Bandit's Poem - a tale of Cat worship/encounters

A friend had me over the other day, and as I was trying to write down an idea, his cat tried to steal the pen, which became a game, as described here...

The cat wants to help
his paw comes over the table
finding the end of the pen
guiding the words into a shape
not as my original design was
a more pleasing pattern
but to his feline desires
one touched with his dignity
even as his tail gives away
the moment's mischief in his soul.

After a break for my hand
when he gets his due worship
we try the second stanza
him feigining indifference now
saving up for later I am sure,
then again, right about here
his nose now is on the paper
with his chin steering my pen
a bit gentler this time around
as if he is seriously composing.

Third stanza starts after a chin rub
now he merely observes the process
yawning to inform us all
that this pharoah is bored
and wants things wrapped up
so we can get on to the best part
The coffee and more worship
to the feline gods among us
sitting on the table quiet until
something in the kitchen attracts him.

Mid discussion and cup just right
the return is staged with such smoothness
nose to steaming mug at first
tail draped over page and pen
until turns around for the finale
watching intently, chin nudging suggestions
for me to make small corrections
as we wind up this tale
and get back to normalcy
Where Bandit is the focus.

(11/29/2011 -Dyfedd Rex)

The Buck Sleeps Here - a poem of a wildlife encounter

It was the perfect place
trees to break chilly breezes
a pine to lay under
on those snowy cold nights
with a bed of leaves
to rest upon in comfort

It was too damned perfect
I should have known that
and in the dark hours
before the frozen dawn broke
its other user showed up
irritated I used His bed.

He let me know it
with no doubts being left
pawing the ground quite harshly
rattling the branches with antlers
as he paced out there
demanding the bower he made.

When I did not move
at the speed he desired
to vacate the premises post-haste
He walked on through it
keeping a distance but still
letting me know his displeasure.

So I dragged my stuff
and left that sweet spot
as he claimed it again
rolling to disturb the leaves
and remove my scent quickly
for the buck sleeps here.
(11/27/2011) - Dyfedd Rex

Deerboy on a Bicycle - a poem of better days

Once upon a Febuary Morning,
back in Two Thousand Two,
as I headed to work
in lightly drifting snow flurries,
something remarkable and strange occurred.

Standing in my parking lot,
bold as brass and tacks,
was a buck mule deer
and two of his does,
just looking for the exit.

My car was still broke,
so I was biking then,
and as I mounted up
and started to the street,
these deer moved out also.

Reaching the snowy front yard,
where with two directions open
other than the right turn,
four more head gathered in
as I turned down hill.

A lawn and corner park
added anther ten head each
to this strangely magical drive,
as the sky lowered down
and snow picked up again.

Pedaling through that soft powder
with a herd before me,
like a cowboy of old,
under the orange hued clouds
I must have looked strange.

Passed three neighbors who laughed,
a cop who looked stunned,
and some other folks too,
as at every turn attempted
the deer moved with me.

Six turns and nine blocks
my magical deer drive lasted,
until at last they scattered
to lawns along Second South,
as if tired of playing.

To this day I wonder
how that image looked then
of the bicyclist riding along,
like in an old movie,
with deer instead of cattle.

All I can say now
is it sticks in memories
as a moment without doubt
never to fade quietly away,
but to stay forever firm.

(11/26/2011- Dyfedd Rex)

The Shaggy Dog Fears the Shears - a poem of a dog, or of my own aversion?

This is an older poem, but one that sums up my feelings about folks who judge me by my looks. Hey, I could indeed be John, cause I ain't got the patience to be the other member of that family who is supposed to come back.


With as bad as my hair and my beard look
and all the static I get for the rumpled clothes
you would think folks who pretend to be godly
would fear my being the return of the Baptist John.

They tease me with things from Judges
Asking if I am searching for my Delilah
or waiting upon my chance of redemption
by tossing the columns aside to bring down the house.

I answer back that my aim is the bring back
the mountain man look for all to imitate
and look for a squaw with a lot more knowledge
to teach me the ways of the beaver and wapiti.

But in the end the truth leaks free of my soul
and they all find out its not really some pose
I just have the same reaction to scissors in hands
as does the dog awaiting a yearly trimming.

(2010 - Dyfedd Rex)

This one was made for a friend, who in the course of a converstion we had, laid the query out, and I answered, only to have that 2x4 called inspiration smack me upside the head about the idea laying within.

Q: why can't everything else go as smoothly!
A: Cause Life and Fate refuse to learn the reading of the choreography we lay out for them!

It never goes smoothly
this dance with Life
because Fate separates us
trying to cut in
and the leading lady
refuses to even learn
the most basic steps
or any choreography now
that she understands indeed
how popular she is
among we still seeking
to find our ways.

Each song the same
start out on floor
lady on my arm
then some event intrudes
by Fate's evil hand
to take me away
leaving those ladies dancing
together with nasty grins
as I head off again
to put out fires
set in my life
by my dance partners.

My sole remaining satisfaction
comes from my genes
as those oversized treads
they cursed me with
find their delicate toes
as I turn away
leaving the parquet floors
to be their playground
as I wander about
stubbing toes in wilderness
with too many rocks
and holes seeking ankles.

She ain't so fair
that Lady called Life
and Fate is Mean
when not being fickle
but still I dance
with them each night
for they have me
set aside from others
forbidden to build relationships
with any human soul
who might even read
a dance card correctly.

Oh what the Hell,
next time my plan
is more than wicked
approaching down right nasty!
I will stand up
and grab their hands
hauling both out together
and avoide the embarassment
by dancing with two
instead of just one
and thus I may
make the song's end....
...unless I trip over my own two feet.
(2011 -Dyfedd Rex)

The Pigeons' Beggar-King

Bravest of the whole flock
the beggar king rules the steps
eyeing each one who settles
to enforce his fair share given
to his unruly feathered subjects
and ensure they live another day.

He struts the cement abutment
with that demanding red eye gaze
willing to fly into danger
and faces when sandwiches are lifted
to secure every morsel possible
thus keeping his subjects happily fat.

Woe to him who ignores
the demands of this tyrant bird
for there is in store
a fate worse than death itself
that of the aerial Bombardment
to protest a skinflints meager tithe...
   ...and marking him until laundry day.

Yes, this bird exists, where I get my main meal each day. He is a true brave and aggressive tyrant, which is why many of us now take that sack lunch to go somewhere else to consume it. Only to find another flock or kingdom, whose regal one is nearly a clone.

　

　

Gazes that begged for someone to start something - an older poem..

Eyes met,
and that was all for the moment
they both looked away shamed
that there was no reason at all
to move to the other.

Eyes met again,
This time the longer stare
of one measuring the other
with the distance between
still a daunting chasm.

Eyes met thrice,
longer locking of the watchers'
orbs in the test of willpower
each desiring the conversation
neither with the courage.

Eyes meeting again and again
throughout the night as the bar fills in
and the chasm grew to greater width
glints in eyes begging to move but each
waiting on the other.

Eyes gaze one last time
each sad the other showed no interest
in outward signs they could read
to meet and make desires bloom,
and thus part ways...
                                  ...forever?
(2010) Dyfedd Rex
This one came from a challenge of sorts, it was some word someone found, in another language about gazes that convey meanings... I liked the imated, and this poem formed around it. Some day I will come back and play with the word choice and punctuation.... but not now...