Endure Oregon Protest
They are still in Oregon.
The protest goes and has
Closed in. A leader, Cliven
Bundy, was arrested.
“Cliven” could be a past-
participle word for
“Cleave” (I don’t know
that it was)—an odd word
cleave: on its own, it would
seem to mean to cut into
two, yet it is the word used
for bonding in marriage
talk. Maybe the ideas is
that in marrying we slice
ourselves off one plant
and in a cleaved (or cliven)
state are grafted to another.
From both parts, then, new
growth is hybrid-formed—
and was such unity made
made here? Since one last
leader was taken, it would
not seem so; disunity, like
bad harmony, sounds from
final voices that endured.
Not to say that protest by
occupying and with guns
is a better way, for it is not.
But someone should really
hear what they have to say—
I’m not partisan in this
for feeling for both sides.
I simply wish equality imbued.
Everyone should be heard.
Everybody gets a turn. Not
A game—but how we should
have it. All the same.
Almost Always, Haiku
In spring love might turn
If you’re there to plant with me
Almost and always
Happy Tails, Happy Trails
I grew up with cats, with
Dogs, partly with a horse
(an entire horse), some
Guinea pigs, I think, and
Fish I could not relate to
There was a rabbit (maybe
Two rabbits—you know
How they are), a rescued
Bird
I met a big snake one time
At a program with a guide;
I enjoyed petting the snake
Feeling its muscles move
Beneath the skin
I enjoyed a staring contest
With a deer across the
Yard; actually, we were
Both walking the local
Cemetery and caught, as
If to trap, each other’s eyes
The things—Scripture’s
Creeping things—with tails
Are the ones I seem to
Do best with; I suppose I
Create a cheat out of
Belief and hope that the
Ones with tails and I are
Getting along
Well, what can I say? My
Wish (I don’t think Dale
Evans Rogers would mind)—
Happy tails, happy trails
this work is incited (that is, inspired in
an especially zealous way) in part by a
delightful blog and an extraordinary
group, Three Chatty Cats, celebrating
wondrously the rescue of cats
http://threechattycats.com/2016/02/08/the-odd-cat-sanctuary/
http://threechattycats.com/
Gee, Emoji!
This cat is cool
And a gift from a friend
Who knew my cat, too,
The cat who trained me for
Nineteen years, and I never got
It right
Palindromic name, Hannah
A rescue on Hanover Street
Kitten alone, wandering into
Street traffic
I took her in, and she took
Over
Such a fine companion,
As most cats who are left
In power to train us,
Truly are
The emoji makes me think
Of a cheer—maybe it’s the
Wry smile, maybe the sunshine
Color
Gee, Emoji!
Gee, Gee, emoji!
Gee, emoji, you’re so fine,
Want to paste you all the time!
Graphic cool is what you are,
Any shape, you are a star!
Gee! Emoji!
Gee! Gee! Emoji!
We cheer
For our circular cats,
And we are cheered
my friend who sent me the cat
emoji keeps a Facebook place
called One Mom’s Mission
about the joy in having a child
with Down’s Syndrome; my
general ignorance in using
emojis was first ‘fessed to and
challenged in a friendly way by
Annie at What the Woman Wrote
(sorry, Annie, I still don’t know
how to use these things in
anything like an easy way)
ONE MOM’S MISSION (FB)
https://whatthewomanwrote.wordpress.com/
Cry
Such painful beauty here.
It rains with truthly tear.
The Essence, created by Emily Romano, is a short, structured form of two-lines, six syllables each with an end rhyme and internal rhyme. (From the definition Annie cites.)
https://whatthewomanwrote.wordpress.com/2016/02/08/forlorn/?c=4644#comment-4644
Annie at What the Woman Wrote crafted with this poetic form: her work, “Forlorn.” (The link is just above.) I responded in kind. She, then, kindly shared her expectation that I would post my response in my blog. So I’ve posted, here.
What can I say? She’s influential.
Annie posts wonderful images to complement her written work. I’m not nearly so skillful. So I’m afraid that “here” is going to have to be a reference to anytime in life itself, as can be imagined or recalled. Readers may fill in with a time from your experience. Or take it that mortal life is often this way, when we must, you know, cry.
Twenty-Seven Syllables
This is crepuscular diatribe
In quotidian confrontation
Meaning I’m scared of the coming night
(three lines of nine for no particular reason; maybe because I was born on the twenty-seventh day of the month; maybe because I want to try out the dictionary word-of-the-day; maybe because sometimes encroaching night puts me off—sometimes encroaching dawn as well)
Gross Tuesday, Then We Fast
In USA (and elsewhere, though
The images I see are from my
Own), it is the time of Mardi Gras
Fat Tuesday, Shrove Tuesday
(Shriving meaning to divest), or
Fast Nacht—a fluid season before
The dryness of Lent, a day of excess
Substance before lean Lenten days
Commence, if only in perspective
Here in Pennsylvania, we have snow;
But in the deep South, look out:
A French and Creole, native, Caribbean
Mélange of festival—a celebration that
In winter shouts, We are still here
And, except for the crime, why not
Love of Pi
pi it is
point
beyond
safe, solvable numbers in
equations
this would go on, transcendence
merging grammar and calculation, design of bridges, and love-
songs ellipses
all our science and art that
we can rely on become
something like God
random in beauty without end
(3.14159265359 and on)
with thanks for inspiration from What the Woman Wrote—Annie
herself responding to a number-sequenced poem-prompt
https://whatthewomanwrote.wordpress.com/2016/02/05/consumed/
https://whatthewomanwrote.wordpress.com/
clcouch123 
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