THE PEACOCK CAT

(© Worth1000.com)

I have always been fascinated by the flamboyant beauty of a peacock's train, each feather proffering a veritable eye gazing down upon an adoring, venerating audience – an audience that equally would worship and has indeed worshipped in awe the aloof but ever-seductive entity of mystery and midnight that peruses the world through the golden eyes of a cat.

So when I encountered online this spectacular photo-manipulated composite of the pavonine and the feline reproduced here, what else could I do but compose a paean of praise in poetry to its esoteric extravagance?

THE PEACOCK CAT

The peacock cat purrs softly amid the fire of the firmament,

Its burnished plumes glowing and gleaming in blazing beauty

As its glorious train sweeps downward to trace across the face of the world.

Each eye, every ocellus, gazing forth from the splendour of its emerald feathers,

Peers with timeless stillness and silence upon the lands beneath,

All-knowing, all-seeing, all-dreaming, all-being.

The lands receive its hues, its light, its shades, and its shadows –

Multicoloured, varicoloured, parti-coloured, many-coloured.

A kaleidoscope of ever-shifting, ever-shaping patterns embellishing our world.

Life surges, satiated, inebriated, by polychromatic potions and elixirs

Cascading in torrents of tinctures from the prismatic palette of its exquisite soul,

As its train lies settled awhile, an ever-watchful extension of its feline being.

And then the peacock cat moves on, withdrawing its divine train of turquoise and topaz,

Of sapphire and sardonyx, carmine and cochineal, agate and amber,

Ultramarine, aquamarine, cobalt and emerald, drawn out and away from our world.

And what is left? No colour, no light, no subtle hues or vivid vibrancy.

Look around at all that is gone, all that is lifeless, listless, and lost,

Our grandiose achievements strewn in Ozymandian folly, unseen and unseeing.

The vast void of eternity encompasses us in its sable spider-webs of dreadful darkness,

Nothing but nothing remains, where, formerly, yet all too briefly, there was colour, and life.

The peacock cat is gone, and now, and forever, so too has what had once been our world.

BLUE TIGER

Remarkable as it may seem, blue-furred tigers have been reliably reported on several occasions from certain regions of China and Korea, and strands of their fur have even been found on trails utilised by these evanescent, dream-like beasts. How magical it must have been to have seen such a creature...


BLUE TIGER

Once,
In a dream it might have been,
I saw a blue tiger.

As cerulean as the sky,
Ethereal yet awesome,
Eclipsing even the scarlet rays of dawn,
Its strange, unearthly hue
Filled the heavens with its wonder,
Gleamed in the gaudy plumes of jungle birds,
Glimmered in the plush, powdered wings of butterflies,
Glittered in the cool depths of a forest pool.

It lowered its proud, regal head,
Shaking it in the pool's limpid waters,
And ripples gyrated madly across the dark surface,
Skimming and shivering,
No longer calm, no longer tranquil,
A liquid mirror in startled disruption.

Refreshed, the tiger raised its head,
Majestic, aloof, magnificent,
Quelling the ripples, the mirror restored.

And the tiger's azure reflection
Took shape,
Took form,
Took substance,
Took life.

Then,
The tiger opened its eyes -

And I was awake.

THE FIRE LION

One day, I was gazing idly at the flames in the fire when I saw a lion there, stirring amid the very heart of the blaze...

THE FIRE LION

Out of the flames the fire lion steps,
Padding slowly, insouciantly,
His mane ablaze, his eyes aglow,
Amber and scarlet, crimson and gold.
A coruscating kingdom is his to rule,
To reign amid the fiery splendour,
The burnished resplendence,
Emblazoned, eternal,
Incarnate, infernal,
A feline conflagration,
Flickering in the dark,
And casting forth sparks,
As he burns through the evening
Like a candle through shadows,
Torching my dreams and my hopes
Till they shrivel in cinders
Of unfulfilled promise.
And only their embers remain,
Now that the fire lion has triumphed,
Now that the fire lion is gone.

   

IT'S HALLOWE'EN TIME WITH THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT!

Here is my darkly delicious (in every sense!) Hallowe'en twist to Edward Lear's much-loved tale of the Owl and the Pussycat!

IT'S HALLOWE'EN TIME WITH THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT!

The Witch-owl and Wizard-cat set out that night
On a broomstick that flew through the sky.
Then drove a black hearse packed with many a curse,
And laughed as the miles soon sped by.

The cat gazed long at his feathered friend,
And purred with a smile that was wide.
"Oh big fat Owlie," he thought to himself,
How tasty you would be inside, inside, inside,
How tasty you would be inside!"

To the Owl then said Pussy: "You elegant hussy,
How sweet is your form, and how wide!
We two must be married, too long have we tarried,
I yearn for you, Owl, as my bride!"

And so, to honour their precious love,
They entered a café to dine,
And here, all evening, they ate and they drank
Its finest cuisine and sweet wine, sweet wine, sweet wine,
Its finest cuisine and sweet wine.

"Just one dish remains," said the cat with a grin,
"'Tis a rare and an elegant fowl.
Can you guess, my true love, just what I'm thinking of?
Well done - you're correct! Yes, it's Owl!!!"

Alone he now dined, the Wizard-cat,
With only a runcible spoon,
Then, wiping Owl plumes from whiskers of white,
He danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
He danced by the light of the moon.

THE BLACK LION

According to science, genuine black lions do not exist, and on my ShukerNature blog I have exposed as photo-manipulated hoaxes a number of eyecatching internet images purporting to show these creatures (click here and here). Yet the dark romantic majesty of such a noble, spectacular beast ceaselessly stalks my imagination, prowling with silent menace through the twilit recesses of my mind.

THE BLACK LION

Darker than dark,
A shadow from the shadows,
A black lion steps forth from the night,
With the night,
Into the night,
His melanistic mane a stole of sable
Enveloping his shoulders in inky might.

So regal he seems, and so powerful,
I can scarcely conceive that he is not real,
Just a figment of fable and fantasy,
An illusion of imagery and imagination,
An embellished embodiment of ebony,
A dream from the depths of the darkness,
A mirage from the midnight of my mind.

 

MOON CAT

The mesmerising image above challenged me to consider what it may be like to encounter a moon cat one dusky blue evening.

MOON CAT

I saw a moon cat once.
Its fur was moonlight and shadow,
As blue as the bluest blue moon.
The moon was its mistress and mystery,
And I but a moon-dream in its eye.

A FILIGREE OF FRAGMENTS

Over the years, I’ve written a number of short compositions, rhyming and non-rhyming, to serve mostly as chapter openers for a variety of different publications (and sometimes even using a pseudonym), but which, I feel, deserve the opportunity to stand alone in their own right as poetry. Here is a brief, representative selection.

ON 'LA SERRE', A PAINTING BY JEAN-MARIE POUMEYROL
(pictured above)

There's something very mysterious, gothic, and totally spellbinding
about this painting,
redolent of decay and disuse,
a scarcely-remembered memory
lingering like a flickering shadow somewhere in a lost attic of the mind.



MIRABILIS

Let not the dream pervade these living hours,
Lest the winged cats of nightmare stalk once more
The haunted spires of distant memory,
Their pinions raised, alert and poised
To deny the conscious dawn.






THE PANTHER

Velveteen silhouette, silent and sinister;
Satin-furred midnight on ebony paws.
Eyes hewn from emeralds, seeking a sacrifice;
Death to deliver with ivory claws.



SPIDER OF THE NIGHT

I shall garb myself in gossamer,
And dance amid the darkness,
Silver in the shadows of my song.



KING CHEETAHS

How tragic it is that such wonderful creatures have no concept,
no awareness,
of just how beautiful and magical they are.
Then again, perhaps they do -
after all, they are cats...

King cheetah (African Safari Pictures)

THE TIGER

Tigers have always fascinated me, but I was only too aware that any attempt to capture this great cat’s beauty and power in verse would be fraught with the peril of comparison with William Blake’s spellbinding ‘Tyger Tyger’. Nevertheless, eventually the lure of challenge became too great, and the following poem is my own tribute to this most magnificent, and terrifying, of creatures.

THE TIGER

Deep in the primeval fires of the cosmos
Death was released from his shimmering tomb,
And as they danced in the dawn of Creation
Death bore a child from the flames of their womb.

You were that child, spawned by Death’s great Inferno,
Hidden on Earth ‘neath his Shadow of Fear,
Shrouded by Night until Heaven sent sunlight,
Then, by its silhouette, did you appear.

Who could have known that such beauty held terror
Deep within radiant emerald eyes,
Wrought and emblazoned in Death’s blazing furnace,
Dewdrops of fear like the tears that you cry?

Space cannot hold you, and Time dare not chain you,
None can oppose you in glittering might.
Ebony ripples lash amber resplendence,
Scorning the shame of the sun’s feeble light,

Scorching through Night like a firebrand of crimson,
Shredding the skies with each thunderous breath.
Yet, though so splendorous, e’er are you deadly,
Chilling in form, for your beauty is Death.