Found out recently
that I'm no longer afraid
of dying; I fear
most mere survival until
I've used up all of my days.

As some of you know, my father was in crisis yesterday (7/8/17). He went into the ER at the Veteran's Hospital here in Tucson Arizona at around 10AM with tremendously labored breathing. The doctors were afraid he'd had a recurrence of the throat cancer he'd had in 2010. They were pretty much convinced of it, and we were prepared for the worst... but my prayer warriors and I prayed for the BEST.

At around 2PM he had a tracheostomy. They found out it was NOT cancer, but frozen vocal chords that were causing the distress! They used only light anesthetics, and he pulled through with flying colors. Hallelujah!!!

Now what they must determine is what caused the vocal chords to freeze. He could have had a mild stroke. But other than his throat problems he's in excellent shape for a man of 92!

Thank you all who sent us good thoughts and prayers. Those who read, and everyone on Hello Poetry...

YOU ARE ALL AWESOME!!

AND SO IS JESUS!! THANK YOU LORD!!

♡ Catherine

smallish birds chatter
scolding the weak winter sun
yet  glad to  see it

little cat sitting
dreaming of a bird breakfast
thwarted by windows

shaft of light, dappled
makes devious, angelic
little cat now sleeps

breakfast now broken
daily rush well underway
no cat naps for me

golden crumpets
toasting under the grill
butter and amber applebox honey
waiting to be spread  and fill
those litle wells of battered goodness

warm milk and cocoa, mingling in the cup
before dancing around for a minute
in the microwave....then tap dancing
with tantalizing richness on the tongue

this is midnight snackery at it's finest
all  sweet and decadent, touched by
whimsy and eaten in the silver moonlight

then it's back to bed with honey still
on lips.....making them sweet and smackery

Quick! Call the poetic constabulary
I'm mincing words about my vocabulary
Help! I'm drowning in my thesaurus
evidence that i'm merely a brontosaurus

Listen up to my Greek chorus:
"Such silly word play should place her in poem prison
a ponderous place from which few have risen
Locked in the cell, losing her sense
consequence of writing with no poetic license"

Writing on with no reason or rhyme
just doing my poetic time
iambic meters bite me in the ****
trying to force me out of my sonnetic rut

stumbling on ideas most trite
all the pitfalls of making the choice to write

in the cold puddles
concentric rings play tag
with the sky flannelled in
shades of grey, soft from
the wind and granite from
the anger of shouted thunder
arguments, the tree's shake
losing what little cover
they have left and stand
stark naked and dripping
on the muddy floor.
the river flows high and
unchecked vomiting brown
bile and wreckage out into
the sea, only for it to become
a puzzle of detrius on the beaches edge
leaving junkheaps and carcasses for
treasure hunters to find....
and still the puddles play
tag with the cold and weeping sky

"Your kohl black Indian eyes,
emitting  silver lightening
**** me in small instalments"
I whisper, softly in her ear
"From my beloved mother,
but much less lethal"she explains
the generational difference.

"This kick *** legginess"
I begin while doing
an *"Aarti"with my eyes ,
on that magnificence;
it soon turned panegyric,
yes she loved it, of course.

"A family inheritance,
athletic genes, handed over
from a day past, but your attention,
at this juncture is misguided"
she turns cheeky at such times.
"A heart that beats faster whenever
a thing of beauty is at sight, nothing more"
I attempt to smoothen the friction.

"The spirit instilled by a father,who'd
die for beauty and then polished it to such shine
by one special,who is kept here"winking at me
says she, pointing at her chest, assets ample,
vying with each other, for a space,
on her front page, though what she
meant was her heart,in a space much deeper.