"The Cat's Lunch" by Marguerite Gérard‘The Cat Who Barked’ and Other Poetry by Sally Cook The Society March 26, 2023 Beauty, Poetry 28 Comments . The Cat Who Barked There is a row of trees that crowd the ground, They’re dark and still. My cat lies in that spot. His tiger stripes were equal all around, But now lie wrapped in shrouds and put to rot. Or—perhaps not. Though he once mewed, and purred, Took longish naps, and loved a bit of cream, He also barked. It was a thing he heard Out on the street; we thought it was a scream. Today, through tears, we watched as he unwound His winding sheet, and took a breath of air, And scampered off, tail up, until he found A velvet divan put for trashmen there, Then, when he saw that everything was good, He upped and ambled to the darkened wood. Previously publish in The Pennsylvania Review . . Spring Again She often dreamt of Wordsworth’s daffodils, But made do with pale violets on sills, Longed so to float in bright green tides once more, Swim, shiny blue, then wade that sandy shore Imagining a vision of a lamp; Hanging cranberry glass; with silver stamp Frame hung so low, and all baroque, aglow Where you could crank the brightness up until You’d block out scruffy chickens, pigs in swill— Some katydids, and hard clay ground to till Beneath moon rays of saffron, amber gloss; Later, a narrow cot, emblem of loss. Yet still, some muddy mornings, blue jay blue Relieved the endless dullness that she knew. . . Sally Cook is both a poet and a painter of magical realism. Her poems have also appeared in Blue Unicorn, First Things, Chronicles, The Formalist Portal, Light Quarterly, National Review, Pennsylvania Review, TRINACRIA, and other electronic and print journals. A six-time nominee for a Pushcart award, in 2007 Cook was featured poet in The Raintown Review. She has received several awards from the World Order of Narrative and Formalist Poets, and her Best American Poetry Challenge-winning poem “As the Underworld Turns” was published in Pool. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Trending now: 28 Responses Paul Buchheit March 26, 2023 Sally, thanks for these most interesting poems. Lots of colors and imagery in “Spring Again,” which goes well with the hints of spring outside my window. Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 When I went to investigate those annoying bumps against the back of the house one evening after my barking cat’s demise, I saw nothing and heard only the short sharp bark of my former cat saying “goodbye” or perhaps just “I’ll see you later.” Animals have their ways. Reply Allegra Silberstein March 26, 2023 Lovely poems…thank you! Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 TO aLLEGRA. Thank you Allegra. I always enjoy seeing your musical name. Is there a story behind it? Reply Joseph S. Salemi March 27, 2023 Sally Cook has had several experiences that can only be called “paranormal,” or at least not subject to rational explanation. “The Cat Who Barked” describes only one of them. “Spring Again” could only have been written by a painter, with its incredible palette of colors. Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Thanks, Joseph, for looking into these poems. Your comments are always in depth and insightful. We are usually on the same page but those few times we have disagreed have always resulted , for me, in a deeper understanding of whast it means to be a poet. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson March 27, 2023 “The Cat Who Barked” must have been a hoot to hear. Sorry for your loss, but such an interesting departure for the last time. The vivid imagery of “Spring Again” brought the season to life in a beautiful way. Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 All cats are interesting; some more so than others. I went to the shelter to geta nice grey and white cat, but they had none. Was handed this on “jus to hold”. Did so; he was delighted. We had already chosen one and were ready to leave when he looked at me. lOOKED ME RIGHT IN THE EYE ! ! All thoughts of a grey and white left my mind — this tiger had fixed on me; and he was indignant. How DARE I pet him, play with him, then walk away? Short answer — I couldn’t. Several years later he repaid me by taking up barking as a second language. They are very ethical animals. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson March 27, 2023 Mercy! A bilingual cat! Thank you for filling in the precious acquisition of this cat and your feelings concerning bringing it home, C.B. Anderson March 27, 2023 Yes, Sally. Cats have a strict code of honor. Margaret Coats March 27, 2023 Sally, I like your careful and meaningful placement of words. In “The Cat Who Barked,” it’s the word “dark” in the second line, followed up by “darkened” in the last. These lovingly frame your final mysterious view of the cat. In “Spring Again,” it’s “blue,” first referring to the desire to swim, but brought back doubled in “blue jay blue” to relieve the dullness of no longer being able to move easily. I have some cranberry glass pieces, but none so big as a hanging lamp. Yours suggests how something sacred (a sanctuary lamp?) blocks out ordinary things, at least for a while. The moon’s “saffron, amber gloss” reminds me of the gold dust that gives cranberry glass its particular shade of red. The richness contrasts with the cot as an emblem of loss. Well-chosen colors brushed on in just the right spots for their significance! Reply sally cook March 27, 2023 Memories of my mother called up all the colors in this poem.. She loved cranberry glass but it’s not cheap. I was never in a position to buy that lamp for her, but my father was, and he would not. One of the worst arguments I ever witnessed between them was about that lamp. How carefully, how lovingly swhe described the color – the ripeness of the lamp. I was a small child, and I never forgot it, so it must have been a humdinger ! Those qualities he considered frivolous or inconsequential, such as a burning desire for cranberry glass were the same ones he denigrated in me. Just as I cannot forget her darting through the waves in late spring in a shiny blue bathing suit; my mother, the Pisces; the great blue fish. Reply Joseph S. Salemi March 28, 2023 Sally, I have seen some cranberry glass that is a deep and rich red, and other cranberry glass that is light and pinkish in color. I feel bad that your father would not buy that lamp for your mother. It seems like such a little thing to do to make one’s wife happy. C.B. Anderson March 27, 2023 I’ve always felt that tortoise-shell markings were my favorite color on a cat, but I’ll settle for calico (but bearing in mind that all cats are black in the dark). I’ve heard about your barking cat before, but it’s always good to renew my acquaintance with that fluffy rover. Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Kip, somehow I never doubted yoiur affinity for the feline variety. My favorite early on was the tortoiseshell, though I later, through drawing them, gained an appreeiation of the patterned ones. A light-fingered ex-friend once once asked to stay overnight, and left the next morning with a large envelope I had labeled “smiling cats with teeth” which I had had the bad judgment to show her the previous evening. She also stuffed a large silver spoon given to me by my second cousin Inez in her duffel bag with the cats. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant March 27, 2023 Dear Sally, I have enjoyed both of these thoroughly intriguing poems and I love the way you paint with words. I especially like ‘The Cat Who Barked’ because it reminds me of a cat I had who barked. I have come to learn that cats are mysterious creatures of unworldly powers. They tap into our thoughts and dreams… and they know everything. Your poem captures just that. I especially like, “But now lie wrapped in shrouds and put to rot. / Or—perhaps not…” That sums up the essence of the unfathomable feline perfectly. Sally, thank you! Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Susan –Funny how we can’t stop talking about them, isn’t it? Well, perhaps not so funny, given how they seem to turn everything to focus on their furry selves. I knew you would enjoy that barking cat and thank you ! So much to learn about the world. Reply Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Susan –Funny how we can’t stop talking about them, isn’t it? Well, perhaps not so funny, given how they seem to turn everything to focus on their furry selves. I knew you would enjoy that barking cat and thank you ! So much to learn about the world. Reply Monika Cooper March 28, 2023 These poems, for all the brave and stubbornly unique beauty (and love of beauty) that they celebrate, ache. The resurrection of the animals is something I love to think about. I knew a cat that talked, a little bit. (Although she was much more eloquent in silences.) Extraordinarily intelligent, but with eyes I could never quite get to look straight into mine. Yours is such a wonderful vision of the “upping and ambling” that creation looks forward to, aching. Reply Sally Cook March 28, 2023 I would very much like to know everything about your talking cat; subject matter, tone of vice. Evan would give you my e-mail address.cat! i know I know they can and do talk. We had a neighbor – a very intelligent, perceptive woman who early on recognized unusual qualities in a kitten, and worked to encourage him to be more than just your garden variety cat. When she went to live with her daughter she gave this cat to me. Apparently he had developed quite a vocabulary, but refused to use much of it. But he loved milk, and would stand next to the fridge and clearly pronounce the word MILK until someone gave him some. He was not one for gossiping’; he knew what he wanted and how to get it. Reply Monika Cooper March 29, 2023 I’ll ask Evan for your email. I think you’ll like the stories of this cat. She was for sure one that got into my dreams. Sally Cook March 28, 2023 Joe, the depth and resonance of the red color in cranberry glass relates to the amount of gold put into the glass object. There are other types of red glass ; I have some tumblers with a dark red lip, but that is ruby and I don’t believe these, called ruby, have any gold in them. As for my father, he was a very unhappy man and saw no reason to make anyone else happy, much less my mother, and certainly not me. His father was strong and a success, and considered my father a fool, which in many ways he was. He had an older brother died at 18, and my father was expecged go step into his shoes — he tried, but familial patterns were set, and he could not. All of this led to my mother not getting her lamp; to the withholding of affection from me. Reply Joseph S. Salemi March 28, 2023 Sally, that family history is very sad. But I do know one thing — just as irritants produce a pearl over time inside an oyster, all of those personal irritants made you into a superb painter and poet. Reply Sally Cook March 29, 2023 Dear Joe — What a compliment ! Coming from you makes it even better. Thanks so much. James Sale March 29, 2023 The concluding couplet of your cat poem: Then, when he saw that everything was good, He upped and ambled to the darkened wood. is quite, quite wonderful. As well as being mysterious, it could almost be after the Creation, a description of the Maker heading towards Jerusalem. Reply Sally Cook March 29, 2023 Dear James — The sad demise of one small cat might not ordinarily stir the imagination, but there was something about this creature I could not ignore. You too have sensed it, as have others who have read the poem. That cat had a mission ! Reply Geoffrey S. April 2, 2023 It’s always a pleasure to read a well-written sonnet. I liked the contrast between the glass lamp’s fixed colors with the colorless reality of spring in “Spring Again.” Reminds me of the frieze on Keats’s Grecian urn that took the narrator off unto those reveries. Reply Sally Cook Website April 2, 2023 Dear Geoffrey, Thank you for your attention to this poem. I am always pleased when another close reader remarks on another facet of one of my poems. My intent was to show how imagination can brighten the dullest of places. Please stop by again. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Paul Buchheit March 26, 2023 Sally, thanks for these most interesting poems. Lots of colors and imagery in “Spring Again,” which goes well with the hints of spring outside my window. Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 When I went to investigate those annoying bumps against the back of the house one evening after my barking cat’s demise, I saw nothing and heard only the short sharp bark of my former cat saying “goodbye” or perhaps just “I’ll see you later.” Animals have their ways. Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 TO aLLEGRA. Thank you Allegra. I always enjoy seeing your musical name. Is there a story behind it? Reply
Joseph S. Salemi March 27, 2023 Sally Cook has had several experiences that can only be called “paranormal,” or at least not subject to rational explanation. “The Cat Who Barked” describes only one of them. “Spring Again” could only have been written by a painter, with its incredible palette of colors. Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Thanks, Joseph, for looking into these poems. Your comments are always in depth and insightful. We are usually on the same page but those few times we have disagreed have always resulted , for me, in a deeper understanding of whast it means to be a poet. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson March 27, 2023 “The Cat Who Barked” must have been a hoot to hear. Sorry for your loss, but such an interesting departure for the last time. The vivid imagery of “Spring Again” brought the season to life in a beautiful way. Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 All cats are interesting; some more so than others. I went to the shelter to geta nice grey and white cat, but they had none. Was handed this on “jus to hold”. Did so; he was delighted. We had already chosen one and were ready to leave when he looked at me. lOOKED ME RIGHT IN THE EYE ! ! All thoughts of a grey and white left my mind — this tiger had fixed on me; and he was indignant. How DARE I pet him, play with him, then walk away? Short answer — I couldn’t. Several years later he repaid me by taking up barking as a second language. They are very ethical animals. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson March 27, 2023 Mercy! A bilingual cat! Thank you for filling in the precious acquisition of this cat and your feelings concerning bringing it home,
Margaret Coats March 27, 2023 Sally, I like your careful and meaningful placement of words. In “The Cat Who Barked,” it’s the word “dark” in the second line, followed up by “darkened” in the last. These lovingly frame your final mysterious view of the cat. In “Spring Again,” it’s “blue,” first referring to the desire to swim, but brought back doubled in “blue jay blue” to relieve the dullness of no longer being able to move easily. I have some cranberry glass pieces, but none so big as a hanging lamp. Yours suggests how something sacred (a sanctuary lamp?) blocks out ordinary things, at least for a while. The moon’s “saffron, amber gloss” reminds me of the gold dust that gives cranberry glass its particular shade of red. The richness contrasts with the cot as an emblem of loss. Well-chosen colors brushed on in just the right spots for their significance! Reply
sally cook March 27, 2023 Memories of my mother called up all the colors in this poem.. She loved cranberry glass but it’s not cheap. I was never in a position to buy that lamp for her, but my father was, and he would not. One of the worst arguments I ever witnessed between them was about that lamp. How carefully, how lovingly swhe described the color – the ripeness of the lamp. I was a small child, and I never forgot it, so it must have been a humdinger ! Those qualities he considered frivolous or inconsequential, such as a burning desire for cranberry glass were the same ones he denigrated in me. Just as I cannot forget her darting through the waves in late spring in a shiny blue bathing suit; my mother, the Pisces; the great blue fish. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi March 28, 2023 Sally, I have seen some cranberry glass that is a deep and rich red, and other cranberry glass that is light and pinkish in color. I feel bad that your father would not buy that lamp for your mother. It seems like such a little thing to do to make one’s wife happy.
C.B. Anderson March 27, 2023 I’ve always felt that tortoise-shell markings were my favorite color on a cat, but I’ll settle for calico (but bearing in mind that all cats are black in the dark). I’ve heard about your barking cat before, but it’s always good to renew my acquaintance with that fluffy rover. Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Kip, somehow I never doubted yoiur affinity for the feline variety. My favorite early on was the tortoiseshell, though I later, through drawing them, gained an appreeiation of the patterned ones. A light-fingered ex-friend once once asked to stay overnight, and left the next morning with a large envelope I had labeled “smiling cats with teeth” which I had had the bad judgment to show her the previous evening. She also stuffed a large silver spoon given to me by my second cousin Inez in her duffel bag with the cats. Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant March 27, 2023 Dear Sally, I have enjoyed both of these thoroughly intriguing poems and I love the way you paint with words. I especially like ‘The Cat Who Barked’ because it reminds me of a cat I had who barked. I have come to learn that cats are mysterious creatures of unworldly powers. They tap into our thoughts and dreams… and they know everything. Your poem captures just that. I especially like, “But now lie wrapped in shrouds and put to rot. / Or—perhaps not…” That sums up the essence of the unfathomable feline perfectly. Sally, thank you! Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Susan –Funny how we can’t stop talking about them, isn’t it? Well, perhaps not so funny, given how they seem to turn everything to focus on their furry selves. I knew you would enjoy that barking cat and thank you ! So much to learn about the world. Reply
Sally Cook March 27, 2023 Susan –Funny how we can’t stop talking about them, isn’t it? Well, perhaps not so funny, given how they seem to turn everything to focus on their furry selves. I knew you would enjoy that barking cat and thank you ! So much to learn about the world. Reply
Monika Cooper March 28, 2023 These poems, for all the brave and stubbornly unique beauty (and love of beauty) that they celebrate, ache. The resurrection of the animals is something I love to think about. I knew a cat that talked, a little bit. (Although she was much more eloquent in silences.) Extraordinarily intelligent, but with eyes I could never quite get to look straight into mine. Yours is such a wonderful vision of the “upping and ambling” that creation looks forward to, aching. Reply
Sally Cook March 28, 2023 I would very much like to know everything about your talking cat; subject matter, tone of vice. Evan would give you my e-mail address.cat! i know I know they can and do talk. We had a neighbor – a very intelligent, perceptive woman who early on recognized unusual qualities in a kitten, and worked to encourage him to be more than just your garden variety cat. When she went to live with her daughter she gave this cat to me. Apparently he had developed quite a vocabulary, but refused to use much of it. But he loved milk, and would stand next to the fridge and clearly pronounce the word MILK until someone gave him some. He was not one for gossiping’; he knew what he wanted and how to get it. Reply
Monika Cooper March 29, 2023 I’ll ask Evan for your email. I think you’ll like the stories of this cat. She was for sure one that got into my dreams.
Sally Cook March 28, 2023 Joe, the depth and resonance of the red color in cranberry glass relates to the amount of gold put into the glass object. There are other types of red glass ; I have some tumblers with a dark red lip, but that is ruby and I don’t believe these, called ruby, have any gold in them. As for my father, he was a very unhappy man and saw no reason to make anyone else happy, much less my mother, and certainly not me. His father was strong and a success, and considered my father a fool, which in many ways he was. He had an older brother died at 18, and my father was expecged go step into his shoes — he tried, but familial patterns were set, and he could not. All of this led to my mother not getting her lamp; to the withholding of affection from me. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi March 28, 2023 Sally, that family history is very sad. But I do know one thing — just as irritants produce a pearl over time inside an oyster, all of those personal irritants made you into a superb painter and poet. Reply
Sally Cook March 29, 2023 Dear Joe — What a compliment ! Coming from you makes it even better. Thanks so much.
James Sale March 29, 2023 The concluding couplet of your cat poem: Then, when he saw that everything was good, He upped and ambled to the darkened wood. is quite, quite wonderful. As well as being mysterious, it could almost be after the Creation, a description of the Maker heading towards Jerusalem. Reply
Sally Cook March 29, 2023 Dear James — The sad demise of one small cat might not ordinarily stir the imagination, but there was something about this creature I could not ignore. You too have sensed it, as have others who have read the poem. That cat had a mission ! Reply
Geoffrey S. April 2, 2023 It’s always a pleasure to read a well-written sonnet. I liked the contrast between the glass lamp’s fixed colors with the colorless reality of spring in “Spring Again.” Reminds me of the frieze on Keats’s Grecian urn that took the narrator off unto those reveries. Reply
Sally Cook Website April 2, 2023 Dear Geoffrey, Thank you for your attention to this poem. I am always pleased when another close reader remarks on another facet of one of my poems. My intent was to show how imagination can brighten the dullest of places. Please stop by again. Reply