The Walnut Leaves, In Their Terror

The walnut leaves fall in groups,
In fear of
Zacky Peanut, who brooks no nonsense
And is ferocious (but fair.)

Into their bags they go,
Silent siblings to the sticks
Also lately fallen.

She who has a dog
Need never fear walnut leaves
For he is a Good Boi
And always at the ready.
_____

for Real Toads.

Fascination

I defer in all things to the gray cat
perched on the porch rail as the sun goes down.
His disinterest is my fascination.

The moon slipping from the sky is another fascination
of mine, and too, I think, of the gray cat
though he is silent as he shakes himself and jumps down.

You are the one I can't forget, like a book I can't put down
written by a stranger untouched by my fascination 
with stories, with you, with the moon and the gray cat.

The gray cat pounces down on shadows; I watch in fascination. 
_____

a tritina for fussy little forms with Marian.

this poem is an homage of sorts for one of my favorite poems--"untitled" by Carl Rickert, which appeared in the September 1973 issue of The Speakeasy Culture. 

With some trepidation, I am adding Carl's poem here because it is impossible to find and should be read widely, imo. I have tried to search him out to get permission, but after 45 years it's impossible. Carl, if you see this and object, let me know and i will remove it. Again i stress that the following is a poem by CARL RICKERT, not me, but my poem at top is an homage to it and its ideas about gray cats.

"Untitled" by Carl Rickert

No one at all that night

saw the moon drop from the sky,

save myself

and a gray cat walking by,

looking

perhaps,

for another gray cat,

looking

for something,

looking,

maybe,

for me,

because I am the master of the gray cat,

and life,

my life,

the cat's life,

your life,

maybe,

if you give it to me,

and the gray cat,

The gray cat helps me make my decisions,

decisions on life,

my life and your life,

if that's your desire,

The gray cat has no sense of responsibility,

seeks only pleasure

and other gray cats,

at night,

or in the day

if it has that feeling,

but I seek his answer,

perhaps because of that lack of responsibility,

I have that,

you know,

responsibility,

for the gray cat,

and you,

if you would like,

my life would change,

and yours,

and the gray cat's,

but chances

are born in the moon we watched,

until last night,

when it dropped from the sky,

and only I was the witness,

for the gray cat

upon questioning,

saw little

save another gray cat,

or the hope of seeing another gray cat,

so you'll have to take my word,

and the fact

that the moon no longer appears,

and that despite the change in my life

I still want you,

waiting of course

to see what the gray cat will say.

Pheasant Therapist Is Cray Cray

Here I am, the answer to all your dreams.
But please, 
stay out in the waiting room;
when the light is on, I am in session.

Preen
preen preen
preen.
Okay, I'm not in session, I'm preening.
The last client left vermin in my feathers,
diminished their shine,
and brought that scary gun.

Pheasants are known for healing, and luck in love.
I'm a pheasant shore nuff. 
Okay, come in.
I'm right here
hiding behind the waste basket. 
Look into my goofy birdy eyes--
yep, you're pretty screwed up.

Let's see what we can do.
Yap yap yap
yap. 
I think what you really want is to eat me;
that could be fatal or fine.
You're a mess but cute. 
I think we made a lot of progress today, even with me creeping around the desk and along the walls. 

Ready?
FOOM flap flap flap FOOM!
Noisy right?
A girl's got to make an entrance. 
You gonna make a move now, or what?
Here I stand, trying again, feathered and fantastic
if not terrifically bright. 
_______ 

for Unfairy Tales at Real Toads. 

According to folklore, pheasants are harbingers of love and good luck, as well as being healers. The only time I ever encountered a pheasant, it absolutely exploded out of a bush, making a tremendous racket that scared me half to death. Perhaps it went on to establish a thriving practice offering talk therapy, tarot astrology, and interpretive dance. It could've.

About Athena

She's a headache, father. 
You know it better than any.
And what about that bird she insists upon having?
It swoops down from the top of the chiffarobe
whenever I walk in carrying laundry. 

Oh, I talk to her.
She just gets out those everlasting scales and stands there
without saying a word.
The owl twists its neck and gapes too.
It's unnerving.

I went through her closet
--looking for drugs!--
and there, at the bottom of a tube of tennis balls,
I found a lightning bolt.
What do you suppose she's doing with that? 

Finally, I went through her dresser.
The owl started pacing on the chiff like a constable.
Athena walked in just as I found them--
"Will you be snooping...er, staying for lunch, Mother?"
--six dead rats laid all in a row
like a diamond necklace.
_________

for Poets United Midweek Motif--Owls