Cato, (My) (A) The Cat

Cato was very much an ordinary cat
who reclined royally on my welcome mat.
No, he wasn’t one of those portly Siamese
with all fur and no brains, none of that for me, please.
Nothing remarkable about his pointy face -
Just a scruffy cat, not one you’d want to embrace.

Cato had just one name, not three, as far as I know
But I could be wrong, as I’ve been before, you know.
I suspect he was eminently capable
of carrying off an effable, effenineffable,
deep and inscrutable singular name, just as
any old poet’s cat, but I dared not ask.

Cato had permitted me just to listen
and chronicle his adventures, wielding my pen.
I was allowed some pertinent questions; the rule
said pertinent, mind, not personal. He was no fool.
Therefore I wasn’t privy to his singular name.
It was a closely guarded secret – what a shame!

PMS

Questioning, pondering, wondering – trivialized as “PMS LOL?
Been with a lot of women, so know all about moodswings”
Go fuck your tiny brain, retard
Hormones
Why are men uncomfortable with menstruation
Why are women uncomfortable with menstruation
Catholics
Catechism, blood on skirts, don’t talk about it
Kept under wraps because coming of age was at 12 rather than 14 of previous generation
Celebration because she is ready to be impregnated?
Announce to the world that the womb is ready to be seeded
Legs to be spread only to the one chosen (by family, society, rules, world)
Pseudo liberated chauvinists
Men pseudo sympathetic to feminism - Why would a species/group recognised/accepted as higher/better willingly step down? Makes no sense. Yet pretend – to understand (PMS) condescend, patronise.
Feminists aren’t humanists, but then retards wouldn’t know.
Questions that can’t be answered, spirit that can’t be quelled, anguish of the soul – attributed to PMS
Go fuck yourself, you retard

Bible

Beautiful language.
Apocryphal.
Scary shit.
Intention to scare.
Distorted story
of a man named Jesus
who lived some years ago,
I fell in love with
some years ago.
I am Magdalene.
Where are your stones?

(21)

When you're around, a giant smiley called Glee
makes its appearance, to seduce and woo.
Glee is a fickle friend who visits me
only with you; when you leave, he bids adieu too.

i dream nonsense

Your name is poetry.
Your name is my song.
Sing it at my funeral.

(20)

You came, to give me music. That’s why you came.
I fell in selfish love; I hoped you’d stay.
You came with my music, you bore his name.
I should have known. Angels cannot stay.

Why

Why
in fuck’s name
can I not write about
pizzas
and gooey cheese
and chilli flakes
and sugar
and money
and honey
and home
and children
and recipes
and schools
or even the yellow white round faced moon
that shyly peeked through potted bamboo
while I was stuffing my face with French Fries.

Why the fuck must I think breathe write -
You.

Dead Poem

I should have written that poem for you
Yesterday.
When words were floating inside my eyes;
when every thought ended with

“Him

the one

with music in his fingers

the one

who brought manna from heaven”

and so on and so forth.
Absolute mush, but then you know me -
I am no different from the rest of them
when it comes to love. I am just a fool.
Just like the rest of them.

Heavens! There is no sadness anymore.
This assertion is not like the ones I’ve made before.
There is not even an empty space
where thoughts bounce around
and by the lack of resistance,
demonstrate to self that
it indeed is hollow.

There is nothing.
Finally, I understand the concept that ‘nothing’ is also matter.
Dark Matter. Anti-matter. I should have been a scientist.
Mad scientist. What fun!
Strange, isn’t it, how some things are clearer during adversity
when the brain is shot with the fog of numbness.

I should have written that poem for you
Yesterday
I thought it was beautiful
Mush it was, yes, but then you know me
I am just a fool when it comes to you.

I have no poems anymore
Let Go. I have.
The poem has died.
Beautiful dead
Things beautiful dead
Don’t you see the vultures already
Can’t you hear their curses already
They wish me further betrayals
They eat corpses, they curse.

Let me just fucking die.