every year
at about this time
one of them would go
out of a silent accord
to the cupboard under the stairs
where the old sports gear
boxes of toys
decorations
and sundries resided
a few objects moved
a little space made
until the box was found
snug
among the festive decorations
out it would come
to be dusted clean
and placed with care
and due respect
on the small table
in the lounge
with a little ceremonial flourish
both of them
gathered close as both
participant and spectator
the lid
came off
a neatly folded
small package of fur
was carefully removed
and straightened
a button found
and activated
to trigger self-inflation
it made a small
pop
when it was done
and the sound of air moving
faded
then ceased
all that was left to do
in a ritual
developed between them
over many seasons
was to rub
and to soft the ears
between their fingers
gradually
a sound became audible
then louder
and unmistakable
purr-purr-purr-ing
pats
stroking
soft words of endearment
and encouragement
the seasonal cat
opened her eyes
and meowed
oh the joy
happy hours
of petting
of rubbing up against people
furniture
legs
then finally
a change
a look in the feline eyes
that was somehow
different
focused
hungry
again together
they opened the door outside
and led the way
to the laden trees
cherries
fat baubles of promise
and glow
juice and joy
suspended voluptuously
in their twos and threes
so nearly ripe enough
for the taking
so clearly
already being taken
for there
plumped as though
in nests of their own entitlement
were a satin bower bird
and a king parrot
the cat hardly glanced at the birds
she knew
with a leap
she was astride the main trunk
of the first
ornamented tree
with another
she was near to the top
a squawking
a flutter
a small chaos
the birds were gone
they looked at each other
face lit with inner joy
such a satisfying moment
every year
the saving
of the cherries
by the seasonal cat
in a week
perhaps two
the cherries would be harvested
and the cat
once again at rest
in her box
beneath the stair
© Frank Prem, 2016
Poem #8: word is to image (in a letter)
060218
Now this has me completely curious?
If I’m reading this correctly …. this is some sort of “seasonal” inflatable device/toy that can be controlled to scare away the birds that feed on the cherries?
Really???
I need to know …. 😀
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and,
magic always lives under the stairs!
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LOL … right …. okay, I’ll just have to live with the mystery! 😣
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This is absolutely wonderful!!! Intriguing surprises all the way through. Beautifully told. Oh, your mind.
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Judy, thank you. This was a piece that had me chuckling with malicious glee all the way while writing it. Teach those birds to get at MY cherries … LOL
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I love how that you did not give yourself away. It was intriguing the entire way through with that twist I love.
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I belong to a small group of poets who meet monthly. We always bring one of our own poems for discussion as well as one from another poet. I’d like to bring yours next month, with your permission.
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I would be honored.
Sorry I can’t be there to read it for your group. I have a couple of recorded pieces that can be listened to on Soundcloud of get the urge. I’ll be delighted to get feedback on your discussion, if you don’t mind.
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Yes, of course. I had a mental image of the cat doing more than just scaring the birds away. There is such a sinister undercurrent in this lovely fun poem.. which echoes that side of a cat’s personality. Don’t get me wrong. I love cats and have five, but I well recognize that primitive hunter in the most docile of them. Do you live in Australia or England?
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I’m in Australia. No cats, but a cat seemed necessary.
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Absolutely, at least this cat was, or we wouldn’t have this fun poem.
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This is a group of “serious” poets who mainly meet to share and critique their own work. Some very fine poets in the group. There are just eight members but we always each share one “found” poem…many times from the masters, but I like to share poems I find on blogs if I particularly love them as I’m the only blogger in the group. They still all go the traditional route of submitting to magazines and journals but although I hate to admit it, I quickly tired of submitting things long ago. Other than an occasional anthology and our local monthly magazine, I’d rather expend my efforts in writing and blogging. I like the immediacy of the feedback. Ha.
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macabre and delightful…definitely caught my attention.
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Thanks VJ. It was a malicious joy to write.
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