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I Sing Wagner As Arctic Winds Howl Straight From The North Pole

You don’t see it often,

(And you don’t want to).

The water along the rocks

Is splashing up as ice

On this frigid, frigid day.

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as the ice

Sometimes can be,

With one white mitten,

Does not cease in his complaints.

I’ve brought him with me

In his cage,

Because,

On his own

He would be blown away.

He doesn’t realize that.

We cower on the shore,

And look out to sea.

We spy a ship

With its sails down

And a white aura

Enveloping her.

A snow squall perhaps,

Or,

Perhaps something else

As you can only see

Out at sea.

And, to appease the cat/kitten,

To calm him down,

(As well as myself)

I sing some Wagner,

Belt it out against the wind.

“That storm it wants a battle
And it’s sure that we’re outgunned!
That ghostly ship is hunting us
It’s bringing on the gale!
She’s called the Flying Dutchman
And it’s rage that fills her sails!”

And – indeed – it does us some good.

And then,

We high tail it

Back to the shelter

Of home.

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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Happy Birthday, Shakespeare the Bard

The stage is as bare as my lady’s ass in his lordship’s bedchamber.

Rough-hewn in the most knockabout way, leaving splinters in the palace lawns

of the imagination.

There’s many a dip ‘twixt the trap and the lip.

It fares little better than hastily strewn boards covering parched ground, and barely enough elevation to keep the understanding masses at bay.

Were one fool enough to come from out the wings, and at centre front begin a soliloquy about the beauty of the wretched arena on which he stands, to fight the resulting and justified spontaneous combustion, there would not be found one drop of piss from any a Thespian’s hose.

For who could allow this sacrilege to be spoken? Even the flag atop the pole knows that the magic is not yet arrived.

A stage without commercial trappings:

without solid doors and thick drapes,

uncluttered by pillars,

and arches,

tables and chairs,

windows and fireplaces;

sans orchestra, sans balcony, sans pit.

A stage revealing all its secrets.

Profound as emptiness.

A stage in wait.

For in this world writ small (as in the globe around)

the audience

has nothing to know/ nothing to learn,

until the actor makes an entrance and prepares

to fight through our eyes and ears

to battle with those thoughts and fears

that lurk in sheltered halls.

What’s Hecuba to him?

Why – nothing.

Merely a name on a page of script,

A cue at which to turn his profile thus.

It is what Hecuba becomes to we who wait,

That turns the key upon the heavy gate.

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April Fool’s Day / April First / Taillie Day/ The Cat Laughs Last

It’s April Fools Day,

On Partridge Island.

And the pickings

Are slim,

For a laugh or a guffaw,

And that’s no joke.

I was reduced to

Tying a paper tail

To the real tail

Of Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as ink

With one white mitten.

But,

It does appear,

He did not take it

With the same good cheer,

As did I.

It’s true I got a chuckle

At his annoyance,

And his tugging,

And tumbling,

To be rid of it.

Which I did myself

Within five minutes.

But perhaps not fast enough.

Can Paw tell time?

Can I make a rhyme?

I served up my luncheon soup,

And went to slice some bread

For sops.

I returned to my steaming bowl,

To find a headless mouse

Floating in the broth.

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

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The Biggest Crow In Christendom Lands On Partridge Island

The biggest Crow

I ever did see

Is roosting

On the tallest tree

On Partridge Island.

I’m guessing for a day,

Or two,

Of rest.

Wingspan beyond belief.

He won’t find much

Winter fare to eat,

Except carrion.

And they do like clams.

But their choice of seeds,

And nuts and berries,

Is not available.

Nor insects,

Though they’ll dig for them.

But a taste of a small animal,

Might be very tempting.

So, I will keep

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as a crow

With one white mitten,

In his carry case

Whilst the crow visits.

And,

You know,

My cat/kitten

Has not made one

Complaint.

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

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High Winds And Seas And Whitecaps Smashing On Shore Keeps A Cat At Home

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}

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New Year’s Eve Lets Loose A Dancing Cat For Fun And Entertainment

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}

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A Cat Learns Of Life From A Storm And Snow

If my cat/kitten,
Black as coal,
With one white mitten,
(I call him Paw)

Was not black as coal,
He’d be lost to me,
And to the ages,
In these drifts of snow
Covering Partridge Island,
After the storm,
From down the coast,

That left us so white.
I kept him in while
It raged,
Which he took to kindly.
But I let him loose,
The next afternoon,
Because a cat/kitten
Got to learn the

Ways of the world.
He took to the huge drifts,
Like a fish to water.
And when he tried to
Chase a rabbit,
I laughed myself silly.
And, (I bet),
So did the rabbit.

(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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On The First Day Of Advent, Sister Darling Gives Me A Treat

Sister Darling takes
Her Ministrations
To her far flung flock
Seriously,

And never more so
Than at Festive times.
An outgoing fishing boat
Dropped her off early
At my Lighthouse dock.
And her 

. . . admittedly . . .

Earthy ministrations

Took the place of breakfast.

But she had also
Brought foodstuffs
And
An Advent calendar.
She let me pluck out
The first gift.
A substantial chaw
Of Spruce gum,
Which will last me long.
She also brought
A small bag
Full of some herb,
For my cat/kitten.

Let me tell you,
He was kept right occupied
All day long.

(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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To Be A Cat And Bat At That

A Brigantine
Hove to,
As it came past
The Lighthouse,
On its way
Into harbour.
A rowboat came to
My small dock,
And,
Deposited a cask
Of Caribbean rum,
Compliments of my cousin,
The ship’s Boatswain.

And it appears

The fame,
Of my cat/kitten,
Black as the rum
With one white mitten,
Is spreading across the seas.
Though perhaps, not
All seven of them.
For there was also,
A ball of twine,
With some loose ends,
That has become
An instant,
And favourite,
Plaything.


(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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