Long Whisperer Poems
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I had been searching high and low for the perfect cat
visiting adoption centers and grooming centers every day
Then one day I decided to walk into a pet store at the mall
and lo and behold in front of me was the prettiest black cat
I'd ever seen...
I knew the sales girl I secretly named he "the cat whisperer"
She treated every cat with such loving reverence
When I asked if I could adopt her, she just stared at me blankly
"Do you realize that today is Halloween"
there is a rules, no black cats sold on Halloween Day!
Some people are cruel and they torture them
I can see her shudder then calm down as she patted the cat
I decided right then and there, I would adopt this beautiful feline.
Meanwhile, two big green eyes pinned mine as if to say ,
"please adopt me and let me out of here "
The sales girl relented, partly because she knew me,
partly because of her soft tender heart;
"Tell you what, fill in the papers and come back tomorrow "
I smiled as the Universe sent me this haloed moment of joy
She licked her paws then let out the cutest meowl,
she was mine, and oh how she knew it !
Sponsor Robert James Liguori
Contest Name Black Cat
March 30, 2022
~
A Timeless Connection
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mix’d equally;
(From John Donne….."The Good-Morrow"
My dad held a presence, that was clearly outdone
by the stars in the heavens, this I confess…
Upstaged it may seem by other cowboys we've seen
on the stage, on the screen, in the movies, no less..
But in spite of it all, we knew he was one …
A star in the eyes to the ones who knew best…
He was a star in the eyes of this creature he loved
His "Queenie", beloved, who learned from his touch
She trusted the whispers, the instinctual caress
of his hands, of his legs, and the click of a wrist
The tug of a rein or the touch of a wisp
She would bow down, adore him and then softly obey,
to please him, appease him, while he in return…
would love her, so gently….his trust always earned
And all through those days as they stirred up the dust,
the sun would smile down until it would rest
And on the horizon when the sun would be gone….
my Dad and his queen would blend into one
~
_______________________________________________________________
May they be stirring up heavenly dust together…..
Dad and 'Queenie'.....united forever
_______________________________________________________
3/1/18
He loved to cast a line and lay
crab pots off the rocks down the bay.
I would tag along for the ride
and hope Tangaroa bless the tide
givin’ up its catch of the day
So the fish whisperer did call
on the sea god for a good haul.
But would say at fishin’ I suck
and complain I brought him bad luck
cos we always caught sweet f-all
He said to me “Skeet, have no fear
and I’ll catch one for you I swear”.
Out of his tackle box he took
his line and his bait and his hook
but what I needed was a beer
We cast our lines over the side
and waited there for a wild ride.
Bites were few yet fewer than some
but our whisperin’ catch had come
with the wind and gone with the tide
Turnin’ he snarled at me and said
“catchin’ fish ain’t the point, dickhead”.
Well bugger me! I thought it was
and cracked another cold one cos
we showed up but the fish had fled
He’d feel the spindrift on his face
and away it would his blues chase.
Pulled by the tides of time and sea
it was all just a lark to me
but for him was a sacred place
There’d be no fish or crab or cray
or tales of ones that got away.
Instead in our fishermen’s curse
we’d contemplate the megaverse
by the sandstone cliffs of Browns Bay
He had fished up and down this coast
but this old haunt he fished the most.
At ebb and flow without a care
I could see what pull drew him here
but in his haunt now haunts his ghost
Written: May 2025
Oh, you funny doggie, with that brown face I adore,
why are you now making that sound that I can't ignore?
Are you lonely? Are you sad? Are your paw paws feeling sore?
No dog whisperer am I, so sometimes it’s a chore
to understand your needs. My dog talk is so poor!
Already I have fed you. You surely can’t want more.
And already you’ve gone potty. I take you to the door.
No, you won’t go out! You sniff and sniff the floor.
At last I understand! It’s your ball you’re looking for!
Here it is, my doggie. Now what tricks have you in store?
Aug 16, 2018 for The Doberman Pinscher Contest of Edward Ibeh
Inspired by this video: Link A: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cB9pVJ3mYcE
The whispers in your ear,
whimpering’s fit for dimming lights
Only prayer, fasting, and sacrifice, shuts down
the presumed unholy whisperer,
Slow speak, soft spoken
For there are no magic leaves here
Only its moral decay
For decades sharing spilled ink,
ill-favored mouth-print
on a bleached blank canvas
Or a slight splash of color for takers
made up of whinifestos, declarations
to sway the reader to their point of view
Whilst, peeking inside invariably
leads down a rabbit hole~
As the attempts to share
what seems like owned reflection,
cast out onto readers
Promises designed to indoctrinate minds
by literary whispers in the ear,
direct aim to sell souls,
I too, revolve around the feeling
that a vast web of conspiracies
helmed by the devil himself
laid throughout pages to word
in any attempt to sway hearts away
and with no intention of quitting,
b u s i n e s s is g o o d
When the enemy whispers in your ear,
be quick to hear, the lure
Mentors fuel, in their minds they sanction,
the method, the vision, the purpose
it remains to be seen
The influencer seems
assured to continue
dispelling the brightness
…of the day
Do you gurgle, grunt, and gripe,
grind the soft bones of thought dry?
You need some orchestration,
some instrumental tuning.
Play with those ad hoc glottalized vibes,
harmonize.
The body, that geomungos collection
of agrarian earth animalcules
which work for themselves alone,
tilling mud, repairing dykes
& ditches,
that biological chain gang
that works on robotically
within a symbiotic conglomerate
others have put a name to,
that commune of the blind
it needs to be honored for its industry.
It is your manikin self – wind it up with
new tunes.
It has to be warbled to,
bill & coo some
as if it were a real child.
it needs lullabies and ballads,
calm it with gentle glissandos.
Be not crotchety.
Even if your own voice
is an amphibian nightmare
that growls off key,
sing soto voce -
be a body whisperer.
You may still
grapple occasionally
with those galumphing
gargoyles of your flesh,
but love will be in you
like a soft pretzel,
you will be tasty and salty,
not sad and sickly.
Your tide will turn,
your shore will be giddy
with the sounding of your songs,
the swirling pipes of your soul.
Your comforted body will purr
upon the lap of sleep
like a well-nourished tabby cat
or squeak not
like well-oiled piano stool.
Esoteric Fox did not plan to become the animal whisperer of the forest
It happened accidentally, due to his unknown nature of loving.
He loved all kinds of small and large animals; His mother hid this.
His father was askance, irritated, ashamed; his son was a vegetarian.
We are meat eaters! His parents told him, forcing him to taste birds.
He felt an affinity to birds; he did not want to taste them.
Esoteric Fox wanted to train them and protect them and love them.
He finally had to run off, so he could live his real truth.
The forest understood that he was an atypical creature, mystical.
He had an empathetic ability to heal injured animals, who trusted him.
Esoteric Fox was our soothsayer; we came to him with broken wings.
We brought him our injured paws, and our sad tales of woe.
Esoteric Fox was a berry eater, we brought him lots of them.
We brought honey; he adored honey! His love for that was famous.
Honey Fox, some called him behind his back, but not to make fun.
He was gentle and kind, and he began to celebrate Christmas.
We had never heard of Christmas, so he grew reindeer horns.
He also wore Santa suits, and he left us little presents.
He explained about Baby Jesus to us. We were amazed.
We are not sure where his wisdom came from,
maybe from God Himself.
As I am walking into my destiny,
With my tattered blue jean that I have conserved in the family archive.
The giggle, cackle, chuckle can witness how I have been pestered by life.
Even the silly cat and dog in the house distance from me,
Because of my persisted wrangling, bickering and squabbling life.
I have been quarantined without any infection in my biological home.
When will this pestering and harrying life will stop.
While my colleagues have be blessed with sparkle life,
I am not exempted from derision and whisperer.
As I walk with a heavy heart,
My self respect having evaporated in the hands of tattlers.
So when will I escape from this miserable mystify life,
I cannot wait for tomorrow.
I am walking toward where my destiny has be stolen into.
My heart flares not in the journey of discovering my destiny,
Though the road may attract with numerous brutes and dangerous beasts.
It is goodwill to die in war front like soldier than to live and die chagrin life,
Even the tattlers will appreciate the gallant and chivalrous journey to discover my destiny.
Form:
I hold her smile so awesomely
I kiss her spirit I reminisce as
As our souls walk close together
Looking into her eyes I see Bliss
Offering Up following we walk together
into spring now be autumn while in
In our burdens lie lay down together
Horizontally we look up into the sky
And we ask each other attendantly why?
Why has God provided for us
Embracing thoughts we continue to walk
We talk whisperer so tenderly undivided
While our bright eyes see comes the rainbow
Twixt the clouds painted on a lavender Blue sky
As wow fluttering by a butterfly tells us we're free now
10/17/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
I have to crane my neck
the small coterie is pressed together.
The svelte tailored nose-whisperer
of a docent remarks:
“You have to see the hidden in the hidden.”
He is all neck and bowtie,
one eyebrow is raised
expecting us to know what he means.
Some nod, some wipe their eyeglasses
hoping to see the unseen more clearly.
I look up at the ceiling, it's a nice ceiling.
I am only here in this art gallery
because of the rain.
I try to take the painting in
from a larger point of view,
but there are backs
and back-packs,
there are slowly dripping rain hats.
Our guide is droning on,
going to a place
where a disjoined flower in a vase,
can be a post-revolutionary revelation
of something or other,
and obviously much, much more
than a few abstract blobs of color.
Tomorrow, I promise myself
to carry an umbrella.