“THE CAT IS US, AS WE WISH LIFE COULD BE.”
DEATH OF A SCRATCHING POST is a short poetry chapbook of cat poems. It celebrates cats as much as it is looks into loneliness, into the heart of a poet, and perhaps into yourself. If you’ve read my previous cat-themed collection, LOVE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LITTER BOX, then you know what to expect: Cats are the stars of some poems, bit players in others, but they are always there, purring in your ear, telling us life isn’t so bad if we’d only just open our eyes and see…
There’s a cat inside us,
biting, clawing to get out.
This cat is wild—
it wants to be free,
to return to its feral roots.
It doesn’t understand jobs, laws, taxes.
It only understands what we have forgotten:
our connection to nature,
our desire to roam free and unfettered
like the magnificent beasts we are.
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NINE LIVES ARE NEVER ENOUGH.
“…Jackson Dean Chase invokes the spirit of the greatest poet of our time [Charles Bukowski] with the respect and admiration he deserves.” —Terry Trueman, Printz Honor author of Stuck in Neutral
With Love at the Bottom of the Litter Box, Jackson Dean Chase delivers a stunning poetry chapbook that expresses the sweet pain and subtle humor of life on the edge. The 25 poems are inspired by (and sometimes about) the late, great poet, Charles Bukowski (1920-1994). Cats are featured as observers or the star of every poem, with roles ranging from the comic to the tragic. Topics cover the creative struggle, love, madness, poverty, depression, grief, loss, and death.
Want more? Be sure to check out Bukowski’s Ghost: Poems for Old Souls in New Bodies, Book 1 in Jackson’s Raw Underground Poetry series.
“YOU HAD ME AT MEOW”
You had me at “meow,” my friend.
You had me with three sleepy blinks,
with the tender flick of your tail,
the purr in your throat.
You had me with all these things:
curling in my lap.
As the cat purrs in my lap,
as Mozart pours from my speakers,
I drink this wine
and write these words,
feeling the first relief I’ve known in days.
The heaviness leaves me,
the hurt you caused becoming less
as you move from my present into my past…
never to return.
FROM THE INTRODUCTION:
It should come as no surprise when I say my best friends are cats. They are me, and I am them. We both love our routines and hate anything that disturbs them. We do what we want, when we want. We’re happy being alone, but happy to be together when it suits us. We’re loyal. We love deeply, trust deeply, and when that love and trust is broken, we slink away to lick our wounds.
We’ll never fit in, even when we try. Especially when we try. And so we stop trying to fit in and start trying to be ourselves.
Because we can be nothing else.