Short and sweet and to the point.
sunday modern times
the ubiquitous sound of
world wide weed-whacking.
I know that today my cats were secretly or not so secretly criticizing my use of the computer, but sometimes…
There is no cat
that cannot be
impossible to hold
a single sharp claw
a need to lick
a compulsion to spread
up the chest so that
tail operates keyboard
You may demonstrate
the ease and propriety
of many positions
but none of them
will be found pleasing
a leg sticks out and
any bump provokes.
a chin rests on an arm
whose hand moves too much.
repositioning results
in abandonment.
cat begs for lap space.
repositioning results
in abandonment.
The sun is glinting in my eyes
while I do the dishes.
The water is warm,
The light pleasant at end of day
I can almost imagine being
in a rowboat, after dinner
distant frogs, more distant children
playing ball somewhere, or tag.
from up the lake comes taps
a signal to put away the day
but the sun has already slipped
behind the nearest hill.
A few rings around my bobber, no more.
A few fireflies dot the shore.
The lake taps against the boat
swallows are becoming bats
This is the quiet of the day.
Even the small motor is diminished
when we turn, all tuned
to darkness, towards home
quietly changing
to evening all things stilling
each moment ringing
Painting while the car shakes
I knew it wasn’t warm and sunny
when I headed out to paint
But it was sunny at least
and there were clouds flying
I thought I’d check on the
great blue heron’s nest and paint
while watching them stacking what
look like twigs but are much bigger
Passed two turkeys on the way
just hanging out in someone’s yard,
two ne’er-do-wells up to something.
Pulled into the lot just one other car.
The nest was tall with new sticks
bright in the binoculars while
a maple and I huddled against the gusts.
I got back in the car, a safe studio
to set up paper and paint and brushes,
laughing above the whistling, while
the wind rearranged my composition
over and over, bumping my elbow
like I wouldn’t notice at all.
Who can paint the wind?
April’s clouds flying away
beautiful kites.
And tonight’s helper, Harry.
Here’s my help tonight with this NaPoWriMo post. I think Ginny appreciates that three weeks into the month some support is welcome.
the supportive cat
looks up briefly just to say
you should be writing.
Sitting at my desk this afternoon, I wondered what the sudden noise was outside. Oh nothing – just life at the edge of New England.
Just as the door was almost closing
almost closing on April,
this afternoon it blew open
and winter ran back in like a crazy
toddler who has had not enough nap
and too much chocolate and
who looks both determined and
without semblance of reason.
The daffodils fell down exhausted.
White hills pale neon yellow
and pink and shivering at dusk
and the only correct response is
crazy weather isn’t it? again?
sudden afternoon
noise in late april shouting
of crazy snow squall
The drops of rain make a hole in the stone not by violence but by oft falling.
