Ribs for Dinner (a poem)

Ribs for Dinner (or "Jasper’s First Date")
By MangyCat

BBQ sauce dipped
luscious, tender meaty meat
lays beside my corn.

How can I enjoy
this red flesh upon my plate?
Conundrum indeed.

All I can think of
is just how God created
woman from a rib.

How can I fit the universe into 14 lines? (a haiku)

How can I fit the universe into 14 lines?
By MangyCat

Fourteen lines sadly
won't hold the great universe.
But maybe three will.

Unplanned Poetry

I just wrote this haiku over IM, and I thought I would share.

Annie's Laptop

By MangyCat

Five or six years old

Showing age and uselessness

Brokenness defined

And this is a perfect opportunity to post the poem I wrote on Friday night at my young writers group, Midnight Muse. The prompt was (basically) to begin or end with the phrase "listen to the wings of the nightingale watch." I went for the obvious, but I like the juxtaposition of different senses and affects.

The Taste of Migration

by MangyCat

Lines: 16

Listen to the wings of the nightingale watch

for winds blowing strong from the east.

Tawny feathers scent night currents

for autumn's sweet fragrance.

Icy wisps of northern breeze

whistle between avian claws

as auburn beak lances a hint

of the flock's gathering restlessness.

Rustled leaves blush to lime

as green retreats with summer's defeat.

Gales of gold paint quivering teardrops

that rustle around a watchful nightingale.

Alighting frigid whispers,

the bird escapes its roost,

seeking waves of sun,

green, and boundless freedom of wing.

Project 365: 59/365 [Dedicated to Stephen LaZotte]

Project 365: Photo Edition - Lady of the Ladle



Wrote a poem tonight for a challenge on CleanPlace: Pick a well-known historical figure and write a poem where you and the character share a meal. The poem should be free verse. The speaker (narrator) of this poem is YOU. If you can't read it on the image (and you're interested), here's the poem:

Lady of the Ladle

by MangyCat

My eyes raise heavenward

to watch as Time's "Lady of the Ladle" bends

over the Beef Bourguignon

and selects a portion for my plate.

Her curious voice sings, "Bon appétit!"

"Yum, Julia," I say and smell

the indeible aroma of savory stew.

I feel inadequate. "I can make rice."

"You could make Beef Bourguignon."

Julia drops into a chair across the table, so at ease,

then folds clever hands under sturdy chin

to wait.

Appetite and tongue are whet, anticipating

the first spoonful of a legend.

I raise impending jubilation to my lips.

The French Chef's intense eyes make me nervous,

but her wrinkles show

that she has smiled all her life.

I close my mouth, then close my eyes

in rapture, for now I am in Heaven.

Project 365: Video Edition - Dedication Finale
Dedicated to blog follower Stephen LaZotte



This concludes February Follower month! What fun this has been. Here's a compilation of all the videos and photos that were dedicated to the followers of my blog.

Today's video is dedicated to Stevious from ZottePark of YouTube fame because he's a fellow vlogger (more avid than I am) and because I owe him a drawing. (Consider it an IOU, Stevious.) Also mentioned was CRYSonline.

Ode To McAfee

TECHNICAL NOTE: In case you aren't familiar, McAfee is a virus protection software program.
-------------------------------------------

Ode to McAfee
Written by MangyCat, while waiting

McAfee, I hate you.
Though you try to keep me safe,
I abhor your endless scanning love
and constant, dragging updates.

You slow down all my windows.
You freeze up all my tabs.
Facebook, CleanPlace, Twitter, YouTube--
you treat them all like cads.

Oh, you want RAM and you want bandwidth.
Can't you ever share?
You think you own this desktop, boy,
you're stomping everywhere.

Take a chill pill, McAfee.
Don't worry yourself so.
If you find a virus--great!
But I don't wanna know.

Untitled Magpo: May 3, 2009

In case you can't read it because the picture is too blurry:

leave
go milk
the incubated blossoms
by following melting whispers
which shine there
by the burning secret
the child
must
be
happy

Magpo #1

Um...yeah. I'm not sure what it means. I composed it while waiting for the kids to get in their PJs.

Considering

A poem by MangyCat

Embraced,
bubbles fill you.
Steam, hot and molten, with
candlelight. I reach for the lamp.

Sweet bathtub, love,
how you invite me in.
Your warmth, so beguiling and pure,
tempts my weary limbs and weary patience.

Your whispered promise entrances.
I venture ever toward your siren’s psalm.
Then memory serves me ugly, meaty portions.
Hot turns tepid, turns cold, and spheres will pop.
Your range, so unaccommodating.

Shallow waters beget lumpy islands,
beget landscapes of cold, wet skin.
Never deep enough, you
vile standard size.

Shudder to think, one hour past,
my kids screamed, “Poopy water!”
All magic’s gone.
I sigh.