Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as coal
With one white mitten.
Is bemused with me
(I think).
I took him out
To hunt down
The damned groundhog,
On Groundhog Day.
Though
I admit
I’ve never seen a
Groundhog
On this island.
But, I’d point,
And tell him to run.
And he did,
Until
He stopped.
Which wasn’t long
Into my tomfoolery.
Gotta say
My cat/kitten
Puts up
With a lot.
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
Like everyone along the coast,
Sister Darling, of the
Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),
Knew that a
“When Hell Freezes Over”
Storm
Was on the way.
She came to my
Lighthouse Island
The day before,
Because the fishing boats
(Her mode of transport).
Would be staying put in port.
She quickly got the soul-saving
Out of the way,
Renewed her friendship with
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as tar
With one white mitten
And then, the next day,
Romped with us
In front of the fire,
Happily sharing
Her own warmth.
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
Too much excitement,
And confusion,
For Paw
My cat/kitten,
Black as last night
With one white mitten.
Down by the water.
I had to grab him
By
The scruff of his neck
(Just like a mother cat),
And haul him back
As he batted at,
And reached for,
The fog on the water.
Mind you,
I held him over it,
And let him kick
His darn fool legs
In every direction
At the white mist.
He growled
But they were,
Contented growls.
(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
It’s a right howlin’ Nor’easter
That covers,
And
Engulfs,
The sea and
Partridge Island.
Paw, the cat/kitten
Black as a void
With one white mitten,
Would not even leave
His comfy, blanket-filled
Butter box in front
Of the fire,
To sniff at the door.
I, too, could have refrained
From going out,
For no ship could
Possibly see the Lighthouse
Light
From any distance.
But that’s not why
I take the Monarch’s
Shilling.
Today I looped a rope
To myself
And to the rope
To the Lighthouse.
I trudged,
Bent over
In both directions,
On a walk that took
An extra hour
Each way.
Hand in front of face?
You can’t even see
Moving 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}
Paw,
The cat/kitten,
Black as storm clouds
With one white mitten,
Made no objection
When I kept him in
Today.
I had put him
In his cage,
And took him
To the door,
Which I opened.
But he hissed,
And looked at me
As if to say,
“Are you nuts?”
So I walked to
The Lighthouse
On my own,
Holding for dear life
To the rope secured
Between both houses.
I marvelled at
The height of the waves,
Attempting to tear
The island
Limb from limb.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
The New Year rolled in
With the fog this morning.
Can’t see the sea,
Or the hand
In front of my face.
I stay in place.
And I grip
The rope
That connects my Keeper’s house,
To the Lighthouse.
And I keep my cat/kitten,
So black he’d be
Lost in the fog,
Inside.
He makes no complaint.
And neither do I.
A state, I hope
That continues,
When the fog
Of the New Year
Clears.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
It is New Year’s Eve
And,
I have devised some entertainment
For those in port.
I have set up
One of my spare
Candle flame reflectors,
And aimed it half way up
The Lighthouse Tower.
With trajectory trickery,
And mathematical wizardry.
And,
Safely distant from the heat,
On a wide platform,
Paw
My cat/kitten
With one white mitten,
Is going to cavort
Between sleight-of-hand
Proffering
Of fish and fowl.
From the docks of the port,
And the decks of the ships,
Folk will see his shape
Leaping hither and yon,
As if he is a
Pouncing lion.
I have food enough,
(And Paw has patience enough),
To prance,
And dance,
For five minutes.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
The last thing
I anticipated
On Christmas Day was
A mincemeat pie fight.
But,
Thanks to Sister Darling of the
Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),
One took place.
As it is,
I already thank her
For my soul’s salvation,
And
My sanity.
Paw,
My cat/kitten
Black as a currant
With one white mitten
Took part in this
Food festivity.
Took part heartily, indeed.
Nibbling shreds of venison
While assiduously
Licking suet from his fur
Well into the sunset.
Such Christmas merriment
Was enough
To make me
Hoist the signal flag,
On my Lighthouse dock,
To indicate
No pick-up was needed
On the fishing fleet’s return.
Sister Darling produced,
An apple pie
From her hamper
For this unexpected
Second supper.
Paw took no
Interest in it
At all.
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
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 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
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