The Scribe

A collab poem today with guest writer, the husband.

I Sing the Song of My People

Our cats mid-night mewlings; are they singing? Are they communicating with Void-lings? It seems my cats are reciting poetry. Very loudly.


The Crone scratches At my throat Upon the evening’s Afterglow Darkened skies Fading stars I watch another Waning show Her grip digs deeper As vitals seep Hearts beating slow The lovers weep A lifeless body Beneath waning glow Upon cold stone crags And the violent seas below

There’s a Cat on My Lap

Special guest writer today is humom: Every cat parent knows that you cannot move once there is a cat on one’s lap; it is sacrilege.

The Sovereign

The clattering commotion Is the catalyst for Freedom Vociferously carving its way Across the pregnant landscape Marks like cuneiform Writ on an ancient Earth Stretches across a continent, Seemingly separate markings Yet together they are momentous In a cool clamor it billows; Edging towards Dawn


Soma lies And tricks the eyes We are the sullied Sick and beaten Exiled By our kin We are feared and Dirty heathens . The cult has spoken, Which can’t be broken As the ringleaders Spin the lies Mezmorised And hypnotized Soma works to dull the wise . But the wise they know That it’s […]


Even kittens write poetry! But they are infinitely more adorable.

No One Knows

The joys of having cats and the mid-night surprises they leave us! It’s always better when they leave us poems they wrote though.

Murderous Filigree

Finally a peer into the mind of our cats when it comes to their midnight Christmas Tree destroying antics.


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