The Canine Cure

I long for the canine cure
with a passion as strong as it’s pure
for the screech of the dog catchers van
which will allow me to be who I am

but, oh he is sneaky, this dog
as he slinks in trailing the fog
the eddies and pools, all shades of grey
that smother the clear light of day

I’ve tried to hide from his gaze
by turning to face the suns haze
but the shadows that grew at my side
were his refuge, his quiet place to hide

I pretended he just wasn’t there
but still I felt his coarse hair
as he brushed past my armour again
seeking to find his way in

I threw him the scraps from my soul
and he pounced and let out a growl
I thought I might make my escape
but I heard still his soft, steady pace

there is no outpacing the hound
no reprieve from his bite can be found
so I’ll suffer the feel of his teeth
till healing comes from beneath

somewhere there is inside me
the person that strives to be free
to face down the dog that is black
and revel in the shape of his lack

© ceenoa





I am a cat, I sleep, I eat
my day is full of this and that
I stretch and yawn
sleep on the lawn
my life is so exhausting.

The woman leaves and then returns
I really wish that she would learn
that when I meow “please feed me now”
I do not want to hear her growl
“it’s not teatime yet, you silly cat”.

I’m not sure how she can ignore
my fluffy face pressed to the door
my polite, quiet, patient asking
which successfully is masking
my voracious need for food.

Eventually she rarafeeds me
my pathetic dab of tea
I’d like to see her live on this
It’s not enough to fill my dish
my reward for being meek.

 I stroll slowly round the garden
stalk the other cat and then
after such a long traumatic day
I curl up tightly in the doorway
to have a little nap.




© ceenoa