| Author | Message | ||
| Donald Gordon
New member Username: macaudonald Post Number: 11 Registered: 11-2005 |
On the Road Sleek, jet black With a splash of white Like the first evening star. He arrived one Sunday. As Small and perfectly formed As a haiku. Who we named after you. For he was a lively one That Jack. Sat on the lap of an autumn evening, He would needle the top of my legs Like I imagined you had worked the keys of your old type writer. For like you he was a poet Who wrote his verse with the entrails of dead mice. Stanzas carefully laid out on the kitchen floor. Or sometimes set off live on our bed. Little frightened poems that he pawed until dead. Jack the wanderer, Who found his road on the paths and gardens That snaked and laddered their way up Rack Hill. A watcher Of the ebb and flow of the Village That we were always destined to be outsiders to. But never Jack. Who climbed to the top of the telegraph pole in the road. ’Never seen a cat do that’ our neighbor said. It was the first time she had spoken to us } | ||
| Zephyr
Senior Member Username: zephyr Post Number: 3212 Registered: 07-2003 |
Hi Donald, being a cat person I loved this. We have several cats and yes...we did have a mouse in the bed a little field mouse and I was able to set it free! Not surprised about the telegraph pole, they like a good vantage point...and paragliding.  |
