Cheering for Jerry

remember those rose-blush evenings
when opinions lingered
like fresh strawberries
on virgin tongues,
an unfamiliar tartness
teasing our fructose smiles;

Gandhi and Che, Moses and Hafiz,
sprawled on our sinking couch,
our debates longer than the night,
our silence louder than the TV,
our prejudices painting contradictions
on the animated canvas air;

you were indignant,
that we mocked the instinct of the cat,
our collective cheering of an underdog mouse,
a sign of our own inadequate lives;
and what will you feed a hungry cat, you asked,
and we hid pink stained lips,
in the collars of our madras checks;

the puppet masters, you said,
have got your thoughts on strings,
your eyes roll
when they angle their wrists,
your words flow
when they tickle their hips;

but you cut the cords and wrapped yourself
in blankets of scented earth,
wished minds would waft into the sky
to fill the dark of the the waning moon,
that we could discover why we were made
why despair set in so soon…

then why in these Autumn years
do you let the rodents win?
why is your heart tethered to this world,
why do you care what they will say,
why ask me to temper my love,
what is unnatural anyway?

Linked to Poets United where the midweek prompt is “animation” and to Dverse Poets OLN.

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46 thoughts on “Cheering for Jerry

  1. Oh my Word! To bring those mighties together and have them debate the cat and mouse is indeed to animate the canvass. I hate mice and want cats to take over. But I hate the oppressor and want the oppressed to rise up. The voice of the onlooker-participant is powerful, and the detachment at the end knocks my socks off!

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  2. Indeed – what is unnatural…perhaps the powers that be who take the magic our of ‘opinions lingered
    like fresh strawberries on virgin tongues’ – a wonderfully insightful and vivid poem

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  3. This so beautiful and it took me back to the days of my youth being strong minded, opinionated and gloriously free set to take on the world. How I wish I had written this.

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  4. Wow this poem is spectacular. I love the debate, the cat and mouse, (I’m always for the mouse), but so true what will the cat eat? And these autumn years, well I have questions too. I love the depth in this poem.

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  5. “What is unnatural anyway?” That is a great question to ask. I think it is human nature to as questions and wonder why, and that I believe leads to some things seeming unnatural only because it is different than what someone may see as normal. Its just a matter of view. Great poem.

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  6. I liked that cartoon too and of course, I was always rooting for that mouse! But in your opening verse when you wrote of late nights sharing philosophical talks, it reminded me of the days of my youth doing the same thing. Those were exciting times. And this is a great poem!

    Gayle ~

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  7. I like this a lot.. I see mostly those years where politics where discussed in long nights in various student rooms, when we where still idealistic and strong in beliefs.. of course the underdog is always right. Maybe i misunderstood, but this is what I read into your poem.

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    1. Well sometimes people give up their beliefs and surrender to popular opinion as they grow older, which of course is usually in favour of the underdog… Maybe losing a bit of themselves in the process….

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  8. What a wonderful contrast you evoke between then and now: that carefree moment, the voice of rebellion turned to caution turned to despair… The direct address with added reminiscing works so well here.

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  9. Life.. Passion Fool
    underdog cartoon
    character.. over
    eat flows.. river
    needs.. Strong
    Nature.. Force
    alive.. liVinG
    inside.. now
    worldculture
    Tool.. NOW
    fire inside
    plays life..
    no
    day
    rest..
    mouse
    toys
    cat
    plays
    beat goes on..:)

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  10. No particular reason why this brought to mind “dangling conversation” by Simon and Garfunkel. Maybe it resonated for the same reason that song did. Your poem arcs the relationship though and talks about the way the clouds fill the mind’s sky and the passions shred into bits of text lying on the floor of our memories, losing meaning and relevance. It’s a fine piece and takes passion’s ashes back to their source.

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