Description: These are the werecats of my story island Quihashenquar's peculiar rock desert. "Silvercat" is the word for their full cat form, a cross between a greyhound and a leopard.
Notes: Stotting is a poinging gait that deer adopt to discourage a predator, to look as healthy and vigorous as possible.
I know cats don't sweat, but these are werecats, flexible shapeshifters. Best of both worlds.
I'm wondering if the first line is too corny. Please alert me to any additional corniness and any particular spots that interrupt the flow and make it harder to read.
Lives of the Silvercats -------------------------------------------
Cats never cry---
Cats have left, Cats live alone in the wastes.
Silvercat hunt long and loping, tarnished with sweat,
Pounding the clean salty cobblerocks under their long,
Tender sleekskinned feet, where salt roe stotted before.
Silvercat gleam low and sullen like talc stone.
Hunching and long at dusk,
They crowd freshwater springs, some sipping from hands,
Some sucking and gulping, or scooping with gray razored tongues,
Fresh cold and faithful life
Staining and seeping in their slick coats like the life of the salt roe.
Some Cats have beards and manes; some are smooth and cunning-eared.
A Cat screams only its last scream, the final rite dividing soul from belly.
When the wastes empty, Cats speak low and crackling of home.
I don't really think that the first line is neccessary to the rest of your poem. It makes the reader expect something different than what your poem actually becomes. I love the tone of this, and I have to admit it's one of the weirder poems I've read on this site (but weird is good!!!) It really reminds me of TS Eliot's ...erm.. can't exactly remember what it's called... something about practical cats. And it's this whole collection of poems describing a little society of cats. My favorite thing about this poem is the exactness of some words-- talc stone, cobblerocks... This is well-written.. I just wish I had more background about your fantasy-world than what the description provided. That's just because I think it sounds really cool ^_^ I'll be sure to check out some more of your stuff in a while... good job!!
oh and PS I really like this part:
A Cat screams only its last scream, the final rite dividing soul from belly. When the wastes empty, Cats speak low and crackling of home.
i like the fantasy, because i enjoy rading and occasionally writting it. im not big on the idea of fame, but if thats what you aspire to, well done. i had a little trouble following it. that might be the migrane but it just seemed a little jerky, like it would flow, then halt, then go a little more, then stop. i had real difficult with the last line. but i love the shapeshfter idea. i love shifters, and i use them an incredible lot in my stories.
this did sound like something that came out of a fantasy world, which was what you were going for, so thats good. i like how they can take forms and stuff, which further gives to the whole fantasy thing. i like how you describe them in this part:
Hunching and long at dusk, They crowd freshwater springs, some sipping from hands, Some sucking and gulping, or scooping with gray razored tongues, Fresh cold and faithful life Staining and seeping in their slick coats like the life of the salt roe. Some Cats have beards and manes; some are smooth and cunning-eared.
it makes me think of huge cats resting at a spring drinking the water in a human form, cat form and a kittin form who's characteristics (their manes or smoothness) define their age and sex.
Submission Name: Lives of the Silvercats
