Kitten's Litter

Overripe apricots is one of my favourite images from the poem. And 'the half-brained herd' line is perfect. I'd never change it.
I like coming back to your thread periodically and reading your poems again. I sort of study them. Without trying to flatter your ego, I feel like I can learn a lot from them.
One of the reasons I suggested cutting those lines was because I felt a lot of the images/similaes in the poem were extremely original. 'overripe apricots','half-brained herd','twisted like licorice', but 'missing a limb' has been used a lot before.
Anyhow, I love this poem. I gave it to a friend who was going through a hard time and she cried for hours afterwards. It's very beautiful and true...
The last stanza is so fucking great.

Hope you find some time/inspiration soon,
Peace,
A.

 

Hi kitten...nice to see you out and about! hope you're doing ok...i've been going through some pretty crazy and confusing times myself lately--keep your head up chica, it'll all be ok!

 

I slipped into the bedroom,
wondering where you’ve been all night.
I stood in the corner by your side,
breathing the sweat
and the cold of our bed
like a freshly made grave.

Maybe if I stayed long enough
to see you wake up,
rub the sleep from your eyes,
you would pull me in and convince me
that everything is alright.

I saw your chest rise and collapse
among billowing sheets
as we sailed blind through the dark,
and my heart fluttered and hiccupped behind its bars
and my thoughts racing, chased after each other
like a shower of morning stars.

On the way out, I shut the door behind me.

 

my skin is raw and scabbed,
the itch starts at the surface,
but it digs on deeper
until my roots and nerves are tugged and plucked.

here comes the rush, the cascade of symbols
constructing ghost trains out of dust and dots,
the violent eruptions and thoughts like liquid fire
dripping down the mountainsides.

my arms contorted,
wound tight around a broken skull,
with wails of an exiled mind
rattling its chains and beating,
pounding in with each stroke
the fury and the deprivation,
with haste to salvage
something of the past.

the spasms of my heart and lungs
from too much wine and tears,
in vino veritas
swallowing back the revolting shame
of waking up, drenched in the garish sun,
to face the world and mirrored days
behind the mask of trembling fingers.

 

sorry I haven't responded to your poems in awhile. It's been rough getting on the internet but now I have it at home. I still think you are very talented, your recent pieces and one's later. Keep writing! I still enjoy.

 

Hi Kitten,
I like this poem in it's simplicity. There are a coupl of minor alterations I would make though.

I hope things are going well for you and that this poem was from your imagination rather than experience. Looking forward to more from you.

 

hi there

i love this poem..almost unnerving...almost wanting to touch that moment ..
great picture from a distant .
lovenpeace from saff

 

With each heavy step, my bones creak from fluid stagnant in its joints,
as I get closer the angry skies prey on my head,
when clouds burst my hair comes alive with tangled tentacles,
but still I punch out letters translated into Braille’s dots,
and I would break the jaws of those whose words stand in the way,
like a sodden pugilist wipe mad foam from my mouth, spit out blood, and say
“they’re all irrelevant” and pain is often relative,
“we are our own damn galaxy, tied by mutual gravity.”
And in my fever, my brain is full of razing static and as I walk,
the electric pulses run through arteries and wires.
I want to say so much,
but instead, the tape records a stilted silence,
something monotonous and lifeless for the posterity,
look both ways before crossing,
but I stand in the middle of traffic under the pounding rain,
I am lumbering forth, leaving behind tidal waves, red lights and car wrecks.
Let the water, the dirt and the heat from a burning concrete
cleanse me in a sacred ablution,
let it soak me until I corrode and all the colors wash out, my body moistened can finally soften
under the tires I am nothing but a runny confluence of worn threads and skin.

 

Hi KittenX,
Like almost all of your poems, I love the rhythm in this. It seems to roll easily from the tongue. You always seem to spend a lot of time on the sonics of your poems. Your imagery as always is both fresh and imaginative, but I have got a few suggestions that may prove helpful to you if you choose to edit this.

All of these are only my personal opinions and should be taken with a pinch of salt.

With each heavy step, my bones creak from fluid stagnant in its joints,
Can fluid creak?
as I get closer the angry skies prey on my head,
Do you need to tell me that the skies are angry? The verb ‘preys’ already shows me that.
when clouds burst my hair comes alive with tangled tentacles,
but still I punch out letters translated into Braille’s dots,
I’m unsure as to the punching out of letters, and what it actually means.
and I would break the jaws of those whose words stand in the way,
like a sodden pugilist wipe mad foam from my mouth, spit out blood, and say
“they’re all irrelevant” and pain is often relative,
This for me is the best part of the poem. The assonance of would, words, way and wipe gives this a defiant sound when read aloud, perfectly matching the mood you want to capture. The image is crystal. I can see the boxer, hear him shouting. Perfect.

“we are our own damn galaxy, tied by mutual gravity.”

And in my fever (my brain is) full of razing static (and as I walk),
the electric pulses run through arteries and wires.
I would drop ‘my brain’ as I like the sound of ‘fever full’. I also think that using too many ‘ands’ and also walk and run as two verbs in the same sentence detract from the clarity of this image.

I want to say so much,
but instead, the tape records a stilted silence,
something monotonous and lifeless for the posterity,
Why ‘the posterity’ instead of just posterity?
look both ways before crossing,

but I stand in the middle of traffic under the pounding rain,
I am lumbering forth, leaving behind tidal waves, red lights and car wrecks.
How can you be both standing and lumbering forth? Also the ‘ing’ version of the verb lessened the immediacy of the image. I lumber forth is much easier to ‘feel’.
Why do you start with ‘but’?

Let the water, the dirt and the heat from (a) burning concrete
cleanse me in a sacred ablution,
let it soak me until I corrode and all the colors wash out, my body moistened can finally soften
under the tires I am nothing but a runny confluence of worn threads and skin.
As always, you finish your poem strongly. Perhaps I wouldn’t have ‘finally soften’ just stuck out there on it’s own like that though.

Kitten, I hope you don’t mind me taking apart your poem like this. I am trying to improve my writing and I have been doing a lot of study recently. I find that writing critiques of others’ work helps me evaluate my own before I post it. Thanks for the opportunity to consider this.

Keep writing,
A.

 

Thanks so much for your comments, I appreciate them and agree.

 

Glad to see you back posting, Kitten. Love your work.

 

There is so much to read and learn,
absorb ideas that were birthed and battered,
inhale life and let it shape the mind,
instead of feeding on dead cells and static.

I have consumed enough rubbish in my time,
lies and sensory stimulation
cannot fill an empty stomach.

I've tasted culture,
its hissing foam just gave me ulcers.

I want to take a glance behind the curtains,
where there is nighttime of a different kind.
My ignorance has been harbored, tamed and groomed
inside this tiered fortress with cloud, forest and cityscape wallpapers.

But I want ruffled feathers, brilliance of clutter,
I'm reaching past confines of pastel panels.

There is agitation gleaming in my eyes,
the seeds of doubt sprouting forth,
the offshoots of my questions
serve as an only source for growth.

I want to set the clouds on fire,
I want to set the woods ablaze,
I want to see the cities crumpled in my hands.

Peel back the paper skin, and glean the mystery and shadows
beyond the shedding, poorly colored walls.






​

 

Embracing the Mystery ~~* loved this!

thoughts racing, like a shower of morning stars; lingers...

Much Love

 

This is so passionately cold



I love how original, each work you write is.

 

I turn shit times into teatime with bread and jam,
it’s all good,
you’ve got your bars and hardcore bands,
and mistakes that hurt so right,
but if I tried to be a guide, a foghorn in the storm,
it was as useful as telling a chain smoker
that nicotine is bad for lungs.

and I still accept you as you,
constantly sniffling and sleep deprived.

but I wonder if we were misleading,
was it my pity,
and yours was just a need
to constantly be in a spotlight of
warm and tender eyes.

regardless,
if they were mine
or
not.

the question is
who is more convenient?

and who is next in line
to kiss the back of your neck until you fall asleep.

 

I got home from class,
there is no food and no clean dishes,
but I’ve got shelter from the rain and wind
and electricity to keep me company
and ward off sleep,
there is a fire above my eyebrow,
I can’t find pants,
I need a shower,
hot water,
burning drumbeats
on my face and thighs.

he’s such a fool,
I am the best damn girl,
he’ll never know.

Last night I thought,
“I gotcha boy”,
and spent 160 minutes on the phone
explaining to my friend the how and the why,
but does it even make a difference,
when my soft spot inside still wants a miracle.

the heart got fat and lazy over time,
but now it’s on a strict workout
of bursting valves and rapid punches.

can I fast forward?
but all my buttons say rewind.

 

kitten, kitten, kitten.

 

i don't know what to say
i am lost in your mismay

 

~~* fond memories, wishing You well

 

Halved pomegranate body,
split open and fire raw on all sides.

I’m spared but I am deeply scarred.

My eyes are galaxies and eons fading black, turning back into dust.

As I lay in my bed, holding scissors and tattered wings in my hands,
I do not blame you. I do not blame myself.

I want to fill up the cracks with alcohol or with ocean foam,
pack the valves with cotton or a heavy snowfall.

I’d stitch my mouth shut and never speak your name
because
as soon as we stop
thinking,
as soon as we stop
missing,
we will stop existing.

I think you must despise me.

After all, I am the truth and I am kindness.
I am brave but I am humble.
I am the bold faced, stone cold reminder
of how ugly you are at your worst.