Purrsday Poetry: The Christmas Tree by Bernie Colley — Katzenworld

Hi everyone, Please find below the latest entry in Purrsday Poetry by Bernie Colley. The Christmas Tree The kittens gathered round to see the Christmas tree arrive they wondered what this thing could be as it was carried up the drive Once inside a pot was found and filled with earth and sand the tree was […]

via Purrsday Poetry: The Christmas Tree by Bernie Colley — Katzenworld

Yuletide

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Yule Tide

the raw bare foot in the snow
bled and bled as eons pass
that need of crackling paper positioned
the urge to chew on sentiment
never tamped under
crunching we must go if we are to live!?

Inner heart strung, we listen to a harp strummed
spider webs and flinch flight
memoried snow banked, thawing,
we catch each note avidly
a drop of boiling taffy in a common glass
are we at this thread or perhaps that?

December Commute

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December commute

Snow spitting down like a demented inmate
she kept the car steered just beyond the ditch
rosary beads well tucked
potatoes cooked, ready to be warmed
whirling of wheels and whirling of snow
not Catholics but congregants aching to live
the three of us breathed a little deeper
when the driveway hove into view
the burro just down from us sighing into his whiskers.

Down spitting, a patient too angry to be pilled
dampening coats and gloves and groceries
the wooden deck reached we bid adieu
the Grand Old Man shaking his fist outside our walls
we sat to table, steaming food,
our hush now a shout in the absence of blinding white spillage.

Christmas Tales grew into a book

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Guest post by Rohvannyn Shaw of Mindflight

When my parents and I no longer lived near each other, we still had a desire for closeness, particularly around the holidays. We started a tradition where my mother would write a story and email it to me, I would create illustrations for it then send the finished pages back over to them, then my father would help bind and ship the story. They would go out to all the friends and relatives as their Christmas present.

There were so many advantages to this. The extended family would start calling each other and discussing the story. I got plenty of chance to illustrate things. We all three had the feeling of continuing a holiday tradition that drew us together.

Now, for this year, my dad is the one who wrote the story. I had the idea to publish the last twelve or so stories into one big volume. I also would re-illustrate the stories that needed it. So “Yuletide Lights” was born. It’s fifteen stories, each one born of personal experience, and filled with the central themes of the holiday season. They stories are in general heartwarming and filled with generosity but in some truly touching ways. Each story is a slice of life, a pair of magic glasses with which you can peep into another life, another way. The story I wrote is about a lost cat in Japan, but even it happens around the Holidays. The little girl in the book my dad wrote might as well have been me, and I remember versions of many of events in these and other stories. Many times I’ve been moved to tears, working on this project.

I had fun preparing, editing and illustrating these stories, as much fun as I hope you have in reading them.

If you’d like to see this volume, it’s available both in paperback and Kindle.

 

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Found Poetry

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Warmth out of season, a stubborn petunia bloomed purple
a man in Home Depot stared up into an artificial tree
I scooted by, wondering what artificial thoughts matched
Joni Mitchell’s If I had skates to skate on,
words printed on a page siding with daughter’s illustration
pups demanding I toss the new ball
I run into a friend I barely know from Facebook,
I smack into her account of holding a pitbull
holding and crying as it died there in the road
and cherishing what was leaking out.
“Cry me a river!” as another sun sets
and a soon to be president ignores and ignores
the sight of that dog prostrate
a bit of Jesus there, hard,
that fake tree a treasure or a bill to the hardware man.

-Lenore Plassman

Family Zoo

Family Zoo
From my downhill paddock field I bray

“It’s breakfast time and bless this day!”

While plotting to elude the door

We three mew greetings on

The second Sunday, May.
I who from the snow came in,

One January Eve.

I who watch from the sidelines,

Yet in my way I care.
And I who reached to you

Through steel cage bars, aggrieved

When at first you went away,

But now you’ll never leave!

And you won’t be forgetting us, We girls mismatched,

Of forest, field and games of catch.

Those joyous wanderings we have with you.

We chickens and

Turkey too, join in,

Adding to the Maytime din!
For each cup of exotic chow,

For every feed of grain,

For every thatch of grass or clover pulled,

We wish your heart with peace be full.

For you the bright sunshine remains,

Your sight be filled with smiling muzzles,

Watching eyes and paws outstretched.

A joyous bark, A yowl and loud hee-Haw!

Marks this, your special Mother’s Day.

 

 

Written by Glynda Shaw, illustrated by Rohvannyn Shaw.

Solution for a messy problem

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Our local grocery store overwaters their produce and items are likely to arrive home wet.  I eat radishes as a low-calorie snack on my morning break and was often discomfited by the tendancy for the folliage with which radishes generally arrive, to become rotten in the fridge.  I’d been in the habit recently of pulling off the leafy stuff and composting it then washing the radishes.

More recently though I got wondering about the edible potential of radish greens.  Neither the donkey nor the chickens will eat them but I found that when steamed, these leaves and stems make a tasty addition to any tossed vegetable medley.

The radishes still could languish forgotten in a bag, behind stuff, in the fridge so one day I dropped the newly-separated radishes into a jar of dill pickel juice.  After several days the little globes pick up a pleasantly soured taste.  With repeated usage, the pickle brine becomes dilute so with every three or four radish bunches I pour off maybe a half cup of juice and replace it with vinigar.  My radishes don’t go bad any longer and we’re eating what used to go back into the soil.  I think that’s a definition of win-win!

Glynda Shaw