What is thine is divine and is feline

How sweet it is!
He chose me, he did.
Lucky to be
There then
when he wanted on his wild whimsy.
A seven-year itch, though it may be.
You see, it is quite easy to
cherish thee more every day
feeling more spiritually on air
by him just being there
by choice. His voice
calls and beckons for little me
whose heart feels about to burst forth
and spill thy weaknesses all over
with emulsified energy,
found the warmth we each seek
From the sun
this is how he follows thy heat
day by day.
That is all we can do, soak it up,
sound would only muffle the space.
So we should hold silence gently
and stay in this moment, you noticed me
waiting to be saved. You made me
meet you more than half way.
And now, this is we,
joined in verse where eternity is
guaranteed and easily granted
permission to feel what is happy.
We should
be happy, now,
with our own two eyes
and keep holding on to each other
for as long as little life will keep
holding us back.

Homelessness

It is an ordinary thing:
a baby looking over the shoulder,
a child transfixed,
because they sense mother-ness or homeliness
I guess.

Then the cats,
the felines that follow
nearly silently,
like the prowling puma in the wilderness
they all watch back from the bush-
paw prints have proven this-
And then the ways skittish strays
locate
remembering how to purr...

Nary a soul sees the magic in these,
except
the extraordinary poet
who thinks one blink, and it could all
change.



Photo Credit © CEphoto, Uwe Aranas / ,via Wikimedia Commons at (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bangkok_Thailand_Stray-cat-in-Wat-Hua-Lamphong-01.jpg)

Gray Stray

I have this cat, he's a Russian Blue.

But everyone that has cats knows that's not true,

because as felines profess know-it is they who own you.

He's not even really blue, more of a grey,

but his silver coat shines in a certain way

in the afternoon light of any sunny gold day.

He showed up one day where I now live,

asking for any extra love I could spare to give,

though hardly desperate and still quite furtive.

Sure it started out so innocently slow,

an outdoor kitty, but inside he's soon allowed to go-

he's on my bed right now-I just know!

He has a smoky cough and missing part of his left ear,

yet even with his claws and flaws, to our family he’s quite dear.

He’s even learned some English within the first year here!

He likely has a sorted past.

His walk is any gait but fast.

We will never bother to ask where he was last.

He's the first of his kind upon my lap,

always kneeding to take a nap.

His purr melts my heart like sweet honey sap.

He's not a lean, skitzo, or hyper thing,

yet I have caught him imagining,

chasing his tail or lion-dreaming.

He must just smell that certain human look,

common to those ones who often carry a book,

because he knows they will always find the coziest nook.

Perhaps some of the cats we label as “stray”-

actually know their way,

but didn't have the words to say,

"I think I'll find a different home,

and until I find the right one I'll roam-

I hope I find one that has a decent flea comb.”

He's the other sock in a pair

the other cats he likes to taunt and scare,

as for me, he loves to just sit and stare.

It’s for sure,  I've never been loved more

by a furry thing with legs of four.

His Cheshire smile and blocky head I simply adore.

I don't think his nine lives will be enough.

When he reaches number 8 it will be rough,

(even though we both like to act tough).

Yet while he's here to help me every day,

laying on my stuff in that innocent way,

or scratching the furniture in bursts of play,

I'll worship him for the gift of daily smiles,

ignore the wafting back yard mystery piles,

and be thankful for his cat walk across miles,

where he found his matching human pair,

one that likewise does not yet have gray hair,

he’s my gray stray with a tryst, my feline affair.