Posts Tagged ‘bed



our shy mouths meet; wall
flowers being awkwardly
introduced by friends.

wrenching some covers
away to wrap over me;
geez, you’re a bed hog.


To A Brownish Tabby

Canny acrobat with a kitten’s face
Her tricks owe more to luck than grace.
Balancing on three feet, one in the air
Making flawless toes, grooming hair.
Performs some sleight of hand with catnip mice
Then leaps- Eliza crossing ice-
Up toward the armoire, showing off once more;
Target missed she slips to the floor.
Wee cat, when you’re chasing piggies or curled snug on the bed
Who could recall it seeming you’ve not a brain in your head?

(Because tomorrow is Robert Burns’ birthday, I attempted this homage.)


For Some Time Now I’ve Been Going To Bed With Walt Whitman

For some time now I’ve been going to bed with Walt Whitman.
I don’t always wake up with him. More often it’s someone else;
Today it was Jack Prelutsky and Lilian Moore.
But it’s always Walt Whitman I’m bedding down with.
You might suppose because Walter’s gay he’d be a help picking out clothes;
He’s not though- being dead for over a hundred years has caused him to lose track of fashion.
Shopping turns complicated as he wanders through department stores and supermarkets asking of the stock boys “Are you my angel?”
And it’s kind of odd his wanting me to bring him handfulls of grass so he can explain to me what it is.
But he doesn’t leave stray whiskers on my pillowcases,
He doesn’t hog the covers or turn off the electric blanket or put his cold feet on my calves.
On nights that sleep evades me, I lie back in his arms.
He’ll whisper “O Captain! My Captain!” till consciousness fades away.



Fighting his nature,
He stands at the end of the bed.
The woman is beautiful- peacefully sleeping;
He likes watching her.
But Nature will have her way.
Throwing back his head, the rooster crows.
The woman stirs but does not wake.
Kicking over a bottle of pills,
He jumps onto the fire escape,
Flapping awkwardly to the ground, he
Walks the dark wet streets of the city