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The Next Story

Today is         and also         and also


                         FRIDAY CAT BLOGGING DAY

So I have chosen a favorite poem by a favorite poet and a favorite teacher,  Pattiann Rogers; in which a cat makes a brief, but critical, appearance: 

Poem on Your Blog Day

!   Remember, tomorrow is         and also         !

          Have you chosen your poem?    (Via Feminste, among others.)

Snapshot 28 April 02004

yesterday open-toed sandals
and opening tulips old lovers
come to me in dreams this morning
fresh snow whitening the mountains
the paper tells me bulltrout and cut-
throats will find more water flowing
through the losing reach between
the mainstem river and spawning
gravels green exploding skies
above Iraq elderly ladies show off
their May-Day hats plasticly enflowered
and a scientist provocateur is remembered
as a nucleus of dissension are there rivers
are there tulips in Fallujah, in Najaf?

When Words Fail

From Wilson Hsu; Culture Kitchen; and The Memory Hole.

Speaking In Tongues

I try to find a heaven in my dreams,
some cloudy place where you are. 

How can it still be morning, when
I have been out here for so long?   

I am in a house I have come back to. 
Something is missing or broken. 

Looking everywhere, looking everywhere,
I am caught in a thickness of fear.

I make a nest in my hands of torn
cloth, and a bird settles into it. 

Snow falls from a bright sky, as if the moon
were shedding ashes of its own crisp light.

I want to talk with you one more time. 
If there was bitterness, it’s gone now.

Feeling Squirrelly

My squirrel name is:

Scratchy McTwitch


(Thanks BLTB for the link.)

Squirrel quarrels, or courtship, in the garden this morning. As with humans, it is sometimes difficult to tell.

{Have you ever noticed that squirrel is one of those words that starts to look really weird if you read it or write it over and over?)

rain

rain
on the iron gate
one crow

Feline Personality Typing

Have you ever wondered how your cat would do on a personality test?  I have.  So I went to the PTypes Weblog, and took the test for them. Of course, I'm not them, and they're not human, so one must make allowances for a little statistical error (click photos for larger images): 


BOO is an Idealist. Idealists want to search for Self, to become themselves . . . to be self-actualized, to be and become real, to be what they are meant to be and to have an identity which is uniquely theirs . . . to have their significance appreciated, or at the very least, recognized as existing . . . to be genuine, to communicate authentically, to be in harmony with the inner experiences of self . . . to experience life as a drama, to be sensitive to the subtle gestures and metaphoric behavior in relationships, to help others become kinder, warmer, and more loving human beings, to reform the world, to romanticize their experiences, their lives, and the experiences and lives of others (Keirsey, 1984, pp. 57-66; cf., Heineman (NF)). {This is the cat that likes to play with turds.}


SPIKE is a Hedonist. Hedonists want to be free, not tied down, confined, or obligated, to do as they wish when they wish, to enjoy today, to be impulsive, to have a life of action which repudiates long term goals, objectives, or plans, to be active just to be active, to do what they feel the urge to do, to experience excitement, to be seen by others as being free to act, as free spirits, to be exciting, optimistic, cheerful, light-hearted, and full of fun (Keirsey, 1984, pp. 30-39; cf., Heineman (SP)). {This is the cat that likes to . . . um . . . play. . .  with teddy bears.}

Dream

exposure to something terrible, toxic
the skin hardens, cracks, breaks off in pieces
raw, bloody, mucousy
intensely painful
people hide from each other
there is no comfort
i write, and write, with a hand that is turning to jelly
on some odd substance, like strips of tree-bark
not - describing - exactly
more - poeming -
i keep writing - as long as i can -
because -

Snapshot 21 April 02004

night rain
brings this
green day

thick
with mist
wet scents

crows
harvesting
the lawn

pear blossoms
fog
ribboning

mountains
ornamental rain
drops cling

to spring
branches
darkness

again white
blooms glow
in this

quiet night
garden oh
how i miss you