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October 26, 2016

Sleek through the house,
He glides between the others,
Picks at treats on the floor.
(Stealthy paw swipes.)

He climbs the furniture
With his scissor paws.
(My hand a testament
to their effectiveness in battle
or at play.)

Rescued from stones
In a barn - his loud
Meow a beacon
For his saviors.

Now, he is ready
For Halloween as he notices
Homages to him

Around the house
In snow globes, on towels,
Knickknacks on the walls,

Candle holders
And stuffed animals.

All the black cat,
The harbinger of candy
And ghouls.

This is Poem #186 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

In October of 2016, friends rescued a tiny, feral kitten from the foundation of an old, New England barn and delivered him to us. Just in time for Halloween, Ziggy Stardust joined our family.

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October 25, 2016

We rescued him at Halloween,
A dangerous time for the sleek,
Ebony feline. Cruelty can

Abound in rituals and pranks.
He hops around - almost blue -
Those round, saucer eyes.

Oh, kitten, trapped in the foundation
Of an ancient barn. Mother gone.
And sister starving in the hayloft.

Tiny and too young, we nursed
You and named you after an icon.
Ziggy Stardust, black

As the October night sky,
Ride on my broom with me.
Be my familiar purr.

This is Poem #185 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

When you’re in between

And change is mud season,

Mucky, murky, and you

Are stuck at the side of the road,

 

Avoiding the ruts

Got you nowhere.

There is fear in the middle.

 

No one loves uncertainty,

And the risk to move forward

Seems grim. It requires

 

A shedding of the past –

The tire iron at the ready.

 

We have nothing to believe

In anymore. Science her very self

Is under the microscope,

 

And condemned a witch.

Burn her at the stake.

Her feet sway under a long, grey,

Flax dress. Tiny black

slippers pointed like a ballerina’s.

 

We should have listened

To her long ago. But denial

Is so easy to believe

When the world is dying.

 

This is Poem #34 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Crypto Map

This poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine.

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