Mergansers

For I few weeks in the Spring and again in the Fall, for years I could mark the seasons by the returning ducks. This year - nothing. I'm pining for my ducks...

Mergansers

Upon this pond our ducks will ply,
Mergansers they are called,
But no, they have not come this year,
I’ve not seen them at all

May they return one temperate day,
Between the seasons, snow and rain?
I’ll keep my vigil on the gray cloud sky,
Until the ice grows back again

They’ve paused here their migration flights,
To take some fish, to rest their wings,
As they flew from the North in Fall,
Or North again the warming Spring

Coming in winging circles over our small pond,
Then landed with out stretched webbed feet
They rent the waters calm,
He’s the coal black drake who will rise and shake,
She’s the phoenix fire dam

I have watched her dive for minnows, while
Ceaselessly he courts his mate,
She’ll bob up again some yards away,
But until she does, we’ll wait

He’s a white blaze on his buffle head,
Can be seen from miles away,
She’s the rustic hue of Autumn leaves,
And just as quick, they blow away

May they come again some temperate day,
Between the seasons, snow or rain?
Or shall I cease my Autumn gray cloud vigil
Until the pond ice breaks again?

Scooter Back to Front

Ever have a cat who scoots on the rug?
One of ours has his very own solution...

Scooter Back to Front

I have noticed, between howls,
Scooters’ new taste for paper towels,
  whether Bounty, Brawny, pick a size,
  he chews them all, prefers two-plys,
  He knocks a roll down on the floor,
  then Panther pounces to settle the score
As he seizes the roll with his savage claws,
  chomps right in with his untamed jaws,
  and gnaws it along in typewriter rows
  like an ear of sweet summer corn

There’s must be a reason, perhaps it’s that,
  Scoot’s not the cleanliest of cats,
For his fur gets stuck, with only what
  we'll call " ‘duh poops ‘dere" on his butt,
Relief from which makes him desperate
  enough to squat on the carpet,
  to raises his back legs in the air,
  and whether we watch, he just don’t care,
As he drags his rear by his strong front claws
  defying all known household laws!

Determined to put a stop to that,
  I found his comb, I caught the cat,
Then while I combed his tough poop knots
  he decided he’d jump - with all he’s got,
But I didn’t let go the comb,
  I just held him up there, suspended,
  until the fur pulled out,
  (and he didn’t land on his feet)

Still, he must conceive some efficacy
  to eat paper towels as a delicacy,
Perhaps he’s cured what ails his croup,
  by
    inventing new self wiping poops!

A Tree Bear

From out back porch you can actually see this...

A Tree Bear

The top o’ that tree, it sure seems to me,
  is the face of a bear, take a look, can you see?
The tree top’s a crown, it’s a head of bear hair,
  with those ursine short branches, rounding out for his ears,
While from a lower branch his nose respires,
   and that thick tough low bough to a stern jaw aspires,
Hollow cheeks and bare eyes, while they seem empty space,
  are the places that most animate his bear face,
And he speaks through the breeze,
  lowing in the wind he calls to me,
  then bestills for my answer in the calm,
"I thank you, Sir Bear, yet I ask may you see,
  once my Mother taught me
   ‘Son, do not talk to trees’"