For My Ripe Clarabel

Questions dripped contantly as petals from your ripe rose lips.
Answers were plucked carefully by my own tentative fingers
from the pink puddle of whys and hows at your pale feet.
Reasons for the season's change and how it could rain
on your birthday were not innate but born with you.
I found strength in the scent of your auburn ringlets.
Though more complicated as time passed, I matched the sincerety
that your eyes demanded
and became the well of knowledge that you saw.
Although occassionally compelled to silent patches of contemplation,
words would manisfest because you were always listening.
And now, to the fear in your eyes, as you swell
with new life and ask about those questions,
I must confide that the answers are within you.
You will smell them in the tendrils of your baby's soft hair.

As I Imagine Her

The rocks so hot at dusk were cool by dawn.
The waves that splashed your name echoed as mist.
A blanket round my sunburnt shoulders, drawn,
protects me from the spray but not your kiss.
All memories this lighthouse flashes still
envelope me in unforgotten mirth.
The dark brown eyes will linger as a chill,
the tender love I had not felt since birth.
I cannot comprehend where you are now,
but oceans always find the shore somehow.

Ode to Jane

In crept a tiny, skinny, pregnant stray,
Who found a soft sweatshirt by a playhouse.
Abandoned or quite lost, she would not say,
But preferred dry cat food to grass or mouse.

She wooed a family with whiskers long
And skittish eyes and melancholy mew.
The fools' soft hearts knew that it would be wrong
To leave her in the frosty April dew.

They quickly made a bed inside a room
For laundry that was next to the garage,
Tempted her with fancy dry cat food,
Safety, warmth and sweet human massage.

She had her litter there upon the floor,
The sixteenth birthday of the youngest child.
A member of the family evermore,
Although they could not name her when they tried.

Melanie or Tabitha, too plain?
They struggled on for indecisive days
Till tripped on in the hall, when "Friggin' Jane!"
Was uttered by the boy and would remain.

Though shamelessly in love with Thurstin cat,
The king of the household in which she stayed,
Inching close when ever his eyes would bat,
To touch him was her thrill till she was spayed.

Jane was a loyal, loving, playful pet,
Attached to mother's lap and father's knee.
Sleeping on their pillows in the bed
And basking in the sun, emitting glee.

The family never knew the cat's true age,
though "eight" was mentioned nearly every year,
as "twenty-nine" for humans, every stage
was eight from fat and crazy to one eared.

We won't forget her now or any day,
The sweet feline that touched our lives, plain Jane.

Collaborative Creations Poem

Come create, illuminate
or recreate a moment now or passion strong.
Join me now to sing a song of truth, reflection;
mirth once lost
cannot be captured, such a cost
of precious moments, love and grace
time could so easily efface
as oceans castles in the sand.
Reach out now and take my hand.
I'll pull you through the waters deep,
the poem shall be yours to keep;
sonnet, free verse, lyric, rhyme,
(the copywrite, of course is mine)
to be published, if you desire,
in a book of works compiled.
Just fill out a simple form
and pay me, as that is the norm.
Give me contact information
as it will aid in the creation
of the poem I have sent
expressing all your sentiment
in about ten to twenty lines,
though more than that would take more time
and money yes, I fear it's true
(for starving poet's children's shoes...)
But worry not if you receive
a poem that won't meet your needs,
I will not cease with the revisions
till the poem meets your vision.