Blasting Caps from the Vault, Part 3

[Steve Plonk]

Read with me, once again, as we walk on silver splinters, whistling in the wind...

[Steve Plonk]

SOCKYMOTO

By Steve Plonk


One thing which would make a great photo
Is watching our cat play with sockymoto…
It is a sock tied with a knot on one end
Tuxedo-cat loves sockymoto
Who is his forever friend.

Sockymoto never stops hopping
Cause our cat is in no mood for stopping—
Sockymoto turns everywhere but loose—
Cat seems to be pretending to ring the
Neck of a goose.

Don’t ever leave socks out in the
Laundry room for our cat to reach,
‘Cause the balled socks will end up
In cat’s water bowl like a peach.

So back to “sockymoto cat shows”—
This particular tuxedo cat is from Tennessee—
Tuxedo-cat is a-fleeing blur as his tuxedo goes
When bathtime comes, away under the sofa he flees…

Whatdaya know, as we get out
Our new camera to photo,
Around bathtime, cat and sockymoto
Have made themselves scare-is
Almost like he’s hopped a plane to Paris.


This poem was published a few years back, in Feb. 2008, on Litkicks.com's Action Poetry. I am reprising it here because my tuxedo cat, Luke, died suddenly April 18, 2012. He was nine years old in human years. Also see my posting on "A Horse Whisper" thread, entitled "A Cat Whisper" in my "Life in the Horse Lane" column, in the Columns Forums.

[Steve Plonk]

A cat whispers from the past...read this one folks...See above...

[Arcadia]

Billie & Jerry
(two in nine, they told me both named thanks the singers)
had chosen me
to whisper their fleas
& their mistery
each time they can.
Billie had a bad time
three months ago
while jumping through a glass
Aquiles shouted,
but she´s an amazing lady!

[Steve Plonk]

Arcadia, Hope all is well with Billie...I liked your humorous vigniette about about "flea whispers". Thanks for posting...

[Steve Plonk]

As your eyes dart back & forth to scan the page, read a whimsical blast
from the past called: "Sockymoto". It was written about a cat toy &
the fun a cherished pet had with it...It was a featured & well-loved poem on Litkicks.com. I posted "Sockymoto" here for the first time. Thanks to all who read...

[Steve Plonk]

Just putting out some more feeders to get several readers...
Is it a "whine" to ask for two minutes of your time?

[Steve Plonk]

Readers, we're back in the "big leagues", time to try to hit a pitch.

[Steve Plonk]

VACATION LAKE (Lake Temagami Provincial Park)

By Steve Plonk

The lake was shaped like a figure eight,
The water had a deep green hue,
Was it the most beautiful lake,
That had held a swift canoe?

Of course it was, we thought it was,
And we paddled round and round--
A large sand bar divided the lake,
And our canoes drifted aground.

We pushed our canoes to the other side,
And paddled in the cove & saw—
A most perfect place to abide,
Free from the mark of man’s claw.

We paddled our canoes to that opposite shore,
And set up our tents with vigor,
We didn’t stay for three days or more,
‘Cause our schedule wasn’t bigger.

Circa January 1967

[Steve Plonk]

FADING INTO WOODWORK

By Steve Plonk

May humble folks speak for all which is golden—
Our time is going—
We have been silent much too long
The changes are so painful--
Like time to a remorseful aged person/

Light is all we really can see
For all in our knowing is blinded
By a great light…
Looking at it only, like Plato,
With modern sunglasses…

The future & past & present
Is happening beyond our scope
To absorb the cultural change—
But we must adapt…

May the meek speak up & be heard,
So that future folks will
Feel our joy & pain through our lines,
That those close to theirs may know our thoughts…

This is writing to be found at
The end of an age, so that those reading
May say “This poet was like you or me—“
No “albatross around the neck of society” was he—

He adapted to the texture in the society in which he lived—
He faded into the woodwork & in the process changed it/
The imprint of his computer keyboard remains on
The texts that were preserved as his shadow passed…

Circa 1977, Revised 1979 & June 2012.

[Steve Plonk]

Time to refresh this page of poetry which few have read in a while.

[Steve Plonk]

PATHS TRAVELED
By Steve Plonk

We took:
Ten roads to the coast,
Nine glasses of wine,
Eight loaves of wheat…
Glimpsed:
Seven veils of heaven,
Six paths to the mountains,
Five books of wisdom,
Four maxims of survival,
Realized:
Three forms in one H20 substance,
Two opposing forces to harmonize,
One Supreme Being…
***
Take tips from the pesky flea,
Don’t mix peyote with “white lightning”,
Stay away from gang activity,
Be peaceful & stay free,
Remember to drink plenty of tea,
To go with a meal of poultry…
Traveling is just part of the journey.
Have a safe arrival to your destination…

Also see the above poem on Litkicks.com's "Action Poetry" in the
July, 2012, thread, on July 28, 2012.

[Steve Plonk]

Time to refresh this page, perhaps readers'll enjoy a second reading...

[Steve Plonk]

Howdy, Howdy...Keep those eyes darting on my thread. Thanks for your past comments...here's another couple of gems in the rough, ready to be shined
up by readers comments...

LARKSPUR, THE LAST DRAGON (slight return)
By Steve Plonk

I am Larkspur, the last true dragon…
Before I die & rot, I let fly my horror—
In my dark dank cave of mire,
I breathe upon humankind
One last scorching fire…

I presently frighten only little children
So they are afraid to sleep at night…
Speaking of loneliness, & what I fear…
Besides, my worst fright is my disgrace—
The fact is, to be kind, is that I
Am the last full-blooded one of my cursed race…

Once, as legend says, we were many
Now we are the loneliest number…
I sing you a song of the Dirge of the Dragon…
Who, pitifully, is poor & piebald & almost done…
The she-dragon has gotten ill & died…
It is up to me to hatch the eggs
I am worried that none will hatch…

***

LARKSPUR, THE LAST DRAGON (Finale)
By Steve Plonk

I, Larkspur, the last true dragon
Sit here on my eggs hoping
That they will hatch
Especially, hoping that one will be
A she dragon…
Lately, all I’ve had to eat was
Pillbugs & cow dung—
No human beings are in sight this day…

No, it just ain’t my day
Sneg is frowning on me
The snow is blowing out of his crystal mouth—
My cave is warm from my smoky breath…
I’ve heated the rocks from my breath so long,
That I have a sore throat/
***
My dead comrade would laugh sardonically at
Me & my sore throat/
What a pathetic end I’ve come to…
What a scorned being I’ve become
Well, here I sit in the dull red gloomy light of
My phosphorescent cave sitting on my eggs…
Wait, is there something stirring in the eggs?!
Something is indeed stirring in the eggs!


Sept. 1988, Revised Aug. 2012.

[Steve Plonk]

Time to refresh this thread...The above poem, "Larkspur, The Last Dragon...", in two parts, was submitted yesterday to Litkicks.com's "Action Poetry" & is a featured item today. I hope you'll give the above poem a second reading & comment on it...Thanks to my readers & editors...