This animal that beckons me,
To a pond where I could see.
An edge that smells from the muck.
The muck that has my ankles stuck.
The bugs that buzz inside my ear.
I wonder what I’m doing here.
This is not the place for rhymes,
Of hope or fear or merely lines.
The seedlings dropping in my head,
Are not quite clear, they’re faint instead.
How could I bring such faint to page?
To give it life, give it a stage?
Once it falls it’s too soon gone.
Before it’s had a chance to spawn.
But on a page, it starts to swarm.
A living thing that can transform.
A link in a bigger chain.
A better means to explain. . .
Explain why I’ve been so wrong.
Explain why here I don’t belong,
In the grander scheme of things,
And whatever that might bring.
So, I play with seeds and thoughts,
And smile at what all they’ve brought.
I’m hopeful that the blanken page,
Will blossom like those dancing sage,
And show the man to be quite silly.
From dunce and fool to pleased and dilly.
As muck squeezes ‘tween my toes.
Here is what I will propose.
To not be led by a cat.
A cat that’s grown to be quite fat.
A cat that’s laughing on the side,
As I get my shoes untied.
And leave them there in the muck,
Despite the scowls of passing duck.
This pond I think is not for me.
This place I thought that I would see.
Embarrassment at what I write,
When I look back would be alright.
That would mean I’ve moved beyond,
To a bigger, deeper pond.
One where maybe I can swim,
And dive beneath and within.
One that calls for more of me.
That today’s not all I’ll see.
I walk away with dirty feet.
Back with this cat so he can eat.
© 2021 TheRememberings Ltd.