he stalked his prey
stealthily and steadily
keeping himself not in the shadows
right out in front
because people are used to seeing him
so much that he is invisible
he has the catbird seat
the opportunity, the initiative
and the wherewithal
a serial killer
no one suspects
“Hi Dad,” I say.
He waves.
what if every encounter, accident, incident, meeting was preplanned?
What if there are no coincidences?
Maybe we plotted this lifetime in a heavenly catbird seat.
Planning every nuance, scenario, circumstance before we were born.
What if our goal here is to see if the feelings, we thought we would have
are the feelings we actually do have?
What if our ultimate goal was to stay the course?
Trixie Puff piled the rocks in the weirdest way
The woods and the lagoon watched her most of the day
It will never hold her the oak tree whispered to many.
She climbed to the top, and laughed like a New England guinea
Cardinals red came in and sat around, watching her feat.
She’s going to fall a blue jay said from his catbird seat.
Sitting in the crook of the oak who agreed with him totally.
But she balanced herself on that rock pile perfectly.
father cloud pours condensation into the waves of the sea
mother ocean feels his appreciation, and responds accordingly
brother wolf and sister bear begin frolicking in the torrent waves
native sea creatures feel the soul of a brethren lover of the sea
the evening turns into twilight, which is as it should be
salmon, walleye, catfish and marlin travel down in the ocean’s depths
father cloud watches from his catbird seat in the land of no return
All is well, mother ocean assures the gods and goddesses of the night
Chuck is ninety-seven and fed up, angrier today than ever before.
He just received news about his grandson and he is furious with God.
Chuck’s knees are arthritic, his back aches constantly, his bowels don’t move.
He wants cancer or a heart attack, he would welcome death.
Instead, death took away his great grandson at sixteen?
Chuck was so angry when he heard that Larry was dead on arrival.
Dead on arrival! Dead on arrival! He cannot get this out of his brain.
Why didn’t you take me? He yells at God. He is screaming mad.
Texting while driving, his granddaughter tells him.
How do you know?
He was in the middle of a word.
Whatever that means….
Larry watches this with one of his guardians from his catbird seat.
What can I do to help him? He asks.
The guardian smiles, giving him no answer.
When can he come up here?
When it’s his time, the angel replies.
It doesn’t seem fair, Larry says. I want him here now.
He is not finished with his work yet. No one comes ahead of their time.
Pete had an ordinary funeral, nothing ostentatious or showy.
Two straight backed strangers appeared in his small Iowa church.
They were dressed in Air Force uniforms.
They hugged each other for a long time.
Another soldier gone, one said.
Our brother said the other.
These three had been the only survivors of C Company.
In the middle of a jungle swamp in Viet Nam in 1970.
From his catbird seat Pete Lansford watched.
He was grinning at them so hard that Jim looked up.
Pete gave him a high five, but neither Jim or Joe could see him.
Thank you for letting me watch my funeral he told the angel.
They come as close as they can.
The tree line is a frontier edge
between them and the brick barricades.
I imagine them peering over their world
into mine, and though their hooting
may be only a prelude to nesting,
this night they speak
on the multilingual lips of transmission.
When such divergent beings
encounter one another, they meet at a distance,
skirmish and scout. They lookout
from a catbird seat.
All sounds speak of something.
Where light and dark converge
much can be overheard, much discerned.
Tonight the hoot owls speak though
that same interspace, their modulations
are haunting, the way the wind haunts
the very breath in our lungs.
The highway overpass vibrates.
as traffic and wind careen through.
A good view. Suicide starts to sing;
a wind-dervish rattling aluminum wings.
On the branches of peripheral nerves,
small birds stretch plasma necks,
warble high in the catbird seat
of her wall-eyed mind.
An ugly stream of cacophony,
a vapor of petroleum and rubber
bursting into bombinate blooms
that scour her skin.
She breathes it all in,
watching from a crows-nest
that sways leagues above her head.
A rocking-chair of vertigo tips over,
faraway toes curl a flaking concrete.
Her blood singing of endless roads
and this last dead end
at the edge of hope.
Sun Goddess at large in frilly filigree frock
Holding the world in her hand at a gentle angle
I sense her joyful soul and our hearts quickly lock
How much more exquisite can she clearly dangle?
She glows gold in the morning, showing me her love
Streaks across the sky fiercely at night with happiness too
Dashes of daintiness exude from her catbird seat above
Whispers of joyfulness showing off her delicate eyes of blue
Sun Goddess, I count on you each and every pretty day
Your warmth helps me to be the best earth person I can be
To watch the squirrels and the creatures of the forest play
Is truly wonderful and lovely, made possible by thee
Your golden halo and your intrinsic locks of genius power
Entice me to be the best person I can be for the entire day.
Your morning love goes well with coffee and an ice cold shower.
Your spirituality and essence clearly and distinctly lead the way.
catbird seat sitting
licking up tasty morsels
I dance out my truth
loving the life actually
watching from afar
I plan my moves cautiously
understanding life
feeding my artistic side
painting my madness
wild strokes of a green pen
channeling my muse
I laugh at my crazy side
peeling uniqueness
gathering ancestral thoughts
I kick my glad feet
rapidly dance toward the sun
wearing glitter in my hair
Johnny Pete and Jolly Pete
Their marriage arranged in heaven,
Come sit here on the catbird seat.
Their marriage is number seven.
Johnny Pete never looked so good.
Jolly was a gorgeous summer bride.
Ceremony was everything it could be.
Witnesses all on Jolly’s side.
Johnny dragged in a street guy
To stand up with him that day.
Jolly got a tear in her eye
And he soon whisked her right away.
Jolly and Johnny had six little ones.
Juicy, Jimmy, Juanita, Johnny, Junior and Jay.
Two girls and four boys all born in the sun.
They were a handful, but fun in every way.
A good view. The traffic and wind careen.
The highway overpass vibrates. Suicide starts
to sing, a wind-dervish rattling thin mantis limbs.
On the branches of peripheral nerves, small birds
stretch plasma necks, warble high
in the catbird seat of her soul.
She thought about her soul. Only one invisible
globule of it ever active, the rest tranquilized,
a pool fed by absent-minded angels.
All this ugliness, the streams of cacophony,
the vaporous scar tissue of petroleum and rubber,
floats up as vivid bombinate blooms.
She breathes it all in, watching from a crows-nest
that sways leagues above her head.
She has dealt herself a spaced-out view, here
up in the air, her toes curling into concrete,
she sits back in the best chair of her vertigo,
and yells to all the passing, trafficking,
crud-burning speeders below –
“You’re all way too slow, for a catbird thought,
too lowdown for any wind-scattered moment.
invented my own planet
when I was a girl of nine
created it out of the banks
of my favorite things
constructed of thoughts and ideals
character traits needed on all planets
powered by enthusiasm and love
I began hovering over the backyard at age twelve
My darling parents and siblings
in awe of my stealth and powerful
Ingenuity apparent,
full tilt receptivity
They knew they could join me
However, not wanting to stifle me, they wisely did not.
While much of this world is watching TV
I am watching this world.
Catbird seat vision
safely out of harms way
reachable but independent
loving my life!
I shall never wear a tam-o-shanter in Scotland,
Yet I am satisfied for this is all right with me.
I shall never play my tambourine to a crowd of ten thousand,
Yet I am happy for this is all right with me.
An inkling of King Solomon’s wisdom tells me I will never see Saar,
Yet, I am satisfied, for who can see it on Pinterest? Me.
Eventually I will probably see all of this and more from a heavenly catbird seat.
And this is more than enough to make my heart happy.
With an open heart and a loving mind
Affection flowing from my grateful pores,
The sight that so beautifully spends my time,
Children laughing and playing out of doors.
Here I sit soaking in adoring sun,
Children playing silly games in my drive,
Having a world of good, clean fun
Innocent hopefulness is so alive,
Loving my catbird seat, watching them play.
Dashing and darting, laughing with goodness.
Revitalizes me in every way.
Enthusiasm blatant must confess.
Nostalgia sets in, remembering my youth.
Leisurely days with my grandchildren here.
Aware suddenly I’m long in the tooth.
Urgent plea comes in from the youngest now.
Grandma, you can play! You surely know how.
Happiness Reigns, so take that Aunt Ruth!
Written January 24, 2019
Contest: Word Play Sponsor: Bobby May
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