This
blog is devoted to a select group of poets. We're starting with poets
from the Ann Arbor area, but, hey, if you're from Detroit, Grand Rapids,
Saginaw or the Upper Peninsula, then that is okay, too.
Our goal is to provide you with a prompt every day from which you are to garner inspiration and submit a poem. How to submit will be very easy. Just put your poem or short story in the comments section and hit post. You may not immediately see your post, but it is there under the "Comments" section. You may need to click on "Comments" to see your poem. It is there on another page.
Today's poem or short story prompt is the word "cat(s)"
(note: this week's posts by Mike are dedicated to the Harry Potter Alliance http://thehpalliance.org/ a group
of dedicated mostly-Muggles doing good in the world. See you at Misti Con this weekend.)
Our goal is to provide you with a prompt every day from which you are to garner inspiration and submit a poem. How to submit will be very easy. Just put your poem or short story in the comments section and hit post. You may not immediately see your post, but it is there under the "Comments" section. You may need to click on "Comments" to see your poem. It is there on another page.
You
may need to have a Gmail account to post in the comments section. Most
of you do have Gmail, but for those of you that don't it's extremely
worthwhile to open up one now! That way you've got a chance to get your
work out there in the world.
(note: this week's posts by Mike are dedicated to the Harry Potter Alliance http://thehpalliance.org/ a group
of dedicated mostly-Muggles doing good in the world. See you at Misti Con this weekend.) 
Cat
ReplyDeleteWhere did they you come from?
What was the domestication
From fierce and wild
Or cougar or jaguar
That brought you to my neighborhood
Into my house
Where you sit on my lap
Vibrating sleeping dreaming
Wondering
Asking the same question
Catherine Powers
May 14, 2013
Copyright 2013
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteCuh-raaazy Cats
ReplyDeleteoutside the back door
out in the alley
i can hear them talking
reading mostly
the thoughts are twisted
and convoluted
like pieces of ground meat
circling back on themselves
after an afternoon of canoeing
or a lunchbox
carried down into a mine
by a man who has only two more years to live
but doesn't know it
he knows something is wrong
he doesn't know the words 'black lung'
he eats his biscuit and ham
and drinks cold coffee
thankful for what little he has
a strong son
two beautiful but plain daughters
a wife who makes his lunch
and a friend who is learning to play guitar
so he can accompany him on fiddle
i don't hear any gratefulness
from the cats in the back
(cats? beatniks? hipsters?
what word are we using these days?)
i don't hear any gratefulness
in the voices out back
i hear talent
and ambition
and brilliance
of a sort
- Mike Fedel
May, 2013