of personal space
nudging closer, closer
sprawled on my chest
heavy feet kneading rhythmically
nose to nose, breath to breath
Here we are on the last day of Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poem Challenge, “42”. I am certain that there are many questions left unanswered, even after an exhaustive 31 day effort. I had several unfinished drafts in my notebook. This one seemed to me to be a perfect one to finish and end on. My cat Merlin has a way of putting things into perspective for me when I become too bothered with the questions of life. His message, I am sharing with you today…
“You don’t have anywhere you need to be ‘mon chéri’ (yes, he talks to me this way…), except right here. Let me feel your fingers behind my ears and along my back as I press my paws against your soft flesh. All you need to do this minute, my dear Kat, is look deeply into my eyes and breathe…in and out…slowly…just breathe…your questions and their answers can wait.”
It’s been fun Jane. Thanks for the poetry form prompt. 🙂
why so shocked
it’s not like we didn’t know
such fools…we deserve this mess
and more, for our willful indifference
this monstrosity is our own doing,
every unearthed revelation, every vulgar tweet,
ironic, how greatness has become our undoing
For Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poem Challenge 42.
My political commentary for the day. Nothing should shock us anymore, and yet, we still find ourselves dumbfounded, mouth agape, staring blankly at our screens, every time a new “truth” comes to light and the talking heads jabber away with feigned outrage (secretly happy for the increased ratings to be had for their latest expose’).
One thing I have noticed has changed, however. We are no longer afraid of the “L” word. We no longer tiptoe around it as was the practice only a few short years ago. It is not uncommon to hear it proclaimed without even a blip of hesitation. “The president LIED.” “Well that is just a lie.” No more, “maybe it’s alternative facts”, “maybe he really believes it”, no more, “to say something is a lie, we must know the intent of the liar, and of course it is impossible to know intent…” Apparently, we are past giving a pass to this liar in chief who cannot tell the truth…ever. And that I believe is a good thing. Oh there are still the die-hards who believe every cockamamie thing that comes from his orange face; who believe every word he tweets with his tiny fingers. Nothing will ever convince them otherwise. But I am encouraged that the truth seems to be making a slow, steady comeback by default. Truth is still a bit elusive, but the fact that we can acknowledge a lie when it is a lie, is a good start.
time for replanting
pale peace lily, a gift, rooted
in a dusting of dirt and gel beads
you’ve lasted for years, my hope
will you survive, now free, your feet newly
plotted in peat or die from the shock of change
For Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poem Challenge: “42”. I’m heading on vacation next week and bringing my plants from the office home, where they will stand a better chance of survival, and watering, if needed, by the cat-sitter. It seems like a good time to re-pot this hearty little plant. I’ve had it for years. It is rooted in just a small amount of soil, plopped into a what was once a bright array of gel dots. They have since lost their color and shape. The plant now sits in a tall vase of goo that barely holds water. Certainly, I am hoping it will spread its roots with delight once settled into nutrient rich soil. But there is a part of me that wonders if plants like people get so used to the prisons they find themselves in, that once set free, they wither away from the shock of change. I’m hoping it’s not the latter. At the very least I owe it to this little plant to give it a taste of real…or as real as it can be, life, in a clay pot.
Update…I’m thinking she likes her new digs…fingers crossed. 😊
earth after the tempest
rain drenched, grassy knolls
swelling waterways, sparkling
misty hollows, verdant lush
scent of blossoms, earthy musk
wetness becomes her
For Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poetry Challenge, “42”.
nothing to see on this overcast morn
the sunlight’s soft, muted, no shadows to swoon
no scampering squirrels, no birds on the wing
let’s happily linger between silken sheets
rhythmically purring, my predator sleeps,
blissful, not bothered as chickadees sing
For Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poem Challenge, “42”.