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There’s A Storm Coming Up The Coast That Will Give Us A Dose

Tend to a Lighthouse,
On an island,
On the sea,
And you get the feel
And the smell
Of the weather,
Moving toward you.
So,

There’s a blow
Heading this way.
I’ve put up the rope,
Between my house
And the Lighthouse,
To grab onto
Some Jeezly fierce.
And I’ll be carrying
My cat/kitten,
Black as a storm cloud,
With one white mitten,
In his cage.
‘Cause he’s a

Fierce little bugger,
And will go out
Into it
To his
Peril.
He’s been sniffing
The storm,
And the excitement
Consumes him.

(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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The Old Moon Is A Full Moon That Excites A Loon

The call of the loon
Is plaintive,
And crazy,
And seems to fill
The Harbour,
And
Maybe even

The moon itself.

Because it sounds,
As if,
It can go that far.
It makes my cat/kitten,
Black as night,
With one white mitten,
Shiver

And hiss
And not stray far
From me.
Though Paw
Is tempted,
By the full moon
On the surface
Of the harbour.
And peers,
And mutters,
And even dips,
His one white paw
Into
The yellow,
And mellow,
Wide band
Of moonlight
Streaming
Right at him
Across
The water.


(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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Two Crows Joy Play Silly Buggers With A Cat Kitten

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)

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Man of War Leaves Port for the Seven Seas

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

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Gunpowder, Treason, Plot, & A Cat In A Lighthouse

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

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Paw The Cat Makes A Late Late Summer Friend On Partridge Island

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

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Warnings From The Dead Who Do Not Wish Us Well On Halloween

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

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Ghost Stories Wait For Me To Walk Past

ghost,ghost stories,book,Halloween,portent,spirits,death,dead,library,lend,authors,history,spooks,

Yesterday, on the penultimate day before All Hallows, I was out for my evening walk k, going at dusk to take in the Halloween decorations. And, many there were. The most pleasing (even more than the wedding dress hanging from a tree as if a Ghost)was a pair of skull chandeliers, gracing either side of a Bay window in a brick house. It’s true, I might not have entered.

On my return circuit, I passed one of those small wooden frame libraries which have sprung up in may cities. Looking like a small house, often with a glass pane door, there are usually three shelves which hold books. I’d guess usually 100 – 150 books. The books are donated by anyone who wants to give their books a second chance, and a person can take from them what they want. But last night, there it swung. I went to close and latch it, but thought I’d look in at the books. And there, facing out instead of spine to, was:

The Literary Ghost: Great Contemporary Ghost Stories

edited by Larry Dark, Other Atlantic Monthly Press 1991. The book blurb states:“…28 subtly disturbing, enigmatic modern tales are distinguished by global settings, some memorable ghostly narrators and the depiction of various religious beliefs about the spirit world:” Among the authors are Muriel Spark, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Joyce Carol Oates,Graham Greene, Robertson Davies and Nadine Gordimer

I do like to think I can take a hint.

I closed and latched the door, and brought the book home.

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Halloween Approaches Partridge Island and the Dead Are Already Knock Knock Knocking At The Door

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as the dark night


With one white mitten,


Is look look looking

Over his shoulder,


To stare,

And stare.


There are hints of


The approaching ghosts,


Preparing their visit


To this world


From the Other,


On All Hallows Eve.

Paw, the cat/kitten,


Sees that they are


Moving ever closer,


And he doesn’t know


Whether to


Welcome them


Or not.


(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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