Cats

Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned

To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.

They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn

To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.



Submitted by Stephen Fryer

by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

Comments (6)

Good poems ggggggggggggggg
Ha! I love the lines WILL NOT LEARN TO ANSWER TO THEIR NAMES and ARE SELDOM TRULY OWNED TILL SHOT OR SKINNED So true! As I said in my own cats poem, we don't own them; they own us.
A very intelligent piece of poetry.Thank you
It feels as a beautiful poem with nice words and rhythm.
It was an absolute joy to re-discover this poem after many years.
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