White Christmas (Global Warming Version)

White Christmas (Global Warming Version)

By Charles Moffat, December 2014

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
Just like the ones we used to know
When the treetops glistened
and governments listened
Back when we used to have snow.

They're scheming of a profitable Christmas
When every politician sounds trite
They give you an economic fright
And most of the CEOs are white.

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
Before the droughts brought the blight
May your kids live to see the light
And learn from our lack of foresight

I'm steaming at the green Christmas
As the earth goes down the latrine
When everyone is so greedy its obscene
And now all our Christmases are green.

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
Back when leaders were more forthright
And now they're all full of shite.
And now all our Christmases aren't white.

Charles Moffat's poetry is also available on Kobo: a dream of unfettered roses

The Map Room at Hart House

The Map Room at Hart House is where the Toronto Poetry Club meets.

However we have noticed sometimes people walk by the map room looking lost, look in, say nothing and then keep walking.

It makes some of us wonder if they are lost poets, unsure if they are in the right room.

So here is some photos of the Map Room so you have a clearer idea of where you are supposed to be.

Note, it is not the 'Maps Room'. The Map Room only has 1 map in it. The big one on the east wall. So if you were expecting many maps and continue walking and looking for the 'Maps Room' you will be disappointed.

Expecting a Record Turnout at the Toronto Poetry Club

Tonight we are expecting a record turnout for the Toronto Poetry Club meeting. 26 people have signed up for the November 26th Poetry Meetup.

The only meetup that came close to those numbers was the August 28th Poetry Meetup which had 25 people sign up.

When attending these meetings typically only one half or two thirds of people show up. One time I think we had roughly 80% attendance. I think it is an issue wherein sometimes people sign up for poetry meetups and then forget to go the day of, maybe they were sick, had other plans, or sometimes it is just weather conditions (rain or extreme cold tends to scare people away from wanting to go outside and travel to a poetry meetup).

The good news however is that today is not overly cold and the weather is fair. Plus it is November and people often have nothing better to do in November, so I fully expect this meetup to be a bumper crop of poets.

I like to think however that the diehard poets (yippee ki yay m***** ******!) won't be deterred by a little rain (or even a lot of rain).

Come rain, come sleet, come snow - let the poets bring their best to the show.

De Stove Pipe Hole, by William Henry Drummond

During the 2014 Halloween Spooky Poetry Night event one of the poems that was discussed/performed was "De Stove Pope Hole" by William Henry Drummond, due because a different poem was read that reminded the poetry club president of the poem and it was decided it should performed to satisfy the curiousity of the fellow poets who had never heard of this particular poem before.

William Henry Drummond (born 1854, died 1907) was an Irish born Canadian poet famous for writing "dialect verse" and funny stories.


De Stove Pope Hole
By William Henry Drummond

Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too--
Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,
Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.

Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,
An' she was mak' de promise--sure--some day she be his famme,
But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',
Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.

He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,
Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!
An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,
An' hear de ole man swear 'Bapteme!' he's never come no more.

Young Dominique he's sam' de res',--was scare for ole Maxime,
He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,
Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,
An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.

De girl she's waitin' dere for heem--don't care about de rain,
So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again,
Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasser
An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say--

'Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon,
For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon--
It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,
He's got no use for me at all--I see dat ev'ry day.

'He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapré!'
An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me,
So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place,
An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face.'

Den Emmeline say 'Dominique, ma love you'll alway be
An' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy--
But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole--
All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.

'Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true,
I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you.'
Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come,
But don't get too moche pleasurement--so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.

Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesse
Emmeline say, 'Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res?
Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun','
W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.

Den Emmeline she holler 'Fire! will no wan come for me?'
An Dominique is jomp so high, near bus' de gallerie,--
'Help! help! right off,' somebody shout, 'I'm killin' on ma place,
It's all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she's ma disgrace.'

He's kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin' now,
W'at's all de noise upon de house--who's kick heem up de row?
It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun' upon de stockin' sole,
An' firs' t'ing den de ole man walk right t'roo de stove pipe hole.

W'en Dominique is see heem dere, wit' wan leg hang below,
An' 'noder leg straight out above, he's glad for ketch heem so--
De ole man can't do not'ing, den, but swear and ax for w'y
Noboddy tak' heem out dat hole before he's comin' die.

Den Dominique he spik lak dis, 'Mon cher M'sieur Gourdon
I'm not riche city feller, me, I'm only habitant,
But I was love more I can tole your daughter Emmeline,
An' if I marry on dat girl, Bagosh! she's lak de Queen.

'I want you mak de promise now, before it's come too late,
An' I mus' tole you dis also, dere's not moche tam for wait.
Your foot she's hangin' down so low, I'm 'fraid she ketch de cole,
Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole.'

Dat mak' de ole man swear more hard he never swear before,
An' wit' de foot he's got above, he's kick it on de floor,
'Non, non,' he say 'Sapré tonnerre! she never marry you,
An' if you don't look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu.'

'Correc',' young Dominique is say, 'mebbe de jail's tight place,
But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face,
So if you don't lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant,
Dat's be mese'f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M'sieur Gourdon.'

'Come back, come back,' Maxime is shout--I promise you de girl,
I never see no wan lak you--no never on de worl'!
It's not de nice trick you was play on man dat's gettin' ole,
But do jus' w'at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole.'

'Hooraw! Hooraw!' Den Dominique is pull heem out tout suite
An' Emmeline she's helpin' too for place heem on de feet,
An' affer dat de ole man's tak' de young peep down de stair,
W'ere he is go couchè right off, an' dey go on parloir.

Nex' Sunday morning dey was call by M'sieur le Curé
Get marry soon, an' ole Maxime geev Emmeline away;
Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do,
An' have de mos' fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.

Spooky Poetry Night on October 30th

Bring two or three spooky poems with you! Spooky costumes optional!

RSVP for the Spooky Poetry Night / Toronto Poetry Club Meetup before October 30th 2014.

Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

Herein lies Sylvia Plath's Guide
To becoming a Famous Poet via Suicide

Step one, marry a male poet who is already successful
His success continues to grow and he makes sales by the bucketful

You and he argue constantly about his success and fame
And meanwhile you've stopped writing, so where is your claim?

Finally he leaves you and you are all alone with your thinking
You publish a book while your husband is out partying and drinking

Your book is selling, you are the belle of the ball
And then one day you decide to end it all

You sealed the doors with wet towels and stuck your head in the oven
They found you dead, thirty years old...

A beautiful poet with everything to live for...
They publish your book posthumously, but what was the point?

Oh yes, fame. Some things are not worth dying for.




February 2012, poetry.charlesmoffat.com

Gossamer Lies

Gossamer Lies

Years ago on one fatal october 
A doctor commited suicide 
With an injection to his arm 
He broke my friend 
Messed up her mind 
She is lost now 
On a sea of guilt 
Haunted by fear and hatred 
She waits 
She waits 
Nothing happens 
She doesn't want to be hurt 
But her vices hold her 
They control her 
She is trapped 
In a cage of her own making 
With only her father to blame

    See more at poetry.charlesmoffat.com

July 31st Poetry Meetup

RSVP for the next Toronto Poetry Club meeting on July 31st by visiting our Meetup page:

http://www.meetup.com/torontopoetryclub/events/179400532/

Poetry meetings are on the last Thursday of every month, starting at 6:30 PM.

Location is the Map Room at Hart House (University of Toronto campus).

Everyone is welcome, even if you are not a member and do not RSVP. Although we certainly prefer if you do RSVP so we have an inkling of how many people are coming.

April 24th Toronto Poetry Club Meeting

Our next meeting is on April 24th. If you want to sign up visit our Meetup page or our Facebook page and RSVP for our upcoming meeting.

All location and time details are on the above mentioned pages.

Hope to see you there!

Regained TorontoPoetryClub.com

As of today TorontoPoetryClub.com redirects to http://www.meetup.com/torontopoetryclub/ - and http://www.meetup.com/The-Toronto-Poetry-Club/ also redirects to http://www.meetup.com/torontopoetryclub/ as well.

This was really a leftover from the old Toronto Poetry Club (which got deleted), but the domain name TorontoPoetryClub.com still exists (and is registered under the previous president's name).

Long story short, the TorontoPoetryClub.com was redirecting to http://www.meetup.com/torontopoetryclub/, a page which did not exist... but as of today it now does, and our Meetup page should now be easier for people to find.

It also means that old links that were advertising TorontoPoetryClub.com have effectively been fixed because they are now linking to the correct location of the Meetup website.

Yada yada yada, a bunch of technical mumbo jumbo, it is all fixed.

Huzzah!

That is until the domain name registration runs out and we have to register it again. Oh well.

UPDATE JANUARY 2015

And now we have lost TorontoPoetryClub.com, because the domain name registration has expired. It expired 23-dec-2014, but now is "in holding" should the old president of the poetry club try to renew it.

So we need to wait for it to fully expire before we can register it.

The Voyages of Orion

The Voyages of Orion

By Charles Moffat - March 2014

Zeus, Poseidon and Hades went to visit an old hermit and a great hunter.
The hermit was Hyrieus of Tanagra, and when they arrived they were struck by hunger.
Seeing it was a cold night Hyrieus butchered a whole bull.
He then cooked it olives and served it until the gods were full.

Each god was pleased and asked Hyrieus what was his desire.
A lonely hermit am I, he said. The only wish I have is a son to share my fire.
So the three gods placed their seed upon the bull's hide.
They bade him bury it and to return in ten months during high tide.

Hyrieus did as he was told and returned to find a boy as giant as can be.
Orion the Earth Born he was called and he was as tall as a tree.
He grew up fast too, long before Hyrieus died of old age.
Having such a big son proved a great boon to the ancient sage.

Orion loved to hunt and to fish, he excelled at everything his father taught him.
He could run, he could fight, he could string great bows and he could swim.
So tall was he did not really need to swim, he could wade through deep water up to his neck.
No ship could hold Orion, he would just break it and crash through its flimsy deck.

Although handsome, the most handsome of all Earth Born, Orion was lonely.
Many people feared his great size and although kind, he was often solitary.
So he prayed to Artemis and sacrificed a bear, asking for a fine hunting companion.
The goddess smiled upon him and sent Sirius, a small dog full of brawn.

Together Orion and Sirius traveled wide and far, hunting together, giant and dog.
They hunted ferocious lions, noble stags, huge krakens and dangerous warthogs.
Sirius was Orion's fearless companions, never afraid of even the largest monsters.
When walking through the seas Orion carried Sirius on his huge shoulders.

On one such voyage Orion walked to the peaceful island of Chios, home of Oenopion.
There he drank with the locals, drinking as much wine as could be found in the Aegean.
While thus besotted he spotted Merope, a beautiful young maiden with hair so fair.
But he forgot his size and in his haste attacked her while she was unaware.

Oenopion saw the great giant trying to rape his daughter and drew his sword.
Giant or no giant, Oenopion drove his sword into Orion's eyes and tied him with strong cord.
Sirius's barking alerted Orion to his danger and he burst from his bindings and fled.
Into the see he stumbled, the great giant's eyes streaming blood red.

Blinded Orion fled across the sea and lost himself in the waves.
Unsure of his direction he went east, the sun on his face until he reached caves.
There on the Isle of Lemnos he met Hephaestus, the Great Smith.
Malformed, Hephaestus knew loneliness and sorrow, so he bade Cedalion go with.

With Cedalion on one shoulder and Sirius on the other, the trio journeyed East.
They passed on their way mountains and seas and many a great beast.
Until at last they passed beyond the Earth to the abode of the Sun.
Here the god Helios healed Orion and the giant hooted, hollered and went into a run.

With Cedalion and Sirius he ran across the waves, returning to the Isle of Lemnos.
From there he continued his journey, back to seek vengeance on the island of Chios.
Oenopion saw the giant returning and decided to hide deep in the earth.
There he beseeched Mother Earth, asking her to take back what she had given birth.

She took pity on the poor man and sent a lowly scorpion to sting Orion.
Many beast Orion had killed, everything from kraken to hydra and lion.
He didn't even see the scorpion beneath his great bulk, but Sirius did.
The dog barked and barked frantically, but Orion could not see it under the rocks it hid.

When the scorpion struck Orion was confused at first. He could not see any foe.
Although he could see he was blinded by his own size. He stumbled to and fro.
When he struck the ground, his head landed sideways and he saw at last the creature.
"Fie you monster! I thought I had bested every beast, but lo you are a fine teacher!"

And so Orion died and Sirius howled in his sadness. Howled hard and long.
Artemis heard the dog's cries and asked Zeus where such a loyal dog should belong.
So Zeus raised Orion up to the heavens and placed Sirius there beside him.
But he also raised up the scorpion, as a warning to those who act on a drunken whim.

Fini

Charles Moffat's poetry is also available on Kobo: a dream of unfettered roses

Poetry Editing and Proofreading Services

The Toronto Poetry Club has a new sponsor. MastersEssay.com is now an official sponsor of the Toronto Poetry Club.

MastersEssay.com is a local company which helps University of Toronto students by editing and proofreading essays, school projects, essay writing services, resume writing, etc.

But you can also hire them to edit and proofread your poetry.

Or you could just come to a Toronto Poetry Club meeting instead and get the same service for FREE by talking to your fellow poets in Toronto.

So not to pootah our new sponsor, but come on, why would you pay for a service you could get for free just by signing up and becoming a member of the Toronto Poetry Club? And coming to our lovely monthly meetings, which is a great social event to meet other poets and writers.

---

If you want to sponsor the Toronto Poetry Club just contact us, donate a sum of money to our poetry club coffers (minimum $30 donation if you want us to give you a link), and we will post about you being one of our official sponsors and include a link to your company website.

Thank you for supporting local poetry in Toronto!

Toronto Poetry Club on Meetup.com

Today we registered the Toronto Poetry Club on Meetup.com.

It is pretty easy to find, it is http://www.meetup.com/The-Toronto-Poetry-Club/

So if you are already a meetup.com member you just need to look for Toronto poetry on meetup and you will find it.

We also operate a Facebook group (The Toronto Poetry Club on Facebook) at https://www.facebook.com/groups/torontopoetry/ if you want to join that too.

For all other news stick to our official website, TorontoPoetryClub.ca.

Local Man Finds Love at Poetry Club Meeting

I wrote the following poem as a promotional thing on a craigslist ad. I decided to keep it.

Local Man Finds Love at Poetry Club Meeting

When Bob met Gracy he felt an instant connection.

She was just like him, only she was a reflection.

They both loved poetry and attended the meetings.

Each time they spoke there was love in their greetings.

Over time they grew closer, beginning to fantasize.

They would catch themselves staring into each other's eyes.

Finally Bob popped the question: "Wanna get a beer after?"

Gracy blushed and said yes, and they have been together thereafter.

POETRY MEETUP TONIGHT, TORONTO POETRY CLUB

time - 6:30, March 27th

place - Hart House Map Room, University of Toronto, 7 Hart House Circle. M5S 3H3

what to bring - 1 piece of your personal poetry to be read by our circle of poets. (If you don't want to read it yourself, someone else can read for you.)

duration - 2 or 3 hours.

afterwards - sometimes we go out to a pub afterwards to hang out and socialize.

Next Toronto Poetry Club Meeting - March 28th at 6:30 PM

Want to come to the next Toronto Poetry Club Meeting?

Day - March 28th 2014

Time - 6:30 PM

Place - Map Room, Hart House at the University of Toronto. From the main entrance go up the stairs, turn right. The map room will be on the right.

The following is a photo from our last Toronto Poetry Club Meeting on February 27th 2014.

Rama and Sita

Rama and Sita

Based on "The Ramayana" of Valmiki, re-envisioned by Charles Moffat, Jan.-Feb. 2012. 

So sayeth Valmiki...

In Ancient India, in times of old
In the land of Aydohya, lived Rama the Bold
Rama was the perfect son, living by the rules of Dharma
Ever dutiful and responsible, he was blessed with good Karma

Prince Rama was the oldest, but his stepmother was a schemer
She sought for her son Bharata, wanting him to be the next leader
Having saved the king from illness, she sought out the king for a favour
Anything sayeth the king, not knowing the price of her desire

"I wish for you to banish Rama, make Bharata your heir."
Nothing could have wounded the king more, for Rama was most fair
Bound by his word the King obeyed, disliking his wife's demand
Rama heard his father's edict, "I gladly obey father's command."

Rama was married to Sita, whose purity was like a lotus blossom
Sita begged to go with Rama, their two hearts beating like one drum
"As shadow to substance, so is wife to husband."
"Let me walk ahead of you, clear your passage through the land."

Rama agreed to his wife's request, taking her deep into the forest
His brother Lakshmana went too, making Rama's flight his quest
Bharata sought to deny the throne, forsaking his mother's grace
He placed Rama's sandals on the seat, acting as regent in Rama's place

Deep in the forests lived monks, but they were plagued by Rakshasa monsters
Rama's arrows were true, his aim was unsurpassed amongst archers
Wherever Rama went the demons died in hordes
His bow string hummed like a sitar with its chords

To the south on the island of Lanka was the demon king Ravana
An incredible wise man Ravana's ten heads was a match for Rama
He spied Sita and seized her while Rama was chasing a deer
Taking her back to Lanka Ravana had no worries or fear

Across the sea Ravana fled, Sita over his shoulder
Sita wept for Rama but was wiser than her kidnapper
From her arms and neck she dropped her bracelets and jewelry
Sayeth Sita: "Take me back to Rama, stop this foolery!"

Sayeth Ravana: "Sita, I will make you my wife."
"You will come to me willingly and I shall spare your life."
Sayeth Sita: "I love only Rama. I cannot love another."
"I belong to Rama like the ground belongs to the earth mother."

Sayeth Ravana: "Nonsense, what does Rama have that I do not?"
"I will have you for my wife Sita as surely as the sun is hot!"
Sayeth Sita: "Rama is powerful, you would be foolish not to run!"
"I belong to Rama like the rays belongs to the sun!"

In the forest Rama met the monkey king Hanuman
Together they searched for Sita and came up with a plan
Hanuman found Sita's jewelry on the shores of the sea
Across the water lay the island of Lanka and he knew where Sita must be

Hanuman went to Lanka and saw Sita in the garden
She had gracefully refused to enter Ravana's home or den
Ravana did not force her, he left her alone to her prayers
Hanuman went to her and tried to soothe her tears

Sayeth Hanuman: "Never fear dear Sita, Hanuman is here."
"Come with me back to Rama and we shall disappear!"
Sayeth Sita: "Ravana's demons are many, even now they come."
"You must run Hanuman, don't you hear their drum?!"

The Rakshasa demons seized Hanuman and set fire to his tail
But Hanuman leapt away, jumping on the palace wall and leaving a fiery trail
The Rakshasa demons chased him but Hanuman left only ruins in his wake
Ravana's palace was burned down and he swore at his demons for their mistake

Hanuman returned to Rama and told him where Sita was held
He told Rama everything he saw, touched and smelled
Rama called upon Hanuman to raise the monkey warriors
Hanuman did as he was bid, by the tens of scores

Rama and his monkey army built a causeway to Lanka
They toiled day and night to reach the island and Sita
When they arrived the monkeys slew all the Rakshasa demons
Rama himself slew Ravana and all of his sons

Sita wept with love, proud that her husband was so bold
But when he came near her he began acting cold
Sita professed her love and thanking him for his actions
She knew in her heart she would bear Rama's sons

Sayeth Rama: "You have stayed in another man's house."
"I have done my duty to rescue you but I cannot be your spouse."
Sayeth Sita: "If I had known this would happen I would have killed myself."
"Build me a funeral pyre so you may see my purity yourself."

Rama and Hanuman built a funeral pyre as they were commanded
Sita walked amongst the flames untouched, true to her marriage bed
Rama forgave her, his love and loyalty for her renewed
They flew back to Ayodhya in a Pushpaka with the end of their feud

Rama was crowned king, the happy couple began their reign
Everything was joyous again but Rama overheard one man complain
Sayeth the man to his wife: "Do you think I am like Rama?"
"You have slept with another man, I don't need your lies or drama."

Sayeth Sita: "Husband I have really great news."
"Our bed has been fruitful, someday your sons will fill your shoes."
Sayeth Rama: "I cannot keep you my dearest."
"My people don't respect me even though you passed the test."

Rama sent Sita away, craving the respect of his people
Sita went obediently, residing instead in a temple
She met there the poet Valmiki and told him her story
Her tale told of Rama in all his greatness and glory

Sita gave birth to two sons with eyes like Rama's
But Sita was still sad, remembering everything that once was
Valmiki helped to raise the two boys, teaching them songs of trust
"Rama is great, Rama is just, Rama does what Rama must."

One day Rama went for a stroll and heard the two boys singing
"My sons!" sayeth Rama. "You must come live in Ayodhya with your king."
But then Rama noticed Sita and realized she must come too
"Perhaps a trial by water, such a trick should not be too difficult for you."

Sayeth Sita: "I will prove my love to you dearest Rama."
"If I have always been true to you, from Lanka to Ayodhya."
"If I have always been the perfect bride to the perfect groom."
"Then may mother earth please take me back into her womb."

Fini.



Charles Moffat's poetry is also available on Kobo: a dream of unfettered roses

Remembering Rebecca

Rebecca was a most loving companion. She was sweet, brave, made me smile and laugh - most of all
her love was pure. Here's a poem that I have written to her, for her and for myself to remember all
the many endearing things she did. She brought great joy to my life.

Love Gail

---

Remembering Rebecca

(June 20, 2002 - February 3, 2014)

At seven weeks we meet.
You a moppet -
all white save a slate grey nose,
shining blue sapphire eyes
smallest, shyest of your litter mates
Timid, you crouch beneath the coffee table.

At ten weeks, I see
a fluffy feline batting at a feather toy
coming into your own now.

At fourteen weeks, it’s Thanksgiving
I ‘m already grateful for you little Birman girl
despite meowing the entire trip
from Barrie to the Bluffs
You hate car rides.
Home at last, I set you down
You circle round my living room,
bound into my lap, curling up
“I’ll stay you say,” in kitten body language.

We develop rituals.
Mornings, you greet me,
leap onto the window ledge
lounge as I shower.
When your grow older, you wait on the cotton bath mat
I step gingerly round you
As I sip tea you loll on the sofa beside me
I comb your silken fur
You roll over, not only trusting but
begging for a tummy rub.

Sometimes you vault to your kitty condo to watch birds
Silent as a whisper you steal away to sleep on my duvet.
Like Guys and Doll’s gangster, Skye Madison,
your time is the nighttime
At ten o’clock you come alive, frisky and alert
dash about the duvet, run round the living room
Little Crazy Nut and Boogie
I christen you.

Feisty full of fun
You spring three feet in the air
to tackle toys and ribbons.
You munch on Spider plants mistaking them for cat grass,
sip out of unattended glasses
knock over vases of peonies
to quench your thirst
You relish games of challenge
“Hanger Game” a favourite, paws darting out from beneath your fuzzy fleece
to catch that metal hanger.

You like to lick my juicy apple,
taste yogurt and applesauce on a spoon.
share a shrimp from my pad thai.
Between mouthfuls of Wellness
you hop onto my lap
connection is more important than food
so I stroke your back as you eat.
Your caregivers soon see I am not spoiling you
You’re social - will eat better with affection and room service.

Wonderful companion
I call to you in your tower from my Lazy Boy
“Kitty come up”
You respond with a gentle leap
warm my lap and heart.
As I mute commercials , relax to your calming purr
we watch TV together.

When friends visit
you bound down stairs, sniff an outstretched hand
approve with a head butt or bum twirl
accept a scratch behind the ears or chin chuck.

Sunshine and fresh spring air
Bring out your adventurous nature
you knock your leash on the floor
“Let’s go outside,” you say.
You explore the garden,
stopping to munch new grass
sit and catch the breeze.

When I come home
You hear my car in the drive
gallop down the stairs to greet me
Sometimes so fast your nose at the door as I open it.
After one three week trip to Europe
you wrap your white paws around Alan‘s pant leg and hold on
“Don’t leave me alone, stay and pet me,” you plead
You sense my footsteps,
I know, be cautious opening the door
You leap across luggage straight to my arms
A long flight, I want to wash my hands before I pet you
you follow me to the bathroom
climb onto the toilet,
kitty arms outstretched as I lather
“Please pick me up?” you say
You nestle into my chest, paws around my shoulders
holding on like a child
We snuggle on the couch.
Never have I known such affection.

At the computer
You wait patiently in your circular bed
for so long, then a little meow
as paws reach up my chair
or you pretend to chew cords
jump behind my laptop screen
“My turn now mom, pet me.”

At bed time you race upstairs
Sometimes I want to hold you,
Sometimes journal, read the paper first,
You lightly leap into my lap
“Time to cuddle.”
You’re right of course, I can’t resist.

You lie across my chest and abdomen
slide into the crook of my arm
It’s your baby position
You look up lovingly with
Trust and sweetness.

You like body contact
Nuzzle against my knee and thigh
often use my ankle as a pillow
I awaken to find you sleeping parallel
beside me on the bed, your head on the soft pillow
You bring comfort.

On cold winter mornings you meow at the duvet
I lift it up, you crawl beneath
warm up by my feet.

Innocent beauty
Your life brings joy
Human love less perfect
You love without condition
Always and forever
loved - remembered.

February 2014

Member Poetry Posts

A few tips for club members posting poetry.

#1. Feel free to post as often as you like.

#2. Remember to apply the labels "Poetry by Members" and "Poetry by YOUR FIRST NAME".

#3. Please include the title of the poem, your name and possibly even what year you wrote it.

#4. Feel free to include a link to your personal poetry website.

#5. HAVE FUN!

---

Also feel free to leave thoughtful comments on other people`s poetry posts.

Toronto Poetry Club Meeting, February 2014

Four poets braved -25 weather and 40 km winds last night to attend the first meeting of the new Toronto Poetry Club. We were expecting more people at the first meeting, but the extreme cold weather kept some poets at home and we cannot blame them.

It was so blistering cold outside last night it was difficult to breathe.

In attendance was President Charles (holding the camera), Gail (a regular at the old Toronto Poetry Club before it became defunct), Moj, and Charlotte. We read and discussed 6 poems of our own creations in detail.

One of the poems presented last night was:

Actaeon and His Hounds

By Charles Moffat, February 2014.

Once there was a bowman trained by the centaur Chiron

He was the son of a pious herdsman, by the name of Actaeon

A skilled Theban hunter and swimmer, he was faster than a siren

As a hunter Actaeon loved to roam and with him took his hounds

He travelled to many great lands and was a guest on many palace grounds

His legs were fast and his bow was strong, the sum of many pounds

Actaeon feared no man or beast, hunting as he did

No less than fifty hounds travelled with him, doing as he bid

Stags and lions fell to his arrows, no matter how well they hid

His hounds were Acamas, Aethon, Agre, Agrius, Arcas, Argiodus, Argo,

Asbolos, Borax, Boreas, Charops, Corus, Cyllo, Dinomache, Dorceus, Draco,

Dromas, Dromius, Eudromas, Gorgo, Haemon, Harpalos, Harpyia, Hylacto

Hylaeus, Labros, Lacaena, Lachnas, Lacon, Ladon, Leaena, Laelaps, Leonus,

Leucon, Machimus, Melaneus, Nape, Nebrophonos, Obrimus, Orias, Oribasus,

Pachylus, Sagnos, Stilbon, Syrus, Theron, Thoos, Tigris, Volatos, Zephyrus,

So great was Actaeon's skill at hunting that he was called upon by Artemis

She sought a great stag that lived in a forest so deep it was an abyss

Actaeon immediately agreed to help the goddess, hoping for a kiss

As a prize Artemis offered the young archer her own bow, a rare prize

But while Actaeon was a great hunter and archer he was not very wise

His lust for the goddess grew daily, so much that he rarely met her eyes

Artemis grew displeased at his lustful gazes and took her leave from him

She found a spring by the road in Attica and decided to take a swim

But unbeknownst to the goddess Actaeon had pursued her on a whim

Artemis disrobed herself and swam in the cool deep waters of the spring

To get a better view Actaeon climbed into a tree and to a branch did cling

There he saw her in all her glorious beauty while she was singing

The moonlight flowed around her and the waters reflected the stars and trees

Suddenly Artemis stood bolt upright, something had set her at unease

She spotted it, the reflection in the water of a loincloth flapping in the breeze

Actaeon had disrobed and was approaching the dark pool, confident in his beauty

He tousled his hair, and stood there before her smiling without a shred of modesty

When Artemis turned to flee he jumped in after her with a hoot of wild glee

Madly Actaeon pursued her, shouting for his hounds to help him in the hunt

But Artemis thought quickly and cursed him angrily where he stood so blunt

"Shout one more word Actaeon and you shall never have my c**t!"

But the hunter thought nothing of this, so wild was he in his passions

He shouted after her, claiming he was best of all her companions

A hunter even greater than she, his kills many great stags and lions

Artemis changed into a golden doe, fleeing quickly through the foliage

Past sparkling rivers and streams she bounded over every hedge

Until at long last she came to a cliff and jumped over the ledge

Actaeon pursued her wildly, her distant figure disappearing in the brush

He could hear the hounds behind him, barking wildly in their rush

Until he at last lost his breath and paused by a stream that did gush

There in the water he saw his reflection, a handsome rack of antlers

Long neck and four powerful legs, all ending with hooves like hers

So beautiful, he had never seen finer stags, lions or panthers

He knew instantly that she was not the only one thus transformed

He had become his own prey and although beautiful he felt malformed

He could hear his hounds coming closer, across the river they stormed

Actaeon turned and fled, all fifty of his hounds nipping at his heels

He shouted at Artemis to forgive him, so plaintive were his appeals

None of this she heard as his hounds ripped into his flesh for their evening meals

Actaeon died near a spring in Attica, a feast for his beloved hunting pets

Artemis took his hounds as her own, renaming them without any regrets

Let this be a warning to all men who ignore a goddess's threats

Fini

Welcome to the Toronto Poetry Club!

Welcome!

The Toronto Poetry Club meets the last Thursday of every month in the map room at the Univesity of Toronto's Hart House.

Everyone is welcome. There is no admission fee, although donations are welcome.

During each meeting everyone will get a turn to read one or two of their poems. Please avoid writing huge poems that take 20 minutes to read, followed by a short discussion / thoughts / suggestions and feedback.

The Toronto Poetry Club is COMPLETELY non profit. We will never try to sell you a poetry book or anything like that, although members are welcome to conveniently mention "Oh by the way, feel free to buy my book 'Zombies and Daffodils' if you like gory pink zombie poetry..." Or something like that.

[There is no book called 'Zombies and Daffodils', that was a joke, but it does sound like an amusing poetry book.]

If you wish to join the Toronto Poetry Club all you need to do is contact us via Facebook or email charlesmoffat at charlesmoffat dot com.

Thank you and have a nice day!