I have been laying around with the flu for a few days and the fur kids have joined me. And I finally had a clear enough head to pen this little poem.
Every ponder the continence of the cat
The poetry of their little nose
Their prim little mouths
The tear drop corners of their eyes.
How perfect every hair
Their direction and length
Funnels around each whisker
Never ruffled up.
Little Buddhas in fur coats
With inscrutable expressions
Zen wizards purring on our laps
Unaware of our stares.
Or do they just grace us
With the glory of their presence
So we can stare at them
Give them their due.
(c) J. Binford-Bell
If you have a poem for us this week leave me your url here or 360 on on Twitter. A lot of people here in blogland seem to have the flu so attendance this week is light or perhaps just slow. Or I was slow to get poems linked in. Promise better next week.
My So Called LifeHeidi B
Frani
Nicholas V
Shouting at Street Lights
Love the poem and the perfect picture to accompany it.
ReplyDeleteHere's my light-hearted offering for this week. Not feeling the greatest myself today.
http://bekkieslife.blogspot.com/
This is a nice way to preserve poetry wednesday (aoart, that is, from actually participating... ahem...). i loved this poem about the cats. being a cat lover myself it really encapsulated the warm and fuzzy glow i get when i see a cat.
ReplyDeleteand thank you for your kind comments on my blog about my nephew. he definitely is a strong and wise person.
Aaah, yes, Catfish, I too owned a Persian once. I figured not being good groomers was a natural selection process because those that did groom died of hairballs. Still Ozzie had a sense of presence that included just the right colors in chairs and cushions to highlight him.
ReplyDelete