The Cat on Love
by Catt Kingsgrave
As spectator, above the list I bide And watch the armored lovers crash and roar In steel and satin, destriers bestride With someone's heart and hopes the spoils of war What maiden's sleeve lies rent upon the floor Dyed bright and deep with love's well-proven hue? And when her lover's heart shall beat no more Love, whence shall we assign the blame but you? From laps of royal velvet I've espied Court maidens rapt upon some raconteur Each dangling from his prose, each dewy eyed And certain he recites alone for her Let him but beckon one, he might be sure Of welcome bright and innocent in hue, And sweet, until betrayal sours the pure Love, whence shall we assign the blame but you? And kitchen-hunting, where the mice will hide I spy the laughing maid who'll flirt and purr At baffled stammering youths, their tongues all tied Each dazzled with the flash of budding curves For more than just a kiss, all hope demurred Then when his rival comes, away he's shooed As grudging toms they'll fight and brawl for her Love, whence shall we assign the blame but you? Dread Goddess, who, it's said, makes hearts to soar I offer this critique from cat's eye view; Your wealth in human hands seems more like war Love, whence shall we assign the blame but you?
Catt Kingsgrave writes prose and verse from her home in upstate New York, which she shares with her partner and four cats. When not writing, she does all the other things which are artistic and unprofitable. Except she still does not make jam.
When prompted with the word "cherry," the first poem to spring to her odd little mind is not the old medieval chestnut "I Gave My Love a Cherry," but rather its irreverent parody song written by Alan Sherman. Her brain is a strange place sometimes.
Previous | Back to Table of Contents | Next
