Le Cat

cats are the cutest occurrence by far
to exist in the exodus of dying stars
they won’t fill you with emptiness
nor act obsequious
theirs is a love born of implicit politesse
one must defer to their kitten’s omnipotence
tend to their litterbox with great expedience
lavish their plate with the jewels of the sea
let them languish in any locale that they please
leave your couch to their claws
scratch them under the chin
look away when they groom
to divert their chagrin
and be sure to provide plenty of empty boxes
perchance should you spy them
pray not act obnoxious
it’s crucial to act as though no kitten can be seen
even if only their eyes appear clandestine
be not remiss in engaging cats everyday
in a complex array of clever kitty games
cuddling is an imperative joy
best allow them to knead even if it annoys
on occasion, one might feel a sandpaper tongue
drag across their visage, let them stop when they’re done
when the clock strikes at three in the dead of the night
cats go zipping about with no reason in sight
knocking over the table and the
breaking the vase
’tis a requisite function
of curious cause
never scorn them with scathing words
for this will fail
such is not what any cat would ever avail
one does not “own” a kitten
humans bear such err
but to love one
is truly divine
if you dare…

[image credit: Louis Wain]


are like fingerprints
upon a fallen fractal

from a fiction
found ephemeral


to reflect
the inward architecture’s

exodus of time

by the existential anti-matter

absence will comprise

through disparities
between the void

and destined intertwine

for a freckle
exceeds any value

so defined by heaven

heed the Pleiades

peer past the visage

poignance erred divine

pendulous plumes- Max Meunier

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

solitude sleeps
at a slow summer’s wallow

in madness
I muster

to miss you

will lost,

summoned chimes

in the clasp
of our past imposition

we splayed

into static imposters

what life is
in laughter

when farewells are left

and release
but loose-leaded contrivance

us to dust


and rebelled

as the sun swore its vestigeof vengeance

the west burned

to weakness
before we could leave

sable clouds came
to wrest

and I
in this clement

caressed none

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations. I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe. He writes at Max Or Not

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in dream

passing by
the ghosts of yore

was emptiness

of a spent desire

did linger in their midst

the phrases
spoken long before

apprised me of such plight

through the semblance
they would know
no more

upon a stolen night

i held them
by my burdened breath

to stave off death’s advance

if only for the chance
to be a voice
that once was heard

the truth of life
each rung

a presence
to remain

no person can outrun
the perils
spun on paths we paved

what followed me
i cannot say

yet save
for what was seen

the moment
i could not awake

they passed me by
in dream


a dormant dimension
once held me
in truth

through eyes
of its shadow unfolding

where somber songs sung
by a wandering siren

foretold tales
of reason

when time sifted
faster than heaven’s farewell

now, at last
as we are

this, that no one can know
before starlight’s collapse

into rapture
wrapped tightly

by nature’s eclipse

were i not
but a semblance

to glimpse worlds
we lost

though wordless

I would meet you there