It’s the shortest day
Of the year.
~ The December Solstice ~
As old Sol
Shifts his ass
Over the Equator.
Then the days
Get longer,
And the weather
Gets warmer.
Hah hah / Hah hah.
I told this to
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as hidden ice,
With one white mitten,
And,
If he didn’t laugh outright
He at least,
Smiled.
(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
Paw,My cat/kitten
Black as gunpowder
With one white mitten,
Is having the time
Of his
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 The Fifth of November.”
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
I was sitting on my porch
Humble enough,
At my Lighthouse Keeper’s house,
When Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as a raven
With one white mitten,
Started playing with a flock
Of little birds.
They were in the bushes,
Flitting from branch to branch
Up and down and over.
He tried to catch one
And then another
And then an another
And then –
He succeeded.
He stood over the bird
Pushed it with his paw,
Sniffed at it,
Then came tearing over to me.
He snagged my pant leg
And pulled.
“Come come come” was in his meows,
So, I did.
The sea breeze ruffled the bird’s feathers
But
There was more movement than that.
I picked up the tiny bird,
Touched its breast,
Felt the trembling heart,
Saw its beak open and close,
And just held it closer to the sun.
It stirred, and stood, and wobbled
And gasped open its eyes
And started to fly
Before it stood.
Right back to the other li’l birds.
Paw slept by my feet
The rest of the day.
{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
I have had to affix
A bell,
Around the neck of
Paw, my cat kitten,
Black as feathers
With one white mitten,
Because
He has acquired
A taste for birds.
This is natural and
Was to be expected.
I might not have done so
On the Mainland,
Where birds are plentiful
And fair game.
But on this island,
Which one can circumnavigate
In under a two hour walk,
I feel the birds need
All the help they can get.
So – there it is.
And Paw, my cat kitten,
Protested for about
A half hour,
And not since.
He’s a smart li’l bugger.
He adapts.
And I swear, he gets
Faster.
Fast enough to still
Dine on the occasional
Avian feast.
Which he proves, by
Spitting out an errant
Feather or two
At my feet.
{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
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
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the feathers of night,
With one white mitten,
Is starting, at times,
To put me in my place.
He’s a smart little bugger,
So I let him.
We were walking the perimeter
Of Partridge Island,
Which we do
Once or twice
A week,
When he jumped between my feet,
And damned near tripped me.
Which means
‘Stop, you oaf.’
So I did.
On a scraggly branch,
Of one of the scraggly trees,
Two crows were looking out to sea.
Side-by-side
Moving their heads,
Bob to the left
Bob to the right
Exchanging crow croaks,
Ruffling head feathers,
Throats held up in unison.
Seeing what they see,
Telling each other,
Moving, at times,
In tandem,
Along the scraggly branch,
Upon the scraggly tree.
Joy.
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
It’s one of those nights,
Black as Paw, my cat/kitten,
With one white mitten.
Paw knows it, too.
A calm night
Or – more –
Becalmed.
Something has stopped
While on its way
Past Partridge Island,
Coming in from the sea
Or going out to the sea.
As it passes,
It hovers,
It ponders,
It sucks in the air
And holds its breath.
Neither the one of us
Want to go out
To see what it is.
Paw sits with
His back to the door.
And I
Will put off
Trimming the wick
Until Paw
Turns around.
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
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the Ides of March
With one white mitten,
Has a green ribbon
Tied around his neck,
As we stand on the dock
And welcome the arrival of Sister Darling,
Of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)
On this Saint Patrick’s Day,
She steps off the fishing boat,
And unceremoniously hands me
A hefty cauldron,
As she scoops up Paw
And holds him close, the way
(I trust)
She will eventually hold me.
“Irish stew,” says she.
But I didn’t even have to guess,
For I can recite, by smell,
The ingredients.
Lamb on the bone
Carrots/celery
onions/leeks/garlic
Bay leaf/sea salt/black pepper
Lots of potatoes
And two (I hope) pints of ale.
“You are right,” she says
As Paw snuggles into her hair,
“And you will get
A Reward.”
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
Sister Darling, of
The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),
Stepped onto the dock of
The Partridge Island Lighthouse
This Valentine Day morning,
From an outgoing fishing boat,
To spend the day (and night)
On behalf of my religious studies.
Provisions she brought, beyond
Usual Lighthouse Keeper fare,
Incl. chocolates and bottles o’ wine.
There were even finely cut
Fresh fish fillets for
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as soot
With one white mitten.
And when my religious instructions
Were done,
And before our festive feast,
We greeted each other with
Such enthusiasm,
That her hair-holding bun
Became undone,
And cascaded across her shoulders,
Giving Paw, the cat/kitten,
A place to hide.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
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