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Partridge Island

Paw, The Cat/Kitten, Does Not Mean To Kill The Li’l Bird

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

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A Feast Nor’ By Nor’west To Satisfy Partridge Island

Yesterday, a departing fishing boat
Left a letter on my dock,
At Partridge Island.
The letter told me to be standing here,
On this beach, looking toward shore
At exactly 2:30.
And to bring my telescope.
Which I have done.
Dutiful as I am.
And . . .

Well . . .
I’m sure glad there is no fog.
After opening my telescope
And putting it to my eye,
And focusing,
I spy
With my little eye,
Sister Darling of the
Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)
Wearing a long cloak
To her ankles.
And, upon opening it,
Revealing that she
Had decided
To wear nothing else.
Oh! Hallelujah! Yes!

{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

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The First Day Of Summer And Fresh Salmon On Partridge Island

It’s the first day of Summer!

Summer!

Summer!

Summer!

And, I bet,

Even Jesus feels grateful.

My first visitor of the day,

Down at the Lighthouse dock.

Paddling his canoe,

Is Michael,

A Mi’kmag Indian.

I know little of his language

Which I regret.

But I know he calls this island

Quak’m’kagan’ik

Which means “a piece cut out.”

A good enough description.

These poor bastards are getting shafted

By the “civilization”

We have brought.

But, they like me,

(As I do them),

And have pity that

I’m stuck out here with no

Family, nor village,

To fill my days.

So, they sometimes bring gifts

As they head down the coast.

Today it’s fresh salmon.

Paw,

My cat/kitten

Black as Mi’kmag hair

With one white mitten,

Is sore curious.

He gives Michael

A good laugh, as he

Gently shoos him away.

But Michael, and I,

Full well know

That Paw will get his share,

As,

I suspect,

Does Paw.

{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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‘Tis An Ill Wind Indeed That Would Stop Beauty On Partridge Island

The bell rang from my Lighthouse dock,
Unexpectedly,
And down I went
To find Sister Darling of
The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),
Having been delivered by
An outgoing fishing boat.


She had a basket over her arm
From which wafted aromas that
Promised a delightful evening repast.
She removed a packet from the basket,
Handed the basket to me,
Scooped up Paw
My cat/kitten,
Black as Blood Pudding
With one white mitten,
And headed away with him.


They went toward the Lighthouse,
While I took the provisions to my kitchen.
Then I caught them up.


Sister Darling was kneeling on the lee side
Of the Lighthouse tower,
Away from the assault of ocean wind.
She was digging in the earth
Helped by Paw, his front paws
In a flurry.

Her package contained flower seeds,
And she obviously had the Hope of God
In her repertoire.


Hey,
God is good to me
When Sister Darling is around,
So I knelt beside Paw.

Dig  Dig  Dig

{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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Does The Visitor To Partridge Island Want to Play?

Paw

My cat/kitten,

Black as night, with

One white mitten,

Has grabbed my pant leg,

And urges me to go with him.

Does he think I’m his father,

Or some sort of brother?

But off we go.

He leads me to the waterside

And there, splashing and frollicking

Like all get out,

Is a baby seal.

I like seals,

They are always smiling.

Paw looks at me

&

What the heck,

I toss him in.

First, I find out

Paw can really swim,

And, second,

The baby seal is a tease.

A gentle tease.

He butts Paw with his snout.

Dives in front of him,

And comes up behind.

Tickles him

(I swear)

With his whiskers.

I let them go at it,

Until I see Paw is

Getting tired,

So I scoop him out.

The baby seal looks at me,

And gives a bark,

So I bend over

And I scritch his head,

And away he scoots.

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

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Sister Darling Brings Religious Fervor On Walpurgis Night

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

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How Does Palm Sunday Become A Religious Event On Partridge Island?

Without Any Announcement,

And No Invitation,

Sister Darling

Of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)

Arrives on my Lighthouse Keeper’s dock,

Through the kind ministrations of


An outgoing fishing boat,

To deliver to me


An actual frond of Palm.

Paw, my cat/kitten,


Black as an upcoming tomb

With one white mitten,


Has much sport with it,

As does Sister Darling have with me.

She will be unable to visit


On the Sunday next,

As there will be “Hallelujah,


Praise the Lord”,

Services to perform.


However,

She will still hear


Such praises,

Today.

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

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It’s Saint Patrick’s Day On Partridge Island And Sister Darling Brings Stew

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

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The Revival, “Come To Jesus Meetings” End, So Sister Darling Visits Partridge Island

Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

Has been on the road,

Saving souls in the hot hot hot

Summer months.

But September brings her home,

And the soul she is interested in

Is the soul of The Lighthouse Keeper

Of Partridge Island.

Come on down and save me!

So, today, which is her birthday,

She gets on a fishing boat at high tide,

And comes here for supper,

And breakfast,

And breakfast again.

I will provide her with,

A fine dish of salmon,

And a trinket or two,

While Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as Sturgeon roe

With one white mitten,

Will have a red bow

Around his neck,

Which makes him look

Fetching as hell.

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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