While Cataloguing Catacombs
in ancient Kathmandu
he chanced upon a Catamaran
from nineteen sixty-two.
He Categorized Caterpillars
in an old Catalpa tree
he grabbed a limb that wasn't there
it was a real Catastrophe.
At night his Cat would Caterwaul
out back behind the house
but he Categorically denied
that he smoked Catnip with the mouse.
He had Cattle on his acreage
and Catfish in the lake
he knew a mighty Catamount
who went by the name of Jake.
He retired to Catalonia
where he grew Catawba grapes
but Cataplexy did him in
from which there's no escape.
With a Catafalque for his coffin
inside the Cathedral tall
they Catered in a dinner
and mourned him one and all.
Categories:
catawba, cat,
Form: Rhyme
pennies were so priceless then
counting them like
Scrooge McDuck's gold
yet not in a greedy way
instead a thankful way
no matter what it seemed to others
it was the best of times
upon a storage box we'd dine
with wine of the finest
pink Catawba
in mismatched glasses
carefully balanced and gleaming
in the light of a half burnt candle
its wax dripping between and upon
last night's dried traces
on the wicker hugged Chianti bottle
yet
if we could buy those times today
we just might trade
our bottle of Dom
our plush dining set
and our California king
for a cozy twin
because then nothing
was too small
nor too simple
to share...
Categories:
catawba, memory,
Form: Free verse
“Where I’m From”
I am from pliers
from Tylenol and vanilla bean perfume.
I am from the budding rose bush,
the aloe vera plant
whose salve heals my burns.
I am from the tee-ball bat in the garage
the ballet bar in the studio.
I am from princess pajamas and my favorite stuffed animal
from sandy beaches and mountain views.
I’m from lessons learned and the hard way,
from spankings and timeouts in my bedroom.
I’m from wood flooring and hazel eyes
and southern cooking grandmothers.
I’m from the brewing of sweet tea and
the individual stitches on quilts.
From the “no no’s” and
the land flowing with “milk and honey.”
I’m from early Sunday mornings,
in a polk-a-dot dress and black patent shoes.
I’m from the foothills,
green beans and heavily buttered cornbread.
From the crown and sash of Miss Catawba Valley
the receding hairline of my father.
They are on the top shelf in my closet
a box of baby pictures and birthday cards.
It holds my memories, so that I may never forget
Where I’m from.
Categories:
catawba, birth, family, home, me,
Form: Free verse
In East Texas, the Catalpa tree thrives
A parasite eats its leaves to survive
A Catalpa worm is black striped on green
In the summer, they often strip the tree clean
It’s a caterpillar when eating leaves
It pupates in the ground I do believe
When it emerges from where it did sink
It’s a moth know as a “Catalpa Sphinx”
Growing up, I called it “Catawba” worm
Put one on a hook and just watch it squirm
It’s known to be a “super” fishing bait
I’ve used them and found they do work great
They infest the tree several times a year
But just Catalpa trees, let’s make that clear
So prized for bait that people plant the trees
As bait in winter, they’re OK to freeze
Many times we used them on a trot line
And for catching big catfish they worked fine
They stay on the hook as their skins are tough
And for catching pan fish they’re the right stuff
If you’re a fisherman should try them
And if they’re not local, still get the gem
Check out the Internet they are “For Sale”
Order them “live” or “frozen” through the mail
Categories:
catawba, nature, tree, tree,
Form: Quatrain