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Sir Robin

February 28th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

Fat, round, harbingersir robin
Of Hope,
Startled at the absence
Of anything verdant,
Suspiciously eyeing
The quilted conundrum
At my throat –
As if I could sing.
But here,
My lovely golden orb,
An utterance of delight
Caught between the breath
Of winter
And the gloved hand
To my lips,
At what you might choose
To bring.

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Tyler Talks Poe-Etry

February 19th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

Hi! It’s me! Tyler! Here to save the day……while perusing the blog site, I was horrified to learn that the entries of late (and I do mean LATE) have been somewhat sporadic and scant intyler content. I mean, if you like poetry, fine but there has to be a little more substance, don’t you agree? Blogs with a little more bite to them. That’s where I step in, to pick up the slack.
I admit I’m not a big fan of poetry. Anyone can do it, even a cat. That’s not to say we’re in any way inferior to the human bean, let me clarify this by saying, it’s quite the opposite. Cats choose not to write poetry for the simple reason, we just don’t want to. Oh, we can do it all right, in fact with the utmost of grace and eloquence, however this restricts us from rising to greater aspirations some of which you may be more likely to associate with the feline of species. But just to make my point that even a cat can do it, here’s one example…”Once upon a midnight mousey, As I pondered feeling lousey, Over many a volume of forgotten gore….” Pretty good, huh? Written by a cat named Poe.
Now, what troubles me is the ever apparent neglect in blog submissions. What have the Beans been doing with their time??? Oh, don’t give me that dried up old excuse…..shoveling snow, scraping ice, shivering in your bootstraps nonsense. I’ve seen you out there. Doesn’t look like that much work to me. You don’t even look cold. In fact you’re sweating. Then you come inside and groan (just to make sure I know you’re tired) and pull off your wet things and have a hot bowl of something nice to eat. And when I ask for some, I get a teeny tiny nibble that’s supposed to satisfy my lion’s appetite worked up from watching you at the window. This is very distressing to say the least.
Then to top it all off with the proverbial red cherry and chocolate sprinkles (make that multi colored) you expect me, a quiet unassuming feline, to contribute his valuable time and (yawn) energy to utilize his creative writing skills in a pinch? Well, all right then! You asked for it! (I think this is what’s called venting.) I’m through with the pair of you! After this, you’re on your own. And don’t give us another one of your hokey five second poems. Let’s have a blog entry with a little meat on the bone, like mine. Now go make yourselves useful and get my dinner. (This has been a public service announcement brought to you by the Tyler Talks Foundation….If it’s worth spilling ink it’s because I knocked it over).

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The Wicked Wicked Winter

February 15th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

Merciless wind.
The snow and icewinter
Of sinner’s sin.
Frozen hearts
Linked end to end.
A chain of no redemption.

Armed with shovel.
Salt the walk
From hub to hovel.
Flanked by banks
Of arctic rubble.
A mountain of contention.

The wicked wicked wintry blast.
More’s the fool
Who thought to ask
Relief from summer’s
Brashest brass
But never his intention.

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