Poetry. “Hope” is the Thing with Feathers. By Emily Dickinson. Condensed and loosely referenced by Paul Klusman.

Emily had a bird in a cage.
Named “Hope” that sang and played.
At the bottom was eternal
The Wall Street Journal
Editorial Page.

Brown Paper and a Spoon

The greatest toy that ever was
Brown paper and a spoon
On the floor lurking in

The messy living room

It takes no AA batteries

It has no on-off switch

It's endless fun and scratches

The ever playful itch

For minutes or an hour

Playing hide and seek
Wiggle butt and flying claws

What furry lightning streak

Hunts the kitchen ware

Like brave dragon slayers

Underneath and in between

The crinkled paper layers

Until the deadly pounce

At long last is made

Sent to meet it's maker

Long handle Rubbermaid

Victory now it's time to rest

The hunt is at an end
But woe to serving spoons
That pass this way again

To a Black Cat

Twinkle twinkle little black

Panther in my home

How you shine in morning’s light

Where the sunbeams roam

Twinkle twinkle coiled spring

My ankles catch your eye

Waiting for attack

As I'm walking by

Twinkle twinkle twelve o’clock

At the window sill

Your steely eyes watching

Quiet stealthy still

Twinkle twinkle afternoon

Sleeping in repose

Twitching eyes and whiskers

Galloping little toes

Twinkle twinkle late at night

The day is growing old

Blending into shadows

Two rings of glowing gold

Twinkle twinkle good luck charm

You ebony feline art

I’m glad you crossed my path

I love you cross my heart

Squirrel Assist.

Out on a walk this morning I came across a squirrel in the road recently hit by a car. Looking closer I could see rapid breathing and no signs of serious injury except a small hint of blood in its mouth and nose. The poor thing was twitching and making pitiful little noises, and it was in the middle of the road exactly where another car might run it over. I was nervous about getting bit but I couldn't just leave it there, so I carefully picked it up and moved it to a sunny patch of grass.

Poor little squirrel friend continued to twitch and struggle, and I was certain the end was near when it suddenly jumped up and ran a short distance only to collapse on its side again. I watched it for a few more minutes as it repeatedly tried to run and collapse. I went back to my house for a snow shovel hoping I could use it to move the poor squirrel to a more secluded spot.

When I arrived back to the squirrel friend I saw it up on its feet and moving. It ran underneath a van and appeared to crawl up into one of the wheels for shelter. I peeked underneath and I could see its tail hanging down from inside the wheel. I decided against trying to wrestle the injured squirrel out from underneath the van hoping it would recover and exit on its own.

A few hours later I came back to check on squirrel friend and offer some raisins, peanut butter (100% natural), and water. What appeared to be the same squirrel was enjoying some berries at the foot of a tree. I checked underneath the van and happily there was no squirrel inside the wheel. I wasn't 100% sure, but this squirrel under the tree looked pretty much like previously injured squirrel friend. I didn't ask for ID.

I set out the refreshments and whoever this squirrel was enjoyed a luxurious treat. After getting a full belly, squirrel friend retreated to another tree further removed from the road and climbed up onto a branch to rest in the late afternoon sun. I set the remaining food and water in a secluded spot under a nearby bush for whatever critter may enjoy.

I returned home to find Ashley kitty complaining of her own empty bowl, which I remedied immediately. Actually that's a lie. I wrote out a first draft of this blog post and THEN I filled Ashley's bowl. Poor kitty.

- The End -

A Cloud Can Never Die

When you look up into the blue sky on a clear day you may notice that your favorite cloud is gone, and you are sad. You believe that your cloud has died, but a cloud can never die. A cloud can never die, it can only transform. A cloud will become rain, which falls to the ground to nourish the plants and animals. Some of the rain will collect into a stream, which flows into a river, and eventually makes its way to the sea. The sun will then warm the sea, and moisture will rise up into the air. The wind will carry the warm air back to you, and when it cools the moisture will form again into your cloud. A cloud can never die, it can only transform.

Over half of your body is made of cloud. If you take the cloud out of your body there is no YOU left. The clouds that are in your body today were floating in the sky at one time. The clouds in your body were also a part of someone else’s body. The clouds that are in your body have been a part of many different forms of life. When your loved one is gone you can look up into the sky and see them in the form of a cloud. You can wave to them and say, “Hello my little cloud. Hello my dear friend I see you up there in the sky. Have a good time floating free. One day I will join you, and we will float in the sky together.”

(Based on the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh)

Based on True Events with Poetic License

To Emylee with Inspiration From Emily
Paul Klusman

My friend Emylee says,
"All my poems lately are crap
And I don't want to write poems anymore."
But I feel like a person has good
And bad poems and the bad
Ones have to get written before

The good ones can emerge from
The heart or the mind or the hand
And make their way onto the page
Where they land

So that others can read them sitting there
Sipping coffee, tea, or beer,
Or wine
And tell themselves exactly which poems
Are terrible and which ones are fine.

So I said, "Write them anyway."

And besides who's to say
What is good and what is bad
Even Emily Dickinson wanted all her
Poems burned that she had

Written when she was alive after she was dead
So she must have thought her poems were bad even though people likely said,
"They're better than the poems I've got bouncing around in my head."
So rather than burning Emily's poems they published them instead

And all the world delighted in the thoughts of a quiet reclusive girl
Who's pen could turn a grain of sand into a pearl

Who's verse would only arrive
After she was gone back in the day
And was lucky to avoid... the trap
Of fame when she was alive
And might have been known to say,
"All my poems lately... are crap."

Poetry to an Unknown Friend

To an Unknown

Paul Klusman

In the dark of night
When I'm all alone
When the cold is creeping
And all my friends are flown

I turn to words of wisdom
Sent many years before
By another lonely soul
On a far off distant shore

Across the gulf of time
To reach my weary eye
To offer needed comfort
And light to read them by

This quiet salutation
Lifts my darkened soul
What simple little gift
To make my spirit whole

What kind and lovely grace
To keep me company
To chase away the gloom
And set my spirit free

Now I send a greeting
To join you on your way
My unknown fellow traveller
Of a long and dreary day

As others have before me
Dropped pebbles in a pond
And sent a tiny ripple
Into the great beyond

I make this declaration
Dear reader be it known
This one eternal truth:

That you are not alone