The Saint Louis Atheists have started to follow me on Bluesky (which pleases me to no end).
Their quote is: “If you wish to make apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe” ~Carl Sagan
Which pleases me even more.
Of course, I follow back.
PART THE FIRST
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.
PART THE SECOND
I had wished 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}
Sister Darling, of
The Rarefied Church Of The World (Reformed),
Is not a selfish gal
Except – perhaps –
On the business of the Lord.
So, when she transported herself
Through the kind intervention
Of a fishing boat,
To Partridge Island,
In this sweltering heat,
To celebrate the Summer Solstice,
I don’t believe it was just
To be cool,
Even though the Island
Is the coolest place you could be,
Surrounded by water, and ocean breezes,
As it is.
She scooped up Paw, The Cat/Kitten
Black as Agate
With one white mitten,
(He never minds being part
Of her adventures)
And off we went, at a quick clip.
From the Lighthouse we aimed for
The very tip of the Island.
Jutting into the sea.
She put down Paw.
Hauled out a timepiece and chain,
(It had been her fathers)
And flicked open the lid.
“Four minutes,” she said.
And when that time had passed
She intoned a Celtic prayer:
“O mother ocean, welcome me in your arms,
bathe me in your waves,
and keep me safe
so that I may return to land once more.”
“Is that not a Heretic prayer?” I asked.
“Don’t be so narrow – it is All the same God.”
She didn’t open her eyes,
But pointed directly at Paw,
And the crazy little bugger
Nodded his head.
{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
I almost dropped Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as blood pudding
With one white mitten,
When Sister Darling, of
The Rarefied Church of the World (Reformed),
Stepped onto the dock
Of the Partridge Island Lighthouse.
She wore an emerald green gown
On this Saint Patrick’s Day,
Which fit her form
In a very alluring fashion.
She was bringing
A feast for myself, and Paw.
A hamper filled with (I sniffed it out)
Colcannon
Shepherd’s Pie
Corned Beef
Black-and-Tan Pork
Lime Poke Cake
And the clink of bottles
promising many Half and Halfs
which she knows how to pour
to perfection.
We exchanged hamper and cat.
Paw went directly to burrow
Into her long hair,
Which I, myself, will do
When the time for slumber
Arrives.
Then we began our walk
Up to The Lighthouse Keeper’s House,
Which I have festooned with
As many green doodads as
I could find.
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
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
Without Any Announcement,
And No Invitation,
Sister Darling
Of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)
Arrives on my Lighthouse Keeper’s dock,
Through the kind ministrations of
An outgoing fishing boat,
To deliver to me
An actual frond of Palm.
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as an upcoming tomb
With one white mitten,
Has much sport with it,
As does Sister Darling have with me.
She will be unable to visit
On the Sunday next,
As there will be “Hallelujah,
Praise the Lord”,
Services to perform.
However,
She will still hear
Such praises,
Today.
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
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