Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Chatons feuilles

(based on suggestions from @notcharming and @Quadelle)

Dry leaves are kittens

scattered on stiff legs

wide as a finger.

Snapped from the tree

like a tiny neck

they bounce, pretend

the wind is a monster.

Ruffle in the shape

of a pronged hand

Small cats wave triangle

tails from the trees.

Fat round seed bellies

droop low, sleepy and

tight with breakfast.

Flashes in autumn’s eye

Warning: soon it will


with needle twig claws

make us giggle at this

drama of what is only

leaping from a branch.


Today's poem is based on suggestions from two peeps:

  • @notcharming: "KITTENS"
  • @Quadelle: "How about autumn?"

Today's poem is quite simple, an imagistic attempt at turning autumn leaves into kittens. Not exactly anthropomorphising...cathropomorphising? You know when kittens get a wild look in their eyes and then boing around with their little legs all splayed out and stiffened? That bit. Cracks me up.

Chatons feuilles is French for 'leaf kittens', because everything sounds better in French. Until you try to do the 'r', that is.

1 comment:

Quadelle said...

I've never thought of leaves as kittens before, but I think it actually works. I especially love the 'pounce' and where it's placed. :)