Poetry and Imagination with Laurie Filipelli

Our group came together from all over Texas, and we brought with us a love of words. In one short week, we examined seashells, guitars, and tiny horses. We talked about our joys and fears. We found a shared affinity for squirrels and a talent for riddles. We imagined. We celebrated. And, above all, we wrote. With these poems, you’re in for a treat! - Laurie Filipelli

Photo by Matthea Harvey

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Ars Poetica

A collaborative poem by the Fat Cats’ Reading Tabloids collective 

A poem should be the delicate wing of a dove

A poem should sound like water splashing in a pond

The waterfall dribbles small droplets into the water

A poem should sound like an untuned violin

A stream of water swishing silently as it flows

A tree struck by lightning

Poetry cannot be rushed like a blooming flower

It’s a thunderstorm of words

Poems arm themselves with barbed wire and gas masks

And comprehend the incomprehensible

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Lex Benton-Jonshult

Scavengers picked me clean

Left cracked corpses of sheltered twigs

In winter’s poison-sweet grip

I was king

I ran so fast my tail

Left blue and green sparks in the sky

I was powerful

I ripped cowering cowards

And fools from their cozy tunnels of lies

Yet I stare at the navy-blue sky

As starlight

Fills and clouds my vision

And the sight

Of this regicide

Is swallowed by winter’s poison-sweet touch

——

Poems comprehend the incomprehensible

Poems twist the normal in to strangeness

Poems are made of rambling lines that stretch across the page and spill in to empty space

Short lines

Poems rhyme

Poems do not

Poems dance in a mystic crepuscular light when the world is filled with possibilities and magic

Poems arm themselves with barbed wire and gas masks to wade through life’s outcasts

Poems fill a room with thoughts and harrows

Poems whisk you away without a dream

And when I sit in my grave

Let drifting words fill sightless eyes

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Sam Deterling

My Cat’s Leukemia

My cats leukemia is like a dark storm cloud before it rains,

He broke out of his cage but we never know if he will be pulled back in

His cage must be destroyed for him to be free.

J. R. R. Tolkien stuck in a notebook

What irony this is to posses a notebook,

When I once wrote about a land with hobbits and creatures myself?

I feel every pen stroke like a needle on skin.

I know not why I must endure this horrible reality,

I committed no crimes in my life. Why must I endure this pain forever?

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Liam Harris

My Two Cats’ Strange Relationship

I hear a cat cry out in pain;

Spitting and hissing.

I am not surprised nor alarmed.

I hear the same noise five times everyday.

I hear a cat cry out in pain;

Spitting and hissing.

The wide one rolls over on her back

As the black one pounces.

I hear a cat cry out in pain;

Spitting and hissing.

No one has the energy to stand up

As the calm one snores.

I hear a cat cry out in pain;

Spitting and hissing.

It’s getting late now.

We don’t even make a noise . . .

And as I walk slowly to my room,

I hear a faint noise.

I  hear a cat cry out in pain

As I drift off to sleep.

Who Am I?

I am a smooth floor.

Those who walk on me

explore infinity

without tripping over in their own reality.

I sit next to a ruler who pushes

those who stand on me.

No walls surround me.

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Josie Kramer

The Pecan Tree

Sitting on the edge

of Trittie's backyard

a Pecan Tree looms

filled with nuts

in Autumn

One fall—I lived with her—

we gathered buckets

and plucked the bittersweet

earthy nut

from its branches

-plunk-

its hull 

hits the bottom of the bucket

and splits apart

shattering into fifty pieces

leaving the Pecan

exposed

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Molly Stromberger

Seashell

The cold water washes me away, in a different location every time.

You pick me up and put me in your pocket.

When you get home I am put in a pile with all my friends and family,

that you stole from me years and years ago.

But I miss the water, I wish to be back there with the whales and the dolphins, the pretty coral and the fish.

I doubt I'll ever go home to the water. It's like a cage in here. I can't get out.

Possessed by Ferdinand Magellan

I have travelled the world,

but I am stuck in this carousel horse

going around and around and around and around,

never really going anywhere.

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Leah Panga

A Dolphin Grows Human Arms 

You may know me as the dolphin who grew human arms, but I have a name. 

So please just call me Phil.

I must say it is quite strange to grow human arms, 

but it is gift from our king so I shall appreciate it. 

At first, it was very difficult to swim because, 

you see, these hands have replaced my fins and there are no humans who 

live underwater to teach me.  

Therefore, I learned by myself and have got rather fond of having hands. 

So, who knows, maybe another little pipsqueak like me will get this gift,

and maybe I can train him, for I know a thing or two about hands.

Two Little Monsters

I have two little monsters roaming around, 

Chomping, giggling, and laughing.

They wake me up, pulling off my blankets and slapping my face.

I don’t wake up, they slap me harder and throw toys all over until I get up.

I don’t wake up, they come close to my hear and scream as loud as they can, 

I have finally woken up.  

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Fiona Briggs

A Day in a Life

The sun peaks over the trees bathing everything it sees in light.

 I do not get out of bed, though I am awake I am still tired.

Once the sun begins to kiss the roof of my home, I rise. 

I see my kittens -now grown- in the kitchen.

Crunching on their food.

 I see my puppy –grown as well- still lying in bed. 

She will get up when the sun is high in the sky, and the moon has disappeared. 

I go upstairs and rest my head on my pillow. 

My kittens cry at the door. 

I pick them up and carry them to bed. 

The lighter one suckles the blankets. 

The darker one tucks his legs under his body and rests his eyes.

Once the sun is high in the sky and looks at the world, I cook my food and then go back upstairs to play with my kittens. 

Once the sun tires and lowers down to kiss the trees goodnight, he emits a soft pink glow. 

I take my puppy out to walk the streets of the neighborhood.

When the sun rests and sleeps, the moon will light the world with her blue glow. 

And she sings. 

Her lullabies allow me to sleep easily, knowing that she will rest beside me. 

A poem should be . . .

A poem should be a soft lullaby

A poem should be a sweet melody

A poem should be a lovely tune 

A poem should be the delicate wing of a dove

A poem should be a gentle breeze in the morning

A poem should be the glistening dew on the grass at dawn 

A poem should sing

  dance 

          be a poem