A pair of tiny orphans
in haystacks their mother made,
near an orchard by a lake,
with pine tall as an arcade.
Sheltering them,I brought milk
to the lonely kits each day,
but they wouldn't show their faces
till I hovered far away.
In time they learned to like me,
and slowly joined running games;
one brown-furred, one white bundle
Sugar and Puff... their nicknames.
Hearing my voice from the door,
the kitties would run so quick
right up my tummy to the neck;
playing cuddle- and- frolic.
One day, Puff and Sugar left
not marking sign of contacts...
the fun of souls well relished,
how my heart misses loved cats.
This is the poem,
I will be bestowing,
As attached to the hip,
With a little bit,
Of some lipstick smeared ,
Ridiculously spit,
In the middle of a fit,
Dug out of a pit,
Smitten and bitten by one made to stick,
Not only the little but also big hitting kits,
Of the middle-of-the road slick Tick-Tok shivs,
Skunks stroll in moonlight;
a mother and her four kits.
I ignore her stance.
Hop a train
steam far away
from the zig jagged insane.
Dream far, far away from the media blitz
the mass hysteria
that devilish jab
the mask hysteria
of pure delirium.
billions to be raked in
from
the jab
the kits
the masks
the disinfectants
one-way hospital stays.
Gates
wants to jab us to death
force us to eat his shriveled meat
In so many words, he wants to cull the herd.
Gates
is blotting out the sun
thinning our bones
slowly turning us to dust.
Hells Gates
has stage 4 God complex
but God never sported an STD.
Hop a train to a faraway place.
Stepping away from the insane.
Rubbing elbows with the homeless and hobo.
AT least they're real.
Gather and recalibrate a lost spirit.
Meditate, go deep underground.
Into the twin mirror of self and selfless.
Slide away from their plastic charms.
Sliding away from all of them.
Becoming like an earthworm.
Grandma could not wait to get her mitts
on her new grandson named Karmen Kay Kits
a first-time grandma at ninety-one
she thought this might be gobs of fun
Her son, Karmen’s first-time father was seventy-two
He hovered over her and the baby, making her feel blue
Suggesting how she should hold the baby’s neck and head
She told him and his wife to go on to bed
They were grumpy and mean, never having put the baby down
She figured they were the most sleep deprived two in town
Suggesting the baby could cry in his own bed did no good
They thought they knew everything, as only new parents could
Grandma could not wait to go home on the plane
Doubt she’ll be eager to get back there again
Deep beneath the twisted root,
Where silence wears a felt boot,
The mother curls in circles tight,
A ring of warmth against the night.
Her brush is draped like silken thread,
A pillow for each tiny head.
With silver tongue and patient grace,
She washes every fuzzy face;
A rhythmic stroke, a tender sweep,
To lull her restless kits to sleep.
She nicks the clay and clears the air,
The mistress of her earthen lair.
When hunger nips at bellies small,
She answers to their whimpering call.
She leaves the warmth of huddle and home,
Through silvered wilds and woods to roam.
She answers every hungry need,
And gives her waiting kits a feed.
But if the heavy foot should fall,
Or shadow loom against the wall,
The mother transforms—sharp and keen,
The fiercest flame that’s ever been.
With bared tooth and a warning low,
She stands between them and foe.
In golden coat and eyes of fire,
She is the shield, a mother’s desire.
Until the stars begin to pale,
And dawn unfolds its violet veil,
She keeps the watch, the sacred trust,
Amidst the roots and cooling dust.
these kittens are getting squirrely and loud said mama cat
Papa was annoyed; he wanted to read his newspaper in peace
the kittens seemed kittenish to him, and that was that
mewing and whining during breakfast took away his ease
why don’t you kittens go play out in the wilds he said that day
his wife gave him a warning growl, but had nothing else to say
the kittens were astounded, they loved this idea from pappy
they jumped the table and headed for the woods, feeling happy
mama kitten gave papa the eye and a stern look or two
are you going with them? she asked, and he immediately knew
If he did not go with the kits, he would never hear the end of it
and if there is one thing he did not want it was a wife having a fit.
Oh, the joy of telemarketers,
Who call you up without a care,
With offers they believe are clever,
But really just provoke despair.
They call with grand insurance plans,
Covid kits and credit schemes,
As if I’m some prized target
For their automated dreams.
“End-of-life” expense protection —
Oh, what a cheery nightly theme!
I nod along sarcastically
Inside my caller-haunted dreams.
And then there’s Medicare, of course,
A topic I now know too well,
Yet still they bring fresh nonsense
With each new tale they sell.
They ring at noon, at dawn, at dusk,
And even in the dead of night,
It seems they’ve sworn a solemn vow
To haunt me till I lose the fight.
So here’s my ode to all of you
Who call with no remorse or thought:
If you don’t cease this madness soon,
I’ll scream until my brain is shot.
Your calls are cruel and unwanted,
And frankly, they just make me sick.
So do the world a service now —
And kindly stop being a prick.
Indicating indigo improvements
Juggling juicy jiggling Jello
Kibitzing kits and cats
Laboriously languishing lightly
Making marvelous maneuvers in word play
I saw a groundhog waddle out
From underneath the shed.
I guess that is the place he’s chosen
Where to lay his head.
I’m not too thrilled that he is there,
Though he won’t bother me.
When we are in the country,
That’s the way that things might be.
One year we had a mama fox
With kits who romped and played.
As entertaining as they were,
Of them I was afraid.
Still, these are things I do not see
When in my New York space.
I’m glad there are two lifestyles
That I’m able to embrace.
The sun does arise,
On the valley sweet,
The birds & pups wise,
Call our kits to meet.
The hoots & hollers,
Sound loud for miles;
Yet! Amiss is one collar,
Lone in the Sky Isles.
The sun does down,
On the green hills tired,
Lining the vale round,
Our pets to bed retired.
The whistles & purrs,
Chime in the crisp wind.
All but one bed stirs;
Our dear numbers thinned.
Long time does pass,
Bleak winter does come,
Hoar-frost is the grass,
Warmed by a low hum.
We stand together,
Upon valleys sharp,
Wond’ring: ‘just whether,
You’re hearing, fain, the sky harp.’
Forests at nightfall are scary to see;
not just dark forms- but loud sounds flowing free.
Far from at home, with cute puppy's bow-wow;
or from your kitten's sweet, gentle meow.
Skunks and opossums resound with a screech;
harsh sounds for us- but for them, secret speech.
Night owls all hoot, while young fox kits will yelp;
grasshoppers chirp as plump frogs croak to help.
Nightfall brings on the long nocturnal hunt;
bobcats join in with their loud hungry grunt.
Wolves and coyotes- as foxes all howl;
big bears roam free with a loud husky growl.
Not just dark forms- but loud sounds flowing free;
forests at nightfall are scary to see!
Best viewed on film- for you never will flip
creatures that find you before you can zip!
Handsome Hardy Hal haphazardly hung horrid hearts on healthy hedge
Impossible? Impractical? Improbable? Too near the ledge?
Justifiably joyful, joked Jerry’s jolly jubilant jonquils, gyrating
Kansas kittens carried kaleidoscopic kits that clung to the ledge
Legitimizing lovely lively lilies laying in lovable lulls near the hedge
It used to be that silver threads
amidst the former hairs of gold
were felt by everyone to be
a certain sign that we were old.
Today we seniors have a chance
to have an age-defying head,
with thanks to Clairol color kits
to keep our crowning glory red
or black or brown or even blonde,
and thick and bouncy, full and lush,
to match our smooth unspotted skin
made fresh with powder, lipstick, blush.
We don’t give in to “arthuritis”,
dealing on our own with pain.
We meet with friends for lunch or tea
and sport a gaudy painted cane.
But some of us are just as happy
with the looks our years impart.
Gray or not, it doesn’t matter,
‘cause we’re young within our hearts.
tender zephyr tempts
maple leaves stretch their arms wide ---
blossoms design beds
Twigs and branches chat
chirping birds search their mates
squirrel kits giggle
lightning stir the clouds
rainbows stroke the butterflies ---
drops moist the parched earth
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