Ugly Cat Speaks

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Seventh Annual Florence Poets Society Fall Festival Poems

This year I didn't read  since I hadn't done much writing over the past year (as this blog can attest to).  But, as usual, I get inspired from listening to all the wonderful poets reading at the event. I wrote the following poems at the Festival on Sunday - with exception of the last poem, who's title was inspired by a conversation I had at the festival, but was actually written two days later. Enjoy!

facing it
no longer denying
blemishes on
your record

no longer ignoring
those red flags
in the system

the emptiness

in your wallet
to make sure you are
an organ donor

you check accounts
in case your luck
has changed then

arrange the empty
bottles neatly
on the counter


force of words

was it the
audio settings
bass tones thumping
each hard consonant
or was it the
the content
each word stumping
the status quo
letting questions
rise like worms
after a rain
seeking out
something new
to consume today


Mary Oliver Fan Club

For Lisa Starr, Poet Laureate, RI

The poet spoke
Only a few words
Before dropping
The name of
Her favorite poet
Then again and again
In her discourse
She slipped the
Poet’s words and presence
So that the fact that
She was Poet Laureate
Got lost in her adoration


Fate in the Beginning is Romantic

if it was responsible
for bringing us together
and if you expected
it would fail
not for lack of love
or for trying
each week
to work through
what would become
irreconcilable differences
would knowing
it was inevitable
make it easier to navigate
the lonely dinners
and the nights
on the couch
because the bed
is now too big



throughout the town
the Entrepreneur drives
all the while belting
out a creepy, children’s
siren song
though Summer is fading
the bright orange
ice cream truck
continues searching
for an audience
and in the silence
between the poems
the mechanical tunes
appear – drawing
attention away
from the speaker
however briefly
as poets reach
for pen and paper


eternal Twilight

it’s not the sparkling
seen on the lake
at the Summer house
when the blow-up rafts
are brought up to the dock

it’s not the darkness
creeping over the
leaf-strewn streets
as children are called
in to finish homework
before their supper

it’s not the coldness
of a creatures heart
soulless or otherwise empty
trudging over the
freshly fallen snow

no, it is the media
vampires – sucking
the life out of
the youth of a generation
who bleed clichés
and live with the
pallor of poor writing


poetry news report*

sister Suzie
seeming forced
and artificial
nothing but trouble
no smiling around it
slipped into the parking lot
funny when high
didn’t feel like chewing
some kind of white-boy afro
would have given potential
detractors an opening
if they needed it
what the fuck
is he talking about


*written with actual lines from
three poems from one poet

sadly, I eventually had to kill Nadine

she spun a home for herself
quite nicely out of the way
for days never seeming
to venture away
so that the neighbors
sighed in relief when
they could see her
sitting quietly
on her front porch
ignoring them

but predators don’t wait
forever when
there’s limited prey
instead today or maybe
last night she crept
to a new location
infringing on a particularly
panicked neighbor
in ways she couldn’t

and when she was discovered
too late she realized
the error she made
and tried to scamper away
but, sadly, eventually,
I had to kill Nadine
with the shower massager
on streaming – water
dripped from the ceiling
as the spindly spider legs
slipped down the drain



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