Start the New Year off right...with more cat poetry

Tiger here, reporting for duty. Yeah, I know I've been MIA for nearly three months but hey, a cat's gotta' live its life, right? Cats have a lot of important work to do. You think we just eat, sleep, and clean ourselves all day. If you only knew.

Anyway, now that I'm back and roaring to go, let's start the new year with some more great poetry. Today's featured poet is the lovely and talented Lisa Barton. Lisa is a friend of my lady and also a member of her writing group, The RRRRs. Here's her bio:

Lisa Barton is a graphic designer and poet living in Indianapolis. She is also the Art Director of Big Car Media, Inc., an Indianapolis based not-for-profit organization that promotes local art, music and writing by hosting shows and events. She attributes her writing success to an overactive imagination and off-beat sense of humor. Lisa has recently been published in NUVO Newsweekly, Jake Magazine and the Fall 2005 edition of the Tipton Poetry Journal. She has one cat, an orange and white tabby named Mo Zart (he also answers to Mo-Mo) and is also a dog lover (sorry, Tiger).

I forgive you, Lisa. After all, you have a cat named Mo Zart (Rock me Amadeus!) and you are an awesome poet. So that makes you okay in my book.

Here are a few of Lisa's poems:

insomnia haiku

it's three o' clock now
while my cat snores like asthma
I envy his sleep

(Note from Tiger: This reminds of my sister Cassie. She's always been a heavy breather.)

***************

prey

I've gone fishing so many times
sitting on the bank for an hour
or two
or three
with nothing biting, occasionally
pulling up an old, moldy black boot
stuffed with kelp and perhaps a dead bullfrog
or catching a puny, sad looking trout
missing one eye
and half a fin
he tries to look appealing
get me all excited
but I throw him back like so many before

now I'm trying a new sport
one with a target
I would aim for the heart
but that's been done
and seems so cliché
instead, I'll go for the jugular
they won't even know what hit them

(Note from Tiger: I have a sudden urge for salmon.)

***************

rushed

sneaker feet shuffle scratches in new pavement
waiting for my ride to come (traffic is bad)
tires screech in every direction
but curses drone out screeches and
blaring horns cover the swears
there's an old guy driving an orange VW bus
his face frowned up into his hairline
trying to focus, but he drives on
fugitive from a droning, frizzy-haired wife
or a bill collector's hollow door knock
fresh emptied beer bottles shaking together
on the passenger seat, rolling as he swerves left
rattling when he cuts right, smashing as his foot
meets the gas pedal on the floor and the bus
sails through yellow light turning red
his tired eyes filmy with sleep crust and
hair of the dog on his tongue

(Note from Tiger: I prefer cat hair on my tongue. Dog hair? *Shudder*)