Ok, so I admit that my lack of internet at home is an inconvience to my efforts of poetry. However, do not fret, for listed below are two poems; one for yesterday and one for the week before that. Enjoy

Ok, I know this first poem probably won't be popular due to the fact it doesn't rhyme, but I don't care because me, Boomer Cat, am an art-teest! Enjoy!

Afternoon Sunday rays of the room
Wanful, may be from leaves of trees.
Dad inserts movie but little
Is done to pay interest
For his eyelids are weighty.
He stretches on a couch
As I would flex on a scratch pad.
His vainful appreciation
Daughnted only by a warm blanket,
A soft pillow, and an early
Afternoon rustle of leaves.
Those precious weights succeed;
For those lids lift no more.
I approach only to insue investigation.
The smell of his hair,
Shallow of breath,
Heart falling deep,
All in flitful slumber.
Oh what he dreams!
I hope it's of me.
I leap on him
As would a baby lain to crib.
I feel the soft warmth of his chest
As it invites me to join his dreams.
I climb up and within minutes
I furl into a ball and close
My dark mirrored eyes
As we both ignore the movie
And join each other in dreams.

And for the conventional soul:

Oh my! What's that I see
Obliquity, but is it of me?
It moves to follow my stride
Of my will it abides!
On the paleness of the wall
raise the sun; it will fall.

Of myself my eyes select
No more will I reflect.

In the morning Dad picks me up
So thankful I'm no pup.
I look at him as he looks at glass
For so long does time pass.
Then I follow his sleepy gaze
And a twin of me in morning haze.
I paw, move, sniff, and batt
Only to find I am FAT!
Correct? This image is not!
It has no feeling, only to me it taunts.
Dad laughs, infuriated am I
I can't win, so myself I pass by.

Of myself my eyes select
No more will I reflect.

The sun sets, night ensues
But at the patio door to what I pursue?
Now faded am I and only in white
Black part of me, out of sight!
It mimics my motion
All such locomoton.
The image of me, must be from God
A message I'm only half bod!
I ask, "What else will day bring?"
As Dad's laughter does sing!

Of myself my eyes select
No more will I reflect.