So keep all the castles.
The jewels can rust.
The fortune means nothing.
The riches are dust.
Because all this face,
Though it easily could...
Would never trade you
Not even for the world.
cross-posted at 100 UpVotes from: https://lemmy.world/post/52041938
I sat up straight, refined and neat,
With perfectly arranged little feet.
My ears were crisp, my gaze intense—
A portrait worthy of immense...Admiring looks and glowing praise.
I practiced for this shot for days!
The lighting? Flawless. Pose? Supreme.
Exactly as I'd always dreamed.Then out of nowhere, sleek as night,
My black-cat friend steals every sight.
He struts behind with swishy tail,
As if he's starring in this tale.He wasn't posed. He wasn't asked.
He simply wandered past.
Yet somehow all the humans say,
"Look at that black cat! What a display!"Excuse me? I'm the one in front!
I'm serving elegance—not a stunt.
I'm giving statuesque allure...He's just... a fuzzy saboteur.
He does this every single time.
I'm art.He's feline pantomime.
One day I'll schedule my debut...
When Mr. "Oops-I-Just-Walked-Through"
Is napping somewhere out of sight—
So I can have my spotlight. 😼🐈⬛
Photobombing by the black Kitty did not go over well.
I sat up straight, refined and neat,
With perfectly arranged little feet.
My ears were crisp, my gaze intense—
A portrait worthy of immense...
Admiring looks and glowing praise.
I practiced for this shot for days!
The lighting? Flawless. Pose? Supreme.
Exactly as I'd always dreamed.
Then out of nowhere, sleek as night,
My black-cat friend steals every sight.
He struts behind with swishy tail,
As if he's starring in this tale.
He wasn't posed. He wasn't asked.
He simply wandered past.
Yet somehow all the humans say,
"Look at that black cat! What a display!"
Excuse me? I'm the one in front!
I'm serving elegance—not a stunt.
I'm giving statuesque allure...
He's just... a fuzzy saboteur.
He does this every single time.
I'm art.
He's feline pantomime.
One day I'll schedule my debut...
When Mr. "Oops-I-Just-Walked-Through"
Is napping somewhere out of sight—
So I can have my spotlight. 😼🐈⬛
cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/52011874
Black cat, black cat,
what do you think?
You stare at my paper,
you stare at my ink.Black cat, black cat,
what do you know?
You sit like a king
with nowhere to go.Black cat, black cat,
why look at me?
I've written twelve poems
on feline mystery.I need a new gig.
I need something big.
A whale! A giraffe!
A tap-dancing pig!But cats are my curse.
They're filling my verse.
Each poem gets cattier,
each stanza gets worse.Black cat, black cat,
get off of my page.The cat did not move.
I trembled with rage.
“I'll write about mountains!
I'll write about ships!
I'll write of adventure
and perilous trips!”The black cat just blinked
and gave a small yawn,
then sat on my keyboard
from midnight till dawn.I need a new gig.
This cat thing's too big.
I'm drowning in whiskers
and rhyme schemes and—SIG—No, wait. That's not right.
I meant to write fig.Oh, wonderful. Great.
Now I'm rhyming with pig.
Black cat, black cat,
what do you think?He knocked down my coffee.
It spilled on my ink.
I stared at the cat.
The cat stared at me.
And that is the end—
of Cat Poem One Thousand and Thirty-Three.
Black cat, black cat,
what do you think?
You stare at my paper,
you stare at my ink.
Black cat, black cat,
what do you know?
You sit like a king
with nowhere to go.
Black cat, black cat,
why look at me?
I've written twelve poems
on feline mystery.
I need a new gig.
I need something big.
A whale! A giraffe!
A tap-dancing pig!
But cats are my curse.
They're filling my verse.
Each poem gets cattier,
each stanza gets worse.
Black cat, black cat,
get off of my page.
The cat did not move.
I trembled with rage.
“I'll write about mountains!
I'll write about ships!
I'll write of adventure
and perilous trips!”
The black cat just blinked
and gave a small yawn,
then sat on my keyboard
from midnight till dawn.
I need a new gig.
This cat thing's too big.
I'm drowning in whiskers
and rhyme schemes and—SIG—
No, wait. That's not right.
I meant to write fig.
Oh, wonderful. Great.
Now I'm rhyming with pig.
Black cat, black cat,
what do you think?
He knocked down my coffee.
It spilled on my ink.
I stared at the cat.
The cat stared at me.
And that is the end—
of Cat Poem One Thousand and Thirty-Three.
This is one of the most creative perspectives that I've ever read on one of my writings.
A sad but true fact. Neither Izod nor the crew team have paid me a penny.
Awesome, the important part is it came out great!
No worries on following the exact recipe.
I do look forward to seeing the picture! If it looks better than mine did, I might be switching over to Frozen!
cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51965091
TL;DR My cat regularly traps me like this. The first time he did it, I was wearing IZOD socks, so I wrote a story about how a superhero IZOD Man was trapped by his sleeping cat. That story is posted here too. This time he got me and I was wearing plain White Sox, so that became the superheroes mild mannered disguise.
In our previous story, our hero Izod Man had been trapped. On a couch. By a cat.
As the saga continues, we find him in a similar state, but something has changed....
The world recalls, as legends can,
the noble deeds of Izod Man.A hero bold. A soul refined.
A champion of humankind.Yet fame is hard. The burden weighs.
One cannot save the world always.And so, when all the work is done,
a hero's second life's begun.He sheds the symbols of his brand.
No logo marks his noble stand.No mighty crest is there to spy.
He's now just merely White Socks Guy.
A fellow plain and mild of speech.
A man who keeps the remote within reach.He sits upon an ordinary chair.
No sign of greatness lingers there.He thinks himself concealed from sight.
The disguise appears quite airtight.
Yet hidden deep within the room
there stirs a watcher through the gloom.Two ears arise.
One nose will twitch.
The cat detects the subtle switch.
For while the world may pass him by,
she knows he's not just White Socks Guy.She knows the truth. She always can.
White Socks Guy is Izod Man.
And so she springs with practiced grace
directly to her chosen place.She settles in.
She starts to purr.
The trap is set.
The end for her—
or rather him.
The hero sighs.
The cat half-opens sleepy eyes.
One snowy paw comes drifting down
upon his leg without a sound.No force is used.
No threat is made.
No villain's scheme need be displayed.
The message needs no spoken plan:
"I know exactly who you am."
The hero freezes where he sits.
The cat continues all her bitsof sleeping, stretching, breathing deep,
and looking very much asleep.Yet White Socks Guy knows better than
to test the laws that govern Man.For countless times throughout the years
he's learned the truth all captives hear:The world may think that cats are small.
The world is wrong.
That's really all.
And thus the secret still survives,
preserved through quiet household lives.By day he's just some ordinary guy.
By night he's still unable to stand up and get a drink because there's a cat sleeping on him.
Such is the fate, since time began,
of White Socks Guy—
and Izod Man.
🐾
TL;DR My cat regularly traps me like this. The first time he did it, I was wearing IZOD socks, so I wrote a story about how a superhero IZOD Man was trapped by his sleeping cat. That story is posted here too. This time he got me and I was wearing plain White Sox, so that became the superheroes mild mannered disguise.
In our previous story, our hero Izod Man had been trapped. On a couch. By a cat.
As the saga continues, we find him in a similar state, but something has changed....
The world recalls, as legends can,
the noble deeds of Izod Man.
A hero bold. A soul refined.
A champion of humankind.
Yet fame is hard. The burden weighs.
One cannot save the world always.
And so, when all the work is done,
a hero's second life's begun.
He sheds the symbols of his brand.
No logo marks his noble stand.
No mighty crest is there to spy.
He's now just merely White Socks Guy.
A fellow plain and mild of speech.
A man who keeps the remote within reach.
He sits upon an ordinary chair.
No sign of greatness lingers there.
He thinks himself concealed from sight.
The disguise appears quite airtight.
Yet hidden deep within the room
there stirs a watcher through the gloom.
Two ears arise.
One nose will twitch.
The cat detects the subtle switch.
For while the world may pass him by,
she knows he's not just White Socks Guy.
She knows the truth. She always can.
White Socks Guy is Izod Man.
And so she springs with practiced grace
directly to her chosen place.
She settles in.
She starts to purr.
The trap is set.
The end for her—
or rather him.
The hero sighs.
The cat half-opens sleepy eyes.
One snowy paw comes drifting down
upon his leg without a sound.
No force is used.
No threat is made.
No villain's scheme need be displayed.
The message needs no spoken plan:
"I know exactly who you am."
The hero freezes where he sits.
The cat continues all her bits
of sleeping, stretching, breathing deep,
and looking very much asleep.
Yet White Socks Guy knows better than
to test the laws that govern Man.
For countless times throughout the years
he's learned the truth all captives hear:
The world may think that cats are small.
The world is wrong.
That's really all.
And thus the secret still survives,
preserved through quiet household lives.
By day he's just some ordinary guy.
By night he's still unable to stand up and get a drink because there's a cat sleeping on him.
Such is the fate, since time began,
of White Socks Guy—
and Izod Man.
🐾
You speak of her fondly. And knowing that her 'judgmentalness' is increasing as time goes on, she's perfect!
Molly is beautiful!
Turn back the clock, and my Ginnie looked exactly like your Molly.
Be advised, if you think she judges now, just wait till she gets her formal robes! (Meaning her darker color.)
And if she's anything like ours, she'll love you just as much as she judges you.
cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51954371
Her courtroom is her home, and she sits there as the judge. She knows the house’s laws by heart— and with the law she will not fudge.
She listens to each argument with one unblinking stare, then silently decides that you were wrong for sitting in her chair.
The charge: her bowl was empty— well, she saw the bottom through.
The verdict: guilty, obviously. The culprit? Clearly you.
No pleading and no bargaining. No case can be dismissed.
And treats shall be delivered from the court’s approved snack list.
So mind your step and watch yourself— her rulings are quite firm. For every household member will someday get their turn.
She runs a tight courtroom, and justice gets no nudge—
This home belongs to Her Honor... and with the law, she will not fudge. ⚖️🐾
Her courtroom is her home, and she sits there as the judge. She knows the house’s laws by heart— and with the law she will not fudge.
She listens to each argument with one unblinking stare, then silently decides that you were wrong for sitting in her chair.
The charge: her bowl was empty— well, she saw the bottom through.
The verdict: guilty, obviously. The culprit? Clearly you.
No pleading and no bargaining. No case can be dismissed.
And treats shall be delivered from the court’s approved snack list.
So mind your step and watch yourself— her rulings are quite firm. For every household member will someday get their turn.
She runs a tight courtroom, and justice gets no nudge—
This home belongs to Her Honor... and with the law, she will not fudge. ⚖️🐾
That's cool.
Now it's easier for me to answer question you originally asked. Where I come from, we called it respect.
Thanks for taking time to explain and I'm really glad you did.
That is absolutely NOT the intended perception of the word 'respect' I was shooting for.
What do you call it when someone you don't know takes time out of their day to greet you, welcome you to the neighborhood, and actually listened to what you had to say? And there were three of them.
That's the definition of respect I was shooting for.
And while it's not mentioned in the writing because it would make it even longer than it is to find included every detail, we showed them the same respect as they told us about themselves and the neighborhood.
from .ml?
More importantly, what did it mean to you when you read it?
If I answer first, there's a chance it would guide your response.
And that way I can see how close to intention I made perception.
Was going to say similar about your tone sounding very Reddit like.
Meet you outside?
That sounds like Audrey hobert's tiny desk backlash!
Old news.
My profile already says just that.
😉
cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51874976
TL;DR- poem's at the bottom.
Backstory: driving through California's Central valley. Pistachio trees and corn fields on either side of the road. It's late, and the Sun is just about done for the day.
Then while driving past one of the corn fields, a white blur dashing in and out of the corn? That's the wrong color for anything around these parts. So we slowed down and saw a little dog.
There's nothing out here except farmland. This one is too sweet to last long out here alone. Come here girl. I was expecting her to be like the others and run away. She didn't.
She approached cautiously. After I'd given her a pat on the head, I realized for some reason she trusted me. So I asked her to walk to the car where my wife was waiting. And yes, at this point I did play in my life a bit because I knew the dog was ours if we chose, by the way she was behaving.
As I approached the car with the dog shortly behind me, I asked my wife "if I can catch her, can we keep her?" By that time, the dog had caught up to me, circled around behind me and stopped so she was staring at my wife, one ear in the air and one down, as if asking her the same question. My wife didn't have a choice, she said yes.
Then as if she'd always been mine, I told the dog to get in the car and she hopped into my wife's lap. We drove home and the rest is history, at least as told by the poem that follows...
I cried
when I saw you running through that field alone,
all skin and bones, no place to call your own,
Sweet little one, just a blur against the sky,
and something in me broke—I didn’t know why.I cried
when I called, expecting you to run away,
but you came right up like you were meant to stay,
you trusted me without a reason why,
then climbed in the car like you were ready to try.I cried
when I saw just how bad things had been,
every scrape and bite on your fragile skin,
I couldn’t fix your past, no matter how I tried,
but I promised right then you’d never be denied.I cried
at the vet, waiting quiet while they scanned,
holding on tight, just hoping I’d understand,
if someone would claim you, or if you’d be free,
those were the hardest tears for me. 😭I cried
when they said there was no chip, no name,
no one was coming, no one to claim,
and the tears came down like pouring rain—🥹
because now you were safe, and out of pain.Bonnie Tyler,
you don’t have to run anymore,
you’re not lost like you were before,
and I don’t know what you’ve been through—
but I know this much:
I’m not letting go of you. 🤗
cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51875470
Story: This cat hung out with us while our daughter was in Future soldier training (FST). Even though there was a caretaker watching over the feral colony, this one chose to be friendly and have a meal near the car with us weekly.
I saw you stop. You thought I’d hide, like shadows always do, but something warm and gentle stayed the moment I saw you.
You didn’t call, you didn’t chase, you didn’t cross my line, you placed a feast upon a cloth as if this world were kind.
A napkin laid on roughened street, a table set for me, no throne was ever dressed so well as that small courtesy.
I kept my face the way I must— composed and still and wise— but gratitude was spilling out behind my careful eyes.
For I am just a passing thing the daylight seldom keeps, a life that moves through parking lots and learns the night in leaps.
Yet you, today, with quiet hands and nothing asked in claim, made one small curb feel less like chance and more like somewhere named.
So if you felt me watching you before you walked away, it wasn’t fear that held me still— it was the need to stay.
To memorize that simple act, that kindness left so neat: a human heart that paused long enough to set a cat a feast.
Story: This cat hung out with us while our daughter was in Future soldier training (FST). Even though there was a caretaker watching over the feral colony, this one chose to be friendly and have a meal near the car with us weekly.
I saw you stop. You thought I’d hide, like shadows always do, but something warm and gentle stayed the moment I saw you.
You didn’t call, you didn’t chase, you didn’t cross my line, you placed a feast upon a cloth as if this world were kind.
A napkin laid on roughened street, a table set for me, no throne was ever dressed so well as that small courtesy.
I kept my face the way I must— composed and still and wise— but gratitude was spilling out behind my careful eyes.
For I am just a passing thing the daylight seldom keeps, a life that moves through parking lots and learns the night in leaps.
Yet you, today, with quiet hands and nothing asked in claim, made one small curb feel less like chance and more like somewhere named.
So if you felt me watching you before you walked away, it wasn’t fear that held me still— it was the need to stay.
To memorize that simple act, that kindness left so neat: a human heart that paused long enough to set a cat a feast.