A Midnight sized hole

Here a lap with less warmth
because of a feline-sized hole
or carried on a cool armth
full aware of filling cat toll.

There a box suddenly unfilled
with her black fur and white star
and her brush when coat was pilled
and the door she’d nose ajar.

All these signs of our quiet cat
who (picked us) shared her long life
with us on an Ann Street that
has an empty stoop; less rife.

Ten entiredbee ends

Another Finish-Your-Own haiku for you out there in poetry land to test.
Feel free to comment and let me know which of the decimal finales you like best!


The bee, too busy,
tried to take on too much. He

    1. died in winter hive.
    2. lost a wing and wrecked!
    3. let down the hive Queen.
    4. had a sticky end.
    5. stressed himself to death.
    6. droned on till he ceased.
    7. fell holy in sect.
    8. buzzed, sawed and konked out.
    9. zapped in a bright flash.
    10. was squished on windshield.

 

The hare that doesn’t share today

The Winter
harsher this late April
when it shouldn’t be
had receded from a sidewalk I walked
home on.
Only in late afternoon
had the warmth managed to melt the snow
there.
It was damp and gritty
but better
than the inch of harsh and crusty snow
that morning.
Then I came across it.
I don’t know from when.
Or how.
Perhaps ran over on the near
road and dragged or tossed
here.
But a stiff and flattened
bunny sat framed squarely
in the rectangle of the sidewalk
as if set in place
by some artist of proportion.
It lay on its side.
Fur clumped and grey rimed.
Head, paws, ears stretched out
somewhat surreal
with no flicker
no essence
just dead
grisly and
greeting what passes for Spring
this year.

Peace

There aren’t as many friends
in this world
as you’d like.
Many don’t survive a weekend
or a week. Many aren’t up to a year.
Life’s growth and change,
it brings us heights
and lows
and some friendships
can’t or won’t
handle the swells.

I push away.
You push away.
But do we come back together?
Some of us do.

There’s a gelling of
capability
passions
willingness
that makes a heart soar.
Higher than is possible
and more peaceful than peace.

That was our friend Gene.
When we were with him
we were at peace.
But he’s gone
and our rest is in pieces.

-2008/08/02 Inspired by Gene Dallan and my wife, Karen, sharing with me his real name: Peace. He just was-