Stormcat's Poetry: January 2014

Friday, January 31, 2014

Forty Two . . .

Photo by Snowflake

Dog

By Stormcat

East de casa lay a ribbon of grass fallow earth

between post harvest plow rumpled fields

A road pass of sorts

leading to a cat tailed dragonfly kissed pond beyond

spreading chestnut and pussy willow

where adventures take birth.

A great place to romp,

look for ruffle-necked grouse,

chase rabbits, and

startle frogs basking in sun-warmth and the odd pheasant caught off guard.

My master likes to go there too but

always walks slowly. I think she’s afraid or lost in nostalgia,

she trusts me, however, sings, smiles, and talks to me . . .

so whenever I go,

I always take her with me.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Forty One . . .

Photo by Snowflake

Austrian Excursion

by Stormcat

on top of the world

granite core clouds . . . home . . . no driveway even possible there

feeling your head about to surface above the sea of air

arrive on skis (regal as a star)

sit on side slope to catch the breeze

bask in warming brilliance . . . take in the vista

seems just now

like brandy and a hammock would fit nicely somehow . . .

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Forty . . .

longing for Snowflake, my wandering soul-mate

by Stormcat

It's easy for you to know where I am because I seldom go anywhere. You on the other hand are always going somewhere. So that even when informed, you've left that somewhere, I find myself uncertain of your destination. Not that I wish to control, impose on your solitude, or even track your movement . . . rather that I long for the comfort of your spirit . . . to live within the relief of feeling that you remain possible.

For what are you searching, my Love, the comfort of Eden? There is no Eden of the body . . . it is not a physical place; rather it is a condition of appropriately blended soul . . . it cannot be reached alone, in isolation . . . nor in the company of casual connection . . . only through the development of the absolute and the perfection of the uncertain; that perfection wholly embodied within mutual acceptance thereof.

Our lives are in winter . . . season of frigid cold . . . but we are Snowflake and Stormcat . . . I am the cat of the sky longing to soar, yet born of the earth destined to always return thereto . . . You are born ethereal high in the clouds of tumultuous uncertainty. . . though you long to rest, you are meant to float on the wind; even as you melt, your essence returns to clouds to be born anew. . . We intersect souls in skyspace.

Come fly with me! Rest in the insulation of fur armor take solace in fierce desire. Justify transcendence to winds aloft that we may dine together on delicate ecstasy. Settle in the fortress of shared solitude building barricades excluding unwanted disturbance. Venture confidently into peaceful eternity trusting in the permanence of unquenchable love proffered in quiet hope, freely irrevocably offered in innocence.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Thirty Nine . . .

Photo by Karin

essential imperception

by Stormcat

dressed, made up to perfection

a thick knit tube of finest black cashmere lined with stands of luxurious fur

slid silently over arms,
from shoulders to knees

a smooth white ribbon of finest silk, round my neck, embellishes

enter, head held high with look of
superiority

never even noticed it happening

until too late and realized

that I, bound and led around,

had sold myself into slavery

Thirty Eight . . .

Photo By Karin

Instinct

by Stormcat

watch the fledgling learn

wholly pre sumptuous threading

comprising thick forest transit

at the speed of fetterless flight

- faster than thought control -

without the slightest hitting

something irrespective death

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Thirty Seven . . .

Passage -Mountain River Landscape by John Van Alstine

Mountain River Passage

By Stormcat

unconquered Wildness dictates necessity of such

miles certainly the alternative is

walk

two, three . . . hundred

Jagged giants threaten . . .

by day ten-

thousand spears of sunlight

sparkling diamonds surface

invade uberconstricted irises

blinding steersman captains navigators without

regard to rank or wealth

wild men

beasts and eerie silence

real

as raw death has won more often than one cares to contemplate

cool shade on deep southern-bank-channels

soothe

sunburned lips and nose

what of the blood mooned starry nights

where growl of beasts

motivate well kept

campfires

next to tenuous moorings

and restless passengers wallow in tiring slumber

awaiting dreading

another day of endless pool and drop

with names like auger falls, zee trap rapid

death trail, and the grim reaper

lulling boredom followed

by utter terror

followed

by boredom then terror then . . . boredom terror boredom terror until

one rainbow over

humble structure

after demonic deluge

and the welcome muscle-taxing-sweaty-tedious-unloading cargo

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Thirty Six . . .

Patriarch

by Stormcat

We hardly know each other, my friend and I,

There is just this feeling that draws me there. Impossible

To ignore in any reality only creates confusion . . .

Somehow I feel we can heal each other . . . Somehow.

I don't even know why I would want to do that . . . crusty

Old goat that he is makes it hard to approach . . . Yet something

In that sort-of smile, half wisdom half distain, gives confidence

Comfort, dissolution of fear!

Patriarch of the mountains, of nature, tribal protector, given to

Natural instinct. . . providing . . . fierceness to enable tenderness . . .

Succumbing to limbic desire . . . overcoming insurmountable

Challenge to stasis creates conflict only overcome by pain

To sacrifice ones life for the betterment of others is noble!

So what of the rebel that loses the rebellion?

Is the sacrifice any less noble?

What of those who "plow the sea," winning nonetheless?

Dark, strong, man of intense contrast

Solitude-seeker people-magnet

Angry peacemaker

Can one who lives so strongly understand subtlety?

Thirty Five . . .

Flappin -n- Freakin

by Stormcat

Fuzz

Fuzz flit

Feather flit

Flitter - flit

Flit flit flitter

Flitter flutter

Flitter flap

Flutter flap

Flap flap

Flap

flapflap . . . . Falling

Flapflapflap _ flapflap _ flap _ flap _ flap _ flap . . . finally flying

Friday, January 24, 2014

Thirty Four . . .

Words I like to Speak

by Stormcat

vacillate, lament, bombastic, recapitulate, ominous, scintillate, obsequious, pusillanimous, paternal, subterfuge, intercalate, monogamy, obliterate, acquiesce, cantankerous, . . . . .

These are words that want

to fill my mouth to capacity. Not because

they are commonly useful or often relevant

but words that

just feel good echoing around in there.

Not words that

you wish to either spit out or swallow, rather

words that

long to be kept and savored, like a delicious morsel, allowed to bounce

around for a while until they simply float away.

Words that

scintillate like a song,

defy pusillanimous effort, test

the conformation of environment, and challenge

the capability of the voice. Bombastic words that dominate

ominous status as the evolution of

individual linguistic ontogeny recapitulates. Words coupled to

monogamous definition that acquiesce to

brevity, obliterate descriptive phraseology,

intercalate volumes, and vacillate on the edge of genius.

Rarities that inform fierceness,

induce cantankerous lament,

create joyous celebration,

obstruct retaliation,

defy answer,

release innocent relaxation,

justify aggressive felicity,

encompass all manner of situation and emotion.

These are

the kind of words

I like

to speak . . .

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Thirty Three . . .

Eternal Declaration/Commitment

By Stormcat

I try to write and my mind goes blank. It’s that for what

I feel there is nothing I could possibly say that would be

good enough to honor that essence, that Thoreauian

completeness, complimentary and balanced, imperfectly

perfect, perfectly imperfect. It seems so easy to speak

anomalously in verse to the honesty of my feelings so

fear should not cause this reluctance but I know that

feelings are what the words are all about . . . admission

Shall there always be lives that are childless in spite

of overwhelming motivation? Be it no matter reason

but you my love will be old when your child is grown

and I will be older or worse. Is there love enough

to produce a child against all odds is noble albeit

clumsy - risky - crazy – unwise – irresponsible – noble

the kind that must reward the world with yet another

genius or idiot, saint or despot, or . . . something like

So I speak from my passion yet unrealized nonetheless

set in motion to gain a foothold in purpose. existence

justifying the very presence of mortality, my mortality

clinging passionately actualizing cascading noble effect

subject to the whims of humanity and the spiritual

universe hoping that the seeds planted will flourish

once the influence of the garden-master passes

un-noticed though the consequence be undeniable

Can you my love forgive us if we can no longer make

a baby or two to show the extent of our desire/

commitment to the religion Family disconnected

from recognizable resonations known as romantic

surely a child or two of amazing beauty and intelligence

shall come from the seed of love that is you and I.

the couple becomes the family becomes the tribe

becomes the nation becomes the universe . . .

one eternal round , , , déjà vu

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Thirty two . . .

Mirror

by Stormcat

She told me to look into the eyes . . . to look there

deeply and recognize the person with those eyes anew and

speak the words out I love you

I thought it such a silly act . . . that I love myself is just

a given fact and there is no need to belabor it with academic

exercise to feed my ego's favor

But for her I reluctantly acquiesce . . . confront the unshaven

in morning dress of robe and slippers, study the foggy image

raw and soggy ethereal mirage

Breath taken, lips part, mind panics . . . no words escape

laryngeal paralysis inflicts dead silence, emotions choke and

leave me sobbing - spiritually broke

I succumb to the mirror . . . . I cannot lie to myself

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Mirror

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Thirty one . . . An experiment in form, all short poems which share one line in common.

All my tomorrows belong to you

Realization

By Stormcat

I don't know where you came from but,

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Acquiescence

By Stormcat

OMFG! ! !

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Obsession

By Stormcat

You must, you really must, be grateful that

all my tomorrows belong to you?

Slavery

By Stormcat

Do you torture me because you know that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Disappointment

By Stormcat

What the fuck ever got me to believe that

all my tomorrows belong to you.

Depression

By Stormcat

Even if you realized it, you still wouldn't believe that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Suicide

By Stormcat

All my tomorrows belong to you!

But since you will never be here . . .

Aggression

By Stormcat

Like it or not

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Plans

By Stormcat

I've thought of a bunch of stuff about what might be and still all I know is that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Joy

By Stormcat

I want with all my heart that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Victim

By Stormcat

All my tomorrows belong to you

and that memory will always haunt me!

Much to my

By Stormcat

Chagrin

All my tomorrows belong to you!

Masochism

By Stormcat

Please!

All my tomorrows belong to you!

Commitment

By Stormcat

All my tomorrows belong to you!

Will you marry me?

Solemate

By Stormcat

I don't even know where you are but

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Clamoring

By Stormcat

Is there even a chance that you'll ever realize that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Incredulity

By Stormcat

Why aren't you celebrating the joy of it, knowing that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Clairvoyance

By Stormcat

What do stars and planets matter when

all my tomorrows belong to you?

Torture

By Stormcat

I guess that you just don't care that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Love

By Stormcat

It should overcome everything. It should be the only controlling force. It is the only reason that

all my tomorrows belong to you!

Fate

By Stormcat

That

all my tomorrows belong to you,

seals it!

Thirty . . .

The Wine of Desire

By Stormcat

think; aromas encountered mowing hay after a rainstorm, mild

earthy sweetness, trapped in the field’s insulating fur, extracted

in swaths sequentially as fingers comb the crop, drifting off

the surface, injecting the breeze, teasing nostrils with boluses

of fleeting intoxication, incrementally drawing the face closer

to a rising valley floor, in turn stimulating the source, iteration

consuming reason, until beyond control the crop parts, the

tongue darts, tasting the wine of desire from its very source.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Twenty Nine . . .

Uncovering A Sleeping Women

By Stormcat

What is it about a sleeping woman that is so beautiful

innocent trust clothed in peace

smooth softness blending into smooth softness

there seems to be a glow of light

all color muted to tones of white

hair splayed perfectly framing entangled eyelashes

soft shadows highlighting subtle contours

I used to think it was the moon but now it has

become obvious that there is no need for outside sources

She is the source

Life springs from my woman

I only plant my seed in her and she

goddess of life

foundation of civilization

source of all goodness

author of love, of loveliness

she brings forth the fruit

she nurtures progenous progression

she defies the second law of thermodynamics

she makes all joy

she makes everything

There will be no need of time once I find her

fifty years or five hundred years

she is looking for me and I am looking for her

that goddess who will sleep confidently

in my presence, in my bed, who will know

that I will breach the powers of all hell to protect her

so she will sleep with the peaceful

confidence of her man's intelligence

of her man's commitment

of her man's fierceness

of her man's strength, of her mans love

and in that trust she will sleep showing all her beauty

for only me to see

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Twenty Eight . . .

Dream Girl

By Stormcat

There is this thing that happens when you are asleep

( in the wee hours before morning consciousness)

when your mind mixes up all that has happened from the past, all that is happening in the present, and all that you hope for in the future

and then your mind makes a dream out of it . . .

So who is this terrifying woman that I'm about to make love to?

Is she my first wife? My second? One of my ex-girlfriends? One of my almost girlfriends? One of my wished for girlfriends? Or a fictional personification of my perfect mate?

Dreams are always kind of dark and muddy. Clarity is rare, and when I do actually recognize someone clearly, it is usually someone from my past. People who profoundly intruded into my life.

I wish it to be the current woman who holds my attention! But I really am quite unsure because the dream is muddy and I only know, when I awake and recall the dream, that if it is her, it is because my heart wants it to be her.

The woman in my dreams represents what I want the woman in my life to be:

Comfortable

tall

and slender like me . . . able to dream and imagine a lovely home-life . . .

loving to be with people and laughing with them . . .

womanly . . . sexy . . . adventurous . . .

knowing when to challenge and when to console . . .

accepting of my compliments knowing they are the truth as I intend them . . .

knowing that my loving eyes are astute, wise, and trustworthy. . .

knowing that she is the only one I want to be with, because she truly is,

my dream girl!

Friday, January 17, 2014

Twenty Seven . . . (Stormcat's got the blues and can't seem to write. So here is an old one that you might enjoy)

The Sugarcat Blues

By Stormcat

(Key of F)
My baby, she’s a kitten . . . A soft n pretty baby kitty cat
Oh ya, My baby, she’s a kitten A soft n pretty baby sugar-cat
I told her . . . Babe I love you!
(spoken) – then I asked -
So whatcha think about that?

She said that love is crazy
Can’t ever tell how it’s gonna go
Ya! love is wild n crazy
it Ain’t predictable at all
(spoken) – Not at all man -
But if it’s starin ya in the face . . .
You might-as-well go ahead an take the fall.

Lovin a kitten ain't easy . . . is trickier than you’d think . . .
She’s a whole lot of life with-the

subtlety beneath
Just when I feel I'm startin to sort it all out . . .
(spoken) -I realize I forgot -
about the claws and teeth

(Key Change to A minor)
Storm Ya gotta stop . . . this pushin with your mind . . . .
Love kitten in the moment        -day by day-
     draw no lines in the sand,
     declare no final stand
All that can do
              is push your kitten away

(Instrumental Solos)

(Final verse back to F)
My baby, she’s a kitten . . . A soft n pretty baby cat
Oh ya but, she’s a tiger kitten . . . A purring feisty baby sugar-cat
And I know that I love her
BUT . . .
I've learned not to ask her

(spoken) – learned not to ask -

learned not to ask her
WHAT . . .
she thinks about that.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Twenty Six . . .

Photo by Snowflake

Clams in love

By Stormcat

There you are

Right next to me

Safe inside your shell

And here I am

Right next to you

Safe inside mine too

Poets United midweek motif (http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2014/01/poets-united-mid-week-motif-equality.html#comment-form)

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Twenty Five . . .

Photo by Snowflake

Breakfast

By Stormcat

I guess the dif'rence is whether

it's for or with though I

can't think of what that might be

with-a rising sun in my eye

It's mostly a va-ca-tion pref'rence

when a cold bloody Mary works too

not into Chai tea Macciato

and soymilk latte just won't do

Espresso with lemon is lovely

and quiche Love I'll always hold dear

but-if Doll your intent is to please me

for breakfast just give me a beer!

Monday, January 13, 2014

Twenty Four . . .

Naturally Blessed

by Stormcat

I haven't felt excited about life for quite some time

Just been going through the motions of living

But suddenly there is a vision that makes me feel like I have a new start

A new job, a beautiful love prospect, serious friendships, maybe even a family

I can't ignore God's hand in this, with all the gratitude that I can offer

I honor that gift

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Twenty Three . . .

Spoonful of Love (chicken soup)

by Stormcat

No matter how cool the soup becomes from the blowing,

the spoon itself still burns.

one develops the technique of sipping the broth

from the extensively blown upon spoonful

without actually touching the spoon itself

It wouldn't be an issue except that the soup is so good

that you can't possibly wait long enough for it to cool.

You see, chicken soup is as close to love as a food gets!

Whenever I start to feel lonely and unloved

all I have to do is make myself a pot of chicken soup.

Everybody makes it differently . . . my Italian friend

Gino makes his with rice, beans, garlic, and Italian spices like

basil, oregano sage and thyme . . . Peter, my Hungarian friend

adds galuska (small dumplings) hot Paprika and serves it

with a dollop of sour cream . . .

I make mine with diced carrots, a little onion, and handmade

pepper noodles (the ones my grandma taught me how to make)

plus rosemary, thyme, marjoram, saffron, and lavender . . .

all day long the soup simmers and fills the house with

the aroma of love. The noodles go in last . . .

By the time it's finished cooking . . . none can wait more

everyone knows how it's going to taste

the bowls are filled, chunky stuff first, then topped with

that steaming broth, salt is passed, giant spoons stir

and are too soon dipped. . . that's when the blowing begins.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Twenty Two . . .

Monstrosities

by Stormcat

There are all these things that come up which seem to be so devastating!

Can't you remember haw devastating it was to get NOT ONE but SEVEN pimples on the evening before you had finally landed the most desired date in the universe!

How about how many nights you didn't sleep because your Doctoral advisor had fallen out of favor at the University and you therefore felt like you could/would never graduate.

Then you can't ignore how they treated you at the symposium as if you were a waste of time, that is until the committee voted your research as the best for the year and awarded you the Presidential award! Ha Ha! ! ! You SOBs, , , I Showed you! ! !

Then your uncle dies and then your mother dies and then your best friend gets killed in an auto accident and then your baby sister dies! ! ! And then suddenly you feel your mortality, your mortal self, your knowledge that you are going to expire someday!

So can we really take refuge in Socratic wisdom? That death is either but a transformation to a new experience or an eternal sleep with no realization. What if death is an eternal sleep with realization or a new experience in torture? Did Socrates really extend all the possibilities? Maybe a monster will eat me with burning consumption over and over for all eternity and I will regret every bite that it takes!

All I care about now is whether I will ever be able to find that beautiful woman who loves me!

Do you think that saving the world is better than that?

Do you think that inventing something that makes everyone's life wonderful is better than being loved by someone whom you think is a goddess?

Because it takes a Goddess to give me the strength to save the world!