If you don't know the meaning of catharsis, I suggest you find a dictionary before reading further.  I wrote this poem in 2010, two months after my job of fourteen years had fallen victim to "sparrow(s) feign(ing) an aura of presence" who used the recession as an excuse to eliminate my position.  My hope was that focusing on composing this piece would alleviate the anger that was consuming every aspect of my life.  Didn't work.
    "Bitter...party of one..."

Catharsis

 

Perched eagle-like upon the fire pit rim,

the sparrow feigns an aura of presence,

attempting to command unearned respect.

Often and easily rises ego

when led by temptation's promised power.

Whether a bird of prey or one of song,

to lead requires strength of character.

Having none, at the first screech of a jay

knowing the truth, the sparrow takes to flight.

Lately, I've been witness to succession

of too many pretenders to the throne.

 

     In my favorite movie, "Harvey," Elwood P. Dowd (Jimmy Stewart) relates that "no one ever brings anything small into a bar."  It's a wonderful line, and I've found it to be true.
     This poem originated from something that occurred one night as I sat imbibing at my favorite watering hole.  It was certainly nothing small.  I've yet to come up with a title for it, though.

 

 

 

Old man on a stool at the fire hall bar,

trying to remember which beer he drinks.

The barmaid smiles sadly as he thinks;

the regulars recognize one more scar

 

inflicted from a blade of years, and let

it pass.  Most times his memory is clear.

They look away as she suggests his beer,

knowing worse things he'd just as soon forget.



      Allow me to be perfectly clear on this: I don't do Valentine's Day.  Enough said.
Having said that, however, I will share with you two of my original poems that fit the theme of that made-up holiday.  If you do wish to read some wonderful love poetry, I refer you to two of my all-time favorites - "Jenny Kissed Me," by Leigh Hunt, and "Proud Word You Never Spoke," by Walter Savage Landor.  They hit the spot without all the hearts and flowers nonsense.  My verses follow.

Valentine

 

At dusk a dozen deer are in the field,

feeding where winter's ice and snow had laid

waste prior to the temporary thaw.

I count them, difficult because they blend

too well with barren ground and dark tree lines

from the rear window of the passing car

they seem to ignore (though, of course, they don't).

And then I'm gone; no longer their concern.

But that evening and months beyond I dwell

upon one line for each, that they might be

as fresh a bouquet, gathered in that field ,

time and again after your roses fade.

 

 

     The next piece took five years to complete, all because of my search for one word.  Which one, you ask?  The word "stay" in line eight. It offers two completely different meanings, both of which are appropriate for this poem.

 

  You, Again

 

"I know.  It's just habit,"

he says standing too close

to an old memory;

trying to warm himself

against a coal burner

some weeks ago removed

from ever offering

to stay the cold again.

I smile, thinking of you,

and wish I did not know

exactly what he means.

 

 

     Finally, I wrote this last poem during the period of Lent in 2012.  I include it here because Lent begins on  February 13th.

 

 

Lent

 

The man to my left once again abstains

from alcohol.  He does so every year,

and each year hears the same exclamations

of wonder at the change when he's sober.

Several stools to my right, a middle-aged

woman with gray hair is swearing off sex,

eliciting a loud but nervous laugh

from those around her.  This is how it goes -

the list of personal crosses to bear

includes the deprivation of cuisine

from chocolate to pizza, and vices

such as foul language, tobacco, gambling.

All of which pales in comparison

to the sacrifice my neighbor describes

later when, alone, she turns my corner,

just as she had when walking her small dog

each night these fifteen years.  The words come hard:

"I had to put Fritzi down yesterday."

 

 

 

Cheer up - Phil was shadowless this morning.  Happy Groundhog Day!