Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems. ~Rainer Maria Rilke

Friday, April 4, 2008

I have many names

I am cat.
I sit all day
In the sun
And run like wind
Toward mice
And Dragonflies;
The greatest
Challenge of all.

Waiting, unseen.
Leaping high,
I capture
This prey;
Stalking away

I have many names.
I am called
Beautiful, swift
Wise, prideful
And aloof.
Only the dragonfly knows
My real name.


Anne Cat

She comes. Sniffing bushes.
Walking, stalking quietly
Through the garden, toward the house.
She sees me in the window
And quickens her pace.
But a bird catches her eye, and she stops
With intense sureness,
To switch her tail
And click her teeth;
Wishing to taste
The elusive feathered creatures...
An instinct as old as the earth.

She is beautiful. Her fur; a coat of
Dark stripes, dusty orange, and soft gray,
With white paws and black tipped tail.
Graceful. Curious.
Moving through bushes like her ancient ancestors.
Moving, without sound, toward
The feathered Redwing perched above.
I see this drama,
And knowing her cunning,
I call to her...
The bird flies away and Annie turns
To look toward my voice,
And I know I have betrayed her.

There will be others
Annie my love.
I cannot save them all,
And you will have your dinner
Of warm feathers soon.
She turns away and drinks
From the birdless bath,
Then looks toward a new sound,
Following it behind the fence,
Out of my sight.

The birds sing and return to the fence.
I cannot help you, feathered beauties.
She is the one who waits for us all.
Her name is Annie.
She is as old as the earth.
She waits patiently,
And the garden is hers.



Sunday, March 30, 2008

Inspiration for my Poems

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Old Dog

Feeling the sun on my back
I took a picture of my old dog.
She must know how this warmth,
reaching down to your bones,
makes you feel yellow
like daisies,
makes you feel green
like the hills.



Something has happened in a corner of my garden.
The azalea has acquired an attitude
and there's nothing I can do about it,
but watch.



The lady is wearing sweet alyssum in her hair
Should I tell her that, later on,
with blossoms, come bees.