Regular visitors to "Chosen Words" are aware that I don't often engage in structured verse. I enjoy reading well-crafted rhyme, but I find the process of making it difficult and frustrating.
This poem is an effort to reconstruct a minor crime that I became witness to as a child. You may notice that some of the details of the poem vary from the official version of what really happened:
We had a screened-in back porch, and a lot of cats. The porch was sometimes, but not always, off-limits to the cats.
Naturally, when my grandparents discovered the cats sitting on the inside looking out, I ... the most innocent of young children ... was the prime suspect.
I had not let the cats in, really. While there was no apparent punishment for my "crime," I was determined to clear my name, and clear it I did.
With careful watching and waiting, I caught the real culprit in the act. One of our cats ... not "Fuzzy," I hasten to add ... had learned that if he sank his claws into the opening edge of the screen door, he could pull it open just enough for his buddies ... and him ... to slip inside.
I showed my grandparents this feline felon in action ... and we lived happily ever after.
Today's art? It's one of my photographs from Cox Arboretum, which happens to be one of my favorite walking places.
I know, it doesn't serve to illustrate today's poem, but I don't seem to have any pictures of six cats peering out the window, and this photo just sort of popped out at me again today, so there it is.
The poem:
INSIDE JOB
When we got home the cats were all
At the front window, looking out;
Six, countingFuzzy, standing tall,
And purring to themselves, no doubt.
Picture perfect, but then chagrin.
"They were supposed to be waiting
Outside," I heard myself grating,
"That rat, Fuzzy, has let them in."
© 2005
(originally published in Grit magazine)
***
Today's word: chagrin
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
Thank you, Helen, for those kind words about the photo ... and the poem. Certainly, you may feel free to turn the photo into a painting. I'm not sure what kind of flowers they were/are. I just couldn't pass them by without snapping a shot of all that color spilling down the rock wall ... and I'm glad I've been able to share it. First time one of my poems has been called cute, I believe ... and it doesn't seem to mind at all.
" ... purple flowers tumbling down the rock wall ... " I like the sound of that, Featheredpines. Thank you for stopping by ... and for that insight on the cats, too.
2 comments:
To start with--the picture is aboslutely beautiful! Could I have permission give a stab at painting it? What kind of flowers were they. They look like clematis. We don't have them down here. Maybe it won't matter in a painted picture because the beautiful rock fence is where your eyes go and then followed by the lavandar and green.
I loved the cute poem. That's the first time I've used that word about you poetry and I like it. Never hurts to be cute--even if you're a poem.
Take care on what, if the weather men are right, you have an almost spring day. :)
I can see those cats sitting there, full of mischievous ideas :)
The purple flowers tumbling down the rock wall are beautiful.
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