by Russ Dodson (c) 1968. 2025
I've never had a unicorn
because I couldn't catch one
and I know no virgin maid
whom I could send to fetch one
I see words, and they see me
It’s true they are sentient, quite
But they will never see the light
of my world through my loins
They keep floating by, ever speaking
never ceasing like tinnitus in my transcendent sight
Like orphans from somewhere never
Their little fingers grope as they look at me squarely
Speaking barely, “bring me into your light”
just before they are gone forever
So much needless loss
I kill my darlings before they become darlings
Their lot is to die in the vacuum
of my fickle muse
If only I could catch them like you do fireflies in a fruit jar
How pretty they would be to see in chaotic containment
and how witty they could be for those with the sight
But alas, my heart cannot hold all the incandescence ink
required for such a noble and beautiful task
So I shall be satisfied to smile when I catch one or two
Trying to catch a catfish
Can't catch a single one
Something to grab a stone
And poke it in the head
At last, I catch one.
Another sunny day out for me
Fishing is where I will be
I load up my car with my fishing gear
And I will go and see if the lake is all clear
I add a worm to my fishing pole
Catching a big fish is my goal
Last year the fishing wasn't so great
But if I don't catch one today I will hate
Maybe if I go back to my favorite spot
I will still have a real shot
I throw my line way out into the lake
All I'm asking is for a break
The next thing I knew I got a nibble
My fishing line kept on wiggling
The fish gave me a big fight
But the fish was still not in my sight
I started to reel in my fishing line
All I can think of is this fish is mine
I got my fishing line back on land
But I don't understand
Well that fish was gone, but it gave me a lot of fun
All I wanted to do was just catch one
So for fishing today I'm all done
Unlike the model T Ford
They come in both black and brown
And also unlike model T
It’s brown that is getting me down
But what I refer to is no early car
And it isn’t a cute little mouse
It’s whopping great rats and they frightened my cats
As they gathered outside my house
I’ve baited the snap traps with chocolate and cheese
And, boy, are those rats hard to please
I’ve even tried peanuts and freshly popped peas
And tuna was barely a tease
They’re climbing my bird table like they’re on speed
And wolfing down copious volumes of seed
They extricate bait out of all of the traps
I’ll catch one tomorrow… perhaps… perhaps
Those hideous creatures are still in my yard
Should catching some rats ever be quite this hard
I’m halfway doolally from rodent war-games
And totally bonkers… for giving them names.
We bought a pumpkin at the store…the prettiest one we’ve seen
while we’re in the mountains…it’s our nod to Halloween.
“Where should I put the pumpkin?" I asked, for even at pumpkin decorating I’m unfit.
“Why not ask the pumpkin.” Deborah said. “Where she would like to sit”.
“I’d like to sit on the stairway outside the front door.” She said with a big old pumpkin grin…”Where you can see me when you go out and I can greet you coming in”.
“A place I can feel the crisp, cool morning air…would be enjoyable…would be fun….
In the same spot I can watch the shadows and feel the warmth of the mid-day sun.”
“Where I can listen to the birds, see the animals, watch the trees in a light wind sway.
Where I can witness the color of the leaves change a little every day.”
“Where I can watch those same leaves fall…turning over and over again…
Where, if I am lucky, I’ll catch one every now and then.”
So that is where we placed our pumpkin…
in her personally requested space
and that is why
without a bit of carving…
our pumpkin
has a smile on her face.
A dead cat
there on the road.
A cat well known hereabouts;
tabby and bulgy with one ear floppy.
it used to hunt hedgerow birds
though I never saw it catch one.
It would hiss
when
it
missed.
Someone hereabouts
will miss it also.
Too slow it was,
and sadly now
forever
late.
The Emerald Isle lies misty green,
an ocean's gem, a land between
the water's edge and blue of sky,
her magic wonders seldom seen.
For those who know her can't deny
although, in truth, they wonder why
the Irish spin their wondrous tales
to friends and strangers, stopping by.
An Irish story never fails,
in all its glorious details,
to weave a world of fae and sprite
who hide amongst the woodland trails.
The little folks keep far from sight,
but if you're very still, you might
just catch one dancing, unaware,
when day is slipping into night.
As songs of evening fill the air,
listen close and tread with care,
with little folks about somewhere—
with little folks about somewhere.
POEM SONNET “PERFECT DAY “
MORNING BEGUN BRIGHT SUN PERFECT THIS WAY
NIGHT’S GONE MOVED ON ANOTHER EARLY CHANCE AT BLISS
I FEEL THE WARMTH TO START A GREAT NEW DAY
WHO KNEW TODAY WOULD BE SO NICE AS THIS
MORNING PAPER CAME EARLY FULL OF GOOD NEWS
THE SUN RAINING ON ME FEELS NICE TODAY
SMILE PAINTS MY FACE A LOOK I WILL NOW USE
I WISH NOTHING TO CHANGE ON THIS SPRING DAY
THE SUN FEELS WARM LIKE A SOFT GENTLE KISS
DIDN’T CATCH ONE RED LIGHT AT ALL TODAY
WHY CAN’T EVERY DAY BE AS NICE AS THIS
MAYBE THERE IS A WAY TO MAKE IT STAY
BUT NOW IS NOT THAT DAY THE RAIN FALLS DOWN
AT ONCE MY SMILE HAS TURNED INTO A FROWN
Mat the Cat had a hat
Mat the Cat, he was so fat
He could not fit the hat on his head
So he gave it away instead
Mat the Cat had a habit
He likes to hear the frogs ribbit
He went to catch one on the mead
But the frog jumped over his head
November 8, 2022
Be Creative Poetry Contest (4th place)
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Perhaps it means nothing, nothing at all.
Why should we stand together?
Why should we catch one another when we fall?
History is speaking and we choose not to hear.
All the sacrifices made for us, all the screaming, all the tears.
It’s in our nature to take and to give.
It’s in our nature to want to be free, to want to live.
The clouds of the storm are gathering.
And we’re naked in the dark.
Perhaps it means nothing if they push it too far?
But history is trying to help us. Through its’ lense there’s nothing we don’t know.
About how the savagery of our species if left untamed can flourish and grow.
So what will it take to open our eyes?
A few people disappeared, a few more lies?
Because soon there’ll be no future that we will want to know.
When our rights, our way of life is destined to become unknown.
Soon they’ll be no future that you dream of for your kids.
Similar words to these were probably written and ignored in Germany in the late 1930’s.
Is it better to be a fishing pole
or a fisherman
all I know the end result is
just I just want to be one of God's fisherman
to at least catch one soul at a time
8/22/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Flashes of light in moonless dark,
here but then not, there but then gone,
the briefest glimpse is all they are,
try to find catch one, but there is none,
it’s drifted off, just to my left,
then to my right, his tail-light on,
a constellation slowly flows,
through my backyard on evenings long.
Going to catch us both a rainbow.
Hop on for a ride.
Help me choose a colour
and lay down by my side.
Romancing on a rainbow.
Is little understood.
Eventually I'll catch one
and then I think we should.
So next time when it's raining
You know right where I'll be.
Out there chasing rainbows
just for you and me.
first snowflakes falling
melting quickly on the ground
catch one on my tongue
written November 26, 2021
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