Saturday, November 22, 2014

Disgruntled Poet

Scrolling through my picture files
in search of inspiration-

A photo of a yellow tanager,
gimlet-eyed and hawthorne-perched:

- a jumpy, chrome-yellow birdshit box,
cackling at dawn while I’m trying to sleep,
my mind declares.


A colorful Japanese woodblock print
of snow-capped mountain temples:

- an unwelcome reminder that the snow shovels
have not yet been taken out of storage,
and I have no idea where my snow boots are.


A Facebook-found cartoon of cats
doing something evil and fun and cat-like:

- how long has it been since somebody
last cleaned the litterbox?
Does this cushion smell funny to you?

 Time to move on.

Inspiration comes from odd places-
If you go looking for it,
it usually runs away
and hides under the couch
with the dust bunnies and
those mittens you lost last March.


-the smell of late afternoon woodsmoke
-the purr of the cat
-part of a vagulely-remembered song lyric
-a misread newspaper headline
-a thought that bursts into your brain
in the middle of the night

when one appears,
snatch it before it flits away.
There will be another along sometime,
there usually always is-
but why wait?
Grab it,
and play with it,
and maybe,
just maybe,
it won’t shit in your hand.

And that’s really
all you wanted anyway.

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