Sunday, September 30, 2012

end (poem 30/30)

the end of the day
the weekend
the end of the effect
of the catnip on Rowdy
the end of the show
the end of the joke
the mile
the meal
the end of the sale
and the end of the drive home
the end of the bag
the end of the bottle
the end of september
the begining of some other thing...

tucker (poem 29/30)

he used to sit there --
under the dying apple tree --
picking bark off the trunk.


not a poem, a picture of pumpkins

pumpkins (poem 28/30)

we adopted nine pumpkins
but three of them are too small
to be left outside at night
with the bigger, stronger ones
so they sit on the kitchen table
with the chrysanthemums
i bought on sale a the grocery store
on the friday night it rained

Friday, September 28, 2012

three names (poem 27/30)

we call her alli

we call him jack

we call him rowdy

they call her george
and pretty lady, but
i call her ringo

Thursday, September 27, 2012

under the dream tree (poem 26/30)

a cat curls up under the dream tree
his pink-toed paws flick and twitch
as he imagines he's chasing a mouse

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

seeking happy (poem 25/30)

what makes happy?
cats' paws. candy coated chocolate. a compliment from a stranger. a green light. dishwasher tablets. sea salt. soft blankets in winter. recycling. the little sayings on yogi tea bags. newly applied paint. the *tink* *tink* sound the play station 3 makes. snuggling. a brand new tube of tooth paste. friends. friends with apple pie. time for bed. a bright morning. breakfast smells. tea with honey. mom. pictures of books. turning the pages. watching tv shows with friends. laughing. purring. smiling.
the list goes on and on. 
[add to it in the comment section if you feel so inclined.]

the old orange ship (poem 24/30)

tied on two ends
to one of the remote docks

is an old orange ship
rusty in most places

old and creaking
against the waves

created by the lively wake
of living boats and ships and yachts

no one goes out
to the old orange ship

her name is worn
off the side of her hull

no one knows the name
of the old orange ship

she just sits, rocking,
rotting and acting

as the secret home
of stray cats and seagulls

the travelling band (poem 23/30)

the travelling band
play travelling songs

for traveller across
all lands and scapes

the travelling band
know so many songs

from all the countries
they have travelled

the travelling band
travel heavy and slow

with all of the instruments
they need to perform

so if you ever see
the travelling band

stop and listen to their songs
as one of them might be yours

a truth about turkey (poem 22/30)

you never see a turkey alone
but in gangs spread across two sides
of a back road pecking at the grass

Red Bog Begining

The bog behind our house has started to turn a pretty red color.  I will be watching closely and taking pictures as the harvest begins within the next month or so.  

The kitties will also be watching out for cranberry harvesting.

Monday, September 24, 2012

planetary (poem 21/30)

the alignment of planets
has nothing to do with how many halos
can be found around the crown
of a cat

tango bravo alpha (poem 20/30)

little anthony taught himself morse code
and the NATO phonetic alphabet

in preparation for an alien invasion
like the one he saw on the television

he converted his multiplication table index cards
to new symbols and methods of communicating

he packed an emergency back pack
and kept it stocked with the best survival tools

but when it came time for his maths test
he couldn't remember, or figure out, the answer

to 4 x 7 and wondered how important math would be
if he ever had to fly a plane or helicopter

in guessing it might be, little anthony
reapplied himself to multiplication

but gave all his answers in arabic, chinese,
and roman numeral answers.

Friday, September 21, 2012

cover story (poem 19/30)

the creeping of carelessness
over the cast of clouding skies

on the crest of a loveless night
caressing our memories

creating a cold plaster cast
locking in the century old cries

of a creature still unclassified
by the collectors and colleges.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

lost kodama (poem 18/30)


once upon a long time ago
an old tree continued to grow

in it lived so many little spirits
protected by the tree's big trunk and thick bark

but one day came, not too long ago
in comparison to the life of the tree

on that day, the tree was torn from its roots
in a great flood that swept the forests

and the all the kodama were washed away
towards the towns and cities

today, the kodama find shelter
in the most peculiar places

lost as they are, away from the forest
and the trees they grew up knowing best

ritual (poem 17/30)

every morning
penelope and snowy share breakfast
across the table set in the kitchen
where penelope could watch her older sisters
as they fuss over rising agents and local hear throbs
and where snowy the elder cat
can avoid the bother of all the other family pets.

Monday, September 17, 2012

fellows (poem 16/30)

long ago blue, green, yellow and orange
were four fellows, all friends, and sat awaiting
the on-come of storming angst
as it bubbled and boiled up over the edges
of a small pot with twin braids and penny loafers
sent away from home by ill equiped parents
in a time of economic weather and sunshine.

it wouldn't be long before the fire in her eyes
grew so strong and hot that lasers would be born
and directed at four friendly fellows
all helpless to save themselves under any attack
especially one of such magnificent array
of color and texture with spices from all seven
of the major continents on earth.

our last adventure (poem 15/30)

on our last adventure
you gave us away

tweeting like a bird
on the limb of a tree

telling the whole world
about the little deer

we found hiding
under the piano bench

that had been abandoned
by the woodland pirates

in the last hurricane.

Friday, September 14, 2012

no moon (poem 14/30)

the chirps and croaks
of little bugs and little frogs

huddled in the folds
of the cranberry bog

under the blue black sky
of a night without a moon

pancakes (poem 13/30)

marry the guy
who makes pancakes

without having to ask
what you want

when he wakes you up
at 9:30 with warm syrup

and a cup of sweet warm tea
to go with your breakfast

A Cat Called Home-Buyer (a drawing)

i have never actually played monopoly with a cat.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

jacqualine (poem 12/30)

a winter spirit
trapped in other seasons
can't wait in comfort
for the cooler days
and the twinkling
of frozen dew
on cool-green blades of grass.

unseen (poem 11/30)

she wasn't there that day.

she missed the rainbow.

so he took pictures of it
to show her when she returned
but the difference between humans
and cameras

is that one can see rainbows,
while the other cannot.

so she never saw the rainbow
through the camera
that couldn't.

bear (poem 10/30)

brown and big and wet
she charges through the river water

thrashing around the rocks
to catch salmon in her mouth

feeding herself before she feeds her cubs
before leaving the river just as she found it

less a few fish.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

two poems behind

but i have more time and space to catch up later this week.  do not worry.  ^__^

Monday, September 10, 2012

garage dog (poem 9/30)

whitney is a black lab
with white chin hairs
that the people call greys

whitney waits outside
the Mystic Motors Auto Shop
for people to come by and pet him

someone once called him eli
but most people call him "good dog"
unless they are his friends

his friends call him whitney.

Saturday, September 08, 2012

the trap (poem 8/30)

she built a trap
to trap him in

made of colorful
colors of all shades

with twists and turns
that puzzle the mind

and puzzles that twist
your fingers in two

and she caught him in it
this man she would trap

someone who she feared
could not be outwitted

her foe from a long time past
had hunted her down

through universes
and galaxies

and time and events
across the seas of earth

to this floating palace
of confusion and beauty

and she watched him
from the safety of her tug boat

which pulled the palace
of puzzling shape

across oceans and seas
and bays and the  breeze

Friday, September 07, 2012

beach music (poem 7/30)

for Tina Toran

a great beast approached the women
who laid on the dunes in summer
to let the sun darken their skin

its sides were deeper brown than skin
with flags of great, cloud like white
and beams that moaned with every turn.

the women, from fear of the great sea beast,
ran to their children and ran to their men
to warn them of the oncoming threat.

the mighty sea baron took anchor in hand
and lobbed it overboard at the first sight
of grassy foreign land he came across.

he did not notice the women yelling
as they ran away from his anchor
failing to land on them, although it tried.

his roar was mighty and demanded his crew
to saddle up and prepare to explore
this bountiful new world he had discovered.

it took the baron's crew six hours
to ready themselves for their magnificent landfall
because the band's piano needed tuning

and no man dare make a great discovery
without a full orchestral soundtrack
to accompany  his triumph, especially the baron

a man of grave pomp and opulent circumstance
that would make the very queen of the empire
weep in admiration for his efforts and ruffled collars.

the women's men were ready for the beast
to attack them with what mythical forces
they knew it must possess, the way it hollered and sighed

they had never heard so many terrible sounds
coming from one such terrible creature
as the black beast form the sea that loomed off their shore,

they sent warning cries and beat their drums
to ward off the great threat that came form the sea
and scare it away with their traditional songs of war.

upon reaching the shore the baron was greeted
with great hooting and howling and wailing
and drumming beats and stomping feats and whistling,

so enamored with the natives' sounds
the baron commanded his orchestra
to learn the rhythms and beats of these natives

so that he might bring beach music back to his queen
and be awarded the highest honor of all;
the balcony at the opera and a glass of sherry with her Majesty.

Thursday, September 06, 2012

the development (poem 6/30)

where he read it, his head rested against the head board
with a floral-covered pillow for comfort

as she turned each page of the book he lent her
to read while he was away that day

her elbows turned red and itchy
from rubbing against the table top

he turned the pages faster than she did
soaking up the plot, letting his imagination fill in the gaps as he slept

she labored over every word
studying the language as if new to her

they read it all, every word, differently
and understood the story in different ways

one came away with morals
one with corruption

but they both held each other tight in the nights
following each horrific chapter

of their day to day struggles,
their life, reflected upon white pages in black printed ink

we had a lot of rain yesterday

i think it was called hurrican Leslie... and it looked like this:

but this morning, the sun was shining and many cats did enjoy its rays...


jack is gonna wreck it

jack got a new journal.

Wednesday, September 05, 2012

end of the world (poem 5/30)

at the very end of our world
there is a strong, old tree with a rope swing

put there so you can take a bigger leap
over the edge into the emptiness

and go deeper into the black abyss of space
so you can get more star dust in your hair

more, at least, than if you'd just jumped
straight off the edge without the swing

Tuesday, September 04, 2012

creeping socks

pages (poem 4/30)

the paper dries out the skin
on the palms of my thumbs
as i flick through the pages
of a book about bums.

(ryan wrote the last two words of this poem. please enjoy.)

Monday, September 03, 2012

song of my people for Nicole

i cannot, but i try.  and i think i conveyed my meaning here.  did i?

gentleman weeping (poem 3/30)

you sat side by side on the side of the bed
legs dangling off the edge with the cup of tea

he brought for you, made just the way you like
with sugar and milk to weaken the bergamot

and watched as he began to wept as he told you
that he wasn't sure if he could stay much longer.

Sunday, September 02, 2012

braid (poem 2/30)

we are bound

three strands
twisted together

locked in

beautifully woven


down the length
of a woman


tall and proud
her skin burnt

by the sun.

frozen table (a drawing)

i asked some people to give me titles without telling them what these titles were for (because most people would assume the titles were for poems).  and then i drew these... and i am no artist... as you can see...

wolf hunter (poem 1/30)

synthia silvershire
was a wolf hunter

born into a family
of infamous wolf hunters

they saved farms and families and cities
and towns from the threat of people eating wolves

from a very young age, synthia learned
to track and kill her familial foes

she wore a wolf skin hat, lined
with the precious fur

of a great white wolf
her father had killed

but synthia was still young
she still had a heart

and could not take the lives
of those cubs she found

alone and abandoned by their mother
who was killed earlier that night

she took them in and trained them on a sleigh
and soon synthia silvershire became known

as the wolf woman.  no longer a hunter,
no longer a killer, now a mother.

and for this, she too
was abandoned by her family.

breakfast on the deck

Dalek eats Dalek Cake

but at least it was made form gluten free swiss roll...

a little annoyed

Rowdy was a little annoyed
at how close the camera
got to his face.