Krogar and Klaus, and the House Mouse Mystery

Hunkered down, very un-calm,
Side by side, just before dawn,
Cat by Cat, confide, but stir little

“Where’s that.. WHAT’S IT?”
Growl tooth’ed jaws with spittle

Whiskers a’ twitch, ‘n tails a’ switch,
Two cats, grouse, protest, and grit

“How shall we get at that.. WHAT’S IT?”

Upon the fireplace screen, out come claws,
Topsy-turvy cats crash into brick walls
Topple andirons, ashes, and kindling--
Crazed cats, Krogar and Klaus, go a’ spindling
Leap from hearth askew and a’ yaw,

“There, ..No there!!!!!” confused Cats babble. Agile kitties flip, twist then scrabble,
In the dark hall, brave kitties fall,
Land gracefully upon padded paws.

That's the fastest house mouse either ever saw.

WHAT’S IT jumps from mantle
circles the whole room,
Finds a dark shadow just behind a broom
Waits there while cats’ re-group

"WHAT'S IT?" Krogar stopping to groom--
he leaps on the table, and knocks off the fruit;
Banana, pear, apple, orange meteors fall

So, WHAT’S IT under couch crawls
the chase, Cats resume, into guest bedroom
In a flash the guest bed is disheveled
when zoom, as two cats assault is made -- WHAT’S IT flies up to safety of a dark lampshade

WHAT’S IT hangs upside down, unabash’ed,
Pausing to see kitties’ looks of bad luck that day
Licking their paws, their last trick is played

“WHAT’S IT can fly,” Krogar to Klaus, says in dismay
And with the dawn, the light inter-plays.

Up to the shadowy attic, in a graceful jet,
Flies WHAT’S IT easier
without even a silent shiver
Through the eaves, spies the Cats now so upset,
...can’t even digest their liver

Today, though, there are no regrets:
Krogar and Klaus tell their neighboring pets,
“You may visit our house, with behavior best;
“Pleeze, Do not disturb our house mouse guest: “He is a “‘WHAT’S IT’, "The most unusual, honored, flying houseguest” A poem written for me and first daughter Panther Paws circa 1983; by Robert “Bob” Parker, of Halifax, Massachusetts, Unfortunately, he has passed away. He lived his retirement years on Monpossett Pond in a little converted boathouse, that he shared with several animals, pets and otherwise. Bob would wake up early before his wife, stoke the wood burning stove, in the morning before dawn, and type on his Corona manual, and this is one he chronicled pre-dawn. Thanks Bob, PD



Patrick Darnell

Tuft of thundercloud trailing anvil head,
For a moment dove eating crumb of bread
From bronze rail before flight
With point on horizon to sight
Full wind, full rudder churns freshwater white.

Out to quiet sailing had set we
With jib and full sail cast
As have sturdy fellows past.

I could hear almost the Old Salt
From his boat in briny harbor forgot
Talking as frapped his rope
'... Bloody Lake Mich, choppy old moat,
'... Choppy when the wind blows,
'... Meaner'n a blistered nanny goat.'

Leaning with gaunt arm bare
Upon bronze gunwale, pushing aside thick hair,
Squinting ignobly in bright sun-glare
With meaty fingers tugs at pipe there
Aboard chapped lips points to east horizon
Of inland mare, fashions scowl for his next quip
As great barrier of clouds form at fast clip

'... Tha' water my life did I impart,
'... Not much left for Almighty God to sort.'

Flipping pocket flap open like a hatch
Wriggling fingers while digging for a match
To strike against all that scratch
Of a standard jaw, put he then pipe to pucker,
Match to pipe bowl, sucked he flame to tobacco;

Returning to his task murmuring just audible
Pipe clenched tightly in teeth and jaw
Spatted he to indicate his final card
Whispering as puckers he a humid draw:

'... Wha'cha gonna do ... Wha's one to do ...
'... Wha' character does she reflect when tide low
'... How can tide pool stand for long
'... in ancient thirsty sand?'

Calm smile now on his face in half shadow ...

'... To where my life depart; to live a mariner
'... For what did I impart these hands?'

I remember sail cloth masted, trimmed taut
To gather wind for friends at steady knot
A chance to depart on lake large as a sea
And to cross horizon in time eternity
With promise for life, love and for loss.

by Pat Darnell

http://moopigwisdom.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-remember-sail-cloth-masted-trimmed.html

Football

I had a moment of triumph
Like a hungry pelican
Sitting on a post...
Spotted millionaires
Dismantling society
Swooped, so I could scoop
And fumbled
The racialist's football...



Patrick Darnell