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Thanksgiving Feast For Man And Beast

My black-as-night kitten
With one white mitten
Is called Paw.
He has become
A favourite of the ships
That pass my Lighthouse.
So
I was not totally surprised
When an outgoing schooner
Hove to, and a row boat came
To my dock, to bring me
My Thanksgiving dinner.
The Masters of the Port
Are very good this way,
To me,
For all holidays.
And in my basket of
Food (and – yes – wine),
Was a fancy small pot
For Paw.
Exactly the same as Mine.
Except
With the addition of
A gingham bag
Of catnip.

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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Kitten Answers The Questions Sent From Ship To Shore

Paw, the kitten,
Named such because
He’s an all black cat,
With one white mitton,
Sits on my shoulder,
As a raggle-taggle line,
Of storm-delayed ships,
Pass my Lighthouse.


I get flag signals,
And shutter signal lamps,
Asking about my new feline.


I tell Paw
To raise his white paw.
And he does.

Extra fish for him tonight.

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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Kitty Cat, Kitty Cat, Where Have You Been? For I’m The Only Game In Town

I don’t know if,
I have proof,
Or not,

That it was a

Ghost ship, out in the Bay,
Last night.
But
This morning,
As I waked the shore,
I found a

Kitty cat,


Little more than
A kitten,


As black as night,
As sin.

And unless he’s been
Fishing
He was hungry.


I’m sure it will not
Be difficult
To satisfy him with
My questionable stew,


And
Yes
I am going to call him
Paw.

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

0

I Doubt It Was A Ghost Ship – But I Just Don’t Know

I was tending the Light,
For the last time at Night,
When I saw a glow
Way out in the Bay.
Not the usual lantern lights,
At bow, and stern, and
Up the mast.


It was glowing,

Steady,

Not the flickering

When brushed

By the wind.


It’s the First of October,
And the ghosts,
Well,
The ghosts are getting ready.

It’s that time of year.
The dying time.

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

0

Making Way For Lighthouse Provisions Of Food

Fall Fairs
Bring fair foods.
At good fares.


And the provision boat
Comes next weekend


So
I must
Finish off what I have
This week.


A feast of hardtack
And beans
And a roast of pork
Still embedded
In the ice.


And moldy cheese
With the mold
Scraped off.


And a big cauldron
Stew
From those bits and bites
And pieces
That are not
Precisely
Identifiable.

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

0

I Heard A Dog In The Dark And Wondered

It was the last ship
I expect to see tonight,
Its ruddy lanterns
On the stern
Passing my Lighthouse
On its way to safe harbour.


Most ships do not want
To sail after dark,
Near the coast,
Near the rocks.


And a dog barked from
The deck,


And i wondered
What it thought,
What is smelled,
So close.


What were its
Expectations?

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

0

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

0

It Was A Dory Without A Story

There were rough seas at night,
But they did not keep me awake
For long.


The lighthouse keeper’s house
Has thick, stone walls
Like the lighthouse itself.
Built to last.


I snored away.


But the next day,

Which is clear but full of

Rough seas.


I walk the shore
Of Partridge Island,
To see what’s

Been blown in.


There’s always something.


Today, there is a dory,
As pristine as if someone
Had just rowed her here.


Though there are no
Oars.
Or any other item,
Or name on bow.
Barely a trace

Of water, awash

On it’s flat bottom.


I doubt I’ll ever
Know its origin,
Or its history.


In a couple of months
It’s mine to keep.

‘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 sea,lighthouse,history,poem,poetry,harbor,harbour,Partridge Isl

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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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