by Marc Gunn, November 19, 2004

A poem of longing for the sensual love of two strangers in the night.

I kiss your soft lips.
My body lies on yours
Casually filling the crevices
I adore
Your body held close.

I miss your touch.
It's like a dream from a nap
I can barely tell it is real
But I hope
I pray
For the magic.

I love you.
Maybe only in my dreams
Or when filled
With nature's touched blend
O'alcohol and will'o'wisps.

Take me back.
Make me a part of your life
Before I disappear
In a passing moment's sight.

What am I waiting for?
I want you forever
In all your homely hypnotic ways
To call my own
To sip tea with
When men are old
And we are forever young
By the flow of nature's mystical dilemna.

by Marc Gunn, December 4, 2004

I went out to see live music with a fan the other day. The situation turned out less than pleasing and left me questioning how I should interact with friends and fans.

How do we deal with it?
We stumble over sand dunes,
Lips parched for thirst.
You offer it in 'beautiful' compliments.
A torrent of love.
It's like you point us to an oasis.
There, we caress away the starving mentality
And find peace
And pleasure.
"Is this not then love?" we ask.
Why, yes it is!
But it's not that blissfulness
That makes you want to
turn palm tree leaves
Into beds in the sand to fulfill our passion.
It's much deeper than that.
So how do you distinguish?
How do we take that torrential
downfall this side of paradise
And accept that it is friendship...
Just friendship
Yes. There's admiration.
We are gorgeous in your eyes.
We are love.
But we are NOT your lover.
Not like the mirage
That lifts your hopes up
Only to crush you when you realize
There is no substance.
We are an oasis,
But not the water to your lips.

How? Oh, how do you deal
With the flourishing oasis you create
With a kind word of fraternal lover.
I'd like to know, because
I want to be more like you.

by Marc Gunn, December 3, 2004

A parody of the Irish folk song, "Gypsy Rover" for my upcoming Irish Drinking Songs for Cat Lovers CD. It was inspired in part by Johnny Cash's song, "A Boy Named Sue" and tells the story of a female cat who runs off with a tough cat named Rover.

A cat named Rover came over the hill
Jumping through the grass so shady
He yowled and meowed till some stones flew down
But he won the purrs of a lady kitty.

Meow-dee-do, meow-dee-mew-dah-day
Meow-dee-do, meow-dee-day-dee
He yowled and meowed till some stones flew down
But he won the purrs of a lady kitty.

She left her favorite scratching post.
She left her Manx cat lover.
She left her human and fancy feast bowl
For a yowling cat named Rover.

She left behind her feathery cat wand
The shoes she shredded of Spanish leather
They yowled and meowed, then some boots flew down
As they ran off together.

Last night, she napped on a goose feather bed,
Ripped a hole in the covers.
Tonight no feathers will be in her mouth,
As she sleeps next to a cat named Rover.

Her human walked all around the hills.
He searched the valley all over.
Sought the Persian that he combed each night.
And that cursed tomcat named Rover

He came at last to a grassy knoll
With a willow tree's leaves bent over.
A large cat sat still as he cleaned his tail.
He recognized the cat named Rover.

"How can you leave your plush cat bed?
The finest fancy feast can ripped open?
How can you leave your Manx cat love,
All for a cat named Rover?

"He is no dog despite his name.
You'll never catch him rolling over.
He'll sire strong kittens and win any cat fight
Because he is a cat named him Rover."

by Emilee Rush, December 4, 2004

The great Irish ghost story is reborn as we hear about how Ms. Malone was also very kind to the cats of Dublin. It was written for my Irish Drinking Songs for Cat Lovers CD.

In Dublin's fair city, when I was a kitty,
I first cast my gaze on sweet Molly Malone,
I was but a kitten, but I was quiet smitten,
With her cockles and mussels
Alive alive-o

alive alive-o, alive alive-o
sparing cockles and mussels
alive alive-o

She was a fish monger
feeding cats who did wander
just like her father and mother before
and they all wheeled their barrows
feeding cats fat and narrow
sharing cockles and mussels
Alive alive-o

She died of a fever, nine lives couldn't save her
the cats we did mourn for sweet Molly Malone
now her ghost wheels her barrow
feeding cats fat and narrow
sharing cockles and mussels
Alive alive-o

by Marc Gunn, October 25, 2004

A few weeks back, I had an interesting look at love and the reasons behind some of my past relationships.

Ever hopeful,
More often hurting.

As a child I gave friendship and love with fervor;
Only to see it closed behind a cold door.
My fraternal love was scoffed,
But I still offered the other cheek.

Ever hopeful,
More often hurting.

My cheeks were red and sore by high school.
I learned a lesson too well.
I hurt my friends,
And I'm sorry for it.

Ever hopeful,
More often hurting.

By college, friendship gave way to love and romance.
The story didn't change.
Until at last the hurt became too much.
I cast aside my self-inflected virgin sacrifices.
The fires dimmed, and I grew cold.

Never hopeful,
Yet still hurting.

Then one night, I was amazed to find love
That broke the cast.
I gave, and she gave too.
Until the bonds of giving imploded,
And I didn't know how to close the door.

Always hopeful,
Yet still hurting.

The cycle returns once again
As I knock at love's front door.
I see my childhood friends reborn.
They peer out to tell me they can't come out and play,
And I'm left lonely and confused.

Ever hopeful,
Again hurting.