This was my cat “Panther”. I had her from when I was 12 years old until she was 21 years old (and I 33). She used to walk down to the shops with me. She was a delightful domestic cat. However, after working in the bush I now see the terrible toll cats take on our native species. Domestic cats should never be allowed to leave a controlled and enclosed space to roam free.
Stealthy predator of malign intent brought to a new country evil sent with no defences natives fall like dominoes before claw and paw
colonising new territory by the day nothing effective stands in the way a death count of billions by today an introduced plague that makes death play indigenous species fall by the way
to arrest this devastation we catch and kill but the feline mind eludes us still and hand on heart heart on sleeve we witness endangerment extinction and grieve
As the first photo. indicates, I was a cat lover once. No longer. I chose “What Shall we do with the feathers?” by Lois Wain. I think the artist meant it to be a cute picture. The collars suggest domestic cats. They have just had a bit of fun together killing a bird despite the fact that they are fed daily by a human. However, to me it represents catastrophe because domestic cats and their feral offspring in Australia today are responsible for countless uncontrolled deaths. A plague of feral cats is decimating our native wildlife.
The dVerse prompt for we poets this week came from Melissa, to choose a Louis Wain artwork based on cats, and write a poem inspired by the artwork. One catch– we may not use the word cat. Other feline terminology is acceptable.
The people are raining in bits and blobs the rain is red bled tears and sobs the people are flying up through the sky arcing like rag dolls to heights very high the thunder is frightening the lightning is death the people are dying taking last breaths fleshy lumps are dropping back to their berth with fractured bones falling to rattle the earth the children are worst as their bodies burst with each new detonation another curse as the soldiers wade through the carnage they create claiming it’s orders no difference can they make instructions come from those sitting above but the executioners fit in with them hand in glove while mothers cry and fathers weep some bodies may heal but other scars run deep and the harm ensures an eye for an eye more and more people will rain from the sky
Melissa’s dVerse prompt for we poets today references the surrealism of Rene Magritte. I chose the painting Golconda (1953) of raining men to address the terrible wars around the globe and our repeated failure to learn the lessons of history.
poetography.ink 