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Sister Darling Puts Paw, The Cat/Kitten, In His Place

I am submitting

To the blandishments

Of Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

Because she is a woman of God.

(Though her take on the teachings of the Lord,

Do have a belligerent slant).

And,

She can play me like a fiddle.

So, at her suggestion,

I let her make, for Paw, my Cat/kitten,

Black as the night

With one white mitten,

A winter suit,

For days like today,

With wild winds cold

As an iceberg,

And snow enough to

Bury any cat.

She has knitted him a body suit,

And four booties,

Coloured blue, so we

Won’t lose him in the snow.

Paw is none too happy

Being press-ganged into this gear.

Nor does the chore,

Fill me with cheer.

But out she tosses him

Into a drift.

Two other days he protests,

But this morning, he is calm as a clam,

And stays out for hours.

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

The Shipping News – Sunset On The Red Sea

There is an odd
Configuration of ships
This evening

At the mouth of the harbour.
I grabbed my telescope,
And headed out to see.
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the distance,
With one white mitten
Demanded to come along.
So – why not?
He knows what the telescope means,

And headed for the furthest outpoint,
Of Partridge Island.

Then, when we reached it,
He scrambled up my clothes,
And perched on my shoulder.
I assume we see the same thing.
For he started to spit

And not purr.
Three ships,
Side-by-side-by-side,
Exchanging goods of
(Perhaps)
A dubious nature.

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

The Shortest Day Of The Year . . . Again

It’s the shortest day

Of the year.


~ The December Solstice ~

As old Sol
Shifts his ass
Over the Equator.
Then the days
Get longer,
And the weather
Gets warmer.


Hah hah / Hah hah.

I told this to
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as hidden ice,
With one white mitten,
And,
If he didn’t laugh outright
He at least,
Smiled.

(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island / 1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

Paw, The Cat/Kitten, Does Not Mean To Kill The Li’l Bird

I was sitting on my porch
Humble enough,
At my Lighthouse Keeper’s house,
When Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as a  raven
With one white mitten,
Started playing with a flock
Of little birds.
They were in the bushes,
Flitting from branch to branch
Up and down and over.
He tried to catch one
And then another
And then an another
And then –

He succeeded.
He stood over the bird
Pushed it with his paw,
Sniffed at it,

Then came tearing over to me.
He snagged my pant leg
And pulled.
“Come come come” was in his meows,
So, I did.
The sea breeze ruffled the bird’s feathers
But
There was more movement than that.
I picked up the tiny bird,
Touched its breast,
Felt the trembling heart,
Saw its beak open and close,
And just held it closer to the sun.
It stirred, and stood, and wobbled
And gasped open its eyes
And started to fly
Before it stood.
Right back to the other li’l birds.
Paw slept by my feet
The rest of the day.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

Sister Darling Brings Religious Fervor On Walpurgis Night

One chore I have

As Lighthouse Keeper

On Partridge Island,

Is to count the ships

As they come

And as they go.

They signal me with their bells,

And some, with their new-fangled horns.

It was one of those blasts

That took me down to the dock.

And, indeed,

A ship was leaving for sea.

But first,

(Much to my surprise)

It let off

Sister Darling of

The Rarefied Church Of The World (reformed)

” It’s Saint Walpurga’s Eve”, said she.

“What?” asked I.

“Don’t be an oaf.”

She hit me on the shoulder.

“Grab the cat.”

She heads along the shore.

I scoop up

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as the Furies

With one white mitten.

And away we follow.

Sister Darling scoots along the

Narrow path beside the water.

And comes to a stop,

Looking far out to sea.

“Start praying!”

Which I do, for after a

Bout of fervent prayer,

Sister Darling wants fervent relief.

She speaks and sputters about

Ghosts, and opening veils, and

Blessed Saint Walpurga, opening

Doors to God.

Blessed Be! say I

Paw and me, we exchange

A certain glance

Knowing we both

Will feast tonight.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA.UEL

The Days Get Longer But Paw, The Cat/Kitten, Sleeps Through It On Partridge Island

The sun slides through the Solstice

(I’ve seen this, under sail, on my days at sea),

And the sun hangs, then moves on.

The days start getting longer.

Praise the Lord!

Not that you can really notice for a while.

It isn’t inches,

It’s less than inches,

Until . . .

Why, “Jumping Jehoshaphat!”

There’s sunshine you can even tell by the clock.

Making the night retreat just a little bit earlier.

Maybe Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as the retreating night

With one white mitten,

Will want to stay out

Just a little bit longer.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report

DE BA. UEL

I See As Far As The Eye Can See Out To Sea

It’s a rare, balmy day

Near the end of November.

I’m sitting on a bench with a back.

I made it myself,

Because a bench with a back

Is a thing of luxury.

I can lean

And not perch.

It is situated safely

Up from the shoreline,

Looking out to sea.

It will not get washed away

Regardless of the fierceness

Of the ocean and its storms.

The Lighthouse is behind me,

And Paw, my cat/kitten.

Black as black can be

With one white mitten,

Is snoozing in the sun

Beside me.

I ponder whether to wake him,

To see a half dozen ducks

Paddling their way around the island.

Paw has his whims,

And might try to catch one.

He won’t, of course,

And I have no desire to scoop

Him out of the cold, November water.

I’ll let him snooze.

I’ll let the ducks go upon their way.

I’ll just sit and enjoy the sun.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report

DE BA. UEL

The Sky Turns To Anger And Danger

It is one of those strange skies.

Strange morning light,

Not silver,

Not copper.

But both at once.

And the morning started so sunny,

Promising a fine fine day.

But now,

Even Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as a midnight sky,

With one white mitten,

Is backing up

With a hiss.

Is the ocean going to throw,

And pound,

Our island and our lighthouse,

With storm and waves,

Wrack and ruin?

Or will it pass us by,

Like ghostly ships in the night?

I’m going to take Paw in

And give him meat.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

A True Ghost Story For Halloween

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A true story for All Hallows’ Eve, although it did not happen on Halloween.

I was visiting the Bay of Fundy island of Grand Manan. I had booked a room in a bed and breakfast and arrived mid-evening. I went elsewhere for a meal, but did meet the owners, and noted there were a couple of others staying there. I returned around eleven, chatted to the owners and one guest, then went up to bed.

 

The room was top of the stairs and across a landing. Comfortably rustic with a radio. The bed was fine and I was not long getting to sleep. In the dead of the dark (no streetlights here) I was awakened by the touch of hands on me. I was sleeping on my left side. One hand was over my groin and the other on my chest. There was also the weight of a body next to me and the pressure of an arm across my side. I was initially surprised and confused but not frightened.

 

Time probably stretched but it seems to me I lay like this for ten or fifteen seconds. Then, the very first coherent thought which came to me was that someone laying behind me could not have both arms over my body. There could not be two hands placed on the front of my body. I got out of bed very quickly and did indeed experience fear. I turned on the overhead light but saw nothing. I heard nothing. The temperature was not unusual. I was frightened and certainly uncomfortable, but I can’t say that that aura was present.

 

I went to the bathroom across the landing. The house was silent. I returned to the bedroom, thinking both of leaving the light on and turning on the radio. But then I thought that that was just giving into fear, and might encourage the fear instead of ease it, so I did neither. I did not seem to take very long to get to sleep.

 

The next morning I went downstairs for breakfast. I heard the owner talking to two other guests as I approached the kitchen. Just as I entered she interrupted her conversation and turned to me. She said: “Let’s ask him. He’s the one sleeping in the haunted room.”

 

I don’t know if they had been talking about ghosts or if something else had happened in the night. I relayed my experience and the owner then told the story of the house. As with many buildings on the island it had been a farm house, with the owners also fishing. It was a century or more old and left to a daughter. When she herself got old and could not look after it, her family forced her to leave, something she fought against. The present owners then bought the building and started taking in guests. However, whenever they attempted renovations, they were discouraged by having paint cans overturned, new wallpaper peeled from the wall, ladders moved, hammers and such hidden.

 

The new owners’ daughter lived next door, and looked after the house when her parents went away (trips to Florida in the winter). She inevitably had to come over to the house and close doors, turn off lights, put furniture back in place. The old woman who was forced to leave had the reputation of being a mean and unpleasant person.

I don’t know if she was taking a liking to me or not.

DE

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