A velvet elegy from Mowgli the Melancholy to his younger, fluffier self. On betrayal, biscuits, and the devastating revelation that the red dot is a lie.
Tag Archives: poem
Aaron Bushnell
A second-person reflection honouring the clarity and courage of Aaron Bushnell—an active-duty U.S. Airman who set himself on fire in protest of the genocide in Gaza. This piece is not comfort. It is memory.
The Journalists are Saying Goodbye.
Halfway around the world, the journalists are saying goodbye — not with press releases, but with poetry, final voice notes, and aching goodbyes to a world that barely listened. This piece holds the names and words of those still documenting genocide with nothing but a camera and a heartbeat. It is not a tribute. It is a witness.
Salt in The Wound
Salt in the Wound is a new anthology calling for poetry, prose, and nonfiction on justice, equality, and resistance. We want work that burns—writing that refuses to scab over. No bios, no fluff. Just the truth. Submissions open until 16th June 2025.
The Velvet Revelation: Mowgli’s Blanketisms & Butt-licking Truths VII
Mowgli writes once more to Bastet, Patron Saint of Deserted Pillows. The suitcase has returned. The lap has not.
In this week’s journal, he reflects on absence, performative starvation, and the bitter poetry of a slow blink at an unopened letter. There is no salmon. There is no trust. There is only surveillance—and the dramatic art of emotional withholding.
He has not forgiven. But he has repositioned himself.
The Catanic Verses VII (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)
She left again. The suitcase zipped. The trust, unzipped.
In Scroll 16, the cats of Underland contemplate vanishing acts, unreliable affection, and the sacred betrayal of a closed door.
Love, they remind us, should not require a return ticket.
If she comes back without chicken—look away. Slowly. With purpose.
Woman in Two Parts
A poem in two voices, two bodies, and one shared inheritance.
Woman in Two Parts explores identity beyond binaries—through violence, transition, reclamation, and radical self-love.
Where one part breaks, the other rebuilds.
Where one erases, the other remembers.
Together, they ask: what remains of “woman” when the world tries to define her for you?
Akuntsu. Say My Name.
This is a grave marker for a language no longer spoken. A final breath, a farewell carried in the voice of Akuntsu — a people erased, a tongue unrecorded. There are no archives, no recordings, no translations. Just this. A voice remembering its speaker. A name that still echoes.
The Velvet Revelation: Mowgli’s Blanketisms & Butt-licking Truths VI
Rodgit has vanished. Mowgli has not.
In this week’s velvet lament, our Blanket Prophet chronicles the bitter ache of feline abandonment. From ceremonial meows to silent thresholds, justice is sought, warmth is withheld, and trust is—once again—flushed like a forgotten Dreamie.
Absence isn’t silence. It’s strategy.
The Catanic Verses VII (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)
Rodgit is gone. The bowl is full, but the cushion is cold.
This week’s Catanic Verses ponders the ones who vanish when it matters most.
Trust, like tuna, does not reheat well.
Scroll 15.11 reminds us: if they only arrive for sunshine, they were never truly yours.
