Bella Dreams in Catscope? (poem)

We had Laura, at the end of the week at dVerse Poets, with a prompt: MTB: Two and a Half Rhyme where she asks for us to write a 12 line (at least) poem consisting of couplets.

And so, for today’s MTB prompt we are writing in two lines stanzas as rhyming couplets thus:

Poetry Rules:

  • Write at least 12 lines of poetry in couplets
  • separate the poem into couplets of 2 line stanzas
  • the couplets must rhyme but only using half or para rhymes [see examples below]

Now, I did my best, hopefully, to stick to the half or para rhyme’s … this was definitely a challenging prompt and a very cool one.  

What does my Bella dream?

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Bella Dreams in CatScope?

Bella dreams in CatScope? Dreams I do not know
nor be told if I were to ask, could possibly understand in the fold’s

of fur coated scampers from the depths of a plush cat head
with a fresh laid towel and a space heater hip

Does she recall window scenes in those CatScope dreams
our years passed through open screens of Spring and Summer’s shared breeze

of life whispered into a house cat’s heart, “if only” adventures touched
with grass and trees, squirrels and mice, birds and bees and many limbed windowsill bugs

or even something more, as ongoing and endless as yesterday’s cat of being
stretching to non-fatal curiosities today again curled in this CatScope to begin

or continue secrets she keeps in her meditations and even communes
maybe a spirit only she knows of and who to call a truth

while letting me live the conceit of her world being of just us, me
with a stretch for a yawned pet but a different reality entirely

from the depths of a plush cat head
with a fresh towel and a space heater hip

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat – (poem re-visit with audio read)

Ok, so a re-post in the Attic here for a dVerse Poets open link night, where you can contribute/link any poem of yours that you would like or you can choose to write something new to whatever that week’s open link prompt may be.

Now, I’ve never written anything new in response to that night’s prompt though I do recall maybe using one of those prompts and writing something new to it later on, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never contributed anything in the way of a link to an older piece of my mine though on that point I am not entirely confident as I’ve wanted to post this particular one for a while so part of me forgets as to whether I actually did.

If so, my apologies, but I can be sure that even if I have already I didn’t post the audio of my read along with with it and that helps, by the way, as it is a bit long.

Whatever the case may be, here is my Seussian-like Ode to a dear, dear Orange friend of mine that I wrote for him back in 2019 a few years after he had passed.

His name was “Shoes”.

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February, 2019

For three plus years now I’ve had this single line rattling round my noggin, bumping into shit. “A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat.” A Dr Seussian type line that has never let me be. I’ve written many a word around it in my head over these years as I remember Shoes and the walks he and I would take around the drive/roadway and parking lots that circled our apartment complex during his last month or so. It was a time for me that was as equally heartbreaking as it was wondrous. I know I’ve brought up Shoes often, enough so that it may seem tired, but he was one of those friends that needs be remembered and brought up often for what he was. A reminder of who we are. A reminder of what is/was true. I think, maybe, I’ve finally got this down now. Bear with me.

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat Audio

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat

There was a boy and his cat in a cone plastic hat
Who found themselves walking this way and way that
In circles round home on a night by night trip
He talkin’ cat list’nin’
At a calm peaceful clip


You see


The boy’s cat in this cone plastic hat was not well
And the boy he had many long stories to tell
To his dearest of friends of 11 grand years
But trying to do so without shedding his tears

So they walked and he talked on these perfect (s) of nights
Allowing this cat in the cone plastic hat
Some flights
Footed outside
For the first time in his life
A gift from the boy to this cat’s great delight

And the cat in the cone plastic hat listened just right
Though now minus one ear from a Doctor’s try stop
The other had might
Enough to catch stories spun high in the air
By his boy who he followed with great love and great care

Along their way they passed people and pets
Both large and both small
To the cat in the cone plastic hat though
They were all tall
But he came to grow big as they petted and gushed
With attention he loved
As they marveled his gifts to walk with no rush
With his boy who just smiled some big hearty hugs

This cat in the cone plastic hat waited by day
For the sound of boy’s car
To home come from what seemed so
So far
Far away
To make
Way
Stairs
Down,
No dilly
No dally
As time for him was no longer an ally

You see

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew he hadn’t this time
He wanted their friendship to grow and to shine
But for this shortest of moments
In the grandness of things
They would stride steady together with the greatness of kings

It was stories of boy that were of utmost import
In walks round their round he would offer support
While cat sniffing cat checking
Getting caught in the brush
His cone plastic hat it was flush
Filled with tales flung way far
That dearly so meant
So,
So much

There was even a day
This cat in the cone plastic hat
Got chance just to play
And to lead while, of course, always knowing the way
Minus his hat
Oh glorious day
Then bringing boy back to that place they called home
Where all with the boy it was always the known

But there were things this cat in the cone plastic hat knew needed be said
Of what would become in his absence of stead
Of what boy would do after the gone
Where time it would shorten but still feel so
Long

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew just what
What knew of just such
What knew sure of be that too long
A day
To help him stay strong
To make it not much
He’d say

Goodbye
He thought
In life’s wonder of walks
This cat who was now at in his cone plastic hat
But remembering time where this wasn’t just that
When play was a shoelace tossed long and just right
For wondrous of times and of silly fun fights
Of a mouse down to chase
Or a titter hand tat
And all while wearing no such special hat

But paw forward he would
This way and way that
His best boy in the world as well as he could
To friends who he knew he should
Surely point true
To others in fur and some so in skin
But still remind them that his name was Shoes

Always Shoes

You see

He resides now in heart held so very so strong
Of a nightstand’s still perch
Sensing short winded nightmares long
So sudden jerks
To come down and so sweetly lay to boy’s left
To calm him to know that all was still well
That there would still be so many more stories to tell
That there will always be some more to be said

Now sleep just go back
“We’re hittin’ the rack”
As you always would say
Ahead of tomorrow’s a brand new grand day
Rest your boy head
The begin has its end but ends beg begin … always
Get some sleep for right now
At least
My dearest of friends

Can We Whistle? (solidarity) – (poem)

From Grace at dVerse Poets this week she prompted of poems of questions.

“Today, we shift the focus from poetry form to craft style. Specifically: poems built around questions that remain unanswered.”

So, one here then with just one overriding question.

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Can We Whistle? (solidarity)

Can we all whistle while

they work at whistling

in bitter climate

of fear

loss

whistling a new work whistle out of pocket out of heart out of anger gig economy of

whistle walking with intent, purpose

of community

humanity

no freedom’s thievery to mask

here

whistling OF the wind

with the wind

down the wind

up the wind

sideways wind’s angers past fresh graveyards

whistling still in the woods

but

worth a whistling’s

raised hand at the station

to halt the train of dark history’s whistle stops

and its dogs

whistled to existence again

.

Can we all whistle?

The 3:05a to Somewhen (prosery)

A “prosery” prompt at dVerse Poets from Mish.

The Prosery is to write a short, 144 word piece of prose (not including the title) while including a line of poetry. The line here? “Lips forget what they have kissed” from Toni Morrison and “Eve Remembering”.

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The 3:05a to Somewhen

“Are you sure you want to do this? … well, I can hear you breathing … and you haven’t said no, so … you know where. 3:02a sharp with a 3 minute window. And just the empty clothes on your back and NO memories on your implant, just the ones we’ll give you. I’ll be scanning.”

“I’ll be there. 3:02a.”

He knew this could get him terminated, instantly, in the there/now before he left or the there/when he was heading, but he had to get out, escape, had to try, and he’d hidden it deep … real deep.

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“A third scan? Seriously?”

“Something’s off.”

“It’s almost 3 minutes.”

A violent wind arrived.

Shouting …

“DAMMIT! YOU KNOW YOU’LL NEVER WAKE IN THE WHEN WITH A STOWAWAY!!”

“BUT YOU DON’T REALLY KNOW THAT DO YOU?!!”

“LIPS FORGET WHAT THEY HAVE KISSED!!”

“NOT DOGS!”

The Flower (poem)

A new Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets from De (WhimsyGizmo) earlier this week.

The 44 word poem to include some use of one word from the prompt, in this case, “Flower”.

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The Flower

The flower did not ask  

be miracle or mourner

epiphany or eulogy

congratulator or apologist

be poem, painting, song

just shared breath

in rainbow fields, floppy hatted gardens, sidewalk cracks

it did not expect

being muse  

of life and death

but it reached

then

The Snow Was 17 Feet (poem)

For a prompt of “Snow” from Kim at dVerse Poets and a now new poem version of a little remembrance I wrote a number of years ago of when I was a kid, after a big snow, and got my first scars, and a piece that I just recently re-posted.

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The Snow Was 17 Feet

The snow was tall

taller still in my small

17 feet

maybe

it had to be

at least

but I would climb it

cross it

on top to its peak

reach for now shorter trees to climb, view from above

with determined scarved stare

and new purpose swim goggles

in imagined funny tennis racket shoes (regular boots)

just like in TV shows of winter

with penguins

and white bears

and whiter void horizons

and shout to other snow still falling that I was their King

each and every flake

joining brothers and sisters that had played pile on

in the night

at my door

with a glass view of my calling kingdom

and I pushed and fussed and shoved and punched

“Let me through snow … I am King!”

until my view shattered and polka dotted

the front step’s landscape

and little glinting reflections

of broken, jagged sky laughed

and small kings found that they bleed

and scar

but

in an always reminder of snow 17 feet

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2026 is here and a post revisit – The Snow Was 17 Feet

(extinction of useless lights) … Night Approaches Then (poem)

Just before Christmas there was one last Open Link Night for 2025 at dVerse Poets and it was hosted by Grace. At open link night you can link any poem you would like or you can respond to a mini prompt offered.

The mini prompt for this night was for the image below,  “Extinction of Useless Lights” by Yves Tanguy (1927)

  1. Use the image as a muse for your poem. Write an ekphrastic poem (a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art).
  2. Or use the title of the image as a title or part of your poem: Extinction of Useless Lights.

But I’m just coming about the prompt now as I knew dVerse was taking a break for the holidays so I hadn’t checked in and, though I obviously missed the deadline for submitting with all the others, I still wanted to do something with it.

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(extinction of useless lights)Night Approaches Then

The sun cast shadows

in its decline

stretched to the east as if calling

to the shapes of souls

he helped to exist

while he could

to not linger long

in the waste

or try hide in the bramble

as it would offer no haven

from the heaven’s judgement

or angry devils from the depths

reeling in the sky like a kite forced back to earth

pulling darkness behind

until the sun passed away

trying as he might

and the shapes,

the souls,

lost their day

to night

Shared (poem)

New Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets this week, and one more for the year, this one from Mish and the word here is “Hibernate”

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Shared

Cricket the Cat can trouble

sleep

too with me

not sure which causes the other

if at all

possibly

blind antsy cat angst  

or my equal dreading closed eye finds  

shared

only to hold her to my chest

to hibernate together

closer

in kind

The Holiday Postcard Tableau (poem)

The prompt this time here was from Laura and of a tableau.

And our tableau has a fixed poetry style entitled The Tableau – created by Emily Romano in October of 2008

Poetry Style:

  • 1 or more verses
  • 6 lines per verse
  • 5 beats/syllables per line

Poetry Rules:

  • title should contain the word ‘tableau’
  • poem should aim to be pictorial
  • no rhyme scheme

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The Holiday Postcard Tableau

Everyone cheesed

with wide Cheshire grins

I poked a finger

in sister’s shoulder

from back of the car

in a living room

.

Mom glared with a wink

pushing us to one

together with hands

directing movie’s

still photos to spend

just the right moment

.

One to send to Aunts

or friends reconnect

once a year to see

in perfect sweaters

or even a tie

with broad smiles us we

.

It’s tall mantle framed

for a cat to skirt

ginger steps ’round smiles

for aunts miles away

to remind us that

we had such a day

Sweat Pants (poem)

Lillian had a prompt at dVerse Poets earlier this week titled “Come Sew With Me … Sort Of …” where she gave a wonderful little glimpse into some of her life’s days and her family and how a great deal of these days were impacted by her sewing machine.

Her prompt then, in relation to that (in the above link), was to ask folks to write a poem that incorporates one or more of the sewing terms she listed in said link. 

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Sweat Pants

Years have longed me

to try and seem even a glimpse of

pant seams unstretched

back to

younger ones

before I longed

older years to be more like those

maybe if I start walking

with intent

sit up more than just sitting up

being victory enough

of still breathing we talk

joke

but so buttonholes on jeans won’t mock

my pinch-skin attempts

tell me they won’t tell if I don’t of an open ease hid with a belt

and legs won’t need hemmed or folded

recall (ing)

when I was tall (er)

two inches closer to the clouds

above now that made me more of a looker

I’m sure

in those younger years

but adjust then to these older ones

instead

and think,

well

who don’t like sweat pants?