Weather Fact or Friction

Thunderstorms can generate wind that is capable of developing additional thunderstorms up to 100 miles away.
Ants carry greater weight upon the fate of the planet than all of the elephants.
There is only one cheetah, genetically. They are all copycats.
All tortoiseshell cats are female.
A tortoise is a turtle, but a turtle is not a tortoise.
All mammals have hair, including marine mammals.
If a butterfly lands on you, like a kiss it has a lingering effect.
Kissing is a form of devouring one another.
Eating your words causes indigestion.
Our narrow color spectrum is a coded labeling system,
nevermind the claims of reds or whites or
fermentation of green and browns,
we eagerly ingest our poisons like medicines. Only death is harmless.
So many are starving but none are taking a place at the table or saying
a word of Grace.
Anyway,
Escape and Utopia are not the equivalents of Apathy and Atlantis.
Artificial Intelligence demonstrates that competence can be performed without comprehension.
When we tried playing God, saving the Earth, selling one-way tickets to Heaven and the Moon,
Time traveling, age rewinding, and portraying ourselves to be all-powerful we found ourselves-weak to resist, irresistible, gullible, and addicted to more than just the levers and
Controls.
Not knowing Best, but collecting alternate facts and delegating the feelings
of incompetence to all Others, we have been told two Truths and a Lie.
Fires spread in the mess-hall, millions of cooks vacated the kitchen, all of their pants aflame,
an acrid vapor left in the wake of Epochs echoing on wax-filled ears.
From the top-down, the ice spreads, plates are stacked and we are still spinning.
The soul never stays in one spot. Heat, like religion, is always seeking converts.
We are all preoccupied, we were born busy and off-balance, running to stay up-
Right.
Our big three-pound brains burn 33o calories per day.
The brain does not recover the same way other muscles do.
Magic is the ten days it takes for a flesh wound to heal. The Big Bang is still happening.
Hindsight is too far behind current, foresight is double vision doubled, the current is always moving, perspective is in every angle, adjective.
It was short and sweet.



Artwork by Edward Penfield (1866-1925), Calendar cover c. 1896 in Public Domain. 

soft-ness

It was not evident
at first
how special it was
to Be
good.

I said soft
and meant
landing.

The cats saw
around me
and fixated themselves
under each of my most careful
footfalls,
short of floating
they weave comfortably
vibrating.

The hummingbird
held himself back
from resting
atop my crown,
settling instead
for a golden thread,
with a tip
of nectar.

I reached inside
my treasure box
and felt
enjoyment
in my collection
and it was greater
than my own

goodness gracious
to hold on to softly.



Photo credited by Francisco Enríquez, 2001 [Public domain].

9 Lives

The cats that have made my home theirs,
the same two cats that don’t get along,
the un-partners in feline crime,
Smokey & the Bandit, ogle me-eerily
I feel this, but they
look away when I return the long glances.
And I feel fine-but there is a chance,
most likely greater than one out of nine,
that they see more than me.

Buteo jamaicensis (red-tailed hawk)

Chickenhawk,

or common pigeon raptor,

an immigrant in suburbia,

your callused talons, prone to thievery

bone protruding shoulders, penetrate the blues

excess in feathers weighs one down.

Perch and peer,

wedged between a wishbone branch,

hurling her duck observations in high notes

as if swan songs were her only repertoire. 

Tenacious she, 

returns three days crooked, famished with

foresight, laser vision, and perspective-poised, 

she waits, she sees green, she feels envy.

The fluffy housecat chases his tail 

to satisfy his urges

the hawk launches

and draws his keen ellipse together.

Photo credit By U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Headquarters (Red-tailed hawk  Uploaded by Dolovis) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sleeping suburbia

Suburban street night lights

show collarless cats on the dusky prowl

for others and Friday night laughter, squeals,

leak out over the rooftops.

Venus loosens her belt

of lavender lingerie.

It is called, Good Evening.

A front door closes, somewhere

down the block-moan and thud,

then a dog speaks up,

in protest or jest.

Kerrr-clunK, kerrr-clunK,

rolls a skateboard by my

bedroom window where my

bed is against the window.

I see a silhouette where

the belly of the open rose

is quietly collecting dew.

Beauty sleeping bloom.

Cast in the far corner

on my white walls, the moon-

light speaks, near the door

-Beckoning-

for more room fortnight.

Photo Unknown (not given) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.