Rob’s Cat
—Poetry by Rob Plath, New York
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
—Poetry by Rob Plath, New York
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
talking to my cat again
i’ve found long daily
chats w/ my cat
beat doing decades
of poetry readings
& her sweet attention
better than ambition
i’ve found long daily
chats w/ my cat
beat doing decades
of poetry readings
& her sweet attention
better than ambition
in the morning mirror
some days it feels
like inner scars surface
thick raised lines
across my face
maybe it should be
this way for all of us
wounds every which way
silence or tears
but not a word
about the weather
some days it feels
like inner scars surface
thick raised lines
across my face
maybe it should be
this way for all of us
wounds every which way
silence or tears
but not a word
about the weather
years ago
i tossed a handful
of yr dust
into the atlantic
i know you dissolved
into the breakers
mixed back into
the original solution
but you were real once
in yr little yellow kitchen
always running over
as i was about to fork
food into my mouth
& grating cheese
into my bowl
w/ small olive hands
same ones that grew
windowsills full
of plum tomatoes
& magic patches
of orange marigolds
& turned pages of
martin buber books
borrowed from libraries
you rode buses to get to
& pointed out constellations
on warm may evenings
after the laundry
was hung from ropes
in the yard
hands seemingly
incapable of
turning to ash
or so i foolishly
imagined
of yr dust
into the atlantic
i know you dissolved
into the breakers
mixed back into
the original solution
but you were real once
in yr little yellow kitchen
always running over
as i was about to fork
food into my mouth
& grating cheese
into my bowl
w/ small olive hands
same ones that grew
windowsills full
of plum tomatoes
& magic patches
of orange marigolds
& turned pages of
martin buber books
borrowed from libraries
you rode buses to get to
& pointed out constellations
on warm may evenings
after the laundry
was hung from ropes
in the yard
hands seemingly
incapable of
turning to ash
or so i foolishly
imagined
hallway pass
in 5th grade
on a friday
i’d finish my homework
during study time
& always got a pass
from the teacher
to the library
the last hour of
the day
i’d walk the halls
by myself
enter the old
wooden door
of the library
scent of books
waking me
i’d scan the rows
of hardy boys
w/ mysterious titles
then maybe move
to egyptian history
flip thru ones on
pyramids or mummies
i’d stand happily
in quiet aisles
no classmates
no teacher
daydreaming
of the 3 o’clock bell
of the weekend
running to the bus
books under my arm
staring out the window
as the landscape reversed
back towards home
& even if i never cracked
the books open
they were like secret keys
to the beginning
of a few days of freedom
to run in the woods
sit w/ my dog
play flashlight tag
watch the twilight zone
eat grilled cheese
gaze at the stars
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Behavior is the mirror in which everyone shows their image.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
____________________
Rob Plath is a writer from New York. He was once tutored by Allen Ginsberg for two years, from 1995-1997. He has published 24 books and a ton of poems in the small presses over the last 26 years. He lives with his cat and tries his best to stay out of trouble. Welcome to the Kitchen, Rob, and don’t be a stranger!
____________________
—Medusa
in 5th grade
on a friday
i’d finish my homework
during study time
& always got a pass
from the teacher
to the library
the last hour of
the day
i’d walk the halls
by myself
enter the old
wooden door
of the library
scent of books
waking me
i’d scan the rows
of hardy boys
w/ mysterious titles
then maybe move
to egyptian history
flip thru ones on
pyramids or mummies
i’d stand happily
in quiet aisles
no classmates
no teacher
daydreaming
of the 3 o’clock bell
of the weekend
running to the bus
books under my arm
staring out the window
as the landscape reversed
back towards home
& even if i never cracked
the books open
they were like secret keys
to the beginning
of a few days of freedom
to run in the woods
sit w/ my dog
play flashlight tag
watch the twilight zone
eat grilled cheese
gaze at the stars
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Behavior is the mirror in which everyone shows their image.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
____________________
Rob Plath is a writer from New York. He was once tutored by Allen Ginsberg for two years, from 1995-1997. He has published 24 books and a ton of poems in the small presses over the last 26 years. He lives with his cat and tries his best to stay out of trouble. Welcome to the Kitchen, Rob, and don’t be a stranger!
____________________
—Medusa
Rob Plath
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
