Poetry

Poem: Me and My Cat

Me and My Cat 2 C
I had this cat for 16 years. We were close friends. I think about her every day. Me and My Cat It’s 7 am and I need my rest I’m ignoring a ten pound cat on my chest, I can hardly breathe, But I’ll try and stay put, It’s Sunday today I don’t want to get up. It’s 7:05, and I’m staying in bed, I’m ignoring a large fluffy cat on my head. She’s purring loudly, it’s tricky to sleep. Something tells me that kitty is wanting to eat. It’s 7:15 or more I suppose, I’m ignoring the cat who is picking my nose. She’s persistent and starving in dawn’s early light, She hasn’t a morsel since Saturday night. It’s twenty past seven I hold fast my warm place, I’m ignoring the large furry paw in my face. She’s prodding so gently As loving can be Breakfast for her would mean peace for me. It’s half past seven I’m down under the sheet, I’m ignoring the ten pound blob on my feet. Still purring loudly, she might go away If I keep on sleeping the morning away. It’s 7:40 and resistance is thin There’s a purr-furry head snuggled under my chin. I have to admit, that this cat is sly She gets prey with honey Or at last it’s a try. It’s 10 til eight and the cat has prevailed I will feed the big ball of fluff with the tail. I’ll go back to sleep, I can if I wish, If only I’ll open the liver and fish. I live by myself, I do as I may, I sleep when I want And have things my own way, I do what I want, and I mean that is that! As long as my schedule conforms to my cat! W.C. Kasten, 1985, all rights reserved. ← 
Poetry

Poem: Small Town Rainy Night

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Small Town Rainy Night

A warm November evening –

Rain drizzled roads

Streetlights trying through fog

The vital roar of the river behind me.

Lonely footsteps trod back

From the general store

Where the town’s sole neon light

And pinball machine

Awaken the otherwise drowsy street.

The in-between-ness –

Leaves all gone

Snow not yet come,

All set in a mood of reflection.

The melancholy of the night.

From my window,

The hum of a truck

Getting closer, closer,

Drowns the night sounds

The wrenching gears

cry out as it hugs the curve,

Then puffs up the hill, away.

Silence returns.

Then the night sounds

Again, reach my ears;

Rushing water,

A fog-shrouded moan,

Dribbles of rain.

A small mew at my window.

My cat comes home.

Copyright w.c. kasten, 1976, all rights reserved

Written in Frankfort, Maine

Poetry

Poetry: Please Don’t say Goodbye

Please Don’t Say Goodbye

Please don’t say goodbye

I can’t take it one more time

Just let me go

Say “I’ll see you later” and

Leave it at that.

Please don’t say goodbye

That’s all I’ve heard for days

From Each person that I love

These sad and tender moments

Hurt too much.

Please don’t say goodbye,

I’ve loved this place so much

And had so many special friends

That you’re part of my life forever.

How can it be that it’s so right

To go and yet so hard?

How long will it take to

Build the kind of life

I’ve loved here in a whole new place far away?

Let me drive away just like it’s any other day.

Spare me the beautiful speeches

And the loss of words.

I already know that you care –

My tears attest to that.

Just let me go,

And please, please, don’t say goodbye

Poetry

Poem: Flowers for Laura

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I walked out into the bright morning with Laura.

Her blond curls bouncing in the sunlight

As she tottered and ran down the path from our door;

falling a little along the way

but picking herself up

wiping the grit from her hands

on her blue jeans

and continuing on…

Until the first flower box.

Laura had to stop and smell the flowers.

First the orange ones.

I lifted her carefully,

her middle balanced on my arm,

her nose to the blossoms.

I put her down and continued on our way.

But Laura had to know if the next ones, the yellow ones,

smelled differently.

So again, I lifted her.

I tried to hold her still

while her tiny hands cupped

around the soft petals.

She leaned her head down

And smelled a yellow one.

In my hurry to get on my way,

I might have missed the flowers,

but for her-

Perhaps, I thought,

I, too, should stop and smell the flowers.

Wendy C. Kasten, 1981

All rights reserved.

Poetry

Bed Toes

toes_mainPoetry /By admin Bed Toes When I crawl in bed at night, Slip on down and kill the light, There’s this problem with my feet Sticking up inside the sheet. I know its silly, and simply that Feet weren’t made to lie down flat, They are shaped more like letter “L” That’s just the way it is, oh well. But still I have these silly woes I don’t know where to put my toes! The sheet bears down and presses in, It’s heavy, even though it’s thin. Forgive my crankiness, hope you see I only wish my feet be free Am I the only one annoyed? Don’t other people feel this void? I hate this way, I want it changed Could some manner be arranged? While my mind seeks far and wide I’ll simply flip onto my side. And – Oh, this works! These toes of mine Work sideways, nicely, now they’re fine, My feet have finally found a home So don’t know why I wrote this poem! w.c.kasten, copyright 2019, all rights reserved
Poetry, Uncategorized

Where I am From….

Me, at age 15. My brother took the photo, and we developed  it in his home darkroom. 











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Sometimes it’s fun to write a poem based on a pattern some otherpoet used. This one is based on George Ella Lyon. She is a wonderful poet. Hereis my version.
Where I am From…
I am from the red house, near tothe corner of Clinton and Third.
I am from two parents who lovedeach other and their children.
I am from the “farm” wheresummers shaped my feelings about land, open spaces, and New England.
I am from the Dutch grandparentswho cooked and baked sweet Dutch treats each Sunday.
I am from those Americans whocannot gaze upon Lady Liberty with dry eyes.
I am from the home with cats,laughter, and many, many books.
I am from times of struggle,little money, few nice things.
I am from the father who stood atour front door refusing to sign a petition to keep a Black family from buyingthe house next door, telling them to their face that they were wrong. “anybodycan buy a house if they can afford it,” he told the man.
I am from the river, the brook,the bay, the sunrise on the Penobscot, the loon on the lake, thunderous waveson sharp rocks.
Now, I am the mosaic of my past,one rich in places, the treasures of my travels, the friendship ties to faraway shores.
All these, and especially thememories, keep my heart warm.
 
w.c. kasten, copyright 2009, all rights reserved.