Archive | September 2015
September 27, 2015  

EMIL CATT IN PINK

It is truly not to punish him.
He simply lost his collar.
The black one with fake diamonds
that gave him an air of elegance
whilst chomping on pitiful mice.
He lost it, or, more likely,
worried it with his back claws
until it came unhooked
and fell into someone’s garden,
most likely Glennie and Kent’s.
He could not wander collarless,
appearing to be neglected;
an unknown vagrant in this neighborhood he loves.
I found some bright pink ribbon,
tied a bright pink bow round his fine grey neck
and now he is most assuredly
a marked, but distinguished kitty,
visible from houses down.
and tho’ he has no bell, you can absolutley tell,
it is Emil Albert Leroy Anderson Catt wending his way.
rJo Herman 9/27/15
September 26, 2015  

CLANDESTINE

How to explain this other life
filled with books
and writers and authors and poets
I have never met,
yet with whom I feel most at home?

I travel to work at the bank each day
to earn my keep,
to touch base with a few live people,
then hurry back to my real life
where it matters not
who had a divorce
or a bankruptcy
or an illness
destroy their credit.

I have friends to read.
I have thoughts to think
and even a couple to share,
deeper that the fluff I post.

September 26, 2015  

LIMERICKS FOR MY BROTHERS…(that includes you, Billy Allen)

There once were two brothers named Herman

who rode crazy bikes that were German

whenever the sun rose

they’d fly off like black crows

and leave normal humans in… (the dust?)

Now Robert rode a silver  Ducati

and with it he acted quite naughty

he winked at the girls

and studied their curls

and laughed when they acted too haughty

Eric’s cool Triumph was blue

He rode it so fast he just flew

down the road to the airport

past Lake WA and its seaport

’til into the hangar he blew

Not to be forgotten is Billy

whose Harley made noise like filly

he’d lay back and cruise

ignoring the news

while  planning a road trip to Philly…

September 26, 2015  

MY BROTHERS

They fly

these brothers

in the air

down the road

disdaining weakness

talking smack

ogling blondes

swigging wine.

Daring each other

to fly

in

out

above it all

*******

All my brothers are pilots and ride motorcycles like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape.   I can imagine each of them lovingly patting the gas tank of their BMW, or Ducati, or Triumph, or Harley before they get back to the challenges of each day.