FOR SARA - During the past week our Church Rector Sara wrote an impromptu and posted it on FB from her mobile phone.  I've since learned that she may have been in Denver when she wrote it.
I do confess that "re-writing" another's poem certainly is height of callous conceit.
Temptation. Guilty. Sorry.

I wonder, will she ever read this?

FOR SARA

New England Spring Rain
Just does not feel the same
To one who can just stand and listen

Of all these commuters
With Iphone computers
Just who's a young Rector to christen?

All await the same bus
and now most make a fuss
as into dry doorways they hasten

But you in the rain
are the only one sane
and baptized into Spring you do glisten

THE ANGLICAN ANGLER - the problem with Sundays is after church I have to clear out the echoes before I can write anything secular.
So today in addition to earworms of Proverb s and Hymn's in my head, in the WSJ (yesterday's) I read a review of a book called "The Compleat Angler", a sort of 17th century combination of poetry and fishing guide.



THE ANGLICAN ANGLER

The angular Anglican angles the angle
A place where 3 streams come to meet in a cross

Expertly drawing his line with no tangle
He whips and he whizzes and casts his fine floss

I ask cross the ford if, "Might I have a word?"
"Friend sure," what he said, and then pinched his fine halyard

 "What need have you fisherman, for your basket has bread
What hunger now haunts you, is your spirit unfed?"

"I don't fish for me," was his modest compline
"Those like you, who've not heard, I must call with a line."

TOUGH CAT

It's been a few weeks - so long I had to reset my password on Blogger.
I've been working on 2 longer poems, maybe I'll post them next week.

In the meantime, another one-off.


TOUGH CAT

Pink cut spots on my left hand
Like acne dots on a young man

With Max the cat, who can be tough
The fault is mine for playing rough

Yes his claws all need a trim
And surely I'll clip him again

But I don't think it any sin
To catlike grasp and claw at him

He grabs my hand and pulls clamped down
With back feet kicking all around

He makes a tough cat growling sound
As I don't mind he sinks claws in

 

PANTS

I may have had too much to drink last night. Today was not a bad day, just one of those wherin nothing feels quite right.
Of note - when I googled "pants on the floor pic" to find a photo, it lead me to a a fingerpost poet, from whom I "borrowed" the pic. His/her work can be read here (but read mine first!)
http://damiensfingerpost.blogspot.com/2011/05/sometimes-life-seems-like-dream.html

PANTS

These pants are not the same ones that I wore just yesterday
And how I came to put them on I really can not say

No wallet in the pocket and no pens no pad no keys
Just remnants of a tissue from a long forgotten sneeze

This pair were too dirty so I left them on the floor
When yesterday I others wore and thought of these no more.

When I awoke this morning sleepily I took no care
And I stepped in footfirst into the first pair I saw there

But these are not the same pants that I wore yesterday

A momentary panic came as I did comprehend
Could someone else in my new pants all of my wallet spend?

Or break into my house or steal my car with my own keys?
I only knew that they'd not have what they'd need should they sneeze

Of course a moment later common sense dispelled that doom
As I recalled that last night I'd undressed in another room.

SWISS CHEESE

It's a funny thing, sense memory. A little over an hour ago I heard a radio commercial for Finlandia Real Swiss Cheese, and the memory came back to me of how I was once cheated at a French Restaurant.


SWISS CHEESE

So how does this work?
Ah Monsieur, I show you

First there is le caquelon, the pot
Which I rub garlic on
Then le rechaud we call this stove
Which I will spark to light

He added cubes of cheese devine
And with a splash of wine
Set all on to the flame and stiirred
Just stirred, from time to time

And this is Swiss Cheese?
Yes, Monsieur.
Real Swiss Cheese?
Of course, Monsieur. See I tip the pot. The cheese it has the holes. Only real Swiss cheese has the real Swiss Holes.
Proof, Thank you I agreed.

Soon the scent of warm fondue
I savored in my head
And took a long thin fork which then
Was layed beside my arm
And in a basket peered within
And speared a crust of bread
Which at his invitation
I then dipped into the pot
My expectations more than met
Nno flavor had been lost
But what were once fine cubes of cheese
Had all turned into sauce!

I stared down the bread upon my fork
all covered in fondue
Perceiving that there'd been a trick
As I observed the clue

Monsieur, is everthing all right?

You say it is but I think not
I yet reserve a doubt
For how can this be Real Swiss Cheese
With all the bubbles melted out?