The Encounter

Stretched
on sun-warm carpet,
gazing out on fenced wilderness, she extends
to furthest extremity; claws reach and retract
as she clenches
padded fists.

Then
in an instant she's on all fours,
back arched, whiskered mouth grimaced to
horrible grin as she growls and spits
into the gleaming window.

Looking back,
assured by double-pane,
the bird, all feather and fearless eye,
wonders at this new, strange
creature glaring inside.

(25 Apr. 2013)

Image: Cat and Bird by Paul Klee

Saint

Louis Tiffany and Company, "Dogwood" Design Window: 1910-1915.

“The pale flowers of the dogwood outside this window are saints. The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road are saints looking up into the face of God.”  Merton, Thomas, When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature

Her black eyes gaze

with pleasure.

My hand

flows slowly over her sinew, 

ears, fur; she purrs in praise 

that  life is right, 

hunger sated, 

love remains.

Looking into her eyes

I see a flame

beyond her understanding

beyond my understanding:

the spark

of being

freely given, 

freely accepted.

(31 Oct. 2013)

Matins

Image: Ken Broadhurst

Times of transition

appeal to my sense of

transcendence.

In joyful morning

eastern gold flows

over our highest leaves.

The blue-jays shriek

as our cat prowls

the wet grass.

She does not care

that this is the edge of time.

But I can feel the sun’s fire

as I work in the yard

and hear the mockingbird

in our highest eves

calling to his love

in the cherry tree!

Soon the wind

again will rise

and another summer day

will coldly decline

as the western fires

wilt

to bluest steel, to

blackest silk.

(6/11/2011)

The Third of July

Pursuing happiness
I move to the back yard
and in the shade of my umbrella
in the soft, warm breeze,
I sit very still
and hear
the mockingbird call.



I see his tail-feathers
thrust skyward,
waving in avian semaphore,
enticing his mate
to love in the swaying tree,

while stretched on the fragrant grass,
alert ears pointed skyward,
my cat hears everything
and,finding happiness,
closes her eyes.

A Moment

She starts and stares
into high ceiling shadows,
alarmed by what? A sound?
Slight movement, breeze wafting
past the open door?

I look,
but poor human eyes see nothing
beyond smudged spectacles.

So I stroke her flowing fur
And reassured, she shuts sentient eyes,
trusting feline sense, and purrs.

sometimes it hurts too much

sometimes it hurts too much,

strangling tears,

struggling breath

slowly steals

stealthy death.

did the merciful needle hurt you much?

when sleep filled your eyes,

and your thick blood ceased,

from the red pain you were

suddenly released!

but grey dull memory

remains

for me.

Old Cat

she lies under my chair
warmed by the dancing sun
as singing leaves
nod the long afternoon
towards evening.

her fur flows
in the freshening wind;
she hears the
trees whisper
their secret. . .

that soon night
will draw her in,
cradle her softly,
and fill her eyes
with sleep.