New Cat Poem

This is my cat, Maurice’s poem. He died a few months ago after about 17 years. He was a black cat born on October 31st. I’ve shared it with a few friends. In some respects it’s the first poem I wrote in years, simply because it’s different than the other poems I’ve written in the past couple of years. I did steal the idea from Billy Collins; he wrote a poem through his dog’s voice. Why I would steal anything from that guy, someone who accused me of being a simile machine I have no idea. Poet laureate—eh, what does he know. Kidding--it was a useful comment; not for the poem we were talking about but….

Pet me, you fool

Why did you call me Maurice?
It’s an okay name
but even though you remember
your 7th grade
French dictée
your pronunciation, save tien,
is intelligible.
When others asked why you named me Maurice
you said that I told you that was my name,
I did no such thing
I didn’t talk to you for at least two weeks,
and you named me after only 2 days.
People kept leaving your condo
and your life,
what happened to that 1st girl
that you lived with?
The one that was allergic to me,
but loved me almost as much as you.
After my first 11 months
she stayed in bed a lot
got skinny
bloated up
right before she disappeared.
She smelled of chemicals,
she left one day
with a long thin tube in her arm
and never came back.
I liked her,
hoped I’d see her again.

Then there was that woman that came
every few months for five years,
once she stayed for two weeks
and on the14th she cried and screamed at you.
I thrust a claw in her leg,
she was annoying and I thought you might like that
but you cried that night,
and then again for her years later
so perhaps the claw thing was not a good idea.


Then there was the guy with dreds
he stayed for 9 months,
I liked him and his youthfulness.
You two spun a lot of music,
our condo was the happiest it had been
since that 1st girl
but maybe it was because you two
smoked a lot of pot.
I liked teasing him, pretending
I was a crazed cat.
Once I cornered him
and two friends,
he propped up his mattress
barricaded all of them
in a corner.

How about that woman
who came and sat next to you
while you endlessly played
that damn computer game?
She’d sit silently
for hours watching
until you cried,
she and I talked a lot with our eyes
about the 1st girl.
I liked her too
she smoked too much.

Then my step brother
that dog stayed with us for 5 years,
you went away for a week
someone with a key
took him.
He never came back home,
I missed him like Dorothy did the Scarecrow,
we always played
chased each other continuously
from the living room to the bedroom
until I’d get
my nail stuck in his chest
then we’d sit still,
at attention
until you gently pried us lose.
He was nice to curl next to in winter
to sit next to on the window seat,
we used to think about the passing cars together.

Now that I’m gone
to the hole in your backyard
I hope you can keep
someone in your life consistently.




I still might rework this a few times, but I like it now. Well, the title I’m not so sure about, but I’m whimsical. I’m like an annoying parent with my poems, tugging at them straightening their ties, seldom leaving them alone. I’m just hoping to find the right image for the blog site

Death and Dark Roots Video

This is the video David and I shot in my attic with the pocket camera he swiped from his 11 year old daughter. We loved the fact that New Jersey appeared at the bottom of the frame. The book that the camera is sitting on is part of our tripod mechanism. The image is rather dark. We shot one that looks better but this one had such a cooler feel to it. I recently met this woman, Sylvia, whose a photographer. I'm gonna try to get her to shoot the next video because at least she'd have a better understanding of light. She says that she knows nothing about video but then I found out that she's a photography major in school so that's not gonna fly.




Death and Dark Roots

Looking out the window
wanting to see a peaceful setting
the moon rising above a patch of still grass
air breathing through the trees
branches brushing against each other
like office paper jogged carefully.

The moon isn’t necessary on 6th
at 1400 block
all the street lights are out
except one weak flickering
and one across the street at a Hayward hotel
lighting up the sidewalk where no roots grow
but those that fight up through a neglected crack
and black gum spots
that have lost their bright colors
pretend to take root
because they’ve been there so long
none of these move freely
or softly with the wind
the wind
like other things in life
gets trapped
whips around tall buildings,
I see the results
trash
blowing violently out of crowded sewers
and wire meshed garbage cans
some of it blows wildly lost
some moves with a natural rhythm
but most stays close by
lost
a mass without roots.
I dump the dottle from my pipe
it reminds me of my friend
growing up there
crowded
without roots
blowing wildly lost
taking on color,
the hair-like growths
that supply food
the bring water
have no soil to cling to for support
what is expected happens
he is again crowded
planted in a wooden box
among dark roots,
plots spaced apart like soldiers
while someone offers usless words of comfort.