Oct 21
Kittykatruff's picture

By The Fire

(Editor's Note: This is one of the winning submissions for Winter Tales and will be performed by Vermont Stage on Dec. 12. Find out more here!)

Winter is my favorite season.
I stay warm by the fire
With a cup of cocoa, and watch
The snowflakes fall gracefully, dancing
With the flames. 

Sometimes Nature holds her breath
And all is still; when I step outside, the silence
Is only broken by the crunch of snow 
Under my feet.

Other times, the winds howls as a lonely wolf
Lamenting the forlorn expression of the moon,
Tearing at braches, scouring houses with sharp 
Icy crystals, whipping across my face, 
Stinging my eyes, slashing ears and fingertips, 
As I hurry home to safety from the storm.

The best time of all is when 
The world pauses for a moment, though not
In anticipation, simply to ponder 
Its own existence.

Apr 22
Kittykatruff's picture

can't find the words-time-emotion

I'm sorry I've been gone so long—
I've been so busy, you know time flies.
With work and outside interests
I haven't had any time to rest.
But today as my fingers mechanically typed
I noticed the reflection of the pink, yellow,
orange-streaked sky
in the corner of the computer screen
And saw my forlorn, furrowed brow
And deep-in-thinking, creasing frown
And suddenly remembered how
we used to talk
on the phone,
at night,
a seemingly old form of communication (nowadays),
yet the chatter of two close friends
seemed to light up the room
and warm my heart
every time without fail.
Now, we seldom call except 
to ask a question about homework.

I see you at school everyday,
bursting with everything I want to say—
how was your weekend,
here's the story of mine,
did I tell you yet about that time...?
But class starts
and ends
Mar 21
Kittykatruff's picture

In the School Hallway

Around, around, around
words surround me like a song;
the beautiful dissonance
sounds both right and strangely wrong—

Parts of conversations 
fly as mosquitos through the air,
their insistent whines knocking
on my resistant ears,

Snippets find my mind, ringing,
hints of others' lives:
"We got a dog!" "She's so rude"
"Do you want to hang out tonight?"

Around, around, around, 
I'm whirling in the song;
Just one note in a melody,
one person in the throng.
Mar 06
Kittykatruff's picture

When I Read a Book

When I read a book
I feel the words rushing through my veins.
Every syllable, every sound,
is music to my mind.
Parts of the plot
Weave around each other
as melodies intertwined.
Each character becomes
a piece of me:
my hopes, my dreams,
prides and flaws,
And I become
every character—
their goal tugs at my every thought, 
Flinging emotions uselessly
at the hurdles I encounter,
the actions I make,
a puppet held captive by
the pen of an author. 

When the book ends, 
I'm left in the world within its pages,
Trapped between the last page
and the cover,
trying in vain 
To push the cover open again,
to see the next part of my story.
Yet the pen has stopped,
the words have ceased,
my story is lost to the wind,
my final line of dialogue
still ringing on my lips. 

I set the book down,
stand up,
Mar 05
Kittykatruff's picture

Fate is a Cat

Fate is a cat.
She treads on silent paws,
Weaving through shadows
until she sees fit to strike,
then pounces with a focused gaze
Upon her helpless chosen prey.

Fate is a cat.
She may walk on
Unnoticed by our busy ears,
but leaves a mark of her prescence
in the shredded yarn, fallen vase,
Crashes one seldom hears
until they find catastrophe
And the world crashes down
on them.

Fate is a cat. 
She stretches out before the fire,
Eyes reflecting golden flames,
Tail flicking back and forth,
dancing in the strange parade.
Her whiskers glisten on the rug,
comfortable with danger near,
She'd rather be close to the war
than wait for trouble to appear.

Fate is a cat.
Purring contentedly,
Eyes half-closed,
she feels at ease even though
the world around her may be cruel,
Fate feels no need to weep or rue.
Dec 19
Kittykatruff's picture

A String of Thoughts

Is so busy sometimes.
My brain's a muddled mess,
Confused and confuzzled,
A twisting knot of fraying yarn
Batted about by expectations,
as cruel reality 
Sinks her menacing claws
Into my thoughts as she pleases.
I hope my mind of tangled yarn
Is being knitted into something beautiful.
I'll check when I have time,
But until then, I'll simply dream and sigh,
trying to wind my way through life. 

Dec 18
Kittykatruff's picture


When your head hangs low
And expectations drag you down,
And your shoulders sag sadly
Mirroring your discontented frown,
How you do keep going
When you feel so tired?
How do your feet plod on
When you're uninspired?
Dec 18
poem 2 comments challenge: Snow
Kittykatruff's picture


Winter is beautifully cruel—
A glittering knife 
slicing hope in half,
wild winds battering, smashing,
tearing shingles off rooftops,
hail smacking icy pavement
and shattering car windows.

Winter is so elegant, a dancer on pointe
Gliding on tip-toes, leaving a 
trail of frost,
yet also dangling icy daggers on the 
edges of roofs, stringing them about town
as tinsel placed delicately on trees.

Winter is deceptive; I go outside
and take a breath of fresh, freezing air,
my eyes open wide and snowflakes hold my attention,
twirling down, down, down to the snow-covered ground.
I take a step of jubliation, but fall right through—
Down, down, down, sinking lower and lower,
trapped in the beauty I yet admired.

The icy crystals were so wonderful,
so perfect and glimmering, so prettily arranged,
they left me breathless 
under the weight of my admiration,
Nov 07
Kittykatruff's picture


Hi. Do I know you?
I feel like I've met you before. You seem 
So familiar, yet so far, out of reach—
Do you remember me?
Oh—I've only just seen you once, I think,
In a documentary. You're a refugee. 
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I whisper to the screen.
But you will never hear me.
You might never make it beyond the fence,
Or beyond the next week, for all we can tell.
From halfway across the globe, I've realized
People treat you differently, yet we could never be
More similiar—both trapped inside
The world's perception of us, our cultures both
Forced into boxes, while they categorize us as well.
Someday I want to meet you, for I see stars in your eyes.
Your eyes which shine so bright, so gentle, so kind.
Someday perhaps I'll meet you—we'll be two stars in the sky.
Nov 06
Kittykatruff's picture


Pencil to paper
Paper to thought
What music is it I
Can and cannot

My mind is the paper
When inspiration comes by
It grabs it swiftly
And imagination flies.

My foot is the drum
Tapping on the floor,
My pencil the viola,
My heart the piano chord.

I feel a melody
Rising in my bones
My voice bursts forth,
I need no microphone.

The songbird within me
Glides down to my hands
My fingers grip the pencil
And make their demands

Graphite on paper
Recording my thoughts
The rhythm, the lyrics
The rests and the notes

I tie off the end
With a flourish and bow,
Signing my name as 
Only I know how.

My new piece completed,
I sit back in my chair.
The verse may have ended
But in my mind, it's still there--

The music keeps ringing
Throughout my whole mind; 
New inspiration--