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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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Preparing For Christmas On Partidge Island

Squalls and snow and high seas and chill and blow,

And the whistling whistling wind.

Screaming wind!

Lead to Christmas Day.

I feared that Sister Darling  of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)

Would not make the tide,

Let alone make a visit

Of Salvation,

To Partridge Island.

To bring Festive celebration to

The Lighthouse Keeper and

Paw, his cat/kitten

Black as the storm-churned sea

With one white mitten.

But,

Heaven be praised,

And joyous greetings to the King of the World,

Jesus Himself!

Sister Darling managed to wrangle a ride,

And bring festive gifts

For man and cat.

(And a rum-soaked cake)!!

And the night can whistle around us

In my snug Keeper’s House.

I hope Jesus was as warm

As we will be.

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

om

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Christmas Eve Prepares For Christmas Day On Partridge Island

Squalls and snow and high seas and chill and blow,

And the whistling whistling wind.

Screaming wind!

Lead to Christmas Day.

I feared that Sister Darling  of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)

Would not make the tide,

Let alone make a visit

Of Salvation,

To Partridge Island.

To bring Festive celebration to

The Lighthouse Keeper and

Paw, his cat/kitten

Black as the storm-churned sea

With one white mitten.

But,

Heaven be praised,

And joyous greetings to the King of the World,

Jesus Himself!

Sister Darling managed to wrangle a ride,

And bring festive gifts

For man and cat.

(And a rum-soaked cake)!!

And the night can whistle around us

In my snug Keeper’s House.

I hope Jesus was as warm

As we will be.

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 Hurricane Brings Peril To The Lighthouse And All Ships At Sea

Given enough warning

From ships along the coast

I got the Partridge Island Lighthouse

And Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as the murderous clouds,

With one white mitten,

Ready for the worst.

And the Worst came.

It was so bad I figure

Even Jesus took cover.

The Lighthouse is thicker

And stronger

Then the Keeper’s house

So that’s where we stayed.

A tiny room inside the stone walls,

Nicely curved to curl the wind away.

I’d put in a narrow cot, and

Me and the cat/’kitten

Got our rest

Although not much sleep.

When I went up to

Trim the wick

I thought those windows might

Cave right in.

Today,

A couple of ships

Limped past,

And our shoreline

Has been altered.

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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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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The Elephant Talks to GOD About a Violent Storm

From: The Elephant Talks To God

The elephant surveyed the remnants of shattered trees, the gouged earth, and the still turbulent waves.

“You know,” he said, looking up at the storm cloud hovering overhead, “A herd of us on the rampage have got nothing on you, when the mood strikes. You trying to tear down in one night what it took seven days to create?”

“Six days,” noted the cloud. “On the seventh … “

” … day you rested,” finished the elephant. “You gotta be patient with us lumbering beasts; after all, you didn’t give us fingers so we could count.”

“But I did give you memories.” said the cloud.

“I know,” said the elephant. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“And this display,” added God, “Looks far worse than it is.

Natural forces occur to keep my earth in a happy balance. Life is already reviving and reasserting itself.”

“Could you not be a bit more gentle?”

“My winds must go somewhere,” said God. “As you already mentioned, even elephants go upon the occasional rampage.”

“I’ve never done anything like this,” said the elephant.

“You’ve not seen yourself from the ant’s point of view,” answered God.

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Not A Wild Goose Chase, But A Groundhog On Groundhog Day

Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as coal
With one white mitten.
Is bemused with me
(I think).
I took him out
To hunt down

The damned groundhog,
On Groundhog Day.
Though
I admit
I’ve never seen a
Groundhog
On this island.
But, I’d point,
And tell him to run.
And he did,
Until
He stopped.
Which wasn’t long
Into my tomfoolery.
Gotta say
My cat/kitten
Puts up

With a lot.

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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Sister Darling Saves My Soul In The Snow Storm Blizzard Of The Year (so far)

Like everyone along the coast,
Sister Darling, of the

Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

Knew that a

“When Hell Freezes Over”

Storm
Was on the way.
She came to my
Lighthouse Island
The day before,

Because the fishing boats
(Her mode of transport).
Would be staying put in port.
She quickly got the soul-saving
Out of the way,
Renewed her friendship with
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as tar
With one white mitten
And then, the next day,
Romped with us
In front of the fire,
Happily sharing
Her own warmth.

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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We Saw Three Deer Eating In The Snow Storm

Hearty enough were we two Maritimers out in the heavy, yet soft. snow storm. Heavy enough to dull most sounds. Soft enough to make a cautious walk relatively easy.

And, as we most times do, we paused to look into the gully to see if there were deer. There often are. And, even through the snow, we saw three, a guess being a doe and two offspring. The distance is about two city blocks away, although there are no city blocks. We have seen them there before.

And – as usual – they apparently heard us, as they stopped in their tracks and look. But so did we. So, in a few minutes, they resumed their activity. This time they were under some large trees, munching away on something on the ground. Grass and earth under a tree does not get as covered in snow. The larger deer even nibbled from the branches.

Our scent, in addition to our appearance, was generally obscured by the snow. They did not leave as they usually do.

So, we left them to their meal and their solitude. And the peaceful beauty of the falling snow.

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