Don’t push me — no prodding or pummeling.
Don’t try to persuade with your pleasant propaganda. Don’t pursue ME.
Your point is well-taken. Perhaps one day, it’ll be compelling propelling;
I’ll put the pedal to the metal. But if you pick Pick PICK at me much longer,
I’ll punch you in the eye. Your prompt will become an UN-PROMPT.
Psychological pitter-patter, putter mutter, mumbo jumbo —
I DON’T LIKE BEING PUSHED.
Like the coming and going of an ocean tide — the currents, the “waves” — A small gray Mockingbird chased a big black Crow — relentlessly: From tree to tree, branch to branch — disappearing within the green leaves.
The Potbelly Pig squeezed through the pet flap, trotted down to the street, laying down, “playing dead” — waited for someone to notice; then went back inside to check on his dying mistress; wounded himself going through that narrow pet door a few times. FINALLY someone stopped and the pig lead him back to his mistress. (She lived because of that pig. True Story.) SOME PIG is what Charlotte the Spider wove into her web to save her friend, Wilbur, from the Butcher’s Block. (Charlotte’s Web – E.B. White) That’ll do, Pig, is what Farmer Arthur Hoggett said to BABE, after he, the pig, herded the sheep in record-breaking time. (1995 Film – BABE)
Shown at the Brandywine River Museum, in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, Jamie Wyeth’s portrait, in oils, of “DEN-DEN“, a big BIG pink pig with a golden aura further emphasizes my point —
It’s murder when you kill a friend.
…the brittle branches clothed in ice, glittering glass. Across the street a large limb, bough breaking from a tall tree — too much water, frozen tough tender thoughts shattered. I mourned for that wounded warrior, carcass, yo-yo weather, MAKE UP YOUR MIND… When I saw the weather was bad, I shuffled through the slush, rain and snow spitting ON ME, as I put the food on the windowsill. I heard the Blue Jay call from a nearby tree. I answered. (He saw what I was doing!) Within the hour, my roots, bush and porch – Blue Jays, Red Cardinals, Gray Finches and Starlings [with their yellow beaks and gold undercoats] INUNDATING! The weather was bad and they SAW that I put out food. …thrilling…
The white cat with gray tabby patches, “Feline Appaloosa” — I know this cat! — runs to my side, frenetic hop, skip and a jump. The cat, my old feline friend, then speaks, well almost; it’s body language: fluctuating, (A shy cat will wrap its body around everything BUT you.) generating, ring-around-the-rosy, motorboat engine nonstop PURRING – attraction STATIC. The white cat with gray tabby patches, “Feline Appaloosa“, leans against my leg, staring across the yard, empty lot, at the shrubbery [in the back yard, next house]. I could almost see “Feline Appaloosa” VIBRATE, (Aura?). Was this fear — the white cat with gray tabby patches was almost shivering — or was this just high-alert, awareness of something out there THAT I CAN’T SEE (FRUSTRATING!) dancing in place while standing still. Suddenly, we part company, offstage cue. The white cat with gray tabby patches, “Feline Appaloosa” ducks underneath the porch [to eat the food I left in the bowl] while I go up the steps. We glance at each other, snap of the fingers moment, ZOOM gloom, “Later, Friend.” But I still wonder. I still feel, I still sense the vibration, feline taut wire. WHO was that cat WATCHING?!
Three Canada Geese sat at the side of the road, feathers fluffed, webbed feet tucked underneath, disappeared, gone. One’s head was twisted back, tucked into her long dark gray body feathers. The other two were “standing guard”, sinewy necks stretched high. They formed a triangle; a family has returned…
Tall stark bare trees, substantial shadows in the distance, towered above the roofs. I saw a large black bird [a shade] perched at the summit of one of these trees “another” perched on a lower branch in a neighboring tree — silhouettes. The silence was unnerving, waking dream…
A big white cat with gray tabby patches streaked across the green grass. I could not see who he/she/it was running from. Did he duck under my house for safekeeping?
Why does Sunlight sparkle in water?
How does one create sparkling conversation?
A smile can sparkle, and the whiteness of your teeth has little to do with it.
Will I recognize the sparkle of an original thought when I have one?
Moments can sparkle.
Is the sparkle in someone’s eyes the soul?
Sometimes a headache sparkles; someone’s knocking at the door…
Is my life atomic fallout, explosive TNT or the bright searing light of a Sparkler?
If I take out the trash will my words sparkle?