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December 2024

New Year’s Eve On Partridge Island With Ships At Sea

Just past sunset,

A Frigate and a Brigantine

Sailed past Partridge Island,
Heading out to sea.
The former had a line of sailors

Giving the Lighthouse a salute,
The latter paused to let Sister Darling

Of The Rarified Church of The World (Reformed)
Step onto the dock of the Island,

After she tossed me parcels and bundles

Containing a New Year’s feast.

The ships plied their way to the outer harbour,

Whilst Sister Darling gathered up

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as the new night

With one white mitten,
And we wended our way

Up to the Lighthouse Keeper’s house.


By the time pots and bowls and platters

Of food,

Were ready on the table,

And a haunch of venison, was re-heating

In the oven,

We followed the excited cat/kitten

Toward the Lighthouse, and up the stairs.

We awaited perhaps ten minutes, before

The two ships began firing starburst shells

Toward the approaching year,

Entertaining us, and the boisterous
Crowd on the shore.

It was a glorious sight,

And,
I will report,

That Sister Darling

Supplied

A glorious feast.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

—

http://DaleEstey

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There Are No Small Gifts On Christmas Day On Partridge Island

Christmas Day is like
Any other day at
The Partridge Island Lighthouse.

Ya gotta trim the wicks,
And renew the oil.
So, I went about my business
At the usual time, only noting that
Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as soot

With one white mitten,
Had abandoned me.
‘Mice’, thought I.

For there are always mice
On Partridge Island.
But, I found out

(After my chores were done),
That wily Paw had used stealth
– and his sensitive hearing –
To scurry to my Lighthouse-keepers house.


When I returned, as darkness settled,
I saw twinkling lights 
Through the windows,
And smelled the  delightful warmth

Of roasted fowl, and sweetened baking,
As I walked through the door.

Sister Darling, of

The Rarified Church of the World (Reformed)

Had hired a fishing boat to
Bring her to the Island, whilst I

Was occupied in the tower.

She had put her pre-baked goods
Into the oven, and
Stoked the fire.

A bottle of red wine, and
A bottle of white,
Sat upon the kitchen table.
And

Paw, the cat/kitten
Had a red red riband tied

Around his neck,
With a key attached.
I took it. 
When I turned,
Sister Darling removed a small casket.
And handed it to me.

I used the key
To open a tiny lock.

I Opened it,
And looked inside.
Oh, My!
Oh, My!!
It GLOWED.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

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Bedford the Cat Goes Reluctantly Into A Christmas Eve Storm

Bedford the Cat had been stuck inna house for three days. He did not take heed (really) to the explanation that it was -17C with a windchill, and iffen he went out, he would freeze off his ears. He complained and sulked and batted the tree ornaments. Oh, yes – and sulked.


But this morning, the temperature was reasonable (even for thin ears) and his kindly humans decided he could skedaddle into the outside. However, when the door was opened, he was met by a howling snowstorm. Howling loud enough to almost – almost – drown out his howls of complaint.


“This is it, kitty cat,” said one of the kindly humans

Get your arse in gear,” said the other.
For, you see, the kindly humans had already rugged themselves up – hats, scarves and mittens – and that darn cat was going out.

And out he went.


Now, the kindly humans were not so kind that they planned to stay out long. Only long enough, for Bedford the Cat to get a decent run of exercise, and (with luck) desire on his lonesome to go back in.
Well, down the street he trotted, taking some time to bat at snowflakes. And then he reached the end of the street where the fence is, and looked around, and sniffed the air, and then, in the blizzard, took a great, heartfelt, and long-lasting poop.

Although Bedford-the-Cat had adequate facilities inna house, it looked as iffen he had not utilized them. And after this triumph of satisfaction, he proceeded to cover it all up.


And then he proceeded on his usual way. This is along a rough little road, with trees and a field and bushes to explore. There are also two abandoned vehicles near the other end, and he went under each in turn to get out of the storm.


Then, Bedford the Cat came to a narrow lane, which leads up a hill on the way back to the house, where he had been HELD A PRISONER for three days, so his ears wouldn’t fall off.


He was now more used to the blizzard, and took some time to sniff under favourite trees, and look into a backyard to see if his friend, the orange cat, was there. Then he sensed where a more familiar trail might be, under the snow, and went in that direction. He was back near his house, so his kindly humans let him be, and beat their fearless way back to the house themselves.


In about ten minutes, Bedford the Cat was himself at the front door, letting his humans know it was time to open the door. His benevolent humans did as requested.


Bedford the Cat went to his food dish, got a bit of food and a bit of a treat, and went for some rest on the couch.
Bedford the Cat has not indicated a desire to go out since.


DE

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Christmas Eve Approaches With Suitable Anticipation On Partridge Island

As arranged,
I met the fishing boat
At my Lighthouse dock,
Within the first hour
Of sunlight,
With my cat/kitten,

Black as coal in your stocking,
With one white mitten,

Perched on my shoulder.
To which he has taken
Right well.


Aboard was Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed).

I told the Captain,
Before even speaking to
The religion-professing Darling,
That he need not retrieve her
Upon his evening return.
And wished him
A most
Auspicious Christmas.


She carried a hamper of Christmas fare
And good cheer.
As we together walked
Up toward the Lighthouse Keeper’s
House,
My cat/kitten,
With one effortless leap,
Transported himself
From my shoulder
To hers.
He is perhaps anticipating
 Some culinary miracle
In addition to
That of Christmas Eve.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island / 1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL

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Those Pesky Characters In The Novel – Follow Your Characters – Sometimes At A Gallop

My characters are racing me along. 
It’s not that I can’t keep up with them – I don’t keep up with them.

They finished a chapter a few minutes ago that I had assumed would go one for two or three more days (writing time). Nope, they finished tonight, and decided where they would rather be.

Bossy as all get out.
But – invariably – correct.

After All, they know what they’re doing, even if their sluggish author does not.
I’m rarely sure how I am going to get from here to there – but it sure is interesting. And thus, will be interesting to the reader.
DE

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Friday 13th / Friday 13:12 The Last Of The Year

It isn’t that we had no warning.

Hell, even Paw, the cat/kitten.

Black as Death with one white mitten,

Knew it was coming.

Knew (perhaps) before the rest of us.

And fishing boats, the last couple of days,

Have left notes in the Message Box,

Down on the Lighthouse dock.

One of the notes had been relayed

From the brigantine, HMS Buzzard,

Informing of this passage into the harbour,

And the night this would be done.

So,

As Lighthouse Keeper,

I await

On the Lighthouse dock,
In my navel uniform,

Which I am sometimes

Expected to wear,

Since I represent the might

Of Majesty,

As sole subject, yet overlord,

Of the Lighthouse on Partridge Island.

Waiting for the Red Ship to pass.


I feel the still on the sea.

I understand why they have awaited

This shroud of fog.

I have,

With my vantage point atop the Lighthouse,

Seen the approaching ship,

With each of its lanterns

Glowing through red glass.

I can imagine the unfurled red sails.

So, I stand,
And I wait,

With my own red lantern,

And wish I were hunkered down

With Paw, the cat/kitten,

Who chose his hiding place

An hour ago.

I wish for Sister Darling,

Of The Rarified Church Of The World (Reformed),

To be with myself and Paw,

On this night.

And this passage.

She could offer both physical

And Spiritual comfort,

To Paw and me.

Paw likes to nestle beneath

Her wealth of long hair,

And I would like to touch it.


But she,

With both the Bishop of the Roman church,

And the Bishop of the Anglican church,

In their simple cassocks,
Unrobed of their vestments,
And also, with the Mi’kmaq Shaman,
Await on the dock, 

On shore,

In the deserted port,
To move this cursed cargo
Of human decay and death.

They will sing and chant their

Religious words of hope.

While I, when the time is right,

Will curl up in my greatcoat

Beside Paw,

And wait out the night

While these folk of Faith
Do the dirty business of God.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

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Is This Just A Test?

This is a Test  

But not “the” Test.


If it were a real Test

It would need

An answer


(Or two)

[Or multiple choice]

But It isn’t.  

It is a test

That announces SOMETHING,

Or,

To warn about Something,

Or,

To warn about a WARNING OF SOMETHING.  

A Test basically to say:

*IF* this was a test,

Then get your shit together,

Bend over,

And kiss your ass good-bye.  

THAT IS ALL.

 {It is that type of test}

DE

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