Tag: poem

Woundsday’s Theme Music

Mood: Reinvigorated

It’s Woundsday, December 4, 2024. The stagnant air seemed to have shifted a little, as the chill has abated. Although Ashlandia is claimed to be foggy, my perch’s view was fog free. Sunshine enriched blue skies took the vision field from end to end. Now, 11 AM, my personal weather sys says it’s 46 F outside. Alexa claimed it’ll be 67 F today but I don’t trust it. Other forecasts say 57 F today, which seems reasonable.

It’s Woundsday because I’ve been busy this morning licking my wound. Eww. Gross. Figuratively licking my wounds. The wound is the surgery site to repair my ankle. Much better today, thanks. Now I’m practicing my walk, trying to rid myself of my limp, regain some grace, and speed up my stride.

We’ve been following several news stories. One is that another Trump nominee has withdrawn. I’m not celebrating as I’m sure he’ll find a horrid replacement. My wife then regaled me with a few Buzzfeed anecdotes about people realizing what their support of Trump means to what goes on in their world. Trump nominees are surprising them. Examples include a business women who was planning equipment purchases being taught what the tariffs will do. Then there are parents with a child in Headstart just learning that Trump intends to shut down Headstart and now wonder what will happen to their child. In other words, they’re gettin’ woke by their vote.

Also following a story in Pennsylvania about a woman who fell into a sinkhole while looking for her cat in Tuesday morning’s cold, dark hours. I’m from that area and have family still living in the region, so it’s one of those six degrees of separation things. I hope they find her alive and well but I’m sadly doubtful at this point.

Today’s music in the morning mental music stream (Trademark okay) is “Feelin’ Alright”. I posted this song back in 2016. I wrote then: “I’d only recently learned that Dave Mason wrote this song. I knew that Traffic had performed it, but in my heart, this song always belonged to Joe Cocker. Whichever group or performer does it, the song always lifts me up. I loved it when he sang it in concert.” Still standing with that declaration. It’s my song for Woundsday because I’m going to have beers with my friends tonight. It’s our usual Wednesday setup. I haven’t attended for seven weeks. Haven’t had a beer in that period, too. I did have wine and rum with mulled cider on T-Day, though. Beyond that, I’m walking well and experiencing minimal discomfort and pain.

I woke from a dream this morning and remembered open lines from a Dylan Thomas poem.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The dream had been about reinventing myself and reinventing the world, so I can understand the connection with the poem. It’s one of my top five poems.

Hope you have a superb Wednesday, and the days beyond today are also superb as we count down the last of 2024. Coffee and I have rekindled our relationship once again. We’re good to the last drop. Here’s the music. Cheers

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The Declaration

I'm an independent floof, 
and I go at my own speed,
No matter what you plan to do,
Nor where you need to be.
Whether you’re taking me for a walk,
Or waiting for me to pee.
Or I'm getting up from slumber,
And demanding something to eat.
Even if I'm coming to see you,
Or you're coming to see me,
I'll select the gear I'll use,
And establish the speed it'll be.
You'll soon learn from whatever I’m doing,
Whether it’s sleeping in sunshine or in bed,
Or getting petted or kissed,
On my belly or my head. 
Or sitting and chewing,
Or flying or swimming, 
Or brooding and stewing,
Or complaining and pooing.
Or staring and listening,
At scary things in the night.
Or walking and talking,
And chasing things in flight.
Or meowing and purring,
Or barking or squawking,
Or kissing and squirming,
Or running and stopping.
I can’t be ordered to make it fast,
Nor told to slow down to make it last.
You can try, but you can't change me.
And though you keep trying, you'll eventually see.
When it comes to living and dying and all in between.
No matter the activity or who gets involved,
You have no choice,
But to go with my flow.

So when I get going

— If I do —

I'll go at my own speed.
And you will, too.
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Losing Time

Cuddle puddles on your arms,

Showering you with furry charms.

Can induce laziness with little will,

Making the need to do things drop to nil.

Maybe sleep and read,

Or read and sleep,

Or just stroke the floofs,

And live and be.

They’ll take your cares and troubles away,

But you’ll probably end up losing a day.

Though most say, that’s alright in the end,

Cause what’s better than spending time with friends?

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An Old Friend

Night came with silence

But then there was a sound

Something cracking hard

Like a window coming down.

Atlas leaped to investigate

And then froze in the spot

It could be something dangerous

And that meant a lot.

But still he had a duty

To protect his furless folks

So he would do as needed

Because his duty was not a joke.

So boldy, inch by inch,

Atlas sniffed and advanced

Till he came to the danger

And finally could relax.

For it wasn’t a burglar

Nor a killer or a mouse

Just the ghost of an old friend, Titan,

A dog who once lived in the house.

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Super Floof

“Away,” the floof cried with a flashing leap,

Traveling faster than their paws.

Their antics amaze us, they are so stupendous,

We literally drop our jaws.

They dash into the room and look around,

Then they’re off again with a single bound.

A super floof in their own eyes,

Super cat, super duper dog, they try to prove they can fly.

And when they wear out all their speed,

They bring their empty tummies to us to fill their needs.

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Traces

Different floofs leave these places

with bits of fur and other traces

bite marks, claw scratches,

round dimples in furniture

where they made their beds

their scents fade

and the signs disappear

but we remember these floofs

which we hold so dear

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Final Words 2

The dyin’ man

in the dyin’ land

said with his dyin’ breath,

“Life is a like a buffet.

You can get in line,

and shuffle by,

or decide where you start and end.

“So, if you don’t mind,

I just died,

but this is my beginning,

not my end.”

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Final Words

The dyin’ man

in the dyin’ land

said with his dyin’ breath,

“Life is not a fantasy,

it’s always been a test.

“I’ve done some harm,

caused some alarm,

and failed more than one person.

“I had some dreams,

and made some schemes,

but never found my purpose.

“But now I lay me down to sleep, 

I’m about to close my eyes,

say what you will ’bout me,

I don’t care, I died.”

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