I wrote the first one today.
The second is from when our cat Daisy died.
The third is one I wrote in college for a poetry class.
Words, Words, Words
In days of youth when dreams were fledgling still
and fortune smiled not on my face or hair,
when those that dared to gaze would scowl until
their judgement they pronounced: more plain than fair.
Within that selfsame time when I did doubt
that all my qualities would ever sum
to any meat amount, I learned about
how Shakespeare wrangled language, made it hum
with sparks and passion ere I had not known.
This man was not renowned for strength he showed
or comely brow. No! From his pen had grown
his peers' respect amid the words he sowed.
From his example, I - dear reader - claim:
if one can write, all else is but a game.
Bicycle Built for Two
You were my present back before it all
became about string cheese and potty time,
a furry mewing skittish scuttling ball.
We welcomed you, feline partner in crime.
You were my present back before it all
became about string cheese and potty time,
a furry mewing skittish scuttling ball.
We welcomed you, feline partner in crime.
And with the passage of the months, the years
steadfast and so aloof you did remain
in that November week when Princess fears
ripped through the house, a cliche brake-less train.
You cared not for human propriety
and chose to poop and pee where you did want,
raising a civil notoriety
each rebel yell a kind of loving taunt.
Each flower in the field can claim the prize,
but other than our Daisy, all are lies.
steadfast and so aloof you did remain
in that November week when Princess fears
ripped through the house, a cliche brake-less train.
You cared not for human propriety
and chose to poop and pee where you did want,
raising a civil notoriety
each rebel yell a kind of loving taunt.
Each flower in the field can claim the prize,
but other than our Daisy, all are lies.
When half asleep
When half asleep in sheep pajamas, late
at night or just before sunrise, you turn
and toss my hand from off your breast, create
inside my head some inkling of concern.
As I begin to ask myself what dreams
are cooking in your subconscious stewpot,
my own bubbles over with panicked screams
of woe, anguish, and others I’ve forgot.
But then you push your body back against
mine, like two twins together again at
last. From your mouth
a whisper of nonsense
about Jell-O kittens and that is that.
I realize, as I drift off to slumber
that two and one can be the same number.
