CATS


There is nothing so peaceful as a sleeping cat.
They lie on their backs with fur flying.
They curl up in a ball of comfort.
A cat may not be friendly or wise, but watching
A sleeping cat always makes me tired.

There’s nothing so happy as a cat washing his face.
The puss washing its puss makes her purr with glee.
She may be tired, and she may be lazy,
And sleepy, and she may not catch mice like a trap,
But the one chore she has she does very well,
And I defy anyone to show me a dirty cat.

A cat chooses her friends very wisely.

I dreamed of her

It was a pleasant vision

Sensual and playful

My subconscious reveling in the joy of her

It happened again

in slumber, She came to comfort me

when my heart was distressed

My head rested in her lap

She the sanctum for my soul

blanketing me in peace

Yet again she visited

another manifestation teasing and specious

Who is this beguiling creature?

The same girl but never the same

Still, her arrival always providing

Just what my spirit needs

Sunday melancholy has me walking ocean.
The water not blue, but a September warm.

I traverse dull stones that pinch my soles,
I jump into a pile of leaves raked when I was eight

still in the yard of 196. A memory melted and frozen.
A snowman on day three whose carrot stick nose has been eaten.

Stomach facing the sky, I am driftwood
drifting from who knows where—weathered soft and gray and new.

A philosophy of repurposing: apple cores fed to chickens,
fish bones scattered near roots of plants.

I felt myself sitting in the backseat
Or on a train
You were hidden somewhere in the ringing
Of my brain
In the rain, and in the strangest wind refrain:
Follow me across the bed
Follow me across the sea

The car that slows around the corner
Is anticipation for your phone call
The visions that you made me meet
Are dregs of light that fall
Down the hall I hear the call
Follow me across the tracks
Follow me across the lea

I felt myself laying in the backseat
Or on a bus
And all I can say is thus:

Hoekom raak dit donker?

A gathering in the cold March air,
My lips were numb and my shoulders bare;
The freesias cried on my wedding day
But all the doves sang “Laudamus Te.”

The bride was young, the groom was younger,
And one was strong, the other stronger.
He was not there to give me away
So all the doves sang “Laudamus Te.”

We danced a Ceilidh and drank champagne
And with the black ink we signed our names;
I heard the call of a bird of prey
Yet all the doves sang “Laudamus Te.”

I made a home with a wish and a whistle,
Tended roses and pulled up thistles;

Truthfully an indescribable depth of defeat and profound frustration surrounding being repetitiously misunderstood.unsuccessful at Every attempt to explain my views and intentions,to articulate and participate how the close minded think i should.so confusing how people are quick to assume im driven by dark motives,Ill intent, grandeur or high horse. Influenced by an incorrect perception by their insecure mind.they doubt,ridicule and stifle spirit without exhibition of a single shred of remorse.

Ice cold heartache was the result of all your web of lies. For when you said one thing, you meant another.

Undoubtedly, I should've seen it coming because you lived for the wild rides and the burning sparks, that grew at the edge of dark. Since they protected you from your sinking soul as well as your inner battle scars left unheard that opened up when the guilt set, which was just about every other night.

Now I know that that's where your habits sprouted and broke all hell loose.

Breathe in, please let me hold your hand
Breathe out, soon you will understand
Breathe in, I see your pain inside
Breathe out, even though you denied
Breathe in, it’s okay, I’m here now
Breathe out, you can let your tears out
Breathe in, tomorrow’s a new day
Breathe out, don’t let it slip away
Breathe in, just stay with me, right here
Breathe out, don’t let those thoughts come near
Breathe in, they don’t control you, friend
Breathe out, you are strong, don’t pretend
Breathe in, I know you can fight back
Breathe out, don’t wait til they attack

31 Flavors
Multiplied by 31 more
          (And 31 more…)
                  (And 31 more…)

Each a different taste
To suit certain tastes

Mine’s a sherbet (bert) swirl
Of orange red and green

It’s the one left over
When the buckets of
Cookie dough and Moose Tracks
Have been picked clean

The trick is to eat it
Before it melts away

Before you’re left
With a muddy puddle
Of sugar and

Fruit juice

Either way, I’ll still eat it

Im a prisoner of my mind,
held captive by my soul,
thoughts and feelings uncontolling,
a pulling force, i cannot hold.

What I want and what I do,
coincide in daily war,
my actions overpower,
and I'm left with great remorse.

From the moment that I wake,
to the hours trying to sleep,
thoughts racing far to fast,
yet to slow to catch a dream.

My anger rages fiercely,
like a lion in a cage,
only hurting my own self,
as I claw for my escape.

I run to find my freedom,
yet nothing do I chase,
but the chance for new beginnings,