Been trying to write more but have been lacking the ambition and talent to do so. Basically, winter vacation took its toll on me. So, here's one of the ones that I came up with last night. Hopefully, it's enjoyable. : )
'And My Cat Is A Pothead'
claws withdrawn;
just the stub fingers wrapped tightly
in milk and honey gloves.
"Light this, Buddha."
Swift fire sprouting clean
from the crisp snap,
his paws colliding;
Zeus and his thunderbolts
lighting the sky.
His ears are the great pyramids
with tunnels and tombs;
knowledge and secrets.
The giant king in soft purrs
takes the puff, a cyclone
of brittle winds rattles his chest,
the lungs pushing out through the ribs,
out through the coat.
His walnut eyes are amplified
with lousy focus and puddles
on the surface.
On the exhale,
the clouds pound space fiercely;
the horizontal chimney saturating
the sky and making it rain.
Lungs begin to flatten
as he relaxes and frees the sting,
the burn that scratches the back of the throat.
My shocked face reeks of wonder
and awe at the agility and grace
in motion here.
And my cat is a pothead.
And I knew this already.
He has a routine...yet keeps it entertaining.
The cherry is going,
smoking loud and with ease.
We watch him struggle with gravity.
He takes a break
letting the back end fall first.
The couch takes the hit
with a full rumble,
stretching from hibernation;
it is sturdy yet frightening under pressure,
the steel springs making potholes
in your rear end.
You endure for him.
And we watch him.
We wonder what he sees
and how he remains composed
as one of Beethoven's later works.
His Majesty is comfortable; stable; well.
I just saw him passing by
with his lips in pout,
riding the blue tugboat.
I waved in excitement
but he was busy...
counting his own stripes and whiskers
from right to left.
January 12, 2009
