Covering the Christmas tree, decking every door,
Excessive seasonality suffuses my decor. Embellishments without cannot reflect what’s in. Too often Xmas cheer’s bound up in what has been. If a helping hand could decorate my heart, then the celebration perhaps could have a start.
They gather round the pool for a glass of wine— their voices soft as butter with a continental whine. Their conversation heady. She’s finally arrived, running from that castoff life that she barely survived.
She changes personalities according to her whim. She became a baroness the moment she met him. Tonight in the wine bar, perhaps she’ll be a waif. In such low localities, a title isn’t safe.
The fantasies of childhood have certainly paid off. One day she is a Renoir, the next she’s a Van Gogh. One face follows another with a costume change. Her various identities show an extensive range.
Being so many people is her brand of fun. You’d call her a chameleon if you knew more than one. But she is very careful. One identity per friend. She saves her next identity for those met round the bend.
Prompt words today are butter, heady, glass, pool.*This poem was not written about the girl in the photo. I love this photo I took of my niece and although I felt the image worked to illustrate the poem, it is not illustrative of her personality.
Where is it that a cat belongs? She’ll be the judge of that. Wherever I am going, I am sure to need a cat. She’ll help me with my packing and be my memory so I don’t forget to take her when I set out to sea.
She can’t see how her company could go against my wishes. A cat goes well with boats and anywhere where there are fishes. Each morning she repacks herself and each night in the dark she asks herself once more just when we’ll finally embark.
After a week of packing, my case is finally full. I shut the lid, secure the lock, pick up the strap and pull. I’m off to catch the red eye that will fly me off to Rome to catch the boat that for one week will make do as my home.
I have packed so carefully, checking off my list that I’m sure there’s nothing that I could have missed. But I know that Annie, sleeping curled up on her mat, when she wakes up and finds me gone, will not agree with that.
In spite of her best efforts, alas, she’s left behind. It seems that human planning isn’t always kind to cats who have spun fantasies of travel and romance. Did human plans concur with hers? Poor Annie. Not a chance.
It’s a wonderful coincidence that the dVerse Poets prompttoday is “Felines,” since just this morning I found this photo taken three weeks ago as I packed for my Mediterranean cruise with my sister. I meant to publish it back then but forgot and was wondering when it would be appropriate to use it as an illustration. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
Although the moon is obstinate, They’re waking up the sun. It’s time to fold your dreams away, to shake out the day’s fun. When adventure’s inconspicuous, still you can try to find it. Time is always ticking but you can’t forget to wind it. Knit your future to your dreams and life will be your plum. When life can be so wonderful, why spend it being glum?
His insidious preening as he eyes each teenage guest makes me want to gather them in a protective nest, to spread my wings to cover them and tell them to take care. To go home and do homework and fiddle with their hair. I want them safe away from this producer’s leering glance. Away from all they’ll forfeit to try to get their chance.
For all the favors he hands out, with his other hand he reaps, consuming all the sweet young things as though they were just Peeps!
Follow commands verbatim. Be quiet, graceful, prompt! He fired a predecessor who shuffled, tripped and stomped. Only idiots are bashful. You should look him in the eye. Do not pad expense accounts. Do not cheat or lie. Do not applaud suggestions merely on a whim unless they are suggestions that were made by him. You are the very first product that you have to sell, so follow these few rules and I think you will do well.
She had the best instruction in how to act serene–– a necessary attribute if she would be queen. And though she lacked true courage, at least she appeared plucky. Daily, they assured her that of all she was most lucky to have been born of royal blood—to have been truly chosen, and that is how, over the years, her heart was slowly frozen.