouse,
With agility and speed.

The instinct never fails to serve,
Though doubtful he will eat,
Today's domestic feline verve,
Leaves dead birds at our feet.
To seek and **** with great prowess,
Is naturally on his mind,
With silent paws and callousness,
He will hunt until the find.

After a busy day stalking,
Gathering his stock,
Tired of all the walking,
He'll look at what he's got,
Then curl up by the fire,
Stretch his crawls and preen his fur,
Of his routine he'll never tire,
And he never forgets to purr.

Tomorrow through the flap,
A territory to mark,
No need for a map to set his evil trap,
Even when it's dark.
The underworld of cats,
Is here with us to stay,
Not always sat on mats,
He's out killing easy prey.
Susan O'Reilly Apr 2013
My friends cat got cat-i-tude
spoiled and downright rude
thinks he’s just purr-fect
has all my tights wrecked
he’s such a cool kitty
sitting there looking pretty
I don’t know what’s going to happen
have to stop myself from cat nappin’
that would be a cat-astrophe
‘cos my friend means too much to me
cat, friend, humourous
Lone Wolf Dec 2014
What does the rain sound like?
Sometimes if it's quiet in the house
I can just hear a faint
Drumming on my ceiling
During the worst storms.
But I want to hear the quiet of a spring shower
Warm soft sprinkles of rain
Not just the thunderstorms
What does a cats a purr sound like?
I can feel it's soft vibrations
Under the soft, silky fur
But the sound has never
Not once been interpreted by my ears
What does my lovers breath sound like?
As I feel it tickle my skin
And see his chest moving so slightly in sleep
What do footsteps sound like?
Sometimes I can feel them
The vibrations on the floor
The indicators of coming and going
What do these little things
Little bits of life sound like?
I'm partially deaf. I can hear voices if someone's talking to me but they may have to speak up. There's certain frequencies though that I have never and will never be able to hear. A cats purr, the rain, footsteps, and breathing. I think I want to hear cats purring the most.
On the positive side I also can't hear radio static. Comes in handy to be able to hear the music through the static even if it sounds a little choppy.
Behold San Gabriel!
the far mountain is
stunningly ascendent
the city's smog
dissipates into a
a welcomed hiatus
white glaciated peaks
bespeak nature’s regency
a City of Angels’ crowned
in a mystic halo once again

Thunderous roads are silent
highway death tolls nose dive
life expectancy for the driven grows
Mother’s cry a million less tears
Tollkeepers palms are left wanting

For the uberites
the celestial scales
of supply and demand
have tipped gas prices in our favor
A litre of petrol costs but a few pesos

cars roaring down side streets
coating curbs with
noxious exhaust has stopped
Street running stick ballers eye
2nd base manhole covers
as safe to steal again

Some have been granted
A reprieve from a harried life
vexations of frenetic ways dwindle
The welcomed respite of downtime
Salves a bruised and battered soul

We’re invited  to dip our toes
Into small pools of leisure time
Escape to a hobby’s fascination
luxuriate in childlike frivolity

Time has opened for families
An evening’s repast
is holy communion
The wholesomeness
of a home cooked meal
Manna from heaven our daily bread
We share a sip from a cup of salvation

Climb up slide down
some shoots and ladders
Gingerly remove a funny bone
Without the red nose buzzing
Spend time in Abuela’s old kitchen
Learn her secrets of family recipes
Passed down from ancient
Borinquen forebears

Challenge creative sensibilities
Let the muse whisper a song
Into your willowy ear
Draw a portrait of a loved one
wash a buena vista watercolor
Compose a poem of perfect simplicity
record the glorious fictions of family history
Place yourself at the center of its epic struggle
Go noodle a tune on the old upright
Dust off that old guitar and flash some new hot licks
Take out the bongos and bang away
The blues are routed for another day

Sing a family circle song
where Daddy sings bass
Take an afternoon nap,
let the cat purr you to sleep
Enjoy the escape
of an afternoon delight
Than walk the dog afterward
in warm eventide twilite

The skies are resoundingly silent
Gushing engines contrail plumes gone
Jets blessedly overthrown by
silhouettes of crows on the wing
Listen to a new meditative lullaby, the
splendid symphony of avian adagios

Plug in to your body electric
Learn to breathe as deeply as you love
Listen to the rhythms of your heartbeat
And fine tune the condition of your soul

Eschew usurpations of politics
And tyrants that cajole to oppress
Seek solidarity in common citizenship
Take refuge in the courage of integrity
And dwell in the unity of the holy spirit

May a pandemic of love consume you
May your crisis open a portal of grace
May the closeness of friends and family
Restore you to a much better place

San Gabriel Mountains beckon
His halo crowns us all
stirred by the trilling trumpet
Wholly affirmed and filled
We answer his call

Bob Dylan: Thunder on the Mountain

Puyallup WA
4/21/20
jbm
pandemic downtime affords some time to reflect and open portals to new places....
Potpurri
Dusted on this everlasting scented wish
*******
Path indulged not taken braken broken
Don't speak
How you polish your rod don't you dare
Purr in society
Of begotten socialistic days every sister
Brooling
Brothers have to unite under the semiotic
Nonsense
Sensual carousels are misinterpreted maps
Printed
On glossy paper sheets which formidably
Stretch
Everybody's hands wide open to traveling
Roads
Not taken hands not shaken feelings black
Holes
Carrots of a crazy chiuwawa
A peanut butter bagel
And a really strong coffee, laced with sugar.
Sunlight dapples carpet
Slippers cushion feet.
Cats purr
Children stir
Poems call
And I am simply
      Happy.
For Anubis the Philosomancer, who sometimes posts ecstatic and enthusiastic poems about wonderful breakfasts/dinners/beverages, which always make me smile!
Joseph Perales Jan 2011
I can’t see a cat
without thinking of you
the way they curl into my lap
just like you used to do

I would scratch your docile head
until my arms were sore
I’d lift them up and away
just to hear you meow for more

you’d nudge at my torso
with wide asking eyes
I’d return to scratching
your head resting on my thighs

You’d roll over on you back
your head leading the motion
presenting your soft stomach
hoping that I got the notion

I’d scratch your stomach
as you'd smile and purr
faster and faster still
till my hand began to blur

but now these are memories
long gone and past
though the moment is gone
with each cat the idea is recast

but my kitten is gone now
she has gone and run away
never could she be replaced
by some traveling stray
Paul M Chafer Oct 2010
As I enter the room,
She comes to me,
And asks, - demands –
“so, do you love me?”
I nod, smile, and reach,
My hand caressing her face.
“Hmm, you do not love me,”
She says, pushing into my palm.
“Only, know this, you are mine.
All the same.”
My fingers dance along her spine,
She arches, green eyes widening.
“Oh, yes, yes, just there,”
As I press, firmly,
Lovingly, affectionately.
“I do love you,”
I whisper,
Scratching beneath her chin.
“What’s not to love,”
She says, boxing my hand,
Before returning to her basket,
Her contended purr,
Speaking a thousand words.
© copyright with Author
Simon Soane Jul 2013
Go
Wake in gloom sun,
an absence of one
who bore bright gifts,
seismic shift.
Obliterate landscapes;
purr morn go.
Tensei Jul 2019
My father dropped his careless seed where my mother wished she'd bleed.

You created what I breathe when your lungs began to heave.

I forgot what life unfurls when I heard your whirling purr.

I unveiled your place of birth when my gaze derailed from Earth.

In the stream above the hills, dreams the gleam your lifeblood spills.

Counting decades down your braids, I invade your rounded jades with a gaze you've made cascade.

How you drown my sunken tortures with a frown of drunken fortune.

My lies die between your thighs, in the sighs that close my eyes.

The violins of silver inns shiver hymns of our sins.

The privateers on piers of tears cheer our fear of nearing years.

You imprisoned all my seasons with a year of untold reasons.
__________           ____

We were forged where angels gorge to be carved where devils starve.

Why'd you dose your prose morose to the bard who tarred your shards?

From divisions of your lips, I've received incision's kiss.

With ardent hips of fervent current, the errant serpent grips her servant.

All I brought was thought for naught when your rot became outwrought.

From the pond where I abscond, I watched the botching of our bond.

Every breath deployed to drown when you left devoid of frowns.

For the throne of humming bones, I've condoned becoming yours.

I am sworn to mourn and scorn every thorn that had us torn.

I have claimed the maiming blame for games of shame that gave us names.

All my zest, betrayed and rotten, in a chest remains forgotten.

We transcend repentant lows to embrace resplendent woes.

In the pool that holds your tears, drools the fool who stole my years.
__________           _____

The violins of her violence weaved the bindings of my silence.

I forgave her what she lacked with the fervor of my ax.

She used to have me broken hoping till I split her forehead open.

I forgot to leave her soul where her torso's open cold.

Now she blends my lips serene with the hands I've cut off clean.

The refrains of all my poems, now engraved on bullets chrome, in her skull remain alone.

Derelict, her tongue disdains, with my lick on her remains.

I resent the way her scent invents consent to my lament.

My mouth consumes the fumes she tombs to spout the dooms that loom unwombed.

I've divorced the nasal morse forced to course from out her corpse.

Now the tree that held our names roots around her welded grave.

On the hill where we once kissed, she now sleeps beneath the mist.

Even now she laughs at me, with her shafts forever sealed.

Dark and darker, her darkened barker, marks her tomb a layer harder.
__________           ______

My bride rides the tired tide, where our breaths by death divide.

She enjoys the rhymes I ferry from our time to where she's buried.

I have drained all waters spent where her face could not reflect.

I still hide my drying cry where our prides would once collide.

I demand her lifeless hands to once again caress my tan.

I've repieced her fleeting fleece of the fleas that tease my peace.

Like a dog, I found my god, in the fog where she once trod.

I begin where grins of skin create the sins she used to sing.

I've become the barren baron
of a fortress with no forces
leading my stampeding legions
to find their feet in my defeat.
This is not a poem.

It is a diary.

A little story project of mine, in which the parts are separated by the straight lines.

The story is told through individual entries about her in his journal - individual thoughts describing a certain stage of the man's descent into madness.
Marigolds Fever Sep 2018
Cowgirl boots cost her
just little pay
She knows to play it safe
Keepin them cowboys away
Wants soft black fur
To keep her warm at night...
they say
She murmurs by candlelight ...
Country bear soothing...
them Cowboys cause me fright
She doesn’t want a man
She’s lookin for a country bear
That’s her true fan
Cowboys want to make her purr
But a country bear is gona stretch his paws and groan
I finally found her
Big bear wont mind what she does with that hair
Cause he’s her country bear
She’s his woman
He’s her furry scare
Try not to stare
When they’re hittin the town fair
Kissin at the top of that ferris wheel
Ladies want to know
What’s that she feel
Township whispers..
there she goes
Smoochin that big bear
Maybe it ain’t no big deal
This is too surreal
Watching this
They eatin cotton candy
in complete bliss
Later in fright
Before the early light
All the ladies pray
Keep them cowboys at bay
Send me a country bear like Miss Fray
And we might promise to obey
Her secret
They want to know
She said forget it
Go to your rodeo
Bears ain’t something I’m about to share
That country woman
That country bear
It’s the perfect love affair
Karen Newell Aug 2014
Cat
That cat was her consort,
black and sleek.
In no farm fields
did he stealthily creep.
No curiosity
crossed his mind.
None of his nine lives
had he left behind.
In her arms
he was perfectly content.
The stroke of her hand
was time well spent.
The nest of her breast
was his happy home.
Purr synced with heart beat,
never alone.
Trips of imagination
were the games that they played.
He was her consort.
He never strayed.
Once in a while I bust a rhyme :))
N23 Jun 2013
needed a keeper
I would want to be kept by
                                                           you

like a cat,
I spend hours in your lap
and in my contentment you
run your fingers
through my hair,
down my spine.

I bet that you could make me purr.

(Though, if you asked,
I'd say no.)

I want you
     to make me say
                                                    yes.
By CiCi & Niah
Olivia Kent Nov 2013
I shall not invade your space.
Except of course with words.

Unless I am invited.
I shall not post my comments.
To the man who appreciates it not.

I see your face and feel you.
Always close at hand.
Darling, your sweet soul.
I no longer demand.


You should have called me in.
When you had the chance.
Wanted but, a distant love.
With minimal romance.


Words of love,
A mere ripple in the distance.
A revolution of crumbling temples.
Sword heated and tempered.


Blocked from the book of two faced love.
By the tiger dressed as pussycat .


Lay down and purr in my lap.
I shall stroke your sorry belly.
Twist your tail around my arms.
Bite me not my sweet friend.

Teach me to love again.
As my soul could teach you too.
While you have a chance.

Love has left the dance hall.
Emotion, hell she remains.


Want not roses.
No more than words.
Lost too soon.
A barren love.

Once was strong.
Such as kindling could renew.

Hang on in there.
Until the time,
That time herself ends!

She speaks not with toxic tongue.
Her words genuine and true.

Hell be wreaked on Earth.
She will not chase you.
Ever never.
The pursuing's up to you!

VVV Glory to Poetry!




By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Bah...more ***** love x
Poetic T Jun 2015
Wake up pleasured, I feel it as you lick my
Stiffness awoken from sleep,
"ARRR,
Your tongue feels rough, but I like it woken
Pleasured from my sleep.

I open my eyes turn my head to the side
There you are still asleep, panic on a face,
As what is under the sheets still pleasuring
Me more, just one more minute, NO....

Under the sheets I do look woken by pleasure
But  not any more.

There are two *****'s I see as I look under the
Sheets, one shaved, one hairy and its the hairy
One licking while looking at me.

I am pleasured, but animal style, this cat is out
The door. Violated am I, never to tell the woman
I love, that another ***** has pleasured me nearly
Releasing the milk that would have made it purr.
i was standing in a cue waiting for a bus
when a little kitten came up. for a fuss
he rubbed against my leg going to and fro
looking for a cuddle he didnt want to go
i stroked him on his back and he began to purr
purring even louder as i stroked his fur
then he walked away as happy as can be
then he wagged his tail to say goodbye to me
sobroquet Jan 2014
a goose honks
an elephant trumpets
the giraffe makes nary a sound
you'd think they'd be the loudest
with long necks and pretty eyes ever so proud

the cats that purr
all covered in fur
could scratch out the eyes of dogs
whom bark and hound at night out loud
they seem to howl for nothing
but they have hearing beyond our words
conveying a  relay of messages
outside the purview of our terms

the geese in flight
in the formation of V's
call out and change places
to increase endurance and speed
a collective migration
to God's beckon and heed
a calling forthwith to some territory to breed

sparrows ever chirping
battling over scraps
resemble little children
giving each other raps
a pecking order, it seems
within all life forms
an innate alpha- type dominating  norms

and so it is
that we silly humans
aren't really that much different
than the cattle idly lowing
or the  birds who seek a more suitable ambience
instincts commanding they  seek nature's semblance
while we petty humans bicker and argue
about  which direction to go
doubting our instincts regarding whether
to proceed somewhere near  
or perchance someplace hither
sounds of seasons and migrations
Jared Eli Mar 2013
She lay there sleeping like a stone
Might sleep, were she just left alone
Attempts at peaceful slumber were
Foiled. And a cat would purr
To see her shoes left unattended
The Dreamland she was in was mended
When a lick delivered lightly
To her forehead woke her slightly
And with frustrated gesture
For her friends had all but messed her
From repose that she had wanted
All their actions left her daunted
She only wasnted for a snooze
Not a hamburger and *****
Just a rest for weary eyes
In the end, the bell ended her tries
It signalled end to tiresome day
So she got up and went on her way
Kiss kiss
Lick lick
Stroke fur
Purr.

Kiss Kiss
Lick this
Flick Flick
Her.

Arch back

Miaow!

Don't stop

Wow!
;-)
harlon rivers Oct 2017
Penned on watermarked cotton paper
Cursive letters script the words
of a surrendering rhythmic rhyme.
The ardent sonata was written
by the light of a Blue Moon’s shine.

The blood red ink bled through
the white wrinkled cotton pages;
musical notes dried by the warmth
of glowing Moon Beams radiance
in the subtle pollination breeze...

The maestro Coyote’s howl cried out!

Instinctively rousing the stillness of the night;
       a feral essence echoed
       through the eerie silence
       of the distant horizon,
bringing helpless lovers to their knees.

The words to the Cabernet Sauvignon
       stained midnight  lullaby,
       were emotions quilled,
       blending an aura accenting
       organic warmth of tones...

       The native maple trees'
flowering canopies of Spring
released a dusty yellow pollen
onto the watermarked cotton sheets.

In a moment of rapturous intimacy,
       an elixir of intoxicating bliss
illumined the achingly euphoric moments.
A natural untamed wildness was exhaled;
       savored ecstasy released
       into a passionate song of love …

That poignant melody forever lingers,
       like hieroglyphics on the walls
of some long lost abandoned cave.

Engraved, etched, brushed and stroked
       onto the brattice canvas
       of a musical Minstrel’s
            melodic montage ...

       Watch the artiste’s fingers
       prancing graceful ballet
       Worn down catgut strings

                                *
moan
          
     ­                  weep

              purr
**

       crying out lustfully.
     as if it were
    enraptured lovers'
  breathless sighs

  the rhythm’s cadence
whispers a masterpiece
       in an infinite
       harmonious time...

       The tempo’s lines
                Phrasing…

                 ...hush...!

             ♪♫♪ ~ ♫  ♪♪

        Listen to the pictures flow...
Listen to the weeping guitar strings
      of the passionate troubadour
stroking the metaphorical canvas scene.

       The ebb and flow
       of the musical rhythm's throb
arouse the Blue Moon’s hypnotic  allure,
    throwing incandescent shadows
    that dance around Moonbeams.

Joyfully twirling, blissfully embracing
in the blossoming Forget-me-not fields;
            Bluebonnet Lupine
               swirl and tango
       with the moonlit breeze.

       Lilacs fragrant aroma drifts
with spring’s churning romantic haze;
rekindling this fleeting memories recital.
The Minstrel and the Minstrel’s song
         now yearn to be set free ~

      Timbre without reverberation …
The twilight serenade was never penned
  to be hidden from the Nightingale

A romantic moment’s sorrowful lament
to be abandoned like a broken dream;
   fading unnoticed into forevermore ―
      Unsung,  unsaid, unreleased,
                     unrequited
                through eternity…

              The maestro Coyote
       is a wilderness troubadour
       illumined under the gloaming
               full moon’s spell.

                Howling soulfully...
               wailing impulsively ~
              ... crying hopefully
             pleading mournfully
                     lamenting
the Minstrel’s breathless cadenza ...

A bitter sweet musical embryo of love
                 found and lost
                       below
           the full Blue Moon’s
               glistening light…



©  H.  Rivers ... 2012, 2013
           all rights reserved
Notes (optional)

"It's a marvelous night for a moon dance"
from the written pages of a hopeless romantic

Post Script:

An attempt to blow the dust off  the hidden archives and the aging tomes to bring my unpublished writing portfolio back into the light.

A friend from my musical past ask me to publish this once again and LEAVE IT published...how could I say no to one who uplifts the low (?)!
Angela Mary Pope Nov 2013
There was a time that I lived in a place not too far
didn't feel so sure in my own skin
Tangled movements and mangled fur
my voice less of a purr and more just the wind

It's not that I'm bad
so much as don't know what's good
hard not to have envy
for that little red hood

He prowled through the forest
he growled there ever near
He knew not what love was
he lived only in fear

No he knew not what love was
so quick to attack
Anything to fill the hole left
by the affection he lacked

All the warmth of a grandma
he thought he might gain
by swallowing her up
unknowing his place in her pain

All the kindness of a child
he wished for so much
certain to have once
he made her his lunch

With everyone gone
He walked on in defeat
Wearing a red hood into shadows
With no love left to eat
I was louder once.
A beast with a need to feast,
but now I tamp my rampages.
One too many times I leapt
Over and through the fire
Bounding and barreling
Obnoxiously snarling as I caught
my dreams between my jaws and ripped,
To find their warmth evaporating,
my **** growing cold and sticky
as it would dribble and dry,
sweet and cracked down my breast and forearms.
I learned to pace. To release. To settle.
Not to take too many shots, coax, tease, or purr.
Not to bite, howl, or grin.
Not to get too cozy when I stargaze, tell embarrassing drinking stories, or speak my impressing words.
Not to stand on tables,
Not to shout out of car windows,
Not to dance like the drunken Maynads.
And I am quieter for it.
More intact.
Less alive.
I miss that wild beast.
I feel her gnawing at the cracks in my skin
begging me to don the wolf coat.
And some nights,
When the moon is right
I do.
And if I'm not careful,
Fastidiously luring and caging her
with promises of "next time"
until I've re-sewn my skin
I'm afraid that she'll eclipse me,
Careening through the night
And never returning.
I along with her
Never to return.
10.7.17
Inktober Prompt: Shy
Rules: The poem is whatever comes out of the pen, no edits allowed.

This poem is a bit of a response to my popular "I Am Loud" poem. Things have changed.
katrinawillrich Mar 2015
You are only because fire ( talks outside the normal wear that tears my love) is gorgeous
Elephants purr serpent glare
Bulls market moonlite misquoted
Earned love
(Without a thousand mental bandages) to cover the flood)
As a satellite
The way we became beasts
Taught to host our own destruction
Bloodsuckers vampsexy because nobody wants to be a referred to as
a tickworm or host them
“Its in our nature to destroy ourselves.
Or each other first."
I quote a long dead ***
Privy to #2 pencil techniques
A bit poison.

— The End —