Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Cats

Types of domestic cat

"A black cat crossing your path signifies that  

the animal is going somewhere."

Groucho Marx

Catskill Cats--near my hometown in Upstate New York

Midweek Motif ~ Cats

I live with two beautiful black cats that were "rescue" cats--unwanted.  I adopted them this year when they turned 5 years old.

According to Wikipedia: 

"Mixed or Black cats have been found to have lower odds of adoption in American shelters compared to other colors except brown, although black animals in general take more time to find homes. . . . August 17 is Black Cat Appreciation Day."

I concede that cats of any color might be as sweet and mythic as my black ones, and so offer this motif for cats no matter their color.

Your Challenge: Have fun with cats in your new poem. Post your link below so we can visit.

Cats Dream

by Pablo Neruda

How neatly a cat sleeps,

sleeps with its paws and its posture,

sleeps with its wicked claws,

and with its unfeeling blood,

sleeps with all the rings-

a series of burnt circles-

which have formed the odd geology

of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,

with all the fur of time,

with a tongue rough as flint,

with the dry sex of fire;

and after speaking to no one,

stretch myself over the world,

over roofs and landscapes,

with a passionate desire

to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep

would undulate, how the night

flowed through it like dark water;

and at times, it was going to fall

or possibly plunge into

the bare deserted snowdrifts.

Sometimes it grew so much in sleep

like a tiger's great-grandfather,

and would leap in the darkness over

rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night,

with episcopal ceremony

and your stone-carved moustache.

Take care of all our dreams;

control the obscurity

of our slumbering prowess

with your relentless heart

and the great ruff of your tail.

(Translated by Alastair Reid)

To A Cat

by Jorge Luis Borges

Mirrors are not more silent

nor the creeping dawn more secretive;

in the moonlight, you are that panther

we catch sight of from afar.

By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,

we look for you in vain;

More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,

yours is the solitude, yours the secret.

Your haunch allows the lingering

caress of my hand.

You have accepted,

since that long forgotten past,

the love of the distrustful hand.

You belong to another time.

You are lord

of a place bounded like a dream.

 "She sights a Bird - she chuckles -"

by Emily Dickinson (about 1862)

She sights a Bird - she chuckles -

She flattens - then she crawls -

She runs without the look of feet -

Her eyes increase to Balls -

Her Jaws stir - twitching - hungry -

Her Teeth can hardly stand -

She leaps, but Robin leaped the first -

Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,

The Hopes so juicy ripening -

You almost bathed your Tongue -

When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes -

And fled with every one 

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community.

(Next week Sumana's Midweek Motif will be ~ Blessings)