The cat/kitten,
Black as a crow
With one white mitten,
(I call him Paw),
Was prowling
By the Lighthouse,
As he likes
To do,
When two crows
Decided
On a bit of
Sport.
They flew toward him,
Then one veered
Left,
And the other
Right.
Paw twisted,
And dodged,
And fell
Ass over tea kettle.
And I,
For the first time
In my life,
Heard
The laughter of crows.
(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL)
Well, first, I would never ask Ms. Thunberg to move over. I would, indeed, stand aside and let her take my place. I say “Thank God” and “Blessed Be!” that someone like her is kicking ass to save the planet.
And, anyway, my up close and personal warning will not fit into this last day of the COP26 gathering. It comes too late.
But it only happened this morning.
Through the wee hours of 13 November, I had to open two of my windows, turn my fan on high, and discard bedclothes in my attempt to sleep, and I was not fully successful.
13 November, There is supposed to be snow and freezing temperatures. There was not.
With the dawn finally allowing light into the sky, I turned on the radio. I was told, in no uncertain terms (because it was repeated) that the dockyard on the harbour was the warmest place in all of Canada. 13C.
I took particular (and startled) attention to this, because the dockyard on the harbour is at the foot of my street. I was in the hottest place in Canada.
13C on 13 November.
This is Climate Change!
This is Global Warming.
I understand if folk would rather talk to Greta Thunberg about this subject (so would I).
But, for the moment, I am living proof.
I am attired
In my navel uniform,
Which I am sometimes
Expected to wear,
In service
To my Monarch.
I represent the might
Of Majesty,
As sole subject,
Yet overlord,
Of the Lighthouse
On Partridge Island
I am to stand at
Attention,
And even salute,
As a Man of War,
All three masts
And 124 cannon,
Sails past from harbour
On its way to sea.
The Captain
Will stand
On the bow
To salute me.
I am going to give
Each owner,
Of every telescope
Trained on me,
A treat,
And
A tale to tell.
I am going to be holding
Paw,
My cat/kitten,
Black as night
With one white mitten,
In his cage,
To let him
Inspect this departing,
Fighting ship.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
A fishing boat
Came into my
Lighthouse dock,
And rang its wheelhouse bell.
So, down I went.
The skipper had some
Unexpected provisions for me.
Crabs – it’s the season.
Lobster (he apologized for
The junk fish, but he knows I
Quite like it, whereas others
Class them as fare only
For the poor).
And Dulse!
A burlap sack
Of Dulse.
Now that is a treat.
Salty, .dried and crisp
Seaweed.
I have it with sharp cheddar.
I don’t know why folk complain
About lobster
.Boil them up, but not too long.
Crack them open with a hammer
.Have a loaf of bread.
Melt a large bowl of butter.
Dunk
A hunk of bread
With one hand,
And a chunk of lobster
With the other.
Pause occasionally with
Dulse and cheese.
Suck your fingers.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL
Paw,
The all black cat/kitten,
With one white mitten,
Is having the time
Of his
Young
Life.
We are in the Lighthouse,
On this Guy Fawkes Night,
Searching down the gunpowder
The dastardly villain
Has planted.
This has been part,
Of my traditions
For years.
Straight from
My Father.
Remember Remember
And though I tell Paw,
The cat/kitten,
To run wild
And
Search everywhere,
In truth,
He doesn’t want to
Stray too far
From my side,
Which is fine.
For,
In truth,
The Lighthouse is
A strange
And peculiar
Place.
So he stays near
To the glow of my
Lantern,
As I go through
My ritual.
We are both pleased.
And,
Will both
Have a
Fine Fish Feast,
When Guy Fawkes is
(As he inevitably is)
Brought low.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report
DE BA. UEL
Paw,
The all black cat/kitten,
With one white mitten,
Has
A butterfly
On his back.
A blue butterfly,
A small blue butterfly.
Blown in from some storm,
Hitch-hiking on some ship,
Alighting on a cat/kitten’s back
For the warmth
From black black fur.
Or, perhaps to play.
For the small, blue butterfly,
Flutters across the warm
Black back
And
Bats at the agitated
Tail
And
Boxes
Those twitching ears.
And Paw,
The cat/kitten,
Frolics along,
Dashes about,
But never rolls,
Never jumps,
Never snaps his
Sharp sharp teeth.
Because
(Let’s face it)
This is a lot of fun.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL
On Partridge Island,
On Halloween,
This Lighthouse keeper
And his cat/kitten,
Black as the night
With one white mitten,
Named
(would you guess it}
Paw,
Will stay put,
Except to check the Light.
For the night is neither
Calm nor inviting.
To humans
And cat/kittens.
But the Dead,
The Souls,
The restless Spirits.
Oh,
You can feel their oppression,
From one end
Of the Island
To the other.
And the revolving Light,
From atop
Its solid Tower,
Gives them no peace.
They want to come back.
They want things as they were.
These are the poor
Spirits
Who left,
Unfulfilled.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / (A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
Paw, the Cat/Kitten,
Black as Night itself,
With one white mitten,
Is not leaving my side
And
I am glad of it.
Paw knows far better,
And sees far further,
Than me,
The gathering of spirits,
The quarrelsome ghosts,
Pushing past the boundaries
Of the Other Side
In their desire to
Reunite
With life on This Side,
Quite frankly,
I am going to follow Paw,
On this penultimate night.
Before All Hallow’s Night,
All Souls Night,
Halloween,
And hope that he,
Kitten or not,
Is going to
Stay close
To Home.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / (A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
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