My Friend's Cat

My friend has a cat
Who's a bundle of nerves.
I'm sure the cat is
Not mentally sound.
It sits on the porch and
From that peerless perch
It orders my
Friend around.

It's a female type cat
Quite furry and small
You wouldn't think
She'd be bossy at all.
Maybe she suffers from
Low self-esteem
'Cause sometimes she gets
A little bit mean.

One day my friend
Came home from the mall
She found there a mess
Strewn in the hall.
The darn cat got mad
That she'd left home at all
She tore the wallpaper
Right off of the wall.

I said to my friend
If that was my cat
All of its nine lives
Would have long since been past.
It would be painless and
It would be quick
But I surely would end
Her lunatic tricks.

Wow, was my friend
Unhappy with me
She could not believe
I could be so damn cruel.
Her poor little cat
Was really quite sweet
And I was, quite frankly, a
Fusty old fool!

A week or two later
While out buying a hat
I ran into my friend, asked
How was her cat.
She said that her tabby
Was so sweet and good
The poor little thing was
Just misunderstood.

How could that be
I inquired of her
That cat was an ADD
Bundle of sin.
She said she had taken
Her cat to a shrink
And the shrink put her baby
On pure Ritalin!

(Luna requested this poem for Cezar and Leia. She thought it would help them realize all cats are not like Luna and thus they would appreciate her more. I think Luna was feeling that her allotment of treats had been unjustly reduced, although being the kind of cat she is, she would never come right out and say so.)

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.)

I Grow

I watched the tree grow
Slow...
God, it was slow!
A year, ten, a
Thousand years -
Still it grows.

I watched me, too, grow
Slow...
God, I was slow!
A tear, ten, a
Thousand tears -
Still I grow.


Copyright © 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson
All rights reserved

Dedicated to my good friend, Juergen Kuehn

Home Again

You can't go home again,
For home as you
Remember it
Does not exist.
It is a dream.
A shattered piece
Of stained glass;
Whose colors run
Amok, never more
To adhere in
Coalescent beauty.

You can go home again
If home is in
Your mind.
The place you first
Learned right from wrong
And how to live
With love, compassion
And the certainty
That you are
Valued and cherished,
One with the universe.

You must go home again
If only metaphorically
To meet that dream
Of yesteryear;
To see through
Shattered colors strewn
To find the light
To meet your need
To know the way
To walk along
Your path today.

© 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.

The moon has risen; how still is the world

A few days ago, I posted this moon shot on Ocala Daily Photo. My friend Juergen, of Marburg, Germany, offered as an appropriate accompaniment this old German songtext:

The moon has risen,
the tiny golden stars shine in the heavens bright and clear; the forest stands dark and silent,
and from the meadows climbs a
wondrous white mist.

How still is the world, and in the veil of twilight,
as comfortable and lovely
as a quiet chamber, where the misery of the day you will sleep away and forget.

Do you see the moon standing there?
There is only half of it to see, and yet
it is round, and fair! So it is with many things
that we mock confidently,
Because our eyes see them not.

(Evensong by Matthias Claudius - 1773)

Thank you, Juergen.