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No song nor poetry can convey tragedy like a cat who wants through a door

if we could read minds I still don't think we'd understand them.

You are. My friend

Today you found out that I can write poetry AND that I study English. A little Macbeth-themed thingy inspired by @two-bees-poetry

Fan fact: because English is not my native language I had to write both columns in the same time, otherwise I won't be able to stick my grammar together.

there's laundry to do and a genocide to stop by vinay krishnan

#203

It just kept haunting.

Vying for a steely, totalitarian grasp on my thoughts,

Snatching with it’s thick greedy fingers at fragments of tranquility,

Lurking in every shadowed alleyway of my subconscious.

I eventually concluded that I needed to settle this with a confrontation.

The next time it tried to influence my thinking, I asked,

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

It rung it's hands for a moment, silent.

The first time, it replied “To change you.”

I tried to talk into it every attack.

It grew more anxious every time I asked, as if no one took the time to confer with it.

Its answers became more telling

“So you will suffer for what you've done.”

“You need to remember what a miserable creature you are.”

“I will not leave your side. I am what you deserve.”

It is extremely insistent.

But I know it will not retain this power forever.

I will continue to note its arrival.

Someday, I hope that it will be a fleeting, inconsequential specter.

But today isn’t someday I suppose.

We all live with demons.

Sadly, this isn’t the first or last.

#603 Time is Nature's Music

The past is a galaxy away,

But it circles through your brain.

Memories on shuffle, replaying every day.

A bop for the stars, a tune for the heart,

But a place that you can never be a part

Of ever again. It's in the past.

It's a tune, but rewritten harmonies won't last.

You cannot rewrite it.

So push skip.

The future is a massive river just a walk away.

Notes at your fingertips that will not stay

Cupped in your hands. You see, the river bends

And spins songs that could be

With a decent percussionist and melody.

The water travels everywhere and nowhere: Possibilities.

"What if's" and worrying can cause instability.

So push pause.

The present. That is something within reach.

You're climbing a mountain, with a goal to reach the peak.

Every rock, trail, and handhold is an instrument in waiting.

Except they are meant to be used, are up for the taking

For a poet and a player, a worker and a lover.

Because as much as you want, you cannot make another

Riff of the past. It's too far gone. And on record.

And the future is cold and not set in stone. So your method

To make the best music in life is stay strong.

Ground yourself in the moment, take a breath, and move on.

Anyway here’s a poem I wrote about my cat

After “Do not stand at my grave and weep”, author disputed:

Do not stand at your bowl and meow. I gave you food. It’s in there now. I feed you at the dawning light, I feed you at the fall of night. I feed you kibbles mixed with meat And wet food for a special treat. I feed you even though you scoff At all the food within your trough. I feed you and still yet you yell Like as a beast from deepest hell. Do not stand at your bowl and cry. I gave you food. You will not die.

Yet another comic about leaving the Mormon church that can be applied to a variety of things.