Kitten's Litter

Tell me, why did you lose her?
You've lost a precious kind of friend.

Was it because you cared more about fleeting triflings and
wanted to boast and try out something new with someone new.

And maybe it’s working out great; I have no reason to doubt that.

But would you say that it was all worth it?

And maybe it was and you're not looking back, I have no way of knowing that.

But what I know is that my strength and worth and my gifts and
my growth and my love know no boundaries of space and time and lies.

My love doesn’t lie and doesn't exclude.
A stranger is a potential friend is a dot to connect on the galactic mind map.
And if I respect you,
and if you can plant a question mark in my head,
if you prove to be brave, and if we intersect,
infiltrate and remain firm in our concerns for each other,
then my love will turn from a flowing magma into a solid whole.

Whether you're a lukewarm friend, a former partner in crime or a transient lover,

I remain faithful and anchored; the way the shore never loses sight of the sea.

 

Fidelity

I lost her for I lose myself. Security, the best of health, demands it, calling failure free, all life in cycling leaves its tree of evergreen, the song that's been, and is, and comes, as inbetween each love there lies the very same eternity that cannot claim the rights to size, to form, to ends. Tearing up, is that what mends our breach with what cannot depart?! What in life but love begs art?

 

Defy me but don’t define me.

Help me confront myself,
let me sit here and be uncomfortable,
let my thoughts simmer,
hurt voice and words, singed wings and kicked in the gut, fuck pride,
like burning oil
thrown into my face and eyes,
shedding the pliant exterior,
so I can recharge, bring out the artillery,
slingshot words,
clenched fists and broken jaw.

Hard-headed and heavy handed,
I will nourish my anger,
with lit matchsticks thrown into the woods,
blazing and breaking internal barriers.

I will rewrite pages of frustration,
recalibrate my anger into something breathtaking, convulsing, unstoppable.

I will be delirious when everyone is sober, somber, and serious.

I will ravage and rampage and blitzkrieg through life,
all the while dancing and howling,
wiping the drivel off of the sniveling children.

I will ramble with urgency, stumble over the rungs,
growl from the ground, throb but still rise
in honor of the occasion,
of the chance to witness morning and night,
in honor of the stroke of luck,
that I can wake up to the poundings of a rabid heart
just to whisper...

Yes,
I am still
alive.

 

I like the feel of the weight of this bear shaped amulet
dropping into the valley.
It is secure.
I am alone and content,
casting side glances into the mirror and casting smoke spells.

If I were a siren, perched on top of an algae covered rock,
I would project my voice like a tossed fish net
out into the open sea,
hoping to capture the imagination of some rum soaked, sunburned sailor.

If only to be reassured of my reign, my grasp of the subtle,
the breakdown of atoms, the barely noticeable twitch of the eyebrow,
and the catharsis that comes form the head on collision of mouths.

At night, I would seep through the cracks in the windows,
glide over the walls and your lips and your arms,
as dawn nears with pitchforks and torches,

I would leave
you
unharmed.​

 

This woman, girl? who rends this space

Her reign bourn woords to wrake her place

pon all that burst down below from without, falls fell jagged close calls and about face fate takes them out now,
and foreverereabated, patient her fish lay up plated, smoke fried, clearly out of their mind in divide
rendt of having to motion times ride lifting off- -some loss to inhale of the cough from a cold air at sea sunned to red mind in rising, siren song netting all chance of surprising myself in what cannot but be overwritden,

Dis way from sum hardness fair rock islex kitten!

 

You, native one, filed through, strung along,
by passing, violet, throbbing throng.
Feel by the earthed their unearth at the thought
fey fall to their wild hunted looks, as their sport,
Do whatever’s required for the madness of winds stands
as broke before you as old times tribe of trends, tried declaring themslaves,
rid their dulls, sphinxed their bend, all in vein to reach weir in their poor hearts alone they send romancing frozen love spare to the bone!
"Perish the thought our reflection be shown!"

You traveller, bent on yourself and your world, void simply weren’t for wheare I’ve now been hurled...
in your light! The length of which still shuts me out, as I’m now, as it’s now, to my own life undoubtedly drawn... I deliver my self to the dawn?
Is rudeness itself to the manna born? :
Discovery dam jet the rest all at once,
reservoirs ball through bloomagic haunts,
decobwebbed dust from life and doom,
stayed on so death'd no room beyond room...

(You’re divine...)

And the line reminds most squarely there,
like your shore shelling wave formed to no fixed stare,
as my own of you goes all around in its wander, whirlpooling now my words sink well
down under
my love

 

Humbled by nature, by her, just her gaze, should she wish she could lay my own waste to my days, leave me bottled and pickled, a prime spin-off product. Half-free to choose, not withstanding the conduct that had me thus landed face down at her feet, to commit what’s yet mine to the night, loves retreat, in the make believe that my jarred state’s left ajar, that the seal on my fate lets in air, heals the scar, self-inflicted, for pierced on her point there’s no dream not containing the balm to make dashed head on rock seem as laid on her breast, within hearing to heart, how she moves! Unrestricted, she lets loose on art what most others play up and put down to mere moment. Personal pace, sleeping stamp of the slow spent and patient release of what doesn’t lose out. Or does it? Does form make persuasion more stout than its time-honoured counter-act, content in me? What by rhymes run could I possibly flee but the fact of no boundary where I am headed, planted, her fountain, still blooming, but bedded...

...and would I then die for her? Is that the mark? "Most likely" the lie "Yes" in truth I embark, setting sail as there's nothing but sand on the beach, lifes long littoral I would, laughing, impeach for its impudence. Give me the essence today! Give up the guy ropes, the moorings, away, from all sight of the coast at high knots to be seen, by the stars, unknown depths and the rule that we glean through our past insights fished up and cast on the deck, for fortune, in sailors may hang from the neck until death, but that word, that escape for the willer, must wait, for whose hand but our own’s on the tiller?

 

Fuckin A kittenX!

I think you are vicious.

My jaw fell through the floor as I read your works today. I never reacted this way to real poetry, never liked it much. Though I never read much, like an idiot.

I have mad respect.

I'm curious about you. Can you share anything about yourself?

 

I stand in line to get my fix of midday latte,
distract taste buds, sweeten the palate.
I crawl deep into the belly of the crowd,
get lost in numbers,
I swim through currents of strangers’ mutter,
as each awaits their turn.

Everything looks so much sharper, so much louder,
then a little muffled,
by the heaviness in my eyes.

I concentrate and memorize patchwork of faces,
boredom and anticipation,
and a brand new couple caught in a glance.

I look away, as if I am contagious.

But I can’t hide for long,
everything feels like a single shiver.
A ripple that starts somewhere in the middle,
spirals in my stomach, spills over to my ribs.

I know the antecedents,
I am on the first name basis
with the dread, which we all feed
but also try our best to forget.

And just like this,
like a sleepwalker,
somewhere, sometime, someone,
was standing in line,
waiting for dinner or luggage or
for a return of their loved one.

 

u started this thread 7 years ago and here you are still posting in it. now thats commitment!!

 

The return of a loved one!

xo

 

Why tonight (of all nights)?

The lion stirs, rolls over, and roars,
from the depth of its cave,
between fissures, grooves, and flaws.

I am provoked to wake up,
try to diagnose the cause
with the only device I’ve got,
and so I writhe my hands,
and write
as the thoughts run,
dry,
and the words disperse.

But tonight demands honesty,
the unparalleled, uncompromising
kind of sincerity
to fill in the blanks
and satisfy the appetite of my beast.

I’ll confront the well reflection, examine ripples,
with the help of whiskey and clenched fists.

And I’ll weather the storm, alone,
with an outlaw swagger,
and a burning warmth in my throat.

I’ve got to tame my howling demon,
until it is nothing but familiar fear,
or the wind dancing outside my window,
with no place of its own.

 

I liked the continuity of the lion and all it's images throughout this one. So full of striking ways to describe in such little words. I get this urge to have to let out what's in me, not for just the fun of it, but out of necessity and within their is always that silent voice, a genius voice, and he's so hard to pull out. Whiskey does help but it's a underdog fight and what better way to represent this with the majesty of a Lion ? Maybe others but hell --well done with this. I loved the closing, you are a powerful closer.

-I’ve got to tame my howling demon,
until it is nothing but familiar fear,
or the wind dancing outside my window,
with no place of its own.

 

Thanks ramble. I struggled with this one, feeling rusty. Was trying to capture an indescribable feeling...

 

I think you did fantastic in meaning! I get this one. If I had only one critique, it would not be your masterful pacing or your unique, striking delivery but just the Lion metaphor, because somewhere swimming in your head there is a black hole and I'm sure it swallows up every IRL detail you see

isn't that the goal, to capture indescribable feelings? I always thought that was the mecca. heh, but that's just me.

 

Wow, your poems are really amazing. i really like that last one, its theme reminded me of writing "earth shattering" except inverted and from a much more personal perspective. mostly because of the imagery of the Lion and beasts. keep it going.

 

I really like how you describe the lack of inspiration in such an inspired way. once can see that you've learned that poetic secret of transcending the mundane, the daily grind by making it spectacular. "with the help of whiskey and clenched fists" hell ya i feel that

 

thats really beautiful

 

broken brick walls, burnt rubber,
wind sweeps through the rubble,
jackals grinning,
bare excavator teeth,
waging tails, they sniff for the scent,
of the still warm earth
of the blood
cuddled in puddles around a mother on her knees
cowering under the cover of striped bed sheets,
she’s protecting what’s left of her cub,
with frozen arms
in a criss cross.
but the jackals are here,
with neckties like nooses,
they’re summoned for duty
to gnaw on the femurs,
snuff out the fires,
leave tire marks on the backs of tired bodies.