Winter Cat (and other bad poetry)

Winter Cat
A poem

Cold
Frigid air
Can’t compare
To the stare
Of my cat
“Where you at?”
Wanting me
To fill her bowl
Hollow soul
Teeth and claws
Hidden underneath
Soft calico
Fur of an angel
Demon of my home
And hearth
Then after she eats
She will barf.

 

Red Moon

I missed the
Eclipse
The red moon
Due to rain.
I heard the
Werewolves
Cry in the night
Missing their
Moment
All covered in fur
And no place
To go.

 

Smelter Skelter
or
Something is Fishy in Denmark

Oh smelter
Skelter
Tiny fish
Of Silver Scales
Too small
To be whales
But dry them out
Salt em up
And package them
In bales
Add them to your
Soup
Your stir fry
And your goop
Chicken coop
Feed them up
Salty eggs
Yup yup yup
Rooster Crows
Orange glows
Atomic bombs
Where’s it from?
Far away in a secret land
Come on boys
Give me a hand
Cut off heads
Cut off balls
Cut off feet
Kill them all
Eat their spleens
Snack in between
Their hearts
And their farts
Show your smarts
Tuna sammich
Wish I was rich
I’d eat sushi
Till I die
With pearls and gold
Gray and old
Throw me in a coffin
We’ll all be laughing (rhyme it with coffin)
Fill us up with chemicals
So we won’t rot or grow
Tentacles
Like an octopus
Mr. Cephalopod
With all those legs
You sure look odd
Just like the smelt
All small and silver
Eat up up with Ranch dip
Gluten free
Super hip.
Yep.

 

My House

My house
Was built
On River
Rocks
My dryer vents
Are full
Of socks
The ghosts
Are kept inside
With locks
They dance
At night
In tattered
Frocks
The sheep
Outside
Live in
Flocks
Watch out
For the Fox
Hide in a box
Eat lox
Dance to
The moon
And don’t
Wear Crocks.
Because Crocks
Are
Ugly.

 

Feed Me Not

He served me
Anchovy pie,
Baked sheep eye,
Nut crusted cat spleen,
Rats in a soup tureen,
Chili pie without a bean
Or a Freeto
And no dips
Just snot ball chips,
Hoof jelly
Kind of smelly,
A casserole
Of duck asshole,
A huge skewer
Of mystery meat
That smelled of
Nasty gym sock feet.
I told him that
I’d had my dinner.
I was on a diet
And getting thinner.
I would not eat
His vile cooking
No matter if he
Was real good looking.
I need a man
Who knows his kitchen
Cause I don’t want
To spend my life
Bitchin.

 

Schrödinger Cat
A Poem

I am a cat
Of tabby fur
The past few days
Have been a blur
The man who
Thinks he knows
Physics
Doesn’t know
What
A cat tongue lick is.
The fucker put me
In a box
Then went out
To dine on lox
He ate some rolls
A sausage too
A pint of beer
Roast Kangaroo
Some gummy worms
No fear of germs
He ate it all
On his terms.
Then after that
He went shopping
For hats and gloves
His buttons popping.
I hate that fat fuck
Just my luck
Left in that box
And now I’m stuck.
But he came home
That Austrian Fellow
I knew that I’d
Pee his house yellow.
He said “Dear Cat,
are you alive?
Perhaps you’re dead,
For I hear no cry.
No faint meow,
For physics sake
No kitten purrs
My heart does quake.
He shook the box
THEN
Opened my prison
I jumped out
And sprayed him
Like a proud cat I is.
I peed on his pants
And his favorite chair
I scratched his face
And pulled his hair
I clawed his
Jacket and favorite chair
I was not dead
But everywhere.
Do not contain
Your cat for hours
Unless you want
Cat piss showers.
Treat your cat
Like family
Or you will
Forever
Smell
Like
Pee.

 

T Rex

I want a
T Rex
To play
And keep
The coyotes
Away
Small arms
No big deal
When driving
It can hold the wheel
It can take
My dog
To the park
It will eat
Monsters
In the dark
It will
Brush my
Cats for me
And jump over
The fence
When it has
To pee
A Rex
Will meet my
Needs
To a Tee
T Rex is
The perfect
Assistant for
Me.
Oh reptile
Giant
With giant teeth
I’ll rub your
Belly
Underneath
Scare the
Bad guys
Who might rob
My house
Make them cry
Roar.
Love ya big guy.

 

Have fun,

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

Brothers in Arms

When I read this I was touched by the power of the words and the subject matter. This is from my friend Rob Fletcher, a talented Welsh writer and photographer. Thank you Rob for allowing me to share your words.

Brothers in Small Arms

Born of metallurgy and chemistry I was:
Stamped, checked, moved, spilled and counted with millions of brothers in a grim piranha factory.
Automated, made, bought and sold with a quiet conscience of lethal exchange.

Destiny discovered fate and decreed my instant made
birth which heralds a coming death in a far distant country.
Cousins larger, nieces smaller…pieces put together quickly as
Productivity swears at innocence.

Tumbling shiny into green coffin boxes…
Stacked, steady, stable…waiting weds anticipation.
Sold in white and black markets and traded silently for a single drilled duty.
My sole mission to expend death.

Packaged and sent on a demon journey I’m:
Trucked, planed, boated and trained because my demand outstrips its supply.
I’m really wanted, loved and caressed.

Jungle appetites, African friendly
I arrive clinking and jangling…jostling my brothers for my
awaiting providence
My liaison with short life.

Strong black fingers pick me up admiringly…
I’m embraced, turned over and fondly kissed
under a hot and brooding war sky!
I’m wished upon…and I shall fulfil this desire.

Gently, I’m click-pushed first into my temporary steel curved prison along with my immediate band of siblings above me.
Then we’re snapped into our final position.
Smoke, noise and murder prevail…we are turned safety left, lorded and loaded and aimed not aimlessly.
Suddenly, mechanical release action jerks us free!

My brothers fly orgasmic allies
barrel tearing
and I explode
by engaging rifling as I spin free velocity charged, prior sighted and trajectory traced.

I speed towards a soft sweat-sheened forehead as young feared eyes see my untimely arrival and realize my tidings
bring death out of its hiding place as I thwack flesh and snuff out misplaced
youth soldier dreams in a lost sorry battle.

Fallen teen-torn blood spills from a 7.62 millimetre hole.
My slim body sent care of Kalashnikov and
with impartial human target remembrance,
bullet boy expires with diamond-fixed glory.

© Rob Fletcher. All rights reserved.

Author’s Comments:
“Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole
Made lock, stock, and barrel
Out of his bitter soul.”

-WB Yeats.

“Son, the only thing that guns are good for is making holes in things.”

-Eric Fletcher.
1921-1989.

A Need You Dare Not Admit

A need you dare not admit…

People won’t admit they read poetry and are moved by it…but late at night they go on the Internet and search it out. It is like pornography. I’m dead serious (no pun intended). It is a need that most people will not dare admit to.

It isn’t a good time for me to expound upon the history of poetry or what caused the American population (among others) claim not to like poets. But I would like to remind everyone, especially those of us who can remember the past several centuries that there was a time that poets were the Rock Stars of our culture.

Sometimes I pull out my old volumes of favorites and read in the quiet of the night or on a rain soaked day. In turn, I also look for the new. I marvel at the many voices I see with poetry on the internet.

Part of me believes technology with recorded music, radio, TV etc maybe brought an end to the poet as a popular icon. But in turn the Internet, yes the Internet has brought poetry back to life.

I see in the online communities that poetry is being read, not ignored. I don’t read those words online “I don’t like poetry.” I see people who NEVER would read a poem, forwarding poetry to their friends and loved ones.

Poetry is a gift to the soul. Poetry is for everyone. Everyone needs poetry, like a vampire needs blood, like a hawk needs to fly, like a fish needs to swim. I know that wasn’t very poetic but you get the point – I hope.

Today is International Poetry Day. Why not make every day a Poetry Day?

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Connections, Net Neutrality, and the Thoughts of an Old Vampire Blogger.

As most of you already know I don’t say certain things were meant to be. I don’t believe that bad things, or even most good things happen for a reason. What reason is there for a child to get cancer? What reason is there for someone to lose a limb, or a job, or a home to fire, or the freedom of speech? Bad things can make us stronger, or wiser, or closer to those we love, but that does not make them good, or reasonable.

I do believe in a certain amount of what I’ll call, for no other words, magic.

Let me tell you a story about something amazing. It is a story of magic. It is a story of creativity. It is a story of a group of people meeting by chance over the Internet and doing wonderful, amazing, magical things together – through love of storytelling, words, pictures, and eventually each other.

Once upon a time, before I stared this blog in 2012, I wrote stories and books. I wrote plays that were produced. I wrote stories. I wrote books. I wrote poetry. I wrote alone.

When the Internet and social media came along I jumped onboard early. As an artist and a writer I could see the potential. Sure, we all loved the Hamster Dance, but there was so much more. There was community.

In the early days of Facebook a family member asked me to join. I discovered old friends, and things like FarmVille. Then I discovered FB groups. I joined a few writing groups but didn’t participate. I just listened in. Every once in a while I’d post a story. Nobody ever responded. I’d read works by others and press “like.” Sometimes I’d say, “That was great. More please.”

Then a troll invaded the group, and people started to talk. We banded together and beat the shit out of the troll. We made him leave. Then something amazing happened. About ten of us started to interact. We decided to have our own writing prompts. The first was for erotica just because it sounded like a challenge and a bit naughty and fun. So rather than put our naughty bits out in a public group of 2,000, we formed our own group. We called it our Den.

For almost ten years we have formed a bond as tight as any group that meets face to face.  We have faced personal tragedies such as the death of one of our members. We’ve celebrated success together. We have become true friends. We have loved, supported, and treasured each other. We became Writers, Poets, and Deviants, aka WPaD.

We are from The United States, Canada, and Austria. We are one. We transcend borders because our culture is that of free speech, creativity, great stories, and art for everyone.

We just published our 8th Short Story Anthology. I am always in awe of the true talent and dedication of this group, especially of Mandy White who acts as our publisher, editor, and den mother, and Jason Kemp, who has provided the original illustrations and design for several of our covers.

Strange Adventures in a Deviant Universe

Strange Adventures in a Deviant Universe – WPAD Science Fiction.

Best Horror Anthology of 2015

Creepies 2 – Best Horror Anthology of 2015

Without the support of WPaD I would have never started Vampiremaman.com in 2012. Who else would have cheered when I said I was writing a Vampire/Parenting blog? Without WPaD I would have never considered publishing a book on my own. I would have never become a mentor to other writers, artists, and bloggers. I would have never met the amazing people I’ve come to know in the WordPress writing community.

To my WordPress peeps – I hold you all close to my heart as well. I will fight for your freedom to keep blogging and speaking your mind – forever.

To my WPaD friends – I truly admire, appreciate, adore, and love you for who you are, and for what you do.

In the old days, when I was a child, nobody had computers. People had pen pals. If we wanted to speak to someone we went out into the street to see who was there. More often or not doors were slammed in our faces.

But now, with the true magic and FREEDOM of the Internet I have met the most remarkable group of creative people I could ever imagine. I am not religious but I do feel blessed. I do feel this is something so rare and so special.

Net neutrality was ripped apart this week after the Federal Communications Commission voted 3–2 to repeal the network neutrality rules that prevented internet providers from blocking or controlling access to websites or charging websites to access users at faster speeds. Let me rephrase that – before ignorant and greedy trolls at the Federal Communications Commission voted 3-2 to repeal the network neutrality rule. 

I encourage every American who reads this to contact their Congressional Representatives, and Senators and encourage them to reverse the hateful and dangerous repeal of the network neutrality rules.

We will continue to create, speak out, and love what we do, and who we do it with. We will contiue to support each other for we are the ones who create the magic. We are the ones.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

blogging-cat-meme

 

 

A Need We Dare Not Admit: Something is missing and that is so very wrong.

 

poetrycats

 

I just read that there will be no poet at the Presidential Inauguration today. I see that as an omen to the law of cultural ignorance, and classless ugliness that might follow today. Don’t let that happen. Don’t let us enter into a culture where beauty is only shown as crass visuals, and tacky popular culture. Share your poetry. Share the poetry of others. Show others the joy and power of poetry. Do it now. Do it today. 

FLOOD THE WORLD WITH POETRY TODAY

I’ve said the following before so I will say it again.

A Need We Dare Not Admit

People won’t admit they read poetry and are moved by it…but late at night they go on the internet and search it out. It is like pornography. I’m dead serious (no pun intended). It is a need that most people will not dare admit to.

It isn’t a good time for me to expound upon the history of poetry or what caused the American population (among others) claim not to like poets. But I would like to remind everyone, especially those of us who can remember the past several centuries that there was a time that poets were the Rock Stars of our culture.

Sometimes I pull out my old volumes of favorites and read in the quiet of the night or on a rain soaked day. In turn, I also look for the new. I marvel at the many voices I see with poetry on the internet.

Part of me believes technology with recorded music, radio, TV etc maybe brought an end to the poet as a popular icon. But in turn the Internet, yes the Internet has brought poetry back to life.

I see in the online communities poets being read, not ignored. I don’t read those words online “I don’t like poetry.” I see people who NEVER would read a poem, forwarding poetry to their friends and loved ones.

Poetry is a gift to the soul. Poetry is for everyone. Everyone needs poetry, like a vampire needs blood, like a hawk needs to fly, like a fish needs to swim. I know that wasn’t very poetic but you get the point – I hope.

Your assignment today is to READ, SAVOR and SHARE poetry with someone you love, and especially with someone you don’t.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

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Influences

Clara, my high school senior, has been telling me about disclaimers teachers make in class.

“We’re going to be studying existentialism. I don’t want to get calls from any of your parents saying that you’ve become an existentialist.”

“We’re going to study communism. I don’t want to get calls from any of your parents telling me that you’ve become a communist.”

“We’re going to study nihilism. I don’t want to get calls from any of your parents saying that your now a nihilist.”

“We’re going to study anarchy. Don’t go home and tell your parents you are now an anarchist. I don’t want to hear it.”

“We’re going to read Dracula. I don’t want to get a call from your parents telling me you want to become a Vampire.” If your child is already a Vampire this won’t apply to you, because your child won’t say anything. 

And this brings me to some thoughts on influence, school, teens, poetry, and beauty.

Many things out in the wide world influence our children. It is up to you to give your children the tools they need to evaluate these influences. And you know what I’m going to say now… If you over protect your children you’re going to screw them up for LIFE. That is why you need to talk to your kids about, well, everything. If they learn, maybe you can learn from then. No, I take that back. You WILL learn from them.

Last week Clara asked me if I’d read Dover Beach. I vaguely remembered. Then I looked it up. Yes, in a way, it too is about choices and belief.

In my wildest dreams if I could write so beautifully…

My child and I talked about the poem, the meaning, the use of words. It was a joy. I thank her English teacher for setting a fire in the souls of her students with the words and passions of so many different writers.

Please read, enjoy, ponder, and be inspired.

Dover Beach

by Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.


 

Have a good week everyone,

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman