An Address to God

An Address to God

The weeds in the corner are flowering, blue

against the canopy of thick dark green: such

bright dots. Who put them there? You?

Mister God (or, as I prefer, Ms God) who

if not you? You can do the little as well as the much –

even those weeds in the corner, flowering blue.

But I think of the Nature Sprits too,

whom we sometimes glimpse but can never touch:

bright dots! Who put THEM there? You?

Are they the ones who sprinkle the dew

on your behalf, and create that lush

growth of weeds, that flowering, that blue?

In my tiny garden, where there once grew

orderly plantings, now the wild blooms thrust

their bright dots. Who put them there? Who?

I was sad, and I think the Nature Spirits knew 

and decided to surprise me sweetly (hush!)

with weeds in the corner flowering blue.

But who put me here to enjoy them? You!

Second piece submitted to dVerse Forms for all – the Villanelle

The Hankering

The Hankering

He offered me a tempting, pretty ring:

star sapphire, he said (black marked with white)

but I couldn't meet the cost of such a thing.

A line of white like the edge of a wing,

and deep inside the stone a tiny light,

he offered me – a tempting, pretty ring.

Just as well, perhaps, it didn't fit my fing-

er, no matter how I tried to get it right,

as I couldn't have met the cost of such a thing.

Yet the desire, I find, is lingering

for that sapphire lit within, though dark as night,

which he offered me: that tempting, pretty ring.

Surely, I think, it would have made my heart sing

to own a stone formed of both dark and bright.

But I could not meet the cost of such a thing.

No matter; I have seen! Imagining

will help me hold it in my inner sight

and keep that offered, tempting, pretty ring

priceless, beyond the cost of a mere thing.

Submitting to dVerse Forms for all – The Villanelle

Speaking the Name

Speaking the Name

‘Queenie!’ they called in the schoolyard game, 

drawing it out like a taunt: ‘Queen-eeee.’

Was it catching a ball or skipping a rope?

By now I forget ... but neither a thing I could do. 

I know it was facing the wall, then turning around

to a crowd of jeering faces – or none; abandoned.

So when she came to me, bearing that name
to announce that she was imperious

(another owner’s taunt for a defensive cat
incorrectly seen as proud and bossy)

I couldn’t call her that. I wanted to summon 

loving-kindness when I spoke to her.

I found a beautiful rhyme, even more elevated: 

Selene (moon goddess). In time she accepted that.

I found her not imperious but gracious,

wanting to please; eventually sweet and loving.

Seeing it written, one asked was it Sellenay.

Most assumed Seleen. ‘To rhyme with Queenie’  

I kept explaining in vain. Never mind, we got it,

she and me. It suited her natural elegance.

Also I called her My Treasure, Sweetheart, 

Cleverest Thing, Most Beautiful Cat in the World, 

and after she slipped so quickly into her final sleep,

softly touching her head: ‘My Darling Girl.’

Written for Weekend Mini Challenge: Nomenclature at 'imaginary garden with real toads. Also linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #444

Reminiscing in the Rain

Reminiscing in the Rain

The rain falls long today.

Waterfalls – lines of light –

drop from the sky: straight sheets.

A day to stay indoors 

as tears unstayed repeat.

The rain falls long today.

I hear the empty hours

fill with your footsteps – loud

and steady like the rain …

slow, as if with head bowed.

The rain falls long today.

I hear you come wetly

across the soaking grass

and the squelching footpath.

You pass, and pause, and pass.

The rain falls long today,

as that fell yesterday: 

hard, dark, across my heart

and footsteps walked away,

since when we played apart.

Responding simultaneously to Inform Poet – Monchielle at Poetic Bloomings and Weekend Mini-Challenge: Homographic Fun at 'imaginary garden with real toads'. (Homographs are words spelt the same, with different meanings. Mine are 'falls', 'long', 'stay', 'pass', and – cheating a bit – 'apart'. Also I was trying for a double meaning with 'fell'. And then there's the double entendre which some of you may detect.)

Missing Selene

Missing Selene

I long to be able to look and see 

through the swirling curtains of mystery.

I find myself blinded and silenced

in the banality of misery. 

She and me in only three years

lived ourselves a sweet history.

Is it the living or the going

gives this knowing of Great Mystery?

Ah, but who knows, oh Rose of the Sea,

of the Moon Goddess now? Where is she?

Notes:

1) My cat, Selene, was named after the Moon Goddess.

2) It's usual in a ghazal to include the poet's own name or some form of it in the final couplet. Rosemary (Latin rosmarinus) means Rose of the Sea. It seemed a nice match with Moon Goddess, turning us both mythic. [Later research reveals that 'dew of the sea' is a more accurate translation, but I'll leave the poem as is, for both the rhyme and the meaning.]
3) I like to create deliberate variations from the ghazal form (inspired by the late John Calvin Rezmerski) – in this case by varying the couplets' final word, but with words/phrases that could mean or include 'mystery'. (Well, I say they could, anyway.)

Linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #443

Kindly Comfort

Kindly Comfort

The Universe is ever kind,

I tell myself. It may be true.

At any rate I soothe my mind

with such-like platitudes, a few.

I tell myself it may be true

that God is good and all is well.

With such-like platitudes, a few,

I walk, I swear, in Heaven not Hell.

That God is good and all is well

is possibly not an outright lie.

I walk, I swear, in Heaven, not Hell,

and can find spurious reasons why.

It’s possibly not an outright lie

that we are headed for salvation.

I can find spurious reasons why

this world itself is not damnation.

That we are headed for salvation

is kindly comfort in our plight.

The world itself is not damnation,

we hope and pray, seeking light.

It’s kindly comfort in our plight;

at any rate I soothe my mind

with hope and prayer, seeking light –

the Universe is ever kind!

Written for dVerse Poetry Forms – The Pantoum and for Poets United's Midweek Motif ~ Kindness.

I hesitated to share such a cynical-sounding piece – a subversion of the Kindness motif. It's not really my way of thinking, more of a dummy-spit actually, because I'm sad just now. However – although I must acknowledge that I have been in receipt of many sweet acts of kindness, which I could well have celebrated and had expected to celebrate – the many problems in our world and our lives lead some people to think the things this poem says. For me it's a mood, for others it may be a lasting world view which they perceive as well-founded. I feel I should apologise for sharing something so pessimistic – but it has validity as part of the human experience, so....  

Farewelling Selene

Farewelling Selene

While we waited for the vet to come, 

I thought I’d take one last photo.

Usually she turned her eyes 

away from the flash, 

but this time she gazed into mine

with an intense look of love. 

Of course it wasn’t the last. 

We went outside. She liked us to sit

together in the garden. I took some more

but she seemed uncomfortable

on the concrete step. I scooped her up

like a floppy rag and put her back

on the mat inside the door 

where she could still look out,

and took another. She gave me

that deliberate look once more – fixed,

but so different from the fierce, wary gaze 

when she came to me three years ago....

Three years and eight weeks,

already not young....

I sat near, at my computer,

but then I just began talking to her –

I dunno, whatever was on my mind 

about how I’d like her to be my familiar

in spirit now, but of course 

it was up to her, what she wanted, her choice, her 
happiness the most important thing.

She listened. Then she got up – you have to know 

she was very uncomfortable, very weak –

walked over to me and let her head

lightly graze my dangling, reaching hand.

Again it was deliberate, purposeful. 

And she went back to her spot on the mat. 

Later I pondered how she knew and gave me 

what I wanted, what I needed.

It’s funny – as soon as she was gone

(gently and quickly via a kind vet)

between my sobs I suddenly knew

that strong, wise voice I’d been hearing

in my head was hers, her soul. All

the realisations I’d had were imparted

intentionally. So far they haven’t stopped.

She used to nag me about meal times

and bed-times – not hers, mine. (Albeit

she was happy to join me.) I’ll have to 

take care of myself now, I thought.

Then I decided to light a candle

and say the prayer for the dead, wishing

peace and light for her journey.

Only it was late (speaking of bed-time). What if, 

while I slept, something caught alight? Perhaps 

if I put it in a big bowl, even a saucepan? Just then

my smoke alarm pealed loudly, even though 

I hadn’t yet lit the flame. I bashed it

with a broom handle. It stopped a moment

then started up again. OK, I said, I get it.

I won’t burn the candle tonight. The noise stopped.

I turned and caught one glimpse

of a tall being of light, right there in my kitchen …

just for a moment. But all evening I heard little sounds

as if she was playing with her toys – the jingly bells,

the rustlings – though she had not in life 

played with them for many months 

as she aged and rested (walking a bit stiffly 

with arthritis). Nevertheless I heard her playing now: 

the sound of those toys (which didn’t in fact 

move from their stash) being tossed and batted.

None of this stopped me howling and wailing.

I slept surprisingly soundly afterwards. Now 

I’m calmer, though it catches me sometimes.

I keep noticing the many tiny ways

I was always looking out for her comfort, her safety.

I can’t walk down the passage without

glancing into the laundry to check her litter tray.

Which is not there any longer. I gave it,

along with the toys, the carry-case, left-over food,

to Friends of the Pound. She was
my seventh cat. I’ll let that magic number

be the last. I know I can’t do this any more, 

even though a couple of friends already

told me of cats needing rescue. No. 

Not me, not again. She was final.

5-6/3/19

Selene left this life on Monday 4th March 2019, 
just four weeks short of 11 years old.

More prosaic details at my SnakyPoet blog: 
https://snakypoet.blogspot.com/2019/03/goodbye-to-selene.html

Linking to The Tuesday Platform for March 12 at 'imaginary garden with real toads'

Haibun: Getting Colder

Haibun: Getting Colder

‘Why is Autumn coming so early?’ I thought, as I woke to suddenly cooler mornings or began reaching for a blanket at night. But it wasn’t early; I was still caught in Summer though Summer was ending. All at once it was the 1st of March, the timing perfectly correct. Only Autumn was always my favourite season – not hot but beautifully warm, the river shining, the skies their deepest blue. This time it's cold and wet. Some days, the rain doesn't stop. Not far away, there have been cyclones and floods. The Weather Bureau promises three days of thunder.

in the big bed

my small cat doesn't fill

the space you left

Written for Season Your Poetry Part II at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.