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O, Pendry was a Ganas cat

O, Pendry was a Ganas cat,
An orange cat, a clever cat,
A working cat, a cuddling cat.

On path he’d lie, a lazy cat. 106 more words

Poems

July 17, 2017

the quotidian
the play of light
isn’t

the mundane
the draggy breath at dawn
wakes me

the humdrum
thrums

Poems

July 14, 2017

the silent child
the still wide-open eyes

the still wide-open eyes
the silent grandmother dying

the silent grandmother dying
alone with people all around

alone with people all around… 26 more words

Poems

July 13, 2017

late afternoon light
flickers under leaves
gold under black under sky

gold under black under sky
blue stretching over
day reaching under night

day reaching under night… 32 more words

Poems

July 12, 2017

in still night
I hear
the white noise of air conditioners
because
I don’t have one

because
I turn out the light
I see
the black patterns leaves make against… 34 more words

Poems

July 11, 2017

Pouf went a-courtin’, and he did tweet, uh-huh
Pouf went a-courtin’, and he did tweet, uh-huh
Pouf went a-courtin’, and he did tweet
With a bank, a store, and a bag of sweets, uh-huh… 120 more words

Poems

Old Women Believers

divine love is my light 
my very life who then
can intimidate me i hear
the raging sometimes going
on right under the same roof
where i live reminding me
of childhood abuse and danger

but just one deeper thought
and i am no longer afraid we
old women are still haunted
by stories that sing dirges
in the ears of our pasts
we cannot endure a child's pain
or the errors of the arrogant

greed rides on our backs causing
ultimate aches and yet we who have
endured so long see light in this
dark planetary crisis see something
so beyond even the rising seas and
the toxic clouds the used to be our breath
see waves of hope coming from the very
humans and earth that seem so destroyed

we are still here waving the flags of our
old clothes standing in the midst ready
to leave if it is our time, but willing to stay
we can play in the back lash of what we have done
capture a prayer, a poem, a story a painting 
hold all as we have our own children and grands
the prickly pears and the soft sweet babies 
the wrinkled knees and thinning hair give us
a clear idea of all that really is beyond this 
burial of a must pervasive jointly held illusion
we are here for the funeral the interment and
finally the resurrection of reality.
Daily Poems