Kitten's Litter

Don’t constrict yourself with limericks my friends,
burn manuscripts, don’t dwell on historic compilations.
Trust in your quill, the war we wage here gentlemen,
will rear its ugly head with kidney complications.

But!

Count blessings in each drop of blood that isn’t yours,
let our noble sons be proud of their futile service,
though we turned our backs and bolted shut the doors,
our thumping words of freedom bring them solace.

No, don’t hesitate to step in knee deep water,
the scared sharks are harmless in their muzzles.

Blow smoke into the eyes of loyal blind,
we have secured them tickets into Eden.
We, gentlemen, are of a greater mind
and we shall purge our enemies and heathens!

 

This feels quite different from your usual! Your flow is great, the message is pretty straightforeward and the rhyming's doesn't feel forced at all. Nice loud tone, as well; almost feels like a lecture, or a political address. The first stanza was my favorite... pure loveliness

 

Exactomundo! Gah I'm stuck on the political theme...

 

There should be a law
against slamming doors
so early in the morning.

It’s 11 o’clock.

Cigarette smell stuffed in couch creases,
brings me back ten years,
sitting in the backseat of shindigs
with dirty humor
(shut your ears little one).
and alcoholic healing.

But today I got up at noon,
barefoot,
hopped down the stairs,
paused the Bavarian march
and counted empty chairs,
Hennessy bottles and
shriveled lemon slices.

They must have stayed up past 5

I couldn’t sleep all night,
finally wore myself out,
sobbing and thinking too much.

Good morning.

Coffee, tea anyone?

 

Could we deny ourselves the Peace of the moment broken by exhaustion? The pillow a refuge sometimes against the harsher truths of our existance, nevertheless begs us to return and absorb. Nevertheless, through the transmutation of energy occurs its transmission. Att this time no mistake is made. To Flow Is To Be Saved.

I welcome you, and thank you for coming.

eMBeMLaHV!

 

I keep dreaming
I’m running with you,
team effort in a hot pursuit.

We’re pacing down forest trails,
down platforms after the departed trains,
enter new cities through revolving doors.

Déjà vu overflow.

Faceless hunter curls fingers about to snatch,
breathes down our necks,
steps on coattails, sets up the traps.

But my hare heart pumps for the two of us.

 

I nourish fire with poetry and letters,
it’ll keep me warm and choices safe, incognito,
coasting the frozen mural.

I see them now, all my failed motives,
and all disappointments compressed
to fit inside a shrinking, sober mind.

The late November does a 360,
flails at the insulated eyes.
I’m snapping wrists and rolling round,
under the table with Porto and
a loose tongue.

Admitting all committed and
future predicted crimes.
I wanted a coma holiday,
lost house keys, dead pets
and neglected book shelves.

But my ribcage cracked,
invited a humming draft.
So I sat in a trough, awaiting
and patiently collecting
stamps of repentance.

 

It follows, of course, that you must inevitably create your own empty space in which to dwell and create. You will see, manifest, the curse of the Scorpion doth abate, though it tends to linger. No Sorrow Here, just a Joyous Middle Finger. To Bullshit. You'll make it. Your the tough one, you can take it.

eMBeMLaHV!

 

Wow! I really liked that.. Thank you!


S.

 

Hmmmm. Let words live. Don't crowd them and keep them in cities like ourselves. Let them be free. Toss off their anchors. Let each one seem to fill a room. Osiris, you're virtually incoherent. It's time you went to class! Kitten, there are some sharp lines in the above pieces. Just avoid any verbal clutter.

 

-brings me back- was as good a poem as one could ask for... I don't know what I'm bumping out, but this has got to be in my top ten of KittenX poems... I can see everything through well worded imagery, the only question I have is, why the word "hopped"? It gives me the impression that you were happy or in a good mood coming down the stairs, which may have well been your intent, but alas, I wonder...

yea! what a stanza!

I utterly loved this, thx for sharing it!

 

It'd probably be more useful if in your response you didn't go all metaphorical on me, but instead came with specific critique if any. I'm sorry but I don't see any verbal clutter, maybe it all has to do with attention spans and whether or not you actually care to read into the piece. Each line, each word is a part of me and represents something significant, but I'm not here to change your mind and make you see into myself, if you can't, then you can't. Simply put, I'll take stylistic, syntax, grammatical suggestions/corrections but I don't appreciate you suggesting I castrate my feelings.

 

Kidder. Tsk,tsk. Of course I am incoherent. To you.

The very cosmos is incoherent to your mechanized analysis. You spend too much time in class, brother, buying in to all the bullshit about how one can and should classify Art and modify it according to those classifications. But True Art cannot be restrained by your meager attempt to classify it, and I will personally put forth the postulate that this thread, and Kitten's poetry, is a testament to that fact. Still your attacking mind and absorb. Then, and only then, will I (possibly) be willing to accept what you transmit.

eMBeMLaHV!

 

Cut me a slice of bread,
my friend.
Pour me a glass
of precious wine,
I’m out of breath
and spent.
Reheat my flesh
and mind.

The wolves
were round the bend tonight.

Our flashlights winked,
then shut their eyes.
Shifting behind the trunks
were outlines.
Alert,
I saw the sylvan imps,
sprout from the stumps.

My ears perked,
I heard a voice,
low murmur threats.
Or creaking steps
on virgin snow.

That’s when…
the heart sank to my toes,
I clenched his hand.

Our foggy breaths rose
to shape new clouds,
and coat the lunar specs.

That’s when…
he slipped his arm around my waist.

We stood in silence than,
as snowflakes draped our bare heads.

“We’re lost?”
I asked,
“No, we are just alone,”
he said.

 

Kidder here. Doctor on call. Castration seems to be a specialty. I like to think I'm more of a GP. The last poem starts out marvellously. The first stanza is full of voice and more impressive is the obvious control. You're in the driver's seat and effortlessly moving forward, rhythm pumping through every line.
You follow with a neat metaphor and one that works delightfully but when they 'shut their eyes' so do you. The control so evident in the beginning slips and you move into a new delivery mode. It's almost as if the narrator assumes a new voice and carries on. I like the ending. Reminds me of great classic rock and Canada's Blue Rodeo- 'we are lost but we are lost together.'
When I read poems they boom in my head and I can hear your voice even if you're not there. I'm especially interested in not just the content but the presentation. And that's why established flow and rhythm are so important. Don't leave the road if you're already travelling comfortably.

 

You're prolly right, no good mood intended I just couldn't think of a better term to describe me coming down. It was a stumble, a careless hop, with a bit of just slidding off the steps mixed in! lol

 

this reads like the opening of a horror movie! The opening stanza is my favorite, I really like the ambiguity it has, and your story from there unfolds well, bringing to mind romance with eerie mythic undertones! Wonderfully foreboding

ahhh... i likey...

 

The wilderness is within. I felt suspended for a moment, in that world with you. Then I remembered to breathe, and cut the cord. But thank you.

eMBeMLaHV!

 

Somewhere amids these pages, there are two little poems, Benign and Leper, which got accepted and will be published in January. Happy, happy.

 

woohoo! Congrats girl!