About inkygatta

I'm living in England, writing down thoughts that my black cat telepathically sends me. I'm his pen, he's the poet.

I am the Moon’s

A swirling under
the lunatic moon

she says
dance with me
yet stands
so far so
gleaming.

The wind pushes
leaves through
the tangles
of shadow-

at what cost
do I linger
in dappled night?

I am
the moon’s
so I am
not
lost

until
I am

caught in the
clarity of
the sun’s
eyes.

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Heart of the Rose

My lungs crave
an uncommon air,
fruit of sun,
rain and dirt,

the sweet scent
of the flame
at the heart of
the rose.

One fell at her feet,

the sun lit
the stage
in gold,

my own heart
in the air
with her leaps,

toe pointed true
she spun through
the floor,
burning

until the rose opened

teaching me
the strength
in her delicate grace,

arms wide

the silk dress of
petals unfurled
to reveal

a heart of flame

the sun contained
in the delicate
body

born
of rain
and dirt
and fire.

Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde

They whisp, spectres taken form.
Almost seen, they mask themselves
in cloaks and march through a
maze, constrained and floating.

The moon is what they are after.
She’s yellow, they know,
and round, full.

She’s tangible substance
while they float,
she strides,
while they are ever-hungry,
she eats.

Life, life they whisper in cracked
wind voices.

If they meet her, they will live.

Three persevere though one
cannot face the light,
and hides in a dark corner
dreaming of the moon.

The others chase,
sometimes catch!

– but she, intangible,
disappears.

This one is for all you Pacman fans!

Rain Flood

I saw the child.

I saw her tilt
her face
to the sky.

The rains are
clearing
the streets

cigarette butts
spiral into
gutters

trees drink
ankle-deep

soft earth
turns to
rivers

and change
the face
of the world.

The hundred year
old woman’s tears

flood down
her face
into
heaving
seas.

The child’s face
in bliss.

She takes the rain
in every pore.

The rain is love.
The rain is love.

Taste of Earth

I don’t like sweet things.

I want to taste the earth
in what I take in.

Sugar dresses up
bitter,
a constant smile
belying fangs

or like cotton candy,
all air
spun high
leaving me
solo.

Orcas charming,
playful

– then
Bam!

I’m bitten clean through.

They say I’m too cynical
but maybe I just believe
in your scowl, sour

’cause I see all the flowers
blooming in a glorious sunrise

when you spring a smile.

Yeah, you mean it.
I can taste the earth in you.

Born to Water

Maybe we were
born to water

and with new arms
and legs,
newborn-blind,
we climbed onto
the river’s shore

maybe the land
claimed us,
reeds and grasses
bound our ankles
and gave us
names

maybe swimming
in the currents
in the deepest eddys
are strange fish
like us

maybe the water is
both calmer
and deeper
than we think

so we could not
stand if we entered
nor breathe though

maybe if we jumped now
we’d remember who we were
just at that moment
of birth

maybe then we’d swim
to the bottom
and touch home.

Quieter Mind

I have met
the quieter mind

here in the valley

of brown and dun
trees

where clouds
softly sit
just between hills,

a shiver of wind
flutters the leaves,

and the mist
wisps away
like spectres.

The mind
does not stir

deeply earthed

– it shivers

a cloud in a lake
it quivers

and is gone.

I wrote this in Scotland where I stayed in a cabin in the hills for a week for solitude, reflection and nature. The early October colors of nature inspired me, as did the still, reflective Loch Voil.

If you like this poem, you might like my short story Hiro, published on Page & Spine this week.

http://pagespineficshowcase.com/stories/hiro-giulietta-m-spudich

Leave me a comment and tell me what you think! Thanks, Giulietta