Shadorma – that wonderful bogus poetic form that is such fun to write – is perfect for the paean to the feline companion, the international cat of mystery. It’s also handy in keeping the basic arithmetic sharp. Six lines of 3, 5, 3, 3, 7 and 5 syllables. And done.
Her tail annoyed to
Have to share
my lap with
a computer. She knows I
Look at other cats.
Soon, she’ll lash
Out and claw my hand
This won’t end
Well. A rug
Is the only answer, like
A parrot at night
My little
Cat thinks it queer to
Stop with no
Food source near
Gives her cage an angry poke
Car trips are no joke
Preferring
No travel, my cat
Would rather
Be at home
Sunning on the windowsill.
She suffers loudly.
The earth is
Not flat. We know this
For if it
Were flat, the
Cats would have pushed everything
Off the edge by now.
Snoring gently and
Paws twitching –
In a dream
Hunts wildebeest and giraffe.
Wakes, and demands lunch.
Cats need their
Sleep, they really do.
A doze here,
Deep dreams there.
Have you ever known a cat
With insomnia?
Sandburg – wrote
Of little cat feet –
My plonker.
Ten tons of pressure per paw
When she tromps at night.
Cats can talk
Yes, they really can
Nudging things
To the floor
Communicates their demands
Most effectively.
A tail twitch
Registers complaint
As well as
A human
Demanding the poor sales clerk
Impassive,
My cat observes the
Groundhog and
The deer through
The window. But woe betide
A cat! Rage ensues.
Shadorma –
new poetic form.
Fun to write,
easy to read.
Purrfect verse for the portrait
of my cat Nesreen.
Just six lines,
basic counting skills.
Syllables –
Three, five, three
Three, seven and a final
five. There! That’s not hard.
Cats from top to bottom: Nesreen, a linocut cat by Vanessa Lubach, Mog by Judith Kerr, The White Cat by Franz Marc, a fine Ginger, Striped Cat by Mary Fedden, Nesreen.
When I was in the emergency room last year having busted my elbow, a nurse…
Most of us have done it at some point or another - accidentally locked ourselves…
Thanks to the #1970 Club, I've spent the spare moments of the past week immersed…
The #1970 Club is starting tomorrow (October 14th) and I'm prepared with some reading and…
How Do They Live with Themselves? This was the question Roger Rosenblatt asked in The…
View Comments
I love this quote from Elizabeth Lemarchand:
"A black cat dropped soundlessly from a high wall, like a spoonful of dark treacle and melted under a gate."
Great quotation/ observation. And I am happy you have found this cat post!
I’m sure Old Possum would have approved
We live in hope!
terrific; I loved every stanza and though I'm more of a dog person I'm intrigued by cats; plus I enjoy adventurous poetry on any topic
As you say,
an ideal feline
form of verse.
However,
it's a challenge I accept
for better, for worse.
I hope your
Cat appreciates
Your tribute
To her traits
But we know that's not that to
Which she relates.
I love the form. I had a good laugh over the my little cat must think it queer.
Not a farmhouse in sight! No woods either. And it's not snowing.
Thank you for this poetic window into your life with Nesreen...