I recently posted poetry on another blog. It’s not something i do regularly- write poetry, I mean. But I recommend writing poetry to stretch your skills. Poetry is a different way of observing. You must make your view compact yet compelling. Try it. You may find an unexplored talent.
The damned cat died.
Old age, I suppose,
That mangy hair-ball.
Remember her silly kitten act?
Chasing dust balls from under the bed
To scatter tatters across the rug
And sneeze pieces clinging to her whiskers.
How many times did she drop an offering
At my feet or on the back step?
Mighty hunter of baby birds and mice
And once a two foot long snake.
Grooming in a ray of sunlight,
She’d stare contemptuously at my entrance
When I opened the door
Her tongue a tiny pink raspberry.
A purring lump against the small of my back
On cold, lonely nights.
Her raspy tongue would lick my chin
And tickle before I pushed her away.
So the damned cat died.
And I’m putting her ragged toys,
Bowl and collar into a brown bag.
To dispose of. Maybe.
I’ll miss the damned cat.
Much more than I ever miss you.
So tomorrow I’ll get another kitten,
Although I can’t think why.
Tonight there is an empty doorstep.
And a cold hollow at the small of my back.
And I’ll cry again, for both of you.
But mostly because the damned cat died.
I couldn’t find a picture of Winnie. She was a grey domestic.
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