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lighthouse keeper

Flotsam and Jetsam Wash Ashore On Partridge Island

As the Lighthouse Keeper on Partridge Island,

I have to make a monthly inspection

Along the shore of the whole island.

Of course, I make reports, and haul the 

Moveable trash off the shore, and put it

Above the tide line (which is high),

So it won’t set sail again.

All this is true,

But,

What I’m really supposed

To report,

Are the bodies I find.

There are generally three or four a year,

Mostly beyond recognition.

I can spread out this chore if I desire,

But – generally – I prefer to do it over a

Couple of days.

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as deep tide pools

With one white mitten,

Always wants to come along. 

He always regrets it,

When we reach the ocean tip,

Where he is surrounded, 

On three sides,

By water.

He doesn’t like that.

And he always complains,

But he soldiers on.

Today was no different.

Although the day was beautiful,

With clear sky and pleasant wind,

The ocean had an odd, opaque shimmer.

It was like looking at the coated side

Of a mirror.

Paw – who has been known to step

Over a dead body to see what

Was on the other side –

Avoided the shore,

And stayed above the 

High tide mark.

I guess he didn’t want to see

Something he couldn’t see.

He was impatient for me to haul ass.

And he let me know it.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA UE

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What Do You See When You Are Black As Agate?

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as agate

With one white mitten,

Is turning into Narcissus.

He is gazing at himself

In a quiet pool of water,

Becalmed along the shore

Of Partridge Island.

He does – sometimes – look

Into the mirror,

And lingers.

I assume he sees 

What I see.

But I know cats,

And many of the other animals,

Also look with their noses,

And ears.

Perhaps that is why 

He gazes so intently,

Not being able to recognize

What he sees.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report.  DE BA. UEL

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What Did The Black Cat Find?

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as a starless night

With one white mitten,

Has outdone himself.

Again.

He came and got me,

Tracked me down,

(I was repairing part

Of the Partridge Island

Dock)

And bade me follow.

Demanded, actually.

So (of course) I did.

He has yet to understand

I can not scramble

With the alacrity

His four paws

Allow.

He stood waiting

At the top of

The rough trail

And complained.

He then stood by the base

Of the Lighthouse

And complained.

He paced at the

Entrance

Of our rough little forest

And complained.

But he didn’t enter until

I stood beside him.

No complaints now.

So . . . I wondered what 

I was going to find.

And – no – I would 

Never have guessed.

Paw moved carefully,

But unerringly,

To a spot not far

From the water.

He stopped in front

Of a swath of tall grass.

He sat down.

The rest was up to me.

I stepped (deliberately) over him,

And peered.

In the middle of the

Swath of grass

Was the leg of a deer.

One leg.

Nothing else.

No head

No antlers

No exposed bones

No hide nor hair

(Save the tiny hairs

on this solitary leg

complete with hoof).

Paw didn’t make a sound,

But his tail twitched.

There couldn’t be

Enough meat on it

For even a cat to chew.

There are no deer on Partridge Island.

Nothing much larger than

Paw, himself.

Some hawk or osprey or eagle

Might have dropped it.

Some storm might have 

Heaved it ashore from some

Hunter’s field-dressing 

Of a fresh kill.

I let Paw do what he wanted.

He didn’t want much.

He did walk its whole length,

Sniffed and licked,

And once

Rubbed his face

Against it.

He paid special attention to the hoof.

He was satisfied.

I was satisfied.

The deer was

With its ancestors.

I carried it 

Across the rocks

And tossed it back

Into the sea.

By the time I turned 

Back to shore,

Paw was on his way

Home.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report.

DE BA. UEL

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New Year’s Eve On Partridge Island With Ships At Sea

Just past sunset,

A Frigate and a Brigantine

Sailed past Partridge Island,
Heading out to sea.
The former had a line of sailors

Giving the Lighthouse a salute,
The latter paused to let Sister Darling

Of The Rarified Church of The World (Reformed)
Step onto the dock of the Island,

After she tossed me parcels and bundles

Containing a New Year’s feast.

The ships plied their way to the outer harbour,

Whilst Sister Darling gathered up

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as the new night

With one white mitten,
And we wended our way

Up to the Lighthouse Keeper’s house.


By the time pots and bowls and platters

Of food,

Were ready on the table,

And a haunch of venison, was re-heating

In the oven,

We followed the excited cat/kitten

Toward the Lighthouse, and up the stairs.

We awaited perhaps ten minutes, before

The two ships began firing starburst shells

Toward the approaching year,

Entertaining us, and the boisterous
Crowd on the shore.

It was a glorious sight,

And,
I will report,

That Sister Darling

Supplied

A glorious feast.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

—

http://DaleEstey

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It Was A Dark And Stormy Week

Bop bop bop,

On the end of my nose.

Bop!

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as a seam of coal

With one white mitten

Is waking me up.

Bop!

It is his way and,

Thankfully,

He never uses his claws.

‘Get up.’

‘Attention must be paid.’

Bop!

So I rise from my bed,

& my warm quilts,

Pull on pants and sweater

Over my pajamas

And follow.

I know my place.

He leads me to the door

Of my lighthouse keepers house,

And waits.

So I pull it open

And out he bounds.

Sunshine

Blue sky

Stiff breeze across

Partridge Island.

We have been days engulfed

In fog and rain and

FOG.

I let him gambol.

I follow into the sunshine.

I think it possible

Yes – possible –

That I might actually

Be able

To take off my sweater.

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

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Enough Fog To Lose My Dog In The Bog

Mind you,
I have no dog
Here
On Partridge Island.


And
There is no bog
Here,
On Partridge Island.


There is grass,
And shrubs,
And fewer trees,
And the rocky,
Rocky,
Shore.


But I still would not
Have found my dog
In last night’s fog.


In fact,
I had to hold
Onto the rope,
Between my Lighthouse Keeper’s House
And the Lighthouse,
That I use in winter blizzards,
To find
The Lighthouse.


In that fog
You don’t even
See
The Light.

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 Mermaid Is My Girl / With Her Tail In A Curl

When I hear
The Mermaid
Singing,
She sings for me.


She comes to the rocks,
At the base of my Lighthouse,
And sighs
And sings
And fills the froth
With her frothy voice.


She doesn’t try to lure me,
But to calm me
On my way to sleep,
Or on my return to wakefulness.


Always at the twilight
Of night,
Or the dusk
Of dawn.
So I have never seen her,


Which I assume

Is her intent.


She knows my desire
Is to pursue,
And also knows
I would perish
On the rocks.


We need
Each other
Alive.

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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