Skip to main content

Hope: a poetry post

Yesterday I travelled away by myself for the first time in eleven years!


I enjoyed sitting on various trains, secure in the knowledge that the kids were having lots of fun. My lovely mother in law even sent me photos. She knows what I'm like.

I arrived in Ilkley and met my mum,  wandering back to her house along familiar streets. Once there she stuck the kettle on, and I called my husband to let him know I had arrived safely. Only we didn't discuss my journey.

He had got in from a nice day out with the kids to find Katsuma very unwell. It seemed that he'd thrown another blood clot, and I talked K through how to check, and where I had secreted the supply of cat morphine for just this situation.

After that I drank tea with my mum while K took Katsuma to the vet for the last time. 


He was a fantastic cat, and I wish he could have stayed longer, but at least we got to love him for a while. 

Here's my hope for him now... 

Hope

I hope that there is some great hall of Bast:
a final resting place for fearsome cats 
where days are spent in hunting mice and birds 
and lying in the grass with sun-warmed fur;
where evenings bring fresh tuna and the treats 
that cats with heart disease don't get to eat. 
I hope that cushions suitable are found
and time can well be spent lazing around. 


(c) Cara L McKee, 14/10/16





Goodnight pudding. I'll miss you. 

mumturnedmom

 Prose for Thought

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

February update!

  Hello! Please see above for a screenshot (not sure who the photo is by) from the lovely Fragmented Voices website which has my poem, Escaping Pheasants, as their featured poem today. This poem is inspired by the pheasants which are brought in to our local country house for people who are that way inclined to shoot. Sometimes I see them flapping down from the estate wall and on to the busy road, making a break for it toward the moors. Good luck pheasants. Escaping Pheasants also features in my book, Little Gods, published by the marvellous Roswell Publishing and available from booksellers and Amazon, or get in touch to get a signed copy from me. Other recent successes include two poems in Obsessed with Pipework #105, a Haiku in Coin Operated Press ' Haiku Zine, The Libraries  came out in Culture Matters' Bread & Roses Anthology, and, as I mentioned last time, When you slow a bit you can see the way , another poem from Little Gods, came out in Butcher's Dog #19. I have ...

Happy New Year!

I can still wish you happy new year before January's out, right? Having spending a while doing research and convincing myself I can't write, I'm back in the room in 2019, sending my little baby poems out into the world. I have broken up the chapbook I was trying to get published, I've rewritten lots of stuff, and I'm happily sending them out to places where I hope they might find a happy home, while supporting some of the fantastic poetry magazines out there. One of those fantastic poetry magazines - Picaroon Poetry  - run by the marvellous Kate Garrett - has already accepted one of my babies. It was one of the ones that I'd started to feel bored by, so I tore it to bits, rewrote it, and sent it off to Kate, who will be sending it out into the world in Picaroon Poetry #16 in May (which is terribly organised if you ask me, I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow!). Thanks Kate!  Hopefully I'll be letting you all know about more successes soo...

discovering Iain Crichton Smith

I think I don't like poetry. In fact I'm pretty sure. What I like is a brick of a book with well rounded characters, who can take me on a journey with them. I find that for me poetry can be navel gazing, twee nonsense, so caught up in its clever cleverness that it drives me to distraction. But then again, I like lots of songs for their lyrics, and sometimes, just sometimes, I come across some poetry which just blows me away. I came across Iain Crichton Smith recently at my writing group. I live in Scotland, and the other members of the group were all saying that Smith is so much covered in Scottish English (and Gaelic) classes that people don't tend to notice the beauty of his poetry. I didn't go to school in Scotland. The poets I studied at school were people like Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Shelley. I don't recall ever coming across anything like this. That said, I'm not sure that as a teenager I would have noticed it. Perhaps you have to have some i...