Hi Ku Cat

[butters]

good lord, we're getting old
when that climb to midnight feels weeks away

if we were partying
you could be sure
i'd be up and dancing

but after this busy day
and you still in your dressing gown
Easy Rider, a whiskey
and the stray cat in for the night
we're content enough
as '22 slides out of sight


happy '23, my love

 

[HarryHill]

2023 in January; as per the post date.
Hands in the dirt today.
A fork for feeding the gardener,
keeping privet at bay.

I had my fill of blackeyed peas and greens,
stuffing instead of cornbread; nice touch.
Missed the countdown. Not.
Half the movie, unrealized 'til now.
Holidays don't move me anyhow,
except that one day after tomorrow
Happy Birthday! :confetti: Happy 2023!

 

[butters]

excuses not to swim in the cesspit of a former life to write: #9

you know how i dream
slip so easily between the lives
playing out as characters in my sleep
experiencing
if only at cerebral levels
sometimes
their emotional reactions
their sensory input

so should i feel cheated
or cheating
if i write that way somedays?

 

[butters]

he brings the wine
me—the cake
time spent together
a slow-burning Valentine's

 

[HarryHill]

You never cease to amaze,
never fail to step up,
when life needs doing.

 

[butters]

You never cease to amaze,
never fail to step up,
when life needs doing.

i see you
stepping up
working sitting down
getting things in order
me in, you out
together
we're getting it done

xx

 

[HarryHill]

Bunny safe, night birds dart,
corn breathes a sigh of relief,
staking is done and also more fun,
than the end of some poor rabbit thief.

@todski28 I wonder if this new format is on a timeout?

 

[butters]

even as the skies darken

he's out there now
row 2
plotting for peppers
forcing tines into the rain-packed crust
beating greedy roots against the fork
shaking loose clumps of soil and stone
salting the earth with his sweat
writing poetry in his head
cursing his balance
reciting his bodily mantra
of
press
push
flex
lift
turn
repeat
as i sit here
writing this
watching the wind pick up
deciding it's time
to fill his coffee cup
call him home


---------------



accepted by O.A.F for August Front Page publication

 

[butters]

should be outside
delicately sprinkling
miniscule carrot seeds
onto finely tilthed dirt
in cleanly defined rows
before carefully sifting
equally fine grains of soil
over their promise of potential
then raining a fine drizzle
from the rose-headed can
as encouragement

should be

but the trees and blousy shrubs
are jumpy as nervous colts
startled by unexpected gusts
the thrashing of bright boughs,
and city-crowds of radish
stand testament
to the last time i tried
to sow seeds on a windy day

 

[butters]

from live writes but with editing, parts one and two

death of a rooster

i'm a patient person
and he'd taken more liberties
than trump backstage
at a beauty pageant
inflicted stabs and bruises
used up more than 9 lives
was on borrowed time

and still
believing the hype of his plumage
and sick with that vitriolic rage
unique to small-guy syndrome
he pushed his luck
and pushed it further
pumped on adrenaline
caused the end of the leaf rake
to fall off
and staff met him halfway

even near death
he showed off
cartwheeling for posterity
before i took his head

without his crown
he swims now
in fragrant broth
in a diced garden
of complimentary vegetables
and i wonder
will he taste like anger?


not store bought

i set out with good intentions
to respect
to not waste

but there's something
incredibly primal
about eating one's opponent

i processes
this new experience
in bites

------------------





i may change that 'not store bought' title

 

[HarryHill]

You know when I go to that quiet place,
stare out the window,
seemingly catatonic,
but inside thoughts run freely,
and makes me wonder,
who has the stranger machinery?

 

[butters]

levitation achieved through serenity

orange cat floats
on waves of green
—old prone log









n.b
without the title, and with a political eye, this could be about trump, the green being dollars and the old prone log being mitch mcconnell!

of course, it appeared more like a buddha floating on enlightenment, that old log the 'trick' in a smoke'n'mirrors display

illusion
fat orange cat
floats on waving greens
—old prone log

 

[butters]

"best corn in the county!"

corn's happy
hip-high in May
unravelling cornucopia
of bright, broad leaves
in preparation
for longer
hotter days
the swelling days
the days of ombre silk...
days of black beetles' creep
and the ravages of man recalling
butter on his chin

 

[HarryHill]

There she is,
my girl, laying a riff,
stealing my heart again
ombre silk,
buttered chin.

 

[butters]

land legs still at sea

after the navy
after the accident
and after the coma
he had to learn to walk again
with a shortened femur
shredded muscles
and his spirit-level out of calibration

some days are kinder than others
his inner horizons less at odds
with the verticals of life

he does better traversing
the dips and swells of these hills
than he does our home's flat planes

still enjoys a drive
but can longer ride
the motorbike he loved
that left his land-legs
all at sea

 

[butters]

and i know it was written implying a motorcycle accident (and he had some of those), it was one in a truck driven by someone else that created the trauma... poetic license

 

[butters]

don't be sad! you can't change the past but you CAN celebrate being alive and doing all you still can do, which is a LOT!!!!

 

[HarryHill]

don't be sad! you can't change the past but you CAN celebrate being alive and doing all you still can do, which is a LOT!!!!

Never sad but pensive,
what's past is past, not meant to last as echoes in our mind.
Now these fine sunsets don't come for free.
I've paid my dues , you'd better believe one waterlogged apostrophe.

 

[butters]

free range poets

roam the yards
flock to the sound
of an opening door
hoping for scraps tossed our way
tasty, random, diverse

cluck and quibble
they scrabble in life's compost pile
double-scratch for juicy tidbits
snatch ideas that wriggle
moist and twisty

before moving on
as a group
play follow-my-leader
across overgrown
unmown
meadowland
picking the winged
and the shiny
from lush stems

taking time to visit shrubs
glean soft-staining fruits
leave scattered half-digested thoughts
to seed the soils or stick to souls...

now and again
we check the skies
for ominous, circling shadows
lay an egg
with some announcements
or hop up on the midden heap
spread our wings
and crow



(accepted OAF FP publication Dec.)

 

[butters]

liquid encryption

he sits at his desk
writing poems in his head
stares out at the clouds
attempts to decode Nature's own
writ in dripping cyphers on the panes




(accepted OAF FP publication Dec.)

 

[butters]

time on his hands and hard decisions

since he can't mow the storm-sodden grass, he contemplates
coffee and sweet chilli sauce on his desk—wonders which first?




he kissed me good morning

a night filled with lightning, calamitous crashes—
i clung to him and jumped as he soundly slept

 

[butters]

i am not a trump-hater

despite flaccid word-grenades tossed by writhing magats:
despiser? sure! way more energy efficient *nods*

 

[HarryHill]

I'm'a jive,
dead branch in the yard,
just another thing
in the never ending charge to
eternity.
at dead idle, no need for speed. but
the cat's behind the chair and I really got to pee.

 

[HarryHill]

I remember that photograph,
the one my tour guide took,
in front of a black lion,
beside the Thames.

 

[HarryHill]

Blank page waits, I cannot lie;
this movie took me by surprise.
So you must do w/a few lines.
an I must post in 4/4 time.