Norman F. Santos

Rookie - 497 Points (Nov.19,1990 / Philippines)

Tale Of An Alley Cat - Poem by Norman F. Santos

There are effectuating things in the world
That makes you want to reside forever
Inside a conch shell’s emollient whisper
Like the collision of acquiesced stares,
Or a bathe in her cold residing sweat
Or in a fountain of warm promises,
Or the memory of your fingers tinkering
With the resonance of wind chimes
As it desired to be entangled with a clandestine
Console bigger than the big screen
Until, the world topples into latticing alleys
And in every atrium of the heart
These lovely things encumbers the blood
And mold into loathsome reminiscences
And terrorizing acquaintances
For an astray alley cat.

Now the moon hung by a taut noose
And the stars shiver with decadence
I take its toll, pummeled by emblematic senescence
And morph into an alley cat scavenging for melancholia
Benumbed to the wintry hostility of the night
From sleeping in wet rooftops or asphalts
And despondently cowering vicissitude’s blight,
Tailored to the day’s superfluity of infernal fire
Stalled in the spiteful stares of nonchalance;
And the face of melancholia I do prefer
Grazed pristinely in a dismal penumbra
And effervescent like the sporadic fireflies,
Which is unsurpassed by the entente
To a chrysalis of a constant stoic slumber.
And as I saunter past the elusive light
In the geodesy of my tales, I am an alley cat.

I would welter past the sundered edifices
Envisaging the distances of your lissome fingers
And reckoning how I can never fill the crevasses.
I see you in the puddles, by the shattered windows,
Or the daze beneath a flickering lamppost
You are always the mistral gale of the city
And the subtle denunciation that drove me
Into the filthiest cul-de-sacs of verve where
My moans could never reach your palms
As they attend to stellar lantern charms,
And the tempest rain never sojourns
Even if the clockwork of my human soul
Had long been devoured by the impasse,
Where the sun would never winnow and stay,
Where I deny the pangs of loving the city
From the breast to the pockets that had kept me.
.
I plead guilty for desiring you in plenitude
And don more of horrible humanity as I envision
Us lying on my bed, as I stroke your rasping hair
And sap the pulp of your redolence, in the least carnal fashion
Until you achieve a hiatus from the beating
Because before you built a city all over me
You were once a tatterdemalion alley cat
And I had loved your flaws yonder the perfection.
But even in my fanaticism, you were the cold rapine
Of my facilities, you were a burglar cat, or perhaps
A rapacious tigress and your lurking camouflage’s the interstate
That I can never lose, for I can never have
Albeit, your fangs are still locked on my neck
Your heavy paws on my chest
I would only have my dying self
In your alleys, left to bled.

Abandoned by any feral pride
I have accustomed a life in your shadows
Hunting for the varmints, but not for starvation
Rather, for perseverance of my scarce territory
In the arms of the lovely city
That never heeded and cared for me.
The alley cat hollered for a hunger
For that part of himself that whittled and
Frittered away from the consciousness
In coming to loving you and not loving you
For in loving, you would know too much
Until you know too much that you do not know any more
And in these times where the tears would not come
To wash the qualms of a lost love;
That part of himself that had wafted too far
In the chagrined darkness of the interstate
The lion’s valiance halts
And he becomes an alley cat.

Topic(s) of this poem: cat, loneliness, poetry


Poet's Notes about The Poem

Circa December 2011 - Experimental poetry

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Poem Submitted: Friday, December 11, 2015



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