Hello All. I hope everyone is having a lovely Mother’s Day weekend. I chose a cartoon for this weekend that I thought a lot of mothers out there would enjoy. I hope you do too.

Hello All. I hope everyone is having a lovely Mother’s Day weekend. I chose a cartoon for this weekend that I thought a lot of mothers out there would enjoy. I hope you do too.
Hello All. Now that another fun filled Poetry Month is behind us, I am going to endeavor to have more new things here at Lucky Cat Comics, on a more regular basis. I have a comic I am working on, that will hopefully be a serialized venture, that will start this summer, and take us through the end of the year, at least. But until it is ready to go, I am going to try a fill the time with a cartoon, or poem, or what not. Not every day, but at least once a week, like on Saturdays.
Just for the fun of it. Thank you for visiting.
Hello All! We have made it to day 30, and the end of Poetry Month. The prompt for today is to create a poem in the form of a series of directions. Now, if you know me, directions are not my best category (see the poem on April 2, 2021 for details: http://www.luckycatcomics.com/?p=1649). But I gave it a go.
Thank you for spending the month with me, and for all your kind reading.
The Windsong Car Park
The Windsong Car Park My Dearest Best Beloved Thank you for the loan of your motorcar. As the space in front of your flat was filled I have parked it in Zanzibar. Only joking, but it is a bit of a trek, And these directions are slightly bizarre. Exit your flat by the lovely front terrace Turn right walking past the ballpark. Turn left at the third Cock and Bull pub, My favorite watering hole landmark. Five blocks east, past the West Liquor Store. Voila! You’re at the Windsong car park. Go to the Red Ramp, on Floor number 6. In the lift there are signs to help you. Push the button for Floor number 7. But beware, what is most certainly true, By pressing the button for Floor number 6, It will land you in the ramp that is blue. I was adrift in the Windsong, late last night, The most confusing structure by far. If you find yourself in the blue ramp, Beloved, Wandering aimlessly, no sign of the car, Be of good cheer, because on Floor 10 There is a delightful little cash bar. The bartender’s name is John St Clive, Just use my name and he will assist. He might try to tell you how I spent last night, But please, give that tale the short shrift. Ask him to guide you through the ramp And install you in the proper lift. So sorry to have to leave this note On your doorstep while you are away. Your kind generosity, beyond compare, In the future, I’ll endeavor to repay. If it’s not too much to ask, Best Beloved, May I borrow the car this Sunday?
Hello All. Today’s prompt was entitled “in the window”. After this month of poetry, the only windows I could visualize have writers on the other side. Thank you for visiting and being part of the process.
The Poets Among Us
The Poets Among Us The pink light carves paths for the early walk, My eye is drawn to a soft rectangular glow. Framed in the window, a writer sits at a desk, Lit by a single lamp fogged from a steaming mug. Pen hovering in the air, their head tilts skyward, Searching the burnished clouds for the right phrase. A cat’s tail marks time with slow beats on the paper. Good morning Poet. My bus pauses just long enough so the windows align. I can see a writer, curled on the couch, Notebook on knees, a dog’s heavy head in the lap. Words enthusiastically decorate the yellow pad; Some circled, some scratched out, some underlined. The writer’s head turns toward the window, But the eyes are focused on worlds far beyond my bus. Good day Poet. The street is bathed in gold and long shadows. A face, laptop blue, ghosts through the blinds. The computer could contain taxes, email or porn, But the luminous writer’s eyes are closed, Reviewing an internal inventory of images. And just as I turn for home, the shuttered eyes Come to life, filling fluid fingers with language. Good night Poet, Good night.
Hello All. Today’s prompt is to write a poem all made out of questions? Here are some of my questions this morning. Thank you for visiting.
Where Have The Memories Gone? Where have the memories gone? How did they leave, yet you remain? How dark is it becoming In the warm hearth of your brain? Do the new memories visit Too briefly for you to hold? Are the old memories so deep That they are all growing cold? How do you stay so sunny? Where do you keep the fire of you? Why do all the synonyms for Cheerful still apply to you? Whose faces does she carry inside? Where are the places she remembers? What stories are closest to the flame? How can I help stir the embers? And why is there no word for The sparks that slowly rise Drifting from the campfire Then disappearing before our eyes?
Hello All. Today’s prompt was to write a poem inspired by an entry from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. I was not familiar with this work, but some of the words are pretty interesting. I chose one of the simplest, yet, I think, one of the most powerful. Thank you for the visit.
n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.
The Eyes are the Window Puppies rumble in a clumsy prance, Our gaze meets, just a glance. Glimmer little xeno Glimmer and glow A shared chuckle the eyes can show. His nod crystal clear, Her bow will adhere. Flicker little xeno Flicker and glow Without language they say hello. The toddler pounces and hugs your knees He smiles, you wink, a grandparent pleased. Sparkle little xeno Sparkle and glow Spreading a spec of the love you know. Strangers across the noisy room, Eyes rolling to fight the gloom. Kindle little xeno Kindle and sough Comradery can make the joy flow. Tripping, the senior might come to harm My eyes meet yours, reflecting alarm Fuel little xeno Fuel and grow Uniting strangers, a rescue to bestow Even when we are socially apart These tiny connections build the heart Ignite little xeno Ignite and Flow And keep helping our humanity grow.
Hello All. The prompt today was to write a parody poem. My parody, is a parody of a parody. In 1932, Ogden Nash took on Joyce Kilmer’s lovely poem Trees, with a modern environmental twist. Almost 90 years later, Mr. Nash’s parody still reads as shrewd and prophetic. I just tried to pick up where he left off. Thank you for reading.
Trees (cubed)
Trees3 I think that I shall never see A poem as lovely as a tree. Indeed, unless the billboards fall I’ll never see a tree at all. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the Earth’s ever heated breast. The trees that look to the sky all day, Breathing CO2 so we might play. A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of grocery bags in her hair; Whose bosom has known the pain Of intimately living with acid rain; Poems are made by fools like me, But only the Earth can make a tree. By Joyce Kilmer Ogden Nash and meg
Hello All. Today’s prompt is to write an occasion poem. I know the occasion I am looking forward to is that first trip. Thank you for visiting.
First Trip Browsing the fares And checking the seats Packing my luggage Planning my treats Fresh new feelings to A familiar old tune I’m going on my first trip again soon Months and months of Stay at home My body in one place The mind longs to roam Family faces smiling Not seen in a blue moon I’m going on my first trip again soon My shots are all done The time now awaits Cozy Light Rail rides to Lofty airport gates My mask still in place Until all are immune I’m going on my first trip again soon Carry on strategies To help manage delays Reverse treadmill exercise On the moving walkways A nibble or splash At the airport saloon I’m going on my first trip again soon I’ve spent a whole year Looking up at the sky The engines will roar Through the clouds I'll fly Feels like a butterfly Breaking free of the cocoon I’m going on my first trip again soon
Hello All. The prompt today, find an actual article about an animal, and change the name of the animal into something else. Then use that language to create a poem. Thank you to allaboutbirds.org for their wonderful articles about the Red Tailed Hawk. Thank you for visiting.
School Dance Courting teenagers put on a display Young couples on the dance floor Soar in wide circles Shoop – shoop – de Buteo The bravest males dive steeply Then shoot up, nearly as steep Swooping in wide circles Swoop – Swoop – de Buteo After several swoops a pair might touch He extends legs, she extends wings Blue gym lighting dims and swells Shoop – Swoop – my Buteo Sometimes the pair grab on to one another Clasp talons, plummet in spirals Before pulling away My Buteo – Oh Buteo – my own
Hello All. Today’s prompt was to write a poem that responds, in some way, to another poem. Though I have many poems in my head, ready for such a discussion at a moments notice, today I channeled Earnest Lawrence Thayer, and his wonderful 1883 poem, Casey at the Bat. I hope he forgives my intrusion. Thank you for reading.
Oh Somewhere