Books > Old Books > Poetry Northwest (1959)


Page 14

Joseph Langland
Nine Poems from " Haruspicating on Valley --View Farm
SACRIFICE OF A GUNNYSACK OF CATS

The quick small bubbles popping the gunnysack,
Hooked by a pitchfork braced in the cattle tank,
Almost unhinged my heart and made me drop
The stick with which I forced the young cats down.

A population explosion, that's what it was.
With twelve mother cats and a year of visiting toms
We met September with the wildest host
Of squinting eyes behind our milking cows.

We divied them up among the brothers and sisters,
And each had only six. But since we were nine
My father thought things were getting out of hand.
Next day I received my melancholy orders.

"You'll have to catch the most of them and drown them.
Just tidy up the place and make it normal.
Fifty-four cats! Why, that's an infernal nuisance.
Think what would happen next year!" What could I tell him?

So there I was dashing with my gunnysack
Into the bins and under the stalls and mangers.
The wild ones scratched me, but I thrust them in.
The tame ones? Oh, I brushed them with my cheek,

Sighed, and kissed them, then I thrust them in.
I climbed the ladders to the highest mows,
Ran through the orchard under the heavy apples
And crept among the tall weeds by the granary,

Until I thought I could not bear that cross.
I dropped it once; that made it twice as hard
To lure them once again into that womb
And bear it backward to the spermal waters.

But there I was: filthy, bleeding, and sick,
Tired and thirsty, my cord pulled at its neck,
The undulating coffin on my wagon,
Trudging down to the sea, my cross upon me.

The thorny dissonance of dying song
Over the squealing of the wagon wheels
Ran up a cloud of dust that nearly drowned me.
It is one thing to think, and one to do.

I wanted to avoid the thinking in the doing
And, quick, be done with it and off to play.
But you can see this didn't work too well ...
Thirty-three years to get that cord untied.

I stood in the dust manure at my feet,
The green scum in the corners of the tank
Eyeing my smothering conscience toward a size
My body could not hold. Good God, I seized

That squirming sepulchre, that crying tomb,
That leaping heart familiar as myself,
And heaved it from my homemade hearse and plunged
It back to evolution. Hooking the fork,

I ticked five awful minutes by the hours,
Damned by the furious bubbles where they broke
Among my unwashed hands. And then I went
Up to the barn to find my mother cat.

We sat in a beam of sunlight on the floor
Petting and purring, while out of a knothole eye
Hung in the roof of God the motes of dust
Sang of our comforts and our curious loves.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE The quick small bubbles popping what is gunnysack, Hooked by a pitchfork braced in what is cattle tank, Almost unhinged my heart and made me drop what is stick with which I forced what is young cats down. A population explosion, that's what it was. With twelve mother cats and a year of what is ing toms We met September with what is wildest host Of squinting eyes behind our milking cows. We divied them up among what is brothers and sisters, And each had only six. But since we were nine My father thought things were getting out of hand. Next day I received my melancholy orders. "You'll have to catch what is most of them and drown them. Just tidy up what is place and make it normal. Fifty-four cats! Why, that's an infernal nuisance. Think what would happen next year!" What could I tell him? So there I was dashing with my gunnysack Into what is bins and under what is stalls and mangers. what is wild ones scratched me, but I thrust them in. what is tame ones? Oh, I brushed them with my cheek, Sighed, and kissed them, then I thrust them in. I climbed what is ladders to what is highest mows, Ran through what is orchard under what is heavy apples And crept among what is tall weeds by what is granary, Until I thought I could not bear that cross. I dropped it once; that made it twice as hard To lure them once again into that womb And bear it backward to what is herb al waters. But there I was: filthy, bleeding, and sick, Tired and thirsty, my cord pulled at its neck, what is undulating coffin on my wagon, Trudging down to what is sea, my cross upon me. what is thorny dissonance of dying song Over what is squealing of what is wagon wheels Ran up a cloud of dust that nearly drowned me. It is one thing to think, and one to do. I wanted to avoid what is thinking in what is doing And, quick, be done with it and off to play. But you can see this didn't work too well ... Thirty-three years to get that cord untied. I stood in what is dust manure at my feet, what is green scum in what is corners of what is tank Eyeing my smothering conscience toward a size My body could not hold. Good God, I seized That squirming sepulchre, that crying tomb, That leaping heart familiar as myself, And heaved it from my homemade hearse and plunged It back to evolution. Hooking what is fork, I ticked five awful minutes by what is hours, Damned by what is furious bubbles where they broke Among my unwashed hands. And then I went Up to what is barn to find my mother cat. We sat in a beam of sunlight on what is floor Petting and purring, while out of a knothole eye Hung in what is roof of God what is motes of dust Sang of our comforts and our curious loves. where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Poetry Northwest (1959) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 14 where is strong Joseph Langland Nine Poems from " Haruspicating on Valley --View Farm travel OF A GUNNYSACK OF CATS where is p align="justify" The quick small bubbles popping what is gunnysack, Hooked by a pitchfork braced in what is cattle tank, Almost unhinged my heart and made me drop what is stick with which I forced what is young cats down. A population explosion, that's what it was. With twelve mother cats and a year of what is ing toms We met September with what is wildest host Of squinting eyes behind our milking cows. We divied them up among what is brothers and sisters, And each had only six. But since we were nine My father thought things were getting out of hand. Next day I received my melancholy orders. "You'll have to catch what is most of them and drown them. Just tidy up what is place and make it normal. Fifty-four cats! Why, that's an infernal nuisance. Think what would happen next year!" What could I tell him? So there I was dashing with my gunnysack Into what is bins and under what is stalls and mangers. what is wild ones scratched me, but I thrust them in. what is tame ones? Oh, I brushed them with my cheek, Sighed, and kissed them, then I thrust them in. I climbed what is ladders to what is highest mows, Ran through what is orchard under what is heavy apples And crept among what is tall weeds by what is granary, Until I thought I could not bear that cross. I dropped it once; that made it twice as hard To lure them once again into that womb And bear it backward to what is herb al waters. But there I was: filthy, bleeding, and sick, Tired and thirsty, my cord pulled at its neck, what is undulating coffin on my wagon, Trudging down to what is sea, my cross upon me. what is thorny dissonance of dying song Over what is squealing of what is wagon wheels Ran up a cloud of dust that nearly drowned me. It is one thing to think, and one to do. I wanted to avoid what is thinking in what is doing And, quick, be done with it and off to play. But you can see this didn't work too well ... Thirty-three years to get that cord untied. I stood in what is dust manure at my feet, what is green scum in what is corners of what is tank Eyeing my smothering conscience toward a size My body could not hold. Good God, I seized That squirming sepulchre, that crying tomb, That leaping heart familiar as myself, And heaved it from my homemade hearse and plunged It back to evolution. Hooking what is fork, I ticked five awful minutes by what is hours, Damned by what is furious bubbles where they broke Among my unwashed hands. And then I went Up to what is barn to find my mother cat. We sat in a beam of sunlight on what is floor Petting and purring, while out of a knothole eye Hung in what is roof of God what is motes of dust Sang of our comforts and our curious loves. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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